Tod Goldberg

Hate Mail Makes Me Feel Funny In My Pants: The Fucktards Strike Back!

I get a fair amount of hate mail. Usually, it's from someone like this fucktard who, inexplicably, landed on my blog and decided I was causing him curious offense. Most of the time I don't bother to post my hate mail here, opting instead to forward it to my siblings so we can all giggle about it. It's sort of a Goldberg sibling ritual -- we all send each other our hate mail, which is then followed up by a phone call where we reiterate how funny the hate mail is, and then we pause to wonder if the person sending us the hate mail will later threaten to kill us -- which happens more often than we appreciate, really -- and then, well, then we talk about what we just bought at Trader Joe's and the relative merits of Neil Diamond songs and such.

Weirdly, sometimes I hear about hate mail from a third party. For instance, a couple of months ago a man emailed me to say that the makers of C'mere Deer and their "celebrity" spokesman were really pissed off about a blog post I made a couple of years ago regarding their product, which made me positively gleeful. It's not often I can piss off the Michael Jordan of bass fishermen, after all.

This month, however, it was as if the fucktards had a convention and determined that enough was enough: They were going to let me know exactly how they felt about being fucktards. Most notable of these was a letter I received from a contestant on the Amazing Race who wanted to let me know that despite my insistence on calling her entire family fucktards who tried to use Jesus to their competitive advantage, I'd seen things incorrectly. "I never tried to exploit Jesus and hope that it never made you feel badly toward God," the contestant wrote. "God does love you...and me....despite all of our sinful ways."

It's always nice to know God loves me, despite, you know, my people ratting his son out. But I object to being called a sinner, since, you know, I'm not a "sinner" owing to my lack of belief in any organized religion. (Culturally Jewish, to answer your next question, which means I rock the kugel and but also had Canadian bacon on my pizza this evening and believe when I die I go to an enormous petri dish in the sky.) I might be a "criminal" in a given situation, but I don't think I'm a sinner.

People whose names have appeared in my Parade rants typically react poorly to finding their names here. What usually happens is they'll send me an email saying, "How dare you!" followed by a series of complaints about being called such a cruel name as fucktard and then a demand to have their name removed or else face a lawsuit. Of course there's nothing actionable in my putting people's names in this blog, particularly since I'm quoting them, and people tend to think mentioning lawsuits is a good way to get people to act, but I come from a family of lawyers, so I'm not terribly afraid of people's internet lawyers. I think the main thing is that people tend to be mortified by discovering that they are, in fact, fucktards. It can be a daunting realization. This month, though, I learned that outing people as fucktards is actually bad for the kids. Here's an email in full from a person who didn't like me calling her a fucktard, though, I assure you, her question was one of those that makes me literally fear that Communism might have been the way to go:

Sometime ago you called me horrible names.  As an ex-police officer I allowed it to just run of my back, having heard much the same in the streets from those I had arrested.

However, a few moments ago my 16 yr old son came me to saying one of his friends showed him what you wrote about his Mother.  I just wanted to know why your column needed to be so vindictive.

As a student I believed in debate and discussion... not personal attack.  I  would ask in the future on behalf of some other 16 yr old out there that you consider what you place on the Internet for something which lasts for eternity.

I think everyone knows that first and foremost, I do this for the kids. I mean, what's the use of outing fucktards if not to help the kids? Hurt the kids? Never. Now, what I liked best about this particular piece of hate mail is really not about the kids at all. It's the implied "I know how to use a nightstick, motherfucker" bit found in the second sentence. I have to admit that I love the idea of gangsters on the street using fucktard now -- it would show that my reach is truly national, though I have to say I find it somewhat unlikely, since fucktard doesn't exactly roll off the tongue while you're throwing your set up and such.

At any rate, I wrote this particular person back, since she asked me a specific question:

The reason my column was so vindictive is that whenever I write about Parade magazine, I say vindictive things. Particularly about Personality Parade, which I find intensely frightening. The question you asked -- REDACTED TO PROTECT THE GUILTY -- struck me as particularly infuriating because, well, it's just plain silly. I can't imagine the process by which someone would ponder this and then send in a question to Parade about it, so perhaps you can illuminate that process for me as well. But the name I called you I call everyone who writes into Personality Parade -- it wasn't specific to you. Shoot, I even have t-shirts. At any rate, when you put something into the public sphere, as you do when you write a letter to the editor, or a letter to Parade, and it is published you have to expect that people will react to your opinions or questions, positively or negatively, and often in print. Mockery and satire are part of our culture and society and what I do with Parade, and with your question, is just that.

I haven't heard back from this person, perhaps because they are still trying to figure out my question to them -- ie, Why the fuck would you write a letter to Parade? I mean, what kind of fucktard does that? -- but I think the two of us reached a simple accord that all fucktards can take to heart: Don't act like a fucktard and I won't call you a fucktard. It's just that simple.

Fame Don't Take Away The Pain, It Just Pays The Bills

According to my local newspaper, the Desert Sun, I am famous. Or, well, as famous as a guy who plays in the Arena Football League. The funny thing is, I'm prepared at any moment to get on the field for a little 50 yard indoor war.

The Coachella Valley has been a star colony since Rudolph Valentino was a heartthrob.

Likewise, local schools have produced some now-famous stars. Tobey Maguire and Jack Jones attended Palm Springs middle schools. Carson Daly went to College of the Desert. Jazmin Grace Grimaldi, daughter of Prince Albert II of Monaco, received international attention in 2006 while attending St. Margaret's Episcopal School in Palm Desert.

Below are some other local graduates you might recognize.

Jamie Bayard, Palm Springs High School. Dancer who won U.S. Open West Coast Swing and Latin Ballroom competitions. He is now in the top 20 "So You Think You Can Dance" competition.

Jenica Bergere, Palm Desert High School. Actress known for work on "The Drew Carey Show," "Men Behaving Badly," "The Faculty."

Nicole Castrale, Palm Desert High School. LPGA Tour player.

Debi Derryberry (real name Deborah Greenberg), Indio High School. Children's recording star, voice of Jimmy Neutron.

Julio Diaz, Coachella Valley High School. Professional boxer, former IBF lightweight champion.

Brent Geiberger, College of the Desert. Two-time PGA Tour winner.

Tod Goldberg, Palm Springs High School. Author of the books "Fake Liar Cheat" and "Living Dead Girl."

Rigoberto González, Coachella Valley High School. Self-described gay Chicano writer, author of the coming-of-age memoir "Butterfly Boy: Memories of a Chicano Mariposa."

Richard Gunn (real name Richard Roberts), Palm Desert High School. Actor who played Sketchy in the television show "Dark Angel."

Butch Harmon, Palm Springs High School. Golf teaching pro, coached Tiger Woods, Phil Mickelson, Greg Norman, Davis Love III, Fred Couples and Justin Leonard.

Tyler Hilton, La Quinta High School. Actor, recording artist who co-starred in "Charlie Bartlett" and played Elvis Presley in "Walk the Line."

Josh Homme, Palm Desert High School. Leader of the four-time Grammy-nominated rock group Queens of the Stone Age.

Jesse Hughes, Palm Desert High School. Leader of rock group Eagles of Death Metal.

Gale Anne Hurd, Palm Valley School and Palm Springs High School. Producer of blockbuster films such as "The Terminator," "Alien" and the upcoming "The Incredible Hulk."

Jonathan Ingram, Indio High School. Former San Diego State football star who played for the Miami Dolphins and Kansas City Chiefs. He now plays in the Arena Football League .

Anthony Kim, La Quinta High School. PGA tour golfer.

Ronnie King, Indio High School. Record producer, keyboard player, co-songwriter of the Offspring hit, "Hit That."

Nora Kirkpatrick, La Quinta High School. Model, actress in the TV series "John From Cincinnati" and the film, "White Nights."

Lindsay Korman, Palm Desert High School. Actress in the TV soap "Passions" and the Broadway musical "Grease."

Alison Lohman, Palm Desert High School. Actress in such films as "White Oleander," "Matchstick Men" and "Flicka."

Oscar Lua, Indio High School. USC linebacker, played for the New England Patriots.

Sam Maestas, Coachella Valley High School. Farmworkers activist, College of the Desert Hall of Famer.

Vanessa Marcil, Indio High School. Television actress on "Las Vegas" and ABC soap opera "General Hospital.

Alan O'Day, Coachella Valley High School. Songwriter of "Undercover Angel," "Angie Baby." Named one of People magazine's rock stars of the 1970s.

Aubrey O'Day, La Quinta High School. Singer with the platinum recording group Danity Kane.

Tony Reagins, Indio High School. Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim general manager.

Stefani Schaeffer, Palm Springs High School. Attorney, winner of the 2007 TV reality show "The Apprentice."

Alia Shawkat, Marywood Country Day School. Actress in "Three Kings" and the TV sit-com, "Arrested Development."

Billy Steinberg, Palm Springs High School. Songwriter of such hits as "Like A Virgin," "True Colors," "I Touch Myself," "Falling For You" and "Too Little Too Late."

Jeff Webb, La Quinta High School. San Diego State wide receiver who now plays for the Kansas City Chiefs.

Ed White, Indio High School. College Football Hall of Famer out of UC Berkeley, San Diego Charger Hall of Famer as an offensive guard.

Interestingly, Aubrey O'Day lives across the street from me (really -- and to be more accurate, she lives across the green belt from me, and is actually quite pleasant), I went to high school with Josh Homme's older brother and remember Josh as being really, really tall and playing in really, really loud bands even then, and I was once interviewed by Carson Daly's mom and the whole time, she just kept asking me questions about Carson. Really. Like, "So, Tod, as you know, my son Carson has a great love for sports. Do you?"

I'm LOL

The good people at Bookgasm have posted a flattering review of Las Vegas Noir this afternoon which finally confirms what I've always thought: I'm totally LOL.

A complete opposite of characters make up David Corbett’s “Pretty Little Parasite,” which tells the story of a low-level drug dealer and what she thinks will be just another deal — leading to a great reveal. Tod Goldberg has an enjoyable little tale called “Mitzvah,” with a former hitman who now has to work as a rabbi in Vegas. It’s a very dark comic tale that made me laugh out loud a good many times. “Babs” by Scott Philips is another story of drug operators — this time with the narrator looking back on a simple pick-up that could have gone wrong in a big way.

For those of you in Southern California who've been wondering when you'll be able to get your copy of Las Vegas Noir signed, there's going to be a battle royale pitting Las Vegas Noir vs. Los Angeles Noir next month in a no-holds-barred-cage match for noir supremacy. Fighting for Las Vegas will be yours truly, Lori Kozlowski and Christine McKellar. Figthing for LA will be the punk Gary Phillips, the coward Denise Hamilton, the snitch Emory Holmes and a man who once had green hair, Jim Pascoe. Here's the details:

When: Saturday, June 28, 2008 from 6pm to 8pm

Where: Imix Bookstore, 5052 Eagle Rock Blvd., Los Angeles, CA (323) 257-2512

(I've never actually even heard of this bookstore, so if I'm not there it's because I'm lost, not because I'm afraid Gary will beat my ass.)

Hate Mail Makes Me Feel Funny In My Pants Part 35

Life was a lot easier on the paranoia before the Internet. I mean, I was always fairly certain that people disliked me. It's impossible not to, really, particularly if you're a fucktard, since my use and popularization of the term has forced people to take a harsh look at themselves and really take stock: Am I a fucktard? Do people think I'm a fucktard? If I people do think I'm a fucktard, is it possible to change that perception or is it akin to being one of those people who, early on, decides they really like, say, Air Supply, and that becomes their defining characteristic? Now, of course, the Internet provides steady response to presumed certainty. Take for instance this question now posted on Yahoo Answers:

Does anyone else hate Tod Goldberg?

I've seen his blog. He appears to have a one-word vocabulary, and unfortunately for humanity that word is f_ktard. OK, I know I'm lowering myself to his level by whining and asking ppl to pile on, but i have to know im not alone here.

It's a good and valid question, but I certainly have a vocabulary above one word, or else my books would be much shorter. But I wonder how the word fucktard (I like how it is now one of those words like God that must be excised in order to not cause great harm in the universe) has negatively affected the poser of the question -- a person who goes by M-Just M. Intrigued, I looked at the other questions posed by M. They are:

Has Obama Campaigned In Every State?

Is It Possible To Score Lower Than You Actually Are On An Online IQ Test?

A very long equation having to do with physics.

Well, I think it's probably there in the second question. So let's look at that one a little closer. She writes:

I took an IQ test administered by professionals at age 7 and got a 150. I took several more recent online IQ tests and got a 120. I know that people typically score higher than they actually are on an online IQ test, but is it possible that I scored lower? Which score would u trust?

I think we can all read the writing on the wall here. M has, over the course of the years, become incrementally more fucktarded. What probably happened is that M, after discovering that her once vaunted 7 year old brain matter had turned to the consistency of chocolate pudding, began obsessively looking for answers to one of mankind's most vexing existential mysteries -- namely, "Am I a fucktard?" -- and landed on my blog. This likely caused a moment of real consternation on her part, which turned to hatred, which, later, will likely turn to self loathing, and then, well, then she'll get her own blog.

Of course, she's not the only one who hates me, or at least thinks of me as a buzzing fly, since romance writer Brenda Coulter responded to the query. Now, truthfully, she has reason to hate me. I intimated that I thought she was a moron (and by "intimated" I mean: I think I called her a moron) and spent about 1100 words telling the world why, but my friend Kassia says she's nice and if you're a friend of Kassia's, why, you're a friend of mine. Yet, she says:

Although I am not a reader of his blog, a friend once pointed out that he had written about me and used that word. I can't say that I was honored, but I don't hate the man. He's a little annoying, but I think mostly harmless, like a buzzing fly.
;-)

Why give yourself indigestion? Go read somebody else's blog.

It's an odd thing to find someone annoying that you don't actually engage with...but, nevertheless, as I said, the woman has cause. Plus, I make fun of Jesus and she writes Christian romance, so, really, there is double cause.

I've gone ahead and answered M's question has truthfully as possible, just so she knows she's not alone and I encourage the rest of you to own your hate as well.

Las Vegas Noir

My non-calendar year of the short story continues this week with the release of Las Vegas Noir, the latest in Akashic's popular series of city-based noir anthologies. It's a great anthology featuring writers you probably know well if you happen to be a fan of mine -- folks like Scott Phillips and David Corbett -- as well as people you should know if you're a fan of short fiction, like O. Henry winner Vu Tran, and then people you might know because you're dead and reading this from your lap top in the afterlife, like John O'Brien (he of Leaving Las Vegas fame). I'll be signing copies of Las Vegas Noir at the LA Times Festival of Books later this month (I'll post my full schedule shortly) as well as in Las Vegas in...well, November, at the Vegas Valley Book Festival.  The book is supposedly on some shelves already, but it is certainly shipping already from Amazon. Here's a link.

Using The Blog For Good: I Need Girl Scout Cookies

I presume some of you out there have children. I presume some of you have female children. I presume some of you out there have enrolled your female children into a paramilitary band called The Girl Scouts. I understand this time of year is a big fundraising push for better Bradley Fighting Vehicles and fancy patches. Excellent. I'd like to donate in the form of me purchasing several boxes of Thin Mints, Peanut Butter Patties and Caramel Delights. Contact me here. Let the buying begin.

Hear Me Live, See Me Live

I'll be doing a few things tomorrow that will allow you, the common human, to hear me and see me talking about books, both mine and those written by other people.

At 10:30am, I'll be on KNPR (the local NPR for Las Vegas) talking about the recent spate of novels set in Las Vegas, specifically The Delivery Man by Joe McGinniss Jr. and Beautiful Children by Charles Bock, both of which I reviewed a few weeks ago in the LA Times, as well as other fictional takes on my former home. You can listen live at KNPR.org or again at 7pm.

[Update: If you're interested in hearing the interview, it is archived here.]

Then, at 3:15, I'll be on the campus of UC-Riverside as part of Writers Week, reading from...something...(I'm supposed to read for about 20-25 minutes and then take questions, but the problem is most of my stories end up taking 30 minutes to read, and it's not as much fun to read from my novels, since it's hard to find a really good self contained moment) and then taking questions and such. (If anyone has an opinion on what I should read, please do let me know. Or if you're coming and have a favorite story, I'm happy to take requests...) Following that, I'll be on a panel about California and noir fiction at 5:00. And then I'll be sitting in an audience listening to Joyce Carol Oates, who, during the time between 10:30am and 3:15 will have written five new novels herself. All Writers Week events are free, so if you live in the Inland Empire and beyond, it promises to be a good time.

The Cold Rock Stuff

Things that you must know in order to live your life fully:

* The latest issue of Hobart is out now and it's an amazing issue, featuring fiction from both the US and Canada in a handy presto-changeo set up. The American issue features yours truly, along with Benjamin Percy, Ryan Call, Chris Bachelder, William Donnelly, Matthew Kirkpatrick, Ira Sukrungruang and Catherine Zeidler. The Great White North edition includes the likes of Craig Davidson, Stephany Aulenback, David Bergen Heather Birrell, Zsuzsi Gartner, Lee Henderson, John Goldblach, Shelia Heti, Mark Anthony Jarman, Dimitri Nasrallah and Julia Tausch. If you love America, or if you love Canada, or if you just love the continent in general, Hobart will change your life.

* In the latest edition of good things happening to good people, The Opposite of Love by Julie Buxbaum was released today. Julie is a former student of mine and her debut novel has already sold to something like 900 countries. And, in even better news, People Magazine is pimping it like chocolate for fat kids. (As a former fat kid, I can attest that marketing chocolate to fat kids works.)

*If you're in need of cop and crime related information from an expert, as I often am in the middle of the night while writing, there's now a great place to turn: Lee Lofland's blog for crime writers. I know this is a great place since Lee is the guy I typically end up emailing at 3am with questions.

*I keep forgetting to remember this: The final issue of Other Voices is out now and it's their all-Chicago issue, featuring wonderful fiction from the likes of Joe Meno, Betsy Crane, Alex Shakar and, most importantly, OV founder Lois Hauselman, one of the first people to ever champion my work and one of the very finest people in the arts, no matter the city. OV will certainly be missed as a literary journal, but OV Books promises to be just as exciting and innovative as a press as they were as a journal. What I can tell you about my experience with Simplify is that OV cares about great fiction, an all too infrequent concern for many bigger publishers.

*If you happen to live in Southern California, next week is Writers Week at UC-Riverside, featuring such luminaries as Joyce Carol Oates, Ed Ochester, Alex Espinoza, Marisa Silver and, well, me. I'll be taking part on Friday, Feb. 8th, which is California Noir day and also features panels with Denise Hamilton, Diane Wagman and Naomi Hirahara. I'll be reading and talking about noir fiction and trying my best not to do anything embarrassing. So, yeah, you might want to pop in for the show. All the details can be found here and here. 

It's Not Quite The Black Death, But It Sure Is Green

If Mucinex hadn't nearly killed me a few years ago, I'd be on that shit like it was my job. Alas, I'm left to suck down four packs of Tylenol Severe Cold as I battle what has turned into the worst cold I've had in about ten years. Thank you, Vermont, for infecting me with the fucking Stand. I'm so clouded, I couldn't even read Parade with any context, my day left to Tivo'd episodes of Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew (and, surprisingly, Bob Forrest from Thelonious Monster) and the train wreck that is Kenickie. (Note to whomever has power of attorney over me when I go into rehab: If I need someone to appy Icy Hot to my ass, I'd like that not to be filmed. Thanks.)

Fucktards shall be outed if and when I ever get out of bed.

You Can't, You Won't, You Don't Stop

Now, then, where were we?

I have returned from the frozen tundra of Bennington, Vermont with a new found appreciation for the desert winter. The night before Wendy and I left, I thought I'd give my fancy new winter wear a dry run before getting to VT, so I stood outside in boxer shorts and my Lands End winter coat -- which purported to keep me warm up to (or down to, I suppose) -20 degrees -- and attempted to estimate just how long it would keep my torso warm and if it would keep at least my thighs relatively cozy if, by some terrible luck, I was stuck pantless in the wild. After about ten minutes in the 42 degree night, as the dogs watched me pacing about in my underpants and a winter coat, I declared myself prepared for anything. Wendy declared me an idiot, as you might imagine, and I went to sleep confident that winter in the north east would be a lot like winter, at night, in the desert.

So, yeah. I was wrong.

When we got to New York, it was 10 degrees, but felt like -10, which meant it was the perfect night to walk with our friends from the Cornelia Street Cafe to the White Horse Inn. I have never, ever, been that cold in my entire life. Part of this is my own fault. I opted to wear my wool coat out that evening instead of my less fashionable -20 coat, as did the normally more sensible Wendy. The result was that my nipples turned black and fell off of my body about a block from the bar.

The next day, when we finally got to Bennington, it was, as I reported earlier, -4, but felt like -17, according to Weather.com, and though I dressed appropriately, I unfortunately lost my nose, chin, and both hands to frostbite and now look like one of those people who attempts to climb Everest and fails. It actually ended up warming up for a few days in the middle of the residency -- and by warm, I mean it got to about 45 degrees and I took off my shirt and sunbathed on the permafrosted lawn in front of the Commons and then played Ultimate Frisbee until sundown. It was snowing when we finally left Monday morning for our 15 hour journey home (and a special note to United: thank you for losing our luggage again; let's do it again in six months!) and today, just to make a statement, I wore shorts and a t-shirt in the 68 degree sun of La Quinta like I was a tourist from Minnesota. I might drive into Palm Springs tomorrow and walk around downtown window shopping for PS I Love You t-shirts just to complete the deal, followed by a meal at the Sizzler and a night cap over at the Ramada Inn.

These residencies are odd affairs. For ten days, you spend every waking hour with people doing battle over words and thoughts and then, just like that, you're thrust back to life and the responsibility of things. So: I'm officially back to real life. There's a book that needs to be written. And then another one. A class full of MFA students who need to be taught. Hate mail to be answered. Scrabulous to be played. Fucktards to be outed. Another whole year of doing whatever it is this is here, which I suspect will be a lot like whatever it has been, or will be, since there's always something to say during the real life portion of things, isn't there?.