In honor of my new, slightly used macbook air and the Hunter’s Moon (October), I asked people to ask me questions. Here they are.
@5redpandas wants to know:
1. What makes you angry?
Foie gras. When I think of this and other rich people, animal torture delicacies, I see red. My blood boils.
2. Name three artists/writers you’d like to be compared to.
When it comes to art, lifestyle and temperament, I relate with Charlie Kaufman, Joy Williams and Charles Bukowski. You don’t really want people coming up to you and saying you remind them of Bukowski, though. He had a bad temper and a hideous face.
Certain shit has come up in my life, depending on the decade: Clarissa Explains it All. Blossom. Angela from My So Called Life. Peppermint Patty.
3) What’s overrated (could be a book, movie, and or idea)? WHY?
Breaking Bad. Drive. Blade Runner. I dunno, these are all things a lot of people like that just look like bad art to me. Psychologically inconsistent or all style or boring or dumb. Breaking Bad is pretty good I just feel left out because I don’t care. I wish everybody was riveted by Who the Bleep Did I Marry? Or Werner Herzog films or some of the shit that I like for once.
Reincarnation, the enneagram, tarot, meditation, the moon, Gurdjieff’s Fourth Way school and other weird mystic philosophies I wish I could talk about with more people.
Once at a coffee house in Missoula, Montana, somebody had my feature story spread out on the table and was reading it. I watched them for like a solid 1o minutes. Another time I stared at somebody while they read my movie review in a bar, waiting for them to laugh. (They didn’t.) I don’t know if it will ever get any better than that. If I could watch people read my blog posts every week I don’t think I’d need food or water.
Pierce Middle School, the cafeteria, 1994.
I feel like you’re asking me if I’d rather have my life be a paradise or die a lonely, painful death in a terrible, inhospitable place. I’d take the money, obviously.If I had to choose a direction I guess I’d go forward, but I’d be terrified. Terrified! 5,000 years is a long time. It’s probably not like Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure.
They are all over the map. They experience a happiness and excitement that is unparalleled, followed by an all consuming terror and anxiety, with murky, mysterious mind states in between. I feel like my job is to wrangle up their chaotic minds. It’s a somber and important responsibility. I try to take it easy with them. I’m like a cool aunt.
I truly have no idea what you’re talking about, and I’m glad for it.
4. What’s your chosen last meal?
I’d get Massaman with tofu, hot from Thailand Express near my mom’s house in Waterford. And I’d be like, “This is my last meal, let’s put a little effort into it.” And I’d say, “Put it on a real plate. I’ll be dead soon.” I should do that every time anyway.
I prefer the longer stories to the shorter ones. I like The Sting and Trevor and the Gun because I think they’re fun and easy to read. I want my writing to be as easy as watching television, but profound or whatever. I’m really proud of all the features I wrote for the indy but it’s also incredibly painful since everybody hated them and I made a lot of embarrassing self declarations that turned out not to be true in the long run, so that’s a mixed bag.
I think my movie reviews are mostly all excellent. I think I really know what I’m talking about and that I deserve to be one of the top people in the world who explains why a movie is or isn’t good.
I don’t have much to say about publishing. I helped edit a journal for awhile but it was hard and I quit. I could say that I’m against self publishing, but I’ve been self publishing a blog since I was 16, so that would be a lie. Right now I’m more concerned about creating work in the first place, so talking about publishing is a case of putting the cart before the horse.
BTW, I have a 5,000 word story called Sledgehammer I’d really like to see published someday. If anybody knows a good place for me to send that shit, help. Sledgehammer wants to be free!
H.L Nelson from Facebook asks:
Did you find anything cool out about Aimee Bender when you interviewed her? That maybe wasn’t in the interview? Was she as nice and shit as she seems? I found her pleasant when I briefly emailed her about the anthology.
What you see in this interview is basically the totality of our interaction. The director’s cut includes things like me emailing and asking when and how she’d like to talk and her prompt, courteous response. She was cool, you know? She acted like a normal person. She did tell me she didn’t have a gmail account or know what gmail was, and I think I gently suggested that she should get with the times and get one before some crazed fan snatches aimeebender at gmail up, but I might not have said that. I might have just thought it.
Not to sound like a fucking elitest name dropper or anything, but I’ve managed to meet a lot of writers of varying prestige and success levels, and I don’t really get star struck. I mean, nobody besides other writers gives a shit about a writer. I thought it was cute the way she reacted to my question about her literary celebrity. Not the answer itself—the answer was honest and down to earth— just that she thought it was weird that I asked. But it was at the forefront of my mind. She was unequivocally the biggest name in the anthology. Basically she said it’s all relative and I agree.
And now here I am being interviewed! But I asked you all to send me questions as a favor, so it doesn’t feel good.
I’m okay, you’re okay. About the blood, I can explain: The TV got punched, it broke open the man’s hand. The man took a long nap and then we took him to the emergency room where a handsome Asian doctor pulled tiny pieces of glass out. It’s a terrible wound that’s taking a long time to heal. Why the man punched the TV defies logic or explanation, but it’s fine. He said he’s sorry. He bought another one.Walking dogs in the downtown area, you run into a lot of hobos. Animals, nutbars and old people: I am drawn to them like a moth. It’s best to give your dollars freely in order to make friends, in my experience. You get lonely all day at work with no one to talk to.Side topic, I hate when people can’t tell I’m working. I just look like a rich asshole with no job/cares walking two german shepherds at 11 in the morning. It takes two conversational strokes to get to the heart of the matter. Strangers at crosswalks say, that’s a cute dog, and then they ask a question about the dog, and by then it’s time to disclose the reality of the relationship. I say, “The dog’s not mine, I’m a dog walker.” A lot of people tell me I have a cool job, which I could just accept, but instead I internalize it as condescending, and then I feel bad about myself and my station in life.It’s good to have hobo friends is what I’m saying. How the fuck they going to make you feel bad? They have totally failed at life. They’re hobos!
There’s been a misunderstanding. I don’t like dogs.