Jerusalem Syndrome - Marc Maron [31]
The Earth stopped rumbling after a minute or two. There were about fifteen other people in front of the hotel. I suggested that someone get his car out of the garage and bring it up so we could hear the radio broadcasts about the damage and what we should expect. We all huddled together like primitives, only it was around a Lexus so we could listen to the radio.
I pulled away and stood, looking at the blackened hills of Hollywood. There wasn’t a light on anywhere, just the moonlit dark silhouette of the hills against a deep blue backdrop. This guy Jon came over and stood next to me. I had met him earlier. He was one of the producers of Beavis and Butt-Head. We stood there for a few quiet minutes watching the night sky light up in flashes over the valley as power stations exploded in the distance. It was eerie, and beautiful in a way. Jon looked at me pensively, and said, “I can’t help but think this is somehow my fault.” Maybe it was, but I was thinking the same thing about myself. He was guilty of a much more public, ritualized evil but I’d like to think that my little moment on the roof was equally as powerful in some way, maybe for the good.
In April 1997 another light flashed across the sky. After years of her putting up with my insanity, Kim and I got married. It was a traditional Jewish ceremony, hot-rodded a bit for the modern Jew palate. It was outdoors, in the dusk light of a Phoenix sunset. In the middle of our vows many guests claimed they saw a shooting star or a meteor or a UFO, but something went flying by. Everyone assumed it was good luck. So we assumed it was good luck. Deep in my heart, I wasn’t so sure, but I loved Kim. We’d been through a lot together.
Within seconds of getting married, the living potential great-grandparents and grandparents start their chorus: “Babies. When, when babies?” Babies are like cocaine to grandparents. The need comes from a deep place. They want one more opportunity to love something that hasn’t disappointed them yet.
I started to see marriage as a capitalist conspiracy designed to keep people in bondage until they create new consumers. Think about the forces involved when you have a wedding. All the department stores are in on it. The religions of the world are all part of it. Kim’s parents were like kingpins of the conspiracy. When you get married, you don’t just get a spouse, you get dozens of expensive gifts from people you don’t really know. Are they friends? Maybe, but probably not. Are they the dark faces of the conspiracy? Yes. They give you rugs, blenders, and flatware. I didn’t even know what flatware was until I got married. If you know what it is, it may be too late for you. They give you these gifts in the guise of getting you started. They say things like, “This is to begin your life together. To start building your home.” That’s not really why they give this stuff to you. They give it to you so you don’t leave each other. The conspiracy knows that at some point in the first couple of years of marriage you will have a moment of existential crisis and say, “What the fuck did I do? I don’t even know you! I want out.” Then you’ll pause, look around, and say, “Oh, but the rug, and our blender. We make drinks in our blender. Our forks—I love our forks. I’m sorry. Right now I think I love everything here except you. That’ll come and go. If it goes away for good, we can have kids and sublimate our disdain and indifference for each other in them by spoiling them and guaranteeing a legacy of misery.”
I was anything but content. I tried to be, but it just didn’t stick. I thought marriage would level me off. I thought money would level me off. I thought being a good comic would make me fit into myself better, but nothing really did. My soul was always itchy.
When the irritation had become too much, I took a drastic action and enrolled in a philosophy class at the New School. The