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Cameron McCarthy used to be one of my favorite authors, until I stopped having favorite authors. I don't believe in having favorite authors anymore.

I remember when the movie True Grit came out. Kim Darby had spunk, baby, real spunk, so I wanted to be her. Or maybe I just had a thing for older men. She stood her own with John Wayne, but of course by this time he was "the old retarded-acting bloated John Wayne". That was before I read Dog of the South and way before Blood Meridian, the novel that first made me appreciate civilization and all its fake niceties. Not to mention All the Pretty Horses. What a great title. What a great book.

I saw Elizabethtown. If I had favorite movie-makers Cameron Crowe would be one, not because of his cinematic artistry, but for his humanity, his ability to see through the bullshit of celebrity and cut to real people. The "I am a golden god!" moment in Almost Famous recreated a feeling of inclusion and oneness that actually existed in the 60's and (dare I say) 70's? I still search for those moments, although hope grows slim, brothers and sisters. Mostly I am overtaken with cynicism and sadness at the selling-out of altruism. ("Yea, well you are looking at the past through rose-colored glasses. Wake up, dreamer.")

There were some good moments in Elizabethtown. I can relate to Susan Sarandon's character manically determined to learn to cook, fix the car and take tap-dancing lessons at that particular moment in her life. And it had that Cameron Crowe serendipity-chance-meetings-life-still-holds-surprises-60's-feel, but it was, unfortunately, mixed with "Sweet Home Alabama" this time. Kentucky, that is. A big dose of "sentimental downhome we love you like family even with your flaws" Kentucky.

Am I rambling or does this make sense? Or does it matter? Whatever. I have been adjusting to "my new life" for four weeks now, and the jury is still out on whether the change will ultimately be an improvement and whether it matters one way or the other. Faced with traditional wisdom ("Get out and meet people!, get together with someone at least once a week!, join a book club! (horrors!)" I nod my head and say, "Good idea! Yes. I'll do it!", but of course I'm lying. I would need something that I could "join" while standing outside of it, something more interesting, something layered that creates a more involved story-line. And there would be others, perhaps, also standing on the periphery to provide new twists on meaningful relationships. Perhaps a Fight Club scenario. Join a few self-help groups. Fulfull my nihilistic tendencies. Which reminds me that if I had favorite authors, which I don't, Chuck Palahniuk would be on the list.

Does this mean that I still have hope for people, relationships, underground movements? That somewhere down deep I believe that people aren't all selfish assholes who would kill for a fucking Sidekick? I search for a heart of gold. A guru who isn't screwing his disciples. A person who will rise up and tell the truth. Where the hell is the Age of Aquarius? Let's all hold hands on the mountain with the indian who has a single tear running down his cheek. Oh fuck it. Let's go smoke some weed and roll on the ground laughing.