Jim Siergey: Book Signings

Book signings can be quite an event.

One can meet one’s favorite author, swap a few words and get his or her signature on one’s very own flyleaf.

My favorite book signing story involves Kurt Vonnegut.

A friend of mine was waiting in line and trying to think of something to say to Mr. Vonnegut that wasn’t trite or stupid.

Thinking of the perfect thing to say afterwards is always easy but beforehand is a different story.

Finally, she found herself in front of the man himself. She still hadn’t thought of anything particularly clever so she just blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“How do I know you’re really you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes for effect.

He took pen in hand, opened the book to the flyleaf and dryly replied, “It wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference.”

So it goes.

Uncle Kurt….

 

I’ve been part of a few book signings.

One was in 1992 at the original Quimby’s on Damen Avenue in Wicker Park.

My creative partner, Tom Roberts and I were taking part in a book signing extravaganza. We were selling and signing copies of our comic book Cultural Jet Lag and were seated along with underground luminaries Jay Lynch and Skip Williamson at a table near the front door.

Seated in the back of the store was Dan Clowes, a talented artiste on the verge of pop culture stardom.

At one point in the evening, bursting through the door came a large boisterous figure whose gender to this day I have not been able to put my finger on.

In fact, I still don’t wish to put my finger on it.

But, that’s just me.

This heavily tattooed, carnival-attired person stood squarely on his/her Doc Martens with hands on ample hips and bellowed, “WHERE’S THE GENIUS? WHERE’S THE GENIUS?”

Instinctively, without batting an eye or losing the beat of a second, all of us seated at our table, as one, pointed to the rear of the store and said: “Back there.”

Dan was not seen for several days afterward.

Another book signing I was in felt like an episode straight out of Seinfeld.

Greg Simetz looks a little like Ricky Gervais….

 

A few years ago, my friend, Greg Simetz, and I combined forces and created a profusely illustrated deconstruction of Chicago Cubs history in which the hapless losers, instead of not winning a World Series since 1908, had WON a World Series for one hundred consecutive years.

Fantasy baseball, indeed.

Taking a merchandizing tip from O.J., we entitled our opus If They Did It.

A bookstore (that shall remain nameless) invited Greg and I to partake in a book signing.

Book signings generally consist of a table laden with books and the author seated at it with an arsenal of pens.

When Greg and I arrived at the book store, we discovered that two other authors were also part of the book signing. This was fine.  The more, the merrier.

We noticed an array of folding chairs arranged in an open area. The book store owner had decided that it’d be a cool idea to have each author stand before an audience and talk about their book, why they wrote it, take questions, etc.

Greg and I were unprepared for this, but we figured we could concoct something before our turn came up. Unfortunately, minutes after springing this on us, we were chosen to…ahem… lead off.

We faced the sparse audience, vamped a bit and then decided to read an example or two from the book. We chose what we thought was a sure winner, a real laugh-getter. In our best Abbott and Costello guise, we delivered our amusing lines.

Cricketsville, man.

Nary a titter was emitted.  Not even a slight twist of the lips into a polite smile could be discerned. We were stunned.

Desperately, I read from another page. This time, there was a distinct reaction from the audience. It may just have been someone clearing their throat but we took it as applause and we quickly sat down.

The next two authors had their turns and, more polished than us, had good presentations. It didn’t hurt that the audience got a bit bigger too.

Afterward, instead of seating us at tables stacked with our wares so we could begin selling and signing, everything turned into a garden party.

Everyone mingled and chatted and browsed. We all became a group. You couldn’t tell who the authors were without a scorecard.  And there was no scorecard.

Referencing Jerry Seinfeld’s obsession with Superman, it had turned into a Bizarro Book Signing — a book signing without any books being signed.

Despite the absence of our autographs, some copies of If They Did It were purchased.

I guess Kurt was right. It doesn’t make a damn bit of difference.

Editor’s Note: Jim‘s last post for The Third City was Ain’t Here No More….

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