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10/26/2005: "My New (Old) Deerskin Coat"
Hi All,
Here in Toronto, ensconsced at some swank digs. Feel like a big redheaded mop-top rockstar. Well, not really.
Things have been going good. Got in Monday, was soon joined at the hotel by Matt, and old uni buddy. Then my brother Graham showed up and the wheels started falling off. Many beers were consumed, then it was off to the festival gala, where we were met by my buddy Ryan. We ate many canapes and hors d'ouevres, and many more beers were consumed. Graham had a good drink going by then---hell, we all did---and started yelling "Rust and Bone!" at intermittent points in the evening. It was great: my own cheering section. Met a few big honchos of the Canadian publishing world, including M&S editing chief Elaine Seligman, who said M&S had been "thiiiiiiis close" (here she narrowed her fingers together so that only a few air molecules remained between) to taking Rust and Bone when it was making its intial rounds. This struck me as information I could've comfortably gone my whole life without knowing, but still, it was nice to meet her. Met David Bergen again, Joseph Boyden, and---yes, yes indeed---Zadie Smith. She seemed very nice, albeit totally drained from her tour schedule, and unfortunately she was still married. I was just about drunk enough to climb up to the second florr, jump out, grab the chandelier, swoop down and take her in my arms like Errol Flynn, then maybe the two of us could've vanished out the window into the blustery Toronto night...then I was like, What am I, an idiot? Colleen, Penguin publicist extraordianaire, lined up a photo op with myself and a graphic artist named, uh, G something...G-Dot? G-Rub? G-Killa? Anyway, to my total drunken shame I did the "tongue stuck out/rock and roll devil's horn" pose; Graham stood in the background flashing the "West Coast" finger sign, hollering "Rust and Boooooone!" God bless my brother.
I've got a new coat. In fact it is an old coat. It's my dad's old coat, a deerskin jacket, which he wore when he was around my age---a time fondly known as his "Starsky and Hutch" phase. He drove a Dodge Cougar at the time, and I imagine him driving down the road in that, wearing his deerskin coat with his red hair blowing int he breeze must've been quite the transfixing sight. I found it hanging down in the basement, unworn in 2 decades, the deerskin all crackly and brittle like an old coccoon hanging there. But I broke out the mink oil and rubbed some life back into the deerskin while watching a few episodes of Nip/Tuck (show rocks). My dad sat nearby, smiling proudly, glad to see me finally inherit my destiny. Like he was passing on some treasured family hierloom or something. "Now," I heard him whisper, "my son is a man."
Anyway, I wore it to TO. I love it. Great coat. Well worked in. But then my brother saw it and was like, "Shit man, that's not dad's old deerskin is it?" I was all like, "Indeed it is." He was all, "You've got the fashion sense of a caveman." I was like, "I won't dispute that." He was like, "Do you EVER want to get laid?" I was all defiant: "On my own TERMS, baby! Love me, love my deerskin---we're a package-fuckin-deal!" Graham: "You're a turd burglar." Me: "So it would seem."
I know some people don't like the idea of wearing animal skin, but I can assure you---or at verty least I get the sense---that the deer that made my jacket was, in point of fact, an evil deer. Quite possibly the most evil deer that ever lived, a carnivore deer who ate rabbit and perhaps even stray children who might've wandered into the forest. So I think, all in all, it was good this particular deer is gone. Of course, this brings up the odious prospect that I am now in possession of a CURSED deerskin jacket, and that in all likelihood some most terrible misfortune will soon befall me: my hair will turn white, I'll be struck with a rampant case of brain parasites, my cow's milk will turn inexplicably sour. But these are the burdens one must bear in the pursuit of high fashion.
Long live the deerskin!
---Craig.