I emailed an expat magazine here in Hanoi saying I wrote a book about Vietnam, so you should hire me. I attached the first chapter. The wording of my email was very humble. Maybe too humble; they could tell it was an act. They must have sensed my vibes of insincerity and entitlement. Did I say entitlement? I meant arrogance. I hit the Send button by slapping the trackpad with my dick. They ignored me. Maybe they ignored me because I’m a bad writer, but I don’t think so. I think they ignored me because they sensed that I’d phone it in. They knew I just wanted the journalist job so I could say I had it at parties. They could sense that I write with a fuck you smile when the article assignment is some branded drivel like “Top 10 MUST-SEE Vietnamese Villages That Were Rebuilt After Your Grandfather Took a Flamethrower To Them in ’68.”
But yes I am slightly annoyed. I wanted them to want me.
So that was that! I was legit and I made about a dollar. Now it’s over. Back to my birthright of being a drone. Back to ESL teaching. But actually I will make good money this summer. In Vietnam I am in the 1%. If writing paid this well you bet your ass I’d still be trying to do it, still be bitter that they won’t let me be a journalist. But it doesn’t. What happens is you write an article and they put an ad in the sidebar. The advertiser sends a check to the boardroom and the guy in the boardroom sends you a tuna sandwich.
I should be writing more but I keep going to parties. And you know what, that’s OK. I’ll write only sometimes, when I’ve got something. I rarely have something, so I’ll write four posts a year probably. That’s all I can come up with I think. And that’s fine. They’ll be good posts, they will be clean, because they will have been created in an economic vacuum. No one will read them, but hey you know what I wouldn’t either. I get it. Too much good shit on YouTube. Plus there’s the heroin needle of Facebook to compete with. No one has read a blog since 2007; I get it.
But the parties. How can you expect someone to stop doing this? I’m addicted to magic. Wednesday at 2 am I had just popped a sleeping pill when Meg texted. It was like a game to stay awake until she got here and took her pants off. Friday was margaritas with Shannon and when we got back home we wrestled on the couch. Saturday I sat with Rosie by the frog pond in the middle of the party. We talked about how we’d seen each other at previous parties and had always wanted to kiss each other, which is the #1 best conversation you will ever have with another human. We ate fried noodles at the market, got to my room at sunup, woke up spooning at noon. Whoever told you partying is empty has never been to a party. Magic might not be very real but it’s better than writing.