Obviously, before I typed in the title of this post, I knew it to be incorrect. Things go right all the time. You cross the street, a Bentley driven by someone who may or may not be coked-out at the moment emphatically does not run you over, and something has gone right. It’s just exhausting to constantly keep track of what you should feel grateful for.
So when I say “Nothing ever goes right,” what I really mean is, “lots of little things go right, and a few big things go right as well, but then there are big things that go STRAIGHT TO HELLLLLLL, and spoil the picture.”
And when I say “spoil the picture,” what I really mean is, “they make a damn fine picture. If by picture you mean ‘motion picture.’ As in – ‘movie.’ As in – ‘my life is a plot that may or may not win some future version of the Weinstein brothers a few Oscars, and cause a number of protracted dinner-time arguments in upper-middle class homes, the participants of the arguments merely using my story as a way to subtly get at the horrific dissatisfaction they feel when they review their relatively pampered lives, too exhausted, once again, to keep track of what they should be grateful for.”
Everything comes around full circle!
All the world is not a stage. All the world is like Edgar Allen Poe’s Maelström. Well, the bathtub version, anyway.
You know, the bottom line is: I’d rather write movies than live in them, but nobody’s ever asked me for my opinion in the matter. It’s rude.