The Mythology of Subtext

“Thanks. Yeah, we’ll talk soon.”

Text is a close encounter with a Devil’s tower of unsaid mashed potatoes. See what I mean? What the hell did I just say?

No, text is more like conversational makeup slathered over the harpy face of context.

“Those open sores really give you facial character.”

Yeah. Text is vanity.

Subtext is everything.

Subtext is the harpy claws hiding in panty hose.

Why all this happy harpy talk, and, more importantly, what the heck is a harpy? For those of you not up on your current affairs, a harpy is a mythological mash-up creature from the past.

Those who know Greek mythology know the harpy as an ugly winged bird creature with a woman’s face and torso. Don’t get too excited about the torso part, boys. The harpy also has talons; no groping here. Those talons are sort of like the harpy version of subtext.

Those who don’t know mythology might know Dungeons & Dragons. For them, a harpy as a seven hit dice monster, or the woman coming down the basement stairs.

“Tommy! Go get a job!”

An image also containing a whole subtext of it’s own.

Harpy or no, subtext is everywhere. So, why is Robby harping on harpies? They’re the perfect metaphor for dialog. They’re winged, they’re deadly, and they can be exceptionally ugly.

Ok. So maybe it’s not the perfect metaphor, but it works for me because this week I dated a harpy.

I know! And the Pirate Queen approved!

She approved because it wasn’t a romantic date. It was a different date. A date with another person you want to get to know better. A person you hope to one day stand at an alter and say, “I do,” before an HR representative announces, “I now pronounce you, insured and employed.”

That’s right I had a first date with an interviewer.

Little Robby draws from harpy bad-touch memory

This week I interviewed with Gary Gary from Bigshot Media. Gary squared is looking for somebody to web edit his cluster of Middle America radio stations so that they sound like individual slices of Middle American mom made apple pie, gooing with personality and not like the compressed conglomerate pre-wrapped and stuffed Hostess sugar licks that they are.

Does that sound harsh? It’s not. I find pre-fab corporate America quite fab. I love Walmart, Target, and Starbucks as much as mom and pop down the block do. It doesn’t bother me that corporations pretend to be local, so long as they’re paying local people, like mom and pop.

“Hi! Welcome to Walmart!”

“Didn’t you used to own mom and pops…?”

It’s all in how we pursue the American Dream.

That’s what Gary is doing, pursuing his dream.

Well, if Gary likes me, his dream will include moving me into a local market so that I can take a job there. I can make that part of my dream.

Gary wants his currently local radio team to write conversational blogs and raise the radio website like a multimedia barn. Gary wants the websites to look like the RobBlog on Hee Haw steroids. As the RobBlog writer I’m well aware of what Gary wants.

“I’m a pickin!’”

“And I’m a grinnin’!”

I know it’s me.

How do I know this? I applied for the job.

I don’t go one butt-cheek into an interview; I take everything full butt. I Googled Gary Gary, and let me tell you, Gary is an impressive guy. You know Rupert Murdock? He polishes Gary’s Jag for extra cash on the weekends. If Howard Stern is the King of all Media, Gary is the stinky-fisted puppeteer moving Howard’s lips.

Ok. I might be exaggerating, but in RobWorld Gary squared is doubly impressive. If I want t Gary’s Bigshot gig, I need to know what Gary is looking for and be damn sure that I’m it.

I know, I am.

I need to prove that to Gary, because I do have obstacles.

See, my kryptonite here is my experience as an online editor. It’s limited. Yeah, I’ve edited the RobBlog and Viewpoints Online, but how do I translate that into Gary love for Rob when all I’ve got are good looks?

I am so screwed.

Still, I can do the job. I have sent in an honest resume and strong portfolio, and Gary liked them enough to call back. That’s gotta mean something, right? Gary’s a big shot. You don’t become a media big shot without scouring the land with your army of search-harpies riled up like Ozian flying monkeys. They must have brought back some results that said, “You’ll like him, and his little cat too,” cuz I ‘ve got an interview.

So I gather all the Rob confidence I can muster. I stalk—er, uh study Gary for a week and I research what Gary wants in the job, so that when he calls me, I ‘m ready.

He calls. “Rob?”

I answer, “So whatcha wearing?”

I’m a little nervous. Sweat rivers glide down my face, forming grit deltas amongst my chest hair.

“I mean, hi! This is Rob.”

So begins the dance of the harpy. We’re two guys saying words, trying to see what’s underneath the skirt of subtext.

Does he like me?

Is he what I’m looking for?

Can he treat me as I deserve?

Can he make breakfast before he leaves?

Gary starts with a vocal smile: a glorious biography of the man, the legend, the hero that is Gary Gary. I listen. Everything he’s telling me, I know. I’ve stalked—er, researched this. He’s telling me everything except that he likes puppies and September breezes.

I already know those things too.

I’m quiet. I’m good. I listen. When he’s done I prove I know him like he needs to be known and I know what he wants, “So, how is your beagle, Jake?”

“Uhm, he’s fine. So Rob, what do you have to offer Bigshot media?”

I tell him. I’d tell you too but I don’t want to bore you with the details. Let’s just say I offer lots of long walks, holding hands, and plenty of snuggles.

“Snuggles? OK…Uh, How do you approach good SEO practices?”

Gary and I don’t seem to be jibing. It’s ok. He’ll like me once he gets to know me. I know I’ve got his SEO answers too. I amaze him with tales of keywords and metadata living together and bringing the Google queen and all her web-crawler friends along for the party. I even reveal how I incorporate keywords into article title tags.

“That’s great, “ say’s Gary. “Let’s talk about this article you wrote for Viewpoints on Stargate Universe.”

That’s a fan favorite. Let’s talk about that! “Ok.” I unbutton my top button.

“Your title, ‘Goodbye Old Friend’ doesn’t meet those SEO practices you were talking about. Why?”

The next sound you here is me spittaking my wine into Gary’s face.

He’s right and I hate him for it.

“Well, it was designed for print not for online.” I’m pulling the back-petals off of my flowers cuz I don’t bring my backpedaling bike on dates. “I left the title because I found it appropriate for the story.”

Great. I admit to leaving it because I’m a writer, not because I’m an editor. I might as well add some sweet nothings smooth over, “Oh, and that tie? It makes you look fat, you whore.”

“Ok…let’s talk about this Viewpoints Online. I’m looking at the site right now. What have you done for them?”

What? Can’t you see it? What part doesn’t scream “Rob was here?” What part doesn’t look like the tailor made pictorial answer I created you when you asked, “What do you offer Bigshot Media.”

Yeah. It was obvious that Gary and I were getting the same feelings from our date. Still we’re professional: we stick through the gore and slime until we’ve said all we need to say since neither of us have prepared emergency text messages from friends.

We’re locked in a spinning harpy gyre to the death.

“Do you have any questions for me?” Asks Gary.

I want to ask, “Yeah, what about my resume made you thing I was the guy you wanted when I’m obviously not?” Instead I moved in for a kiss.

“Uhm, what are you doing?” Gary’s working some back petals of his own.

Ok, so maybe I meant a more metaphoric kiss: “Where are you in your job search?”

“We’re really early. Right now we’re just talking to lots of people, gathering names, then we’ll pick who works best.” He brushes his lips against my forehead.

We don’t mesh, but at least we understand each other. We promise to stay in touch, but both of us have lost the other’s number before the phone goes silent.

Me? I’m alright with that. I have no hard feelings for Gary. I hope he finds what he’s looking for, the same way I know that I’ll find what I’m looking for.

It’s just going to take some time for both of us. More dating and more subtext. Lucky for me, I know how to speak harpy and Mom’s basement is big enough for all my Dungeons & Dragons needs.