You have the same name as the famous
Yes. It’s haunted me my whole life. I didn’t invent the Moog.
OK. What did you invent?
I studied computer science in college and tried to write my own word processor. A vegan alternative to MS-Word.
Were you successful?
More successful than I’d hoped, in fact. I made a functioning program. But I never released it. It was the kind of experimental creation you might use yourself, but you wouldn’t want to force on someone else.
I feel that way about cooking sometimes — I’ll make some experimental goulash that I force down myself, but I wouldn’t dare serve to others.
That’s fascinating. Tell me more about your home cooking.
You’re being sarcastic.
I’m sorry. Marijuana gives me insomnia, and sleep deprivation makes me hostile.
Where do you write your poems?
In a web-based blog-post text editor.
Because / of the Internet
Have you ever had sex with enjambment?
You mean have I ever had sex with a poetic technique? With a formal element of verse?
Answer the question
Brooding on bloodless bosoms, I wince into tears.
Have you ever read Brodsky?
Have you ever read Mouthsky?
You made that up.
When I read a typo in any published text, even if it’s published online, I think of it as an excuse to stop reading.
I love hearing about your preferences. What other preferences do you have?
I was making my way to a question.
I’m so sorry for stopping you. Please, continue. Listening to you speak is exhilirating. Your mind is crystalline, adamantine, lush, tropical, gorgeous. Your face is a Jean Rhys novel.
Looks like that’s all the time we have. Thank you for “granting” me this interview.
No, come on, let’s keep going. I didn’t mean to bristle so hard. Remember the sleep-deprivation. I’ll unbridle in a sec.
“Remember the Neediest!”
Those little blurbs from the New York Times? Yes, I love those, too. It’s an odd thing, isn’t it, to say I “love” the NYT’s space-filling public-service exhortations? Ones, I should add, that I, and I assume you, never actually act upon?
I like to think that I remember the neediest.
Do you merely remember them, or, having remembered them, do you act on your memory of the neediest—and help them?
I help them by remembering them.
How does your memory help them?
No publicity is bad publicity.
I don’t see your point.
“Remember the neediest” is an advertising campaign to get you to contribute to the charities the Times chooses. And the whole point of any ad campaign is consciousness-raising. Or consciousness-penetration. So if I remember the neediest, the campaign is successful.
You’re right that the cognitive or cultural part of advertising is essential, but you’re forgetting about the part where they want your money.
I know about that part.
“Remember the Neediest!” only works if your memory extends to a donation.
How is giving money to one of their charities “remembering”?
It’s a different sense of the word remember. It’s like, “Remember me well, / down at the old Jesuit wardrobe.”
What’s that a quote from?
It’s a famous line from a famous poem you’re pretty dense not to have heard of.
Oh. What poem?
Look it up.
The only thing that comes up is this blog post.
You got me: I made it up. Alls I mean is you can “remember” someone in more ways than just by holding them in your thoughts.
Can I “remember” someone by having sex with them?
Can I “remember” someone by having lunch with them?
Can I “remember” someone by taking a remedial Spanish class from them?
Can I “remember” someone by hurting their feelings?
Can I “remember” someone by sending them a thoughtful note?
You know, I think it’s actually “Do not forget the neediest!” Not “Remember the neediest!”
Crap, you’re right. They might run both versions, actually.