Tod Goldberg

Letters to Parade: Is The Guy Who Plays Dexter Really A Serial Killer?

Oh, for fuck's sake. What the fuck is wrong with people? I know I've asked this question in this space before and I know I've never been satisfied with the answer, which is to be expected since the answer is: People are fucktards. It's unsatisfying because it's so bitterly clear. Of course people are fucktards. Even I am an occasional fucktard. It's just the nature of walking the planet. In fact, there are cave drawings in France that show people acting like fucktards. The Freemason's inscribed the word fucktard into the eye of the pyramid. You can see it in the dollar bill. For real. Obama has a secret plan in his health care proposal that would turn us all into socialist fucktards. Or Marxist fucktards. Or fascist fucktards. Or was it Commie fucktards? I can never remember. Whatever Glenn Beck says on that topic obviously is true. Obama hates white culture, loves fucktards and is part of a Freemason conspiracy to make us all learn the incorrect definitions of various political ideologies.  

Nevertheless, I held out hope that today might be fucktard free. I mean, you know, it's a day of fucking atonement over here in Jewville. And since Parade is a magazine, it's automatically part of the left-wing Jewish conspiracy, so I just figured, you know, they'd be in line with this and I'd get from Personality Parade all the way through the ad from the Franklin Mint without wanting to eat my own skin in utter shame. 

It was not to be. And it was not to be in particularly egregious fashion. First, the fake question from D. Allen of lovely Cincinnati, OH had me clawing at my eyes like Sam Neil in Event Horizon. I pray to the zombie son of God that the question is fake, really. Because if this isn't a fake question, humankind has failed:

    Chris Noth always seems to play the overbearing hunk, like Mr. Big on Sex and the         City and an adulterous politician on CBS's The Good Wife. Is he like that with women in real life?

Yes, Chris Noth in real life is just like that, you fucking moron. Parade Associate Editor Joanna Prisco called him and asked him that very question, I'm sure: Pardon me, Chris, are you a fucking asshole in real life who treats women like shit? Why yes, he said, I sure am. Please let your readers know that's exactly how I am. I am also a detective, just like I am on Law & Order. In fact, I'm sure Chris said, I'm just like every character I've ever played on TV or in films. I wake up very early every morning so that I may woo women in New York, solve crimes and, on occasion, even appear as Pompey from Julious Caesar. It's a full day!

Of course this isn't the first time some absolute fucktard has posed a question like this in Parade. Sometimes those fucktards are real, of course, because they email me and ask me to redact their names. But in this case, I get the sense that perhaps Parade wanted to, you know, get the most out of their cache of press releases. You see, The Good Wife, which D. Allen notes features that awful mean Mr. Noth as an adulterous politician, didn't even premier until Sept. 22nd, which means D. Allen wouldn't know the actual nature of that terrible Mr. Noth on said show since Parade's editorial lead time is at least two weeks, as they posted the great news of Barbaro's health and prosperity two weeks after the horse was turned into glue, which would indicate they actually received the letter from D. Allen, say, a month ago. It's not enough they make up a question that actually gives the terrorists a reason to hate us -- somewhere, a terrorist is reading Parade and thinking, Man, these fuckers are stupid and they must die! -- but they make up a question that would require a time machine to be totally accurate. HG Wells, as far as I can tell, is no longer a contributing editor for Parade, though Dr. Joyce Brothers remains on the masthead, so that's a relief.

At any rate, in case you wanted to know what Noth's actual answer was -- and really, let's be honest, his actual answer would be, "What the fuck? Are you people on meth? Get the fuck out of my face!" -- here it is:

          No. In fact, strong women loom large in Noth’s life. He tells us that his mother, former CBS News  correspondent Jeanne Parr, “was a single mom for most of my younger years—and also a working mom. We met an array of really interesting guys who wanted to marry her.” As for his co-stars, Noth, 54, says: “I’ve been very lucky with my leading ladies—they’re all powerhouses. Reminds me of growing up when my mom was running the show.” Noth and his longtime girlfriend, Tara Wilson, have a 20-month-old son, Orion Christopher.

The Day I Almost Won A MacArthur Grant

As per usual, I was somehow not awarded a MacArthur Grant. I find this very upsetting for a number of reasons, not the least of which being that I could really use $500K to advance, uhm, issues of racial equality, and to, uh, help out with, uh, you know, biodiversity and, uh, stuff regarding wind technology. Oh, and reading programs for kids. Inner city kids. Poor Jewish kids, too. I mean, all the kids should read and I'd like to donate a really significant portion of my (nonexistent) $500K to help that along.

I'd also really like a Bentley. And the new Madden. And a personal chef. And a big ass body guard who'd wear sunglasses and a suit made entirely of sharkskin. All of which I'd use to help the kids, too, of course.

Anyway, I didn't win. But a few years ago, I got pretty close. Here's how it went down:

Me: [at my desk, pretending to work, but most likely downloading bad 80s New Wave music...when an email pops up. It says on the subject line MacArthur Grant. The email itself is from an actual person at the MacArthur Fund. I suddenly feel as if I might shit a little bit.] Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Holy fuck.

[I stare at the email for about five minutes but don't open it. I ponder what I've done in my life to deserve this fine honor. I decide that while Fake Liar Cheat wasn't universally, you know, acclaimed, Living Dead Girl was, and so was Simplify, and sometimes the MacArthur Grant people realizes writers are, you know, pretty big fucking geniuses long before other people make this realization. I decide that they've been watching me for many years and that they've decided I am at the cusp of changing the way literature is read in America, that I'm one of those writers who, unbeknown even to himself, has fundamentally altered the landscape of thought, of philosophy, of the way people live. I begin thinking primarily in italics. I ponder what I'll wear to the ceremony. There must be a ceremony, right? I decide that I'll do it casual. A Hugo Boss suit, but no tie, like George Clooney in Out of Sight. I decide I'll start working out. I decide I'll come up with a title for my next book that sounds ponderous and smart but also reveals nothing about what the book might be about, like, say, IF. Or STAIN. Or INFINITY. Or UNLIMITED. Or a title that's an absurd bunch of words, like The Stain Of The Unlimited Infinity of If. I finally decide that I'd like my wife Wendy to be a part of this life changing moment.]

Me: WENDY! WENDY! WENDY!

[Wendy runs into my office like maybe she thinks I'm bleeding from the eyes.]

Wendy: What? What? What?

Me: I just got a very important email.

Wendy: You screamed like that because of an email? You should only scream like that if you're dying or the dogs are on fire or something.

Me: [I point to the email.] 

Wendy: 

Me: [I point some more.]

Wendy:

Me: Do you see this fucking email?

Wendy: Yes. 

Me: I think I've won a MacArthur Grant.

Wendy: Have you opened it?

Me: No.

Wendy: Wouldn't someone call you if you won?

Me: It's all very secretive. It's like the Freemasons or some shit. You don't even know if they're looking at you and then one day, you get contacted.

Wendy: Why don't you open it?

Me: I'm going to. That's why I called you in. 

[I open the email and begin reading aloud: Dear Mr. Goldberg, The MacArthur Foundation is considering XXX for a grant and we were hoping you might be able to provide us with a letter...]

Me: There must be some kind of error here.

Wendy:

Me: [I re-read the letter...aloud...sure enough, they'd like me to write a letter in support of an author I admire and had written about previously who they are considering but not, you know, giving me a grant, it turns out.] Huh.

Wendy:

Me: I thought, uh, for a minute there, that, uh, maybe, you know, I'd won a MacArthur.

Wendy:

Me: I mean, you know, I didn't really believe it. It was sort of a pipe dream. Not, uh, you know, something, uh, that, uh, I actually thought was happening now. I mean, I'm pretty young to be considered, so, you know, it's just, uh, nice that they thought to, uh, ask me to write a letter, which means, you know, they know about me. So, yeah, probably, uh, just their way of saying, you know, we're onto you and, you know, keep on keepin' on. 

Wendy:

Me: So, uh, I'm gonna, you know, get back to work now.

Wendy: You're an idiot.

Other Tour Cities

Even though my book says it's coming out on Oct. 1st on Amazon, it really isn't. Or, well, it might be at Amazon then, but it probably won't be in stores until a week or so after that point...unless you happen to show up at a few super-secret events I'm doing before the official launch of the book in a couple of different spots in the country:

Oct. 4th: West Hollywood Book Fair

11:45am-12:45pm

TRANSCENDS THE LIMITS OF THE GENRE: CAN CRIME WRITING BE LITERARY?
David Francis
Ralph Pezullo
Ona Russell
John Shannon
Susan Arnot Smith
Moderator: Tod Goldberg

2:30pm-3:30pm
WONDERFUL WORDS & WORLDS: NEW FICTION FROM GREAT WRITERS
Gregg Hurwitz
Lydia Millet
Jerry Stahl
Samantha Peale
Moderator: Tod Goldberg

October 7th: Chicago, IL, 7:30pm

Bookslut Reading Series at the Hopleaf Bar

5148 N. Clark

773-968-2345

With Brian Evenson and David Taylor

October 8th: Chicago, IL 

Barbara's Books (location and time TBA)

October 15th: San Francisco, CA 9pm

Litquake: Literary Death Match

With Frances Dinkelspiel, Lynka Adams and James Nestor.

In addition, I'll be having not one but two launch parties in Southern California:

October 23rd: Palm Desert, CA 7pm

Release party on the campus of UCR-Palm Desert, featuring food, drink and frivolity...plus, a reading and someone interesting asking me probing questions.

October 25th: Los Angeles, CA 5pm

Borders Books in Westwood

Release party with more food, more drink, at least 600% more frivolity...plus, a reading and some other interesting person asking me questions that will get to the very essence of my soul.

[And if you happen to be a Southern California independent bookseller, I'll also be at the SCIBA Author's Feast and Tradeshow on the the 24th, and you'll all be getting a nice free copy of my book, too.]

I have many more events coming in November and December and into 2010, but more on that shortly.  

Don't Call It A Comeback

Now, then, where was I? Oh, yes, I was packing and then unpacking, and then painting, and unpacking some more, and then looking for my socks and underwear. And then looking for where I left my dogs. In short, I've spent the last month leaving one house and moving into a new house, which was about as much fun as being kicked in the nuts every five minutes for a month, followed by writing the person who was kicking said nuts a check for everything I'd earned in the previous three months. Ah, the joy of buying a new home.

In the interim, I've missed telling you all about some very important things. So, here be a few links, observations and complex scientific equations:

1. The lovely humans at New Pages gave my new collection of short stories, Other Resort Cities, a great review. The book comes out officially in the middle of October.

2. Speaking of Other Resort Cities, the collection's final story, "Rainmaker", just appeared in FiveChapters.

3. Patrick Swayze is dead, which is as good a reason as any for Barrelhouse to reprint some of the best response to The Swayze Question, including my own:

Point Break, because Swayze taught me three important things in that movie:

1. If you project weakness, you draw aggression.

2. You want the ultimate thrill, you gotta be willing to pay the ultimate price.

3. Fear causes hesitation, and hesitation will cause your worst fears to come true.

Now, granted, all three of those points essentially reinforce the same core truth: If you’re not Patrick Swazye, brah, then you’re just C. Thomas Howell with a mullet.

4. My brother gets called an asshole, again. 

5. I've signed on to write two more Burn Notice books. My third one, The Giveaway, will be released next June, followed by new books in January 2011 and June 2011. And I think I'll have a new standalone novel somewhere in there, too. Provided I get to work, naturally.

6. I'm coming to your neck of the woods sometime between October and January. I'll likely ask to sleep on your sofa. Please have cinnamon raisin bagels in the house. I'll post my tour stops shortly. Thus far, I know I'll be in LA, San Diego, San Francisco, Chicago, Portland and Seattle. Hopefully I'll end up in Las Vegas and the east coast, too. More news as it comes.

7. I've read some really good books.

8. A few other great books that you should read: Everything Matters! by Ron Currie Jr., Await Your Reply by Dan Chaon and The Favorites by Mary Yukari Waters.

9. I haven't called anyone a fucktard yet. I regret the error. You're a fucktard. Not you, specifically, but someone like you.

10. My vitriol shall return in full throat later this week. In the meantime, I'm just happy to be unpacked. Moving fucking sucks.