So here’s the thing, guys. I’ve had a hell of a year so far. There’s been some awesomely good times, and a few too many colossally bad ones. But guess what? So has everyone. America has gone berserk. We have an orange Megalomaniac trying to homogenize the country, forcing out the Muslims and the Mexicans, denying women’s rights, and trying to align himself with “the gays” by announcing they should all be packing handguns while at nightclubs. Even the NRA raised an eyebrow at that one. The Democrats sing “we shall overcome” for gun-control reform while the Republicans break for a 11 day recess. We have alligators drowning toddlers, the Zika virus and national icons dropping like flies. The world has gone berserk. Displaced people desperately flee by the millions, and there seems to be no end to the beheadings, fear-mongering fanatics, and heart ache worldwide. Sometimes I think about how great life would be if I were a cow. Chewing grass, adding to the earth’s carbon count one fart at a time… Not a care in the world until the moment I end up at as an overpriced burger on the Upper West side cafe. I think that maybe we are all depressed and anxious because we just know too much now. Science and technology has transformed our world to such an extent that maybe we’re too mired in the privilege of knowledge. Where has the magic gone? The curiosity? We all know way too damn much about a lot of things that are not terribly important and way too little about really big things that are actually important. Like what life is like for someone else. Someone not like me, not like you. Who’s been spoon-fed a different ideology. Or perhaps came to it on their own… imagine that?! Maybe life gets boring when you can google anything you ever needed to know and have all that information in nanoseconds. Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m bored. Or boring. Or maybe this is just what getter older is about. I’ve been around for awhile now and it’s true: life is hard. It can be brutally disappointing and painful. So if you’re not anxious or at least marginally depressed, we definitely do not need to hang out. I may no longer be filled with hope, but I still crave the magic. Those moments where something moves me so deeply I suddenly understand life differently. In a way I can’t google. Or post. I can only experience. Like when you go stand in front of a Picasso and you don’t take a picture of it– or a picture of yourself with the Picasso- but you just experience what it’s like to be there with that work of Art. To take it in. I find that magic in Art. In the theatre. In film, in novels, in music. So while I stand in the mire of my own existentialist ennui, yearning for cow-dom, I’m also grateful for some of the magic I have been given so far this year. The magic I have seen and shared. It has not been in the places I expected it to be- but other places entirely. And that, in it of itself, is something— is it not?