the business of writing… and cock sucking!
Writing by Jana on Friday, 30 of May , 2008 at 8:07 am
On the streetcar, sort of nodding off and jerking awake. I’d had the sort of day where you wake up already exhausted and it never quite comes together from that point. The kind of day where existential angst keeps creeping in on you and you start to wonder what, if anything, is worth it anymore. And so I arrived ten minutes late to the prearranged meeting place he had suggested– which turned out to be a cozy, intimate restaurant, and I was a little perturbed by his choice of location but shrugged it off to paranoia. After all, although this felt eerily similar to other situations I had been in – situations gone horribly, awkwardly awry – it was no reason to jump to conclusions.
He would know me from my picture but I had no idea what he looked like, and so I stood nervously at the door, scanning the mostly empty restaurant; waiting for some lone soul to claim me.
I felt like I was on a blind date instead of a “business” meeting – a feeling that would only increase in intensity as the night went on — but I’m getting ahead of myself here.
And then finally a tall, dark, handsome man in a suit comes over and introduces himself.
We’ll call him Jack. Because I like that name
We’ll call him George.
The “business” in question was a potential job. One of those multifaceted types that included writing, blogging, marketing, and video hosting with television potential (they all believe the television potential line) and so basically it translated into your typical media gig of insanely long and irregular hours with third-world-country standard hourly wages.The ad was seeking an “attractive and engaging female host with strong verbal and written capabilities” and I like to think I am those things. So I applied with my resume and headshot and “George” contacted me for a face-to-face meeting.
And so here I was at this stupidly trendy restaurant. Your typical Toronto spot serving the standard generic-Asian-fusion fare at inflated prices.
And here George was talking about everything but the job at hand. And asking a lot of personal questions.
And it’s starting to get awkward because he’s complimenting me.
Him: “You know, Jana, you seem so different from the models I typically work with.”
Me: “I think that might be because I am neither a model or your co-worker.”
(Thinking: thanks asshole. Is this akin to the Say are you a model? pick-up line other jackasses are so fond of using on women? Every woman? Because you’re starting to make me feel like I want to rip your face off.)
Insert long tedious monologue by him where he expounds upon the various times in his illustrious director/producer career where he’s gotten a “break” for other nubile young females like myself working in the media/writing field – or “modeling” as he refers to it interchangeably. This speech also includes him telling me he’s been compared to George fucking Clooney (who says that?) and name-dropping all the Very Important People he’s “friends” with.
At this point I haven’t mentioned my boyfriend yet, as I’m still clinging to the hope that this is in fact a business meeting and not a surprise first-date and I’m putting on my most glacial Eastern European façade in the hopes of deterring him. The glacial Eastern European thing usually works very well for me, but it’s obviously going straight over his head.
And as the minutes tick by, it starts to feel too obvious to even mention a boyfriend as I obviously am on a surprise first date, and mentioning one will make me look like one of those girls who lies to deter unwanted suitors and then this train-wreck of an evening will be even worse.And I shouldn’t even have to do that, goddamn! Because this is a meeting right? An interview? A professional thing? Right??
Oh no it’s not? You mean that’s asking for too much? Yes, indeed.
And to make a long story short: I cut the evening early and went home feeling dirty and confused.
And this brings me to my point: I fucking despise 99% of the people who list themselves as being in the “entertainment industry.” Fucking hate ‘em. I’m friends with some wonderful people in the field. But I’m also acquainted with some of the biggest pricks. I’ve unfortunately dated this breed of man and he is invariably the most obnoxious, selfish, egotistical, insecure asshat you will ever spend time with.
Kinda like a lot of the assholes in “finance” or the striped shirt guy, but possibly worse.
I’ve been in too many situations watching a group of insecure posers preening for their peers — who have neither the clout nor the influence they themselves believe they do — practically begging to suck their cocks for a chance at something. Anything. But dear lord gimme something
And I see a lot of writers doing the same. Begging and pleading and stalking agents and editors.
And I just want it to stop.
I stayed up late the other night and CityLine was airing one of it’s hilariously bad soft core porns and I stopped to watch for a few minutes because the TV menu guide listed the description as something about a writer — and of course the plot revolved around a young woman with enormous titties fucking and sucking her way to a publishing contract.
Granted, I seriously doubt that this happens ever, or often anyways, but it did make me giggle. And then my sleeping boyfriend woke up on the couch and gave me a weird look. Right before asking if we could reenact the scene on the TV.
And then finally a tall, dark, handsome man in a suit comes over and introduces himself.
We’ll call him Jack. Because I like that name
We’ll call him George.
The “business” in question was a potential job. One of those multifaceted types that included writing, blogging, marketing, and video hosting with television potential (they all believe the television potential line) and so basically it translated into your typical media gig of insanely long and irregular hours with third-world-country standard hourly wages.The ad was seeking an “attractive and engaging female host with strong verbal and written capabilities” and I like to think I am those things. So I applied with my resume and headshot and “George” contacted me for a face-to-face meeting.
And so here I was at this stupidly trendy restaurant. Your typical Toronto spot serving the standard generic-Asian-fusion fare at inflated prices.
And here George was talking about everything but the job at hand. And asking a lot of personal questions.
And it’s starting to get awkward because he’s complimenting me.
Him: “You know, Jana, you seem so different from the models I typically work with.”
(Thinking: thanks asshole. Is this akin to the Say are you a model? pick-up line other jackasses are so fond of using on women? Every woman? Because you’re starting to make me feel like I want to rip your face off.)
At this point I haven’t mentioned my boyfriend yet, as I’m still clinging to the hope that this is in fact a business meeting and not a surprise first-date and I’m putting on my most glacial Eastern European façade in the hopes of deterring him. The glacial Eastern European thing usually works very well for me, but it’s obviously going straight over his head.
And as the minutes tick by, it starts to feel too obvious to even mention a boyfriend as I obviously am on a surprise first date, and mentioning one will make me look like one of those girls who lies to deter unwanted suitors and then this train-wreck of an evening will be even worse.And I shouldn’t even have to do that, goddamn! Because this is a meeting right? An interview? A professional thing? Right??
Oh no it’s not? You mean that’s asking for too much? Yes, indeed.
And to make a long story short: I cut the evening early and went home feeling dirty and confused.
And this brings me to my point: I fucking despise 99% of the people who list themselves as being in the “entertainment industry.” Fucking hate ‘em. I’m friends with some wonderful people in the field. But I’m also acquainted with some of the biggest pricks. I’ve unfortunately dated this breed of man and he is invariably the most obnoxious, selfish, egotistical, insecure asshat you will ever spend time with.
Kinda like a lot of the assholes in “finance” or the striped shirt guy, but possibly worse.
I’ve been in too many situations watching a group of insecure posers preening for their peers — who have neither the clout nor the influence they themselves believe they do — practically begging to suck their cocks for a chance at something. Anything. But dear lord gimme something
And I see a lot of writers doing the same. Begging and pleading and stalking agents and editors.
And I just want it to stop.
I stayed up late the other night and CityLine was airing one of it’s hilariously bad soft core porns and I stopped to watch for a few minutes because the TV menu guide listed the description as something about a writer — and of course the plot revolved around a young woman with enormous titties fucking and sucking her way to a publishing contract.
Granted, I seriously doubt that this happens ever, or often anyways, but it did make me giggle. And then my sleeping boyfriend woke up on the couch and gave me a weird look. Right before asking if we could reenact the scene on the TV.
Category: life, the business of writing
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Comment by Soleil Noir
Made Friday, 30 of May , 2008 at 2:19 pm
It’s possible Jack would have worked better…
Like as in “Jack-ass”.
On the bright side though, you managed to turn a bad situation into an oddly engaging read. Kuddoes for that. Sorry about the actual bad night.
Comment by Wolo
Made Friday, 30 of May , 2008 at 5:24 pm
Agreed. Good read, shitty night. I have met several people in the entertainment industry and pretty much everything you said was spot on. The more I realize that it’s an industry I will probably have to mingle in again at some point (you know, after I’m making more money than God and JK Rowling combined ha ha ha) the more that realization bums me out. I take hope from the fact that I follow a couple of blogs from some successfull writers who don’t appear to be coated in slime. There’s got to be a fair number of us non-slimeys out there. We need to find each other and then stick together when the good times roll in.
Comment by Jana
Made Monday, 2 of June , 2008 at 7:53 am
Thanks guys…uh, girls.
I think the problem, or the issue, after it’s all been said and done is really insecurity. Massive, massive insecurity. And that’s not something you can really reach out and help someone with, it’s all up to them.
Anyways, the night in question is funnier in hindsight; particularly since the jackass in question has access to this blog and has hopefully read this entry and cringed with shame.
Comment by davidbdale
Made Friday, 6 of June , 2008 at 3:37 pm
Provocative title, Jana, and hard to live up to, but you delivered. It sounds as if you went home pissed-off and disgusted, not dirty and confused, but I’m quibbling. Fun stuff. I can’t do anything to help your career (isn’t that refreshing?) but your head shot does make you look like a model. Just for the record. Better luck on your next interview!
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