Klausner: Thank you for complimenting my tits. Andrea was a gorgeous, elegant beauty–she wore a pair of overalls like nobody else. I miss her every day.
Rumpus: Like many women in college, you “thought porn could start a revolution, but only if women ‘took it back,’ like we took back the night. Remember when we did that? And how afterward, nobody was raped?” This is funny. I used to (sometimes still do) think no one was allowed to joke about rape. You’ve gone so far as to make jokes about the Holocaust. Why joke about unjokable things?
Klausner: To make them less unjokable? To remind people of the Holocaust? I do know that everybody has a threshold of things they can’t find any humor in. For me, it’s any kind of joke around or having to do with harming an animal. People I know with kids feel the same way about child-abuse jokes.
Rumpus: Speaking of children and abuse and jokes, I recently had a dream that my ex-boyfriend e-mailed me asking if I would stop writing about him and publishing it. I responded, “I can’t. I’m sorry. Material is the only thing you gave me, besides The Herpes Scare of 2009.” Sometimes I think the only way the tragedy is worth it is if I get to write about it and be funny about it. Do failed relationships fuel good writing or does good writing ruin relationships?
Klausner: Was that a dream or a fantasy? It’s very articulate for a dream. My dreams are mostly about eating a school bus made out of garlic bread or giving a speech naked in front of a huge crowd of people throwing their own teeth at me. To answer your question, I think anything can fuel good writing or ruin a relationship if you have the predetermination for either.
Rumpus: It was a fantasy! I wish it were a dream. I wish it were real. I wish I could write like you: “Have you ever seen a grown man in the act of working himself up into a lather so that he can cry real tears in front of you? It’s an excellent cure for being attracted to someone.” What are some other cures?
Klausner: Time. Certain nicknames for intimacies. Finding out he voted for Nader.
Rumpus: You dated an actor who played Sweeney Todd. I dated an actor who played Thom Pain. You call actors “gay by definition, because all actors are in love with themselves.” The actor playing Thom Pain dumped me when I wasn’t ready for him to high five my vagina. I’m happy to now know things didn’t work out with him because he’s gay. No question here.
Rumpus: “Anyone who can make a living doing something creative is impressive. And that, reader, is the single most Jewish thing I’ve said in this book so far.” You say this on p. 192. However, isn’t what you say on p. 187 significantly more Jewish?: “a mensch is a schmuck if he can’t fuck you well.”
Klausner: We’ll have to find a panel of eleven rabbis and make them vote. It’s okay, they love voting. It will be easy to make them do it!
Rumpus: Perhaps the world can be divided into two different types of women: those who are like Pam from The Office and those who are like Marilyn Monroe. The first are “the girls who thrive in Boytown, professionally and personally.” And the second needs a reminder: “Marilyn was funny, too, by the way. But nobody noticed.” I dated a guy who was into Pam, not Marilyn. We broke up when the distinction became clear; “Pam is not intimidating, like one of those women who wears makeup and tailored clothes, and has a good job that she enjoys, and confidence, and an adult woman’s sexuality. There’s nothing scary about Pam, because there’s no mystery; she’s just like the boys who like her; mousy and shy.” You say something that resonated with me: “[I] think women just want to be the very thing they think they want to sleep with.” Why are men the opposite? Don’t they read Ayn Rand?
Klausner: I don’t know why anybody would not read Ayn Rand. What are they, allergic to assholes?
Rumpus: You offer some sage advice about avoiding assholes: “For those of you considering starting a career in entertainment, don’t! It’s the worst! They make you eat shit and you have to pretend you like it! That you like eating shit! Only dogs like eating shit, and that’s a bad example, because dogs are the best! Anyway, showbiz stinks and life is hard.” But showbiz seems so sexy. Why not eat some shit?
Klausner: Because then you’d taste like Ashlee Simpson-Wentz.
Rumpus: “[I Don’t Care About Your Band] is a book about how frustrating it is to keep returning to something disappointing you will not give up on.” Did you read Le Suicide by Emile Durkhem? He said basically the same thing: “To pursue a goal which by definition unattainable it to condemn oneself to a state of perpetual unhappiness. [Wo]Man may hope, contrary to all reason (and hope has its pleasures even when unreasonable), it may sustain him[/her] for a time, but it cannot escape the repeated disappointments of experience indefinitely.”
Klausner: I did not read that book, but he sounds hilarious!
Rumpus: He’s the best. I think I stopped breathing when you mentioned how we all want someone who won’t ditch us in our most important hours, such as when we’re afraid of failing at being a writer. The following is not a question but an important reiteration: “Follow what it is that you love and makes you want to be better, always. But don’t get yourself tied up with any kind of rock star—the musician or not—who makes you feel like you’re not made of star stuff. Because of course you are. Give me a break.” Thank you, Julie.
Klausner: Oh, thank YOU! You are so nice! And the things you said about my tits, too!
Rumpus: I don’t want to ruin the ending of your memoir, but you end it optimistically. I feel empowered. I want everyone who reads this to feel the same, so I am going to quote you at length: “[M]ost importantly, even when you’re in the throes of an affair with a guy whose rock-star confidence made you melt in the first place, don’t forget that it’s you who’s the star. A successful relationship with any guy is going to ground itself in him knowing that he shines, but you shine brighter, and the two of you together are unstoppable. Because it’s about him deserving you, not choosing you at random from a harem of devotees.” You use Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy as good examples of this and suggest: “[I]f you want to be the star of a show, you should make your own effing show.” Yeah! Who wants to make an effing show with me?
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Photo credit goes to Conrad Ventur. Nice job.
