Picture Book...

My little brother likes to collect odd, yet unbelievably hilarious pictures and GIF animations. Here are a few for you to enjoy:

Heeeeey....

I'll post more, if you so desire...

Beep Beep, Beep Beep, Yeah!

I've been doing a lot of thinking; a bit more than normal, but not quite enough for it to get me anywhere, but amongst my thoughts I've come to this odd, yet profound conclusion about my life: With all the hoopla often associated with H-Wood and it's glamtastic lifestyle, I've decided that, in spite of my current detest for mediocrity, I really just want to be successful. I really only want to provide, not prosper. I want to tell a story or two, get some foldin' money, and be on my way. Find a niche, give it a whirl, then slowly drift away into old age.

I'll cop to being enamored with fame at one point in my life, wondering at what age I'll win my Oscar, and whether or not I'll have kids by then. I often imagined myself back in France, showcasing my film in Cannes, while, merely three days later, seeing posters for my film adorning every bus stop sur les Champs-Elysées. But, as I think about all of that now, the only word I think of to describe all of that is nice. It would really be nice. That's about all. Pretty vanilla, right? The thing is, I've managed to find fulfillment and joy in things other than fame (since I have yet to experience it), so I know my life can be complete without it. So, why seek it? Why worry about it? I certainly want to get where I need to go, but why choose the path least followed, when the well-worn one is just as wonderful. Robert Frost certainly meant well with his poetry, but I feel like I'm already taking the road less traveled, so why run through the weeds just to find something that may never be there? There are just too many metaphors to wade through before I manage to find myself content with something that's as fickle as a snowstorm in the Sahara. Why chase something that will undoubtedly let you down at some point?

Case in point: Johnny Carson lived 30 years or so in the television spotlight, arguably the best host late night television has or ever will see, but the moment it was done, poof, he was gone. He knew it all meant nothing. He didn't live the rest of his days Norma Desmond style, hoping Leno or Letterman would ask him back for his legendary close-up; he just disappeared. He was done, and part of me wonders if deep down, he'd been begging for it for a long, long time. I'm sure he was proud of what he did, and loved every minute of it, but he knew what mattered.... Can I just say it? Wonderful. It just sounds so wonderful.

But, I don't want to be Carson. I really don't. I just want to be successful. I don't think it's too much to ask for, right? I'm convinced I'll find it. Yeah, you can say that I'm only shooting for the moon instead of the stars, but I just have this one thing to say to you: It's still outer space, right?