Yesterday (Wednesday, 11/28) All Things Considered ran a commentary I wrote about being on Facebook. Audio is here, and the transcript is after the jump.
I spend most of my day trolling the internet for news stories, and often come up with fascinating stories that are of absolutely no use to a comic news quiz… this is one of them. I first read it months ago, but I still think about it.
As to why I’m so fascinated: back when I wrote plays, one of my recurring themes was people who transformed themselves into other people. What to Say, for example, is about a woman who may or may not be a prostitute who then becomes (or doesn’t) a successful author… Kim’s Sister is about a woman who is mistaken for her own sister, etc. And this was all before the internet, which allows people to change identities as often as their underwear. Or even more often, because, of course, on the Internet, nobody can smell you. Yet.
At any rate: if you’ve got some time, go read it. The ending was a surprise to me, but then again, I’m naive.
“Of course, we talked about global warming — the whole time.”
– Former Vice President Al Gore, talking about his private meeting with President Bush in the Oval Office.
(The Oval Office. President Bush escorts former Vice President Gore into the room and closes the door.)
BUSH: Welcome to the Oval Office, Mr. Vice President. Or should I say, welcome back?
GORE: Thank you, sir.
BUSH: It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Since you’ve been in here?
GORE: Yes, sir. About six years, ten months, two days.
BUSH: So. What you been doing with yourself since then?
[Pause.]
BUSH: I’m kidding with ya.
GORE: Yes, sir, of course.
BUSH: Tell you what, maybe could take a joke, maybe you could lighten up, might have been you sitting here, instead of me, and me, in the big blue chair, coming here with the Nobel Prize.
GORE: I doubt it, sir.
[Pause.]
GORE: As you know – as I’m sure you know – as I’m sure even you know — I’ve been very involved with the issue of global warming.
BUSH: Sure. I hear the movie is really good.
GORE: Thank you sir.
BUSH:Jenna saw that thing you had, with the thing that goes up in the air? The cherry picker? Wanted one for her birthday. Told her she had a better chance of getting a Nobel Prize.
[Pause.]
BUSH: Now, ya see, that’s just what I’m talking about –
GORE: You prepared that one, didn’t you?
BUSH: Doesn’t matter, the point is, you had laughed, you had been a good guy about it, I’m telling you, you woulda at least won your home state.
[Pause.]
BUSH: Karl used to go on about that, he did.
[Pause.]
BUSH: Now, global warming. It’s a problem, I know.
GORE: You do.
BUSH: Not a problem for everybody, though. Depends on your perspective. Some people, don’t mind a little warmer weather. Some do, though. Like the press corps. Nothing I love more than dragging those Ivy League sonsabitches down to Crawford in August, watch ‘em melt.
GORE: Sir, you attended Yale and Harvard.
BUSH: Yeah, but those guys, they liked it. You did too, I bet.
GORE: Yes, sir.
[Pause.]
GORE: So how long do you think we need to remain in here, so as to create the pretense of a civil conversation?
BUSH: No, wait, now I’m interested, I am. I want to talk to you about this. Because I got a question.
GORE: Sir?
BUSH: You say all the gas we’re sending out into the atmosphere, it’s making the planet warmer.
GORE: Yes, sir. That’s correct.
BUSH: Don’t act so surprised, makes you look chubby. You exercising?
GORE: Much as I can, sir. I don’t have that much free time.
BUSH: Question of priorities, that’s all it is. Anyway: my question. So, all this gas gets into the atmosphere… but here’s the thing, I thought we were burning all the gas in our cars! It’s not going nowhere but into the hemi! So what’s the deal?
[Long pause.]
GORE: Hah, hah.
BUSH: There you go, ozone man. There’s hope for you yet.
I did it on the phone, wandering around in the Museum of Stained Glass at Navy Pier while I talked about Catherine the Great’s sex habits. You can read the result here.
It was an interesting interview, conducted by an intelligent interviewer, who gratified me more than he realized by starting out by saying, “Before we begin, I want to check out some things you have in your bio… I’m afraid I’m being gullible, because these things just can’t be true, but I just wanted to make sure… ” All I’ve ever wanted to be is: unlikely.
The editing of the piece, while otherwise very good, muddied one point I was trying to make, or more likely, I was muddy in saying it. We were talking about the change in society’s morals over time, and the reason that I brought up the example of underaged prostitutes a hundred years ago was not to indicate “Wow, those were the good old days, huh?” but to point out that that Morality doesn”t change in a simple progression, like, say, microprocessor capacity. In some ways society is becoming more puritanical, in some ways less so, and you have to analyze any particular strand before deciding if we’re going the right way or not. So, just for the record: underage prostitutes = bad, bad thing.
1) The only concert I have ever paid to attend (ie., as opposed to just walking in to a bar, or gone to because somebody else invited me, ie., of my own private volition because I wanted to hear/see that particular artist) at which everybody else in attendance did NOT look exactly like me (allowing for variations in age) was Prince. Everybody loves Prince.
2) Even though the crowd was composed entirely of educated-looking, affluent-looking, non-hipsters/non-punksters of mild mien, I got the most thorough frisking, including a peek down the front of the pants, that I have ever had. What was the guy looking for, a contraband latte?
3) Feist is actually much better than she sounds on her records. A great live performer, a great band.
4) As it turns out, I, in my advanced age and wisdom, can be suckered in by one great TV commercial/video. Fortunately, in this case, everything worked out fine. But it makes me think, before I get any older/dumber, I should have the Home Shopping Channel blocked from my home system.
Say what you will about my colleague Noah Adams of NPR… the man can pause. He also can do a wonderful, appreciative profile of my homies, my peeps, my dawgs at the House Theater of Chicago, here.
However did I pass the time at departure gates before blogging?
A lovely evening at Malaprops last night, with lots of folks showing up — before the bookstore doors were opened, they were lined up around the corner! True, the bookstore is actually on the corner, so it’s not that far, but still, we take what semiotic signifiers we can. Afterwards, dinner at Table, a freakishly good restaurant run, once again, by a freakishly young genius chef. What happens to these guys when they turn 40? Does the sleep deprivation finally get to them? Do they snap? Is there a home, somewhere, perhaps behind the Culinary Institute of America, filled with shambling figures in white chef’s jackets, their right arms still spasmodically stirring imaginary pots?
Claire Zulkey, a Chicago writer/comedian/cultural entrepreneur, has been asking me nicely for years to do stuff for her, and I’ve been completely unhelpful. I hope doing this email interview on her website makes up for it.
And, Melody Kramer, producer and bon vivant, is also a photo blogger, and posted some lovely pics of our trip to Asheville here.
Flight is boarding… have a wonderful weekend, dear unknown readers, and I’ll check in on Monday.
Not as distressing as it sounds. I’m sitting in Malaprops, the very fine Asheville NC bookstore/cafe where I’ll be reading tomorrow night. They put up a great display of my book, along with books and audiobooks by other WWDTM and NPR authors, and named their coffee drink of the day in my honor. The “Peter Sagal” is: a double short vanilla latte with chocolate sprinkles. Get it? Short? Vanilla? I was concerned it would be too sweet, but it turns out the chocolate was unsweetened, so it had enough bitterness to remain true to its inspiration. At any rate, it is entirely delicious, though I don’t know how much that reflects on me, vs. the barista.
An interesting experience, drinking one’s own image. As close as I may come to the King’s Feast in The Phantom Tollbooth, in which one eats one’s words. The lesson for Milo: choose carefully.
… after changin’ planes in Charlotte… oh, yeah… goin’ down to Asheville, gonna get me a Diet Pepsi in the hotel bar, if it be caffeine free, oh yeah…
Sometimes a man just gotta sing the blues, you know?
If there is anybody in the intersection of my notional Venn Diagram, which depicts the shared space of Set 1: Readers of this blog, and Set 2: People who live in the Asheville area, then by all means come down and say hello when I read at Malaprops Bookstore at 7 PM on Friday night.
And: I spoke to Robbie Benson this morning. Man, does he sound like Robbie Benson! Look for lots of “Ice Castles” jokes on this week’s WWDTM. He can’t say he hasn’t been warned.
