Q: Maybe WRITER will be published and it will arouse an interest in the other two books of Daily Typewriting: The Last Six Months of my 39th Year.
A: They’ll think it’s about turning 40. A crise de quarante.
Q: The paparazzi are on Mel Gibson.
A: That’s life in the fast lane.
I have everything I need.
Q: Everything’s on tape.
Everybody has a cell phone.
We are all paparazzi. We are all bloggers. We all write for Confidential magazine.
We are all bloviators.
A: I had my chance. I blew it.
Q: What chance was that?
A: I don’t remember.
It’s back there somewhere in the stack.
Q: Your stack is a rental strage shed. In BLACK HARVEST, someone set fire to it. Because of what you wrote.
A: Some people think the FBI burned Jack London’s house down.
Q: You mean the private detective agency that was the precursor of the FBI.
A: Pinkerton. Wackenhut. Blackwater.
There’s money in private security.
If the CIA assassinates people, and the mafia, you can bet private industry has “2nd Amendment remedies.”
Q: Why don’t you write a book about it?
A: I can’t suspend my disbelief. I’m willing but weak. I just don’t have the stamina I used to. I lost it. It left. It went away. It’s gone.
This is the best that I can do.
Q: Daily typewriting.
Movie reviews. Comments on the passing scene. Opinions.
A: Joey Pants made a movie called Second Best.
He publishes a blog.
A newsletter which he passes out in the street.
Q: He has a small penis.
The crossing guard he picks up tells him, “Come up on my belly.”
A: Jennifer Tilly.
Public golf courses.
Do you know how expensive golf is?
Q: Yes. That’s the point.
A: Veblen, where are you now that we need you.