|
|
Sunday, June 24, 2012
|
|
WAITING FOR GAIMAN
I just returned from the Chapters superstore at John and Richmond where I waited for Gaiman. And waited. And waited some more. For five whole hours I waited for Gaiman. Okay, 4 hours and 57 minutes.
I had never ever heard of Neil Gaiman two months ago. Then Zombie gushed, so I picked up one of his books, "American Gods" (which I haven't read yet, sorry Gaiman). I respect Zombie's opinion on such things. She's smarter than I am and who can argue with those boobs? Then about a month ago, Zombie got real quiet and meek as she asked if I could do her a favour. I got scared. Maybe she needs a kidney, I figured. I know it may not mean much to you, but I like my kidneys, so kidney shaped and adorable. Anyway, I digress. I said I'd do anything in my power for her (which is true, I will. But I can't remove my own kidneys. I learned this manner of hedging from Bill Clinton. Go ahead, ask me what "is" is.)
"Well, Neil Gaiman is doing a signing at John and Richmond in Toronto..." Zombie continued.
"And you want me to kidnap him and spirit him to Michigan for you to sexually abuse? Jesus, do you know how time I could get for that? Have you been to the border lately? Besides, I don't even have a car."
"No, no, no...although that would be nice. But do you think you could...get a book signed for me?"
I was relieved, not only were my kidneys safe, I didn't have to go through the trauma of dragging an unconcious, internationally celebrated author across a border. "Done and done" said I. This was easy, I thought. Of course I'd do this for Zombie. How hard can it be?
Well, I didn't count on how famous Gaiman is. I figured, he has a blog, I have a blog. Shit, the Democratic candidates for president all have blogs. Only nobodies have blogs. John Edwards, me and Gaiman. How famous can he be? The logic follows, right?
Wrong.
The place was crawing with Gaiman types. It was sick with them. And this is a three story bookstore the size of your local Sears. It was unbelievable! And the fact that I haven't left the house since I lost my job blinded me to one of my bedrock rules: "No matter how much I or people I respect love a given artist, I will detest that artist's fans." I remembered the rule the second I entered the store. This was the blackest crowd I've ever been in. The clothes, not the people. There was only one black person there, way at the back of the line. I saw every manner of bad haircut, ill-advised tattoo and painful looking piercing imaginable. If I had brought a clipboard and paper, I would've conducted my patented "what the fuck were you thinking" poll. And I'm a guy with a shaved head and a full beard.
I counted no fewer than 7 people wearing heavy black leather jackets. Including Gaiman! This is August. Toronto gets humid in August. Isn't this taking "suffering for your art" a little far? Wasn't the eyebrow piercing enough? Where does it end? Barbed wire catheter?
It wouldn't have been so bad if there weren't so many of them. There were easily 1,500 of these people. 1,500 vampire wannabes and....well, me. You do the math. My mouth stayed firmly shut. Besides, I had my own book to read (thank Christ, because I now knew I was going to be there for a while), the third volume of Robert Caro's LBJ biography, "Master of the Senate". I prayed none of the goth teenies got too inquisitive. These people are so young and stupid that they probably think "LBJ" is spanish for oral sex.
So I got in line at 12:20. The line weaved up stairs and then down stairs then it went through each and every asile on the floor, some 17 or 18 of them.But I figured this was a book signing, not a book writing. How long could it take? Five hours is how long it could take! (Well, to be fair, Gaiman didn't start signing until 20 after one.So four hours.) So I move up stairs, then down stairs, then weave through aisles (it took 20 minutes to clear an aisle. Did you know they sell Penthouse letters as paperbacks now? Neither did I. Note to self: Buy a couple.Did you know Carnie Wilson has TWO books out; one about being kind of fat and happy and one about being thin and hungry? Note to self: buy neither)
But it was cool, I had my LBJ biography. Do you know how heavy a 1,200 page hardcover gets after standing with it for five hours? Really, really heavy. So for four hours I trudged through the aisles with this mutant horde and a book thick enough that I could kill an adult male with it
Then....there was Gaiman. Black pants, black T-shirt, black shoes. Longish, fashionably touselled hair. Gaiman! I got four people away, no more than ten feet from Gaiman. And what does Gaiman do? He gets up to take a piss is what Gaiman does! I thought my eyeballs were going to pop out of my fucking head. I couldn't take a piss! If I did that, I would've had to start the whole nightmare over again. I nearly left the line and went home. Then I thought, "that would break Zombie's heart." And you know what it takes to break a Zombie's heart. You've all seen the same movies I have.
So Gaiman comes back (much shorter than youd've thought, too) and I get to the head of the line and ask that he sign it to "Insert Zombie's real name here", which he did. He even drew a little picture for Zombie. And we chatted a little, too. Gaiman seems like a really nice guy. But now I know why it took five fucking hours. But I knew that I had just made a Lil' Zombie out there very happy.
And that's worth something, right?
Permalink
|
|
|
| |
