Communing with Kerouac

I went to Lowell with a friend this weekend to see Kerouac’s grave and partake in the annual Jack Kerouac Pub crawl. This year is the 50th anniversary of the publication of On The Road. Lowell is Kerouac’s hometown, so every summer the city does something in appreciation.This year, the On The Road scroll is being displayed in Lowell for the summer. I didn’t make it to the scroll this time, but I did make it to Kerouac’s grave and a few of his old haunts.

I was surprised at how modest Kerouac’s marker is. I wasn’t expecting some giant monument with a type writer etched into it, but I wasn’t expecting such a modest marker either. The more I thought about it, the more sense it made, though. There was something very pleasing about the fact that it’s just a flat marker with the phrase “He honored life” inscribed on it. Rest well, Jack.

Kurt Vonnegut Jr

Kurt Vonnegut Jr died two days ago at his home in NYC. I haven’t written about it because, well, what can I say that hasn’t been said already by the author himself?

I first started reading Vonnegut nearly 10 years ago. My introduction to his work, as it probably was for you too, was Slaughterhouse Five. Reading that book was one of my favorite experiences of all time. People always talk about the moments that stick out for them — looking through time, the two humans in a cage on a distant planet, the drawings of boobs — but for me, for some strange reason, it’s a particular part of the fire bombing of Dresden. The whole scene is one of the more memorable moments in my literary history. But there is a throw away line that always sticks with me. The narrator is talking about how the men are stuck in the meat locker underground. The bombing is going on above and the men all have to huddle together for warmth. They had to “make like spoons.” And then later, the narrator injects himself as one of the people spooning next to Billy and simply says, “That was me.”

Completely random part of a great book. But it always stuck with me for some reason. After House I moved on to Breakfast of Champions, Cat’s Cradle, Hocus Pocus — on down the line. My friends and I constantly started asking each other if we were a member of the turtle club.

I became a Bokonist for a while and probably thought Ice-9 would be the greatest invention in the history of the world.

I saw Vonnegut read at the University of Iowa 4 or 5 years ago. I’d been to the Prairie Lights reading events dozens of times, but until then each reading was in the bookstore or some other small place. Not for Vonnegut. There were no tickets, the reading was free and he was booked in Iowa’s main hall. I got there just in time to slip into the auditorium near and had the privilege of standing near the door. The rest of the people weren’t so lucky. Staff had to begin herding the throngs of people into satellite halls and pipe sound in for the reading.

I want to reiterate that. There were so many people who wanted to see this one man stand on a stage and speak for an hour that they were willing to be shepherded into another room and made to stare at a wall while listening to his disembodied voice speak to them from a building away.

I think Kurt Vonnegut Jr the author would find something very ironic about that.

Vonnegut seemed to be getting old at the reading at U of I. He was cranky and churlish — but I would be too at that age. After reading a few passages from the book he was working on and some passages from books he had written, he talked about how to teach writing. I remember a chalk board got wheeled out on stage and Vonnegut began to diagram plot arcs and narrative lines and character development. By the end, the board was covered in chalk, and I’m pretty sure he had lit a cigarette. After his mini lecture, he invited questions.

About 100 people lined up to ask him the question they’d been thinking of all day. He took exactly three. The first two were completely asinine and the last, which I remember was, “What’s your favorite book?” Without pausing too long, Vonnegut answered, “Candide.” He explained why and then threw one hand into the air, turned to the side and walked off the stage. No signing, no thank you. He was just gone.

Since I was standing at the exit, I slipped out before the ushers, made a quick right through a double set of doors and took off down the hallway that seemed to run along the side of the auditorium. I smelled cigarette smoke and saw a wave of gray hair. He turned and looked at me.

“Mr. Vonnegut. I just wanted to thank you for the reading. I thought you were great and it was a pleasure to see you.” He said thanks, I shook his hand then slipped out a side door because U of I security was making its way toward me.

With his death, people have been calling me and asking me what I thought about him. Did I read him? Which was your favorite book?

I can only think of one response that is correct for all of these questions:

You bet your ass I am.

Lamb: Meeting the author of a great book — sorta

 

Going to an author reading is something I really enjoy doing – especially when I know the author and enjoy the work. Tuesday night I went and saw Christopher Moore, author of Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff Christ’s Childhood Pal and You Suck: A Love Story. He was funny from the outset and kept the humor going through his thirty minute talk.

 

I could’ve picked him out from a crowd of hundreds. Not only because I’ve seen his picture in the back of his books, but because he looks like an author. Tall and gangly with long arms, he has a beard, wears glasses and looks authorly.

 

He didn’t give a reading from the new book because he “doesn’t do readings.” Instead, it was more of an informal chat where he talked about everything from Anna Nicole Smith’s death to the “fucktards” that run Hollywood and are constantly trying to ruin his stories.

 

(Re: Anna Nicole Smith. Moore was talking about how everything has a silver lining. “Except maybe the dead billionaire stripper. What the silver lining there? I just hope that when they build her monument, it’s a big pole.”)

 

Moore rambled on while digging through his notes (3×5 note cards with sticky backs like post-its) and talked about the life of an author, what happens when the option for a story is purchased and the New York Times.

 

Obviously, I don’t know this guy, but watching and listening to him makes me think I may have picked up some sort of insight into what makes him tick. He obviously had an ego – like all writers – that he successfully kept under wraps most of the night. But what was most telling is when he was discussing his characters.

 

For those who don’t know, Chris Moore has a tendency to recycle some of his more popular characters and litter them throughout his books – see, Minty Fresh in A Hard Job, Roberto the Fruit bat in The Stupidest Angel. But the characters that pop up the most are all centered on Pine Cove, Calif. He’s written, to date, either two or three books focusing on these people.

 

The author made a snarky little comment at one point. He said something to the affect of: “I keep writing books with these characters in them because you (the readers) keep asking for them. It’s not, like Michiko Kakutani of the New York Times accuses me, because I’ve run out of new ideas.”

 

He does read the reviews. He is interested in what the culture has to say about his work. I find that interesting. It’s like he builds a railroad and then puts his ear to the track just to make sure he can hear the rumbling of the train.

 

But things went from insightful to comical quickly. After he finished talking about being a shaved author, harping on people like a stand up comedian who were leaving in the middle of his talk and telling us how tough book tour is (“One guy died on book tour last year!”), he opened the floor up for questions. He took about ten questions before shutting it down.

 

Then the real humor started.

 

“Ok, I’ll sign any book you have. If you’ve got one of mine, great; if not, I’ll sign it anyway. Think of the EBay implications. Sure, anyone can find a copy of You Suck signed by Christopher Moore, but how many copies of, say, Tender is the Night signed by Chris Moore are out there? Anyway, did they hand out numbers or are we doing the dog pile method? Dog pile? Great. Bring on the books.”

 

Let me give you a quick description of this scene. Porter Square Books isn’t huge. They always stick the author in the back by the reference section because the stacks form a little alcove which makes a good spot for a podium. There are about 100 people at the reading. Moore is standing with his back to the shelves. When he said ‘Bring on the books,’ 80 people started surging forward. Moore’s eyes got huge and he started to retreat, not realizing he was in an alcove. I saw his back hit the shelves and the books all thrust toward him before I left, laughing the whole way.

Normally, I’d hang around, buy a book and try and exchange a few jokes with the author, but I didn’t. There were just too many people harassing him for his time and I was hungry.

I’ll catch him next time.

Ow, My Balls!

Rented the Mike Judge movie Idiocracy last night. My friend Karim has been talking about it for months now, so when Mike recommended we pick it up I was all for it.

It’s a pretty good concept but with poor execution, in my professional opinion. Here’s the basic plot:

Luke Wilson plays Joe Bauer, a total average Army librarian who is selected to take part in a top secret experiment to freeze the military’s best and brightest in their prime so they can be brought back in times of need. Bauer nee Wilson plays the average Joe test monkey. Unfortunately, the Army can’t find a woman stupid enough to get involved with the experiment so they hire Rita (Maya Rudolph) a hooker who is terrified of not paying her pimp, Upgrayedd. Things go tragically awry and Joe and Rita are left frozen for 500 years. In that time, the world changes. The intelligent have stopped breeding and only the fantastically stupid are carrying on the human race. The result is the dumbification of the world. The world’s most popular TV show is called, “Ow, My Balls!” and the movie “Ass” which features nothing but a bare ass on screen farting wins eight Oscars. But all is not right with the stupid world. A giant dust bowl has formed and the crops have stopped growing. Mostly because water has been replaced by Brawndo — The thirst mutilator! Eventually, Joe — being the smartest man on the planet — is appointed Secretary of the Interior and is given one week to make crops grow and fix the dustbowl, otherwise he’ll be killed on Monday Night Rehabilitation.

Why have you never heard of this brilliant film? Because the distributor refused to do any marketing for it. Instead of a national release it was only shown in about 125 theaters and is wholly underappreciated.

There’s a lot of good stuff in the film, but it lost me toward the end. Even though some of the sight gags were hysterical — Fuddruckers becomes Buttfuckers in 500 years in case you were wondering — the plot takes the most obvious turns at every opportunity becoming entirely too predictable. That said, I did laugh a lot and there were parts that make the movie worth seeing and some excellent social commentary to boot. Night well spent.

I’m looking forward to tonight, though. Christopher Moore, the author of Lamb and Coyote Blue, is at the Porter Square Books promoting his newest book You Suck: A Love Story. His reading starts at 7pm but I’m planning on getting there about 5:30 to browse the shelves and get a good seat.

Incidentally, if you haven’t been to Porter Square Books I’d recommend visiting. Independent, good selection and an excellent cafe make it worth the parking nightmare.