Sibling Interviews ftw!

"Millions of peaches, peaches for me. Millions of peaches, peaches for free."

Further to yesterday's post and the comments that followed, here, for your viewing pleasure, is an interview conducted by my elder sibling just a few short hours ago.

Cath: Hello Mikhail. An honour to meet you. You're taller in the flesh. And more ginger.

Michael: People are often shocked by my height. And gingerness, obviously.

Cath: Yes, I am still slightly recovering from that shock. Anyway, on with it...most artists, when interviewed, are promoting something. What are you promoting?

Michael: Myself. I have recently been scandalised by the sheer number of lesser artists being interviewed on the web, and I thought it was high time I had my say.

Cath: Can you name and shame any of the lesser artists?

Michael: Well, most of them, to be fair.

Cath: OK. No chance of this sparking a war of words to help your promotion then? It worked for Lily Allen and Peaches Geldof.

Michael: Prime examples. It wouldn't be fair on them, though. You can't really lose a war of words to somebody called Peaches Bumblefuck or whatever her name is.

Cath: So you are promoting yourself. Is this...
a) Michael O'Mahony, human being (just about)?

b) Michael O'Mahony, undiscovered mammoth of the literary world?

c) Michael O'Mahony, porn king?

or d) Michael O'Mahony [fill your own blank]?

Michael: It's absolutely b). I am promoting my future success.

Cath: Any literary works in particular you'd like to plug?

Michael: I'm working on an as yet untitled novel I believe is destined to relaunch my faltering career and finally rid me of that 'porn king' label.

Cath: Most men would be proud of the porn king label. Is that an indication of the ways in which married life has changed you?

Michael: Meh. It's an indication of my irritation at being lumped in with the erotica crowd.

Cath: Any crowds you'd like to be lumped with?

Michael: Not especially. The erotica thing...the standard is too low. Anytime you find yourself moving in those circles, it's pretty stifling. I had an idea I might somehow elevate the genre...

Cath: What has happened to that idea? And can you explain why the word "meh" has undergone a giant leap in internet popularity during the last fortnight?

Michael: It got exposed to a large dose of the reality, which is that even reputable erotic sites cannot escape the taint of both cheesy commercial interests (I don't really want an advert for that fucking Fleshlight thing sharing a page with my work) and, well, crap writing. As for 'meh', I've always used it, personally. If you want a tip on the next big internet thing, I suggest looking out for 'ftw'.

Cath: My guess - Fuck The World (or is that the hormones kicking in...)?

Michael: It means For The Win, and should be used to follow anything you think is better than something else or otherwise life improving. For example - "huge mountaineer-style beards ftw!"

Cath: Hmm. Can't see myself using that one. Tell us about your as yet untitled novel.

Michael: I've been describing it as a Sex, Drugs, and Action novel. Or at least, I was describing it as a Sex, Drugs, and Action novel. Then I saw the trailer for that new Jason Statham movie.

Cath: Any more about the novel? Being mysterious and aloof can be good for promotion, but I'd advise against taking it too far.

Michael: The novel is about Scratch, a character attempting to find himself after a less than glamorous youth. His shot at redemption comes in the form of a barmaid named Fitz, but in attempting to win her affections, he stumbles into an attempted murder. This sets off a chain of events that brings his violent, amoral past rushing back into the present.

Cath: Good blurb. Thank you. What first inspired you to write?

Michael: Fucking hell. Where did that come from? Er...a lot of things. I think there were a lot of things in my formative years, especially writers I admired whose words meant a lot to me when I was going through my teenage years. Orwell, certainly, but also people like Stephen King.

Cath: And why do you write?

Michael: I've been thinking about that a lot lately. It used to be to beat back the demons. I used to drink a lot and spend time feeling sorry for myself and basically try and get down what I was feeling on paper. Then I climbed out of my arse. Now...well, I'm re-evaluating.

Cath: OK, any excerpts you'd like to share from that re-evaluation so far...?

Michael: I write to be read, I think. To communicate. I've never understood those people who say they don't write for an audience. I can understand that in the sense of not writing for money, but surely any writer writes for the eyes of others.

Cath: Have you written anything you hate so much, you'd rather eat your own shit than show it to anyone?

Michael: Many things. Maybe not for a few years now, but yeah, I've written plenty of things that make me cringe.

Cath: What's the biggest thing you'd like to communicate through writing?

Michael: That's a really difficult question to answer. Anything that makes another person feel, even if that feeling is anger. When I mentioned Orwell, I was talking specifically about 1984, which I first read when I was fourteen. I didn't really get it then, but the ending really touched me in a major way. I suppose that was my first adult understanding of the fact that it isn't all fairytales and happy endings. Maybe I'd known that before, but I can remember feeling this really powerful sadness at Winston's capitulation, and anger towards Big Brother in all His many forms. I think the ability to do that with words is a very special talent to have.

Cath: OK, let's lighten the tone and maybe I'll whack you with another heavy one later...what song would you strip to?

Michael: Something deeply camp. Ring My Bell, by The Blood Sisters. Enough irony there to cover for my comedic dancing skills and pudgy physique.

Cath: I'd go for Ecstasy by PJ Harvey because I'm warped.

Michael: The Birdie Song.

Cath: Does having the surname O'Mahony automatically make you a genius?

Michael: No. I think there are many people in our family who refute that without trying very hard.

Cath: Ouch. How big an influence has your big sister been on your life and art?

Michael: Hahaha...she thinks she's been a HUGE influence, but to be honest, the greatest part of that came when I was in my early teens and stole the best part of her tape collection in order to form the soundtrack to my puberty. That's creatively speaking. As far as life goes...I'm just not close to the rest of my family, so obviously she's been a big influence in that respect because she's the only one I really talk to.

Cath: I have now compensated by stealing and/or selling huge chunks of the book and CD collection Mikhail left behind in his dirthole of a former bedroom in the UK. Name some weird things that only you do.

Michael: Only me? In the whole world?

Cath: Well, you may suspect that only do them, or think you are in a minority, at least...for e.g. I think I get up to piss more during the night than the majority of the human race. That kind of thing.

Michael: Oh, I piss more than anybody in the world, so maybe that's genetic.

Cath: Did you see the cartoon in Private Eye about blogging?

Michael: No.

Cath: It shows a man sitting at a computer saying something like 'I'm just writing my blog'. On the screen it says 'me me me me me me'. Comments?

Michael: I suppose that's true in a sense. But then 'Blog' has become a much wider term over the past couple of years. Blogging has become, to a lot of people, a very valid form of journalism.

Cath: Write your own epitaph.

Michael: He was a Cunt, but he was Our Cunt.

Cath: What is your idea of perfect happiness?

Michael: That's so hard to answer, because many of the things that make me happy aren't really compatible. I think sitting down on a Saturday night in a place where I'm comfortable, with my wife and a bottle of Jack and a fucking good movie and a wonky coffee table propped up by copies of a critically acclaimed novel with my name on the spine.

Cath: How good would a big fat greasy donor kebab taste right now?

Michael: Like the food of the Gods. I keep telling Jennifer that the next time we're in England, we're going to go down the pub, get shitfaced on watered-down lager, get into a fight, stagger down the high street yelling insults, then pop into the nearest filthy kebab shop and buy a pair of large doners with so much chili sauce that we'll wake up screaming the next morning.

Cath: Excellent. What would you say to George Bush if he appeared at your front door tomorrow?

Michael: "I think you've got the wrong house."

Cath: That's it?

Michael: If I'm being honest, I don't bear much in the way of animosity towards GWB as a person. Even if I came to the door with a Black And Decker and put a hole in his head, it wouldn't change anything. It's the elements and structures that put him in power that are the problem.

Cath: Do they have Black & Deckers in the US?

Michael: They do. Big ones.

Cath: You learn something new every day. Final question: What question would you like to be asked? And what would be your answer?

Michael: I'd like to be asked what I want my legacy to be, what I'd like to leave behind when I'm gone. In short, what the point is of what I do. And I think the answer, in its bluntest form is: Be remembered.

Cath: Well, thank you, Michael Peter O'Mahony.

Michael: That 'Peter' is getting edited out.

Cath: Cunt.

Powers Of Charm And Persuasion

"Now I know your heart, I know your mind. You don't even know you're being unkind. So much for all your highbrow Marxist ways. Just use me up and then you walk away."

I was working in the Health & Beauty section of the store today, when I came upon a young lady standing halfway down one of the aisles looking perplexed. With nothing on my mind but assisting this damsel in distress with a smile and a "Can I Help You Find Something?" (copyright Target Corp. 2006 -) I walked straight up to her...and then past her and on my merry way.

Clue: She was looking at the shelves where they keep the Monistat.

Note: Sometimes the best kind of customer service is no customer service at all.

I joked to Jennifer when I took this job that it would be less than two weeks before I was promoted. It's been less than that since I started, and today saw an illuminating conversation with the District Team Leader result in my acquiring her business card and an invitation to come and interview at District Headquarters sometime next week. I am lazy and I lack motivation, but I don't need to remind anybody that knows me at all about my propensity for landing on my feet. Also, the powers of charm and persuasion I inherited at least partially from my dear old dad. Also, my accent, which - while it's the very definition of bland back home - appears to make the ladies prick up their ears at distances of up to twenty feet here in SoCal. The District Team Leader is a lady.

So it looks as though the boy is going up in the world once again. I shouldn't think I'll be going too far, but it's bound to be an improvement on seven bucks an hour, and that will do me just fine for the time being.

What else, what else, what else?

Very little, to be honest. The Curve Ball Conspiracy is on another mini hiatus. I hope to get something new up there in a few days. Not sure how much longer it'll last, though. I have five or six very enthusiastic contributors, a few more who might contribute at some unspecified point in the future, and more flakes than I could possibly hint at in one blog post. When you add to that the fact that my time will be at a premium again as of next week, maintaining NFADR and the CBC while staying on top of my own faltering creativity looks a bit of a tall order. If I have to drop something, it'll be a blog, and it won't be this one.

Of course, if I end the CBC or hand the reins over to somebody else, I may well push on with the mysterious and little-mentioned Salty Dog Project. I've only ever alluded to it in the vaguest of terms here on NFADR, but when I created a sample site at Blogspot and forgot it could be accessed from my profile, there were several enquiries as to the nature of the beast, all of which were swatted aside with promises that it would someday rear its ugly head in public.

Which it might. But we shall see. There may yet be a Curve Ball resurgence.

That's all for now. Tomorrow, I'll be bemoaning the fact that - despite my status as a writer of some standing - nobody has ever wanted to interview me, not even for some crap online fiction 'zine. Of course, I will then interview myself for your cutting and pasting pleasure.

You're welcome.

You're Twisting My Melon, Man

"A night that's so blue feed the aching in you, and the background birds take a flight from the earth, where the bonfire burns, and the night current turns on a lifeboat floating down a river of sleep."

I didn't even notice that yesterday's post was #200, possibly because in reality, I'm closer to 300, but I killed many of the smaller, irrelevant entries from the old blog when I brought the archives here. Happy Pseudo-200th Post, NFADR, I guess.

Yesterday was bittersweet for me. On the one hand, I finally got out of the house, I'm finally making some money, and my job is ridiculously easy. On the other, I spent an evening stocking shelves, helping people who didn't appear to understand my accent, and being patronised by spotty students ten years my junior. I think I need to try a little harder to not make a career of this kind of mediocrity.

Christ, what an awful sentence. Where the fuck did that come from?

Anyway, I'm done with the diary stuff for today. Let's do a playlist instead - this one's a mixture of old and new from my iPod.

1. Heaven Hammer - Beck (Fantastic remix of Missing from Guerolito. I've been listening to this non-stop).

2. Patent Pending - Heavens (Heavens is the side project of Alkaline Trio frontman Matt Skiba. This is the title track of their first album, due out Sept. 12th).

3. Dear Scene, I Wish I Were Deaf - Nightmare Of You (I don't know anything about NOY. I just got hold of the album after hearing this on the radio. They sound worryingly like The Housemartins sometimes).

4. Caribou - Pixies (Classic Pixies track. One of my all-time favourites).

5. L.S.F. - Kasabian (I'm not a big Kasabian fan, but this track's catchiness is undeniable. Great for the gym).

6. Gardening At Night - REM (Debut single from Stipe and company. It's been a while since they were anything like this good).

7. This Is Such A Pity - Weezer (I have a love/hate relationship with Weezer. This, however, is a great song).

8. Step On - Happy Mondays ("You're twisting my melon, man!")

9. Mandy Goes To Med School - Dresden Dolls (Prime example of the awesomeness that is the Dresden Dolls. If you've not heard of them, you should have).

10. Into The Void - Nine Inch Nails (With Teeth got me back into NIN after not listening to them in a while. This is industrial fun over a bassline that just won't quit).

11. Turnaround - Nirvana (I downlo...er...bought Incesticide yesterday because I hadn't heard it in such a long time. This is probably my favourite track).

12. It's a Beutiful Day - Reagan Youth (The typo is theirs, not mine. If there's anybody out there still in any doubt as to what punk rock sounds like, try this).

13. The Comeback - Shout Out Louds (Oddly catchy number from little-known Swedes. Only song of theirs I like).

14. You Only Live Once - The Strokes (I know, I hate The Strokes. I'm as disturbed as you are that I appear to be developing a liking for their most recent effort).

15. Diane - Therapy? (The mighty Therapy? break out the strings for this cover of an old Husker Du anomaly. Wonderfulness results).

Monstrously Demeaning

"There's the pitch, slow and straight, all I have to do is swing and I'm a hero. But I'm a zero."

Six months of sloth come to an end tomorrow. Thank Christ. Or thank Target, if you'd prefer a more commercial deity. Actually, just scratch all of that. Having thought about it, Jesus is actually a hell of a lot more commercial than Target will ever be.

All of which is to say that I have officially broken the vow I made to forever forswear the monstrously demeaning world of customer service. As you can probably imagine, I am not best pleased with this state of affairs, but then not having any choice in such matters is fast becoming the norm in my brave new world. Fuck it, right? Someday I'll write a bestseller, and someday pigs will sprout golden wings. Until then, my commitment to underachievement and utter lack of motivation will conspire to build vicious circles for me to scamper around in.

It's six months since I last worked, by the way. I could have written two or even three novels in six fucking months. Perversely, I didn't even write one. In fact, I finished nothing at all, unless you count the flash fiction I penned for The Curve Ball Conspiracy and Flashing In The Gutters. The 'flash' form suits me, I suppose, requiring as it does little in the way of deep thought or long-term commitment, both of which appear to trouble my creative self.

But enough bitching. At least being back in some kind of social environment will give me things to write about, and maybe that will help me out of this apparently endless slump.

Here's hoping.

Good Weekend

"Once I thought I had Mono for a whole year. Turns out I was just really bored."

This week's lack of postage is due to incurable laziness. The passing of the Mandamus frenzy left me exhausted and in a general malaise as regards the blog. I think I may have Mono.

Jammie came down from Oklahoma to visit us last weekend. I was going to write about what we did each day, but I've left it too long now, and it's all congealed into one big, mad blur. We definitely picked her up from the airport on Friday, and I'm sure we took her back on Monday. Between the two trips were a baseball game, The Cheesecake Factory, a job interview, a drug test, the world's weakest bladder, Richard Jeni, The Rockin' Taco, Santa Monica, Jenn's birthday, and the cat peeing on the phone. I forget the order they came in.

1. Richard Jeni - This was Friday night, I think. Or maybe it was Saturday. We had dinner...uh...somewhere (all I remember is a tower of onion rings) and then it was on to the Brea Improv. This was the first time I'd ever been to a live comedy show, but I'd never actually heard of Richard Jeni and had no idea if he was any good. Turns out he's actually quite a funny guy, though I personally thought the MC was funnier. The Brea Improv is pretty swank, though, and the drinks were good.

2. The Interview - This was definitely Saturday. Target had called on Friday and invited me to come in for another interview (I say 'another', but I've never actually had an interview there, even though I've gone for one twice). So I drive over there with Jenn, she goes to pick up Jammie from the hotel, and I tell them to meet me in half an hour. Only that's not how it goes. This fat Ben Affleck-looking motherfucker is interviewing me, and he keeps getting up and going off to do things. In addition to this, I gave them Jenn's Social Security Number when I first applied, and according to the guy, this means I have to fill out the electronic application all over again, including the sixty-odd 'personality' questions at the end. I duly comply, and then he has trouble printing out my application. When we finally get around to the interview, it takes about ten minutes and they offer me a job on the spot. At this point, I have been in Target for two hours, and we're late for...Richard Jeni. Shit, Richard Jeni was Saturday night, not Friday. Anyway, the job offer is conditional on my passing both a background check and a drug test...

3. The Drug Test - The drug test has to be completed within 24 hours of the job offer. What with our date at the Brea Improv, we didn't have time to do it on Saturday night. This was how we ended up stopping off at the clinic on Sunday morning, on our way to Hollywood and then the Dodgers/Nationals game. Except...yes...it didn't turn out that way. See, I'm turning into one of those people that never leaves the house and is always sick, and it seems as though anything above a small amount of food and drink makes me ill these days. Sunday morning found me spending a scary amount of time in the bathroom, so when I got to the clinic and took my little plastic cup into the cubicle, I had nothing in my bladder to fill it with.

Embarrassing, but we're just getting started here. We ended up being stuck at the clinic for over an hour while I consumed vast quantities of liquid and thought about waterfalls. Of course, once my swollen bladder had finally delivered a sample and we'd gotten back on the road, I immediately - having drunk some ten pints of water - needed to piss like a racehorse. So we missed out on going to Hollywood, we were ten minutes late for the ball game, and we had to stop so I could relieve myself six times, two of them by the side of the freeway.

4. The Dodgers - Jammie had purchased some rather awesome tickets for the Dodgers game. We were literally sitting about twenty feet behind home plate. Now, those of you that know me will know that I am not a fan of baseball, but I knew we were going to the game and so I spent the previous week attempting to educate myself by watching the Dodgers get whipped by the Padres on TV. By the time Sunday rolled around, I knew a few of the players and had a better feel for the rules than I'd ever had before. The live atmosphere certainly made it better than watching on TV, and watching the Dodgers (ostensibly 'my' team) come back from two down to win 4-3 was a good time. I'm still not a baseball fan, but I'd definitely go and watch a game again.

5. Santa Monica - By the time we left the baseball game, I was feeling drained and sick. It was turning into a very long day, and when we drove into Santa Monica and found it heaving with people, many of them deeply strange, I felt my temper getting away from me. Man, it was awful. I've honestly never loathed a place so much on first acquaintance. It's a town full of whores, fat tourists, and beggars. The horror.

I knew Jammie wanted to do some touristy stuff (she was, after all, a tourist) and I knew Jenn had wanted Jammie to see the shops and the beach, so I did my best to tag along and tried not to open my mouth too much lest I start screaming insults. My black mood must have been more obvious than I'd realised, though. After asking me several times if I was okay, the two Js clearly had some kind of Michael-less conference while I waited outside a shop, emerging determined to get food and then go home. We duly ate a seriously mood-improving meal at Bubba Gump's before fleeing the area.

6. Jenn's birthday - My lady wife got a year older on Monday, and - in a testament to her youthful hotness - still managed to get carded pretty much every time we tried to buy alcohol. My main present still hadn't (and still hasn't) arrived due to an address mix-up, but Jammie had already bought us both COWBOY BOOTS from Oklahoma, and the cat had contributed in his own inimitable fashion by weeing all over the phone. Actually, one of the best presents I think Jammie got Jenn (and me, to be honest) was having us stay in her hotel room while she was here. The apartment is hot and uncomfortable, and we share it with a furry little motherfucker who wakes me at around 4am most mornings. So getting a couple of awesome nights of sleep in a room with a comfortable bed, a kick-ass shower, and arctic air conditioning did us both more good than I can say.

Jammie contributed more presents on Monday morning, and Jenn had a chance to be delighted with some new clothes before we headed off to the Cheesecake Factory for a massive lunch we weren't even close to finishing. Jammie's final present was season one of Scrubs, and I gave Jenn a book (I Am Legend), a DVD (Party Monster), and a T-shirt (reading 'Bears: #1 Threat To America). Hopefully, my main present will arrive at some point this week.

And that was essentially the end of the weekend. We drove to the airport and left Jammie smoking one final cigarette before her flight home. Next time, the kids are headed to Oklahoma, and they're bringing their cowboy boots.