Nathaniel

Shockey

Read Nathaniel's bio and previous columns here

February 25, 2008

‘You Haven’t Seen Casablanca?’ And Other Pretentious Questions

There is a game played in artistic communities by anyone who calls himself a reader/musician/movie buff etc. You might call it Poker for Nerds. The primary play is a variation on the phrase, “You haven’t seen Casablanca?” You can fill in your own appropriate verb and proper noun.

I know the game particularly well because, as a musician of sorts who loves to watch movies and has a degree in English Literature, I enjoy when people assume I have heard it, played it, read it or seen it.

For example, I recently toted around Ayn Rand’s “Atlas Shrugged”, which spans about a thousand pages of small print, for a few weeks. I did actually read it, but more importantly, a lot of people saw me reading it.

“That’s a big book you’ve got there.”

“What, this? Hmm, I hadn’t realized,” I’d say. “Have you read it? It’s overly philosophical for my taste, if you know what I mean. A bit contrived. Too many ideas, not enough story. But they’re good ideas, don’t get me wrong.” Once they said that they hadn’t read it, I’d ask if they’d read “The Fountainhead”, which they probably hadn’t, especially if they hadn’t heard of Ayn Rand. And this would give me another chance to talk about something they knew nothing about.

But the ideal scenario is when you happen upon someone else who considers himself well read, discovering that they have not yet read the incredibly long, somewhat contrived, “Atlas Shrugged”, and you proceed to ask, incredulously, “You haven’t read Atlas Shrugged?” At this point, the other person is supposed to feel severely embarrassed.

I bested my brother-in-law recently, a pretty legit movie-buff, when, to my delight, I discovered that he hadn’t seen “True Romance.”

“Are you serious? You consider yourself a movie buff and you haven’t seen a movie written by Tarantino?”

It was beautiful, especially because he is constantly riding me for not having seen a slew of allegedly important movies.

“You’ve got to see it. Cancel your plans and watch it – tonight. I’m not asking.”

For musicians, the game is much subtler. We very rarely ask people what they’ve played or heard. We just talk incessantly about things we’ve played or heard, as though each piece is Beethoven’s 5^th, and you’d have to have lived on Mars to justify not knowing it.

(Quick anecdote: I recently watched the premier of “Eli Stone” with my wife, because it is on right after “Lost,” and suggested to her, with utter seriousness, “That must be quite a big break for that artist,” referring to George Michael, who I had never heard of. She laughed at me – a lot – and eventually informed me that this George Michael fellow is kind of a big deal, and actually has been, for quite a while.)

Recently, I was talking to a friend about “Atlas Shrugged,” and much to my dismay, discovered that he had read it, and “The Fountainhead.” At this point, there was really nowhere to go without being completely obvious about trying to appear scholarly. I couldn’t just abruptly bring up Shakespeare, although I did consider it. Stupidly, instead of bringing up the atrocious weather we’re having in California these days, we continued to discuss literature, until he asked me if I’d read some book called “Xenocide.”

“Well played,” I thought to myself.

There are really three choices at this point, when you’re asked about something you know nothing about.

1. Bluff. “’Xenocide,’ yes, I read that in third grade, so I remember very little of it. Why do you ask?” It’s risky, because they might always call your bluff, and you’ll look like an even bigger fool. They could go “all-in” when you’ve got absolutely nothing. But then again, a successful bluff is even more satisfying than actually having the hand.

2. Fold early, and fold often. It’s never fun, but it’s better than looking like an even bigger dunce by bluffing and getting caught.

3. Call their bluff. “You made that up, didn’t you?” You’ll never get a confession, but if you play it strong, even if they weren’t bluffing, you’ll leave with a bit more pride intact than if you had immediately folded.

In this particular situation, I simply folded my hand. I was tired, I had already exhausted my most significant artillery and was in no mode to go home with nothing.

There will always be people who have been exposed to more stuff than you have. The best move, at this point, is to figure out who the sharks are, and avoid them at all costs.

© 2008 North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

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