Have you ever, without realizing it, dug yourself into a hole and then, when it suddenly dawns on you that you had monumentally fucked up, been too embarrassed to reverse your direction an inch?
Years ago, about 20 years ago, I wandered into a bar, one afternoon, in a lakeside town in Guatemala. I was totally baked but I still had room for a cooling ale. The place was empty but for the bar maiden and one guy perched at the adjacent edge of the bar flipping through a huge, like A4-sized book he’d been sharing glimpses of with the barkeep, who seemed impressed.
Being the only other person in the pub and seated at the bar, I made as if to overlook, even though I was a discrete distance away. The guy proffered the enormous book and let me thumb through it. It turned out to be these amazing hand drawn images of Mayan folklore, people, pyramids, jungle and the whole shebang – all done in the style of Robert Crumb. I complimented him on his enormous talent and the similarity in his style and offered him a joint, which he declined. Then as I threw down several beers I raved about how I’d recently seen this TV show that showed Crumb and his brother to be totally freakin weirdo folk - albeit with amazing musical ability (ah, how was I to know they were hamming it up – not the music, the weirdness). “Is this guy bothering you R?” says the barkeep. Well, sooner or later despite being stunned to find myself in such a farflung place in the same room, it occurred to me who I was talking to. I really hadn’t focused so much on his appearance. But I was now already too embarrassed to apologise after dissing the guy. Then I tried to cover my tracks – without admitting I knew who he was - by saying how much I liked Zap commix and it’s myriad of characters and Fritz the Cat etc. Being the introvert stoner I would often strike up a conversation without ever introducing myself or troubling the other person for their name. Guess I’m better with objects than people. Is it too late for me to be contrite Mr Crumb?
