Making your way in the world today

I know television.
Particularly sitcoms and sci fi.
I know who played what character and how series ended.
I know what series ended wonderfully or with class(Newhart-Frasier-Seinfeld in retrospect)
I know what series ended before I was satisfied with the amount of televised entertainment I had been given (Quantum Leap, The X Files)
I know what series had the worst ending in the history of television (Roseanne)
I know these things-becauseI've don't the research.
And I also know that some shows are meant to go out with a bang-even if, maybe at the time they did-some shows end with the knowledge that the characters will still be there. That we, the audience, can continue to imagine that they're still where we are used to seeing them
Throughout this master's degree program I have only written one paper that I think was genuinely good. One paper that really was different enough to stand on it's own as scholarship as well as entertaining reading. That paper reflected my love of television. It is about Cheers. I wrote it while high as a kite on NyQuil and battling a flu bug that kept me out of school and work for a week. There is a part of me that suspects I didn't write it, but that it was written for me. Most likely by the nightime sniffling sneezing coughing aching fever stuffy head so you can write unnaturally clever papers god. A deity with a sense of humor and a love of alcohol. I have never been able to fully accept that I wrote that paper. Not because it is so brilliant-it is outlandish and no one on page one believes my claim but everyone on page 9 does. I am not that convincing a writer.
Today was portfolio defense. I failed. Not miserably-just failed. I knew it as soon as I sat down and began to speak that I had failed. There are some things that just are the case, George Clooney knew when he won best supporting actor for Syriana he wouldn't win best director for Good Night and Good Luck. I knew that having passed comps I wouldn't pass my portfolio. In this way I am like George Clooney. That and how people think I'm gay but only because I don't date or seem interested in dating. Also we're both classically attractive and reminiscent of a bygone era. Sure, he evokes Cary Grant and I--don't. But there's time...I could still gain that class. I think of this degree as my stint on The Facts of Life.
It won't be long until I enter into my ER period-sure, I'll have to be an abusive SO on Roseanne for awhile, but once I'm on ER it's smooth sailing.
I am somewhat freaked out at how apt this metaphor is.
Like I said, I know TV. And I love it-I gave up ER when George Clooney left. Sadly, ER just kept Energizer Bunnying along. It's unwatchable now-has been for a long damn time.
I failed my portfolio-mostly because I admitted what am unable to deny that I am anything but a novice at anything.

"I am still learning."
Michelangelo

Am I supposed to be better than Michelangelo? Well, I'm not. I was raised by intelligent, educated people. Eggheads, is what Dad calls us. People that discussed with nonchalance and casualty NPR and episodes of Nova. It was never a matter of were we smart. Of course we were smart, that wasn't a discussion point. The point was that it wasn't proper to impress upon anyone our opinions or thoughts.
It all boils down to Garrison Keillor. Not that I call him gospel, but I believe he is right. The midWest mentality is sorry. Not because we're ashamed, we are the proudest people in the country but we don't want to put anyone out with the fact that the middle of the country is the best part. Pretty good is good enough. That's what I believe. You don't want to be the best because that means you're making someone else feel bad. It is of course a question-did my parents teach me this, or did it become part of my psyche through 26 Northern Ohio winters? Winters in NE OH are a constant remindre of how meagre you truly are.
In such as case as if you are presenting your education to the people that educated you--you should probably drop this belief system for the coastal "let me tell you how fantastic I am" statement module. To tell the people that trained you that you feel you are pretty adequate but not an expert is a bad idea.
Now I realize this.
No one could point this out to me ahead of time?
What the fucky fuck?
OH well-such.is.life.
When I had failed, having digested it and ranted somewhat:
"She actually had the nerve to say to me that I should leave out that I waited tables and served coffee the last few years to pay for school because it doesn't reflect on my education. Well-shit-and here I thought that having worked my way through a fucking graduate program might mean a damn, stupid me."
Much too working class. Too close to the folk, not nearly enough like a folklorist. Ahhh-The land of the free.
When we got back to the house I said to C, "You mind if I have a beer before I head out?"
"You want a beer, or would you rather a whisky?"
"I always prefer a whisky, but I never like to take advantage of an available supply."
That set the tone for the evening. We finished off some Maker's Mark-toasting my failure and the success of my compadres. But mostly, we drank to my defeat. It is SO easy to drink to failure-who knew?
C took the truck and got T. We drank more and had a "musical pissing contest" as Mik called it-because we are just that fun--
"Well, I have 15000 songs on my iTunes."
"You don't have anything on me-I have 1 million songs on my iTunes-there isn't an iPod big enough for my record collection"
"I have every song ever recorded on my iPod---and a collection of bootlegs that I am the only person to have possession of such things."
Finally B got back from his presentation. He got into the whisky then we went for Mexican food-Gen X comfort food. We put away some margaritas.
Somehow the subject of my sexuality came up.
"ARE you gay?"
"What"
"This could be your coming out party."
"But I'm NOT gay!
"Out is the new in."
"What?"
"I'm just saying we could toast to you failing your portfolio but finally coming to terms with your sexuality."
"If I were gay that would be great-but you're talking to a person that owns every Barbra Streisand album ever put on vinyl and who has a deep seated admiration for Cher's musical stylings."
"So the only thing keeping you from being gay is a penis?"
"Basically-I am a female fag. Eddie Izzard's a male lesbian and I'm whatever's the opposite of that."
The four of us-those three they've been close and through the whole disaster together.
I just kind of watched. They're my friends, but I wasn't there and IN IT like they were.
"Would you ever recommend this program to anyone?"
"I would want to know what they want from it first."
"I have."
"I'd tell them-if yr first choice, and yr second choice and yr fall back school and Devry Technical Institute have all turned you down-then maybe Western is for you...If Tri-C Community College was too cut throat maybe you should try Western. If I hate you then you should definately go Hilltopper."
"Ha! Devry."
During my defense my arch rival (not to be confused with Dead to Me-he's Never Existed to Me) the professor with no redeeming qualities said not a word and refused to look at me, despite my determination to direct my comments straight at him. People on the nod are more attentive. He commented on everyone else. I think I might've eaten his baby at some point. That's alright-his baby might've been like him.
After we'd had 13th Gen's answer to corn bread and greens the four of us were saying later. C offered a hug. Then T joined in and B as well. To an outsider it must've looked like I was going off to fight in Iraq, not driving home to East Nashville to stop at the local for a beer.
I told Mik about this.
"It's not that we haven't been close-of course we've been through all this shit we have something in common. But I've never been that close to them-I've been separated."
"And that's why it's so important you are close now," she said.
When I got home from the bar I turned on the television. The last episode of Cheers was on-an episode that has been chopped up into three parts. When I turned on the episode the guys were sitting around, drinking beers and talking about what is important in life. Toward the end Norm says that love is the most important thing. He leaves Sam alone in the bar. Sam watches him leave, looks around, straightens a picture of Geronimo and says, "I am the luckiest son of a bitch in the world."
A man comes to the door.
"Sorry, we're closed," Sam says.
The series ends.