Every once in a while, I go down a memory lane trip regarding my beloved mother. Today was such a journey. I sat here and remembered how many years ago my mom used to play Carly Simon’s song “You’re so Vain” with much heart and zest. She loved the song and got a kick out of the zinger that Carly threw out there. Me, I never really cared for the song. Yet, today while hopping along memory lane, I but believe that the song may resonate with many little bits of life. I mean, don’t we all know that someone that is that vain? Don’t we all know that someone (or two) who does think everything is about them?
You’re so vain
You probably think this song is about you
You’re so vain, you’re so vain
One of the funniest things that has happened is when you are whispering to another person about the latest Sex in the City episode (well, that would have been ages ago) and a person nearby truly believes that you are whispering about them instead of the television episode. I am truly tickled by such paranoia. Or is it vanity? Or is it vanity laced with paranoia?
Supposedly, Carly Simon’s song is about Warren Beatty. But we are not 100% sure on that. However, Carly Simon offered the identity of the so-called vain person to the highest bidder in a charity auction. Or was it that she offered a letter in the name. And that letter was “E”. Anyway, regardless of whether the song is about Warren, which is the widely held belief, the true identity barely matters. First off, it is already widely decided that it is Warren. Perception can make reality. He was also known for being vain. Second, as a writer, we know that often times our fictional characters are compilations of a multitude of people. We often Frankenstein our creations. Third, even when your whispered conversation is not about that person that overheard your Sex and the City discussion, doesn’t it become about them anyway because they readily identified something as being self-descriptive. You see what you want to see, or rather, what you feel deep down may be true that you cannot readily admit. It is all in the head and membrane-to quote Cypress Hill.
Does any of this make sense? Does it matter? I may be too sugared up right now on my microwaved s’mores to even understand what it is that I am writing. And isn’t that upheaval a grand part of the beauty of writing. Even when at times you don’t understand yourself, others find a piece for themselves. We are all Alice in Wonderland even if Lewis Carroll lived a century earlier and didn’t personally know us. Alright now. I am going back to my chocolate and if it decides to sing a song about a person who occasionally eats chocolate with no real love of it, I will not take it personally although I will know that the song is about me.