Upward Comparisons

I’m sitting on my friend Ryan’s couch, Jennie pushed up next to me.  It’s a sprawling leather four piece, enough room for Ryan and his wife Christine to share it without us touching them.  We are watching the ball drop ceremony on CNN together, having exhausted things to talk about with one another — we’ve been over since five thirty and it’s eleven now.  Christine announced ten minutes before that she was ready to “tune out and welcome in the New Year” which is her way of saying “no more conversation please.”  She reaches certain internal limits of engagement, becomes exhausted, wants to phone scroll while simultaneously listening passively to celebrities blather.

On the television, projected from a seventy inch wall mounted display that Ryan bought just this past year, Anderson Cooper and Andy Cohen are giggling, slapping one another on the shoulder, complaining about how CNN won’t let them drink on-air this year.  We, the viewing audience, are supposed to feel that we are buddy-buddy with the two of them, all sharing in the joyfulness of the coming new year.  The structure of the show is:  Anderson and Andy call other people — comedians, entertainers — interview them, and kill time until the ball drops.

They call Kevin Hart first.  Kevin is hawking a liquor product shamelessly, telling the audience to buy his new tequila, Gran Coramino.  It feels like I am watching an infomercial.  I ask if anyone remembers that there was an attempt to cancel Kevin for homophobic comments — I remember his tweets saying he would “do whatever it took to make sure his son didn’t ‘become’ gay.”  No one can recall.  Kevin tells us that the ground floor version of his tequilla is only $50 and it is dope.  Anderson giggles, a high pitched sound that sounds somehow teen-aged.  Kevin takes shots of his own product on-air.  The next running joke becomes how much Kevin can swear on air.  CNN takes a minute to start blanking his audio to mute the shits and the fucks and whatever else is coming out of his mouth.

I take this moment to ask “Who the hell is Andy Cohen anyway” because he is, with Anderson, in stitches on the left hand side of the split screen image on the television.  I can’t tell if they are genuinely enjoying themselves — Anderson and Cohen — or if they are mugging and acting for the camera.  Probably some of both.  They probably sort of enjoy doing this but also are aware that they must give the appearance of being happy and completely into the New Year experience together.  Ryan tells me that Cohen is some kind of talking head.  He produced shows on Bravo, he interviews people.  It all seems kind of vague.  Ryan tries to make fun of me by asking “Who the hell is Anderson Cooper anyway?” and I say a Vanderbilt heir worth at least a hundred million.  He didn’t know this, he thought I was going to go with “a CNN anchor.”  Jennie asks why, if he is worth so much money, he is doing this New Year’s Eve show.  I say he must enjoy the attention and hey, no one says no to more money, no matter how much you already have.

After Kevin Hart comes Andy Cohen’s parents.  Then another comedian.  Then a couple of singers.  The minutes pass.  Fifty minutes until the ball drops.  Then forty, then thirty two, then eleven.  There is a performance of John Lennon’s imagine by a young woman in an enormous white parka who flicks her head to the left intentionally after every line.  Nobody knows who she is but we figure she is famous, too.  I have thoughts I keep to myself, thoughts that seem inappropriate:  Why do we like to listen to rich people talk on television?  These people — Anderson and Andy — have nothing in common with us.  They joke about ingesting edibles to “get through the night,” as if what they are doing is torture.  I feel as though we are watching our supreme overlords look down upon us, these people wearing clothes that were purchased that very week and are getting their first and possibly last use this evening, these people fake giggling and congratulating the living fuck out of everyone they talk to, Let’s all say thank you to Kevin Hart, one of the funniest people I know, and also just a terrific human being, one of the best people I know.  Now let’s check in with another famous awesome person.

I realize that I can’t watch this stuff — that I do not understand why people watch this kind of thing.  Is it, as Christine says, to “tune out?”  Why can’t I tune out?  Why can’t I just sit back and be entertained?  Why must I have this running internal monologue that analyzes everything, judges, and hates hates hates all the time?  Why am I so irritated watching these goofballs on television trying to have fun — is it because they’re much, much richer than me?  Is it because they appear to have fewer problems and concerns?  It’s New Years Eve ffs.  I’m with two of my best friends and my wife and we’ve had, overall, a wonderful evening together.  Why can’t I let my own problems and concerns go?  Why am I constantly comparing myself to other people who seem to be richer, more handsome, more successful, better?

The ball drops, we sip champagne and clink glasses and I make it a point to tell everyone that they’re not only my friends but they are also absolutely amazing, terrific human beings, some of the very best I know.  I giggle using the Anderson Cooper high pitched method so they can be sure I am imitating the CNN hosts and the joke lands, everyone laughs.  I kiss Jennie and she’s warm and happy, I see the sparkle in her eyes that tells me she’s still in love with me.

And I think that 2023 might be a good year, despite the challenges we will surely face — perhaps even great.  Despite all of my own internal negativity from the hour sitting passively on the couch, what I feel in that moment is hope.

I have to admit, hope does feel pretty good.

Today is the last day off work.  Jennie and I will go to her parents’ place for a couple of hours in the afternoon.  The home help isn’t there until tomorrow and her parents will need the standard stuff:  pill checks, bathroom cleaning, making sure they have food and are eating.

I am going to go to the gym right now — I feel the pressure and urgency of it because i didn’t do anything active at all yesterday other than a 20 minute walk around the neighborhood.  I need to do thirty minutes of physical therapy routines for my knee and another hour of lifting for my upper body — chest and back today.  I have to get my energy out before the internal tension of it turns into anxiety and threatens to overwhelm me.

Tomorrow I have a series of tests to check vascular health:  An ultrasound of my stomach, another of areas of my chest.  I’ll wake up early, six, shower and get to the doctor by 7:15.  I won’t get home until noon and then I’ll work the rest of the day.  I hope they don’t find anything.

I had my blood tests returned last week on Friday, blood tests from my yearly physical.  Last year I was a disaster, an 8/10 cardiac risk, incredibly high cholesterol and triglycerides.  This year the cholesterol is down into “high but acceptable ranges” because I am on statins, and my triglycerides are also in the same ranges, high but acceptable.  It is because I don’t drink at all anymore — I probably had fifteen drinks in the entirety of 2022, for the year.  So this year I am a 5/10 on the risk chart — average for my age.  I am going to keep at it and hope I can be a 4 next year.  If Jennie and I become parents — which is likely — well, I want and need to be healthy and around for her and a kiddo.  I don’t miss the drinking, thank god, I am not a dry drunk.  All of the other blood results were great — really great — no other issues except that my liver has some elevated levels of an enzyme that indicates it is being stressed.  The stressor, probably, is the statin for cholesterol — this is unfortunate because if get off the statin, my cholesterol goes up again.

Pick your poison, choose your adventure, all doors lead to death.