Mis-shapes, mistakes, misfits
I fucking heart Chuck Klosterman. Seriously. Which seems exceptionally weird to say because, unlike all of the other men that I theoretically heart (say Bob Geldoff or Michael Pitt), Klosterman is a man I've actually met. In fact, for four months in 2003 I sat in a cubicle in front of his desk in the offices of Spin every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Ah the glories of being an intern! And, while I'm sure he wouldn't know me from a hole in the ground (a fact proven everytime I see him in a New York City bar and I have a glimmer of recognition and he looks at me like I'm wallpaper), there was a time when he used to grace me with a hello every morning. This is not to say that I think he's a jerk for not knowing me: He get's at least two new interns every semester, but each of those only meets one Chuck Klosterman.
Now, when I saw I heart him, I don't mean in some weird sexual way (though he is totally cute enough and his smart humor and media pedigree makes him a stud in my general zip code), I just mean that when I read his stuff, I feel like he is totally writing them just for me and never before has someone so totally spoken FOR me on the page. (I wouldn't want Chuck to inadvertently stumble across this little post while googling himself one day and think that I'm some crazy stalker fan. I bet he'd remember me real quick then, "Oh yeah, that intern. She did always seem vaguely crazy!")
Anyway, I mention this because I'm in the middle of reading his newest book ("Killing Yourself to Live"), for which I dragged Carrie to every bookstore in the Union Square area yesterday afternoon. It's a great book--I knew it would be, I've liked everything he's ever written--but it is weird to read something that is so autobiographical and know so many of the characters. When he describes different people that he works with or what the Spin offices look like, I totally know who and what he's talking about and I've spent hours trying to figure out the folks who aren't named directly or are given pseudonyms from little identifying clues he's dropped in there. It has given me this weird false sense of being a media "insider." (When, actually, all I am is an ex-intern who currently has no job!) I had the same weird "insider-y" feeling reading the new issue of NYLON on my way to Philly for Live 8 this weekend. It was the music issue and there were all of these articles on people that I knew or places that I'd been (for example there was a piece on Atlantic A&R rep Mary Gormley, who I used to speak with daily when I worked there, and a piece on Misshapes). It is a totally out-of-body experience to realize that your ex-co-workers and your local haunts are considered newsworthy.
But back to Chuck.... I highly suggest that everyone run out and buy a copy of his new book (and no, I won't lend you mine, because I never get books back and this is one I'd like to keep!) if, for no other reason, than to read his passage about LA. He says that he hates LA (a sentiment I can clearly get behind) and that no other city has ever lived up to its stereotype like LA. That stereotype (and this is something I've always thought, but never been able to crystalize into words) is that of people who are a weird mix of stupidity, total narcissism, and unyeilding niceness. He then goes on to write a three page "screenplay" about his blandly handsome actor/waiter that is perhaps the funniest and truest (those two always seem to go together--sort of like actor/waiter) thing I've read in a long time. If your vitriol for the city of angels isn't enough to convince you to drop the $23 on this book then perhaps his savvy explanation of how Radiohead's "Kid A" presaged 9/11 (or at least was its perfect soundtrack--also something I, myself, have claimed for four years), or his totally right on commentary on the role of the rock critic (for which he uses Robert Christgau as an example. Add that name dropping to his "Fargo Rock City" references to Chuck Eddy and all of my Village Voice bosses will be present and accounted for. See, I told you this book made me feel like a "media insider!") will motivate you to the store. Hell, maybe you too were once a Spin intern and now want to see if you can guess who the people are who have had their names changed. There are a million good reasons to read it (Seth Cohen fawned over his last book "Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs" on one of the last episodes of the O.C.!) but mostly, you should read it because it is unfailingly clever, but unflinchinly bighearted. That is a rare combination these days. People often call Klosterman an ironist, but the truth is that it is his earnestness that is winning (I felt bashful reading about him telling some girl that the number of his sexual conquests was three) and we need more earnestness in the world sometimes. (See my review below of Live 8 for proof.)
Now, when I saw I heart him, I don't mean in some weird sexual way (though he is totally cute enough and his smart humor and media pedigree makes him a stud in my general zip code), I just mean that when I read his stuff, I feel like he is totally writing them just for me and never before has someone so totally spoken FOR me on the page. (I wouldn't want Chuck to inadvertently stumble across this little post while googling himself one day and think that I'm some crazy stalker fan. I bet he'd remember me real quick then, "Oh yeah, that intern. She did always seem vaguely crazy!")
Anyway, I mention this because I'm in the middle of reading his newest book ("Killing Yourself to Live"), for which I dragged Carrie to every bookstore in the Union Square area yesterday afternoon. It's a great book--I knew it would be, I've liked everything he's ever written--but it is weird to read something that is so autobiographical and know so many of the characters. When he describes different people that he works with or what the Spin offices look like, I totally know who and what he's talking about and I've spent hours trying to figure out the folks who aren't named directly or are given pseudonyms from little identifying clues he's dropped in there. It has given me this weird false sense of being a media "insider." (When, actually, all I am is an ex-intern who currently has no job!) I had the same weird "insider-y" feeling reading the new issue of NYLON on my way to Philly for Live 8 this weekend. It was the music issue and there were all of these articles on people that I knew or places that I'd been (for example there was a piece on Atlantic A&R rep Mary Gormley, who I used to speak with daily when I worked there, and a piece on Misshapes). It is a totally out-of-body experience to realize that your ex-co-workers and your local haunts are considered newsworthy.
But back to Chuck.... I highly suggest that everyone run out and buy a copy of his new book (and no, I won't lend you mine, because I never get books back and this is one I'd like to keep!) if, for no other reason, than to read his passage about LA. He says that he hates LA (a sentiment I can clearly get behind) and that no other city has ever lived up to its stereotype like LA. That stereotype (and this is something I've always thought, but never been able to crystalize into words) is that of people who are a weird mix of stupidity, total narcissism, and unyeilding niceness. He then goes on to write a three page "screenplay" about his blandly handsome actor/waiter that is perhaps the funniest and truest (those two always seem to go together--sort of like actor/waiter) thing I've read in a long time. If your vitriol for the city of angels isn't enough to convince you to drop the $23 on this book then perhaps his savvy explanation of how Radiohead's "Kid A" presaged 9/11 (or at least was its perfect soundtrack--also something I, myself, have claimed for four years), or his totally right on commentary on the role of the rock critic (for which he uses Robert Christgau as an example. Add that name dropping to his "Fargo Rock City" references to Chuck Eddy and all of my Village Voice bosses will be present and accounted for. See, I told you this book made me feel like a "media insider!") will motivate you to the store. Hell, maybe you too were once a Spin intern and now want to see if you can guess who the people are who have had their names changed. There are a million good reasons to read it (Seth Cohen fawned over his last book "Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs" on one of the last episodes of the O.C.!) but mostly, you should read it because it is unfailingly clever, but unflinchinly bighearted. That is a rare combination these days. People often call Klosterman an ironist, but the truth is that it is his earnestness that is winning (I felt bashful reading about him telling some girl that the number of his sexual conquests was three) and we need more earnestness in the world sometimes. (See my review below of Live 8 for proof.)
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