Now it's everywhere.
___________________
Last night I had a panic attack. The executive's son at my company bought a copy of the Ass book. I didn't feel good about it. He's 14 or so. I thought he was too young.
"Don't get in trouble," I said.
"I won't," he said. "Sign it."
"Chase the Moon," I wrote. "Be the Sun."
The kid was thrilled. Not me though. I was pretty sure this was the end for me. One look at a book about Ass, and that might be my last day in television.
I guess that's a pretty stupid thought, huh?
Then comes one that supercedes all others. The Ass book isn't good enough. It needs work.
This might very well be true. It's a flawed book, but that was what it was all about. No changes. Who knows?
I think I'm feeling wretchedly strange because all I have read this last week is Charles Bukowski, and now I've watched 3 DVD's about him and, and it's all getting to be a bit much, and I keep asking, "What the fuck am I doing?"
It's a great moment of panic. Am I now the Ass guy? Will it be harder to get a date? Will I have to be a switch hitter?
"Oh, no," a guy at work tells me. "You're fucked on both ends."
I felt better this morning though. The book finally showed up on Borders and Amazon. (It's about time!) I will be dealing with the ftp to get Golden Ashtray images onto the database. Hopefully, it works this time.
"Anything else?" you ask.
I'm writing a book. What else?
I wonder what this one will be about. Maybe, sugar. Either that or gangsters. I like gangsters. I like the way they talk. They got that sideways thing.
"Ehllo," they say. "What's it to you?"
"A fig newton," I say. "With milk."
They bring it over pretty quick. I'm surprised. That was my first sideways talking. Usually, I just talk with my lips parallel. Not this time though. Now it was all sideways.
"Enything else, Boss?" one of them asks.
"Yeah," I say sideways. "I need potassium."
"Pa-what?" Jimmy, the Wrench asks.
"Bananas," I say.
"Potassium?"
"Nutrients."
The Wrench runs off. I sit there with my sideways talk. I count the money on the table. This being a gangster is easy. I just had to kill people and take their money, or scare them really bad. That was easy. And now I had Jimmy, the Wrench, getting me some Potassium. This wasn't a bad life.
"No, it isn't," one of my henchman agreed.
"Want a knuckle sandwich?" I asked.
"Nah," he said.
"Well, too late," I said and popped him in the mouth. "You got one."
______________________________________________________
For those of you who want to be on the credits for Clerks II, simply add the film as your friend on myspace. The first 10,000 friends will be added to the film.
Here is the link.
If you acted too late, there's always a bonus. You can check the credits for Why Do Men Do Stupid Things for Ass?
Have a nice weekend, P.
*Copyright 2006 by Pirooz Kalayeh
2 comments:
Pirooz,
I dig sugar gangstar myself!
"Eh, whatsamattayou?"
"You talkin'-a me?"
"Ehhh, this guy! What am I, a sweetner to you? Eh? A gumdrop?"
Been enjoying your blog. Will have to pick up some ASS from you or Amazon. Can I get you to sign some ASS if I order through you?
I've been wondering if any of you LA flock of seagulls might be digging into Bukowski a bit...
Eat cigarettes and shit whores all over Hollywood!
A final note: Dead grass breeds dead men in old man's grass in the sun.
Hey, how did you open your blog margins wider? I could use that for the next issue of Blackbird.
Best of love your way, best of ASS my way,
Talk to you soon calzone!
I have no idea how I changed the margins. It was a long time ago, and if I remember correctly it was all an accident. I was like, "I want to change the color, so I'll do this," and then it just did the widening of the margins.
As far as signing books, I hadn't thought of that. I'll sign one for you though. I have some coming in sometime next week. When they do, I'll send one your way. Just email your address to me. Until then...
See ya in the funny papers!
Man, that's a flashback. Mr. Meyes used to say that to me all the time. Class would end and then he'd shout.
See ya in the funny papers!
I didn't like him shouting. I didn't like him either. He was all bald and grumpy and he made fun of my name.
"Pachooey!" he would shout. "Paleoharooz!"
I didn't like that. I had issues with being different. I didn't really want to be.
Things changed though. It was after a reading. You know the kind. We were in class. We had to read from the READING BOOK.
"Pachooey," he said. "Read."
I did. I read for a good ten minutes. Then he stopped me.
"Okay," he said. "Good job."
That was it. I sat down and he didn't ever pick on me again. He even let me feed the fish.
"Ah, Pirooz," he smiled and ruffled my hair. "You're a good apple."
Isn't that strange? I didn't expect it at all. Not from Mr. Meyes. No one liked him. He was supposed to be mean.
"The meanest," friends would say. "The worst."
He wasn't though. He was just loud.
***
Last week this guy comes up to me and asks me what kind of name Pirooz is.
"What are you Middle Eastern?" he asks.
"I was born in Iran," I say.
"So you know about camels and the desert?" he asks.
"No," I say. "I don't know anything about camels or the desert."
The guy stood there for a while. I went on doing what I had to do.
After a while he just walked off.
What was that? I asked myself. Is he going to give me trouble?
I decided I couldn't possibly know. The guy might just be real awkward socially, and say things he doesn't know he's saying. I didn't really know.
So that's when I decided to keep working.
And would you believe it? The other day the guy got me lunch. How nice was that?
"Thanks," I said. "That was nice."
Now when I see him I pat him on the back and say hi.
That's a long way from Mr. Meyes or Charles Bukowski, but that's where I've gone. It’s different. I'm okay with it though. I'm okay with a lot of things I wasn't okay with before.
Even gangsters.
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