I’m old...like not-many-zits-to-worry-about-on-my-face because my face is too old, old. I get that, and I’m not bored or disappointed in this fact. I find, however, that when I place my old face amongst much younger, more zitty faces, that a phenomenon starts to appear in front of my not so bright eyes. I call it Yesappearing and it goes something like this.
I tend to work in the world of projects and putting people together to work on projects. The only thing I enjoy more than being alone on a mountain of self pity, is surrounding myself with lots of people who are excited to work on a common goal. It’s fun, it’s distracting and it helps me forget all about the fact that the project will never succeed because there’s not enough money, time or resources to sustain it. It’s a lot like falling in love for the first time, over and over and over again. We do it because it’s fun, not because we can imagine what life’s going to be like after the fifth date. Anyway, in my quest to involve younger-than-me-people in these events, I find that there is a severe cultural and experiential difference that happens in a short span of time. What typically occurs is that a person will contact me about the project that I’m putting together, and we’ll schedule a meeting. At this meeting, I imagine that I’m revealing to them a portal into another world, a place that they have never seen or been a part of. The place is peculiar in that the people I’m assembling have never worked together, and the projects that I choose are always very unique in their execution and unwillingness to adhere to any logical path of success.
The meetings are usually stupendous.
The youngish people are, well...young. There’s enthusiasm, there’s desire, ideas, radical takes, subverted subtext, loquacious dialogue, invariable muckraking of past projects and a clear path of success. In short, there is an invigoration, a climatic uprising of thoughts, a bonding that will last through their third child’s baptism. In short, I’ve found a soul mate, a person with the same take on life that I had when I had pimples and no money. I take down their fifteen forms of communicative social digits, shake their hand, and feel pretty damn good about the fate of mankind for the rest of the day.
Then a strange thing happens, I never see or hear from them again. I write, I call, I joke, cajole, threaten, cry, but to no avail. They simply disappear, or what I’ve come to call, Yessappear. When I look back at these conversations, I find a pattern. All of the majesty of dreaming great inspiration in the conversation come from me. What I thought was a symbiotic exchange of ideas was simply the young person agreeing with everything I said. I mean they agreed with EVERYTHING, down to the color of my socks. They literally say YES to everything, and then go away into the ether, like some type of Confirmation Ghost that hasn’t been prayed into a saint yet. And that’s the end of it. A solitary moment in time where I tried to look into a mirror of myself, only to find that it was a pool of water, and I was far to vain to notice that it was really a sinkhole where nothing that I saw would ever reappear. I had been Yessappeared, and the young person that I met and had invested my false dreams into, figured out what a charlatan I was and returned to their own neighborhood of take-believe, where they could create whatever they wanted without the burden of lifting up a community of old-beens, too satisfied with the zitless state of their old faces to ask them what they wanted. After all, isn’t that what we all wish for, to be asked for a list of needs, and then given our desires? It’s a great idea in theory, but in practice, it’s only worked for one person in all of history... right before she yessappeared.