Whatever Works

I’m being stood up. Somehow my boyfriend, who lives 1,179 miles away, still manages to stand me up. It’s merely one piece to an intricate, top-secret strategy I concocted to make my life as difficult as possible. Right now, simplicity is a faint blip in the distance. I scoff at its threat of rapid insurgence.

Where, oh, where did this penchant for the chaotic come from? I blame my mother and her love for auteur Woody Allen, which of course resulted in mine. Thanks, Mom. I can now impress old people with my love of Manhattan and Hannah and Her Sisters, but I have developed an unstoppable connection with neurotic Jewish men. However affable and positive I may be, I’m sucker for their cynicism and dry wit.

Either way, this introduction presented me with “The Career”… to tell stories. Whether it’s dinner with a friend or my millionth attempt at a short narrative about the housing market rebounding, I knew, before I really knew, that I wanted to tell stories, especially ones that make people laugh. It’s just my luck that my inspiration would be a man who leaves the original Angelina Jolie for his adopted daughter.

Faults abound, but I am a dedicated Woody Allen supporter. I can’t get enough. Even when I think he’s irritated me to the point of no return (Match Point), I’m still back for more. For that very reason I found myself watching Whatever Works yesterday. Larry David plays a man, who marries this woman named Jessica. She is on paper his perfect match. Unfortunately that is not the secret to a successful marriage. Love, he suggests quite emphatically, makes absolutely no sense. Perhaps what seems wrong is really just right. In classic Allen fashion he gives his audience more than entertainment. He shares his perspective through his unwavering prophets:

Whatever love you can get and give, whatever happiness you can filch or provide, every temporary measure of grace, whatever works. And don’t kid yourself, it’s by no means up to human ingenuity, a bigger part of your existence is luck than you like to admit.

Amen, Mr. Allen via Larry David. I’m actually quite thankful that you and my mother keep me thinking… always.



Filed under for fun, gratitude, grief, loss, mother, parent, Trauma to Art (T2A)

4 responses to “Whatever Works

  1. This post is reminding me of the Netflix sleeve marked “Whatever Works” that has been collecting dust on my television for 2 months now. I need to fix that. And Woody Allen is a fantastic, creepy man.

    • I know, Rashad! I ignored my Netflix instant queue suggestion for what seems like years. How was I to know it was really divine intervention? Plus it’s only 90 minutes. You can’t go wrong.

  2. Mindy

    You and I are more alike than I think even we (fond as we are of being kindred spirits) care to admit.

    • Does that mean we’re going to blow this town? I think we need an adventurous exploration through America’s most depressed towns… that way the beer will be cheap and the anecdotes will be flowin’ fo sho.

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