a.  I met some of my literary heroes.

b.   I made the NY Society page.

c.  Both these things happened while I was dressed as a clown.

And that, my friends, is my life right there…meeting my heroes and making the society page in a clown suit.  And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Happenings for Febuary 8th

visit his website here

He did this amazing reading, and afterwards I waited to get him to sign my book.  And I don’t know what hit me…maybe I was intimidated by his confidence and literary success…but I felt the need to tell him I didn’t like the end of his book. His  great book, by the way, very fresh and completely fearless.

What can I say?  I’m a brat.

And his response…well, he asked me why I felt that way, explained his intentions in ending the book so suddenly (which made sense, actually, though I’m still on the fence) and was incredibly nice.  Feeling awful for being such an obviously jealous bitch ( and one lacking in enough published endings to actually be critiqued by bratty strangers at actual readings), I told him I was a an writer, my book was going out for consideration, etc…and he gave me his email and was really nice and encouraging and actually sent my book to his editor some point soon after (where it was rejected…but damn, what a cool for him to do…and okay in retrospect, ’cause my editor is a rockstar!)

We kept up via infrequent emails for over two years now…he was encouraging of my work and me, and so excited when my book got picked up…and he gave me honest, heartfelt advice about publishing, the literary industry and writing.  And it blew my mind, this renowned author spending time on me!

Charles Bock...a man who is nice to random bratty chicks

And this was not done in a lascivious way (gotta say it, ’cause successful male writers have that stereotype about them)…Charles is a dedicated family man, very much in love with his wife, and was just being nice because – and this is the part that shocked me – there are successful writers out there who are NICE. They are good people.

I mean, not to go off on a tangent here…but we all know writers who have had a lot of success, but they kinda treated other people like shit on the way up…and yeah, they may be good writers, but to me the success is kinda empty and hollow when you’ve been compensating for deep-seated insecurity with ego and cruelty towards others (and guess what?  All writers have deep-seated insecurity…no need to compensate for anything.  Just own it.  I do.)

In Hemingway's case it wasn't his fault...his mother dressed him like a little girl. That would mess anyone up.

And here is someone like Charles who, come to find out, has been encouraging and kind and supportive of other writers for a long, long time (now I know this firsthand from his numerous friends now)…and that opened my eyes and taught me something.  Like I’ve said before…and I mean it…no book award or literary success or wads of money will keep you warm at night or make you feel truly loved.

I got Hot Danish Artist Thomas Warming to do that for me!

So when I emailed Charles last, and found out his wife Diana had leukemia…well, I was upset for him. They have a young child, too.  I told him I was there to help in any way I could, but didn’t hear back, which I understood.  Turns out the leukemia went into remission.  Unfortunately, it came back, and months later I got an invite to this:

Fellow Writers To Help Charles Bock with ‘Most Literary Rent Party Ever’

And the truth is, I couldn’t afford a ticket.  They were expensive (as they should be, this was meant to raise money for Diana)…  But I wanted to be there and help.  So I wrote Leigh Newman, one of his friends and the event coordinator (and a very cool person and   author), and offered my services as a clown to entertain the kids.

Leigh at the Literary Rent Party

And she said there wouldn’t be any kids…but they’d still love a clown.  And lord knows I’ve made enough balloons for adults in my time (balloons in a bar = free drinks all night)

And there you go.  The rest is history.

See that guy next to me...that's Sam. Lipysite.

BTW, I haven’t put on a clown suit or done balloon animals in years…and here’s the thing…it was like riding a bike!

This was a truly amazing experience.

Crazy things that happened:

I spent half an hour listening to the awesome band rehearse in the dressing room, having no idea the cute guy playing guitar and singing was one of my favorite writers OF ALL TIME Rick Moody, I mean, I adored him before I even knew I wanted to be a writer myself…

I even went up and made him a balloon – the first of the night – not knowing who the hell he was.

That's Rick Moody in the hat

Of course, when I found out later, Thomas brought him over to meet me ’cause I was starstruck…and Thomas knew I’d never get the nerve to talk to him again (even though he’d seen me put on clown tights and greasepaint in the dressing room )…and so I geeked out on him and he was so cool and took a picture with me…and he made the society pages holding my balloon animal!

I still didn't know who he was

from New York Social Diary...I think that was supposed to be a dog. I'm outta practice.

I made another balloon for rockstar writer Jim Shepard – and discussed the phallic nature of balloon animals in general – without knowing who he was.  Then he did a kickass reading and tore the place apart.  His book is about Iraq vets and has scenes in Ft. Sill (that’s in Oklahoma)…so I worked up the nerve to tell him about my book…which he said he’d like to read…and I just happened to have (Thomas made me bring it, I swear!  I’m so thankful for my deijile boy!)

I made  balloon animal for another dude ALSO not knowing who he was…and he insulted my balloon skills!  And so I told him the least he could do was hold the balloon and give me some advertising…and he said he’d put it up as decoration at the Literary Advice Booth:

…and so I said…what an idiot…oh, you’re a writer?  And he was like, I’m Sam Lipsyte.

And it seems, looking back, I made balloons for lots of bigtime writers (I mean, the place was packed with them) without knowing who they were…

Here I’m making a balloon for this precious little baby…turns out this is Josh Ferris’s kid…love the video because the kid looks completely nonplussed until the last second…wait for it, wait for it…yeah, this is absolutely the child of a writer!

And later I got advice from Amy Hempel (a true rockstar writer) at the Literary Advice Booth…and the crazy thing was she kept letting me ask questions even after 20 minutes…she answered with honesty, then would say, “Let me have another.”

And the stuff she said to me in that conversation – about being a woman and a writer, about making money as a writer, about owning your writing…well, that was stuff I will take to heart and never, ever forget.  Getting that kind of advice from someone as gifted as her…well, what a once in a lifetime experience.

and I actually made her laugh

And I met someone else I have always wanted to meet.  Mary Gaitskill.

It was a surreal, fantastic night…and the best part was that they raised a TON of money for Charles’s wife…and when I went up to him dressed as a clown, and told him I was Maya…his face went from shock to a huge smile.  ”High Before Homeroom!” he said.  And then I got to tell him exactly how much his kindness to me – some unpublished, kinda annoying chick who bugged him after a reading in LA – had meant to me.  And how much his kindness and warmth means to so many people…and how obvious that was if you looked around the room.

And I think that meant something to him…I hope it did, because I meant it.

Thomas took video all night for his wife to see in the hospital and be reminded how much she is adored and loved.

And here is what I learned from that night….writers can be good people too.  There wasn’t a bit of “who are you/what can you do for me/who has more cred/who is more famous?” vibe in there that night…these people were here to support Charles and Diana and their child, and the energy was warm and embracing of everyone.  And seeing that hardcore bigtime writers can come together like that for someone…well, that gave me hope.

But I already knew that.  Here are a list of my friends – truly gifted writers – and people I adore for just being who they are:  Stephen Sanders, Matthew Goldberg, Kodi Scheer, Randa Tantawi, Katie Arnoldi, Zack Karabashliev, Sara Karabashliev, the late E. Lynn Harris, who is always watching out for me…wow, and those are just a few of so many. I’m really, really lucky.

If you want to donate to help Charles’s wife, you can do so here.  He’s such a good guy and the family could use the help.

Enough of all that.  Let me just leave with one last deeply meaningful and deeply literary thought:

Anyway…I went to see James Franco read from his new book.  And this is how big an idiot I am…I actually thought I’d get in if I came half an hour before the 8 pm reading.  What I didn’t count on was the rabid teenage girls in low-cut shirts and full prom makeup who’d been there since 8 a.m. I couldn’t even get a bracelet to enter the speaking engagement area…I’d have to stand outside a rope, behind a crowd of very tall people, and just luxuriate in the sound of Franco’s voice.  But, with the urging of my friend Margaret, I got in anyway.  In the PRESS AREA. WITH my “Press Photographer” Thomas and my “son” Adriann (actually the most amazing kid ever visiting from Denmark…I pulled him in later while loudly remarking  “The nanny just dropped him off!  It is so hard to find good help!”

As if Adriann needs a nanny...seriously, he's more mature than ME (not saying much, I guess)

Long story short, Franco came in, took press photos, and then read for AT LEAST an hour.  I don’t blame him for that…when he asked the crowd if he should finish the story, of course the teenage girls shrieked “YES!  WE LOVE YOU!”  So he read… in fact, he read so long there wasn’t time for him to individually sign the books, which was really upsetting to some of the girls there…but what can you do?  The whole thing was crazy and surreal.

Anyway, candid shots from my Hot Danish “press photographer” Thomas Warming:

There were a couple of, ahem, unique members of the audience. Like this guy with a teddy bear.

Franco signs books

And here is a short video of Franco reading…I love the shot of Adriann looking really bored and annoyed by the whole thing.

Note:  My mom got me that Brooke Shields doll when I was a kid because she heard they’d be collectors items.  Up until a few weeks ago, I’d resisted the urge to open the box and decrease the value…but recently I figured, what the hell?  You’re only 33 once! And, by the way, I once saw Brooke Shields in a restaurant in NYC…I went up and told her I had this doll.  She said, “I hate that doll.  When I was in college, I’d come home and find my roomates had hung it by a little noose.  They thought it was hilarious.”  She was pretty cool.  

Yup, I’m that Hollywood.  I can drop names.  I can talk about my movie agent.  Doesn’t mean I’ll ever have a movie option.  Doesn’t mean I can make rent this month…but I like saying it.  It gives me Hollyhood street cred.

Anyway, I’m headed to the reading…and there is chaos across the street from the bookstore. Red carpet, paparazzo, the whole deal.  I’m early, and I love a scene, so I go stand on the edge of the parking lot by a security guard and film with my fancy new website camera (thank you mom!)

The guy next to me is visiting from Vermont.  Turns out he’s headed to the reading too.  He is the father of  Malina’s best friend. We are both checking out the celebrity action.  Real Hollywoodites would not be caught dead doing that kind of thing.  He’s got Vermont as an excuse, and I have this website!

But let’s be honest… I’d do it even without the website. *

So this was the scene:

Now for the video…and please note the pretty-boy tool waiting patiently for her. He’s my favorite part.

At the time, I thought he might be a publicist or assistant or junior agent.  I felt bad for him, having to wait around while everyone slobbered over this chick (I didn’t find out who she was until a few days later either – paparazzi call this ID’ing the Star…I got a lot of inside info on Paparazzi, and one day I’ll tell you why…and that, in Hollywood lingo, is a teaser). Then I saw this guy in US Weekly with her and realized that he and Duff are actually in a relationship.  His name is Mike Cormie and he’s a hockey player.

From USmagazine.com, April 24th, 2009:

Hilary Duff has a fan in her boyfriend, Mike Comrie.

“It’s always fun watching her work,” he told Usmagazine.com Thursday.

He adds that they make an effort to cheer each other on — Duff is a staple at Comrie’s hockey games — whenever they get the chance.

“We have fun,” the NHL star told Us. “We both live such different lives, but it’s always fun to support each other and spend time when we get to.”

With Comrie playing in Canada and Duff shooting across the country, the couple has few moments together in the same city.

“If it’s worth it, you make it work,” Comrie said.

Seconds Duff: “It’s natural for us, which I think is great. I think that we both have busy jobs, and we’re both very focused people, so that helps, too. Since we are apart so much, its not like one person is at home waiting for the other.”

After the interlude by the car, Duff headed for the red carpet.  I said to the Vermont guy:  “Let’s get closer.”   He was so cool, he didn’t give it a second thought.  We raced up to the press line like we had a mission.  The security guard you saw in the video (also cool) pretended he didn’t see us run right past him

I pushed through the paparazzi (”paps”) and got these pictures:

Then this publicity chick wearing way too much makeup and holding a clipboard came up to me:

CHICK: Who are you?  This is for press only.

ME: I’m press.

CHICK: Oh yeah?  Who are you with?

ME: Entertainment Weekly.

CHICK: Um, and where is your press pass?

ME: (stumbling over my words ‘cause Improv was never my strong point) I…uh….left it in the car.

CHICK: Well, you can’t be here without it.

ME: Ha Ha.  Just kidding!  I’m going to a reading across the street!  I’m not press at all!  Ha ha!

CHICK: (not amused) I know.

ME: Bye!  (Me and Vermont guy run across the street laughing.  I’m an idiot, I know.)

I know, through my extensive sources (teaser) that I could sell these pictures to the paparazzi for a lot of cash.  And I could use the money.  But, as much as I am a publicity whore who loves attention (buy my book, High Before Homeroom, Simon & Schuster, Summer 2010) I would never stoop that low.  On second thought, ask me again when August rent is due.

Then I went to the reading. Malina Saval wrote this amazing nonfiction book called The Secret Lives of Boys:

It is honest and funny and heartbreaking. She interviews all these teenage boys, and I don’t know how she does it, but she gets them to tell the truth about the world in a way teenagers rarely do.

One of her subjects was actually at the reading.  His pseudonym in the book is Apollo, and I met him before the reading started.  There were a lot of Hollywood types there.  I was sitting next to my movie agent, and everyone wanted to talk to him,  having whole conversations with him and ignoring me like I was a hooker he picked up on the street…’cause so many people take their whores to books signings.  It was like I was invisible…and that’s Hollywood (at least an element of it) in a nutshell.

So I excused myself.  Apollo was sitting alone in the front row, so I went up and introduced myself.  He was really cool.  He told me he was in Malina’s book, and had written a novel himself, kind of a sci-fi speculative piece. He gave me his number but I lost it.

If you read this, Apollo, will you email me?  I want to read your book. I’ll put a chapter on this website for everyone to read.

After Malina read one of her interviews, which was totally absorbing and reminded me how old I am (I didn’t get half the references), she introduced Apollo to the crowd. She said that Apollo was the subject of the interview she had just read.

I was shocked. He introduced himself to me by his real name.  The Apollo from the book and the kid I met at the reading were very different.  The book kid was talkative, pretentious, full of himself, ironic, sharp-tongued.  The kid I met was much more shy and introspective.

Apollo was fourteen when Malina interviewed him.  He’s eighteen now.  When he got up in front of the crowd, I could tell he was shy and embarrassed by the attention, but also honored by the recognition.   He admitted to the crowd that, since the interview, he had grown up and changed a great deal.  I was on a lot of meth then, he added.

It wasn’t an apology.  He was just stating fact.

I understand Apollo.  I changed a lot from fourteen to eighteen.  I tried on many personalities in those years.

I think I’m a prep.  Nah, that isn’t working. I can’t breathe in this sweater vest, and the plaid skirt itches the fuck out of me.  Maybe I’ll paint my fingernails black and wear an anarchy sign and hang with the goth kids for a while.  Why are the goth kids so negative?  I’m not hardcore enough…they see straight through me.  How about the theatre geeks? The fat girls and stage manager future dykes of america and closeted gay boys. They get me, I think. That’s where I belong. Then again…

I did coffee shop intellectual.  I read bad, angsty poetry at open mike nights (I miss Medina’s in the Paseo).  I did hippie chick.  I did deep loner who read Jack Kerouac and scrawled in notebooks.  That one lasted about four seconds.

So, reader, what did you try?  Tell me so I won’t feel so alone.  Write in my comments section.  You can use a fake name if you want.

But the thing about Apollo…at fourteen, he had self-awareness and insight I find awe-worthy.  While I was stumbling through life trying to figure out who the hell I was, Apollo actually had opinions about things.  Yeah, he grew up in LA where there was great shit going on, and I grew up in Oklahoma where the only shit  was coming out the asses of farm animals (so bad, I know)… still.  Fourteen-year-old Maya is jealous and admiring of fourteen year-old Apollo.

Yeah, some of his fourteen year old self probably embarrasses him now, but I think he had real guts.  He still does.  He must have felt naked as we listened, with rapt attention, to his younger self.

I wonder what he will do with the rest of his life.  I figure it will be something fucking amazing.

Email me, Apollo.