I was never the popular kid in school. But I was always the kid who could draw.
And my drawing ability was consistently in demand among the other students. I made my first money as an artist charging classmates for “commissions” by adding custom drawings to their paper bag book covers. I charged about a buck for each drawing, but that was enough for a comic book in those days, so it was great way to fuel my Marvel/DC addiction. In the first week of 7th grade in September of 1985 this entrepreneurship gained me the attention of one of the most popular girls in my junior high class, and I soon found myself interacting with her posse… the popular kids.
I must have made a good impression, because that same week they invited me to go to the movies with them. I accepted, even though I didn’t even know which movie they were planning to go see. The choice of movie turned out to be Pee Wee’s Big Adventure. I had no idea who Pee Wee Herman was or why I should care about his adventures, but I was being initiated into the world of the cool kids, so I wasn’t going to say no to the invitation. My star was on the rise!
Or so I thought.
That all changed once the movie started. I was immediately drawn into Pee Wee Herman’s wonderfully weird world. The movie was fun, quirky, surprisingly charming, featuring a fantastic score by Oingo Boingo’s Danny Elfman, and it was stylishly directed by a young Tim Burton (his first film).
There was just one problem. My new friends—the popular kids—talked through the whole movie. They spent the entire time chatting loudly amongst each other, completely ignoring the amazing movie that was playing right in front of them. I couldn’t believe it. Didn’t they know what they were missing? Even though it was the first time seeing the movie, I just knew it was destined to be seen as a classic someday (I really thought that). After about 30 minutes of hearing their incessant chatter, my patience grew thin. I turned to them and said, “Can you please stop talking? I’m trying to watch the movie.”
Cue the record scratch.
You can imagine their reaction. Or maybe you can’t. But in retrospect, it was predictable. They laughed in my face and immediately made it clear that I wouldn’t be invited to another movie with them (or any other activity for that matter).
And I can see their point. They were kids hanging out on the weekend. They weren’t really there to watch a movie. They were there to be with each other.
But I was there to watch a movie. I love movies, always have. Because I love good stories. In fact, I love stories more than almost anything. They’re my lifeblood.
And that’s why I never became one of the popular kids. I chose Pee Wee over popularity. And I don’t regret my choice one bit. It was a turning point in my life and I consciously made the turn that helped make me who I am today: someone who values good storytelling over being one of the cool kids.
I’m still that guy. And I often think of Pee Wee’s words to Dottie in the film that changed my life:
“You don't wanna get mixed up with a guy like me. I'm a loner, Dottie. A rebel.”
Telling the cool kids to zip it during a movie is exactly the kind of thing that makes one a loner. But that’s okay. Writers and artists need that time alone to do what they do.
Paul Reubens—the man who created Pee Wee Herman and brought him to life on TV and film—passed away earlier this week at the age of 70. I never had the pleasure of meeting him, but if I had, I would have thanked him for creating a character and a world that captured my attention so thoroughly that I sacrificed my one chance to be a cool kid so that I could watch it without distractions.
Thanks, Paul. You helped make me the weirdo outsider artist that I am today.
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Good choice. The " popular " crowd were usually airheads.