Firsts

Firsts

I’ve never been much of an artist. I don’t think there is or ever will be anyone who would disagree with that. I’ve just never had the patience. I expect beautiful things to come out of the pencil or paints in an expedient fashion, and for some reason they don’t comply. That may be the reason that this “FIRST” of mine is so vividly ingrained into my memory.

A little context. It was 1992 and I was in Mrs. Wexler’s second grade class. It was a time of experimentation. Should I wear “Thundercats” underwear or play it safe with “Ninja Turtles” briefs? Should I just brown bag my lunch, or roll the dice and see what’s on the “hot lunch” menu at school? Should I eat this Elmer’s paste? Is Tonya a boy or a girl, cause she looks like a boy, but she pees in the girls bathroom. These are the things I was struggling with.

One day I was struck with inspiration. Was it a muse? The Glue? The curious love note from Tonya? I can’t be sure today, but I decided then that I was going to try to draw something for the first time. Of course I had played with crayons before, and colored in coloring books, but I had never decided of my own volition to put pen to paper with the intention of drawing something prior to that day. It was a big step. I was considering long term situations here. If I enjoyed what I was about to do I could be in for a lifetime of criticism and defeat and poverty and bad hygiene and really skinny jeans. I moved forward anyway, knowing full well what I was getting myself into. If art was going to be my true calling, something that really made me happy, I was ready to make the sacrifices. I mean, I wasn’t all that clean in second grade anyway, I was on a bathing-every-other-day regiment and I had no problem keeping on that schedule through adulthood.

What came next was truly epic. I felt as though I had been possessed by a muse, my veins coursing with inspiration, and the #2 lead from the half used Dixon Ticonderoga in my hand was the only way to release this inspiration into the world. I can’t be sure of the time frame, it could have been minutes, it could have been hours, but I was left with a masterpiece. At least that’s how I felt. I was swelling with pride. And then the thoughts went through my head, “How could I ever surpass this?” I understood what art was now, I had experienced the joy of creating beauty and I was ready to move on to new things. Art wasn’t for me. Well continuing with art wasn’t for me, clearly, judging from the tour de force laying in front of me on grey “math paper”, art was for me if I wanted it. But I didn’t. I put my pencil in my cubby hole and I decided to move on to bigger and better things. I never did figure out that Tonya mystery!

Yesterday, at work, I tried to recreate the my original masterpiece. It left me with a lot of questions. Why does the bear look like a Chupacabra? Why is there a Gnome just hanging out watching the bear and the wolf about to have a serious battle, and smiling? Why do both the bear and the wolf only have two limbs? Is this what the original drawing actually looked like? The last question is the big one. In my head I remember it as one of Plato’s Ideal Forms, perfect, what all other pieces of art are modeled after… But in real life it looks like a piece of shit. Hopefully in a few days I’ll be able to remember the first version more clearly and forget this picture of the two legged aliens about to fall over and/or fight. Also, if you are reading this and work for the SyFy network, all rights are reserved for “Bear vs. Wolf” but if you are interested we can work out a deal for a made for TV movie.

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View Comments / Feb 13.10 / Firsts / by Joey Camire

// Diary Of A Maverick

By Joey Camire .
06.25.09 // Starting Over

12/7/08

Well, Diary, it’s been a month now, and a whole lot has changed. My life has relaxed quite a bit, at least as compared to the year leading up to the election. Oh sure, everyone is so supportive, “You’ll be able to focus on the things you love!” they say. Well, my friends, you can’t spend every waking hour of your life focused on prune juice and Vietnamese hookers. Trust me, I’ve tried. It leads to regular bowel movements and regular shots of penicillin, and at my age regularity really isn’t that important. My friend, I’d rather shit my pants in public just to get back on C-Span. Regularity doesn’t make headlines. Look at Sarah Palin. There isn’t a regular bone in her maverick body… Although, there was once, but that was during the prune obsession and I’d rather not discuss it. She tried to give me an “Alaskan Pipeline” look it up… I don’t know what they are doing up there in the great white north, but I can tell you if I had been elected president I would have sold that thing back. Gross. That’s all.

Well, anyway, I figure it’s time to start over again. You know. Stick a spur in my maverick and make some slightly non-conformist decisions. I don’t want to go too far fringe. All I need is Sean Hanity poking around with softball questions. It’s like being interviewed by a middle school newspaper reporter. For that reason, I’ve started taking yoga classes. Coincidentally, my friend, this is why I had to quit the prunes. There is a lot of stretching in those classes. But, the class is taught by a cute little Korean girl. Namaste. I’ll tell you what diary, that would have been the war to be in, forget ‘Nam, send me to Seoul.

With my new found energy from the the yoga I’ve also started experimenting in new vocations. Now listen, my friend, I’ve never been the most eloquent orator, but where does that get you? Other than the white house? Nowhere. So I’ve decided to use my words for good. I’ve started writing a series of children’s books called “Johnny The Maverick”. They’re, of course, loosely based off of different mavericky escapades of my life. It can give that working man something to read with his boy, over a cold Schlitz, something that they can both aspire to. I’ve decided to publish them under a pseudonym, after much thought, I’ve settled on “Reynold the Writer.” Of course all good books need to be illustrated so I’ve enlisted the help of “Arty the Artist.” Before you know it, this country is going to be brimming with Mavericks, just you wait.

My friend, I know this probably all sounds so crazy, but I know what I’m doing. You don’t get the name Maverick without taking some chances. Trust me, I’ve eaten at Hardee’s and devoured the Monster Thick Burger. Not even the prunes could make regular that cube of cow flesh, but that’s where my little Cambodian nurse comes in. My friend, she filmed the procedure and titled it “Enema Of The State.” But I digress.

Next week I’m going to try sushi. If you’re starting over, what better place than your diet? Plus I hear they have some little Japanese waitresses… Sake it to me my friend.

Your Friend,
Johnny Mav

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View Comments / Jun 25.09 / Starting Over / by Joey Camire