My Google Chat with Tao Lin
Tao Lin is the author of at least two wonderful books (2/2 for the ones I’ve read), Eeeee Eee Eeee and his most recent, Shoplifting From American Apparel, which you should go buy right now; it’s one of my favorite books I read this year, easily. A few days ago, I won an eBay auction for a 30 minute conversation with him on Google Chat. Here it is. (We went a little bit over on time.)
—
me: Hi Tao, I’m here if you’re ready
Tao: hi geoff, i’m ready
me: outstanding
Tao: is your last name ‘litwack’
me: Yes
Tao: hehe, nice
thought it was something about ‘literary’ wack or something
me: ha ha
no, family name
Tao: interesting
me: i believe it’s from the original name for belarus
which is ‘litwa’
Tao: interesting
me: but who knows
i have a name question for you
Tao: ok
me: is your first name
with a D sound?
Tao: no, T
me: I see
ok
i thought so but wasn’t sure
Tao: i’m ‘down’ with D
me: mm
Tao: what do you want to talk about?
me: i have prepared questions
a few
Tao: sweet
me: after
i would like you to give me some life advice
Tao: ok
me: and then if we have time we can have a free form discussion
Tao: sounds good
me: also, feel free to ask me questions
Tao: ok
where are you?
me: first question
oh i’m in LA
the valley
Tao: nice
me: it’s ok
Tao: ok, first question
me: your current age
Tao: 26
you?
me: 30
i don’t feel 30
Tao: what do you feel
me: i feel 17
and have for the past 13 years
Tao: interesting
i feel 60 sometimes
me: yeah
but that’s how i felt at 17
old
Tao: damn
how old did you think i was
me: i thought you were 25
i knew you were young
Tao: i have turned 26
me: what’s your birthday?
Tao: july 2
me: i see
i’m june XX [Nb. redacted; this is the only thing in this conversation i edited except for one stupid spelling error on my part]
so, close
Tao: interesting
me: i may censor this on my blog in the interest of online security
Tao: online security, in what way?
me: it’s a security question, your birthday
for banking
etc
Tao: oh, interesting
i don’t mind
me: i sound jewish, huh
Tao: i think i used my mother’s maiden name for security questions, or something
me: yeah, that too
Tao: i don’t anticipate having money that people can steal anyway
me: aww c’mon
you are going to do fine
i know it’s been a struggle so far
Tao: hehe
what other questions do you have?
me: ok
i want to get the literary stuff out of the way
i’m not a journalist or something
so these are personal sort of
first
i read Shoplifting
that was your first work i encountered
i was v. impressed by it
Tao: interesting
me: my thought was
i’m going to use your single quote marks here
‘this is what i thought literature was going to be like in 2010, in 2000.’
Tao: ’jesus’
me: sorry
Tao: interesting
me: then i used amazon prime to get e.e.e.
which i strongly disliked for 20 pages, and then loved
Tao: hm, interesting
me: i initially misunderstood your intent
Tao: what did you think my intent was at first
me: assuming i correctly understood it after those 20 pages
crude postmodernism
Tao: i see
me: in a reactionary way
Tao: hm
me: given that postmodernism is now a dated form
Tao: how did you first ‘encounter’ ‘sfaa’
me: good question
on the web
ah
rex sorgatz
Tao: where
me: Fimoculous
Tao: who is that
me: blog
he’s an old, old school blogger
Tao: i’ve never heard of that
me: awesome dude
fimoculous.com/
Tao: how old is he
me: 35ish?
Tao: nice
what did he say
me: he mentioned it
i believe he knew of you from before somehwo
somehow
Tao: i see
me: he’s from minnesota
friends with diablo cody, chuck klosterman
that set
Tao: is he famous?
me: no
Tao: or seomthing
me: he’s more of a connector
Tao: a connector
me: rex, if you read this, i apologize if i have mischaracterized you
Tao: interesting
me: so anyway
Tao: rex
me: your work reminds me most of certain french writers
Tao: interesting, who
me: Toussant, Robbe-Grillet and the Perec of “Things.”
Not Houellebecq, as some have said
Tao: hm, i’ve read some of perec
me: i love Perec
not his later oulipo work
i mean, i love that but you don’t remind me of it
Tao: does he have an afro
me: kind of actually
he’s dead
Tao: ’why’?
how did he get an afro, i mean
me: jewish
jewfro
Tao: oh yeah
i see
me: um
do you think of your work in the context of other writers?
Tao: i’ve read half of a houllebecq novel
me: which one?
Tao: i don’t remember
where he goes on vacation
me: oh uh
atomized
Tao: and doesn’t ‘connect’ with the other people
me: or whatever they call it here
Tao: then i think he has sex with prostitutes
me: yeah, lots of sex
Tao: i view my work as in the tradition of the ‘kmart realists,’ as they were termed by tom wolfe and others
me: but on the main point
this calvino idea of your book on a shelf with other books
Tao: yes, the group of writers called ‘kmart realists’ by journalists
me: okay
so you identify with them
ann beatie etc
Tao: do you know them at all
yeah
me: not all of them
Tao: i just like their writing and have been influenced by it in my writing
me: that’s good
i am going to read them more extensively
Tao: i recommend ‘chilly scenes of winter’ or ‘distortions’ by ann beattie
and ‘honored guest’ by joy williams
me: great
i will order those
Tao: nice
me: okay
this is my next question
about single quote marks
Tao: yes
me: i pretyped this so i’m just going to paste it in
Tao: hehe, ok
me: Your use of single quotation marks – my thought is you use them to sort of designate mind-watching-mind objects of what the buddhists call rigpa/vidya, to remove the reader from the flow of absorbtion and call their attention to the nature of a ‘cheeto’ or whatever. Or a feeling; ex. in your Twitter stream you write “found my ipod cord, ‘lightheadedly’ felt feelings toward it like it had been ‘disobedient’”.
It seems like you’re trying to strike at something cognitive, not something anthropological.
do you agree with any part of that?
Tao: good job quoting my twitter
me: thank you
Sent at 12:14 PM on Wednesday
Tao: it seems like what you typed could be one thing i’m doing
me: okay
Tao: i would say i’m not calling attention to the nature of a word, but calling attention to my ‘relationship’ with the word
me: and we intuit the nature of this relationship from context?
obviously i guess
Tao: that i’m using said word ‘not literally,’ ‘with a definition different than the conventional definition,’ or that i’m ‘using the word with some degree of irony or sarcasm,’ or that i’m ‘taking a perspective different than my normal perspective for a moment, therefore “quoting” the word, from someone else’s perspective, that i assume the reader will know, to some degree’ (i think my use of single quotes isn’t consistent in this paragraph)
me: i see
okay
thank you
Tao: for example i feel uncomfortable using non literal language sometimes
me: me too
Tao: so i put quotes around it, so people know i feel uncomfortable, to some degree, using that language
so they can know ‘who i am’ better
me: that discomfort is magic
Tao: so we can ‘connect’ more effectively
for example if i read someone’s blog and they had a lot of non literal language or idioms i would feel less connceted to them, and less inclined to contact them to be friends with them
me: i don’t know if you read my blog
Tao: but if they put quote marks around some of those idioms i would feel closer to them, and might want to contact them or something
me: did you feel it was literal or non literal?
Tao: i read some of it
i think neutral
me: mmm
that is fair
Tao: i didn’t immediately label it literal or non literal, so maybe it was literal
based on what i read and the level of thought i used re what i was reading
me: isee
space
i’m a screenwriter
Tao: i saw your review of ‘the girlfriend experience’
me: being literal and shaving descriptions is v. important to me
Tao: did you say you didn’t feel it was substantial?
me: sort of
yes
Tao: interesting
me: i liked her performance
however
Tao: would you say then that ‘sfaa’ isn’t substantial, as they both ‘stay on the surface’ of things
me: no
SFAA is very substantial
Tao: interesting
me: in part because of your use of time
Tao: i se
e
me: girlfriend experience shies away from film tropes
which one level is good
but on another, limiting
Tao: what are you working on screenplay wise right now?
me: the spec i wrote with my little sister
we’re going out to studios with it next week
Tao: how old is she?
me: 23
Tao: sounds exciting
what do you expect to happen
me: i expect to make $32000 after taxes
join the wga
and write another spec with her
Tao: wow
me: not wow, Tao!
Tao: don’t have ‘need’ to get an agent though
me: i have an agent
Tao: and the agent tries to sell it
oh, nice
damn
me: i’m at CAA
blowing my own horn
Tao: nice
me: thank you
Tao: i’ve made like $18000 in 6 years
me: but uh
Tao: on writing
me: i know
i was going to ask you about that
Tao: aren’t people supposed to be trying to option my books for movies
and paying me money
me: yes
but
your work is not adaptable, of the two i read
Tao: damn
me: that’s what makes it good, in part
Tao: i see
me: if you want to write a film, write a film, but don’t write something as bait for adaptation
Tao: seems like someone in hollywood should still be optioning my books
me: you are too talented for that bullshit
Tao: ’just to be safe’
me: perhaps
many options are for $0
Tao: ben stiller or someone
i see
me: his company is Red Hour
he has been working on an adaptation of Civillwarland In Bad Decline for ten years
TEN YEARS
Tao: damn
me: yeah
Tao: what is he working on
me: with civilwarland, or in general?
Tao: civilwarland
me: getting the script ‘just right’
Tao: i see
me: to make it commercial
Tao: interesting
me: we have four minutes
i have many more questions
fuck
Tao: i can stay a little longer
me: okay
Tao: what is your next question
me: your IQ
i read it was 172 or something
Tao: haha damn
me: did you say that, or was that a cruel dig
on the part of someone else
Tao: i think it wasn’t about me
it was someone’s IQ in a book or something
i think my IQ was tested at 139 or something
me: i see
Tao: i didn’t speak english
well
or osmething
me: jesus
Tao: so it might not be accurate
me: that’s a good result for no english
i’m sure not
Tao: what is your IQ
me: it was tested when i was four
Tao: al gore’s IQ is 142
me: so i am sure the multiplier fucked things up
i may still be the world’s smartest four year old
155
Tao: damn
were you in the ‘gifted’ program
me: i am not that smart
no, i didn’t go to school
Tao: you didn’t go to school
me: i was homeschooled
Tao: i see
me: i left home when i was 16, though
Tao: i think i used to view people by their IQ, now i view people based on how well adjusted they are and how concretely they view things
me: exactly
Tao: which seems not on the same spectrum as IQ
me: totally
Tao: or not entirely on the same spectrum
me: i prefer the new way
also, no one talked about asperger’s in the 80s
which i feel like is when iq was a popular measure
Tao: interesting
hm
what is your next question?
me: next
do you know Andrea Seigel, my BFF?
Tao: hm, the name seems familiar
me: i think you may have exchanged email in 2007
Tao: ill search my gmail
me: ok
Tao: oh, is she a writer
of ‘like the red panda’
me: yes
Tao: oh, cool
i read that book
i see she emailed me saying she liked my ‘the stranger’ article about fiction writers
i didn’t know that was her
me: oh, i see
Tao: how is she doing
me: not well frankly
personal family reasons
otherwise fine
Tao: how is her career going
me: Well
she just signed with UTA
Tao: what is that
me: her junior adult book is coming out
another big film agency in la
Tao: interesting
how old is she?
me: 29
turning 30 this year
Tao: interesting
me: we went to school together
although we were not friends there
she thought i was a stupid stoner
Tao: bennington?
me: i thought she was a weird goth
no, brown
Tao: she was a goth?
hehe
me: she got her mfa at bennington
Tao: i think i remember her looking goth in her author photo
me: she’s not goth now
on the outside
Tao: damn
me: i consider myself to be kind of a goth, inside
Tao: damn
me: although not with the victorian trappings, at all
Tao: interesting
goth
me: i read your thing about juggalos
Tao: gothic
me: they’re kind of like degraded goths
Tao: haha
degraded goths, damn
me: goths without a philosophy
Tao: what is the origin of the term ‘juggalo’
seems weird
me: i don’t know
Tao: jugs
me: floridia must be involved
Tao: seems really weird
seems good, though
there seem to be ‘millions’ of them
me: yeah
Tao: seems weird
what is your next question
me: next
are there any visual artists you admire
Tao: hm
i don’t think so
i don’t know of any really
me: mmm
that’s fine
Tao: i like graphic novels by adrian tomine, chris ware, daniel clowes, jeffrey brown, joe matt, chester brown
me: i have read all of those authors
Tao: julia wertz
me: her i don’t know
Tao: who is your favorite
me: hard to say
i am moved by current art that
i would understand if people don’t like
kaws
neckface
Tao: i see
me: marc dean veca
Tao: i don’t really feel ‘moved’ by anything that doesn’t have language, i think
even music, i feel
me: even music?
wow
Tao: maybe
i’m not sure
me: i remember crying to neutral milk hotel
Tao: if it has lyrics that counts as ‘language’ for me
me: i see
Tao: i feel moved by music with lyrics
me: i have been moved by non-lyrical music
Tao: what is your next question
do i seem ‘mean’
me: i wonder if you know my ex-girlfriend
no!
not at all
Tao: who is she?
oh, good
me: Nathalie Chicha
Tao: oh, damn
me: she lives in brooklyn
you live in brooklyn
Tao: i’ve never met her but i emailed a few times
me: really
Tao: let me serach my gmail
me: what did you talk about?
Tao: i think i was trying to get her job
as blogger for galleycat
me: at gallycat?
ah
Tao: and then one time i was interviewing her
for my journalism class
me: i see
i thought you might know her, even though i had no basis for that thought
Tao: damn, seems like everyone knows everyone
me: i am waaaay out at the fringe
Tao: i think i read a short story by her one time on ‘xconnect’ or something
me: she’s a talented writer
i wish she wrote more
Tao: what is she doing now
me: i don’t know
i keep trying to get in touch with her, and she keeps not answering my email
Tao: damn
me: nothing bad happened
Tao: is she on the internet still
me: she can just be avoidant
no
apparently not
Tao: danb
damn
interesting
me: i still love her
not romantically
Tao: damn
me: however
i promised to love her always
Tao: what is she doing, if she has left the internet
me: and i am keeping that promise
i honestly don’t know
i know what her last job was, but i don’t know if she still has it
Tao: seems like she must have moved to a foreign country, or become a school teacher or something, to leave the internet
me: she left a while ago
abandoned her blog
Tao: hm
how long did you date her
me: three years almost to the day
Tao: i just googled her and she has a tiwtter
me: does she?
wow
Tao: with no tweets though
me: oh
Tao: are you fb friends with her
me: yes
Tao: interesting
does she just add anyone
me: i don’t know
Tao: or allow anyone to be her friend
me: i’m sure she’ll add you though
Tao: ’guess i’ll add her’ since i clicekd her page and am here
me: good idea
Tao: 3 years, seems like a long time
me: it was my longest relationship
Tao: hm
did you live in brooklyn then
me: no
this was at college
then she moved to iowa to get her mfa and i couldn’t hack it
Tao: interesting
damn
me: although we were basically breaking up before then
Tao: i’ve known all the poeple you’ve asked me if i knew
me: yes
Tao: interesting
me: but i’m out of people
Tao: seems like everyone just knows eveyrone
do you have more questions
me: advice
i know this is running on
three things, if you have time
Tao: i have time
me: while we’re on the topic
how should i find a new girlfriend?
Tao: hm
internet
i’ve found my girlfriends on the internet
my answer seems to be ‘internet’
me: through your work, or institutional sites?
i don’t see you on okcupid
Tao: my blog
and work
i haven’t used any ‘institutional’ things
me: i am blogging wrong
Tao: people i know have used those effectively, i think, though
me: okay
Tao: craigslist
me: really? that i find frightening
Tao: what other advice do you want
me: you are extremely productive
five books in very few years
Tao: i would avoid craigslist, i feel
me: how do you stay so productive?
do you have ‘tips?’
Sent at 12:46 PM on Wednesday
Tao: i think by naturally not having urges to ‘hang out’ with people, not having a tv, not having a personal or laptop computer for a long time (only library), and almost always wanting to ‘feel more sad’ or ‘analyze it more’ (causing ‘work’ to be produced) when feeling sad instead of ‘blocking it out’ by drinking alcohol or forcing myself to sleep
me: that is amazing
Tao: and when i have a girlfriend i feel satisfied in terms of ‘social life’ with just the girlfriend
me: i see
Tao: so i spend all my time away from them ‘working’
me: i understand
Tao: what is your third item of advice
me: what do you do when you feel anxious, to overcome it?
Tao: hm
in social situations i just keep feeling anxious most of the time
while alone i don’t really feel anxious
me: you don’t feel anxious alone no matter where you are in the world?
Tao: maybe sometimes i’ll think about ‘death’ and ‘the arbitrary nature of the universe’ and i’ll feel more calm/detached
me: that makes sense
Tao: if i’m in an anxiety causing situation, like being late to meet someone, i just think that if i focus on the anxiety it will just create more problems, so if i want to be more effective in solving my problem i should logically ‘choose’ to not feel anxious, and that usually works to some degree
me: you are more advanced than i am in that respect
but that is good advice
Tao: well, it doesn’t usually work probably
i’m not ‘zen’ at all, in my view, i get frustrated and annoyed a lot, it seems
me: mm
in my mid 20s, i lost most of my anger
that was a real loss
Tao: hm
me: so maybe the frustration is good
Tao: i think i don’t have any anger at all
i don’t know
hm
me: i just meant that maybe things we characterize as ‘negative’ can sometimes be ‘positive’
Tao: do you have other questions?
i see, that makes sense
me: only if you are satisfied with this transaction
Tao: yes, i am very satisfied, how about you?
me: from the sale, to the execution of the conversation
very satisfied
Tao: i see your bid as a sort of donation to me, of which i thank you for
and i’ll link the gchat if you post it, gaining you hits
me: yes, thank you
Tao: i enjoyed talking to you
seems interesting re andrea/nathalie
me: yes
they’re both amazing
in their own ways
Tao: i completely forgot about them both
but remember knowing a lot about each sort of at one time in the past
seems interesting
i am ‘holding in’ a lot of pee right now
me: okay
go!
but
Tao: thank you for bidding on the gchat and for chatting w/ me
me: i want to say, i count myself as a true fan of yours and
anxious await the next book
Tao: oh, good
thank you
me: i will now friend you on facebook and post this to my blog
Tao: will check your blog periodically, i feel
me: wonderful
Tao: have a nice day
me: you too Tao
Grant Morrison, greatest living mainstream comic book writer, weighs in on my movie of the year
“Morrison: Yeah. I went to see Crank: High Voltage when we were in Los Angeles. I had just watched that, and I thought everything else just looks like slow motion, really. [...] To me that was just a great action film, and every action film after is going to have to try and move at that speed.”
I make no secret of wanting to write the screen adaptation of Gantz and that would be my starting point, using the freneticism of Crank 2 as a chassis for modern Japanese horror sci-fi.
My favorite magazine of all time
I read Cabinet, and Monocle, and Art Forum, and I even puzzle out what little hiragana I remember to make limited sense of Hiroki Nakamura interviews in Huge or whatever. I read ID, and Fuck This Life, and sometimes Fantastic Man. But my favorite magazine of all time is Baseball Cards, published by Krause Publications until 1993, edited and basically written cover-to-cover by Kit Kiefer except for maybe one article an issue from a contributer. Anyway, Kiefer was responsible for the incredibly genial and light-hearted tone of the series, which left a lasting impression on me. I was going through my storage this week, and found my boxes of old issues.
SOOOOO
In the October 1988 issue there’s an article about the (beautiful, by the way) 1967 Topps set by M.L. Stapleton, a professor of English and Ovid scholar. As a way of teasing him about his field, Kiefer dropped in a sidebar of “Selected Reading: great works of literature that ought to be on the nightstand of every serious baseball-card collector:
Catch-22, Joseph Heller: You want Fleer packs because you can’t get them, but if you could get Fleer packs you wouldn’t want them. Takes place during World War II.
Adventures Of Huckleberry Finn, Mark Twain: A boy, a river, a raft, and five vendor cases of ’88 Topps to sort through. Tom Sawyer makes a guest appearance as an insert card.
The Odyssey, Homer: An epic poem which follows Ulysses as he attempts to complete a 1952 Topps set. After 16 years of wandering through card shows he returns home and is only recognized by his dog and his paperboy, who is awful sore at him for not paying his subscription all that time.
Romeo And Juliet: He likes to collect cards and loves her. She loves him but can’t figure out why he always has bubble gum on his breath. Her parents hate his parents. He gets a Don Mattingly rookie in a wax pack and bloodshed erupts.
The Canterbury Tales, Chaucer: A group of pilgrims on their way back to the National check into a Motel 6, order pizza and start swapping stories. The Wife Of Bath tells what actually goes on when Bath is at the card show.
Remembrance Of Things Past, Marcel Proust: A veteran collector muses about the good old days, when cards were cheap yet no one bought them, and no one dared make money on the hobby they loved. And the way baseball cards used to smell! Seventeen volumes.
Metamorphosis, Franz Kafka: A collector wakes up on morning and finds he has turned into a cockroach. He rents table space at a card show, sells Fleer wax packs for $2 each, and begins sleeping in a cheese sandwich.
The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald: All the glitter of the Jazz Age, the fast cars and endless parties and beautiful women, turns shallow and rotten when Gatsby doesn’t get his shipment of wax cases.
Heart Of Darkness, Joseph Conrad: Kurtz won’t come down on a ’56 Topps Clemente, and the show site has no air conditioning.
Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte: The tempestous Catherine Earnshaw enters into a doomed and foolish marriage with the weak Edgar Linton and denies her true love, a 1975 Topps Ed Spezio.
Moby Dick, Herman Melville: A crazed captain (who looks and talks remarkably like Billy Martin) hunts down a great white whale who promised to hold a Pete Rose rookie for him.
Great Expectations, Charles Dickens: An ambitious young man spurns the virtues of his home when he discovers a rack pack with two Mattinglys showing. Giant snapping turtles eventually eat the pack, forcing him into an abject reunion with his family.”
I think I just figured something out
You know how in old-time letters people signed with really flourish-y valedictions? I’ve always wondered about something: you see this a lot –
Faithfully yours, &c.
The “&c.,” with a period and no space between the ampersand and the letter c. I understood what it meant from context – “and so forth” – but never its precise meaning or origin.
Anyway, I think I’ve figured it out. The ampersand symbol is, according to Wikipedia, a ligature for the letters “et,” which is “and” in Latin. So &c. spells out “etc.,” short for “et cetera!”
I love you more each day,
Tina Fey.
Blogrollzz
You’ll notice I’ve added a second link list over there on the right; I’ve been meaning to for a while. VIPs are the people – single human beings, not problogs or linkmonsters – I pay close attention to. Caps is changing my mind about who I’m going to vote for. Momus writes a magazine article every single day. Jorn has a beautiful mind. Patrick takes amazing snapshots. Tommy’s living some kind of intense LOHAS life in London. Play, players!
Kohl
I just read Meg Rosoff’s Just In Case – really winning, by the way, not deserving of being stuck in the ghetto of ‘young adult’ – and anyway, something caught my eye:
The voice belonged to a girl of perhaps nineteen who peered at him through a heavy, clipped pink fringe. Her eyes were thickly rimmed with kohl, her mouth neatly outlined in a vivid shade of orange that clashed perfectly with her hair.
Right. This is from Claire Messud’s The Emperor’s Children:
“Darlings! Welcome! And you must be Danielle?” Sleek and small, her wide eyes rendered enormous by kohl, Lucy Leverett, in spite of her resemblance to a baby seal, rasped impressively.
Kohl! Both books were published last year. Is there a store, or something, where the year’s prospective glimmering literary words hang on racks? Wouldn’t it be great if there were word consultants who issued palette forecast cards the way the color consultants do? Writers could pay with cigarette butts.
A small childhood memory
One summer when I was eight, my family drove to a town in Pennsylvania near the New York border. We were invited by the parents of friends of mine, a girl, K., just turned nine, and her seven year old brother M. The center of the town was a large lake, a mile across. You could walk all the way around it, and there was a general store that sold day old Philadelphia Inquirers, candy, soda, and party snaps – those bits of gunpowder wrapped in airmail paper kids throw at the ground to frighten animals or protest their enemies. You were allowed to take boats without engines out on the lake, or swim. There were houses around the lake, set back a decent distance, that never changed hands. They stayed in families. There were houses farther out that were fungable, but they were bundled in little blocks of eight or twelve, and surrounded by woods.
The lake house we stayed in as guests was hot and creaky. Everything was old. The house itself dated to the Centennial, the fans that sort of cooled us were 50s models with cast-iron bases, the freezer part of the refrigerator was so unbalanced and cold that it turned water to ice in half an hour. The Ellery Queen Digests in the downstairs bathroom were from 1978 and it was 1987. One of the stories was about a police captain who realizes he’s eating the leg of lamb his murder suspect used to kill her husband. “You thought you could get away with it, but I read,” he said, arresting her, which I thought was very funny at the time. The meat turned to ashes in his mouth.
My ‘vacation allowance’ was seventy-five cents a day, which was enough for a can of Sunkist at the store every day and a pack of baseball cards every other. I’d go there with K. and M. They’d buy candy I didn’t really like – the segmented Sky Bar, Candy Buttons. (“I like eating the paper on the back,” M. explained.) I realize now, checking the web, that the store must have had a deal with a Necco distributor.
We stayed two weeks, which felt like forever. I fell in love with K., silently, and took to writing notes to myself about it on oversized index cards which I cut down and hid among the rubber-banded stack of my new woodgrain-styled baseball cards.
And that’s how the trouble started: the written word as an emotional outlet, the instinctual move toward secrecy, girls, having to leave paradise. When we left we left with hand-filled glass bottles of spring water and rainbow trout on ice in our trunk. We stopped at a Howard Johnson’s on the way back. “That was a good trip,” my dad said. I ate my grilled cheese with one hand and tightened my grip on the pack of baseball cards in the other.
That Girl Is On Fire, 17
INT. SYZRGY HAMBURGER’S LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
Syzrgy and Jorge are eating hot wings out of paper boxes.
SYZRGY
Dude, she viewed my profile on MySpace. Your ex, homebagel.
JORGE
You can’t see who’s viewed you on MySpace.
SYZRGY
You can if you’re really friends with Tom.
JORGE
Bullshit.
SYZRGY
I know his cousin – he gave him this backdoor API key and passed on to me. It doesn’t work all the time, but I mean, I’m positive about Virginie.
Jorge cracks a bone in two with his teeth and spits both halves back into the box.
JORGE
But you’re so ugly. You’re – god damn it.
SYZGRY
I’m sure she just clicked on me from your Friends page. We used to talk while you were out, right? About geopolitics. US military positions in the Pacific Rim and China and shit.
JORGE
This is stressing me out. She wouldn’t have gotten into that with you unless you made her a little nervous or she was attracted to you.
SYZGRY
Same thing.
Beat.
SYZGRY (con’t)
Look, just know that I would never do anything with her. Unless it were really easy, like really, really convenient. Like she’s on rollerskates and I’m in my car. And she’s like, hey, mind if I sit here in the passenger seat while I get off these rollerskates? I don’t even know why I got them, they’re so stupid. And then I’d be like why don’t you close the door? I think my air conditioning is getting out. And she’d close the door and be like sorry! And I’d be like look, Nini, do you need a ride somewhere? And we’d go back to her house, and she’d ask me in for a drink, like oh, hey, my uncle gave me a bottle of calvados I’m trying to get rid of? And then after several hours of deal-closing I’d get back in my car and have that hazy feeling you get when you’ve just slept with a girl you’ve never been with before, and it was good, and you’re wondering if you’ll ever see her again, thinking, well, what number was she? And just feeling great that you can’t pin it down exactly, like maybe she was eleven, or maybe twelve. And I’d call you, dude, I’d totally call you and tell you what had happened. And I’d take a shower but not put on deodorant and you’d come over and hit me, in the face, give me a real – shiner – and then we’d get high and drive around and I’d silently decide never to see her again.
Beat.
JORGE
You’re dead to me.
MUSIC: Loose Joints – Is It All Over My Face?
They wrestle.
Another scene from That Girl Is On Fire, Mentally
INT. THE DROWNED SCOTSMAN BAR & GRILLE – NIGHT
Jorge is sitting in a booth with BRENDA, the girl with the dead father who may or may not have killed himself. They’re watching a frat guy hit on Mandy at the bar.
BRENDA
Look at her go.
JORGE
You think she’s into him?
BRENDA
No way. Look at her posture.
Brenda’s right; Mandy’s shoulders are pitched back away from the guy.
JORGE
Why doesn’t she just tell him she’s not interested?
BRENDA
Doesn’t he deserve a little conversation for trying?
JORGE
What?
BRENDA
When you hit on some girl at a bar-
JORGE
If.
BRENDA
If you hit on some girl at a bar, even if she’s not into you, wouldn’t you want her to be nice about it, talk a little?
JORGE
NO. Absolutely not. Why?
BRENDA
So your feelings aren’t hurt?
JORGE
Look, here’s my ideal world.
INT. THE DROWNED SCOTSMAN BAR & GRILLE – IDEAL WORLD – NIGHT
Twenty or so girls are standing in a semicircle around the entrance. Jorge walks in.
Eight of the girls raise green flags; eleven of the girls, red. Beat. The last undecided girl gives him a yellow.
CUT TO:
INT. THE DROWNED SCOTSMAN BAR & GRILLE – NIGHT
BRENDA
That would mean girls would have to carry around three little flags when they go out.
JORGE
Work with me here.
So I bought Virginia Tufte’s Artful Sentences: Syntax as Style
and I’m not far in enough for a review, but I wanted to share some of my favorite sentences from the book:
“War remains the decisive human failure.” -John Kenneth Galbraith (talk about decisive!)
“His was a book which never was intended to reside in a library, but rather to remain in the pockets of travelers.” -Eunice Howe (reminds me of the Beatles song Paperback Writer.)
“The raisins and almonds and figs and apples and oranges and chocolates and sweets were now passed about the table and Aunt Julia invited all the guests to have either port or sherry.” -James Joyce (Not profound, but I wonder what other sweets, besides the fruit and chocolates? and I love reading writing about food.)
“Sun and moon, sun and moon, time goes.” -John Updike
“Space is all one space and thought is all one thought, but my mind divides its spaces into spaces and thoughts into thoughts into thoughts into thoughts. Like a large condominium.” -Andy Warhol
That Girl Is On Fire, Mentally, 2
INT. JORGE’S APARTMENT – NIGHT
Jorge is sitting on the couch, burning weed with his friend KLAUS, who’s 24, German heritage, a little pudgy.
KLAUS
So it’s over with Virginie?
JORGE
It’s been a month. Where the fuck have you been?
KLAUS
(laughing)
In my Corvette, asshole!
Klaus chortles until he starts coughing.
JORGE
Christ, whatever.
Beat. Jorge passes the joint to Klaus.
KLAUS
What about that other girl? You know, face-face.
JORGE
What, Amanda? Mandy?
KLAUS
Yeah, her.
JORGE
Let me fucking tell you what happened with her on Thursday.
CUT TO:
INT. MANDY’S APARTMENT – NIGHT
Mandy’s apartment is furnished with Michael Graves for Target pieces, medium-range IKEA, typical unmarried aspirational Tennessee dental student girl taste. There’s a couch in front of the TV, and Jorge sits to one side next to MIKE (jockish dental student with reversed lid who we won’t see again); next to Mike is MANDY, 25. She’s car-show pretty, not big-pretty, but then this is Tennessee, not New York.
They’re watching How To Get Ahead In Advertising. Mandy pauses it with the DVD remote.
MANDY
Hey Jorge, can I get one of your cigarettes now?
Jorge gets out his pack of yellow American Spirits.
JORGE
Sure you can. Take two. Take them all.
MANDY
(to Mike)
Should I take his whole pack?
MIKE
I mean, if he’s offering.
MANDY
(to Jorge)
No, I just want one.
JORGE
Here, here you go.
He gives her a cigarette.
CUT TO:
EXT. MANDY’S BUILDING – NIGHT
Jorge and Mandy stand outside around back of the building, smoking, looking out on the marsh.
MANDY
Thanks for the cigarette.
SUBTITLE: Thanks for the cigarette, although I prefer Nat Shermans.
JORGE
You’re welcome.
SUBTITLE: You think you’re entitled to everything, don’t you? You do.
MANDY
This is not a nice night. It’s so humid. Worse than yesterday.
JORGE
I mean…I guess.
SUBTITLE: I’d do anything to get out of this place.
Jorge leans to the right, denting her personal space. She takes a jazz step away from him.
MANDY
So did you hear that study where French fries are supposed to cause cancer now?
SUBTITLE: I’m never sleeping with you. Never ever.
CUT TO:
INT. JORGE’S APARTMENT – NIGHT
Klaus is dying with laughter.
JORGE
You suck, dude.
Luis & Litwack present: scenes from That Girl Is On Fire, Mentally – The Movie
INT. PATIO RESTURANT – NIGHT
Jorge and Virginie sit outside, under one of those outdoor heat lamps.
VIRGINIE
I mean, I love him. And I love you. I don’t see why that should be a problem, or why you’re being such a jerk about this.
JORGE
It’s not a problem, but think about how pissed you’d be if-
Virginie unrolls her napkin, and the silverware inside clatters on the tabletop.
VIRGINIE
If what.
JORGE
If I told you I still love Veronica. Not ‘I’m still in love with her,’ even, just that I love her. From a distance.
VIRGINIE
Huh. (beat) You know, I kind of see what you’re saying. When I say ‘I love Henry,’ it’s like you saying ‘I love Veronica,’ to me.
JORGE
Yeah.
VIRGINIE
Huh!
JORGE
Look, babes-
VIRGINIE
So – so what, I shouldn’t feel that way?
JORGE
No, it’s just that maybe we shouldn’t talk about it. Like, maybe it hurts my feelings, a little bit.
VIRGINIE
Not talk about it. Not bring it up.
JORGE
Right. I mean, I don’t care, but it’s – I mean, if the question is what’s decent, then maybe – then maybe not, maybe don’t talk about it.
VIRGINIE
Okay. All right. Let me think about this for tonight, okay?
JORGE
Sure.
The waiter comes and deposits their plate of shirako tempura.
JORGE
What is this stuff, again?
VIRGINIE
You’ll like it.
This microfiction displays all of my worst tendencies
but I’m going to post it anyway, before I get scared. Too many links recently. I wrote it this morning, like, fast, and it’s 40% fact.
——
The fourth night after I moved back into the house of my parents, I went out by myself. I didn’t have a job, and I was recovering from a nervous – not breakdown, but setback. On a scale of one to eight, with six and above historical pain or suffering that happens outside of the United States, like watching your cousins die in the Holocaust or being forced to work in a factory sewing sweatshirts with licensed characters on them and being raped at night, every night, my pain was a three, and it passed. In those first couple of weeks home before I found work, my main pleasure was getting out of the house and driving around Burbank and Studio City and North Hollywood with my digital SLR, taking photographs of local signage. Given the checked, expansive nature of the San Fernando retail landscape and the amazing weather – nothing rusts or molds in the dry desert heat, which is why it’s kismet for classic car motorheads (they meet at the Bob’s Big Boy on Friday nights to buy and sell and trade wives) – there were tons of 70s and 80s signs in perfect condition – I’m talking about neon, backlit translites, even painted murals on brick, and I was determined to collect as many of them as I could on disk.
That night, the fourth night after moving back home and the eighth day since my meltdown, I was out driving around and I got hungry. It was about nine at night. The next restaurant I find with a good sign, I told myself, I’ll stop, take a picture, and eat. That turned out to be H. Salt Fish and Chips. The sign was white and blue, with just the name of the place in a sans-serif font, but somehow it worked. I parked and went inside and was hit with a blast of depression. A good sign totally presages the inside of the place it advertises – a good place lives up to its shingle. But the interior of H. Salt was all pale yellow light the color of human fat and orange tables and booths made out of the Formica-treated pressed crapboard. The fish and chips and fried shrimp and zucchini were tanning under heat lamps in a long glass case.
There was a man in front of the counter and a girl behind, in an apron. At first I thought he was German – he had dark, thinning hair, big fat glasses, and this dour look infused with worry that is characteristic of someone who was a child during the firebombing of Dresden and educated in the aftermath of World War II. No room for pride in country, no room for personal pride. Sounds glib, but I had seen it firsthand during my high school homestay in Kiel and talked to that family’s parents and their friends extensively about their frustration and deep sadness or deepsadness, as you’d say in German.
And the jeans he was wearing: dark blue, the waistband with elastic vents pulled up just above his hips, flat in the ass, with unlikely cargo pockets above the knee, with a bulge in one that looked like a spinal knob.
He had already ordered, and the girl behind the counter was shoveling his food into a paper bag with an all-over newspaper print with a metal scoop sized to the bag mouth. Her name according to her name tag was Karen. She was wearing the H. Salt uniform, which apparently was a blue apron with an H. Salt screenprint in white and a matching blue-and-white ballcap over a hairnet. My guess is that she was Korean. She was my age. She had a fine face, but wore too much sparkly green eye-shadow, and was sweating from the lamps and the heat of the kitchen.
The man spoke. “I have an album coming out.” I strained to place his accent, and then realized that he was slurring his words. I was wrong about him being German. “Really?” Karen said, rolling up the top of his bag. “What kind of music?”
He handed her a ten dollar bill. “Church music. I’m in the choir. It took a long time to record.”
She entered his payment into the register and the drawer sprang open. She started withdrawing bills. “How long?”
“Four – five hours, I think.”
“That’s wonderful,” she said. She gave him his change. He bent at the waist and put it in the empty knee cargo pocket. When he came up, she held out her hand. “Congratulations.”
They shook. “Thank you,” he said, took his bag, and made for the exit.
“Hello,” Karen said to me, distracted. She was watching him go. I wanted to tear her clothes off and cry into her breast.
I pulled up the zipper of my hoodie. “Hi. Could I have the one fish plate and a Coke?”
“Sure,” she said, and assembled it for me in a bag. “Would you like any condiments besides tarter sauce?”
“Ketchup?”
She put two packets in my bag. “Anything else?”
What else is there? She was looking at me like she wanted to give me something. I should have opened a conversation. Does he come here often? Do you know his name, or where he lives? Does he ever bring anyone else?
“Do you have malt vinegar?”
“We do!” she said, and again added two packets to my bag.
“Thank you,” I said. I paid and got my change and took my food. I walked outside and around back, where my car was parked, passing the cook, who was squatting beside a dumpster talking on a tiny cell phone. The handset glowed blue, illuminating the side of his face. I got in my car and put the key in the ignition. Then I noticed that the man in the jeans, in the choir, was sitting in his car, an 80s Volvo sedan, to my left, with one parking space between us. He was sitting at the wheel, eating fish and chips.
I set my f-stop to 22 and took his picture.
2005 Annual
2005 Annual is out!! Download it here [1.3mb pdf]. CRAZY INTENSE introduction by Luis Ripoll – ladies, he’s single!
Dateline 2006: alternatives for well-worn words and phrases
intense – “stellar”
creepy – “black”
basically – it’s redundant, sadly
dude – “braa”
homeslice – “facemonster.” “Hey, facemonster.”
cockfarmer – “adorable” (cf. “he’s a cockfarmer” / “he’s adorable”)
Working on a book list
First of all, I’m back! Luis was in town for the past week and it was such a whirlwind of activity I barely had time to DO DRUGS let alone maintain my weblog. John was here too, and I want to thank both of you for visiting me: what a fucking awesome time. Anyway, now I’m getting back to my boring regular life, and one thing I’ve been meaning to do is add mass to my reading list – I just haven’t been reading much, and I miss it. Here’s how it stands. If you have anything to add, or think there’s something I should take off, lmk, k? I’m just getting started – next I’m going to peruse the Booker lists & so forth.
Fiction
Ballard – High Rise
Evenson – Altmann’s Tongue
Kirino – Out
Langer – Crossing California
Marcus (ed) – The Anchor Book of New American Short Stories
McEwan – Saturday
Mitchell – Cloud Atlas
Munro – Runaway
Prose (ed) – Best New American Voices 2005
Non-Fiction
Allen – Ready For Anything
Frank – The Conquest of Cool – BHPL 381.3
Houellebecq – H.P. Lovecraft: Against The World, Against Life
Jaynes – The Origin of Consciousness … the Bicameral Mind – BHPL 128.2
Klosterman – Killing Yourself To Live
Scanlon – What We Owe to Each Other
Stafford – Mind Hacks
Williams – Making Sense of Humanity
Art/Design/Photography
Katayama – WonderWall
Hiromix – Girls Blue ISBN 4947599448
(The BHPL #s are call numbers at the Beverly Hills Public Library!)
Dialogue
Cliche: “His loud, braying laugh.”
Perhaps slightly better: “His ugly cachinnation.”
Psychotic: “His pistachio.”
The best line David Mamet has ever written
“How did you know that was north?”
“Well, that’s – that’s Cassiopeia. That’s my girlfriend.”
Jonathan Franzen at the Hammer
It was good; he read from his new New Yorker story about breakups and an additional section that wasn’t published. He’s a fine, funny speaker. The moderator asked the question I was going to, so I didn’t – F. said the midlist was dead, it’s hard to publish a third book if your first two just did okay, there are many entertainments that have dispaced the novel in our culture, yada yada yada, don’t make things hard for your readers. He was asked about Oprah, seemed sort of embarassed, but pointed out that he didn’t refuse to appear on her show, she just disinvited him after his public remarks, which he now regrets, but it’s all in the published essay. Fine. The high point for me was talking to him afterwards and getting to say that I preferred Strong Motion to The Corrections, and that his Louis character is special and has really stayed with me, which is absolutely the case. He said he felt the same way about Louis. Listen, if you haven’t read Strong Motion, do, it’s really satisfying and good.
Finishing up David Foster Wallace’s Oblivion now
…and boy, am I having an emotional reaction to his language. He is, as you know, one of the few and talented true artists of word-choice, which sometimes eclipses or obscures your (my) broader attention to the work at hand. “Copse” was my plan for 2005 and here he uses it three times, twice in one story, no kidding, and even repeats other less common words over in such a way that leads you to think that perhaps a word like “whitecap” is as near his grasp as “sea foam” and he doesn’t even notice the second instance of what for many other writers would be a risk in the first. Words, astonishing ones, on every page.
Also, Good Old Neon is one of the best and most beautifully remote stories I have EVER read and I am thinking about making xeroxes and sending it out in my christmas packages so everyone can read it.
David Foster Wallace at the Hammer
I have a tremendous appreciation and fondness for DFW. I’d seen him read once before, and tonight, for unlike last time, he seemed, for wont of a better word, colicky; fighting the audiance on questions and answers and just generally a little out of sorts. He read a bit of a new, unnamed piece, which was fine, and Incarnations of Burned Children, which is lousy, lousy, then terrific. I talked to him afterwards while he signed my book, and almost said you’re a lot more intimidating than Rick Moody, you know that? I’m glad I went. There were a lot of cute girls there.
Skeet on Mischa
This blog is so under my skin right now. Just for the vocabulary alone. Maliboobs. Lagging. Babearaus Rex. Skeet.
I write