Given the option, what would most people choose: fame or fortune?
That probably depends on their age and intelligence, I would have to assume. Because with age comes experience, and with experience comes wisdom (unless you’re born with little intelligence and are damned to be an idiot forever), and with wisdom comes the realization that the approval of others, in regards to fleeting popularity, is worth very little.
After a certain age (if, as I’ve already stated, you’re not an idiot), all you want is for someone to quietly hand over the funds and piss off. No cameras and no autographs.
Enjoy what I’ve created for you all, and I’ll enjoy the vast sums of your appreciation in opulent privacy. I don’t want or need legions of pathetic, desperate worshipers annoying me everywhere I go. I value my time far too much to put up with that nonsense. So, please, express your adoration of me anonymously and from afar. If I’d wanted to be fawned over by meat-puppets, I would have been an actor or a musician.
If this is the kind of fame you want, you can have it!
One of the best quotes about a writer’s fame comes from Fran Lebowitz, and I love it. I’m sure nobody has a better one. It goes a lil’ something like this: “The best fame is a writer’s fame. It’s enough to get a table at a good restaurant, but not enough to get you interrupted when you eat.”
As someone who aspires to literary notoriety, that notion is exactly what I’m looking for. I don’t need to be interrupted while I eat. Food means far too much to me to be overshadowed by the shadow of a stranger looming over me, whether they’re singing praise or vocalizing displeasure.
Let me eat in peace, please!
I was born famous, even if nobody’s quite figured that out yet, and regardless of the fact, I don’t need to suffer incursions into my private life. As long as the maitre d’ knows I’m a big deal and doesn’t despise me, I’m a happy camper.
Good day, sir. It’s so good to see you. How are you doing this evening?
Just fine, Serge, just fine. Is my usual table available?
Not as such, sir, but we will have the criminals responsible for this affront to Your Excellency liquidated immediately.
Thank you, Serge. Thank you so much. You always take such good care of me.
My pleasure, sir. I can only beg your forgiveness for letting such a travesty take place.
No biggie, Serge. No biggie. I’m certain there will never, ever be a repeat. “Wink”.
Certain members of the wait staff are taken out behind the restaurant and shot for daring to seat mere mortals at my table and then feed them. The unwitting patrons taken out and liquidated as well.
Wrong place, wrong time.
The guilty personnel should’ve at least known I was in town and would likely be making an appearance. The next batch will assuredly be more vigilant. In all honesty, the lion’s share of responsibility rests on the shoulders of dear old Serge, but I like him too much to let him pay so dearly for his oversight, and, after this episode, he’ll certainly see that such a gaffe won’t occur again as long as the both of us draw breath.
This time we’ll let the blood of the murdered customers stain the lifeless hands of the foolish help.
Dump what’s left of the preferred libations formerly belonging to the unknowing patrons over the corpses and burn the memory away. All that now remains is a pile of blackened bones and a charred stain upon the landscape. A reminder to those who follow that some errors are far beyond forgiveness.
Lesson learned, I hope.
I really would have liked to forgive them all for their foolishness, but hard lessons learned by the few are valuable lessons learned for the many. It’s for the greater good.
The incident not even making the local papers due to my lack of easily recognizable fame. I’m a whisper, like Keyser Söze, and to complicate my dinner plans is fatal.
Such is the quiet fame I seek. An unassuming power, one that is eons beyond the comprehension of those who revel in publicity. For those that desire a deeper sense of authentic gravitas than what mobs of shrieking, star-struck losers can provide, take a lesson.
It may seem a little harsh to beings of a gentler disposition, but to know what one wants and not feel obligated to apologize for it is a beautiful thing. And as long as a person doesn’t harm anyone undeserving, no harm, no foul. Live and let live is what I say, as long as the cunts don’t seat mongrels at my table. That’s not an unfair expectation from where I stand. Stand, because, as we’ve witnessed, my spot was occupied.
There I go, beating a dead horse, as I am wont to do. Digression is a large part of my thought process; transgression is a larger part of my life process.