On Ricky Gervais…
If I could take a personal moment real quick, I would like to share with you my endearing, fanatical, and creepy appreciation of the man that is Ricky Gervais.
I mean just look at this…
DVD covers aside, it is difficult to explain the nature of my…
hmm… I may need some whiskey.
Better.
WIthout having the luxury of a doctor’s prognosis, I think it is safe to say that last year, I had some kind of break down. I will not get into specifics, but it was bad. It lasted for near 9 months, and I’m still feeling the ramifications of the crazy way in which I acted and the backwards course I set my mind to ride. It was a time when I could not be around or talk to anyone. It is a lost year of my life.
There were three constants. Okay there were more, now that I think of it, but I’m trying to be dramatic and meaningful here, and I don’t think you can do that by saying, “uh so, there were like, around 13 or 14 constants…ish.”
There were three constants.
1. Whiskey. Mother nature’s backwash.
2. Crossword puzzles. The only thing that quieted my silly head. I’m amazing at them now. In your face.
3. Ricky Gervais.
I just checked my iTunes and I have 2.96 gigs, that’s 2.7 days if you’re counting, of both The Ricky Gervais Show, which was the podcast, as well as the XFM radio london show that he hosted, along with Stephen Merchant and Karl pilkington.
Last year I listened to only those 2.96 gigs on repeat for months.
True true.
I have specific memories of where I was during each part of those mp3 files. That is not a lie. I’m not calling it a breakdown to denote that I was in a state of good mental health.
I hate to take this a step even further away from Mr. Gervais, but let’s away.
From 12 to 21 or 22, I taped every episode of the Simpsons that I could. At the height of my empire, I believe I had somewhere in the vicinity of 15 or 16 VHS tapes filled. I not only taped them, I watched them near every night as I went to bed. They were a constant companion of mine. They were something to put on in the background and continue my meteoric rise to guitar playing professional. Those tapes were something to get lost in, if my sensitive little heart was getting all crushed. In a word, I would call The Simpsons akin to a security blanket. I had a fine childhood. My dad’s name is Guy.
But anyone who knows me will certainly agree that I have had my ups and downs. And although I rarely needed that security blanket of the Simpsons. I was so glad it existed just to sing a lullaby of hilarity to my hyper, hyper mind.
Look, I’m classically uninterested in any sort of physical comfort. I still sleep on a couch regularly. I love dressing up and I will wear that goddam tie all night. You should see this joke of a computer chair. And don’t forget the holes in the soles of my boots that I only recently stopped wearing every day….
All my socks were getting holes in them.
And so one of the things I treasure as a luxury is mental comfort. A fluffy chinchilla down micro fiber high thread count memory foam slanket that I wrap my insane little mind up as if it were a straight jacket.
That rhymed.
And last year I needed a security blanket so bad. So bad. I needed something that would turn everything that filled my head into white noise. It was like asking for something to ignore a nearby space launch. “Would you like a magazine to read during your nonanesthetic surgery…”
Enter RIcky Gervais.
Of course, he is responsible for this.
As much as I hate most television shows the world spits out, to be explored in an upcoming post, that is how much I love The Office. It is so close to perfection.
It was my adoration of this show that took me to listening to his podcasts and then finding the old radio shows and blah blah blah.
So, lets briefly discuss why I love this man. Straightly.
I don’t feel at all presumptuous at saying that I genuinely have an understanding of what kind of person he is. Jesus, you listen to months of those radio shows that span years of his life and you see a remarkable range of emotions, and the pieces aren’t that hard to put together. I’m not an idiot, however, and i will in no way claim to know the man.
Regardless, the person that comes forth in all his public media is one of almost pure childlike wonder and impulse. Impatient, impetuous, attention grabbing, and annoyed and he knows it. He delights in it. But in a way that doesn’t hurt anyone, except maybe Karl’s head. He is blunt, unapologetic, and from what I can tell, devoid of malice. Man, I sound crazy right here, boy. But I mean it.
If there is one thing that made me smile in all those months last year, it was his explosive, uncontained laughter.
Like that in my ipod headphones.
Call me ridiculous, but I just love someone have a good loud time. I’ve never been one to wish doom on those celebratory few when i am having a bad day. And I’ve also never been one to listen to sad music when I am feeling down. So, the best possible thing that I could listen to for those utterly unmentionable months was someone constantly and joyfully laughing in my head. I can’t say that it made me any better, but it is so hard to think of what i would’ve done without it.
Honestly.
I truly believe that he is a good person and it is slightly heartbreaking to know that I will never get to be best friends with him. And I’m probably completely wrong about my estimation of him. For better or for worse, he will always have a soft spot in my heart.
And that is the end of my really misguided, almost incomprehensible, attempt at explaining how a celebrity helped me through a bad time in my life. Goddam, that was stupid. I feel so 14 years old and BORED. If there was an emoticon for a disappointed frown, I would still not use an emoticon.
Ah well. I heart you Ricky Gervais. And thank you for being in the public eye enough for me to delusionally construct a viable, caring persona for you. Thanks for being a twenty something’s stuffed animal.
p.s. An unintended consequence of my months of solitude in a vacuum of Britishisms is that I developed, and to some degree still have, a slightly English affectedness to my speech. I definitely heard English people talk to me more than I spoke to others, so it was certainly some really lame form of immersive conditioning. It was honestly embarrassing. Thank god I have stopped unwittingly saying “oi”. Ugh. What a dumbass.
p.p.s. I swear next post I will start hating on things again. This positive shit just makes me hate myself.
p.p.p.s. Not really. I’m incredible.
