I started writing this long mopey piece about my new book and the arduous journey it's taken to get it published (cancer, cancellation, and then my editor quit!). But then I realized that I was being an asshole so I deleted the whole thing because hey, I have a book that's getting published in the next month or so. Or right now, if you order from Amazon!
That's exciting! And fun! The melanoma appears to be gone and so what if it got cancelled by the first publisher—that just means I got paid (very little) twice! And very-little twice is certainly better than nothing, or even very-little once. (Thanks for the perspective and for selling it twice, Mike Edison!) I'm going to Seattle to have a book party and I'm going to do some stuff in New York too.
If you have a couple extra bucks I'll love you forever if you buy a copy. Thanks!
I haven't mentioned this in a while, but I do a radio show with the amazing Mike Edison. It's called The Mike & Judy Show and it's on Heritage Radio Network, straight outta Bushwick. (I just thought that sounded tough—we actually have a studio in the back of Roberta's restaurant. You can get a nice Riesling and organic veggies—not hardcore at all.) We go live at 2pm on Sundays for the finest half hour in internet radio.
Above you see my friends Freshkills. They came to the studio, played some music, and were highly entertaining. Zack and Mishka are both accomplished writers and you can buy their stuff by clicking on their names. For about three more days, their latest release, Raise Up the Sheets for five bucks on Amazon. We've also played host to Gary Lucas, Handsome Dick Manitoba, Cudzoo (sans Fagettes), Reid Paley, B from STFU Parents, and a host of other luminaries.
I just finished Mishka's third Kindle Single, Are You Lonesome Tonight?, and it's kind of stuck in my head. I've read and really liked the other stuff he's written, but this one was so disturbing, so creepy! If the genders had been reversed, it would've been outright terrifying, but . . . well, I don't want to give anything away. If you have a Kindle, you should buy it. It's only two bucks! I have to get in on this Kindle Singles game.
This week we welcome Carolita Johnson, who's not only a cartoonist for the New Yorker, but a truly amazing writer; hilarious yet also heartfelt, she's my favorite part of The Hairpin and I can't wait to read her book (once she writes it). It's so nice to get excited about books again, especially after reading the disastrous Mike Doughty memoir, The Book of Drugs. Oy. I know it got pretty good reviews, but I was completely disappointed. Page after page filled with complaints about shitty bandmates and thousands of words spent bemoaning what could've been if he'd been unencumbered by the people he got famous alongside. So bitter I could taste it. I need to go re-read some Redmond O'Hanlon or Jackie Susann to cleanse my palate.
When the Fed Ex man stopped by this morning, I thought he was dropping off some ill-advised Etsy purchase or maybe more nicotine patches for the man. Nope. He had something much better—four galleys of my new book, The Official Book of Sex, Drugs and Rock 'n' Roll Lists! (Available for pre-order at the link!)
This book was supposed to be published last fall, but just as it was about to go on press, the publisher (who shall remain nameless) decided that it was too filthy for print. Apparently, there was just too much sex and far too many drugs in the book. Um, it's not called "The Official Book of Unicorns, Fairies and Candy Corn," and I'd already deleted Jiz Lee's fabulous "Four Songs about Fisting," at my editor's request. Jeez. According to the men in charge, there wasn't one or two things we could delete. Nope. It was quite simply, too filthy for them. In fact, it was so sexxy and druggie that they didn't even make me return my advance AND gave me all the design files. Unheard of.
My pal Mike Edison did me a major favor and talked to an editor at Soft Skull, and they promptly bought the thing. So it'll be out in July of this year. There will be parties. Some of the contributors include:
My Kindle (#74). When the Kindle first came on the market, I loathed the very idea of it. After all, I used to work in book stores. My house is loaded with books! I love the feel of paper, the weight of a good book in my hand. . . And magazines! I LOVE magazines!
I know I've written about it before, but my major neurosis is that I can't stand if someone picks up and thumbs through a magazine before me. I'm the mental case grabbing the latest Vogue from the bottom of the pile, and no, you can't just look inside it if I haven't gone through it yet. It's ruined to me if I stumble across someone's crumbs (gah!) or—possibly worse—water spots that show it's been used as bathroom reading by someone else.
Anyway, in the interest of keeping the peace in my house (he deserves some shelf space too), I bought one. And I love it. I can subscribe to the New Yorker (#73) again, because I know it won't pile up around the living room. Nor will it be brought into the bathroom by anyone but me!
Oh, and e-books! The instant gratifcation of deciding to read something and just downloading it to my little treasure is indescribable. Don't get me wrong—I still buy book books (#72) too. My Kindle doesn't replace my books, it merely supplements the supply.
Because I'm borrowing (stealing) his essay idea from Crackpot, it only makes sense that John Waters and his incredible body of work is the lead-off item in this latest attempt to return me to blogging.
John Waters is the wind beneath my wings. His movies influenced me more than anything else in the world, besides Clash records. From The Diane Linkletter Story to Polyester to Pecker, I loved them all. Especially Female Trouble . . . oh, Dawn Davenport, how I can relate to your Christmas disappointment!
And his books—so uniformly hilarious, insightful and engaging, I can re-read them over and over again and still find new gems to marvel. His stand-up is flawless, his art, surprisingly serious at times (in a good way). But perhaps my favorite thing about John Waters is his ability to find the beauty in the unusual. Though he has employed traditionally good looking actors like the Johnny's, Depp and Knoxville, he also nurtured and the fantabulous Divine. He gave Edith Massey a career despite her gnarly teeth and chunky butt. He brought Tab Hunter's career back from the dead. He let Stiv Bators play the sex god role he was born to play. And you never get the sense that Waters is making fun of them either; nope. He embraced and sometimes even seemed to envy these characters.
The best presents, it’s not about spending money; it’s about something so perfect that you never even knew [it] was there in the first place. That’s the very best present you can get. And it could cost a nickel; it has nothing to do with what it costs. The worst present: fruit gift baskets. I can buy a fucking pear! You open it and there are six pears! That outrages me.
For these reasons and many more, John Waters is the 101st thing that I love. More TK tomorrow!
Starting this Sunday, May 15, at 2pm, me and my buddy Mike Edison will be hosting a new half-hour radio show, cleverly entitled, "The Mike & Judy Show." It'll be on the Heritage Radio Network, which is an internet radio network that's housed at Roberta's in Bushwick. Mmm, pizza.
We'll be talking sex, drugs, rock 'n' roll and I'm sure Mike will start blabbing about wrestling, but I'll counter any of that talk with menstrual issues, which he'll counter with marijuana jabber and I'll counter with long, drawn-out cat stories. Kidding—we both love cat stories!
Eccentrics are a dying breed and we just lost another, when SebastianHorsleyOD'ed the other day. While I didn't love his book, the guy was a true and compelling oddball with a killer sense of style. And that, I can appreciate. He was also quite the quote machine. This is a great interview, but if you don't feel like watching the whole thing—which I recommend you do—here are some bits of his wit and wisdom:
"Cohabitation is the tomb of love."
"We never treat anyone so badly as the one we profess to love."
"The difference between sex for money and sex for free, is that sex for money costs a lot less."
"I look at myself in the mirror because, let’s face it, I’m my type."
"Being a dandy is not a vocation, it’s a condition."
"People get so obsessed with happiness—which always eludes them—when there's plenty of other invigorating experiences available—like hatred or jealousy or revenge or misery. The thing is about misery is, once you get used to it it’s just as agreeable as happiness."
"The motivation for every artist is 'look at me, mum.'"
"Art comes from unhappiness, from broken people."
"Good stories happen to those who can tell them."
"I may be vain, but I’m not conceited."
"A misogynist is a man who hates women as much as women hate each other."
"The only damage I’m going to do is to myself."
When asked if he planned on being a dandy forever—
"Dandyism is a religion. It’s a kind of martyrdom of sorts . . . You have to give up love sometimes. You have to give up marriage and babies and security—all the things of course that don’t matter. As I said earlier, it’s not a vocation, it’s a condition."
I’ve got to think about my death, as I say in the book. Suicides are the aristocrats of death. And of course, the dandy probably has to end in ruin. If nothing else, at the end of obituary . . . 'he died destitute in the arms of a prostitute.' Most dandies end in ruin or in mental asylums or suicide. . . ."
Have you ever worked for a sociopath? I have. His named is Steve Hager and he was my boss at High Times.
The summer that my mom was dying was his most hideous hour as far as I was concerned. Every month or so Steve would cast a different staffer in the role of his mortal enemy. He would alternately shun them, then scream at them. Then he'd go to the owners of the company and try to get them fired and talk shit about them to anyone willing to listen. This particular summer was my turn.
So basically I'd get up in the morning, go to work, attempt to discuss job-related issues with Steve, who would look me up and down and march off without saying a word. (I was the managing editor, so it was vital I be in communication with the editor-in-chief). Then at lunchtime I'd walk over to the hospital and see if I could get my mom to eat something. Often in tears from our visit, I'd return to work for more abuse.
When my mom finally died, Steve signed the group sympathy card, "I hope I never go through what you're going through." Narcissist much?
I was fired shortly thereafter and have pretty much loathed that vile piece of shit ever since. Which is why I was so excited to read Mike Edison's new book, I Have Fun Everywhere I Go. Mike worked at High Times a few years after I left and quite possibly despises Hager more than I do. Only Mike had the good sense to take notes on Steve's hilariously deranged behavior and make a book out of it. After the jump, some highlights:
