They haven’t caught me yet. 32’s a filler birthday, but all the ones without zeroes, fives, or draft eligibility are. As promised, here’s answers to your questions. Thanks, as always, for reading.
Like it? Share the gift. Hate it? It’s my birthday, play nice.
In what kind(s) of cake(s) will you be indulging this weekend?
-Meg Oolders (Stock Fiction)
Oreo ice cream’s my oldest relationship. Mutual love and respect make us both better. It doesn’t even have to be the real brand, Nabisco has enough of my gold (Mondelez, if you track conglomerates). Anything labeled “Cookies and Cream” gets my love.
Do you think eliminating birthdays would lead to fewer cases of age-related anxiety and depression?
-Meg Oolders (Stock Fiction)
Maybe you just mean the ritual, but not tracking age at all intrigues me. It’s a perfect Twilight Zone premise.
The benefits stand out. I’ve played enough platformers to know countdowns produce unleaded stress, and most age-based checkpoints have that feeling. Graduate at 18 and 22. Marry at 30. Ruin it by 45. Have kids by [30 - religion + (hustle * fertility science)]. It’s a wonder anyone’s still sane by 25. Also, go crazy by 25 or it doesn’t count.
But we’re in The Twilight Zone. There are no unalloyed goods.
On anxiety, I think of everyone’s favorite Jurassic Park quote: “Holy fuck, a T-Rex.” After that, I think “Life finds a way.” I suspect dropping age meters would simply make the panic more abstract, and external pressure more arbitrary. And sci-fi rules demand a faction convinced they’re far younger/older than obvious reality. Body dysmorphia, for time.
In short, I wish I could write for The Twilight Zone. The good one.
How are you feeling about getting older? If "good" please provide a 5-7-5 haiku road map to this feeling for the rest of us.
-Meg O. (Stock Fiction)
Let’s split getting older into two topics. Aging, and mortality. I’m in two very different places.
Aging? Zen. Whatever keeps me from reading faces stalls dwelling on, or at least resenting, passing phases of life. As long as I’m alive.
Mortality? I’m going mad. I don’t know how other apostates live with it. A black, thoughtless wall is closing in. Forever. I’m not just trying to be funny. Death is my frequent, useless fixation. It’s embarrassing that priests can’t exploit it.
Per your terms, here’s a haiku:
I’d rather not die
I’d really rather not die
No death please. Winter.
How high will your bail bond be when Adams and Scientologists finally catch up to you? (Lol)
-TommyG (Under Construction)
Bail’s binary. You either have the money, or you’re me. With cash bail three steps into a comeback, I should probably pick a prison gang. Whoever needs a pithy slogan.
I expected to hit lockup alone. But Eric keeps skipping simple steps in campaign finance fraud. We’re one spine-bearing prosecutor from the circus trial of the century week.
Somehow, I’ve never touched Scientology. I suppose satire’s easy money is in problems that are new or unacknowledged, and Scientology’s been a known spiritual tumor for decades. Less like climate change, more like bedbugs.
describe in 5 words or less what Gianna's fantasy life might look like
-appleton king (bacon is the chocolate of meats)
Yuppie Valhalla. Three more words.
if there were to be an athletic facility or football stadium named in your honor and built with your donation
what would it be named?
-appleton king (bacon is the chocolate of meats)
Dayle Memorial Park. Three floors of trampolines, ramps, wrestling rings, and cardboard boxes. The “Memorial” is from my attempt to use it.
How will you celebrate you on your upcoming personal holiday?
-CK Steefel (Good Humor)
Life settled it for me: there’s a faculty party the day before, a recording session the day of, and a flight to my sister’s the day after. I like free sushi, crafting mirth, and half my family, so my bases are covered.
I also have a small ritual, in the depths of the morning. I trek for two or three hours in one direction, and try to think about the year. There’s rarely new insight, but review makes sure I only repeat mistakes three or four times.
Cheesy ones: did you always feel like a writer, or did you have a specific moment or spark that sent you down the path to madness?
-Amran Gowani (Field Research)
I committed to writing over a six-year period, from about thirteen to nineteen. I drifted from “practical” (history didn’t agree) coding aspirations, and kept a rival pipe dream of game design. After deciding practicality was for nerds addicted to food and shelter, the two dreams were left to fight it out.
Disposition and ability settled it. Writers (often) enjoy some degree of independence, which fits me well. Game development is somehow even more beholden to the whims of trends and corporate demons than other mediums.
But that line just protects my ego. Fact is, I’m decent at jokes, and suck bad with technology. I’m a prehistoric tragedy. It’s a miracle that this newsletter doesn’t melt every time I log in. Also, I manually log in each time, so you can imagine my coding workflow.
What was the first book that made you think: I could do this?
-Amran Gowani (Field Research)
Fan letters in comic books made creative work feel real. Writer and artist were tangible workaday jobs, like stripper, or fireman, or their frequent intersection. And they had to answer a wonderful array of lunatics to keep their jobs. If you dig into old Doom Patrol issues, you’ll find one fan’s brilliant conspiracy that Alan Moore and Grant Morrison are the same person.
But I’m guessing we’re talking more about inspiration. I remember Terry Pratchett’s Mort being one of the first beloved books where I could feel the wheels turning beneath. Suddenly, I had the sight. The rumors were real! My descent from proper society began in earnest.
Would you ever write a screenplay, and if so, what's your take for a Frank Dux biopic? Personally, his Wikipedia page gives me Chuck Barris vibes. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frank_Dux
-Michael Estrin (Situation Normal)
I definitely would, and I’ve tilted the windmill before. I’m actually in the middle of editing a Stunt List submission, the second draft of [removed for basic business etiquette], and the first draft of [removed to avoid strangulation by agent]. I’d love for any of them to work out.
The only path for a Frank Dux biopic is taking every lie since Bloodsport as gospel, with a Starship Troopers tone. I wish there were options. I wish I could put my creative fingerprint on the project, and make it my own in some small way. But the universe has chosen what every frame of “Dux for Cover: The Story of Your Hero” looks, sounds, and smells like.
I’d transcribe that vision for free. As long as my name made the credits, insead of “Secret Jamaican Frank Dux.”
What did you think of The Dispossessed?
-Abso Love
I honestly had a great time with it. I’m an easy victim for Ursula K Le Guin’s whole approach. The Lathe of Heaven was an even better time.
There is no entry for “CIA” in the first edition of Everything Abridged. What was it in the draft?
-Abso Love
Essentially 2I, in Post-Atomic Stress. That novella is my baby. The entire There is No CIA prank springs from the surveillance/conspiracy commentary in the novella. With just a splash of Zen in the Dark Enlightenment.
1. Did you check out that depressing manga?
-Fancyshark
Nah, not yet.
2. How about now?
-Fancyshark
Good so far!
3. Who do you main in Guilty Gear?
-Fancyshark
I’m all in on Chipp and Milia. Live fast, die immediately. A sick part of me heard they have less health, and thought “challenge accepted.”
To be less oblique: my only edge in fighters is reaction time, even in my dotage. Quick fingers, slow brain. So I’ll always be drawn to the fastest characters that don’t suck outright. And often, fast characters that suck outright. Rushdown is Plans A through Z.
I can also play the vampire samurai, but I think everyone can play the vampire samurai.
4. Since you're a weekly hotdog columnist now (woot!), what's your writing schedule like between that, this and prepping for Probably Nothing and teaching students?
-Fancyshark
I’m still adjusting, but the wheels aren’t completely falling off. It helps that I split writing with ad nonsense until the plague hit. That juggling act taught me to make habit a friend. I don’t know what discipline looks looks like. Everyone with it tries to sell me preworkout.
The flow of each form is a little different. While fiction tends toward dedicated sessions, my best 1-900-HOTDOG columns are chipped away at over longer stretches of time. Sculpture’s a stock metaphor, but it fits. Or at least the Hollywood rendition fits.
Prepping for Probably Nothing should be simple. It really should. But the techno-failure I mentioned earlier explodes out every Monday morning, sweeping away the best-laid plans like so many sand castles. If you want to stop SkyNet, make me CEO.
More dumb questions for your Q&A. What was your favorite movie at age 8, 16, 24, and now?
-Amran Gowani (Field Research)
Movies! My weakest nerd specialty, and thus an all-consuming fixation. I started out worshiping Star Wars. My mother, through some witchcraft, kept the twist from me until I saw it. That sugar rush must have lasted weeks. Or into the present.
At sixteen, it was Kill Bill: Vol. 1, tailed closely by Kill Bill, Vol. 2. They’re still near and dear to my heart, and comfortably in my Top Ten. Just like Star Wars. I haven’t grown up much.
Right now, it’s The Death of Stalin. I’m not trying to impress, you’ve seen my review scores. I just love that movie. Who knew summary executions were perfect punchlines?
Query: can you have a nemesis relationship with someone who doesn't know you exist? How many nemeses should a reasonable person have? How many do you have?
-Ingrid
Reasonable people don’t want me speaking for them. Fellow derangees, however, can have as many nemeses as memories. It’s the nature of the idea. Though you’ll find the quality of your schemes and opera masks spread thin after four or so.
As for awareness? Nemeses are the opposite of other relationships: only one of you has to agree, or even know. A virtual stranger can ruin, exploit, or end a life. Or blame you for the same, accurately or otherwise. It adds vital dramatic tension to your day.
As for nemeses, I have none. I’ve moved on. Every Christmas I send homemade strudel to my father, the mayor, the mayor before the last mayor, Uncle Clarence, my first agent, my marriage fraud codefendant, a certain famous magician, Princeton’s [REDACTED], and the musical genius above me that plays the same Zelda riff on the piano every morning. Delicious, flaky, tart strudel. Who wouldn’t eat it? Why insult German culture?
Will you be doing a follow-up to your Clarence Thomas piece with a biopic of our favorite municipal Democrat, Eric Adams? This man is the comedic gold mine no one asked for.
-That Guy From The Internet (This is a Newsletter)
Good question! Before I answer, let’s take a prayer break.
Jesus. Isis. Original trilogy Kratos. Devin Townsend. I come to you a semi-humbled man. Hear me, just this once.
Please take the free comedy away. There’s enough laughter. Remember the funny birds with the long necks? That’s decades of material. I don’t need any hilarious mayors, presidents, or injuries. I’ll do the work to make paradise funny.
Thanks for waiting.
I’ll inevitably be back to Eric, just not in a heartbeat. I’m trying to space out my work about specific public figures a little. My nose tells me there’s a dangerous loop of short-term satisfaction that swallows other efforts. And my mind. I enjoy having my mind.
What drugs are you on and where can I get some?
-Brian Wright (Balloon Farm)
Infinite drugs. Each funnier and cooler than the last.
Yeah.
Think Hunter S. Thompson, but replace the hat with extra Wild Turkey.
Yeah.
Remember Naked Lunch? That’s how I start the day. As a warm-up. Then the real party begins.
Yeah.
Alright, time to disappoint my entire base. Friends, families, longtime readers. I hope you can all look past this.
Nothing. For a while.
In one season, I found out three connections all had A-tier substance problems. It killed the magic. I didn’t dig the PSA version of Final Destination, so I cashed out. I’m not a tee-totaler—I have to meet publishing people, I attend sludge metal concerts, and no sane adult flies sober. I just don’t hear the call anymore.
Odd time, after a decade as a party demon. I had party demon stories, a party demon hangover immunity, and annotated notes for browning out during children’s movies. My ad agency found Mad Men aspirational. I knew how to find dates in pseudo-rebellious bars, and nowhere else. I drank Jagermeister after I could legally buy it.
Now Fridays trend toward weights, stand-up, and editing. I’m actually writing this on a Friday. After lifting. During a comedy special. My biopic is going to suck.
So. How do I like it?
For antics, it’s neutral. Turns out my impulse control never existed. I’ve concocted and executed almost every prank sober.
Creatively, I’m a little more focused. Wine inspiration exists, but I rarely wrote a word drunk. My brain wandered towards controllers and disco balls. Or other diversions. Captain Morgan makes phone numbers seem important, a decade after people stopped using them.
Socially, it’s a little grim. About half my network liked me better drunk. And since I never crashed anything, pulling back looks more like my scheme of the week. It’s a bit like dropping a show your circle watches religiously. You assume it’s nothing, but a few treat it like an insult.
Athletically, it’s a miracle. Parks and Rec’s best joke is real, at least if you like flinging yourself around. It’s terminally shallow, but my ego likes the side effects.
Sgt. McGruff can still eat chocolate.
Thanks for reading. And for one of the best creative years of my short life. When I’m dragged kicking and screaming into the void, know that you made something special possible. Because I won’t say it in the moment. I’ll be too busy biting. You’re the best audience I could ask for, and I would only trade half of you for immortality. Two-thirds, tops.
I really, really appreciated both the questions and the honesty (with humor) of the answers. While I love your posts, I think this will deepen my affection for the person behind the personality. Happy Birthday. 32! Lord, forty years separate us in time, not reality.
There's a clarity of mind and soul that comes from looking into the void unmedicated and unintoxicated. I haven't had more than two drinks in a sitting in over a dozen years. I joke about weed gummies, but I've only gobbled a handful, and never loved the experience. Batman has two superpowers: obscene wealth and indomitable will. We can still aspire to the latter.
It's been a real pleasure following your work and getting to know you. Keep doing what you're doing.
Happy Birthday.