12/22/06
Time magazine chose You. Yes, You.
for its annual fluff story, Person of the Year.
The cover was clever, it was fun, and I thought the basic idea was a decent acknowledgement of the democratizing effects of the world's present-day Web obsession.
Reason magazine presented its alternatives, but I tend to side with Jesse Walker:
You. Yes, I'm siding with Time. Someone has to do it, since the magazine is being criticized left and right by people who think it's some sort of copout to honor a genuinely important story -- the rising power of the user-driven Web -- rather than doing the usual year-end celebrity bake-off. YouTube and Wikipedia are making more of a mark on this country than any petty politician, and I see nothing wrong with Time acknowledging that. Besides, one of the few things I hate more than the "Person of the Year" award itself is all the critics who act as though Time's choice is somehow significant. You think you can make a better pick? Start a blog, list your own choices, and ignore Time entirely. You can do that now. That's why you're the Person of the Year.
And yet, there's something wrong here. You are not the Person of the Year. I am.
After all, of all the blogs I've consulted this year, I've given most attention to mine, not yours.
Of all the writings I've read this year, I've been proudest of mine, not yours — even if some of that pride is of the toddler-over-the-poddy variety.
Of all the faces I've seen this year, only mine appears in my mirror.
Of all the tragedies faced this year, I've thought about my fall down the stairs, and the consequent continuing problems with my right wrist, more than any other. Sure, you may have had friends and loved ones die; may have endured horrendous pain and harrowing privation. But I feel my own pain most directly.
That makes me special.
Further, of all the ethical thinkers I've read this year, I'm the only one who appears to be on the right track.
To add complexity to this, however, I freely admit that my own ethical behavior is nothing to crow about. But that just makes me a more interesting character.
Wow! Who knew what qualities I possessed! (Hint: me.)
Further, though I've never made anything in this world to match the genius of The Rite of Spring, or The Swan of Tuonela, or Fra Angelico, or Fantaisies symphoniques, a song I composed in my early '20s, which I played through this morning, is a work of surprising genius. It has a very good melody, a sort of light jazz touch, and it sets a fine little poem by Edward Arlington Robinson (Richard Cory
). It's thematic structure is A-B-C-A, and its harmonic structure is F minor-A minor-A natural minor-F minor. Its most surprising chord change is from E7 to Bbmaj7. No one else I know has composed this exact piece of music.
Of course, I don't get the award for my piano playing ability. Were I to perform it for you, several mistakes would be made; and my mistakes would increase with the addition of more listeners.
Which is just part of my charm. I'm just as nerve-wracked and humble as the next person.
But hey: there's still hope for you. If you want to be worthy of the honor of being Person of the Year, perhaps you'd play my music!
Or recite my words.
Or give me tons of money.
Well, it's just a thought. But really, as often as I think of you, I don't think of you like that, as my acolyte or benefactor. For that would take away from my stellar light.
Oh, yes: I do think of you. More often — and longer — than I think of Time, perhaps (mileage may vary depending on reader). But, as much as I like you, or hate you, or wonder about what you're up to now, I don't think of you as often as I think of me.
Which is why it is Me, Not You, who is Person of the Year.
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