Sara Finnerty: Talk about what it’s like to be married for 66 years.

Elena Iocco: Listen. To be married 66 years took a lot of guts and forgiveness. There were a lot of arguments, bullshit, and courage. Grandpa did a lot of things he wasn’t supposed to do. You know some of them. A lot, you don’t know. You don’t know what I went through with him. But I did it.

Sara: What is love?

Elena: It’s good and bad. You have to forgive. All I ever did was forgive. Love for your children is different. It’s strong. You love your husband because he is the father of your children. I love my family. I love my grandchildren. You don’t know what it’s like to love your grandchildren. You can’t even imagine what it is like to have a grandchild.

Sara: Who else do you love?

Elena: My sisters. That’s a different love, but even that was a battle. Life is full of battles. Una continua battaglia. You know what that means? One continuous battle. That’s life. You have to be prepared for battle.

And you know what gets you through the day? The love for your family. When you have a child, you run home. I used to leave work and run to catch the train. I thought about what they would like to eat the whole way home. I thought about what food to buy. What I could make. That’s love.

In Italy, there was a big deep well in the village. A mother saw her baby fall into the well. The mother screamed and jumped into the well to save the baby. She could’ve killed the baby, landed on the baby, but she wasn’t thinking. She jumped in and she grabbed the baby and held it above the water. She used her legs, pressed her feet against the walls. Do you see how strong? That’s love.

If my husband didn’t come home, I felt something deep in my soul. When you have a family that feeling in your soul gets bigger. It’s a hole for love. It’s too big. Almost so big, I can’t carry it.

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Divorcer is a suite of narratives that are as refreshingly funny as they are emotionally eviscerating. Linked by themes of broken relationships and mistrustful lovers, Lutz’s newest stories are full of descriptions and observations so bitter and dark that they’re hilariously charred. This is a brilliant little terror of a book where almost every sentence is like its own poem, full of broken hearts and damaged people.

I sent the author, who also works as a professor of composition and English, a few quick questions via email. 

Kevin Sampsell: I feel like there was a marked difference between your first two collections. Stories in the Worst Way had a lot of short-short stories and a lot of strange humor, and I Looked Alive had a lot of longer stories and denser emotional tones. Do you feel that your writing changes from book to book?

Gary Lutz: With each book, I try to smite the page with words a little differently. I try my best to vary the typographical bastinado.  I have a plumber’s snake to thank for much of I Looked Alive, though. That book came closer to saying what I have never wanted to say.  Divorcer was supposed to be a book to cuddle with, a body-pillow of a book.  I can’t help it if things worked out otherwise.

Kevin: Have you ever been asked to teach in an M.F.A. program, or do you have any desire to teach writing at that level?

Gary: I taught in the M.F.A. program at Syracuse University for a couple of semesters about seven years apart, and I believe I spent a semester presiding negligibly over workshops in an M.F.A. program at an outlet of higher learning somewhere out in Arkansas or Kansas or Missouri–the paychecks were direct-deposited, so I forget.  In those parts, the supermarket bagels didn’t even have holes, so you got more carbs for your dollar.  And the days out there were as livelong as all get-out.  I was also supposed to teach in some low-res program somewhere, too, though I backed out at the last minute.  Sorry, but I never know how much to pack.

Kevin: Do you think it’s necessary for fiction writers to be guarded about their private life?

Gary: I’m not sure.  I might not even have a private life.  Or if I do, it’s not so much private as simply unwitnessed.

Kevin: You don’t seem to travel much. I’m trying not to sound like a shrink when I ask this, but is there a reason you might have a fear of flying?

Gary: I don’t like to drive, I get motion sickness on trains, planes are a little too aerial for my taste and neurology, and on buses I always get stuck next to the blabby and the fat.  The founding fathers could have done a better job of laying out the republic so that everything would be within walking distance.  I used to like paying visits to New York City back when it was still a great eccentric and sordid place.  Now it feels like the Mall of America with more floors. I got a nice Winesburg, Ohio, vibe while walking through Park Slope a couple of months ago, though.

Kevin: Do you drive? What kinds of cars do you like?

Gary: I hate all cars, but I drive a black Chevrolet Cavalier filled with trash.  The driver’s side of the body has been keyed so intricately, so all-over-ishly (though perhaps keying isn’t quite the word; there might have been ice picks and chisels involved as well), that the vandal (should she ever get caught) might benefit as much from a gallerist as from a social worker.

Kevin: I know you’re a big fan of the movie Wendy and Lucy. Have you seen anything else that has thrilled you lately, maybe even on TV? Have you seen Dogtooth? (I only ask because I loved it and I think you’d like it.)

Gary: I haven’t watched TV in more than a decade, and I haven’t seen Dogtooth. My three photoplay faves remain Wendy and Lucy, Lilya 4-Ever, and 4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days. If the main character of a picture isn’t completely destroyed by the end, what’s the sense in watching?  Movies are supposed to reflect life.

Kevin: What has been your strangest experience at a literary event?

Gary: Falling in love.

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A transplanted suburban dad, he was a “trailing spouse” who followed his wife on her promotion and relocation from New Jersey to Beijing. A writer used to watching the kids while working for Guitar Magazine and Slam, the leisure of overseas domestic help gave him time to begin a personal blog, and later, the online column “Expat Life” for The Wall Street Journal.

Members of the band

But when he took his guitar in to be repaired at a Beijing shop, he met up with guitarist Woodie Wu, with whom Paul discovered a common enthusiasm for the work of Stevie Ray Vaughan.

They formed the blues band Woodie Alan with two other Chinese members and another American, and the group was later voted Beijing’s best band of 2008 and toured cities across that country. Now Alan Paul tells of his adventures in the memoir Big in China.

***

Dane Golden: You found your way to China and decided “I’m going to do a blog,” and it was on The Wall Street Journal website?

Alan Paul: When I first got there I was not writing for The Wall Street Journal, my blog was a personal blog, a Blogspot blog. I moved to China in 2005 and the idea of being a blogger was still sort of new. A lot of friends and certainly my parents and their friends and generations had no idea what it was. And I probably at that point wouldn’t have started a blog except that I was going to China and it seemed easier than being responsible for sending emails all the time to people, “I did this, I did that,” and showing pictures. So it really was just, originally, a very practical thing.

Dane: You got there in 2005?

Alan: Yes.

Dane: So Beijing is going through not only going through an enormous amount of economic and social change but they [were] also preparing for the Olympics?

Alan: The Olympics loomed over everything from the first day we were there. There was this incredible amount of growth and development going on. It’s hard to say how much of it was fueled buy the Olympics because certainly it’s going on in many places outside of Beijing as well, but definitely the Olympics was driving some of the pace and really driving just how fast things were happening.

Dane: I read that you felt as you were going on that everyone, everything in China was reinventing itself and you felt free to reinvent yourself?

Alan's family, in China

Alan: When I got back into writing a book and I reflected on it really struck me. I wouldn’t say people were necessarily consciously saying “Wow, I’m in China, I can reinvent myself.” But it really was in the air, and it really was happening. I list in the book a lot of expats I saw doing that. It felt for many people like a land of opportunity. I did know a British doctor who was running an import-export business, and a British banker who became the director of an art museum, and an Italian musician who started a furniture export company, and a Boston bakery owner who became a sports marketing agent, and on and on. And certainly things were happening with Chinese people as well.

Dane: You’re a married man, a family man, a stay-at-home dad most of the time, until you went to China when you went on the road as a rock star. What’s the road like for a rock star/blues star in China?

Alan: By the time we hit the road and started leaving Beijing, we were getting pretty close and friendly. It was a lot of fun. It wasn’t sex, drugs, and rock and roll, if that’s what you mean.

Dane: What is the blues in China as opposed to the blues in the United States? I think you know as well as anyone.

Alan: Ultimately the blues is the same. An attempt at honest music. There are certain musical structures you follow. Really it’s honest music about emotion, joy, pain, suffering. And we incorporated some Chinese elements.

Dane: In 2008, you won two awards. You were the best Beijing band for 2008 of the City Weekend Magazine. And you were the National Society of Newspaper Columnists 2008 online columnist of the year. Which do you think you were prouder of?

Alan with the Best Band award

Alan: Oh, definitely the band, definitely the band. I knew that in reality the column award was more significant in terms of my future career and probably what I would be doing for the rest of my life. And I was very pleased of course with that award, and I was very pleased and proud of the “Expat Life” column and what I had been able to turn that into.

The music was more of a dream. I’ve listened to music with a serious intent for a long time, since I was 12 or 13. I was always a music guy. I have my long career at Guitar World and I’ve played guitar quite a bit for about 15 years, but it was still more of a dream to do that with music. It was something that I found inside of myself that I sort of hoped and imagined was there. But I didn’t have anywhere the confidence in that that I did in my writing. So for that to happen and to come to fruition and to build it and do it in this unique way with the three Chinese guys, it was it was definitely more unique and more special.

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We eventually sat down to talk, and our conversation led to the Leningrad Blockade during World War II. This is an excerpt of a longer conversation.  Thanks to my colleague Luba for translation assistance.

***

Gregory: At the time the fascists started to bomb Leningrad, someone from the Russian military came to our school and asked for a group of very active people.  They chose me to organize a special team of kids to monitor the roofs of buildings.  We sat there all night.  They gave us a special tool to pick up the firebombs that were dropped and a sand box where we would cover them with sand to put the fire out.

Rumpus: Did you ever see one explode?

Gregory: No, they were not explosives.  They were firebombs that would cause a fire on the rooftops.

Rumpus: How old were you?

Gregory: Thirteen years old.  There were around twelve children on my team, boys and girls.  We had to sit very close to each other on the roof, and I liked to sit especially close to the girls.

The winter came very early, in the beginning of October.  It started to snow.  A military commander asked my team to help with the next project – delivering ammunition to the canons they had set up inside Leningrad.  We used sleds to transport the cannonballs.  It took two boys to move each sled.  We would spend half the day moving ammunition to the canons.

All the people in Leningrad at this time were given a quarter pound of bread each day, but my team received half a pound of bread each because we were working.  The Russian military named us “Sons of the Brigade.”

Our next project after ammunition delivery was to help find corpses.  We knew the houses better than the military, so we showed them where people were living.  We knocked on the door, and if no one answered, we went inside to look for corpses.  When we found them, the military sent us away.  They took the bodies away on sleds.

Rumpus: How long did you work for the Russian military?

Gregory: For 700 days.  I think my childhood ended when the Blockade started.

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Alana: We’re friends on Facebook and have never met in person. How many of your Facebook friends have you never met, and given the chance, which of those would you most like to meet? What would you do?

Terry: I haven’t met 73 of my 125 Facebook friends. If I could meet any of the ones I’ve never met, I’d want to meet Pax Romano, Alana Noel Voth, Vince Liaguno, Kristy Jett, and Chris Moore. We’d probably watch movies while having loads of laughs.

Alana: You once played Dr. Seward in a stage production of Dracula. What was the audition process like? Did you suffer any stage fright opening night?

Terry: It was a volunteer community theatre. Instead of the typical auditioning process, we sat in a circle and read the character we wanted. The director, the late Lynn Fannelli, didn’t think I was right for the part because my voice was too high. I never speak in my natural voice, which is deep, because it never suited me. Instead, I speak in a higher, softer voice. My friends were snickering because they knew what was going to happen next. Instantaneous sex-change! I went from my soft, high, voice to a deep voice. The director’s eyes continued to get bigger as everyone cackled with laughter. I got the part. LOL. It was a difficult play. Everything that could go wrong did, but on opening night (Halloween) my nerves were calm. I’ve never been nervous or had stage fright during a play.

Alana: You love gummy bears. What’s your favorite flavor, and who would you not kick out of bed for eating all your gummies?

Terry: My favorite would have to be pineapple. To answer the second part, I say Channing Tatum! He could spend forever in my bed, hogging all the covers, eating every gummy bear I had and I’d be fine with it!

Alana: On your Facebook page you quote Edmund Gosse: “I’d rather be hated for who I am than loved for who I am not.” What does the quote mean to you?

Terry: It means love built on a foundation of lies is never authentic, but love built on a foundation of truth is the only love worth having. I’m comforted that those who truly love me, love me for who I am. I’m the real me 24/7.

Alana: Who’d win in a cage fight: Julie Strain or Rupaul?

Hahaha! As much as I LOVE RuPaul, I go with Julie Strain. Julie Strain would rip RuPaul’s wig off and beat his ass with it! She’s one tough chickadiva.

Alana: You’ve asserted on Facebook whoredom has replaced true love. Why so? Have you ever been in love?

Terry: In my brief relationship experience, I’ve learned when people are not trying to benefit financially from having you as a partner, they’re wanting a “One Night Stand” or a “Friend With Benefits.” I’ve been hurt in the worst ways and my hope of finding true love has all but diminished. People can be evil and heartless, thinking only of themselves without any consideration of the damage they’re inflicting on other people. To answer the second part, there have been a few times I felt in love, but it was more of an intense crush.

Alana: Rumor has it you don’t spend enough time in the real world. Where are you most times?

Terry: When I’m not living a dream life in my mind, or experiencing life through a movie, I’m on the internet chatting with some of the most awesome people I’ve never met.

Alana: From your experience, how does Facebook bring people together?

Terry: Facebook has introduced me to people from all over the world. People I would’ve never known existed otherwise. People I have a lot in common with. When actress Rue McClanahan passed away, I stated I didn’t know it was possible to care so much about someone I’d never met. That’s how I feel about most my Facebook friends.

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The Native community in the Twin Cities is very complex, with people from many different tribes and nations.

Aimee: What’s your first memory of Alaska?

Grace: I’m on the floor in the large room.  At the time I only spoke my language.  We were listening to the radio and whatever the guy was saying, I tried to say it.  My mom died in winter and my dad died in spring while he was fishing.  My brother and I were sent to Holy Cross.  My brother and I just stood by the door, and I couldn’t understand who these people were because I’d never seen white people.  I’d never seen nuns dressed like that before.  I tried to play with the kids but it was hard.  They were all Native Americans but from different places.  There were no white children.

I understood English but I didn’t know how to speak English.  I understood the nuns and I thought I was speaking the same language.  I was crying because a nun hit me and said, “You’ve got to learn English.”  Am I speaking English? I thought.  After I got done crying, I went up to my brother and he pulled away.  He didn’t want to talk to me after seeing what I went through.

Aimee: When did you become active in the Minneapolis Native community?

Grace: I gradually found out about Native American culture.  During the in-between time, that’s when I had my separation from my ex-husband, one of the teachers at Indian Education told me about Women of Nations.  They helped me get a lawyer for an order of protection and guided me through.  They told me the same thing I told you about the breakup you’re going through now, “It’s not easy, but we’re here to help you.”  That was my biggest surprise, that I had the right to be free and to speak out.  I had the right to see my kids be free.  When I was there, I met a good friend, Alice Red Elk.  She brought me to my first powwow.  I asked, “What’s that?”  And she said, “We dance. When you see, you will understand.”  I was shocked at all the Native Americans dancing.  I asked, “What’s those costumes?” and she said, “They’re not costumes, that’s their clothes for dancing.”

Somebody said, “We’re going to pray.”  I said, “You can’t do that, that’s against the rules.”  And she said, “This is our culture. We pray before we do anything and give thanks to the Creator.”  I looked at her and thought, What is she talking about?  But being with Alice, I learned more and more.  She took me to powwows even in Connecticut.  She said to me before we landed in Hartford, “I got to tell you, the Pequot Indians are black.”  I said, “What?”  She said, “They’re black.  Don’t give them the shocked look you gave me.”  Sure enough, we went to their powwow and I thought, She’s right.  They’re black, which surprised me at the time.

Even though Indians at powwows don’t know you, they say, “Hi, I’m so-and-so. My tribe is this and this is my reservation.”  That puzzled me, because why would they say these things?  I was ashamed to admit who I was.  I didn’t know my tribal name.  It was through being on the Indian Education board that I learned how to give my opinion and start fighting for Native Americans and the rights they deserve.

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Of course I wanted to befriend her. In the early ’90s we played together in combustible “super-mini-groups”—Job’s Daughters and Heavenly Ten Stems—and I had the chick-bassist slot for two months in (then-named) Caroliner Open Wound Chorale before quitting. Margaret took my place. Grux, the singer, used to stomp on my foot to indicate section changes, and I never defended myself. So I was secretly pleased when Margaret punched him on tour (though, she tells me, she loves him).

Alex: You’ve been in some latex fashion shows. How does a latex dress feel?

Margaret: Latex is a thorough, nonstop hug. The first time I wore it out, my good pal (and latex designer extraordinaire) Jeffrey Gent dressed me in latex bike-style shorts and a tank top. We went out to a nightclub on a hot summer night. I was amazed at the idea that the sweat needed to be released—latex is waterproof. I still felt like me but I looked like my priorities had shifted. I was told I looked like a mobile sex app. A simplified language to communicate in for sure … as long as one realizes what country you’re in.

Alex: If you could list all the bands you’ve been in and associate each with the first dessert that comes to mind, what would you choose?

Margaret:

1. The Undesirables: Pancakes with jam and some good butter. This band was three teenage girls of which I was one; we completely didn’t know how good we were; but at the same time, we weren’t good.

2. Translucent Zen Bunnies: Ice-cream cone. Summer in Chicago. I’m sometimes not even sure this band happened, but I do know that every song I remember was like the sound of a hot summer night in the city: pieces of car radio, kids yelling, a game, fans whirling…

3. Caroliner Rainbow Armed with Quarts of Blood: I will say a kitchen sink sundae crammed down your throat so the whipped cream helps the nut lumps slide down easier. And I do mean crammed, but entirely consensually. Caroliner is the best band in the world for about fifteen minutes. After fifteen minutes, results may vary.

4. SF Seals (Barbara Manning): Apple pie. Playing with Barbara made me feel cute and sunny.

5. The Three Doctors: Late harvest Gewürztraminer. Wha? Very adult … but I’m starting to feel fucked up. Wa-wa-wooozy.

6. United States (US) Saucer (Brian Hageman and David Tholfsen): Best fruit crisp ever with mangoes and cherries amongst others, with a side of fudge ’n caramel sauce in case you can’t decide. Because there was so much there, but what a mess. I still remember confessing to Brian that I started crying during one of our shows and had to stop playing for a minute; he confessed to the same thing at the same time so there onstage stood David, still singing and playing all alone.

Caroliner Performing

Alex: You once put all the food you wanted to eat in a bowl, and would eat from that all day. What was in the bowl and when did you start this?

Margaret: I did it while I was in Chicago, going to school. I think the bowl had cottage cheese, bananas, tuna fish, probably pineapple and I’m trying to remember if there were any vegetables. I was determined to sever all emotional attachment to action. Food is simply fuel—who cares how it tastes, right? I was tired of putting doilies on basic animal needs.

Alex: You had a comic strip in Bananafish magazine called “Cooks ‘n’ Chefs ‘n’ their Assistants.” What prompted you to create it, and why hasn’t it made you a millionaire?

Margaret: I liked really simple images with (what I imagined as) a colossal amount of emotion packed into them. When I was a kid, I’d watch sporting events on TV and they’d have these bigheaded mascots. Even the University of Iowa had “Herky the Hawk” with a big hawk head in a helmet. The mismatched anatomy triggered extreme giddiness and I would spin around yelling when I saw these things.

I also like cooking shows/magazines and am quite sure that the assistants are doing all the work but Genius Chefs can never be questioned.

And you’re right to ask, why am I not a millionaire? Maybe the drawings are too small? Or the truths they tell are too true …

Alex: My husband’s fantasized about being perfectly spherical. If you could be any shape, what would it be?

Margaret: I would have a really large rear end, be completely pear-shaped so that no one could think straight (see the big-headed mascot thing from above) when they saw me walk by.

Alex: The other day my son called me “Richard Nixon,” which I took as a compliment. I have nothing further to say.

* * *

A 1993 interview Margaret and Alex conducted with film historian Jack Stevenson appears in The Rumpus.

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As an adult, I have seen her struggle to find a “passion” and when I heard she may have found one, I sat down to talk to her about it.

Chelsea: What do you call what you do? Do you prefer “ghost hunting,” or what?

Brianne: We are “Paranormal Investigators.” So, what we do is we go into a place [that] people think might be haunted, and we try to rule out everything before we say that it’s haunted.

Chelsea: And this is a group you started?

Brianne: Right, I was one of the founding members.

Chelsea: Was I the first ghost you ever saw?

Brianne: YES. [laughing]

Chelsea: [more laughing] Why don’t you tell me about that?

Brianne: So, living at the end of the hallway, with my door open, being that I was only seven years old [interviewer's note: actually, she would have been ten], and seeing this shadowy figure in black walk by. And nobody believed me.

Chelsea: Sorry.

Brianne: And then, we’re sitting at dinner at Poncho’s and talking about ghost stories, and I come out with this. You start laughing hysterically, saying “That was totally me in my leather jacket, sneaking out every night!” Mom was like “You’re grounded,” at 21.

Chelsea: Which I totally was not.

Brianne: Right.

Chelsea: The first ghost you ever saw turned out to have a rational explanation. How do you think that has shaped you as a paranormal investigator?

Brianne: We want to believe that everything we hear is real and we want to assume there are ghosts, but we have to figure out scientifically if it’s true or not. I mean if there is no other rational explanation, then it’s possibly a ghost.

Chelsea: What makes up a good experience investigating?

Brianne: It’s always really interesting just to learn about the buildings and mine shafts and the places we’ve seen. But a really good investigation definitely, is evidence. Catching that evidence is very difficult, and it doesn’t happen every time. So, seeing something on video that you can’t quite explain, or hearing something on the audio that you know wasn’t there when you were there, is always very exciting.

Chelsea: When you told me that this is what you were doing you seemed preemptively defensive.

Brianne: You can’t tell everyone that you’re a ghost hunter because people will laugh at you and they’ll assume that you’re just going around with these crazy devices, I mean I’m not out there to say “hey something is in your window, a shadowy figure, you’re totally haunted!” you know? I want to know for sure, I want proof.

And all this equipment we have, it all has a function, a scientific method for reading energy, and it’s just sad when people are doubters. Even my husband is a huge skeptic. He thinks I’m crazy. [But] I’m doing this! Because it is something I believe and I want to know what’s out there. I know it’s not just us.

Chelsea: Maybe it’s a gothic teenager sneaking out to get high. [Both laughing.]

Brianne: You suck by the way for doing that when I was so young. Everybody fucking laughed at me at the dinner table. I swear to god, “Oh, there’s totally a ghost!” And you! Just start laughing!

Chelsea [unable to stop laughing]: …

Brianne: Like that! That’s when it started, I’m telling you. That’s why I’m defensive. YOU STARTED IT.

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Fisherman: What about? What for?

Luuk: Well, about fishing of course. I want to ask you some things and then we could talk about the life of a fisherman in Holland. It’s a very short interview. Oh, and it’s for a literary Internet magazine in America.

Fisherman: America! Son, you don’t even know what you are talkin’ about.

Luuk: I do know, but can I ask you some things about fishing.

Fisherman: No, you cannot.

Luuk: Sir, please.

Fisherman: Have you ever been to America?

Luuk: The questions are about the philosophy of fishing and the feeling you get when you are out at sea.

Fisherman: Answer the question, boy.

Luuk: Yes, I have been to America. But…

Fisherman: Did you take a look at the men and women there? Not a care in the world. They’re all too busy doing what they please. I once was there and instantly saw the world reduced to tears, face-to-face with their fears and crying of the horror before their eyes. It is when the faith in the human race becomes weak that you separate the true men from those who only seek happiness in the sorrow of others. I despise them all, for the great nation that has fallen and has fallen deep. It lacks the men who rank themselves beneath Mother Nature, and I missed the women altogether. A country of nature without men and men without women. I would never go back there.

Luuk: That’s not entirely true. I was there and it was nothing like that.

Fisherman: When were you there?

Luuk: About six years ago, I think.

Fisherman: Exactly. Good day.

Luuk: Don’t you want to say anything about the philosophy of fishing?

Fisherman: I just did, son.

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Hey, kids know.

Alana: You’re the nicest person I know. Who’s the nicest person you know and why?

Judy: My friend Adrienne R. is probably the nicest person I know. (Present company excluded). I’ve known her since I was 16, she taught me how to drive and I taught her how to toke a joint. (Can I say that?)

Alana: You have two dogs, Molly and Murphy. When are dogs nicer than people?

Judy: Dogs are nicer than people every day. I went through a difficult time with my then 13-year old daughter. She was mean, destructive, and in a bad place. I use to take my Labrador Allie on really long walks. Allie smiled every day, all day and never complained about anything.

Alana: You once ran into Robert De Niro. What was that like?

Judy: I was an extra on a movie and during a “party scene” I was suppose to pass by him . . . shoulder to shoulder. We had to retake the scene about 10 times and each time we bumped shoulders he said “Excuse me.”

Alana: Some say nice guys finish last. Name a nice guy who didn’t finish last.

Judy: My brother Dave. Really nice guy.

Alana: You’re in the insurance business. What’s the biggest misconception people have about folks in the insurance business?

Judy: That I am the insurance company.

Alana: Is it true Bradley Cooper likes your smile?

Judy: There is a rumor that he said that . . .

Alana: You used to be in the movies. Is the movie business naughty or nice or both?

Judy: Totally naughty. If you have big tits you’ll get noticed.

Alana: How many times a day do you say, “I love this song,” when we listen to the Bridge on Satellite Radio? What is your favorite song?

Judy: Well, I probably say “I love this song” about 6 times an hour. My favorite song is “Put the Lime in the Coconut.” LOVE THAT SONG!!!

Alana: What was your favorite song when you were thirteen?

Judy: Totally it was Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven.”

Alana: Why are so few people nice anymore?

Judy: It’s easier to be mean and grumpy. Just like it’s easier to believe bad things about yourself rather than good things. If you believe bad about yourself, then you believe everyone else is bad too. And if their bad, why be nice to them, they won’t be nice to you. Negativity breeds negativity. Each one of us must stop the cycle. One thing at a time, once a day. The next time you go through a toll booth and pay $1.00, give an extra $1.00 for the car behind you. You may never know how wonderful the recipient feels. However, I guarantee it will make you smile.

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