Tortured metaphor alert: One of these three dreams is a MiniDisc player
Thoughts/FEELINGS, peculiar music, and actions to improve our world, from Dave Maher.
Legit, this still looks so cool to me
If you had told high-school me that, at age 36, I would have appeared on ZERO late-night couches and never owned a MiniDisc player, I would ask why you approached me to crush such specific dreams.
I never had a MiniDisc player, but I wanted one. It was the cutting edge of ’90s music tech, and the MiniDiscs themselves were cool-looking little cartridges that seemed fun to collect.
Turns out I was the only one who thought so. A lot of people never had a MiniDisc player because they became obsolete in a few years. Discmans didn’t fade, and quickly, iPods and iPhones were ubiquitous.
I also wanted to be famous. It’s embarrassing (though I suspect fairly common), but I really did. Not Kardashian famous. Colbert famous.
I wanted to appear on talk shows, get fawning features in prestigious magazines, and be THE name all my peers threw out when asked, “Who is the poet/writer/music journalist/actor/comedian/independent writer-performer/whatever-my-specific-dream-was-at-the-time you most admire?”
I dove into comedy in earnest after college, but for my whole 20s, this Fame Dream never drove me to actually do much. I’d get excited to do improv shows where there were rumors that an assistant to an assistant to someone in Development at ABC Family would be in the audience, but I didn’t do the kind of dogged self-advocacy I now know is necessary for a career in the arts.
The Fame Dream wasn’t specific. It was just a constant, unconscious assumption humming in the background of my life: My art and existence were not special or even real if I didn’t achieve an unspecified (and therefore unachievable!) level of public attention.
The specific incarnation of the Fame Dream was “be on TV.” I saw my friends do it, and there were a bunch of collectible little trophies that went along with it: getting staffed in a writers room, guest appearances on shows, getting cast as a main character, development deals. Shiny MiniDisc shit!
The TV Dream was authentic for me at one time, but it’s not anymore. I’m not opposed to it (please don’t forward this to my acting agents!), and I’ve even done it (in very specific circumstances). I’m just not actively pursuing it. I think I’ve shared this here before, but having a fan in Edinburgh make a t-shirt out of one of my shows led to my current “t-shirts over TV” mantra.
My authentic dream now is the Art Dream. It’s creating a body of work I love full of live shows, podcasts, writing, and, you know, other stuff (I’m open!). It’s the dream that seeks direct connection with fans, favors process over product, and acknowledges what’s at stake is not some far-off hope of “enough” attention but whether or not I find fulfillment in this mist of a life I’m actually living.
Obviously, I’m torturing a metaphor here (love a good tortured metaphor). But so far I’ve mentioned three dreams, the Fame Dream, the TV Dream, and the Art Dream. Which one is the MiniDisc player, exactly? What is a MiniDisc player, metaphorically? You know, that age-old philosophical question.
A MiniDisc player is a dead end. It’s a promising-seeming development that gets eclipsed by better ideas pretty quickly. It’s a relic of the past masquerading as a harbinger of the future. It’s nifty, it’s fun, it’s kind of beautiful in its way, but it’s not to be trusted. It’s to be let go.
I think it’s the TV Dream that’s my MiniDisc player, but it’s also all the toxic elements of the Fame Dream that lead to me calling myself a quitter and a coward if I don’t pursue the TV Dream. But I still have hopes that I can strip the Fame Dream for parts to feed the tenacity I need to pursue the Art Dream.
The crux of all this is I feel a particular image of success crumbling. It’s eroding partially due to forces beyond my control, like aging, and admitting that is hard and sad (I know I’m not old, but I’ve certainly aged out of being a wunderkind).
But it’s also cracking because I’m outgrowing it. I’ve found deep fulfillment in making the comedy I want to make and connecting to my audience one by one. You don’t need a MiniDisc player to listen to music.
This Week’s “This Is Your Afterlife”
Kimberly Michelle Vaughn (actor, writer, Second City alum) is my guest on Episode 10 (mislabeled Episode 9!). I can’t hype this episode enough. It’s the best possible intro to the show: so-so-so funny (I feel zero arrogance claiming this because it is all her, or, you know, like 98.5% her), then super intense (just a heads up, there’s some abortion talk), and somehow ends with the perfect callback.
There will also be some bonus content available from this episode in the coming weeks (which is a teaser for something much bigger if you read between the lines).
Wamp Wamp (What to Do)
Start your “go bag” brainstorming. I just finished Parable of the Sower (great!), and I can’t believe this year has me thinking like a prepper, but here we are. I say this as opposed to “VOTE” because I take voting as an absolute-bare-minimum thing we’re all already doing, and I’m not sure I believe in my ability to convince someone who’s not voting to vote. Maybe I should put more effort into promoting voting. I’m willing to consider it!
But the reason I suggest packing a “go bag” in your mind as a thought experiment is this: I have pretty much zero trust in systems. That was the case before, and 2020 cemented it. BUT I do believe in people.
Even in the worst-case scenarios, people will take care of each other, but it means we’re going to have to be honest about the world around us. Familiarize yourself with the concept of mutual aid, look at Belarus, and realize worst-case-scenario thinking is actually fairly realistic.
Facing the darkness is different than giving in to it.
Celebrate. We got a late donation to Mask Oakland, which brings our total raised for them to $25. We also added an extra $10 to Elijah McClain’s GoFundMe.
Donate to Healing for Louisville, a Movement for Black Lives-promoted fund run by Reparations Roundtable, a group of grassroots organizers using direct giving to assist the people most oppressed by systemic racism.
It’s no surprise Breonna Taylor’s murderers were not held accountable by the system that supports them. It’s tragic they won’t face consequences that bring real healing to Louisville and the country. But we can practice the justice the powerful don’t.
I donated $15. Reply with what you donate, and I’ll post our total next week!
May I Play You a Sound?
A new Deftones album came out Friday, and by now you might know they’ve been redeemed as the one nu-metal band that was never really nu-metal and are critically approved and actually kinda hip, especially among mid-30s indie white dudes like me.
Honestly, I do not care about the new album. I listened once and was very “meh”-ed. BUT I love the Deftones, and I figure now is a great time to recommend the best of them.
“Change (In the House of Flies)” was my first favorite song of theirs, and the “ch-aa-aaa-eeenge” of the chorus feels like a triumphant ascension to heaven. It’s from White Pony, their big classic album.
Next is “Cherry Waves” from Saturday Night Wrist, the album of theirs that gets the least shine, which is weird to me. Granted, it’s the one that came out as I was getting into them, but I don’t think it’s nostalgia that makes about five songs from the record rank as Deftones all-timers.
“Cherry Waves” is the best of them, my favorite Deftones song, and probably a top 60 song of all time for me. The lyrics are especially California and great.
If, like, you,
DM
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Who is Dave Maher?
I’m a writer/performer and comedian who creates one-man shows that combine standup, theater, improvisation, storytelling, and performance art. I also teach, act, and do voiceover. I've appeared on/at/with This American Life, the Edinburgh Fringe, Steppenwolf Theatre, the Annoyance Theatre, and the Neo-Futurists, and I used to write for Pitchfork.