An Evening with Neal Pollack, the World's Greatest Living Author
On what can only be described as a blessedly historic day for the city of Chicago, Neal Pollack, the Greatest Living American Author (and Prodigal Son) came home. Neal is currently touring in support of both his latest novel, Never Mind the Pollacks: A Rock and Roll Novel, and its accompanying soundtrack (the best rock album since Boston's Third Stage), which is performed at live shows by the Neal Pollack Invasion. Independently, Karen and I both almost cancelled our plans for this outing. Thankfully, destiny (or some sense of obligation) intervened, and on October 16, 2003, we dragged our lazy butts to Wicker Park for a night of literary ecstasy, courtesy of Quimby's Bookstore, (1854 W. North Avenue).
Neal began the evening with an excerpt from Never Mind the Pollacks that was set in the Windy City. If we learned anything from "I am Friends with a Working-Class Black Woman," it's that this man knows how to relate to all peoples everywhere. The passage involved the book's young critic, Neal Pollack, first setting eyes and ears on Clambone Jefferson when he accompanies his father to the Maxwell Street Market. Upon hearing this, the audience roared with laughter, epileptics seized, and several women went into labor. How could Pollack top this feat? The only way possible--by reading more of his original material. The tale of James Osterberg was so enthrallingly mesmerizing that men cried, woman swooned, and scientists cured rickets. And this was only half-time. Whilst reading the Osterberg legend, Neal let the crowd in on a closely-guarded secret: one of his most important creative influences is the classic dialogue from the beloved Hannah-Barbera tour de force, Scooby Doo.
[A note from Karen: First of all, I would just like to explain that I had my game face on during this reading; I had no intention of letting myself be bowled over by Mr. Pollack just because he's funny and talented and successful and personable. I had every intention of demonstrating, at least with my pointed stare, that I could hold my own, even though I've not produced anything creative of note. Yet. But then he started reading, and the laughs that I laughed were real and nonsycophantic, and okay, he won me over within three or four minutes.]
Oh, Neal, you look nothing like your now-legendary picture of you and your cat (fourth photo from the top). Perhaps it was because you are now clean-shaven. Maybe it was because you were fully clothed--damn those pesky indecent exposure laws. Possibly it was due to your not being draped across that lime green, 1970's sofa with a cat at your loins, but you struck us as looking like a member of the Belushi family. A Belushi in a blue cowboy shirt. [And maybe it's just this latest book, but he totally reminded me of Jack Black as well, if he doesn't mind the comparison. --karen]
In an attempt to preserve the mellifluousness of his dulcet speaking voice, the Greatest Living American Author beseeched the good people of Quimby's for a glass of water. A woman brought him beer. "Well there's water in beer," she explained, handing him a Schlitz beer. "And this beer has a lot of water in it," he cleverly retorted.
This was followed by a quick Q+A session, but, first, a few words must be spent on Neal Pollack Fans. What can we say about them? It goes without saying that they have a superior aesthetic for literature. They are also a veritable hotbed of things we at Hit Or Miss like to scorn. They are a tardy tribe. Karen and I arrived on the scene a mere 30 minutes prior to start. We expected standing-room only, hoardes of fellow satire-lovers jam-packed and ready to greet their king. We were wrong. Instead we found three or four rows of about five to six folding chairs set before a sofa on a stage at the back of the store--all of which were empty. We staked a claim--front row, center. Karen worried these were unmarked, yet reserved, seats. Why else would they still be available? [I worry about everything. --karen] I convinced her that nothing would be better than an anecdote about Neal Pollack making us move back a row. We persevered. We sat nestled in the adult comics area silently reading Coraline (Karen) and Maus (me). Occasionally glancing up and seeing such titles as Barefoot and Bondage, Queer Pulp, Housewives, and Doctor, I'm too Big, we wondered why no one else had yet arrived. In short, fans didn't arrive until 10 minutes before the reading at the earliest. By the time things got rolling, there really was standing-room only. See? We knew that would happen.
If Neal Pollack fans are proud of something, they want the whole room to know it. Some guy used to write features for The Onion. One woman wears a size zero, and some people knew Neal Pollack personally. Bully, bully for all of you.
Another fact about Pollack fans is that his audiences for readings and live music shows don't generally overlap. Early in the evening, Neal bade us not to buy the new Enon album and was met with blank, yet adoring, stares from his lust-filled, captive audience. Neal then explained how his followings don't mix. Throughout the extravaganza, he worked to stamp out the skepticism we held for his musical prowess.
Pollack fans are a smidge geography-obsessed. This trend dominated the question-and-answer portion of the evening.
Q: How does it feel, coming back to Chicago?
A: Seeing the skyline was like seeing an ex-girlfriend, a good-looking ex-girlfriend. (Neal went on to say that Chicago is great because you can get a cab and any kind of food you want, anywhere. In Austin, his current home, you can get a good burrito, but that's about it. Also, even with the proposed CTA increase, public transportation is still cheaper here than in New York City. In general, Neal felt bittersweet about being in Chicago.)
Q: Do you live in Williamsburg, Brooklyn? You seem like you know the New York hipster scene pretty well.
A: What are you talking about? No. I go to New York, and I feel old. I am not the self-described "king of the hipsters." This was proved by the Neal Pollack Invasion show in Brooklyn, where there was this large, open space in front of the stage, and maybe ten people huddled in the back.
Q: Didn't you use to live in Philly?
A: Yeah. I wanted to live in a city that didn't have any gentrification. A little gentrification isn't such a bad thing. My first week there, an undercover cop was beaten bloody and left to lie in the street for twenty minutes about half a block from my house. Later, I found a bag of syringes in my yard.
When the questions stopped coming, Neal enraptured us with more reading. This time he shared something he'd written for the seminal issue of Walrus Magazine, which hopes to become the "Harper's of Canada." He showed us its layout and said it was actually going to be the "Atlantic Monthly of Canada." The excerpt was an entertaining explanation of why he wrote and why the children of Canada should write, complete with Canadian spelling!
The reading concluded with an offering from The Neal Pollack Anthology of American Literature. PEN/Faulkner-winner, Pollack, chose to recite "Dateline Columbia," which describes our war on drugs, which still rages today side-by-side with the war on terror. Neal read. Women and men threw granny panties at him as if he were Tom Jones. It wasn't unusual.
And this led to a favorite fan-moment of ours. Chris Farley, well really just a guy straight out of those "Chris Farley Show" sketches on SNL, had a question. "You know that story in the Anthology that ends like Eyes Wide Shut?" [long pause] "Uh, what's that about?" Neal graciously explained (and elucidated his vast intellect) by stating that the story is older, and when Eyes Wide Shut played in theaters, it was funny to end a story just like Kubrick's last film.
Karen and I laughed and scoffed to our hearts' content. We were so glad we came. The evening was a success.
[Final Annoying Note from Karen: I would just like to add here that one might think that a former contributor to McSweeney's would be withering and dismissive and too cool for school, when, in actuality, Neal Pollack is the single friendliest and most approachable published writer whom I have ever (if briefly) met. The selections that he read were hilarious in that grand and epic style of his, and I'm sure his music is well worth the ticket price as well, although Mandy and I couldn't see the show since the Neal Pollack Invasion wasn't scheduled to be on stage until 11, and it was a Thursday night. Sorry, kids.]
--amanda azcona