This week’s episode of Wiretap with Jonathan Goldstein on CBC Radio One features conversations with Howard Chackowicz, Dr. Noel Sharkey, Dina Goldstein, Gregor Ehrlich and Caroline (Carolyn?) Warren. Also, meet Johnny 2.0 – a machine that does it all: monologues, interviews, conversations with Jonathan’s mother…everything!
Listen to an MP3 of “The Answering Machine” by clicking here.
The story read by Jane Lewis called “Spirals” from David Eagleman’s Sum: Forty Tales of the Afterlives kind of reminds me of a Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. The premise of the story is that our creators are “dimwitted, obtuse creatures” that, upon greeting us after death, simply ask, “Do you have answer?” Of course, we don’t have the answer (It’s not 42 this time) and we all learn a little bit about the increasingly complex machines that we build in order to understand our own existence.
Jonathan Goldstein 2.0 is also a pretty impressive machine – he successfully gives a positive reference for Howard as he applies for a job as a bank manager. It almost inspires me to make my own, which isn’t unheard of. Johnny 2.0 also seems to be pretty infatuated with mustache sandwiches and makes a jab at the running joke about Johnny 1.0 not having been breast fed.
So, give it a listen. I posted up a summary of “The Answering Machine” which you can check out. But I’m also going to overhaul the episode listings pages here soon. Stay tuned.
Here’s the summary from the CBC Website:
This week on WireTap, Howard launches “Johnny 2.0″, a monolog machine that can stand in for Jonathan when he goes on vacation. Plus a conversation with Dr. Noel Sharkey, professor of Artificial Intelligence and Robotics, and “Spirals”, a short story from David Eagleman’s book Sum: Forty Tales from the Afterlives.
Howdy – No Man is an Island features Jonathan Goldstein interviewing Patri Friedman (son of famed economist Milton Friedman) about seasteading. Unlike some of the crazies that Jonathan Goldstein interviews, Friedman is, indeed absolutely serious. In fact, I’ve actually heard of this before Wiretap. Unsurprisingly, a lot of business big wigs are very interested in the concept. I think it has something to do with Ayn Rand. Anyway, check out the blurb and listen to the mp3 after reading the summary of No Man is an Island
Howard starts his very own country within the borders of his apartment: the first nation with wall-to-wall carpeting. Plus, Gregor makes Jonathan a personalized mix-tape to help him seduce the ladies, and Patri Friedman discusses his latest project, the Seasteading Institute.
Sorry if this spoils the plot (it won’t) for you but in the end of the bit with Howard Chackowicz where Jonathan Goldstein claims that he “doesn’t beatbox” – well, that’s a damn lie! HumV Chackowicz (that’s Howard’s rapper name, in case you were wondering) makes his debut in the episode “The First Thing That Comes to Mind” way back from Season One. Jonathan Goldstein provides the backbeat for HumV’s freestylin’ in that episode as well. In fact, I think he uses the exact same beat…
Also, the monologue that opens this episode appeared in the National Post way back in May 2009. Here it is in its original form:
Thursday. I’m at a local book store doing a reading. When it’s over, I mill around. “I fall asleep listening to your radio show,” a woman says and, in case the point has been lost on me, she adds: “Your voice puts me to sleep.” People approach, either asking me to sign their books or sharing with me their thoughts. Their ruthless, brutal thoughts. “You have a face for radio,” another woman gleefully tells me. When I try to change the subject, asking her if she has a book she’d like me to sign, she tells me no, that she’s waiting to buy a used copy. When she walks away, an intense-looking mustachioed man takes her place. “Some of what you say on your show is what I would say,” he says. “But then there are other things you say that I would never say. That’s when you’re at your weakest.” “So let me get this straight,” I say. “I’m at my strongest when I’m sounding the most like you?” “Yes,” he says. The main difference between talking to the radio and talking to the person on the radio is that the person has feelings, feelings that will keep him up at night. The person on the radio will stay up worrying about the next time he’ll have to appear in public and be exposed to the casual cruelty of well-meaning strangers.
Thursday. I’m at a local book store doing a reading. When it’s over, I mill around.
“I fall asleep listening to your radio show,” a woman says and, in case the point has been lost on me, she adds: “Your voice puts me to sleep.”
People approach, either asking me to sign their books or sharing with me their thoughts. Their ruthless, brutal thoughts.
“You have a face for radio,” another woman gleefully tells me. When I try to change the subject, asking her if she has a book she’d like me to sign, she tells me no, that she’s waiting to buy a used copy.
When she walks away, an intense-looking mustachioed man takes her place.
“Some of what you say on your show is what I would say,” he says. “But then there are other things you say that I would never say. That’s when you’re at your weakest.”
“So let me get this straight,” I say. “I’m at my strongest when I’m sounding the most like you?”
“Yes,” he says.
The main difference between talking to the radio and talking to the person on the radio is that the person has feelings, feelings that will keep him up at night. The person on the radio will stay up worrying about the next time he’ll have to appear in public and be exposed to the casual cruelty of well-meaning strangers.
Hi folks. If you tuned into This American Life today, you heard Starting From Scratch, which featured Jonathan Goldstein’s “Adam and Eve” story which is featured in his book, Ladies and Gentlemen, The Bible! and has appeared on Wiretap a couple times as well. It’s an interesting piece since it was aired in the pre-Wiretap days back in 2003. Jonathan Goldstein mentions the process of paring down his Adam and Eve story for This American Life over at Transom Review:
I do write stories with a length in mind. I don’t mind doing that. It’s like painting on a canvas of a certain size, if that makes sense. In the case of this recent Adam and Eve story, it was drawn from a larger work in progress. I started with about seven thousand words, and played around with it until it was 2500 words, and of those words, after all the editing and revising, most of them ended up just being replaced with new stuff. I wonder if it’ll be difficult to get back to the original story I had started. I had all this writing about the snake bragging to Adam about how he’s able to have sex with all these bigger animals in the garden by stiffening himself and using his entire body as a phallus. There’s this long description the snake gives of pleasuring a zebra for three hours straight while the zebra gallops all across the land in a state of ecstatic insanity. It was all stuff that would not work on the radio.
I do write stories with a length in mind. I don’t mind doing that. It’s like painting on a canvas of a certain size, if that makes sense.
In the case of this recent Adam and Eve story, it was drawn from a larger work in progress. I started with about seven thousand words, and played around with it until it was 2500 words, and of those words, after all the editing and revising, most of them ended up just being replaced with new stuff. I wonder if it’ll be difficult to get back to the original story I had started. I had all this writing about the snake bragging to Adam about how he’s able to have sex with all these bigger animals in the garden by stiffening himself and using his entire body as a phallus. There’s this long description the snake gives of pleasuring a zebra for three hours straight while the zebra gallops all across the land in a state of ecstatic insanity. It was all stuff that would not work on the radio.
Obviously, this little x-rated bit didn’t make the final cut. If you missed it, give a listen to Wiretap episode Adam and Eve, which Jonathan Goldstein performed live in season five. And, of course, it’s the first story in Ladies and Gentlemen, The Bible! If you enjoyed Jonathan Goldstein’s take on the Bible, be sure to check out his other retellings of the Bible.
Hello – I know I’m a bit late, but luckily this weeks Wiretap episode was a rerun. Entitled “Get With it.” Unsurprisingly, my lazy ass hasn’t summarized this episode from season two. I’ll get around to it soon.For now, it should suffice to say that this is the episode where Jonathan discovers that Howard has been confiding in his mother over the phone once a week, maybe twice a week, sometimes three or four times a week or more. Also, according to the official CBC blurb, this is the very first episode to feature Gregor Ehrlich:
This week on the podcast, we unearth from the Wiretap archives Gregor Ehrlich’s very first appearance on the show, back when he was a radical marketing specialist. Named Earl. Plus, Jonathan discovers an unsettling connection between his mother and Howard.
Earl, eh? It’s like the pilot of Seinfeld when Kramer has a dog and Elaine doesn’t exist. Everything is strange and nebulous…
Listen for yourself at the CBC Wiretap official podcast: “Get With It.”
Anyway, last week’s National Post article featured more Twitter musings between Jonathan and Tony Asimakopoulos(I think I spell that right 25 percent of the time here on this blog).
“I think Ben and Jerry’s should turn Aerosmith’s Sweet Emotion into an ice cream flavour,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “Mind if I Twitter that?” he asks. “Could you imagine our grandfathers twittering?” I ask. “From the age of eight my grandfather worked 19 hours a day milking goats and digging wells. The man considered penicillin a frivolous luxury. He’d never have had time or patience for social networking technology.” “I don’t even think my grandfather knew how to use a fast food drive-through speaker,” I say. “I was once with him when he tried to order at a Wendy’s. He started yelling for boiled eggs in all directions. Didn’t even bother to roll down the car window. Without Twitter, what did they do to let casual acquaintances and strangers know what they were doing 15 times a day?” “Screamed out the window,” he says, “if they were lucky enough to have a window.” “Sure, screaming was good as a ‘mass email’ to friends and neighbours,” I say, “but what about a good and proper status update to the community at large?” “Simple,” Tony says. “They drew a crowd by getting themselves beaten across the back with a horse whip in the town square.” “Which communicated what?” ” ‘Wassup, y’all? I’m getting beaten across the back with a horse whip in the town square.’” Read more: http://www.nationalpost.com/arts/story.html?id=2153008#ixzz0VpPIrNLj The New Financial Post Stock Market Challenge starts in October. You could WIN your share of $60,000 in prizing. Register NOW
“I think Ben and Jerry’s should turn Aerosmith’s Sweet Emotion into an ice cream flavour,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.
“Mind if I Twitter that?” he asks.
“Could you imagine our grandfathers twittering?” I ask.
“From the age of eight my grandfather worked 19 hours a day milking goats and digging wells. The man considered penicillin a frivolous luxury. He’d never have had time or patience for social networking technology.”
“I don’t even think my grandfather knew how to use a fast food drive-through speaker,” I say. “I was once with him when he tried to order at a Wendy’s. He started yelling for boiled eggs in all directions. Didn’t even bother to roll down the car window. Without Twitter, what did they do to let casual acquaintances and strangers know what they were doing 15 times a day?”
“Screamed out the window,” he says, “if they were lucky enough to have a window.”
“Sure, screaming was good as a ‘mass email’ to friends and neighbours,” I say, “but what about a good and proper status update to the community at large?”
“Simple,” Tony says. “They drew a crowd by getting themselves beaten across the back with a horse whip in the town square.”
“Which communicated what?”
” ‘Wassup, y’all? I’m getting beaten across the back with a horse whip in the town square.’”
In High Art, Low Art, Jonathan Goldstein finds himself relating to Harpo Marx, the silent, clown-like Marx brother who secretly wanted to be more artistic and move away from slapstick laughs. This is brought about after Gregor Ehrlich harasses Jonathan for refusing to do a hardware store opening to promote his radio show. After a bit of arguing, Gregor takes them in the “Wayback Machine” (not to be confused with the Internet Archive) to see what life would be like if they were Harpo and Chico Marx. Afterwards, Josh visits Jonathan to tell him about his new canteen truck business, where he’s selling his homespun versions of Twinkies, CocaCola and Ho Hos. Meanwhile, Howard is on the street wearing one of Nick The Delivery Guy’s chicken costume promoting Josh’s business.
On another note, here’s a video of Popeye murdering Harpo Marx for making his baby cry… odd.
Here’s a fun fact about Harpo Marx: he was als0 a painter. Check out this excerpt from his autobiography, Harpo Speaks! in which he attempts to paint a nude woman:
I rented a studio. I spent $350 on oils, brushes, props, smock, beret, and a couple of acres of canvas. I asked the guy in the artists’ supply store where I could get a model, and he gave me a number to call. A model came to my studio, a well-stacked brunette. I aksed her how much she charged, and she said, “How do you want me–nude?” I said, “Of course.” Ten seconds later she was out of her clothes and in the nude. Remembering how Neysa [McMein] posed her models, this way and that, to catch certain highlights and shadows, I posed my girl this way and that. After each new post I went back to the easel. But I didn’t have the courage to bring brush to canvas. I was scared. For the first time since the night I made my debut on stage on Coney Island, I had stage fright. [...] Finall the girl said, “Do you mind if I have a smoke, Mr. Marx?” On the way to her coat to get a cigarette, she sneaked a glance at my easel and saw that the canvas was a total blank. She said, “Don’t you even know how to draw, Mr. Marx?” “No,” I said,” I don’t. But I want to start. I want to start with you.” “Well,” she said, forgetting about having a smoke, “let me show you a few pointers. I’ll sketch you in. You sit over there.” “How do you want me–nude?” I asked. She said it didn’t matter. I didn’t bother to undress. Cheaper that way. So it came about that the model, undraped, painted the artist, fully draped. The two of us worked together, taking turns posing and painting, for several weeks. She showed me how to mix colors and how to use brushes and how to adjust the lighting. I didn’t show her much in return, but she didn’t seem unsatisfied.
I rented a studio. I spent $350 on oils, brushes, props, smock, beret, and a couple of acres of canvas. I asked the guy in the artists’ supply store where I could get a model, and he gave me a number to call. A model came to my studio, a well-stacked brunette. I aksed her how much she charged, and she said, “How do you want me–nude?”
I said, “Of course.” Ten seconds later she was out of her clothes and in the nude.
Remembering how Neysa [McMein] posed her models, this way and that, to catch certain highlights and shadows, I posed my girl this way and that. After each new post I went back to the easel. But I didn’t have the courage to bring brush to canvas. I was scared. For the first time since the night I made my debut on stage on Coney Island, I had stage fright.
[...]
Finall the girl said, “Do you mind if I have a smoke, Mr. Marx?”
On the way to her coat to get a cigarette, she sneaked a glance at my easel and saw that the canvas was a total blank. She said, “Don’t you even know how to draw, Mr. Marx?”
“No,” I said,” I don’t. But I want to start. I want to start with you.”
“Well,” she said, forgetting about having a smoke, “let me show you a few pointers. I’ll sketch you in. You sit over there.”
“How do you want me–nude?” I asked. She said it didn’t matter. I didn’t bother to undress. Cheaper that way.
So it came about that the model, undraped, painted the artist, fully draped. The two of us worked together, taking turns posing and painting, for several weeks. She showed me how to mix colors and how to use brushes and how to adjust the lighting. I didn’t show her much in return, but she didn’t seem unsatisfied.
Check out HarpoMarx.net for some paintings.
Hello, folks. Today’s National Post article features Jonathan and Jon at the movies watching Inglourious Basterds and A Serious Man. Be warned: spoilers ahead:
The article starts with Jonathan talking about having a bad day. He says:
“I’m not having the best day, either,” I say. In fact, I’ve been so cast down and foggy-headed that while leaving the depanneur just this morning, I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to take my leave of the clerk with a parting “man” or “buddy” and so ended up accidentally calling him “muddy.”
For my fellow non-Canadians, a depanneur is a convenience store. (The more you know!)
Tucker suggests we go out and see a movie, and I agree. “I saw Inglourious Basterds last week,” I say. “I hope we can see something better than that.” “Isn’t that the one where Brad Pitt kills Hitler?” “I don’t want to ruin World War II for you, but yes. Yes, he does.” 1:10 p. m. I meet Tucker at the movies, and we decide on going in to see the Coen brothers’ latest film, A Serious Man. “It’s supposed to be a retelling of the story of Job,” Tucker says. “It should make us feel marginally better about our own lot.” “Also,” I say, “it’s always nice to see what Fyvush Finkel is up to.” 3:15 p. m. The film turns out to be really good. So good, in fact, that we stay glued to our chairs, digesting, until the very end of the credits. In so doing, we learn that two of the rather heavy-set actors in the film shared the same stand-in. “I wonder how that made them feel,” I say. “I wonder if, at the end of the day, each actor went home to his wife and said, ‘There’s no way I’m as fat as that guy.’ “
Tucker suggests we go out and see a movie, and I agree.
“I saw Inglourious Basterds last week,” I say. “I hope we can see something better than that.”
“Isn’t that the one where Brad Pitt kills Hitler?”
“I don’t want to ruin World War II for you, but yes. Yes, he does.”
1:10 p. m. I meet Tucker at the movies, and we decide on going in to see the Coen brothers’ latest film, A Serious Man.
“It’s supposed to be a retelling of the story of Job,” Tucker says. “It should make us feel marginally better about our own lot.”
“Also,” I say, “it’s always nice to see what Fyvush Finkel is up to.”
3:15 p. m. The film turns out to be really good. So good, in fact, that we stay glued to our chairs, digesting, until the very end of the credits. In so doing, we learn that two of the rather heavy-set actors in the film shared the same stand-in.
“I wonder how that made them feel,” I say. “I wonder if, at the end of the day, each actor went home to his wife and said, ‘There’s no way I’m as fat as that guy.’ “
Anyway, overall a pretty gloomy column. I wonder what’s on the horizon for the next episode – an appearance by Tucker? Am I going to have to change my logo to include Tucker? Maybe.
Till next time.
Hey folks, back to reading up on Jonathan Goldstein’s National Post articles. The more I read these, the more I feel like I do when I watch The Office. I watched the first season of the show (and all of the British episodes) but then kind of stopped until recently, now that it’s on pretty much 24 hours a day. The whole time I’m watching, I feel like the only guy who left his hometown for college at a high school reunion. All the faces are familiar, but so much plot has gone on, it’s hard to feel in the loop. It doesn’t help that each network is playing a different season, too.
Actually, reading these Jonathan Goldstein National Post articles is nothing like that. Although I am reading them in reverse order. Plus, I’ve heard all the Wiretap episodes, too, so I don’t know what it’s like. All I’m really trying to say is that I’m out of the loop. Okay. Onward to the highlights from Jonathan Goldstein’s National Post articles.
The saddest part of my day comes now, as I eat a huge waffle cone of “Chocolate Therapy” and slowly come to realize that this is the most beneficial form of therapy I’ve had in years. I enter into a complete ice cream trance. It’s almost like there are drugs in there. This spawns an idea for a new flavour: Chunky Junky –ice cream dusted with a fine frosted layer of crack. Read more: http://www.nationalpost.com/arts/story.html?id=1906560#ixzz0UFpFdULE
The saddest part of my day comes now, as I eat a huge waffle cone of “Chocolate Therapy” and slowly come to realize that this is the most beneficial form of therapy I’ve had in years. I enter into a complete ice cream trance. It’s almost like there are drugs in there.
This spawns an idea for a new flavour: Chunky Junky –ice cream dusted with a fine frosted layer of crack.
Friday. I meet Gregor in the park for lunch. From out of his briefcase, he pulls a pink Hello Kitty thermos. “Nervous breakdown?” I ask. “I’m trying to cultivate my cuteness,” he says. “You’re a foul-mouthed balding ad exec,” I say. “What cute is there to cultivate?” “Allow me to explain,” he says. “Let us turn our attention towards the natural world.” “I don’t like turning my attention to the natural world,” I say. “It’s scratchy and people pee there.” “In the natural world,” he continues, “every young animal has some form of defence. The skunk has stink, the porcupine, quills. And what does a human child have?” “Stickiness?” “Cuteness,” he says angrily. “The only thing that keeps it safe is its ability to turn brains to mush with its cunning cuteness. But as a child grows older, out of some misguided sense that it no longer requires it, it sheds its cuteness. Well, I’ve decided to reclaim mine. I can use every defence against predators I can get. I’m even considering getting one of those little stuffed animal knapsacks.” I wonder if it’ll be large enough to carry his Lipitor pills and bifocals. Read more: http://www.nationalpost.com/story.html?id=1859490#ixzz0UFr90IL8
Friday. I meet Gregor in the park for lunch. From out of his briefcase, he pulls a pink Hello Kitty thermos.
“Nervous breakdown?” I ask.
“I’m trying to cultivate my cuteness,” he says.
“You’re a foul-mouthed balding ad exec,” I say. “What cute is there to cultivate?”
“Allow me to explain,” he says. “Let us turn our attention towards the natural world.”
“I don’t like turning my attention to the natural world,” I say. “It’s scratchy and people pee there.”
“In the natural world,” he continues, “every young animal has some form of defence. The skunk has stink, the porcupine, quills. And what does a human child have?”
“Stickiness?”
“Cuteness,” he says angrily. “The only thing that keeps it safe is its ability to turn brains to mush with its cunning cuteness. But as a child grows older, out of some misguided sense that it no longer requires it, it sheds its cuteness. Well, I’ve decided to reclaim mine. I can use every defence against predators I can get. I’m even considering getting one of those little stuffed animal knapsacks.”
I wonder if it’ll be large enough to carry his Lipitor pills and bifocals.
Tuesday. Howard is moving today, so I’ve agreed to baby-sit his two pugs, Desmond and Bruce. Desmond has a face like Edward G. Robinson, and Bruce has a face like Edward G. Robinson with a toothache. “Desmond likes his belly tickled and Bruce likes when you talk reassuringly while he’s going to the bathroom,” Howard tells me as he hugs them goodbye. On the walk back to my apartment, they stop in front of the depanneur at the corner of Howard’s street and refuse to go any farther. I call Howard on my cell. “I always go into that store and buy them jerky,” Howard explains. “They won’t move until they get some. They’re set in their ways — just like their old man.” Read more: http://www.nationalpost.com/arts/story.html?id=1838511#ixzz0UFs4PWNF
Tuesday. Howard is moving today, so I’ve agreed to baby-sit his two pugs, Desmond and Bruce. Desmond has a face like Edward G. Robinson, and Bruce has a face like Edward G. Robinson with a toothache.
“Desmond likes his belly tickled and Bruce likes when you talk reassuringly while he’s going to the bathroom,” Howard tells me as he hugs them goodbye.
On the walk back to my apartment, they stop in front of the depanneur at the corner of Howard’s street and refuse to go any farther.
I call Howard on my cell.
“I always go into that store and buy them jerky,” Howard explains. “They won’t move until they get some. They’re set in their ways — just like their old man.”
Before exercising, I usually stretch by a window while making excruciating eye contact with the old man who lives across the street from the Y. He keeps a pillow on the windowsill of his third floor apartment so he can get some good leaning, spitting, and staring done. But today, rather than endure what I can’t help but feel to be his silent judgment, I watch the five-year-old campers play musical chairs in the centre of the gym. The sight of the odd man out, running around, looking for a seat and then, slowly and painfully realizing there is none to be had — that it’s all so horribly late — is too heartbreaking to watch. It’s as though through play, the children are being prepared for the cruelty and brutality of life and career to come. All to the strains of Lady Gaga. Read more: http://www.nationalpost.com/arts/story.html?id=1814483#ixzz0UFss3SUA
Before exercising, I usually stretch by a window while making excruciating eye contact with the old man who lives across the street from the Y. He keeps a pillow on the windowsill of his third floor apartment so he can get some good leaning, spitting, and staring done. But today, rather than endure what I can’t help but feel to be his silent judgment, I watch the five-year-old campers play musical chairs in the centre of the gym.
The sight of the odd man out, running around, looking for a seat and then, slowly and painfully realizing there is none to be had — that it’s all so horribly late — is too heartbreaking to watch. It’s as though through play, the children are being prepared for the cruelty and brutality of life and career to come. All to the strains of Lady Gaga.
Monday. I’m sick in bed with a cold. There’s something about being sick that always makes me feel about 10 years old. I wish I had some apple juice and Spider-Man comics, but for now I’d settle for having some Kleenex. I call up Howard to bring some over. “Use toilet paper,” he says. “That would be unseemly for a man of my social carriage,” I say. “Hey, did I tell you about my idea for a new twist on toilet paper?” Howard asks, sounding as though he’s leaning into the receiver. “It’s toilet paper that has the face of someone you hate printed on each square.” Howard goes on to explain how his invention could mean the end of school bullying, gangland violence and, possibly, even war. “Just ball up your detractors and wipe,” he says. “I believe I’ve always done my finest work behind the backs of my enemies. Now, they can do their finest work behind mine.” We get off the phone and I get some toilet paper to blow my nose. No enemies defaced. It almost feels like a waste of my effort. Read more: http://www.nationalpost.com/arts/story.html?id=1790963#ixzz0UFtCv8MQ
Monday. I’m sick in bed with a cold. There’s something about being sick that always makes me feel about 10 years old. I wish I had some apple juice and Spider-Man comics, but for now I’d settle for having some Kleenex. I call up Howard to bring some over.
“Use toilet paper,” he says.
“That would be unseemly for a man of my social carriage,” I say.
“Hey, did I tell you about my idea for a new twist on toilet paper?” Howard asks, sounding as though he’s leaning into the receiver. “It’s toilet paper that has the face of someone you hate printed on each square.”
Howard goes on to explain how his invention could mean the end of school bullying, gangland violence and, possibly, even war.
“Just ball up your detractors and wipe,” he says. “I believe I’ve always done my finest work behind the backs of my enemies. Now, they can do their finest work behind mine.”
We get off the phone and I get some toilet paper to blow my nose. No enemies defaced. It almost feels like a waste of my effort.
I’ve been remiss in reading Jonathan Goldstein’s weekly National Post column, but doing so is always a delight. Because he often discusses upcoming Wiretap episodes, it makes you feel a bit like an insider once he mentions threads that originated in the National Post. Other times, his monologues come from National Post article verbatim.
Anyway, as part of my renewed dedication to the Unofficial Wiretap blog, I’m going to go through all of these and pull out some highlights. You can read them all by going to National Post and searching Jonathan Goldstein, but here are some quotables from random columns.
This one ended up in Patent Pending.
Monday. Gerard phones. He is excited. “I’ve come up with the perfect renewable resource,” he says. “Edible lizards’ tails. Cut one off and it grows back. It could mean the end of world hunger. I can’t understand why no one’s thought of it yet.” “Because it’s madness,” I say. “Just think,” he says. “The Feeding of the 5,000 would have been a lot easier if Jesus had used five loaves and two geckos. You could even mix the DNA with bovine DNA and voila! Oxtail soup for everyone!” As I listen to Gerard, it occurs to me that the perfect renewable resource might actually be the bad ideas of friends. Read more: http://www.nationalpost.com/arts/story.html?id=2098296#ixzz0UFfGUNIT
Monday. Gerard phones. He is excited.
“I’ve come up with the perfect renewable resource,” he says. “Edible lizards’ tails. Cut one off and it grows back. It could mean the end of world hunger. I can’t understand why no one’s thought of it yet.”
“Because it’s madness,” I say.
“Just think,” he says. “The Feeding of the 5,000 would have been a lot easier if Jesus had used five loaves and two geckos. You could even mix the DNA with bovine DNA and voila! Oxtail soup for everyone!”
As I listen to Gerard, it occurs to me that the perfect renewable resource might actually be the bad ideas of friends.
Howard is over at my new place. We are eating candy when he drops a malted milk ball on the living room floor. We watch it slowly roll out the door and into the kitchen. The good thing about having an apartment that’s tilted is that when you drop round candy, it always rolls to the same corner of your home. I assume that by the end of the month, I will end up with a nice little corner stash. Read more: http://www.nationalpost.com/arts/story.html?id=2073497#ixzz0UFgtGMNI
My go-kart driving style is like a cross between Mad Max and Ethel Merman in It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World. I drive aggressively but also with hesitation, toggling between flooring the gas and slamming on the brake. This leads to my being waved over by an employee. My sense of shame at being reprimanded by a 15-year-old track attendant for not obeying the rules of go-kart road safety is only outdone by my sense of fear that I will die on a go-kart track. I can only imagine what the obituary would read like. Read more: http://www.nationalpost.com/arts/story.html?id=2048297#ixzz0UFhhIeFw
My go-kart driving style is like a cross between Mad Max and Ethel Merman in It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World. I drive aggressively but also with hesitation, toggling between flooring the gas and slamming on the brake. This leads to my being waved over by an employee.
My sense of shame at being reprimanded by a 15-year-old track attendant for not obeying the rules of go-kart road safety is only outdone by my sense of fear that I will die on a go-kart track. I can only imagine what the obituary would read like.
Wednesday. I wake up out of a dream in which Tucker makes a cameo appearance — as a raisin in my porridge.”What business is it of yours to dream about me?” he asks when I call up to tell him about it. “I have no control over what I dream,” I say. “And why would you care anyway?” “I’ve had occasion to glimpse the things that go on in your mind,” he says. “So the idea of spending any time there upsets me.” Read more: http://www.nationalpost.com/arts/story.html?id=2023603#ixzz0UFiJmeKB
“I have no control over what I dream,” I say. “And why would you care anyway?”
“I’ve had occasion to glimpse the things that go on in your mind,” he says. “So the idea of spending any time there upsets me.”
“I literally can’t give away my belongings,” I say, staring out the uncurtained window. “No one’s even taking my red checkered shirt.” “You had a red-checkered shirt?” “Don’t you remember? You said it made me look like a picnic table. Just think, if you took it you could lie down on the floor while wearing it and eat a bowl of potato salad off yourself with the whole meal feeling alfresco.” “When I want alfresco, I eat hot dogs while leaning against a mail box.” Read more: http://www.nationalpost.com/arts/story.html?id=1998047#ixzz0UFjkaCMq
“I literally can’t give away my belongings,” I say, staring out the uncurtained window. “No one’s even taking my red checkered shirt.”
“You had a red-checkered shirt?”
“Don’t you remember? You said it made me look like a picnic table. Just think, if you took it you could lie down on the floor while wearing it and eat a bowl of potato salad off yourself with the whole meal feeling alfresco.”
“When I want alfresco, I eat hot dogs while leaning against a mail box.”
Tuesday. For my radio show, I interview a man named Bart who promises to take care of your pet after the rapture. His business is called Eternal Earth-Bound Pets, USA. Bart charges US$110 for the service, and assures his clients that their pet will be cared for by someone who stands no chance of being transported to heaven. “How can you be so sure?” I ask. “I make certain of it,” he says. “Before I agree to hire someone, they have to send me an email in which they blaspheme.” Read more: http://www.nationalpost.com/arts/story.html?id=1973726#ixzz0UFjvrXPF
Tuesday. For my radio show, I interview a man named Bart who promises to take care of your pet after the rapture. His business is called Eternal Earth-Bound Pets, USA. Bart charges US$110 for the service, and assures his clients that their pet will be cared for by someone who stands no chance of being transported to heaven.
“How can you be so sure?” I ask.
“I make certain of it,” he says. “Before I agree to hire someone, they have to send me an email in which they blaspheme.”
10:10 p. m. Lately Howard’s been writing riddles and jokes. I’d always thought such a vocation was strictly reserved for prison inmates and asylum dwellers. Apparently not. Most of the jokes Howard comes up with involve bears and forest rangers, penguins in bars, and chickens. He decides to favour a group of us with one of his new pearls. “A chicken is trying to cross the road,” he says. “Cars swerve all around him, honking their horns. ‘Get out of the way, you stupid chicken,’ they scream. Finally, the poor chicken, having had enough, stops in the middle of the road, looks into the sky and says, ‘Why am I doing this?’ ” No reaction, but then Howard adds, “I think we’ve all felt at some point in our lives like that chicken.” And this gets the laughs he was after. Sunday, 1:15 a. m. I fall asleep to the sound of my friends in the other room, still going strong. At the moment they’re swapping stories about the first time they ever heard Stairway to Heaven. All in all, it feels like a pretty good night. Read more: http://www.nationalpost.com/arts/story.html?id=1954044#ixzz0UFlEJhJu
10:10 p. m. Lately Howard’s been writing riddles and jokes. I’d always thought such a vocation was strictly reserved for prison inmates and asylum dwellers. Apparently not. Most of the jokes Howard comes up with involve bears and forest rangers, penguins in bars, and chickens. He decides to favour a group of us with one of his new pearls.
“A chicken is trying to cross the road,” he says. “Cars swerve all around him, honking their horns. ‘Get out of the way, you stupid chicken,’ they scream. Finally, the poor chicken, having had enough, stops in the middle of the road, looks into the sky and says, ‘Why am I doing this?’ ”
No reaction, but then Howard adds, “I think we’ve all felt at some point in our lives like that chicken.”
And this gets the laughs he was after.
Sunday, 1:15 a. m. I fall asleep to the sound of my friends in the other room, still going strong. At the moment they’re swapping stories about the first time they ever heard Stairway to Heaven. All in all, it feels like a pretty good night.
6:10 p. m. I take the plunge and approach a dad with his three young sons. I ask him which of the three has to sit in the middle, and he points to his eldest. “I have no choice,” the boy says, motioning to each of his brothers. “They’ll kill each other without me between them.” “They can probably use a guy like you in the Middle East,” I say. “Have you ever considered becoming a diplomat someday?” “I thought about it,” he says, treating the question with great seriousness, “but I think I’d rather become a clown.” Read more: http://www.nationalpost.com/arts/story.html?id=1929642#ixzz0UFloraGf
6:10 p. m. I take the plunge and approach a dad with his three young sons. I ask him which of the three has to sit in the middle, and he points to his eldest.
“I have no choice,” the boy says, motioning to each of his brothers. “They’ll kill each other without me between them.”
“They can probably use a guy like you in the Middle East,” I say. “Have you ever considered becoming a diplomat someday?”
“I thought about it,” he says, treating the question with great seriousness, “but I think I’d rather become a clown.”
Hello all – be sure to tune in to the podcast to hear “A Better You” featuring a story by David Eagleman and some exercise help for Johnny from Gregor Ehrlich, Howard Chackowicz and Buzz Goldstein. Can you name the artist who wrote the “inspirational music” that Johnny listens to on his iPod without referring to the summary?
Also, for more from David Eagleman, check out the Radiolab episode “Afterlife” and his book: Sum, 40 Tales from the Afterlives:
Hey – which season is Do It Yourself Fun Time from? I don’t have it on my list but apparently I wrote the summary. It’s the episode where Howard becomes a professional party animal. Also, I found a summary of a Fresh New Voice – the episode where Jonathan gets a little EQ on his voice and sings Shaft with Gregor.
