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“Social Media hap­pens around Social Objects, not the other way around.“At the core of any social media cam­paign, there are Social Objects

Social Objects are the Alpha and Omega of Social Media. Without the for­mer, THERE IS NO LATTER, end of story.

So that’s what gaping­void does. We make Social Objects; that’s what the car­toons are, that’s what “Cube Gre­na­des” are.

We make social objects, big and small. For busi­nes­ses, brands and individuals.

Check out the Cube Gre­nade page. We’ve made social objects for large com­pa­nies like Mic­ro­soft, Racks­pace and Purina; we’ve made them for small star­tups and individuals.

I went on record years ago, saying, “Social Objects are the future of mar­ke­ting.” With the Inter­net, time has pro­ved me right.

My busi­ness part­ner, Jason Kor­man and I are experts at this stuff. Feel free to email us any­time at gapingvoid@gmail.com, Thanks.

We’re currently accep­ting new pri­vate and cor­po­rate com­mis­sions a.k.a. “Cube Gre­na­des”. Please read on for some selec­ted case stu­dies, or for more back­ground theory, read the com­mis­sion archi­ves.  Thanks! gapingvoid@gmail.com.

Tra­di­tio­nal adver­ti­sing doesn’t work very well.

Sure, it tries, and tries hard, but most of the time, it fails.

It fails far worse now than it ever did during the gol­den era of TV or print. Those days are gone. We live in The Inter­net Era now.

Old, tra­di­tio­nal adver­ti­sing was all about crea­ting mes­sa­ges for the media, not about crea­ting social objects for the peo­ple using the media.

“Social Objects” is what makes the Inter­net work, what makes the Inter­net possible.

Without the social objects, there would simply be no World Wide Web.

Social objects are part of the Web’s very DNA.

In The Inter­net Era, an ad that isn’t first and fore­most a social object, is use­less waste of money. Even if we’re not tal­king about the Inter­net, per se.

Which is why I inven­ted Cube Gre­na­des: social objects in car­toon form, desig­ned to star real con­ver­sa­tions bet­ween people.

To me, Cube Gre­na­des aren’t just about car­toons. Cube Gre­na­des are  about something far more important- they’re about doing something that crea­tes real change bet­ween peo­ple, that crea­tes something that actually mat­ters to people.

Social Objects: I use car­toons. What do you use? Serious question.

1. SHIT CREEK CONSULTING

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The groovy cats over at Shit Creek Con­sul­ting com­mis­sio­ned me to design them their busi­ness card.  After loo­king at the half-dozen or so ideas I pre­sen­ted to them, they chose the one above.

Shit Creek are a Mic­ro­soft Gold Part­ner. It seems a big part of their busi­ness is coming in and clea­ning up the mess left behind by the large tech con­sul­tan­cies [I’m not naming any names]. So that’s the idea I ran with.

The name of their com­pany implies they have a lot of atti­tude. They wan­ted a car­toon that con­ve­yed this. Easy. It was a fan­tas­tic com­mis­sion and I’m very happy with the car­toon they chose.

[The com­mis­sion archive is here…]

2. TECHCRUNCH

For the last five years I’ve desig­ned the pos­ter for the annual Techc­runch Party. This is the one I did for July, 2010.

[The com­mis­sion archive is here…]

3. THOUGHTWORKS

A “cube gre­nade” com­mis­sion I just com­ple­ted for Thought­works, the glo­bal IT con­sul­ting company.

Thought­works has this term, “Water­me­lon”, to desc­ribe a pro­ject that goes terribly wrong, that looks all well and good on the outside (green), but as the pro­ject comes to an end, turns out to be a huge ol’ expen­sive mess on the inside (red). I just took the idea and ran with it.

We’re going to turn this design into a 100 large fra­med prints, as Christ­mas pre­sents for their clients. A fun little “con­ver­sa­tion star­ter” to hang on their walls… which of course, is what the the whole cube gre­nade idea is all about. “Art With Pur­pose” etc.

Fun!

4. INTEL

“The pro­ces­sor is an expres­sion of human poten­tial”. Exactly.

“Sili­con chip as metaphor for blank can­vas.” Exactly.

So this was my idea for my client, Intel. You know, the big mic­ro­pro­ces­sor com­pany. “Sili­con Chips” etc.

First I drew a wee doodle of a mic­ro­pro­ces­sor, like the one above.

Then I added a tagline to the image. “The pro­ces­sor is an expres­sion of human potential”.

This was my “blank can­vas” to start with, as it were.

And then I star­ted to fill said blank can­vas with ima­ges. As demons­tra­ted below:

The ima­ges them­sel­ves don’t mat­ter per se. The fact they were drawn by me doesn’t mat­ter, either. That’s not the point.

The point is, as always, human poten­tial. And what Intel can do to help said human poten­tial reveal itself.

“The pro­ces­sor is an expres­sion of human poten­tial”. Exactly.

“Sili­con chip as metaphor for blank can­vas.” Exactly.

Then I added the Intel logo and their tagline, “Visibly Smart”.

We prin­ted these up as fine art prints. Then I hand-signed them at the Intel stand at the 2001 CES (Con­su­mer Elec­tro­nics Show) in Las Vegas. You can seethe pho­tos here on Flickr.

[The com­mis­sion archive is here…]

5. ORGPRENEUR.COM

[“Sac­red Zom­bie Cow”. Click here to down­load free high-rez down­load etc.]

Thanks to David Gam­mel of Orgpreneur.com for the great com­mis­sion. Backs­tory here.

A “Sac­red Zom­bie Cow” is David’s term for an idea that still lives within an orga­ni­za­tion, that has long out­li­ved its usefulness.

[The com­mis­sion archive is here…]


6. PRIVATE COMMISSION– TARA AND REMI

Recently I com­ple­ted one of my most ambi­tious pie­ces in a while– a pri­vate com­mis­sion from Tara, for her boy­friend, Remi’s birthday.

Go here to check out all the pho­tos and the com­plete backstory.

[Though I haven’t tal­ked about it too much on the blog, yes, I do pri­vate com­mis­sions. Feel free to con­tact me at gapingvoid@gmail.com if you want to dis­cuss further, Thanks.]

[The com­mis­sion archive is here…]

7. PURINA

February, 2010 I flew to St. Louis, to give a talk at Purina, the giant pet food com­pany that’s owned by Nestle. It was their big, annual digi­tal sum­mit. All their top digi­tal mar­ke­ting folk (and their top ad agency digi­tal folk) were there.

I tal­ked about “Social Objects”, and how I believe they are the future of mar­ke­ting.

Above is the print they com­mis­sio­ned me to draw for them. I like how it tur­ned out. “All pro­ducts are infor­ma­tion” refers back to something I wrote a few years ago, “The Kine­tic Quality”.

How often do large, well-known com­pa­nies call you up and ask you to draw a car­toon for them? Exactly. I’ve wor­ked in the tech world for big clients before– Sun, Dell, Mic­ro­soft etc– but this is my first­com­mis­sion with a large, FMCG brand (Fast-Moving Con­su­mer Goods). Not to men­tion, I’ve always held Nestle and Purina in very high regard. So natu­rally, I was pretty exci­ted. Rock on.

[The com­mis­sion archive is here…]

8. FIZZ

I did this cube gre­nade for Fizz, the well-known Word-Of-Mouth mar­ke­ting agency [They did all that ground-breaking stuff for Pabst Blue Rib­bon etc.].

This idea is so sim­ple… do I really have to explain it? Exactly.

[The com­mis­sion archive is here…]

9. RACKSPACE

These are three from an ongoing series of cube gre­na­des I was com­mis­sio­ned to do for Racks­pace, the large hos­ting com­pany in San Anto­nio. I was hired by Rob La Gesse [he’s the same guy who hired uber-blogger, Robert Sco­ble], to create new ideas/messages in order to shake things up inter­nally. So far it’s working.

[You can see the Racks­pace car­toon archive here.]

[The com­mis­sion archive is here…]

10. THE MONSTER IN YOUR HEAD

Jerry Colonna used to be a Ven­ture Capi­ta­list. He was EXTREMELY suc­cess­ful as a part­ner with Fred Wil­son at Fla­ti­ron Part­ners. Before that, he was an invest­ment ban­ker on Wall Street.

Then he deci­ded he wan­ted out of the busi­ness. He had made his money, he now wan­ted to give back.  He wan­ted to teach.

After teaching busi­ness clas­ses at CUNY in New York for a little while, he set him­self up as a busi­ness coach. A damn good one.

“A bit like being a shrink,” he told me, “but more business-focused.”

A big part of his modus ope­randi is not telling peo­ple what to do with their busi­nes­ses, but trying to get them over their fears of achie­ving that which they MUST do, if they want to become the peo­ple they one day hope to be.

“The issues my clients fear the most tend not to be the actual stuff out there– com­pe­ti­tion, cash­flow, mar­ke­ting,” he says, “but the worst-case ima­gi­nary sce­na­rios. ‘The Mons­ter Inside Their Heads’, as it were. So a cen­tral tenet to what I do is hel­ping them to get over The Monster.”

So he com­mis­sio­ned me to draw a Monster-themed sig­ned, fine-art print to give away as pre­sents to his best cus­to­mers and allies. Something to keep on the office wall as a cons­tant reminder.

I was glad to do it. I’ve always got my fair share of Mons­ters, myself. Rock on.

[The com­mis­sion archive is here…]

11. CRASHCOURSE.CA

A wee com­mis­sion I did for crashcourse.ca, an edu­ca­tion resource. Yes, I wrote the head­line. Go see.

[The com­mis­sion archive is here…]

12. THE ESCAPE POD

My old adver­ti­sing buddy, Vinny Warren, com­mis­sio­ned me to draw him a Cube Gre­nade for his Chicago-based ad agency, The Escape Pod.

“We are not in the adver­ti­sing busi­ness, we are in the decom­mo­di­fi­ca­tion busi­ness” is a line of mine that Vinny has been borro­wing from me for a while now. So it see­med appro­priate to design something around that.

[The com­mis­sion archive is here…]

13. ZEALEAP

Tim Porthouse over at Zealeap.com com­mis­sio­ned this design for his com­pany. The copy at the bot­tom (which I wrote) reads:

“when a busi­ness stops crea­ting, it dies. when a busi­ness stops crea­ting cul­ture, it dies. busi­ness cul­tu­res are not crea­ted, they are re-created. busi­ness cul­tu­res are not crea­ted, they are co-created. without colla­bo­ra­tion, there is no crea­tion. a busi­ness that does not unders­tand its own cul­ture. does not unders­tand its own busi­ness. cul­ture mat­ters. the world has got­ten too inte­res­ting and too com­pe­ti­tive to think other­wise. rea­lity is scary. rea­lity is wonderful.”

Cul­tu­ral Trans­for­ma­tion, Baby. That’s where it’s at these days. Exactly.

[The com­mis­sion archive is here…]

14. HNI

A cube gre­nade I did for HNI Insu­rance.

A lot of HNI’s truc­king clients ope­rate with pro­fit mar­gins of around 2%. Ouch.

I like the car­toon just because it’s bru­tally in-your-face and to the point. No mes­sing around.

Of course, the easiest way for their clients to inc­rease their mar­gin, is to lower their risk. Which is where HNI comes in. Ker-chiing.

[More HNI car­toons here etc.]

[The com­mis­sion archive is here…]

15. AGENCIACLICK

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In early 2009 I was hired by a Bra­zi­lian ad agency, agen­ciac­lick to create a pri­va­tely com­mis­sio­ned edi­tion of the Cube Gre­nade above.

As with my other clients, they didn’t want these prints just for them­sel­ves; they wan­ted to give these out to their clients, as con­ver­sa­tion starters.

“All brands are open brands? Huh? What does that mean? Do you agree with it? Why? What does “open” actually mean? What does “brand” actually mean…?” You get the pic­ture. The same idea that made The Blue Mons­ter so suc­cess­ful. Again, it wasn’t about the mes­sage, the object. It was all about the social.

[The com­mis­sion archive is here…]

16. MICROSOFT: THE BLUE MONSTER

The Blue Mons­ter was a cartoon-based “Social Object” that me and my Mic­ro­soft buddy, Steve Clay­ton, unleashed on the good but unsus­pec­ting folk at Mic­ro­soft back in 2007. For those unfa­mi­liar with it, you can find the backs­tory here on Goo­gle. It’s pro­bably my best-know idea to date.

[The com­mis­sion archive is here…]

17. LINE2

One of car­toons I did for the  hackthephonecompany.com cam­paign for the client, Line2, the SF-based VoIP com­pany.

Yeah, we went after AT&T. Naughty us.

[The Line2 car­toon archive is here.]

[The com­mis­sion archive is here…]

18. RACKSPACE 2

There seems to be a con­ver­sa­tion hap­pe­ning inter­nally at my client, Racks­pace. Spearhea­ded by peo­ple like Robert Sco­ble and the guy who hired him (and who also hired me), Rob La Gesse.

“Don’t be normal”.

Who wants a “nor­mal” job, anyway?

Who wants a “nor­mal” emplo­yer, anyway?

Who wants a “nor­mal” life, anyway?

Exactly.

So why not say it, loud and proud?

So I drew some car­toons on the subject.

I’m thin­king they’d make great rec­rui­ting posters…

[P.S. At the time of pos­ting these on the blog, Rob hadn’t seen these car­toons yet. He lets me post my ideas “live”, without having to go through him first. THAT IS WHY I’m psyched to be wor­king with Rob and Racks­pace. Just so you know.]

[The com­mis­sion archive is here…]

19. JEFF SANDQUIST

Jeff Sand­quistRobert Scoble’s old boss at Microsoft’s Chan­nel Nine, com­mis­sio­ned me to design this busi­ness card for him.

He wan­ted a design that wor­ked for both techies and non-techies alike. Something that made him appear both good at his job, but still a human being etc.

Fun! Thanks, Jeff!

[The com­mis­sion archive is here…]

[Sign up for Hugh’s “Daily Car­toon” News­let­ter.]

[PERSONAL BACKSTORY:] My name is Hugh MacLeod.  I’m a car­too­nist. I star­ted gapingvoid.com a decade ago in in May, 2001 when I star­ted publishing “Car­toons Drawn On The Back Of Busi­ness Cards”. I used to be an adver­ti­sing copyw­ri­ter. Even­tually I wrote a cou­ple of books.

I now draw “Cube Gre­na­des” i.e. business-focused car­toon com­mis­sions for a living for clients like Racks­pace. I have a daily car­toon news­let­ter, which I send out every week­day to tens of thou­sands of peo­ple. I also have an online gallery, where I sell art. Thanks for reading!

The Dra­wings:

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[This is the car­toon that ins­pi­red the name “gaping­void”. I drew it way back when, in college. Click on image to enlarge.]
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When I first lived in Manhat­tan in Decem­ber, 1997 I got into the habit of dood­ling on the back of busi­ness cards, just to give me something to do while sit­ting at the bar. The for­mat stuck.
All I had when I first got to Manhat­tan were 2 suit­ca­ses, a cou­ple of card­board boxes full of stuff, a reser­va­tion at the YMCA, and a 10-day free­lance copyw­ri­ting gig at a Mid­town adver­ti­sing agency.
My life for the next cou­ple of weeks was going to work, wal­king around the city, and stag­ge­ring back to the YMCA once the bars clo­sed. Lots of alcohol and cof­fee shops. Lot of weird peo­ple. Being hit five times a day by this strange desire to laugh, sing and cry simul­ta­neously. At times like these, there’s a lot to be said for an art form that fits easily inside your coat poc­ket.
The free­lance gig tur­ned into a per­ma­nent job. I sta­yed. The first month in New York for a new­co­mer has this cer­tain ama­zing magic about it that is indesc­ri­ba­ble. Incan­des­cent luci­dity. Howe­ver long you stay in New York, you pretty much spend the rest of your time there trying to recap­ture that fee­ling. Cha­sing Manhat­tan Dra­gon. I sup­pose the whole point of the cards ini­tially was to somehow get that buzz onto paper.
Although I haven’t lived in New York since 1999, it still lives in me. Far too much, some would say…
The ori­gi­nals are drawn on either busi­ness cards or Strath­more Bris­tol Board cut to the same size i.e. 3.5″ x 2″. I use mostly Koh-I-Noor rapi­do­graph pens of var­ying widths. Occa­sio­nally I’ll use other things– pen­cil, water­co­lor, ball­point etc, but not often.
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Per­so­nal Faves [Ori­gi­nally pos­ted, May, 2001:

An artist is quite a fucked-up thing to be, and to be honest I’m not sure if I would recom­mend it to any­body. Still, in my collec­tion there are a cou­ple of exam­ples that, in some sick and twis­ted way, make the whole thing seem worthwhile. For the first five minu­tes, at least:
The Shark Bar
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When I first moved to New York, I sta­yed at the YMCA on West 62nd.
My first dra­wing as a New York resi­dent was on my second eve­ning, sit­ting on a bars­tool at the Shark Bar– a hip, young place in SoHo.
Having only been in town just over 24 hours, I was fee­ling a bit overwhel­med by New York, to say the least. Plus I had drunk quite a lot that eve­ning. I think both show up in the dra­wing.
I’ve been back to the Shark Bar a cou­ple of times since then, but it never had the same insane magic of that first eve­ning. Great name for a bar, though. Espe­cially in Manhat­tan.
Vanished
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Spring ’98. I was at a bar, it was late, I was kinda tipsy.
Sud­denly I rea­li­zed that my life hadn’t chan­ged much in the last decade since lea­ving college. Work, bars, car­toons, ran­dom con­ver­sa­tions of a big-city nature, second-hand bookshops and art films, the occa­sio­nal bout of ran­dom or regu­lar sex to tide things over etc etc.
It wasn’t as inte­res­ting as it used to be. But I hadn’t moved on, really. And I had no idea where to go next.
Wel­come to New York.
The best car­toons are the ones that give you these ama­zing moments of cla­rity as you draw them. That’s the best thing about car­too­ning, really. Everything else seems rather secon­dary in com­pa­ri­son.
Fanelli’s
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Decem­ber 29th, 1997. Fanelli’s, on Prince and Mer­cer in SoHo, is one of the great bars in Manhat­tan. I had been in New York only a cou­ple of days when I found myself there, drin­king hea­vily.
I no lon­ger drink much, howe­ver at the time I had this idea that seriously heavy drin­king was essen­tial in order to enjoy New York pro­perly. I don’t think I was wrong, either.
Around mid­night at the bar I bump into an old acquain­tance of mine from Chi­cago, Mark Mann. He had moved to New York about 3 months pre­viously to do something with his film career. He is one of the fun­niest and most inte­res­ting peo­ple I know, but at the time I didn’t know that. We were quite sus­pi­cious of each other for the lon­gest time before we admit­ted that we actually were friends.
I hadn’t told any­body I was moving to New York except on a need-to-know basis, so he was quite sur­pri­sed to see me there. A ghost from his for­mer Chi­cago life– just pop­ped out of nowhere.
Told him my story. Told him about being laid off in Chi­cago. Told him about this new job I got in New York. Told him I only knew I got the job offi­cially 5 days before Christ­mas– only about a week pre­viously. Asked him how he was liking New York.
“It’s great,” he said. “Everybody’s insane with lone­li­ness, but that’s OK. After a while you rea­lize that’s part of the edge.“
I was hit with a para­dox. I wan­ted to be in New York, I wan­ted to be “part of the edge”, but I didn’t want to be “insane with lone­li­ness”. Was one neces­sary in order to have the other? Was it a price worth paying? To this day, I still have no ans­wer.
A cou­ple of months later (July, ’98) I drew this, sit­ting on a bars­tool. Thin­king back to that con­ver­sa­tion with Mark, sud­denly I had a rea­li­za­tion: The sim­ple truth about big cities is that peo­ple don’t go there to give. They go there to take, or at least, to get. If you feel like giving, good for you, somewhere an angel is smi­ling yada yada yada, just don’t expect other peo­ple to follow your exam­ple. And if you’re fee­ling lonely, at least now you now know why. This dra­wing is partly about that.
Com­mit­ment
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Within 1 week of mee­ting this per­son you rea­lize that not only have you found your soul­mate, but you’ve found your soul­mate who likes to have sex 4 times a day in the bed, on the dining table, on the kitchen floor, in the chan­ging rooms at Bloomingdale’s etc.
Within 2 weeks you’re already tal­king about moving in together.
Within 3 weeks you’re tal­king about having babies together.
Within 4 weeks you rea­lize this per­son is a com­plete psycho­path.
Within 5 weeks this per­son also thinks you’re a com­plete psycho­path.
Within 6 weeks you’re sit­ting at a res­tau­rant with an old friend who is giving you the “How come you only call me when you’re sin­gle” speech.
I Knew My Pain
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Some­ti­mes life throws you a devas­ta­ting curve ball. And you’re never ready for it. Ever.
Eric
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I remem­ber being young and stu­pid. How utterly sweet and sim­ple life see­med back then, but I also knew in the back of my mind that these days weren’t going to last fore­ver. Ouch. Hope­fully, in a decade or two I’ll be loo­king back to this time now with equal affec­tion. I think that’s all you can do, really.
Com­plete
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Early 30s is a great time to be alive– you’re still young, but you have expe­rience. A power­ful combo.
The down­side is all that weird rocks­tar shit you believe about your­self is well past its sell-by date, and if you haven’t out­grown it by then, it starts to fuck up your life.
New York is tough enough if you’re a man. God knows how the women manage to do it.
Please
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The piece is not par­ti­cu­larly cle­ver nor espe­cially beau­ti­ful to look at. But something gently dis­tur­bing resi­des just beneath the sur­face. Hmmmm� sort of like apart­ment bro­kers.
C.F.A.
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Yes. Exactly.
Mighty
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All clients want one, I am told.
Cheap Plas­tic Toys
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Some of it was my fault, some of it wasn’t. Regard­less, I’ve made a list and they will pay dearly.
Mis­ta­kenly
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There are many advan­ta­ges of get­ting older… more money and res­pect from the world at large being the main one. Howe­ver, with all this newly found cash & kudos comes the idea that maybe the world isn’t such a nice place, after all. That maybe all that unhap­pi­ness you see on the faces of your fellow com­mu­ters is there for a rea­son. And no mat­ter how much you try or how hard you work, none of that will ever change.
Still, I sup­pose it’s bet­ter to know that said bru­ta­lity exists, rather than bur­ning all those calo­ries pre­ten­ding it doesn’t. I just wish I’d wised up a decade ear­lier than I did.
Lying
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OK, this one isn’t exactly subtle. But it doesn’t take any pri­so­ners, either. Unres­trai­ned bile is actually pretty hard to pull off, artis­ti­cally.
Wolf vs Sheep
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No, I don’t have an ans­wer to which option is bet­ter. Both exact a heavy toll, even­tually.
Too Many Cats
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Good thing a cer­tain friend of mine never reads my web­site.
Dorothy
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I’ve always been a big Dorothy Par­ker fan. Urbane wit at its finest. Would I trade my life for hers in order to be that talen­ted and famous? No way. Like all into­xi­cants, talent can be a poi­son. Rea­ding her bio­graphy, it seems she lear­ned that more than most.
It’s 2 am and I’m in this crazy Mid­town Irish bar. I have no idea why I’m there. I shouldn’t be there. I should be somewhere else. Asleep, com­for­ta­ble, happy, sha­ring my bed with a sen­si­ble girl from a good family, Brooks Brothers’ pyja­mas, insuf­fe­rably middle class. But no.
Every­body in that bar is crazy. I tell myself I’m the only sane one but I think I’m kid­ding myself.
Being an artist/creative is like wea­ring funky clothing. Every year gets a little bit har­der. After a while it just looks stu­pid. Even­tually the stu­pi­dity reaches cri­ti­cal mass and the late-night tails­pin begins. At a mid­town Irish bar at 2am, while I’m dra­wing this pic­ture, these things no lon­ger seem to mat­ter.
I like this card because it’s the kind of thing poor old Dorothy would have writ­ten.
All The Time
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After years of strug­gling in impe­cu­nious obs­cu­rity, a very old friend of mine recently had a bit of suc­cess in his busi­ness.
Sud­denly, every­body in the industry knew who he was, and would mob him at trade shows and con­ven­tions. Peo­ple who wouldn’t have given him the time of day only a year before were sha­me­lessly thro­wing them­sel­ves at him, scat­te­ring busi­ness cards like con­fetti.
My friend, the rock star. Who knew?
Shortly after one of these little fee­ding fren­zies, we meet up for a drink, as we do.
He’s telling me all about it. All the off-the-record stuff that hap­pe­ned. All these relent­less peo­ple coming after him, like terriers on the bone.
“How weird,” I say.
“Sure is,” he says. “Now I know what it’s like to have a vagina.“
Pic­kaxe
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One eve­ning after a grue­some day at the office I went into a cof­fee shop on 6th Ave to write. Got a cof­fee, found a table, ope­ned my lap­top and loo­ked around. I’m not kid­ding; there were nine other peo­ple in the cafe with open lap­tops, wri­ting away, just like me. Nine. I coun­ted. They were pro­bably wri­ting the same tedious crap I was.
“It’s a novel about some guy who moves to New York to break into the high-brow lite­rary scene and score with lots of chicks yada yada yada…“
One of the rea­sons I stick to car­too­ning is because my tra­di­tio­nal prose wri­ting is so god­for­sa­kenly awful.
Wri­ting about New York is a bit like wri­ting about sex– it’s already been done to death. And done. And done. And done again. It’s a form of lite­rary nec­rophi­lia. Unless you have something com­ple­tely uni­que and visio­nary to say about New York (I have yet to meet some­body in the flesh who does), any kind of Manhattan-fuelled artis­tic ambi­tion runs the risk of tur­ning you in to a “lig­ger”.
“Lig­ger” is Scot­tish slang. A lig­ger is a hanger-on, a wan­nabe, a parasite-to-the-hip. Some­body who goes to art ope­nings to drink free wine, but never buys a pain­ting. Some­body who sees art as not something you make, but something you milk. Some­body who is always seen, but never remem­be­red.
Living in New York is only pos­si­ble if you treat it like a reli­gion. Lig­gers are really good at this, for some rea­son. Hence their vast num­bers; hence why a big part of your ave­rage day in New York is spent sepe­ra­ting the lig­gers from the real peo­ple.
Henry
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So you’re going out a lot. Pretty soon you’re going out too much. Par­ties. Bars. More par­ties. More bars. So you decide to cut back a bit, y’know, start living like a nor­mal per­son.
So you trade in those wild & crazy times for deli­ve­red Chi­nese food, For­bes Maga­zine and Sein­feld reruns. You’re just going to try it for a cou­ple of weeks, and see how it feels. After all, this is a “new you” we’re tal­king about. A bet­ter you. A saner you. A wiser, more sen­si­ble and com­pe­lling you.
But you know in your heart of hearts that you didn’t move from subur­ban Cle­ve­land, Den­ver, Pitts­burgh etc to a $3000-a-month Manhat­tan apart­ment just to watch Sein­feld.
In New York, you always think that if you try har­der, work lon­ger hours, make more money, spend more time at the gym, put more effort into net­wor­king, read more books, go to bed ear­lier, drink less booze, avoid nega­tive peo­ple, be less sha­llow about the whole sex thing, be more sup­por­tive to your close friends, eat more vege­ta­bles and stop smo­king so many damn ciga­ret­tes, you will even­tually be able pull off that great Miracle Of Mirac­les i.e. you’ll finally, finally, finally be able to live in Manhat­tan while simul­ta­neously lea­ding a healthy, pro­duc­tive, emotionally-balanced life.
Ha.
(PS: I no lon­ger live in New York, obviously)
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