If you haven't figured it out from my first three columns, I'm kind of a mess. Allow me to list some corroborating evidence from the past week or two: I've been walking around like an electrocuted caveman because I can't find the motivation to schlep to Davis to get my hair cut or to trim a beard described as "pubic hair-esque" by a friend (who politely added that he was pointing this out "for my own good"). I spilled lemonade all over my phone. I overslept a few times and attended my morning classes shower-less (sorry, people who sit near me in French). According to my roommate, I've been talking to myself and punching the air with manic fervor in my sleep. At one point I may or may not have vented my accumulated frustration by eating an entire box of cereal.
I can't help but think that Jason Schwartzman would make the same situations seem delightful. On the new HBO comedy "Bored to Death," Schwartzman, as a neurotic Brooklyn-based writer/unlicensed private detective named Jonathan Ames (though Schwartzman is basically playing a heightened version of his own public persona), somehow makes awkward bumbling seem adorable and hilarious. I just make it seem awkward.
So what's Schartzman's secret? If I analyze and dissect some of the traits that he, Ames and I possess, maybe I'll be able to get at the heart of why I can't quite pull off inelegance like they can.
Let's start with Ames — or, rather, "Ames," as the show's creator is also named Jonathan Ames (metaphysical mind-trip alert). Like "Ames," I enjoy writing and hope I'm decent at it. But "Ames" is supposedly brilliant, if slightly writer's-block-prone. In contrast, I resort to excessive and inappropriate parentheses usage (to distract from… oops, doing it again) to distract from my lack of wit.
"Ames" lives in the hipster Mecca of Brooklyn, where I would likely only fit in if my weight dropped in proportion to a significant increase in coolness (though I'm an Animal Collective fan and I'm wearing plaid in the picture above this column, so maybe I wouldn't be burned at the stake by the starving artists).
To cure his boredom, "Ames" solicits clients for his private detective service via Craigslist and traverses the five boroughs clumsily on the tail of cheating boyfriends while wearing crisp blue button-downs and perfectly tailored tweed suits. I don't have the energy to throw on more than a North Face jacket, athletic shorts that have never seen the inside of a gym and a pair of beaten-up, untied loafers before woozily heading out the door.
On the plus side, I'm a bit of a detective, too. I often solve mysteries, like why my room smells so bad (answer: moldy bread and a habit of forgetting to take my Lactaid), and the perplexing, as-yet-unsolved case of why I can never catch the Joey before it drives away.
"Ames" is a bit of an alcoholic, with his poison of choice being white wine in a coffee mug. I'm only 18, so, of course, I don't drink. On a totally, completely unrelated note, shout-out to my mom and all of the friends that she's probably already forwarded this to.
On to Schwartzman, whom I've admired since I saw "Rushmore" (1998) years ago: Like Schwartzman, I'm a native Angeleno. The similarities pretty much end there. For example, aside from the characteristics he seems to share with "Ames" — namely a sharp intellect, intense earnestness and perfect mix of awkwardness and utter hipness — Schwartzman has serious musical chops. His solo project, Coconut Records, has released two albums of simple, witty tunes. He even wrote and recorded the "Bored to Death" theme song. Then there's me, who gave up piano lessons and has a singing voice oft compared to the noise a feral animal makes while dying slowly and horribly.
Also, Schwartzman's tight with Wes Anderson and his uncle is Francis Ford Coppola. So there's that. Oh, and his hair is way better than mine, and the whole thing about him being a really famous, talented actor is a pretty significant difference too.
Maybe the jealousy I feel toward "Ames" and Schwartzman is a result of crafty, purposeful manipulation on the part of the "Bored to Death" writers — they've fashioned a character with enough relatable qualities to appeal to a broad base who also conveys an air of the unattainable that keeps viewers intrigued. There's just enough of a glimmer of similarity between my own anxiety and neuroses and those of Schwartzman and his character to give me hope, but a few key differences shut the door squarely in my face — which reminds me that I recently had a door shut, supposedly inadvertently, in my face. Go figure.
If I ever get a chance to talk to Schwartzman, I plan on picking his brain to learn the tricks of the awesomeness trade. The chances of me not drowning in my own sweat in the event of this occurring, however, are slim. As a reference point, the one time I've ever seen him in person was at a movie screening in Los Angeles this past summer, where we sat in the same row. Wracked with nerves, I kicked and spilled my Diet Coke. My thoughts at that moment: Jason Schwartzman would have made this look so cool.
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Derek Schlom is a freshman who has not yet declared a major. He can be reached at Derek.Schlom@tufts.edu.
