Tim Anderson's Blog, page 10

My Camera Phone Will Not be Denied: Magnetic Fields, Beacon Theater, NYC

Went to see the Magnetic Fields the other night at the classy Beacon Theatah, and what they lacked in adrenaline and synths they made up for in good old fashioned loveliness. They played my favorite of their tunes, "Smoke and Mirrors," from the album Get Lost. And yes, they are this blurry in person.

Campaign '12: Time for the Nation's Senior Citizens to Start Being Terrified of Obama Again

Well, folks, get your eye pokers ready, it's time for the OBAMA WILL EAT YOUR RELIGION AND FREEDOM ALSO right-wing listserv emails to go into overdrive. Will I have to have a daily email exchange with my mother about how the people that lied to her yesterday about Obama also for some weird reason lied to her also today? Probably. And these exchanges will likely feature me asking Mom who Saul Alinsky was and why he's so scary, I'm pretty sure of it.

It seems like it was just yesterday that I had undertaken the Sisyphean task of convincing a life-long knee-jerk Republican to think of her children and grandchildren for just one damn second and not vote for Sarah Palin to be Vice President of the United States. For a while now I've just thought about that time as a terrible nightmare. Now I know that no, it was just yesterday. Today is another day.

So now that the presidential election is gearing up, momma has hit the old Facebook and turned it up to 11 with a spastic message to the world from Planet Breitbart, one that, let's be honest, could use more exclamation points.

SIGH. Folks, I spent day after day during the campaign of '08 refuting every lie about Obama my mom would forward to me: that he was a Kenyan, a secret Muslim, a Black Liberation Theologist, a Manchurian candidate bent on bankrupting America, the best friend of Bill Ayers, a radical redistributionist, a blame-America-firster, the list goes on. I was usually able to refute whatever nonsense she forwarded to me after spending about thirty seconds on snopes.com. Did it help? Never! I always got the same response from her: "I don't know what to believe." Well, I'd say one thing you don't do is continue to trust folks who are proven liars, on the email. That's a good place to start. But, sure, go ahead and remain on all those swampy, paranoid listservs, they obviously give you something that I can't.

Anyway, after all my effort, momma still voted for Wasilla drag queen Sarah Palin to be Vice President of the United States.

But it didn't end there. After a little bit of a breather, during which mom and I had an unspoken agreement that we could not talk about Obama lest I immediately die of a brain aneurysm, mom entered the fray again with a hilarious email message, subject headline OBAMA COLLEGE ROOMMATE SPEAKS OUT, which she sent to all of her children.


zzzzzzz. What? Oh, sorry. Thought I was in the movie Groundhog Day for a minute, so I figured I'd get some sleep because WE'VE HEARD ALL THIS NONSENSE BEFORE AND JUST BECAUSE YOU REPEAT IT OVER AND OVER DOESN'T MAKE IT TRUE, GAH! (I hear Republicans respond better to all-caps.)

Here we go. Can I stomach the idea of engaging with momma in another campaign season of utter paranoid nonsense? Or do I tell her we'll have to agree to disagree on basic facts about the world? The former will give me hives and nightmares about being dipped in ranch dressing and shoveled down Rush Limbaugh's gaping throat. The latter will give me a sad. Because that means that mom will continue to believe that, for example, Obamacare is a socialist deathtrap that will destroy freedom fries, and her diabetic son will believe that it's actually quite a necessary piece of legislation because he's lost his job and signed onto his huzband's shitty/expensive health care plan (which he wouldn't have been able to do if Republicans had their druthers because gay marriage is such a threat to idiotic straight people), but what if his huzband loses his job?

But! As Shakespeare once said, "It is better to be sad than to be tortured by nightmares in which you are stuck in the gullet of a jowly racist hobgoblin."

No hope.

Beatrice Podcast Interview With Moi

I recently had a discussion with Ron Hogan of Beatrice about my book Tune in Tokyo, and I didn't up calling anyone a slut, prostitute, or a feminazi, so I consider it a success! You can listen to it here.

It's part of a new podcast series Ron is doing called Life Stories, in which he talks to memoirists about writing and how they approach their work. His very first podcast in this series featured an interview with Heather Donahue of Blair Witch Project fame (she's got a memoir out about her transition from acting to becoming a marijuana farmer)--so I'm in good company!

Holy Crap, Tune in Tokyo Hit #1 on Amazon UK's Kindle List!

Wow, this was a surprise for the ages. I'm big in England! Or rather, I was fleetingly big in England last Thursday. By the time I found out about it on Friday I was down to #6 and I've been dropping ever since. (Right now I'm #85.) Still, being #1 on this list means I was, for a short time, ahead of Hunger Games! What is the world coming to? I don't even kill any children with a bow and arrow in my book. (Next one, maybe?)

How did it happen? Apparently TiT was a "Daily Deal" or something last week, chosen by the Kindle editors. So it was discounted somewhat. And people love cheap things, especially British people, because powdered wigs are expensive. So hooray for e-coupons or whatever!

Shootin' It: In Which Tim and Jimmy Get Tawdry

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Jimmy: I made up a new sex act today at work.
Tim: What is it?
J: It's called "The Burning Bag."
T: Sounds sexy. What is it?
J: So when you're [REDACTED] and you [REDACTED], you take a [REDACTED] on your partner's stomach.
T: That's disgusting.
J: Yeah, it's kind of a mean sex act.
T: It's not really a "sex act."
J: It is if you're both naked.
T: Anyway, isn't that what's called a "Hot Lunch"?

Thank you!

Live Hot simpleshapes!

Okay, so my band simpleshapes played a mostly empty room last week at a place called Bar East on the Upper East Side, and, though we were missing our guitarist Peter, it was a great short set. More people should maybe see it! Apologies for the sort of shitty sound, but stop being so judgmental of my friend Dan's cell phone camera! Anyway, please enjoy these three power ballads we've put together for you, our public who don't even know we exist.

The Authors Speak Podcast Interview w/ Yours Truly

Listen to internet radio with theauthorsspeakXcom on Blog Talk Radio

On Saturday I had the pleasure of speaking with Eric Mays of The Authors Speak podcast about my book Tune in Tokyo: The Gaijin Diaries. He liked it! It was a fun conversation, though I must apologize for all the "uh"s and "kind of"s and such. Takes me a while to get to some of my points, but I do think I get to most of them. And who doesn't like to take the scenic route? Okay, most people, but give me a break, it was my first live interview! And I managed to get through it without calling Eric a slut or a prostitute, which I consider a victory.

Anyway, thanks, Eric!

The Advocate Reviews Tune in Tokyo!

Well this is a thrill. America's oldest gay magazine, The Advocate, has given Tune in Tokyo a great review. I came of age reading this magazine (well, flipping through it in hopes of finding dirty pictures), so I'm so excited they've given me a shout out. :)

Tune in Tokyo Reviewed on a Website Called City Book Review (??)

Hey, I'll take it! Didn't even know this was happening, but then it turned up in my Google alert.

Rush Limbaugh Is A F**king Pussy

Oh, aren't you all just sick and tired of hearing about bloated reptilian taintsack Rush Limbaugh? I know, I know, he's just gross and not really worth expending any typing energy on. (Save those fingertips for Sarah Palin, I always say.) And if this were any normal boring "Rush Limbaugh said a bunch of dumb bullshit using his special patented brand of special-needs satire" I wouldn't even be typing right now. But the fact that Rush Limbaugh is such a f**king pussy makes me want to type that phrase over and over and over.

As you no doubt know, Rush called a Georgetown law student a "slut" and a "prostitute" because she wants health plans to be required to cover contraceptives, for various reasons. Rush, because he doesn't really understand how lady parts work, thinks that this student, Sandra Fluke, just wants the government to pay for her and her friends' sexytime, all the time, and also seems to think that every time a lady has the sex she must put a pill into her vag. (I'm told on good authority this is not true!)

So whatever, he called this nice young lady some ridiculous names and the shit predictably hits the fan, as usual. But the most annoying thing about this whole episode--besides the fact that we must dwell on a figure of such Biblical monstrosity as this dumb radio commentator pig who is so flush with cash he could live anywhere but decides to live in fucking FLORIDA--is that, when he's forced to apologize by his advertisers and by Clear Channel or whatever, he can't even do it like a man. He can't just fess up and say "sorry, I was a total asshole, I regret it, I hope you can forgive me." No, he has to twist his apology into a limp attack on "the left," whoever they are (Radiohead?). Read this idiocy:

"I don't expect, and I know you don't either, morality or intellectual honesty from the left," he said. "...This is the mistake I made: in fighting them on this issue last week, I became like them. Against my own instincts, against my own knowledge, against everything I know to be right and wrong, I descended to their level. I feel very badly about that."

Yeah. What a f**king lame-ass mother**ker. I thought Republicans were the party of personal responsibility. But really, have they ever fessed up to anything that they've done? ANYTHING? Have we even heard George W. Bush's name uttered at any of the 1,079 Republican presidential debates? No, because who's that? Holy shitsnacks.

Rush Limbaugh is a three-year-old saying "Not me!" What a tired piece of trash.

In conclusion, this man has had three wives. Women have f**ked him. Sweet dreams.

Also, I've had vodka tonight.