I ambushed you, Michael Chabon, at Powell’s and babbled about how much I appreciated your thoughts on genre and how you led me to Ursula Le Guin and science fiction broadly, but never mentioned that you are my favorite writer. I hope you consider your humbling encounters when you recall the awkwardness of folks like us, your biggest fans.
Ambushed is apt, there's no warning, even if, as I was, waiting in line to have the author sign her book. i'd felt cozy and close reading it and was completely relaxed, waited at the end of the line so there was no pressure and was completely star struck when Miranda July shined her big blues on me. It was at Dog Eared Books and the crowd was so big she had had to climb on top of a bookcase in order to be seen. I was once on the other end of it sitting in the car by Peet's on Piedmont when someone rushed to the window having mistaken me for William Gaddis. Always your fan since Wonder Boys and the movie in which someone smokes a joint like a normal person after how many years of that being edited out...what drug reference. I do remember sitting by you and your wife at a dance recital when our kids were very young perhaps only five and having the 'just like normal people' experience, the realization of the obvious that you don't lead your entire life from a first person/omnivorous perspective. Took my girlfriend to audition for Yoko Ono's film where a fly crawls around on a woman's body. I was instructed to wait in the makeshift foyer, a bath towel hung by the door in a loft on the Bowery. John and Yoko were quite nearby and I had the dopey moment thinking, 'he sounds just like John Lennon'. Er...yeah.
If you feel any better, when I was a teen and had a campus radio show, I complimented Margo Timmins on the amazing reinterpretation she and the Cowboy Junkies did of Sweet Jane only for her to school me on the fact it was taken from a VU live recording. In my defense, I was young and going on partial music exposure, and she was polite, or bemused at my naivete, but I knew in that moment I needed to do much more homework.
I know Holland isn't one of the BB's most highly regarded albums (having seemed to suffer by comparison to Pet Sounds and Surf's Up) but for my money it's one of their best. And the contributions of Ricky Fataar and Blondie Chaplin are probably the reasons why. They shook things up, something that was definitely called for at that point in the life of the Boys. I think your interaction with Ricky tracks with what everyone says about him--incredibly talented and incredibly humble. And anyone who plays with Bonnie for all those years, well, game knows game. Glad you got to meet him.
Wow!! When we first heard"See the Light" on the radio,my friends and I hopefully proclaimed them the next Beatles! And then later,with the Rutles''I was telling people with puzzled expressions " You don't understand!! He was in The Flame"!!
With your generosity in being on Substack,I feel like I'm ambushing you right now,as though I saw you at the snack bar if our local drive-in.I need to just go ahead and say you're my favorite living writer( of the other sort,that would be Robert Louis Stevenson)In one of your earlier posts you talked about the importance of the sentence.I agree because the reason that I re- read a book is bound up in experiencing the sentences again.I enjoy your non- fiction as much as your fiction and so far my favorite re- read is Telegraph Avenue followed by Summerland ,I haven't re read them all
.Can I be so bold as to recommend a ( short!) one? "Two A.M.at the Cat's Pyjamas",by Marie-Helene Bertino.It was the first time I ever finished a book and immediately went back to the first page and read it again straight through.I carried it around for weeks reading aloud to anyone who would listen .I've done that with a couple of yours too :)It has one of the finest first paragraphs I've ever read.
I can't wait for the new book!
( My local library,by the way,is ordering" Kingdom of Olive and Ash.I feel like it's high time I read it)
Ha! Reminds me of when I met Neil Innes outside a venue in New York with a comedian friend who was a huge fan. I'd seen The Rutles but didn't recognize him. So as my friend sputtered praise, I was at his side doing a sort of Stan Laurel finger wave. Which is my usual reaction to encountering fame, to avoid growling, "you fucking Legend!" with a thumbs up and rapid departure...
Happy to see that even a highly praised writer can become as tongue tied as I was in passing Dizzy Gillespie in the hallway as I headed for the men's room. Next time I'm urged to go up and say something to an artist I admire, I'll ask myself, What about what Michael Chabon would do?
This is so true. And it's nice to think you know exactly how I felt when I suddenly and unexpectedly got to have a word with you, here on Substack! Thanks for all of it.
Growing up in Seattle, I experienced this same linguistic collapse when Chris Cornell patronized my dad’s restaurant. Meeting a hero is a race to see if your gratitude can outrun your sudden inability to speak English.
That's amazing! The Blondie and Ricky era is vastly underrated. I love Holland, and Carl and the Passions has some cool tracks. They were a part of the Beach Boys when they were probably at their platonic ideal as a live act, playing a deep set list of the classics and the great songs of the late 60s/early 70s that the die-hards loved. Beach Boys never get enough credit for being one of the rare multiracial bands of that time. Carl, I believe, helped recruit them both when The Flame were playing in England.
When I rode in an elevator with Henry Winkler, I managed to stay completely quiet. Should I ever run into Michael Chabon, I'm sure I will babble like a brook.
I once stood in line to meet Ray Bradbury and all I could come up with is “I loved your books when I was a kid.” What I meant was “your stories are a part of me.” And the same to you, sir.
Happy to see that even a highly praised writer can become as tongue tied as I was in passing Dizzy Gillespie in the hallway as I headed for the men's room. Next time I'm urged to go up and say something to an artist I admire, I'll ask myself, What about what Michael Chabon would do?
I ambushed you, Michael Chabon, at Powell’s and babbled about how much I appreciated your thoughts on genre and how you led me to Ursula Le Guin and science fiction broadly, but never mentioned that you are my favorite writer. I hope you consider your humbling encounters when you recall the awkwardness of folks like us, your biggest fans.
☺️
Ambushed is apt, there's no warning, even if, as I was, waiting in line to have the author sign her book. i'd felt cozy and close reading it and was completely relaxed, waited at the end of the line so there was no pressure and was completely star struck when Miranda July shined her big blues on me. It was at Dog Eared Books and the crowd was so big she had had to climb on top of a bookcase in order to be seen. I was once on the other end of it sitting in the car by Peet's on Piedmont when someone rushed to the window having mistaken me for William Gaddis. Always your fan since Wonder Boys and the movie in which someone smokes a joint like a normal person after how many years of that being edited out...what drug reference. I do remember sitting by you and your wife at a dance recital when our kids were very young perhaps only five and having the 'just like normal people' experience, the realization of the obvious that you don't lead your entire life from a first person/omnivorous perspective. Took my girlfriend to audition for Yoko Ono's film where a fly crawls around on a woman's body. I was instructed to wait in the makeshift foyer, a bath towel hung by the door in a loft on the Bowery. John and Yoko were quite nearby and I had the dopey moment thinking, 'he sounds just like John Lennon'. Er...yeah.
If you feel any better, when I was a teen and had a campus radio show, I complimented Margo Timmins on the amazing reinterpretation she and the Cowboy Junkies did of Sweet Jane only for her to school me on the fact it was taken from a VU live recording. In my defense, I was young and going on partial music exposure, and she was polite, or bemused at my naivete, but I knew in that moment I needed to do much more homework.
I know Holland isn't one of the BB's most highly regarded albums (having seemed to suffer by comparison to Pet Sounds and Surf's Up) but for my money it's one of their best. And the contributions of Ricky Fataar and Blondie Chaplin are probably the reasons why. They shook things up, something that was definitely called for at that point in the life of the Boys. I think your interaction with Ricky tracks with what everyone says about him--incredibly talented and incredibly humble. And anyone who plays with Bonnie for all those years, well, game knows game. Glad you got to meet him.
Yes, yes, yes, and yes.
Oh,and I think the Badfinger observation is apt.I saw them open for the Guess Who! But I was there for Badfinger.
Wow!! When we first heard"See the Light" on the radio,my friends and I hopefully proclaimed them the next Beatles! And then later,with the Rutles''I was telling people with puzzled expressions " You don't understand!! He was in The Flame"!!
With your generosity in being on Substack,I feel like I'm ambushing you right now,as though I saw you at the snack bar if our local drive-in.I need to just go ahead and say you're my favorite living writer( of the other sort,that would be Robert Louis Stevenson)In one of your earlier posts you talked about the importance of the sentence.I agree because the reason that I re- read a book is bound up in experiencing the sentences again.I enjoy your non- fiction as much as your fiction and so far my favorite re- read is Telegraph Avenue followed by Summerland ,I haven't re read them all
.Can I be so bold as to recommend a ( short!) one? "Two A.M.at the Cat's Pyjamas",by Marie-Helene Bertino.It was the first time I ever finished a book and immediately went back to the first page and read it again straight through.I carried it around for weeks reading aloud to anyone who would listen .I've done that with a couple of yours too :)It has one of the finest first paragraphs I've ever read.
I can't wait for the new book!
( My local library,by the way,is ordering" Kingdom of Olive and Ash.I feel like it's high time I read it)
Ha! Reminds me of when I met Neil Innes outside a venue in New York with a comedian friend who was a huge fan. I'd seen The Rutles but didn't recognize him. So as my friend sputtered praise, I was at his side doing a sort of Stan Laurel finger wave. Which is my usual reaction to encountering fame, to avoid growling, "you fucking Legend!" with a thumbs up and rapid departure...
Happy to see that even a highly praised writer can become as tongue tied as I was in passing Dizzy Gillespie in the hallway as I headed for the men's room. Next time I'm urged to go up and say something to an artist I admire, I'll ask myself, What about what Michael Chabon would do?
This is so true. And it's nice to think you know exactly how I felt when I suddenly and unexpectedly got to have a word with you, here on Substack! Thanks for all of it.
Growing up in Seattle, I experienced this same linguistic collapse when Chris Cornell patronized my dad’s restaurant. Meeting a hero is a race to see if your gratitude can outrun your sudden inability to speak English.
"Meeting a hero is a race to see if your gratitude can outrun your sudden inability to speak English." Well, damn! That's a great way of phrasing it.
Good to know that having been on the other side of it doesn’t make you any better at being an adoring and flustered fan.
That's amazing! The Blondie and Ricky era is vastly underrated. I love Holland, and Carl and the Passions has some cool tracks. They were a part of the Beach Boys when they were probably at their platonic ideal as a live act, playing a deep set list of the classics and the great songs of the late 60s/early 70s that the die-hards loved. Beach Boys never get enough credit for being one of the rare multiracial bands of that time. Carl, I believe, helped recruit them both when The Flame were playing in England.
When I rode in an elevator with Henry Winkler, I managed to stay completely quiet. Should I ever run into Michael Chabon, I'm sure I will babble like a brook.
I once stood in line to meet Ray Bradbury and all I could come up with is “I loved your books when I was a kid.” What I meant was “your stories are a part of me.” And the same to you, sir.
Happy to see that even a highly praised writer can become as tongue tied as I was in passing Dizzy Gillespie in the hallway as I headed for the men's room. Next time I'm urged to go up and say something to an artist I admire, I'll ask myself, What about what Michael Chabon would do?
And here I didn’t even know he had been a stand-in Beach Boy. Brilliant casting as George, too.