I cleaned my nose out with a Q-Tip today. Little events like that have really had me thinking in overly grandiose terms of late. Even by myself, the simple act of cleaning out my nose, with an appropriately sized and disposable toiletry item that was designed to cleanse cranial orifices, was slightly embarrassing. I thought to myself “I hope no one catches me doing this”.
All the obvious irrationalities aside (Why would anyone walk in on me in the bathroom when I’m alone at home, then judge my system of maintaining my olfactory nerves? Is this some inferior system to what everyone else does? Wouldn’t it be better to be the guy who cleans his nose out in an odd way than the guy who everyone thinks should clean out his nostrils with more vigilance?) what I settled on was the idea that many other people must do the same exact thing and I shouldn’t worry about it.
A good friend of mine is a staunch believer in the UN-originality of everyone. He seems to have no faith in the possibility of creating something truly original, because – by now in the history of humanity – it’s all been done (as the Canadian poets The Barenaked Ladies so famously sang years ago). He is a true cynic, and would never believe you if you told him “I thought of that first”.
Recently in an argument about plagiarism with someone else I pointed out that Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet is stolen from the older Pyramus and Thisbe. That alone has created a glut of “adaptations” and “re-imaginings”. I thought I was brilliant when I began claiming that Forest Gump is simply an adaptation of Voltaire’s Candide, then I realized thousands of other people realized that as well and posted it online before me.
What then is even the point of creating a blog, writing a story, painting a picture, telling a joke, or making babies? I’m not really sure. I am even willing to yield to the idea that originality died a long time ago, now we just live through some creative recycling processes. Auto-tuner is popular again, ironically by the voices of artists who probably think Peter Frampton is a politician in New Hampshire, and reality TV is still alive and strong because all the writers realized they ran out of material, but, although stolen, Romeo and Juliet is still widely revered.
What I am sure about is I’d still like to try. There’s no futility in giving up, but there is boredom. A while back I explained to my therapist that I like to write my thoughts down hoping they will eventually mean something to someone other than myself. However, until now I never wanted to publish my thoughts in public because it’s either been said, will be said better, or someone will write it and set it to music, there’s no competing there.
So maybe I’m unoriginal, maybe I’m the only one who will read my own random musings. I take comfort in trying.
That’s all there is. I’ll be posting here, trying to produce something original, always aware that someone else probably has a nearly identical blog. I like to think that leaves me on the platform of originality, with a whole crowd of company.
