-- Tuesday, February 15, 2000 --

2:29 a.m. How one deals with fame and fortune is very important to one. How one handles success is just as crucial to one's -- mental health -- as how one handles failure.

Failure is easy. I, for one, am familiar with failure. Nothing to it. Lather, rinse; repeat. Ditto obscurity and penury. Thanks to years of practice and tinkering, there's nary a slight nor a setback that I can't handle. Throw me a curve, and I catch it and hurry home to bury it in the back yard.

But success. Not so easy. Success is a tougher nut to crack. First of all, success is noisy and public and the joint is always jumping. You have no time to iron your lucky shirt and no privacy to clear your throat and no quiet place to practice.

Plus, there's the conveyer belt. Everything keeps moving. As much as you'd like to savor the moment and practice your regal wave, they're tearing off the tiara and turning off the music even while the credits are still rolling. So, while you may not get to keep the crown, you can --and you really should -- learn how to keep your head.

I think. I hope.

The first time I had a big success I blew it. Well, I think I blew it -- I know it went away pretty darn fast, and it never came back. Was it something I said? Probably. Mental notes: 1. Never say "eviscerate" ever again, even in jest. 2. Do not drink champagne when there's guacamole on the table. 3. Tom Wolfe has no sense of humor when it comes to stains.

Perfection is so elusive.

And hyacinths are so fragrant. It's as if I have an old maiden aunt in my office wafting her tatted hankie back and forth. A thoroughly extravagant scent, spent as if money is no object. Joy unbottled, spilling across everyday thoughts, reminding me to breathe.

And so I shall.

Rachmaninoff is on the radio. It has started to rain outside the dark window. Teasing old melodies from the thin air, turning black and white keys into chromatic rainbows. Reminding me to remember.

It's all in the mind. Music and memories. Success and failure.

Neither one ever goes away, no matter how many fried peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches you eat.