The universe deemed it appropriate for the lovely Kasey and I to take a road trip together. Jonas' grandma agreed to watch him for the day while we drove up to D.C. for a book signing by my favorite author since high school.
William Gibson just completed his latest Bigend Trilogy (named after a character in the books, not a prominent body part) and was hitting Washington as the last stop in his U.S. tour. I had to go. You can't read a man for over ten years and not drive a couple hundred miles to go see him.
So off we went, and it was smooth sailing all the way into our nation's capital. Somehow we managed to shave two whole miles off the route Google Maps provided. I think we took a fortuitous wrong turn somewhere. If only traffic on the way back was so cooperative. I think it took us twice as long to get home. I know I've lost years off my life with the stress I endured. We left way later than I wanted but somehow manged to only be a few minutes late to the engagement.
And there he was, the man who coined the term "cyberspace" (with a red Sharpie, no less), the grandfather/father of cyberpunk, and one of the only constants to follow me from my high school days to the present. Back in college I managed to find an audio book of Neuromancer read by Gibson and have listened to it countless times. I know that voice as well as any friend or relative.
I cannot accurately describe the sensation of seeing the guy I've been reading and listening to for over ten years. To hear the oh-so familiar drawl come out of an actual human being, standing in front of me, in real life, was amazing. I held it together for a few minutes, but once he started reading a chapter from his latest novel a few tears escaped the corners of my eyes. It was mystical.
Sadly the Q&A portion ended a few people before my turn. I was going to ask him which of his books was his favorite. Or which movies he liked the most. I couldn't decide. Oh, and if the fucking asshole douche who decided to go on with his question full of spoilers even after the whole store booed, hissed, and told him not to happens to read this: Your time is coming my friend. You're lucky I'm such a nice guy. I happened to see him later as we were walking to the car outside a coffee place with his tiny laptop on a little table and I wanted so badly to knock all that shit over.
I ended up near the end of the long line for the signing and had the distinct displeasure of being crowded multiple times by a large woman in lilac sweats and matching tie-dye shirt who resembled a mix between The Penguin in Tim Burton's Batman Returns and a school teacher. The worst part wasn't the repeat offenses, but that when she bumped into me her uneven excess of flesh touched me in multiple places at once, like if the Michelin Man had boundary issues and was redesigned with only two or three rolls bisected near the middle instead of evenly distributed throughout his body. It's called personal space, ma'am. Look it up. I'm sure the very bookstore we (repeatedly and physically) encountered one another has some helpful items.
Kasey had her camera and was free to roam the store, following her rediscovered bliss. I'd look over now and then to see her. First she was crouched near the table, snapping away like a professional, then suddenly she had moved into a plush chair at the right hand of the man himself, a smile on her face, apparently enjoying a conversation with him and taking pictures of people at the height of their fandom. I was so proud, I had no room to be jealous.
As I got about five people away from having my own items signed, the gravity of my situation finally hit me: I was about to meet William Motherfucking Gibson and ask him to sign my lamp. I got the shakes and my heart beat rapidly. I was hella nervous, to be sure. I calmed myself thusly, "You are free to do whatever you want, by the very fact that he will not remember you later." It helped.
By the time I got up there I was either calmed down or in shock. I put my copy of Neuromancer and my Johnny Mnemonic DVD on the table and said hello. "Johnny!" he said, as if an old acquaintance had just walked in, and slid the movie towards him. As he was signing these I pulled the green shaded beauty from a bag and asked if he'd sign my desk lamp, too. He replied that he'd signed all kinds of things, but this was the first lamp of the tour. And the last! I had him sign it on the inside and he maneuvered his stainless steel Sharpie brought for iPads and other electronics into it's ember enclosure and wrote, "To David, WM. Gibson". I thanked him, shook his hand, and moved on before I could get a photo with him.
Luckily Kasey has already ingrained herself as the event's impromptu photographer, so we got to hang out for a bit. Apparently Mr. Gibson had been chatting with her for a while, so we talked more as fans brought books, old magazines, posters, and gadgets to the table. Two guys had politely waited at the end of the line and produced a least two duffel bags of books to be signed. As he began signing the pre-ordered copies for those who couldn't be there in person, I took the opportunity to snap a picture with him. Kasey also got some awesome candid ones as well with me in the background like some kind of bespectacled stalker. I thanked him again as we left but I think he was preoccupied with an assembly line of hardbacks to sign.
We were chatting as bags were placed into the car and I had to take a moment. It really was amazing. As we drove home and talked about the experience I could feel two distinct entities known as William Gibson trying to reconcile in my brain. One was the celebrity, one was the reality. This happened to me once with Jenny Lewis but not as intensely, probably because I didn't get to spend any time talking to her after the concert was over. The real William Gibson is quite a charming and laid back fellow to be around. I'd take him out to lunch in a minute.
Horrendous traffic aside, I had the best Sunday in recent memory. Spending quality time with my lady was much needed and even more appreciated.
Authors, musicians, and anyone else we like coming within a couple-hundred-mile radius of Hampton Roads better beware. A redhead with a camera and a quiet fanboy will find you, have you sign weird things, and possibly overstay their welcome.
- David
