Fearless Mental Health Predictions For 2014

One of the consolations of age is the transformation of one's relationship with time. As a young man, I agonized endlessly about the future, speculating and puzzling over a never-ending succession of questions. Would it arrive on time? Would there be enough of it to go around? Would it be in color? Would it be three-dimensional? Would it have sufficient volume to fill the allotted amount of space?

Only later did I come to understand one of the great truths about time. The future is an immutable constant, it is always the same; the past, by contrast, never settles down. And so I began to focus my energies on predicting the past, an enterprise that turned out to be far more difficult than I had imagined.

Increasing familiarization with history gave me ammunition as I cast my eyes upon the future. Indeed, from today's vantage point, the future and past are virtually indistinguishable; one might swap their locations and never arouse suspicion. For those of us with mental health issues who struggle to make sense of a world which, quite frankly, is itself struggling to make sense, it is the present, which is to say, now, that provides the real mystery.

Let me demonstrate what I'm about to say by making no reference at all to what I have just said. As gypsy fortunetellers have known for centuries, predicting the future is not difficult if one is familiar with the dimly lit labyrinth commonly referred to as human nature. Throughout the passing cavalcade of centuries, technology has changed, fashion has changed, but the human character has not. With this in mind, here are two Funny in the Head fearless predictions for 2014.

Somewhere in America a troubled teenager will attack an authority figure with a banana. The authority figure will sustain life-threatening injuries and look sympathetic on TV. Spokesmen for the banana industry will express shock and dismay that their product could be misused so horribly. Sympathetic bumper stickers will appear almost overnight sporting slogans like, “Bananas don't kill people, messed up people kill people".

Somewhere in Los Angeles an actor riding out the ragged end of a mediocre career will find himself desperately in need of free publicity. Despondent and at the end of his rope he will descend into the obligatory vortex of alcohol, drugs, promiscuity, late-night abusive phone calls, and disrespectful comments about Steven Spielberg. This tawdry behavior will land him face first on the tabloids where he will blame his reckless irresponsibility not on himself or his own failings but on some mental disorder with which he has but a passing familiarity. Indeed, he will be lucky to spell it correctly. The press will pay attention and the public will pour forth enough sympathy to secure him one gig, most likely an infomercial.

I'm pretty sure about both of these; although to be fair they might have already happened.