THE GRIFTER

(NOTE: Bob the Dirty Rat has a new web page. Go to this link for more info)

I like the word "con artist" because of the second word. The first word is an abbreviation of "confidence", but the artist part... that must stem from an innate recognition of the pure skill and talent that goes into deceiving people on a large scale.

Have you ever heard of a "robbery artist" or a "homicide artist"? Of course you haven't, because although there are some unique individuals who can elevate their respective vices to innovative heights, there isn't much artistry to be found in crime.

Except for fraud. "Con artist"... That sounds really cool, doesn't it? Never mind that they can ruin your life if you fall for their ruses. Never mind that they can make you feel violated and distrustful of human beings for the rest of your life, should you cross their path.

They're artists.

I just got done watching Catch Me If You Can for the first time on DVD. It was an interesting and borderline-irresponsible myth of a movie, with finely-directed performances and a plot based on the life of a real con man.

There was one scene that really got me thinking. It was the scene (spoiler alert, even though I'm probably the last person on Earth who hadn't seen this movie) where Leonardo DiCaprio, in the role of Frank Abagnale Jr., sort-of catches his mother with another man. He finds them in the bedroom together, looking flustered and surprised. He knows instinctively that his mother is having an affair with this man, who happens to be a good friend of Frank Sr. and an upstanding pillar of the community. The adults are bad liars-- their guilt is written all over their faces, and even though Frank Jr. didn't actually see anything, he knows.

He knows because he is sensitive, or at least that's how the filmmakers seem to explain why he went on to convince the world at large that he was a pilot, a doctor, and a lawyer. Frank Abagnale Jr., according to the movie, started forging checks and running grifts and became a really good liar because everyone around him (save for his father, played by Christopher Walken) was a bad liar, whose machinations and manipulations he could detect right off the bat.

I identify with the romanticized ideal of the con artist: bucking the system, using it to his/her own means, throwing the rules of the game back into the faces of the rulemakers. But Abagnale got caught, and anyway I'm no Frank Abagnale. Still, I relate to the con artist, because he is aware of the fragile illusion sustained between human beings, the pretenses, the sheer perceptual laziness that most people possess.

I used to run humble cons, victimless cons. A free meal, a place to crash, a ride to the liquor store, a drink at the bar, tickets to the theater, hot sex, books and albums, something to smoke... I never had a want or a need. My early twenties were a non-stop running tab, always at the expense of someone willing to foot the bill. I was real good at it, too. I never made people feel used afterwards. They sometimes never knew they'd been had to begin with, and I credit that to the only sincere aspect of my petty scams-- gratefulness.

It was easy to take money on loan, without any conditions to pay it back. It was easy to let someone drive me to the store, after they profusely offered. That was the angle I was working: everyone offered these free things to me. I did not ask for anything unless I really had to, and oddly enough those were the times when the cons didn't work as well. Those were the real times, the honest times, when I wasn't trying to persuade someone indirectly to give me what I wanted. And in those sober moments, my marks usually used common sense, and faced reality, and realized that they would have to tell me 'No'. And I would understand this, because I knew just how much I'd already gotten out of them, and I figured it was only fair, that I couldn't get over on people all the time, and if I really wanted it that bad all I had to do was work the right angle and voila!

I had no problem finagling, because I recognized that these very same people were running game on me in return. Their angle wasn't money, or gain, or profit, or anything tangible. They wanted my time, a resource more valuable than anything else.

Lonely girls who just didn't want to face another night alone; college drop-outs living at home with money to burn and no friends; aspiring artists who liked my ideas but had all the skill and talent of a skillet; parents who wanted desperately to be in touch with their kids, no matter how clumsy their attempts were; employers who were impressed when I didn't quit the job after three months; clients of drug dealers who didn't want to take a taste unless there was another body there to valdiate the occasion... these people used me just as much as I used them.

I didn't even use them, really. I just smiled and said what they wanted to hear, combined with a couple of brutally shocking and honest assessments of the world to balance out the beautiful lies that came out of my mouth. Like I said, I never asked for anything, and if I did ask I was prepared to take the 'No'. If more people had told me 'No' I might've stopped being such a bum sooner, but there was no paucity of people willing to give me what I desired just so I could make them feel less lonesome.

I never robbed these people, or betrayed them in any way. But I did get a lot of things out of them, and the best part is: I feel no guilt, because I did nothing wrong.

Every day is a con. This blog is a con. Life is a con, from beginning to end. You are either the con or you are the mark. All of us play each role at some point. Most of us spend our whole lives playing one role, being either a pawn or a player for the rest of our days, rarely glimpsing the shade of grass on the other side.

The lies you tell speak volumes about the lies you've been told. My lies are surgical and precise, because I abhorred the sloppy, haphazard lies that I was told as a child. I saw through all the bad liars and decided that I would craft better lies, the kind that last the test of time, the kind that hook you in and keep you there. Only when I decide to expose the hoax does the pull of the lure relent.

Ironically, it is the moment of pure truth that leads to the disenchantment with lies. For example: a woman can date a man and know from the start that he is a no-good wannabe-musician/starving artist/silver-tongued devil/pot-smoking bum, but it isn't until he offers evidence and proof that she seriously considers his qualities to be bad. The proof is often an undeniable reality-- "He'll never change" or "He doesn't love me" or "He's full of shit"... things like that.

Lately, I haven't been running any scams. I've been honest with everyone about everything. This blog has been more of a haven for my daily observations than an imaginary realm where I create things from scratch. I have been more concerned with irrefutable truth than with nimble-toed sophistry.

I need to start conning again.

I did more good than bad when I was full of hot air. I was more effective with my propaganda when I was appealing not to reason but to emotion. I was a nicer person, a funnier guy, a reassuring symbol of the times when I was pulling people's legs.

Now I'm just a dreary statistician, chronicling a "reality" that is only slightly more real than the outrageous tall tales that I could be telling. I mock myself by daring to think that there is one truth, one angle, one singular notion that the whole world adheres to faithfully.

I need to learn some card tricks. I need a top hat and a rabbit. I have to polish up on pulling quarters out from behind little kids' ears. I need to sharpen those Lie Knives and get to cuttin'.

I am an artist, and art is my con.