"Those who can, do. Those who can’t, bitch about it on the Internet." -Simon, from The Book of Simon
Some bios list credentials, such as: Education BFA in Illustration, Massachusetts College of Art Occupation Former Production Slave, Ballantine Books Comics Credits Columnist, Writer, Artist, Editor Etc…
And some bios tell a story, such as: I can remember sitting in front of my television one morning, watching the old Batman show, when Julie Newmar appeared in that skintight black leather outfit as Catwoman. It was my first boy/girl thing. >A year later I was in kindergarten telling Katherine Burke that I loved her. It’s pretty much been a string of stupid mistakes ever since…
Still other bios state an intent, such as: This is a series of essays illustrating the life of one particular struggling artist as he plods through the world and occasionally bumps into some interesting shit.
But most bios just sit to the right of the column and are never looked at. So ignore this space and just read the damn column already…
Chicks dig success. It’s a cliché, I know. But that doesn’t make it any less true. I always thought it was exaggerated and it was more just celebrity or money that attracted them like moths to a flame. Turns out plain, ordinary success is enough of an aphrodisiac. And now I know from firsthand experience.
It’s A Monster Party, Who Could Ask For More A former co-worker of mine (the Molly Ringwald from my Girls On Film column) threw her annual Halloween party last Saturday. I’d been to last year’s and it didn’t end well. She was single at the time and I was hoping to get in her good graces…or her pants. Whichever way it worked out. Halfway through the night she disappeared to make out with some other dude. I tried to rally, talking to some of the other ladies in attendance. They were polite and exchanged jokes with me, but none of them became enraptured of my presence. I ended up drinking too much, slipping into depression, and making another co-worker I fancied (the Ione from the aforementioned past column) think I was weird and moody, thus ruining my chances with her down the road. Not bad for a night’s work.
This year I approached the party with less high hopes. Actually, I felt a certain level of dread. Over the past year I’ve enjoyed a certain level of liberation, both with my friends outside work and with this column. For a long time I felt stifled, forced to suppress my true personality. But once I started hanging around with Kahloz and Moby, and changed the tone of Monkey House I found myself holding less back and being more genuine. And now that I’m my own boss and my career is to express the real me I feel like the ball gag has finally been removed.
Of course, not everyone appreciates the kind of person I really am. America was founded by Puritans and we’ve been taking a long time to crawl out from under their influence. Even in New York, supposedly a town full of people on the edge, you still find a great majority of conservative types. And I’ll admit that I still have some of those leanings. But I’ve liberated myself to the point where there are very few things that are taboo as conversation pieces. I might not do everything I talk about, but I won’t shy away from discussing them.
The party Watts and I went to was very much a collection of conservative people. No judgement on them, they manage to have a good time in their own way. But I don’t exactly fit in with people who can’t talk openly about assplay or dildos, or who won’t tolerate a little sex in the bathroom. Case in point, Watts and I were talking to Ione with our other co-worker (whom we’ll call Abner) joining in. I somehow managed to turn the conversation to Internet porn and how I’d had the chance to do some but passed because it wasn’t paid work and I had to be videotaped jerking off as an audition. This was shocking enough to them, but I had to take it a step further and make a comment about how Internet porn is all about guys jizzing on chicks’ faces. Definitely way too graphic for them.
So I spent most of the party restraining myself. And that kind of put a cramp in my fun. Until something peculiar happened.
The Creature With The Atom Brain I forget how the whole thing started. Maybe I was talking to one of my former co-workers and she overheard. I can’t recall. All I know is that I found myself in a conversation with someone I’d never met before who turned out to be a Ballantine employee. In fact, she was someone I used to deliver books to on my rounds. She’d been with the company almost a year but I didn’t recognize her face. Once I found out she was a Ballantiner and she found out I was a former Ballantiner, though, we got down to doing what co-workers always do outside of work. We bitched about work.
At some point in the exchange of corporate woes she asked me why I quit. Perfect opportunity to talk about my possible book deals. Actually, I don’t really like to talk about it. Or maybe I do and I just feel like a pompous ass when I go on for half an hour about a book I’m writing. Whatever it is, I always feel somewhat uncomfortable having the conversation with people. Sure, I soldier through. But it’s weird.
So there I am, detailing the steps that lead up to my meeting at Doubleday and the outcome of that meeting, when another former co-worker comes over. She grabs a drink from the fridge and then hears what I’m talking about. She had been at last year’s party and managed to say a few words to me, but was never really that interested. For the entire year between parties we worked together and she barely said anything to me, even after she was added to my book delivery list and I started showing up at her desk on a regular basis. But suddenly at this year’s party she’s enthralled with what I have to say. Why? What could possibly be different? I’m still the delightfully engaging guy I was twelve months ago.
Success, baby! She heard me talking about being an author and became interested. A girl who couldn’t remember my name at the beginning of the party was hanging on every word I said once she found out I was somebody who ‘mattered’. The party was filled with adult fratboys, the type of guys chicks always pick over me. If I’d never mentioned the book deals these two girls would have lost interest the second a strong jaw or a slim waist walked by. Instead they stood there, entranced by this guy who wasn’t an assistant nobody like every other guy in the place. It was like some force had them bolted to the ground.
Naturally I was oblivious to this the entire time. It wasn’t until Watts mentioned it after the party that I rewound the tape and realized what was happening. These two women stood there and listened to me for the better part of a half-hour. They only dispersed once I finished my story and wandered away. Watts said she was heading over at one point, saw what was transpiring, and decided not to butt in. She thought I might score. Man, I love her.
Ultimately my story ended and, thanks to the subconscious nerd who still lives under my skin, I wasn’t aware enough to make any use of my two female captives. I’m sure it will be a scene that repeats itself many times as my career goes on. Oh well. I guess once a dork, always a dork.
From the Monkey House a/k/a Simon Remember, it’s not the size of the pumpkin patch, it’s the sincerity
The Random: I’ve been watching Haunted Travel Week on the Travel Channel. It’s kind of funny when they list Salem, Massachusetts as the third Creepiest Spot In America and then show the least creepy footage they could possibly get. There’s nothing creepy about a heavily trafficked main road at noon with ten-year old split family houses in the background and Toyota Camry’s driving by. They should have just gone to The Point and taped ghetto kids disassembling stolen bicycles on their front lawns. Those kids will be adults someday. Now that’s creepy.
