Well, I went to the Press Pass party, and I’m sorry, my bloggies, I’m getting old. Time passes, even I am not immune. People shoving, pushing past, shouting, you couldn’t hear what anyone was saying.
Still, it was fun. I wound up outside, having a smoke, with several nefarious characters, including a certain Micah Toub:
Yes, he’s cute, isn’t he, ladies? And as he cheerfully informed me at the event, “absolutely, 100 percent single.” I can get you his contact info if you’re interested (you see, it’s not only my book I pimp).
Anyway, like me he’s a) a Globe columnist b) pimping a book– in his case Growing Up Jung, about, uh, how his father was a shrink or something…anyway, the point is, he’s on the hustle, on the bubble. His book doesn’t come out until the fall, but already he’s working all the angles, flying down to New York, buttering up his publicist, and so on and so forth.
We were comparing notes, I asked him if he was going on tour, he muttered something about how the publisher asked him if he would “happen to be in certain cities anyway,” they could set something up– like I say, it’s a DIY world these days, ladies, you have to be both Publicity Pimp and Media Whore for your own book…to an extent (I don’t want anyone to get me wrong, in my case I’ve got a guy, at the publishers, Josh Glover, at M&S, who’s doing a brilliant job).
Anyway, he was like blah blah blah. And I was like: “Dude, do you know The Four Phases of Fame?”
And he was like: “No.”
So I told him.
1. “Who’s Micah Toub?”
2. “Get me Micah Toub.”
3. “Get me the next Micah Toub.”
4. “Who’s Micah Toub?”
Anyway he laughed at that, and then along with my man Ian Daffern we started riffing on it, how in the modern era there should be several more layer added, e.g.:
2b. “And do you think he’ll blog for free?”
2. c. “I’m sorry Micah we have to cancel your blog, we just can’t even afford to do it anymore.”
“But I do it for free!”
“I know: that’s what makes this so painful.”
Anyway, maybe you had to be there. It was funny to me– and just kinda nice to talk to a couple of dudes (younger, always younger) who know what I’m on about.
You gotta hustle. Hustle or die, babies. And you don’t even know if it’s paying off. Who knows? Why do people buy books? It’s a mystery.
But “at the end of the day” (everyone hates that term but I like it) you want to be able to say you did all you could.
In fact, let that be the inscription upon my gravestone. Dave Eddie RIP: “I did all I could.”