Life Imitating Art or Art imitating Life

Recently, an article appeared in my in-box concerning David Duchovny's addiction to sex. Duchovny, who is probably most familiar to his fans as the Mulder half of the X-Files duo: Mulder and Scully, was recently brought back on the big screen after a decade long hiatus from the Mulder character, but he has not just been receiving royalty kick backs from X-Files. This post is not about his X-Files influence or even his under appreciated film career. No this is about his work on the show Californication.

On the Californication show he portrays Hank Moody. A critically celebrated writer whose latest novel is adapted for a movie that robs it of it's soul and intelligence. In order to adapt it, Hank moves his family out to Hollywood, and the stresses of the new location and the new work drive him apart from the mother of his child. He begins to methodically stick his dick in every Hollywood floozy he can, starting with the movie directors well endowed wife (which always creates a good working relationship). That is the basic premise of the show but some other things happened in the first season, and it becomes abundantly clear that the character of Moody is an absolute whore for new women. The show is excellent and perfect for my tastes: random Keats and Dylan quotes as well as author name drops galore and nude women pretty much every episode (It airs on Showtime).

As I mentioned in the first paragraph, David Duchovny was recently admitted into treatment for sexual addiction. His character on Californication is eerily similar. Hank Moody loves to fuck, and finds multiple women to indulge this passion even though he is still in love with the mother of his child. David Duchovny is married to Tea Leoni and a movie and television star in his own right, which means access to women is probably no problem. The real questions begin when you ask yourself what came first: the sex addiction or the role for Californication? The answers would provide us with some valuable information about actors or artists and their art.

If he took the role of Hank Moody first and then became a sex addict, that would be a case of life imitating art. If he was a sex addict and took the role of Hank Moody, then that would be art imitating life. So which is it, and does it matter? It might not matter to you the reader, but for me, as someone who thinks about forms of art (albeit slightly shoddy, Dionysian one's with absolutely no form), this might provide me an answer to my own literary wanderings.


I am sure most of my readers (don't forget there's only about four of you) have heard of Tucker Max. Well, he is a case of art imitating life. Or is he? His "truthiness" has been called into question on the Opie and Anthony show, and a lot of BLOOOGGERRSSS seem to want to cut his throat and say he is a liar (but who the fuck expects bloggers to make sound judgements on truth?). Crazy shit happens to people in real life, and I wouldn't be at all shocked if everything Tucker Max has written about actually happened. Then again, I wouldn't be shocked if he was a hermetic chronic masturbator that was still a virgin. What we do know is that David Duchovny seems to have channeled his character of Hank Moody into real life infidelities or he has channeled his real life infidelities into the character of Hank Moody (technically Hank never cheats on his woman, but he drives her away).

What does this have to do with me? Well my four readers have been clamoring for some update on the blog, so after thinking about David Duchovny's sexual predilections for a day, I thought I would throw this together at work. A lot of shit has happened since my last post about the Masturbator, but if you are vigilant in checking out this site, you will continue to find a post from time to time. Just keep checking. If you are really a fan, you will. It takes one fuckin' second to type in www.tyrelgonzos.org in the address field, so until someone actually gives me some money for this shit, you are only going to see a posting every now and then. I save the best writing for myself. I'll close with this quote:

"It has been said that art is a tryst, for in the joy of it maker and beholder meet." ~Kojiro Tomita

Work Post #2 I see the perv's shoes

A couple of weeks ago, I went into the bathroom with a Scoop Jackson column in my hand and the rumblings of a healthy BM about to expunge and maybe break the very porcelain of the toilet (a dream of mine since I was a boy). I was ecstatic because I could waste close to 30 minutes taking a crap and not have to deal with a manager or the many phone calls into the inexorable gatekeepers of the corporate conglomerates. Everyone that works a crappy job knows this feeling; plus, who doesn't like to take a nice refreshing crap? I know I do. Where do you even have the chance to release those tense butt cheeks in a relaxing display of catharsis? I was in heaven, that is until I started to pay attention my neighbor in the adjacent stall.

There are only two stalls where I work, so your comfort is a direct result of the person in the other stall. I can handle some pretty awful sounds and smells and still enjoy myself on the toilet, but this guy was not making a peep, and he was definitely not sitting on his toilet. His legs were facing the toilet like he was taking a leak, but I didn't hear any pee, and he was very far away from the toilet. This piqued an interest that I still regret.


I understand (mainly from the movie: Waiting) that some people have an issue peeing in public places. Supposedly it goes hand in hand with some form of nervousness and anxiety for public places in general. I don't subscribe to that bullshit because I have peed in every conceivable environment on the planet. Mostly, I think that men can't pee in public places because they are a little light in the britches. Well, I am not gonna knock someone because they either have anxiety about peeing in front of people or because they aren't packing much heat, so when I walk into the bathroom and see people peeing in the stalls even though there are open urinals, I just go about my business and silently question their behavior in my head.

Well, I was taking my crap and about to read Scoop, but this guy was just standing there and it finally alarmed me enough where I put down the article and just stared at his feet. The shoes were cheap, brown, cordovan loafers with a pale leg peeking underneath hemmed grey pants. I studied them because I didn't know if I would get a look at him and I wanted to figure out just what the hell he was doing standing without peeing in the stall of the ___________ bathroom. I sat there and my sometimes wild imagination finally touched on what was concerning me so much about this Madhatter of bathroom behavior. He was fuckin' MASTURBATING AT WORK.

I love to masturbate too, but in the privacy of my own home or bedroom. There was this one time when I was in 8th grade and I rubbed one out in the bathroom of our local Sea Breeze (basically an old clunky amusement park), but I felt disgusting afterwards. A really hot chick that lost her top on an inner tub water ride was the impetus behind the self-flagellation. I was fuckin' 12 for Christ sakes, so I don't count that. I got hard from the wind and seemed to always have a boner, so I am not counting those 12-14 years.

There is something titillating about work and sex, but I never find myself secretly longing to masturbate while I am at work. I guess some people do. I recently told my friend this story, and without batting an eye, he told me he had jerked off once at work too. "Sometimes you just gotta" he said with a plain face "I was really stressed out at the time." I was confused by this proclamation because he is one of my more level-headed friends. I think, talk, and participate in sexual activities all the time and have even been called out by people for talking about it too much, so it came as a shock to my self-awareness that I did not also jerk off at work. I think it's fuckin' gross, and this guy at my company seemed to be crossing some moral line by doing this. I am assuming my friend that did this did so in an empty bathroom and because he works at a much larger organization, he probably had a larger company bathroom to disrupt intruders on his spanking time.

Either way, I was going to unmask this spank monkey, so I quietly sat there, unable to move when I heard it. It was a slight tinkling sound followed by intermittent bursts of silence. Now, anybody that has had to cut short a pee break knows how painful it is, but this almost sounded like he was pissing after an ejaculation. You know how after you fuck, you go into the bathroom, rip off the condom, and have a nice post-coital pee. Sometimes your pee-hole is blocked up and you have intermittent pissing as your dick gets accustomed to pissing again after relieving itself of semen. Well, that is exactly what this guy sounded like. I was now convinced that he had jerked off in the bathroom.

Finally he left, and I peeked my head towards the crack in the stall to get a better look. I recognized him. He wasn't in the Business Development team I work in, but he definitely worked there. His hair is what makes him stand out. It's thinning pretty badly, but rather than cut it short like most balding men do, he had let it grow long into a sort pompadour that resembled a cone head. Needless to say, when I got back to my desk, I went into the internal phone directory which includes pictures and I found him. He was a health care consultant that sat on the other side of the office in a little hovel. His demeanor and strange hair gave the impression of a pedophile, or an eremite of little renown.

I didn't know what to do with this information. Not wanting to ruin any one's career, I turned to a fellow co-worker. I made sure to speak with someone that is not a "presence" in the office. He is cool and unassuming, and after I told him the story he said: "Oh, the guy with the crazy hair?" I guess this has happened in the past because we exchanged stories and remarked on the similarities. He had not imagined the masturbation, but after reviewing it with me, we agreed: that man masturbated at work.

Now, I think an attractive fellow consultant who sits immediately adjacent to his cubical might be what drives him to such lengths of perversity. Or, like my friend, he merely wanted to remove some stress. I don't know what drove him to this madness, I just know that I sat next to a masturbating freak while I was trying to casually enjoy a late day crap.

If this has happened to you, let me know, or just enjoy this mild soliloquy on touching yourself at work.