How Constricted Is YOUR Anus?

Hi again.

Sorry about falling off the face of the planet. I had every intention of filing a new blog report at some point over the last month, but somehow I never got around to it. I spent a good chunk of early July at my family's cottage in northern Michigan, where online access (much less a working phone) is a rarity. Not being able to check my email was, I'll admit, a frightening experience, but it was ultimately satisfying to take a break from civilization. It did, however, mean socializing almost solely with my family, who are - and I mean this in the most affectionate way possible - fucking crazy. I'd go into more detail but, well, I don't want to get all David Sedaris on them, as a few of them actually read this thing and might not appreciate the public mockery.

Here's an example from two of the non-human-and-therefore-least-likely-to-complain family members: My brother's dogs - a pair of adorable pugs named Papageno and Papagena (yes, they were named after characters from "The Magic Flute") - regularly enforce something called the "Pug Tax." Here's how it works: When my brother or his wife cooks an omelet, they are required to give at least one egg to both pugs. Similarly, if they eat a banana, they must share it with the pugs, giving them, as my brother calls it, "roughly 20%." Strangely, this Pug Tax doesn't apply to any other foods. Just eggs and bananas. The pugs have come to expect it, and they freak out if either food is served and they don't get their fair share.
 

KEEP ON READIN'

Well, during one ill-fated morning, I made the mistake of cooking eggs and completely forgetting to pay the Pug Tax. Actually, that's not true. I remembered it, I just decided not to pay. I have a hard time being bullied by anybody who a) doesn't possess opposable thumbs, or b) could be drop-kicked like a football. The pugs were none too pleased with my blatant egg tax evasion, and started howling and running around the kitchen, head-butting my leg and even snarling at me. My brother explained that they weren't really barking, they were just "auditing" me. He also informed me that when he returned to New York, he would probably have to fork over an entire carton of eggs just to pay off the interest on my back taxes. I assume he was kidding, but who knows?

Anyway, enough about my strange family. Back to business. Those of you who check this blog regularly (all three of you) are probably curious about what's been happening with the book. Has the Fast Forward publicity machine returned with the force of a blitzkrieg, as promised? Have I been coaxed into doing more radio interviews, where I invariably swear like a drunken wino and inflict unsuspecting DJs with any number of FCC fines? What's the deal with the porn-writing contest? How has the conflict between Israel and Lebanon effected the market for books about porn, if at all? As it is "getting hot in here," global-warming wise, and as Nelly once predicted, a reasonable person might feel inclined to "take off all yer clothes," does that mean that Fast Forward is the only logical summer read for a sweaty and naked (and, if you watch the news, utterly terrified) nation?

Alas, there's not much to report. There are still plots for an east coast leg of my book tour, but no firm dates or venues have been picked. In the meantime, the good folks at Powell's have been kind enough to publish a shortish essay that I wrote about my experiences on the road. It's more of a Q&A, which is just code for "I'm too damn lazy to write an actual essay so I'm just going to interview myself and call it a day." Those of you who've read this blog in the past will be familiar with some of the stories, like the creepy porn fan and his banana-eating antics, and my aversion to porn scripts involving zombie sororities. But it's still worth a read, especially if you're interested in getting a peek at the original cover for Fast Forward, which once included a pair of hairless testicles. I'm still not sure what we were thinking. Has there ever been a best-selling book that featured balls on the cover? I doubt it. Fortunately, the publisher and I came to our senses at the last minute and excised the offending image before it went to press (or, as we say in publishing, we "neutered" it.) But if you've ever wondered what a pencil eraser's nutsack might look like, this is your chance to find out.

Speaking of Powell's, I assume that most of you are already familiar with this literary superpower. Their website alone makes Amazon look like a kid's lemonade stand. And if you ever have the opportunity to make the pilgrimage to Portland to visit their actual bookstore, holy hell, I implore you, do so immediately. You will not be disappointed. If your idea of a good time involves getting hopelessly lost in a maze of obscure books that you never knew existed, then Powell's will be like finding the promised land. I was fortunate enough to do a reading at Powell's last May, and I still haven't fully recovered.

My reading was at their Hawthorne location - which, it should be noted, is just one of five different Powell's bookstores in the Portland area. That's right, five. One of them is devoted entirely to cookbooks. Not just a section, mind you, but an entire store with nothing but books about cooking. I don't even know how to compute something like that. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if Powell's eventually bought every building in the greater Portland area and became their own self-governing colony. Within the next decade, entire city blocks could be completely torn down and replaced with bookshelves. Alberta Street will soon be renamed "Nonfiction, L-P."

I walked away from Powell's with more books than I could possibly read in a lifetime. Kevin Sampsell, my good friend and the editor of Future Tense Press (who, full disclousure, also published my book), is the store's small press curator, and he was kind enough to recommend a few titles that, I'm ashamed to admit, I was utterly unaware of. Like what, you ask? Well, like Hiroyuki Nishigaki's How to Good-Bye Depression: If You Constrict Anus 100 Times Everyday. Malarkey? or Effective Way? This is, by far, the most entertaining and informative book I've ever read on the subject of anus-constricting. It includes my single favorite sentence ever put on paper: "Besides shooting out a big blank from your buttock, you can feel as if your root chakra leaked sweet hot mucus." Wow. I've read this several times and I still have no freakin' idea what the hell he's talking about. He may have intended it as medical advice, but to me it reads like poetry. Seriously. Look at it again and see if you don't agree:

Besides shooting out
A big blank from your buttock
You can feel as if
Your root chakra
Leaked
Sweet hot mucus

I've been practicing his methods over the last few days, and to answer the rhetorical question posed in the subtitle, it is effective way, not malarkey. I have yet to expel anything from my root chakra that resembles sweet hot mucus, and I'm not sure if I've begin to "erase the dirty stickiness" of my body, as Nishigaki promised. But I do feel healthier. And it's so much easier than, say, yoga, which requires at least some physical dexterity and a serious time commitment. Keep your lotus position, bitches, I'm gonna stick to exercise that can be done anywhere, at any time, without anyone being the wiser. It's perfect for those of us who enjoy multi-tasking. In fact, I'm clenching my sphincter even as I write this.

Hold on, hold on.... yeaaaaaah, there it is. That's the stuff. Mmmm.