Avatar and Suicide

I've attempted to see see Avatar in 3-D twice, family in tow, but both times it’s been sold out. I'd been a bit nervous about wearing those crazy 3-D glasses --the last time I tried them was probably in 1942. Not only did I not enjoy whatever movie it was, I had a terrible headache afterwards. So I was intrigued when I saw a headline about people being depressed and/or suicidal after they saw Avatar – I thought that maybe the modern glasses were some sort of dastardly plot - but no -- it's apparently the most beautiful movie ever made. So beautiful that people want to kill themselves after seeing it because that kind of world is retty much out of reach here on Planet Earth - unless you still like to trip. I bet people are making millions going on talk shows or writing about how to cope with that kind of depression. First, acknowledge your feelings.....

It's hard enough that I don't live with Johnny Depp (or even a total geek like Gates, although I'd prefer Johnny any day) and that my youth is but a dream. (Speaking of which, I always loved what Fran Liebowitz said about women and aging. Roughly speaking it was that we all regret our beauty fading, but that frankly, aside from a few of us like Grace Kelly, it's not really that great a loss for the world.) That although I used to be a divemaster and spent time in oceans in exotic places (which the previews for Avatar remind me of), our children sucked up all of our disposable income and we're lucky to get to the lake once in a while. And I love them dearly, but they don't appear destined to appear in movies with George Clooney (I know he'd be a BFF!!!) or at a benefit with Yo Yo Ma (we might be BFFs, but he's a bit inscrutble -- it's hard to tell). That being a warrior for me (I think in Avatar that they are all warriors fighting the Bad Guys) is arguing with the gas company that there is no way my bill went up $700 from last month. And winning.

As a middle-class American, I make my share of sacrificies. I limit myself to four trips to Starbucks per week, because I buy their coffee and have a top-of-the-line coffee maker and a maid who knows how to use it. I'd have a victory garden, except we don't have enough shade in our back yard; however, I grow basil that I use in my pesto. I've stopped wearing mylons altogether; I prefer leggings. We own only one home -- land-locked, unfortunately, and to afford trips to the beach, we must drive 13 hours and sponge off friends. It's embarassing at first, but when you show up at people's doorsteps early on a Saturday morning with two cute, tired, hungry kids in tow, it's hard for them to turn you away. Like kicking a hungry puppy.

I've tried to make new friends who are richer and might get me into better parties, but it hasn't worked out that well and so I hang out with the same ones I've had for more than 20 years.

So, yeah, I've got a lot to be depressed about but at least I'm not whining about some focking movie! Although I could give you some good pointer on coping -- like, take some scuba diving lessons.