five years

This story is five years in the making. Five years! FIVE, as in "one two three four FIVE!" and YEARS, as in "three hundred — HUNDRED — and sixty-five days!" But first, a little background.

Sometime in early 2020, I lost my job when the place I was working shut down as a victim of the COVID-19 pandemic. Locked in my house while I searched for my next employment, I found I had a lot of time on my hands. I drew pictures. I watched television. I spent way too much time on the internet, specifically Facebook. I joined — and quickly resigned from — a number of Facebook groups that I thought would interest me. I briefly followed a group devoted to The Munsters TV show. When it devolved into a heated debate over which "Marilyn" was the hottest, I couldn't hit the "Resign from Group" button fast enough. I next joined a group dedicated to the Dr. Demento radio show. After a few days, six people created posts asking if anyone had ever heard a song called "They're Coming to Take Me Away." I had had enough.

As many of you probably know, I enjoy visiting cemeteries and I am very interested the stories from the "golden age" of Hollywood. Combining those two interests, I joined a Facebook group called "Death Hags." This group seemed to be right up my alley. It was started by one Scott Michaels, the self-proclaimed "Original Celebrity Death Guy," and boasts thousands of members. I quietly observed the goings-on in this group before I contributed anything myself. There were discussions about notorious Hollywood scandals, like the infamous Fatty Arbuckle incident. There were grainy graphic photos of Elizabeth Smart, the ill-fated "Black Dahlia," accompanying conjecture and speculation of her gruesome murder. There were photos from other taphophiles depicting a subject splayed out on a celebrity grave, smiling and  flashing a peace sign. So, after a week or so, I thought that this group was ready to be introduced to the world of Josh Pincus. I scanned my illustration website and began reposting entries from my "Dead Celebrity Spotlight" collection. I did this on a daily basis, posting a drawing on the anniversary of the subject's passing. I got a lot of "likes" and a slew of comments offering praise and congratulations... as well as a fair share of criticism, because — after all — it is the internet. This was going along swimmingly... until one day. June 21, 2021, to be specific.

I navigated to the Death Hags group on that particular Monday, only to find that it was gone. A little research revealed that it was not gone, but that I was gone. A few of my personal Facebook connections began sending me private messages asking where my posts were. I replied (via private message) that I no longer had access to the group. It quickly became apparent that I had been unceremoniously booted from the group with no warning, no explanation, no nothing! Through some sources, I learned that Scott Michaels allegedly tried to contact me, but was unsuccessful. That, dear reader, is what you call "bullshit." Many years ago, that could have been a valid excuse. You could have called someone on the telephone and let it ring and ring and ring. That is "trying to contact" someone. In the age of instant messenger and email and Facebook, you can no longer "try" to make contact. You either do or you don't and then lie. Emails are received. Undeliverable emails are flagged and the sender is notified that it did not go through. Facebook and other social media platforms, ring and ding and alert you in any number of ways. So, "attempts" at contact just don't exist. But, allegedly unable to get in touch, Scott just flat out banned me from his group. 

After further investigation (through sources that shall remain nameless), I discovered that Scott felt threatened by the attention that my posts were attracting. Scott, it seems, fancies himself a "celebrity" and becomes jealous if he is not the focus of attention, especially in his own Facebook group. Me? I'm just a stupid artist who was biding my time while I looked for a job. Scott also was trying to push a "celebrity death" app and he felt that my posts were a distraction from his marketing efforts. So, he did the internet equivalent of blindfolding me, zip-tying my wrists and kicking me out of a moving car into a ravine. 

In the wake of my dismissal, I was invited to join another death-related group called Death & Discussion Uncensored. The admin of this group welcomed my daily death anniversary posts and illustrations. I announced, on my own Facebook page, that I would be posting in this new group and was immediately inundated with friend requests from fellow "death heads" who liked my work in the Death Hags group and wished to continue to follow my antics. I also learned that posts in the Death Hags inquiring about my whereabouts were immediately deleted. (Every awards season, I post about those celebrities that were not included in the "In Memoriam" segment of the broadcast. Someone had copied my post about the Oscars broadcast and reposted it in the Death Hags group... where it was quickly deleted by the admin.)

After I got over my initial... I don't want to say "anger" because I really wasn't angry. Instead, I'll say irritation. Eventually, I found the whole episode funny. It was childish and petty. You know... everything that Facebook stands for. Nevertheless, I still make daily posts in the Death & Discussion Uncensored group and I go about my life.

This week — five years after I was evicted from the Death Hags group — I received an email. This email, as a matter of fact...

It read:

Josh, I was a dick. 

I gave you no explanation for removing you from the group. I blanked you. People were disappointed with my actions and I am sorry. 

I was being neurotic. I felt threatened by the attention you were getting as I was trying to push my app. I thought of your work as a threat. 

This was a long time ago but I do still think about how shitty I was. 

I don't expect you to respond, I don't expect you to accept my apology. I wouldn't blame you if you did respond with an fu. I would deserve it. 

I regret what I did. I am sorry. 

Scott

I will admit, when I got kicked out of the group, I wanted to blog about it right there and then. But I didn't. I waited. Or I just forgot. Now, I'm glad I waited, because — now — this story comes to a funnier end. Kicking me out must have really upset Scott when he thought about what he did after his initial knee-jerk, tough-guy action. It must have been eating away at his conscience (if he has a conscience). Actually, from the phrasing of his email, he sounds like he's going through a twelve-step program and he has reached Step Nine — seeking forgiveness. I never expected to ever hear from the Great Scott Michaels, let alone receive a heartfelt, sorrowful, on his knees, hat-in-hand apology.

But, I'm still Josh Pincus, this little corner of the internet's mischievous redheaded stepchild. I will say this much, Scott is right. He should not expect me to respond... because I will not. Everything in his email after "I was a dick" was redundant. I hope he waits for a response that will never arrive. I hope this continues to gnaw at him for a good long time. It has been for five years already. Let's go for a full decade. I hope members continue to ask "Whatever happened to Josh Pincus's posts?" in the Death Hags group. (I'll never know, however, because, although Scott apologized to me, he did not reinstate me into the group.)

I'll continue to draw my little pictures and post my little celebrity death announcements and visit my little cemeteries. I hope Scott Michaels is still losing sleep.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

let's give 'em something to talk about

When I'm not drawing stupid pictures or writing rambling blog posts or exposing violators of the "Dude, It's Rude" policy on my daily train commute, I work as a graphic designer at a large chain of bakeries*. They have locations up and down the East Coast and recently expanded to the Midwest. My company employs many supporting staff in addition to the 400+ bakers that are the lifeblood of the business. After all, where would a bakery be without experts in flour and mixing and frosting?

I don't work here.

One of the responsibilities in my job, in addition to producing long, wordy informational sheets detailing cake ingredients and regular newsletters informing customers of breaking news in the world of baking, is creating advertising for various publications. These ads are requested through a section of the company's intranet, on a page plainly labeled, "Advertising." Here, a selection of ad layouts is displayed. Once the appropriate design is chosen, a small form is filled out with pertinent information for getting the ad created (size, color limitations, recipients contact information, as well as the identity of the requester) and submitted. I, then, receive an automatically-generated email with the request. Shortly afterwards, using a set of previously prepared templates, I create the ad to the submitted specifications and send it off to the requester for review and eventual approval. Once approved, I send the completed, camera-ready ad to the publication and we are done. Simple? You'd be surprised.

Bakers are interesting people. They seem to believe that baking is the most important profession on earth. The also seem to believe that bakers possess a far superior intelligence than, say, police officers or barbers or postal workers or artists, for that matter. Somehow, working with hot ovens and proofing boxes makes them experts in all professions, regardless of any special training or years of experience other vocations may require.

Here either.

Recently, I received an indirect request from two bakers, via an email chain, on which I was copied. At no time was I actually addressed in the course of the correspondence. I was merely referenced and the fact that an ad was needed was discussed. Surmising that no official ad request was going to be made, I took it upon myself to be proactive and create an ad. Through an email attachment that I discovered on the third "go-round," I was able to find a spec sheet from the organization. The ad in question was for a small theater presenting their annual program of classical music. I chose an appropriate layout — featuring a photo of an orchestra — and prepared an ad to send to these two bakers for review.

I finished the ad, created a PDF (which is standard procedure) and sent it off, along with my regular accompanying email copy:

"Attached please find a PDF of the ad, as requested. Please review and reply with edits or your approval. Once approved, I will send this ad to the organization.
Thank you. Josh."

Within seconds of clicking the "send" button, I received a reply from one of the bakers. His single-line, signature-less correspondence read:

"Is this ad in black and white?"

I reread the ad specifications on the original solicitation from the theater (that was first sent to the bakers before it was attached to the email on which I was copied). Printed under the available ad sizes were the words: "All ads will be printed in black and white." I immediately and dutifully responded:

"Yes, according to the ad solicitation from the theater, all ad will be printed in black and white."

The baker replied with three words, and, what I interpreted as, an air of dismissive disgust:

"What a waste."

I wasn't sure how to take that. Perhaps the theater could not afford to print a program booklet in full color. It is a small community theater and full-color printing can lean towards expensive. I wasn't sure if his disdain was directed at me, as though I determined that this and all ads would run in monochrome. So, I just didn't reply. I just waited for the other baker who "requested" the ad to weigh in.

He did. Indirectly. He replied to a representative from the theater, informing her that a check would be sent by his assistant and an ad would be sent by "my colleague, Josh Pincus." (I'm a colleague. Whaddaya know?) I took that as an approval from Baker Number Two, so I sent the ad. All finished.

But not really.

Nearly two hours after I sent the ad to the theater, Baker Number One, once again, chimed in. He interjected:

"It appears we have no choice. I assume that none of you have a black and white TV."

It got no response from anyone on the original email chain. I honestly don't know what it means. What I do know is:

1. I sent the ad to the theater
2. I got receipt confirmation for the ad
3. I will never be able to figure out bakers.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

* If you have been paying attention, you know that I do not work at a bakery. 

whenever I call you friend

I like to read. I read on my short commute to and from work every day. In the age of cutting edge technology, I am one of the few people on the train that reads a book with an actual cover and pages made of paper. I mostly read biographies and memoirs of people whose fame comes from their work in the entertainment industry. I've enjoyed some. The memoirs of Harpo Marx, Phyllis Diller and local Philadelphia DJ Jerry Blavat are standouts. Conversely, I Dream of Jeannie star Barbara Eden's life was a story that didn't really need to be told.

Recently, I completed the quirky Queen of the Oddballs by the equally quirky Hillary Carlip. Although, Hillary is a few years older than I, the time frame of her tales of growing up afforded instant familiarity. Our lives could not have been more different, but I felt an instant kinship in her love of pop culture. Her pursuits of celebrities were somewhat reminiscent of my own desired "brushes with greatness." The book was a joy to read — funny, poignant, sweet and engaging — and I didn't want it to end.

So, I decided to turn the tables on Miss Carlip. I decided to pursue her.

I sought Hillary out on the Internet and discovered a multifaceted website, offering numerous portals to sub-sites of several books, a collection of essays and even a web design business. I located a contact email address and composed the gushiest fan letter a 52-year-old man felt comfortable sending.

Nine days later, I received this reply from Hillary herself:

JOSH!

Thanks so much for the shout-out! 

Sorry for the belated response -- I was out of town and on two deadlines and my email piled up beyond control.

So sweet of you to write, and I LOVE your blog and your drawings!!!  (Not to mention the title of it all!  It's fabulous!!!!)

So glad to e-meet you, and so glad you enjoyed my book.

Stay odd and proud!

XO Hillary

It was awesome, if I do say so myself. Referencing a passage from an early chapter of her book, dealing with her determination to make pop songstress Carly Simon her friend, I wrote back asking if I we were now considered friends, at the Carly Simon level. She replied immediately, asking for her obligatory loaf of banana bread, as she had offered the "You're So Vain" singer that night in a cramped dressing room at the Troubadour on Sunset Boulevard. Then, she said "OF COURSE" in all caps, followed by a smiley-face emoticon.

I read that Hillary had published another book, the concept of which was based on shopping lists found at the supermarket — discarded at the checkout or left at the bottom of an empty shopping cart. Hillary compiled these lists into little dramas, creating an appropriate character and story to go with the contents of each one. Just last week, I discovered an abandoned shopping list that I shared with Hillary, via this email:

Hey there Hillary,

I went to the supermarket this evening and I found this list  in the bottom of the hand-basket I picked up at the entrance (before I went to Hell in said hand-basket).

I though you'd get a kick out of it. It's a six item shopping list on semi-personalized "G" notepaper, carefully torn at the bottom... perhaps hiding some secret or maybe just conserving paper for the next grocery list. How thoughtful and "green"-conscious! Each entry is preceded by an empty, hand-drawn check box. It looks like nothing was found and accounted for. Nothing accomplished. High hopes and broken dreams at the market. Clean up in Aisle Four.

The first item is Morton's Natural Seasonings... whatever that is.

Next is onions, followed by steak and a question mark. Are they unsure about purchasing steak or still wrestling with the possibility of a vegan lifestyle?

Well, so much for becoming a vegan, since the next entry is cheese. (No question mark, dammit!)

Once again, we are contemplating olives.

And, understanding the outcome of a meal with the above components, the final entry is Fabreeze. 'Cause... you know... phew!

Have a great holiday, whichever one you celebrate. (We're doing both Chanukah, 'cause we're Jews and Thanksgiving, 'cause we're Americans. Luckily, they both start the same day!)

Almost two weeks later, this showed up in my email inbox:

OMG THIS IS FANTASTIC!!!!!!!

I was out of town and my email piled up beyond control and I'm just now catching up.

Not only is this list spectacular, but your blow by blow analysis ROCKS!!!!!!!!

Thanks for thinking of me, and thanks for sending. And speaking of thanks, hope you had a fabulous Thanksgivukkah!

Your FRIEND.

XO HC

That's right. "FRIEND" is in all caps.

Awesome.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com