the lost man chronicles
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Anonymity vs. Success (res ipsa loquitur)
Today, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I present to you The Case Against Success.
The following evidence is omnia praesumuntur contra spoliatorem, as well as (insert another impressive Latin term here). For although success may smell sweet to some, the problem is—pecunia non olet (money does not smell).
Anyway, what we have here is a complete lack of respect for many things that we take for granted as ordinary folk with less than glamorous lives.
So, I thought it would be best to list, in no particular order, those things that I fear might inconvenience the life of the poor and anonymous should I suddenly become rich and famous.
For one should always remember while basking in the sun that it can burn—and that we must not judge our success by what we gained, but what we had to forfeit in return.
· The covetous and curious will be compelled to follow the course of the trails I’ve left behind, in the wake of exercising all my virtues.
· I’ll be tired all the time and then in the end, tried posthumously for the irrational rime of my reasoning.
· I’ll be pressured and persuaded into exploiting the public’s gullibility by producing and participating in schlock I really have no talent for: children’s books, exercise videos, albums of duets, promoting appliances, televised gold tournaments, and telethons…
· Against my better judgment, I’ll be convinced to run for office…and worse of all—win.
· I’ll have to start wearing frumpy clothes, baseball caps and sunglasses just to take a lonely walk outside.
· I’ll no longer be able to hide behind my precious anonymity.
· I’ll be subject to an incessant barrage of inane, prying, privacy-defying questions.
· Amity will become an exercise in who’s with whom: who should I best be seen with, who will get me the next best offer, who might be the best false friend to profit from.
· Dumpster-divers and drive-byers on bulk days will likely dig in and have their sordid way with me.
· I will have to make appearances on behalf of causes I could care less about, all in the name of love.
· I will always have to think twice about every vice, I mean virtue, that I once never really ever thought about.
· Web sites will pop-up giving the scoop, scooping the poop, purporting to know something down-n-dirty about me.
· I will be spotted everywhere and half-naked photos of me will spread across the shameless centerfolds of tabloids.
· Old friends will find me.
· I’ll have to retain a flack and a spin doctor, a bean counter, crafty counsel (redundant?) to charge libel, a valet to dress me in all the designer garb I can no longer eschew, and a personal trainer to yell at me to do all those things I might not otherwise do on my own.
· Eventually I’m liable to be written up as a washed-up, worn out, and down-and-out, paper-thin, thick-skinned has-been. (crinkle-crinkle, grumble-grumble)
· I’ll end up tipping over on the wrong side of the celebrity imbalance. Giving into award ceremonies, public appearances and an always-on pretension—and giving up the simple pleasures of solitude, serenity and the lonely throes of creation.
· There will be too many vittles to tempt me by—semper fidelis has never been my best suit.
· And of course, inevitably someone will question my “integrity.” Oh, how I’d hate to waste time with that moot debate.“I couldn't wait for success...
so I went ahead without it.”
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