One time I ran into an odd character in an elevator, at a community college where I was taking singing lessons. He was a little gnome of a would-be kingmaker who called himself Georgie K. Georgie was about 42, balding on top with long hair on the sides. He looked sort of like Ben Franklin without the dignity.
Georgie saw the music book under my arm and figured I was an aspiring superstar so he started dripping names like turds in a two-bit taco hut shithouse. He was just oozing showbiz cadences as he told me that he was no stranger to big time circles. He also claimed to be a masterful lyricist and performer, and he spewed some doggerel verse on the spot to show his massive talent.
When we got to the lobby he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a big naugahyde ledger with typeset names and addresses. He pointed some out to me. “She sings backup with Phil Collins. That’s Ornette Coleman’s address. I stay with him when I don’t have any money. Do you know Ornette’s stuff? This guy does lights for the Moody Blues and Willie Nelson. Cleavon Little, see? I’ve collaborated with him on some projects.”
In between name dripping he told me he was looking for talent and knew lots of key people. “Look kid, I like you and I think we can work together. I got some projects in development that could use your touch. But right now let me tell you something, maybe the only thing you’ll ever need to know. When you’re onstage you gotta get an audience where you want ‘em, right in the palm of your hand and then . . . you blow them away.” As he said this he slowly unclenched his balled up fist and blew on his hand dramatically.
I was an entertainment world virgin at the time, so this was some heavy chutzpah Georgie K was laying down. Although he came on like a blustering hack, he had the presence of a self-styled showbiz guru, a backstage griot who could tell endless tales about “the business” and its inner workings. I was fascinated and listened with reverence.
“But you gotta watch yourself kid. This business’ll chew you up like dog meat and spit you in the gutter. Paul Butterfield see,” he pointed to the ledger. “He stays at the Grammarcy. Real strung out these days. A while back, ‘68 maybe, he saw me at a gig—I think it was the Fillmore—and he drops some snide shit like, `Don’t I know you? Aren’t you a roadie or somethin’?’ So a couple years ago I saw the cat again and he grabs me, he’s like hangin’ on, beggin’ me: `Georgie man, Georgie please, clean me up, put me back on track. You’re my last hope; only you can make me big again.’
“Now I didn’t forget what happened 20 years before. Georgie K never forgets a slag. Got ‘em all catalogued right here,” he pointed to his head. “So I looked him right in his bloodshot eyes and I said `Only if you get me in to see Dylan.’”
“Bob Dylan? Why him?” I asked.
“We do the same thing, y’know. I write five novels and 50 poems a day. No one since Poe or Shakespeare is near me, man. But when they put a suitcase full of money on the table and said `We own you,’ I said `Nah uh, later man, that’s not my trip. No one owns Georgie K.’”
“Five novels a day? I don’t know,” said I.
“Hey, you heard me before,” he said, referring to his earlier attempt to impress me with his bad poetry.
“You think that was good or something?” I let slip an honest reaction to such overwhelming buffoonery.
“What?!!” he exclaimed with pseudo-big shot indignation. “I’m tryin’ to help you out and you’re runnin’ me down. You just cut your own throat, man. I was gonna turn you on to a free record contract, and you just cut your own throat.”
Then he stalked away with a wicked scowl on his face. “Hey wait,” I called, “I’m sorry.” And I really was, because I wanted to have coffee with him at least, and wade deeper into such fantastic delusion.
“No way man, forget it. You got the same attitude as everyone around here.”
Oh well. “Say `hi’ to Ornette for me,” I hollered.
Thursday
Georgie K: The Kingmaker I Lost
Greenfield (Slideshow)
Full Screen: ► . . . 4-way arrows (lower rt.)
Wednesday
New D-com* Acronyms: Glossary of UTN** Slang
Check out the latest slang making the rounds online/in text messages . . . Don’t be a CO (clueless one) . . . You don’t wanna miss out when she finally lights up your phone with: “TMC...HAK” (Text me cutie...hearts and kisses).
* Digital communications
** Up to the nanny [nanosecond] (“iPhone cases at Target tot UTN!”)
The Glossary is Here:
DSBY – Don’t stop being you (“Wicked fun yest. J. All i cn say is DSBY!”)
DIA – Does it again (“John Stamos DIA!!!”)
DOTI – Don’t overthink it (“DOTI Jill, pls.”)
TMC – Text me cutie
HAK – Hearts and kisses
OTC – On the corner
HTF – Hold the fort
HTP – Hold the phone (“OMG HTP – the mayor’s pissing OTC nr. the F train on 23rd!!!”)
M2W – Mark my words
SS – Some slammin’ (“SS totes at Walmart M2W”)
LMT/K – Lots more to come . . .
Sunday
YouTube Haiku (No. 1): Lightspeed Medieval
▲ Rebel Brutality in Syria Posing Dilemma in West . . . Video Shows Assad Foes Executing 7 Soldiers After Capture.
— New York Times (Sept. 2013)
Follow me on Twitter
and then follow me to hell
@DevilsInDetails
▼ Somali Rebels Turn to Twitter. Militants waging a guerilla war in Somalia are using social media networks for propaganda purposes.
— New York Times (Dec. 2011)
Click to enlarge
Saturday
Aphorisms
All the world's a stage — but real life is what happens backstage.
Some bowel movements can be life-affirming.
Masturbation is satisfying but uninteresting, like oatmeal.
The road to utopia stops at the Gulag.
There's nothing like doing nothing.
Don’t advertise your insignificance.
In order there is possibility.
Nothing focuses you better than a paycheck.
This sky’s the limit (but the gutter always beckons).
Writing is an affliction.
Thursday
The Freelancer’s Journal: Tales from the Writing Trade (No. 1)
In a message dated 5/22/2003 ______ writes:
I have to apologize about canceling this Saturday in Brooklyn. I still have the flu, and I thought I would be over it by now.
Subject: Re: My book [Editing job]
Received: Thu, 22 May 2003
From: Adam E.
To: ___________
Please get well soon, and let me know when you can meet at the appointed place.
Subject: Re: My book
Date: 5/23/2003
From: _________
To: Adam E.
Dear Adam,
I'm sorry I lied to you about being sick. The truth is as follows: Five years ago I was renting a room in a house out on _____. My landlady never checked or had her oil burner inspected for six years, and I spent a whole winter breathing in carbon monoxide. Finally, I went berserk and assaulted a man in the subway, thinking he was from outer space. I was sentenced to two years in jail. I'm out now but still on parole, and my parole officer told me yesterday I'm not allowed to go to New York City at all. I'm confined to ____ and ____ counties, so I can't meet you in Brooklyn—much as I would like to.
I didn't want to alarm you with this story, so I just said I was sick. Actually, I'm a very nice guy, an Ivy League graduate. This was my only act of violence ever. And I generally tell the truth (sorry).
If you still want to meet, please let me know. But it would have to be in _____. My parole officer has approved that. I will pay you for your time. This weekend is fine.
What do you think? And feel free to ask any questions you like.
# # #
Need writer, editor, lawyer or. . .
Date: 2003-06-16
Reply to: _____@craigslist.org
anyone in the book biz who can link me to a literary agent who is interested in adventure. My novel is based on a true story, about a group of quasi Marines who are tracking murderous poachers in East Africa. You must like high adventure and not be bothered by a little cursing and some violence. Very good pay. But I will NOT pay up front. Once I sign on with an agent, you will be paid. If you like good, realistic fiction, with a strong feel for Africa, get back with me.
# # #
Need ghostwriter to write my Autobiography
Date: 2003-06-25
Reply to: _____@craigslist.org
Need ghostwriter to write my Autobiography. Required: 1) Watch "Little Big Man", starring Dustin Hoffman; 2) Read "No One Here Gets Out Alive: The Biography of Jim Morrison", by Jerry Hopkins; 3) Respond to this ad with your quoted price for a 500 page manuscript.
The manuscript will turn into a book and movie. Experience with publishing, screenwriting, and the movie business is a big plus!
# # #
Blog Ghost Writer
Date: 2003-07-11
Reply to: _____@craigslist.org
High-end children's furniture website has a job opening for a ghost writer for their blog and other copy. Please send samples of your work: 300-400 words describing baby's room for a boy and 40 words describing a changing table.
Click label below for complete Freelancer’s Journal.
Tuesday
The Freelancer’s Journal: Tales from the Writing Trade (No. 2)
Versatile Writer for Hire:
Never at a Loss for Words
August 19
Business has been slow lately. My last job was a best man’s speech for a guy from Long Island whose brother was getting married. His only instructions to me were: “I wanna see tears.” . . . You don’t have to dig too deep to find the gold in this man—it’s all right there on the surface . . . Let me tell you something about Dave: He doesn’t believe in half measures, or taking the middle ground. Whatever he does, he does it full throttle or not at all.
Four straight days over 95. Worst heat wave all summer. It’s miserable—especially in this place, with no windows in the living room. It must be ten degrees hotter inside. I live right above two restaurants, soul food and Chinese. Sometimes the bathroom smells like roast pork. It’s like living in the belly of a pig . . . Roaches everywhere—on the soap, under the sink. I took down a shelf in the bathroom and unscrewed the brackets; beneath one there were two dead roaches frozen in copulation, one mounted on top of the other.
August 22
I get a lot of inquiries from people who think they have a story to tell, but don’t have the words to tell it. Some of these people have genuinely moving stories, full of sadness and loss. But after hearing so many of these tales, it’s hard not to be cynical. These people never have any money, yet they’re all passionately convinced that their story is so amazing it will make a big splash, and then we can split the profits that will surely roll in. I get so many calls like that.
I politely explain that I operate, without exception, on a straight fee basis—cash paid for time worked. Still, I see the pathos in their stories, and I appreciate that they’re coming to me with a degree of urgency, if not desperation. They’re at the point where all they have left is their own story; all their hopes are riding on it. Before we ever meet, they’ve decided the written word is their best shot at redemption, yet it’s beyond their grasp. They need my words—or some writer’s words—to realize their dreams.
Click label below for complete Freelancer’s Journal.