\”We won\’t be doing any naughty stuff, right?\”
\”No, that\’s fine. No naughty stuff is good.\”
\”Because I don\’t do naughty stuff. That\’s not me.\”
\”Um… okay. That\’s fine.\”
Why, exactly, am I going to be working with a photographer who doesn\’t do \”naughty stuff?\” I AM the naughty stuff. Oh yeah: the money. I forgot about that. The money. The benjamins, the dough, the crispy new asymmetrical bills with dead white men printed upon them. I\’m putting my back on to pay the rent. Gawd, I feel like such a sell out.
Normally, okay, fine, no naughty stuff, I can handle that, no problem. But this is going to be the hardest job I have ever had, not just because he doesn\’t do naughty stuff, but because this is a photographer who pardons the expressions of quasi-violent cultural euphemisms in his own speech, hunts, lives in Bumfuck, has a hot tub, is a veteran who is fully paying respects on Memorial day, is a practicing Christian, and is a self professed gentleman.
I can already tell that we are NOT going to get along — everything he stands for, I stand against. He is a gentleman, I can hardly speak with my grandfather for five minutes without starting to talk about the evils of religion, the wonder that is sex, or just plain swearing. I am literally currently incapable of even making small talk without saying things like \”Jesus Christ,\” \”oh lord,\” \”good lord,\” and \”goddamn\” as minor exclamations.
My current interests include the psychology of cannibalism, the history of the sociology of zombies, architecture as mental foreplay, sexual expression on stage, neo-genderism, sexual assault as methodical oppression, flesh suspension, ways in which it would be possible to commit acts of domestic terrorism here in DC (not that I\’m going to, but I\’ve been highly amused of late by coming up with all the different ways in which it would be theoretically possible to frighten Americans, and believe me — be glad I\’m an introverted passive with an equal loathing for all humanity instead of a passive-agressive fundamentalist) and the ability to walk on broken glass. Cowtowing to suburban Christian veteran hunting-and-collecting-animal-heads hot tub owners is NOT high on my list, in fact it\’s probably really close to the bottom. But it\’s work, and I need it, especially after I drove all the way to Annapolis today for a photographer who ended up not showing up. I have two go-sees this Friday as well, and it looks like I now will have non-exclusive agent representation for high end advertising here in DC. And I can keep my porn as long as I keep using two different names.
If my thirteen year old self could see me now, I\’m not sure what she would do, but I\’m pretty sure being nice to me wouldn\’t be all that high on her list. I was supposed to be either dead or making a living in NYC as the singer in a seminal band styled in what is pretty close to the Gravytrain!!! way of doing things, except this was in 1994 that I wanted to do this. Like me, Gravytrain!!! were barely adolescent at that point. I wonder if any of them still live with their parents. At least I got that out of the way again. Anyway, back to cashing in on my momentary good looks instead of any talent which I may have. It is only a matter of time before someone else notices the wrinkles under my eyes and on my hands… My lifestyle from the past decade is finally catching up with my physical appearance beyond my \”born old eyes\” and my \”street walker wardrobe.\” No fair — I was supposed to be dead before that happened! No such luck. Well at least I still have all my own organs and blood. Will and I will have to start going to get Botox together.
Nothing in my life could have prepared me for where I am at now, and I\’m still not prepared, dammit. When\’s recess?