Basically Babyface

You know when you have a thing that you do.

You may not do it everyday, but it's definitely a habit within the situational confines of a life event that you undertake with some regularity. It isn't changing the world, but you can for sure say you do it out of practical necessity for a possibly non-essential pastime. Then all of a sudden some blogger or hip magazine gets their hands on the practice, coins a jaunty little term to describe it, and all of a sudden, bam!
Everyone's "twerking."

Well, that's how I feel about the whole "binge-viewing" thing.

I WAS DOING THAT FIRST, FOOLS!

Except I didn't call it binge viewing or even think to put a name to it, because when you spend 36 hours at a time in your bed, you categorize things in binary form: 1. Makes me want to kill myself 2. Makes me want to hold off on killing myself until I see how this story arc plays out.
That's what I mean.

Hopping back into the NY employment world during the Great Depression, Part Deux wasn't really a blast for me, but armed with the sickest friends, family and self-help books I could get my hands on (It's not your fault..) I actually had a pretty clear head about doing what I needed to do while getting on my feet, without any real ego about it all. Not my fault.
I was prepared to start at the bottom. I was prepared to have a 23 year old boss telling me how to speak to people over the phone about Planned Parenthood (this bitch..). I was all set with taking a half hour lunch break during the course of a 9 hour working day. I was handling it all beautifully and quite proud of how much my ego wasn't bruised by it all. On the contrary, I felt like one of the people. Most capable Americans struggle daily to make ends meet, and who did I think I was that I could get out of paying my dues? Your middle-class upbringing is not bequeathed to you for life. Hike up your skirt, Shirley, and get a little dirty. Yeah I got this. And I did. Right up until I got fired.

--

Which brings me back to my bed and my binge-watching.

So I'm block watching 5 episodes of "Parks & Rec." In my parallel life, I'm Leslie Knope. Because I actually am like that in my work life. But that doesn't make her my favorite character. I'm a Tom and Donna fan. (Treat yo'self 2011!!). Not because they're of color, but because they are probably the least self-conscious characters on the show. Yet aren't any more or less idiotic than any of the other characters. Which goes to prove the old adage your mom told you growing up: be yourself!  Oh wait, and Andy, even though he married that jerk, April and she really grinds my gears. (Dear TVGuide Magazine..)

The episode that spoke to me was a two-parter, beginning with the episode entitled "Trouble in Swagadise."
Tom has a business called Rent-A-Swag. It's a company where you can rent expensive designer clothes instead of purchasing them, and it had become quite successful. Tom's best friend is a manchild, R&B bro named Jean-Ralphio who speaks a mix of hip-hop slang and Euro Trashanese. Tom had a relationship with Jean-Ralphio's sister Mona-Lisa and when their very successful father found out, thinking that his baby girl was a chaste princess, he sued Tom for everything he had, which was basically his stake in Rent-A-Swag. With me so far?
As he's prematurely lamenting his failure as a businessman, Jean-Ralphio gives him a pep talk.

Tom: Maybe I should just throw in the towel. Your dad'll destroy me, I'll be left with nothing. I thought I was a better looking version of Mark Zuckerberg. Turns out I'm just a better looking version of the Winklevoss twins

Jean-Ralphio: First of all, unbelievable analogy. Second of all, what are you talking about man? You're Tommy Haverford, you're an idea man. When Babyface was your age he hadn't even signed Toni Braxton yet, let alone Usher.

Tom: You're right. I mean, I'm basically Babyface.

Jean-Ralphio: You're basically Babyface!

That was the moment it resonated. We don't all peak at 28 (God, who'd want to. Good luck with that 60 year slow downward plummet to the middle). And occasionally you fuck up. You take the wrong job, trust the wrong people, forget to take your anti-psychotics, whatever.
Point being, you find that comfort in your skin after you've been through the worst that life can give you and come out on the other side alive. Then you realize that you, like countless others before you and more to come are all, basically, Babyface.

I still binge watch shows, but I also now binge internet search for abandoned buildings to visit on that cross country trip I will take someday. Hey, it's my thing. Baby(face) steps.