Legacy (for Write Club)

I was recently asked (blessed?) to present a piece for Write Club at the Bootleg Theatre in Los Angeles.  Write Club is an "underground" writing competition where 2 writers, with disparate subjects, present on stage, and ONLY ONE SURVIVES!!  I was given the topic of "Legacy" and I was matched up against the very talented Steve Serpas and his topic of "Obscurity."
I won't tell you who one (though neither of us finished lower than 2nd place)

However, I don't think art, or anything close to resembling it, should exist in a vacuum.  So here now I give my piece one more glimpse of the light of day.
(And congratulations to Steve on the win.....Next time, Serpas!  Next time!!!)

LEGACY:

On the topic of Legacy, under the heading Mortality, sub-genre: I wish my heroes would stop fucking dying,

When you're given the topic of "Legacy" to write about, you better damn well aim to make that piece memorable. That's a lot of pressure, but it's right there in the name. We all strive to do just that - leave a legacy, or a piece written about legacy - that will stand the test of time, something so powerful that even the cockroaches that are the only survivors of the inevitable Donald Trumpian nuclear holocaust will click their antennae at each other as if to say: "Hey, remember that one shit...?" To me, cockroaches seem like they would cuss a lot.
Legacy carries burden. Expectations. Weight. It's not like writing about, say, obscurity. You could do something instantly forgettable or not note-worthy, and you will have 100% achieved your goal.
But legacy...We all want it. But, though you have a say in what kind of path you choose to pursue it, you can't control what your actual legacy is. It just...is. For better or worse, greatness or obscure, forgettable, forgotten or formidable.
No one's asking what Prince's legacy is. You just know that if you're in a band, you get up there, you cover "Purple Rain" and the audience better damn well join in. You don't contemplate what the legacy is. No one at one of those tribute shows was thinking: "You know, I really wish they would've done 'Sign o' the Times.'" You don't discuss legacy. It was just created and exists.
No one has said: "Well, you know Harper Lee's last novel was pretty weak and a bit of a bust sales-wise." No! She wrote one of the greatest American novels to ever be published.
There's a movement to get the Jack 'n' Coke renamed "The Lemmy." I know what's in a Jack 'n' Coke. I have no idea what all the lyrics are to "Ace of Spades."
You don't need to over-analyze legacy. It's already there.
And inevitably, because we're humans and flawed and nervous and imperfect and obsessed with Snapchat (this month), one gets to thinking about their legacy. Or, gasp, lack thereof....

I was going to write a piece about slowly but stoically succumbing to life's final curtain because I suffer from mesotheliomaI, but I don't. Truth is, when I call this life quits, I imagine it will be in a much more mundane fashion. "In his sleep" or "old age" or "I didn't even know he was still alive."
I don't foresee myself getting offed in some heroic fashion. I've faced down fight-or-flight situations and, despite my square-jaw and fairly solid physique, I chose "flight" every damn time. I don't think I'll have a long-suffering illness in which I'm able to parlay my Make-A-Wish into a Netflix-topping documentary or social media sensational blog. My life hasn't been a Bon Jovi song, so there's no way I go out in a "Blaze of Glory." Maybe a blaze on my futon after falling asleep with a lit American Spirit in my mouth.
But I'm not so much worried about my demise as I am about my legacy.
What did I do? What am I doing? Who doesn't ask this? Who doesn't love rhetorical questions?
Legacy is that thing you leave behind that lets everybody know: "Hey, this guy or girl was here and he or she contributed." It could be a statue - Best-case scenario. It could be a Memorial Highway or a public library or even a plaque on a rock in some national forest. Most folks in LA that I know aim for a star that rests just between David Hasselhoff and Fatty Arbuckle.

Most folks have their legacy secured because, like every monarchy before them, they have the offspring that will make sure their name is not forgotten.
This is a problem with me as my wife and I have decided not to have kids. I'm so against passing on my DNA, that I still wear a condom. And pull out. After 8 years of marriage.
Of course, this worries my Mom as she asks: "Well, who's doing to take care of you in your old age." Truthfully, the debaucherous and destructive way I'm living for those 18 years where everybody else is pursuing responsible adulthood and good parenting will pretty much guarantee I don't need to worry about living to "old age." That's why parents tend to live 18 years longer than non-breeders, made-up-statistically speaking.
No kids. No legacy. Maybe accomplishments would do it. I don't know. Tonight, this, this might be the peak of my accomplishments. I very well may have an of-the-moment legacy. That basically means that any remembrance of my passing will come down to, and here is a major knock on wood moment, me biting it after the show. It's true.
My lasting legacy might come down to two of you having a chat 6 months down the road to the effect of:
"Hey, remember that one guy that did that story at the Bootleg Theatre a few months ago? The legacy guy?"
"Yeah...Steve Serpas?"
"No, the other guy. He might've won. Or lost."
"Oh yeah....kind of."
"Well, turns out not 20 minutes after the show, he rolled his Ford Fiesta over near the Urban Light installment at LACMA. Took his head right off."
Which, by the way, is way more impressive on 2 fronts:

1. If you know anything about cars, it's virtually impossible to roll a Ford Fiesta because you have to be able to go over 60 miles per hour to do it and,
   
2. My Fiesta has a spoiler, so it's supposed to hug the road. If it needs to.
   

But that would be an of-the-moment legacy: "That guy who did that one thing." It might result in a candlelight vigil. Maybe a mention in the LA Times for all 48 of it's readers.
I know my wife would mourn quite a bit. I would hope. Some close friends will probably have a drink in my honor (but not re-name one in my honor, sadly). My brother, Mom, family members I could count on one hand would bring a covered dish to my wake.
I would at least expect a fairly good-sized percentage of my Facebook friends to at least post an off-the-cuff obituary on my Facebook wall, and I would hope that I would be able to access and read it in the afterlife...although I would be logging in from a different computer and I'll be damned if I can remember my Facebook password!

A legacy is something you really can't control. It's the last true democracy, the people decide. It's like setting out to make a viral video. You can't control where and when it's seen or remembered, but if you get 45 likes then you should just feel damn grateful that you were able to crack through the white noise and make a contribution.

Legacy is fickle. I'm thinking of 2 men - both drugged women to have sex with them. One of them, insisting on his innocence, has shattered the hyperbolic image of being "America's Dad." The other, who admits his guilt, with an underage partner no less, received a standing ovation for winning an Oscar for Best Director in a still-flourishing film career.
Legacy is in the eye of the beholder.

Because when it's Ashes to Ashes, as Young Americans, Absolute Beginners fade into their Golden Years - which could take Five Years, could be Rock 'n' Roll Suicide or we could last until there's Life on Mars, the bottom line is: We all want to be Heroes. But maybe that's aiming too high. Maybe we worry too much, we're Under Pressure, we're stressing Ch-Ch-Changes, asking Where Are We Now? Oh, You Pretty Things...I Can't Give Everything Away, but As The World Falls Down Let's Dance. Let's see where Modern Love takes us. The Sound & the Vision of Dancing in the Street is more realistic than being a Starman living a Moonage Daydream. It won't really matter since one day we're all going to be owned by China, Girl.

Legacy just happens. You maybe don't know it during, but as any Bowie fan would agree, after hearing that last paragraph, it was kind of thrilling hearing all of the song titles that brought back a wave of nostalgia. Not everybody caught every one. Not everyone is going to.

Legacy is different things to different people.

So no pressure on you guys: This might be the pinnacle of my life, the peak of my existence, my crowning achievement, the legacy Cool Whip on top of the Neapolitan life that I have led. I only controlled jotting some stuff down on paper, getting here safely, and submitting my life's work, art and passion to being judged by drinking strangers. The rest, like much of most in life, is up to the viewing audience. You determine mine, and everybody else's, legacy. Worst-case scenario: I finish top 6.

All you can do is try your best while you're here, and let everyone else sort it out when you're not.