Smith - My Boring-Ass Life

MY BORING-ASS LIFE

THE UNCOMFORTABLY CANDID DIARY OF KEVIN SMITH

EXPANDED AND UPDATED EDITION

ISBN 9781848564978

Published by

Titan Books

A division of

Titan Publishing Group Ltd

144 Southwark St

London

SE1 0UP

First expanded edition September 2009

2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

My Boring-Ass Life: The Uncomfortably Candid Diary of Kevin Smith copyright 2007, 2009 Kevin Smith.

All rights reserved.

Front cover photo Peter Sorel.

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Printed and bound in the USA.

Snoogans.

Why the Diary(ah)?

Since what follows is a shit-load of text detailing the minutiae of my daily doings, Ill forego the pages of pithy prose leading up to a retrospect and cut directly to the chase.

How the fuck did this happen?

Very simple: Ive got a message board at one of our websites, www.viewaskew.com, that Ive been actively back-and-forthing on since 1996. There, Ive been engaged in a decade-long discussion with the folks whove paid for my house, my car, all my DVDs, and (quite probably) my wife: the audience for our pictures. For the last ten years, if you were adamant about tracking down the guy who cast the blight on contemporary American cinema known as the Stink-Palm, a quick web-search would lead you to whats come to be known simply as the board that magical system of ones and zeroes where you could ask the filmmaker in question what symbolism he intended with an ice hockey fight juxtaposed against a characters interrogation of his paramours sexual history, and wind up with a half-answered query and a solicitation to purchase a t-shirt bearing said filmmakers face or an action figure molded in his likeness.

Then, one day in March of 2005, a poster (meaning someone who posts on the board) posited a question so stymieing, I had to step away from the computer and truly ponder what my response should be:

What do you do all day? they inquired.

It was a staggering inquiry because I honestly didnt know.

I mean, I had a vague idea of how my days were spent and really, it was more of a vague idea of the results of my routines: still married, still a dad, still a filmmaker, still fat, still alive. But how did I reach these results, I wondered? What were all the exact steps that lead to the status quo, one more day above ground?

So rather than summon a sarcastic reply, I responded with a broad-stroked, moment-by-moment breakdown of that particular day. Question asked, question answered.

Sadly, the answer more than likely intrigued me more than it interested the inquisitor. I wasnt so much taken aback by what had transpired during the fourteen hours or so I was awake, but instead by how... well, boring it all seemed. It was rote. It was an every-life, chock-a-block full of inane elements that bore no significant impression of an existence well-embraced. If God was in the details, then surely God didnt exist; because no Supreme Being could suffer a creation of infinite promise who so often opted simply to lay on his bed and watch far too much television.

If all my days resembled the one Id chronicled for that poster, then it was so dull that it demanded documentation. That way, upon my sure-to-be-premature death, when others would attempt to fill my daughters head with tales of how much her father had done and how far hed gone in his brief life, she could read for herself, in his own words, how little her old man had actually accomplished. Rather than buy into the legend of the convenience store clerk who risked money he didnt have via multiple credit cards he wasnt qualified for, culminating in an early 90s indie flick success story and career he didnt deserve, my daughter could read the cold truth about the shlub who begat her. My parting gift to my only child would be a full confession about how underwhelmingly human I ultimately was.

And so began the chronicles of My Boring-Ass Life first as a series of entries on the board, and later at its own web locale www.silentbobspeaks.com (and even later, at my MySpace page: www.myspace.com/therealkevinsmith). I was able to stick to the plan of an itinerary-style diary for a few good months before the experiment ultimately morphed into what it is now: a fucking blog like every other fucking blog, offering up unasked for opinions on any number of subjects. Id hate myself for succumbing to a trend, were it not for the cool shit that came out of it in the process (namely the Me and My Shadow multi-parter that chronicled Jason Mewess battle with addiction).

Still, for the most part, itll serve its intended purpose: giving my kid a glimpse at a year (or so) in the life of her pater familias. And if it interests you at all, dear reader, then thats just gravy. That is, if you can get through it.

Cause, yknow its kinda boring.

For those unfamiliar with my world, Id like to offer up a quick reference glossary, so youll know who Im talking about when I drop names youre not savvy to.

Jen

This is my wife she who holds my heart and dick.

Harley

This is my daughter. She just holds my heart.

Gail

This is Jens mom who lives with us and also acts as my assistant. Having your mother-in-law as your assistant means youll never chase your secretary around her desk.

Byron

Gails husband, Jens step-dad, who also lives with us. Without him and Gail, our lives (or lack thereof) as we know them wouldnt be possible.

Mos

Scott Mosier, longtime friend and producer. Essentially, my first wife.

Jay

Jason Mewes the thinner half of Jay and Silent Bob and my unofficial firstborn.

Bryan

Bryan Johnson, my oldest and dearest friend; also one of the funniest people I know. Born and raised in my hometown, Highlands, NJ.

Chay

Chay Carter, one of my wifes dearest friends (as well as mine). Also Ben Afflecks Gail.

Cookie

Alex Hilebronner Mosier, Scotts one-time girlfriend and present wife. I call her Cookie because shes a cook. I also once named a character Cock-Knocker because he punched people in the balls. Im a simple man.

Malcolm

Malcolm Ingram, longtime (Canadian) friend, wing-man, and filmmaker. Director of the documentary Small Town Gay Bar.

Jackman

Jim Jackman, another Canuck compadre. Used to be a producer on Degrassi: The Next Generation.

Chappy

Bob Chapman, the guy who makes all the stuff that bears my graven image. Owns Graphitti Designs.

Gina

Gina Gozzi Chapman. Owns Bob. She and Chappy also used to run Jay and Silent Bobs Secret Stash West.

Phil

Sometimes Phil Raskind (my ber-agent), and sometimes another Phil I dont have in my life anymore.

The other names that dont pop up quite as frequently but might still require explanation of sorts: