The other day I was listening to a podcast with Hollwood director Jason Reitman. He recently won a golden globe for his screenplay for ‘Up in the Air’, which M and I saw and both enjoyed greatly. He also directed ‘Juno’ (we liked that as well) and ‘Thank You For Smoking’ (I have not seen that one yet). He is also the son of famous and mega successful producer/writer/director Ivan Reitman. On the surface it seems like this guy should be a monumental tool. He joked that he was so at ease in the Beverly Hilton because he’d been to so many Bar Mitzvahs there. Boo Hoo. Growing up in Beverly Hills is so hard to do. He talked about how he had every privilege and consideration, never had to worry about where his next dollar was coming from, etc. But he also discussed how difficult it was for him once he decided he wanted to be a director. Being the son of an already successful director, one would think that daddy could pull some strings and get him some easy work. This might work in some slacktastic world like politics or law, where there seems to be a plethora of legacy country club overpaid hacks, but in other professions you have to have some actual talent and being a relation of someone famous can be a hinderance. I am sure Michael Jordan’s sons get guarded extra hard by defenders who want to say they shut down MJ’s kid and he sucks. Being the scion of a great talent means you’re always going to be compared to them and not your actual peers. The point it, Jason Reitman told a very sad tale about how no one wanted to work with him and he got his start with lots of commercials and small Sundance-type films. Now he’s an award winning director, working with A-list stars and his movies and scripts get tons of critical buzz. And he’s 32 years old. WHAT? Come on. When I heard that, I wanted to toss the iphone off the train. 32? (it must run the family – Ivan Reitman’s Animal House came out when he was 32. Since then it’s been Meatballs, Stripes, Ghostbusters - all good ones – ending with My Super ex Girlfriend in 2006 at the ripe ol age of 60). I’m 32 and I have no industry awards to my name. I don’t even know what awards my industry gives out. I know I’m the same age as Tom Brady and he has 3 superbowl rings and an MVP award. But most pro athletes are finished by age 30, and I didn’t exactly live at the gym during my teens and 20s, so I am not feeling any pain there. And at least I won’t limp when I’m 50. Most musicians blow up well before their 30s. If you’re trying to make pop music in your 30s, forget it. I can’t even sing Happy Birthday, so I don’t allocate and shelf space to missing Grammy’s. Plus, the really legendary musicians are dead by 27 and I’m way past that. And John Mayer really is a douche.
I’m not just saying that. Pardon the sidebar, but he was in the NYTimes, talking about his watch collection. I’m a big fan of watches and know a lot about them. From what they showed, I was unimpressed. There’s one pretty boring Patek Phillipe he owns, it has a bunch of diamonds on it, and he’s up there bragging about how unique and spectacular it is. There are a hundred similar looking pieces out there. “I have a Patek Philippe 5971 — platinum perpetual calendar, diamond baguettes on the bezel. I know it to be the most beautiful watch with diamonds”. Patek Phillipe is the Rolls Royce is watches, don’t get me wrong. But it’s expected for a rich guy to own one. I would never expect a ‘car guy’ to actually drive a Rolls or Bentley. Give me something interesting, something rare, exceptional. It’s the default ‘I have a ton of cash’ toy with a shiny label. Everyone knows Rolex and Patek Phillipe, Rolls Royce and Ferrari. Give me a Richard Mille or HD3 for a watch, give a Koenigsegg or Gumpert Apollo for a car. I want something that no one I ever meet will know anything about. Ok Rant over.
Van Gogh was pretty much washed up by 32. Of course he was insane and killed himself at 37, but that’s not an excuse. It’s well documented that math freaks do their best work by their early 20s. If you’re not a certifiable math celebrity by 28, get a new line of work. So here I am, 6 months from being 33 and I don’t have the great lifetime accomplishment anywhere on my horizon. I know everyone thinks, deep down, when that look in that mirror every day, scratching their armpit, that they are above average. I hate to break the news, but that’s mathematically impossible. At least half of us are below average. There are 3 billion people below average. Of course there are 3 billion above average as well. Maybe I am one of them? The comic book industry makes a lot of money off the premise that hidden deep inside ever cellar dwelling pale skinned geek is a super power just waiting to reveal itself. I’m not holding out hope for my flying abilities to one day just appear.
In the middle of a segment about how directors have their most creative period, Reitman had the courtesy to mention that for directors, that creative burst tends to come in their late 30s and early 40s. He’s in his peak now because he started earlier. So maybe my peak is just about to happen? I’m worried that I peaked sometime in 2005, right about the time I was crushing Madden and tearing up the streets of Grand Theft Auto in record style. Playstation2 could have been my big moment and I just let it fly by. Actors have the luxury of having extended peaks, because they get to grow with the roles they are offered. Maybe you can’t pull off the grizzled Army General when you’re 23, but you have the young soldier role. For non-actors, maybe there isn’t a peak? When I think of a peak, I automatically assume that’s when you’re making the most money. From what I can tell, for white men, that’s when you’re 55 with a nice set of silver temples and Seacrest-white teeth. At that point, you’re in charge of something, playing a lot of golf and cashing checks with all sorts of commas. Creatively though, I bet these codgers best days are way behind them. I don’t know what the value of the old guy is, except to get along with the old guys at the top of the other businesses they deal with and call in accumulated favors for their own benefit. They rely on young people who want to work 80 hours a week to do the real work. So maybe I have another 23 years to go until I hit that peak? My great invention hasn’t flickered in the brain yet, the great novel sits cobwebbed and unwritten, the political career ended sometime in 1997; the modeling days at about the same time. On the flip side, street criminal has definitely passed me by. I think the peak age for that is somewhere in the teens or 20s. By 32 you’re dead or in jail. Hipster is also long gone. 32 year olds serving coffee with skinny jeans and Amish beards are straight losers. Good thing, too. Beards and I do not get along.
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