COLUMNS
Talk Show 9: with Jami Attenberg, Adam Braver, Nina de Gramont, Ann Hood, and Moon Unit Zappa
/ Jaime Clarke
03.02.08
––What do you imagine would happen if you DID visit?
Attenberg: My boyfriend went there last year to work on a documentary where they brought Katrina survivors to meet tsunami survivors. He hung out with lots of amazing Thai people and would go to these small fishing villages where he and his group would be greeted by songs and feasts. It was really a beautiful and important experience for him. But I always attract the Euro hippies, no matter what I do, so I would probably not have the same experience.
Braver: I’m almost certain that I would never sleep. During the day, I might believe the lie that got me there, convincing myself how fortunate I am to be in nature, intellectualizing a rationale about simpler times where all one had was the land, the solitude of spending my days amongst lakes and trees without the confines of the modern world. And for the most part I suspect that could be true. But night would be a different story. Never mind the blow up mattresses that lose their air by the middle of the night. Or negotiating the cold air with the inferno heat of the sleeping bag (or just the sleeping bag!).
Mostly, I imagine laying awake all night, hoping that I don’t have to go the bathroom, because should I need to go, it would mean having to get dressed, finding the flashlight, unzipping the tent, stumbling through a pitch black forest, stealthily avoiding hungry bears, walking in a way where every footstep sounds as though it echoes throughout the entire woods, before getting to a flickeringly fluorescent bathroom where the urinal cakes smell of piss, where there are shivering snakes in the stalls, or, where leaned up against the sink and staring at the ceiling, is a man who is contemplating leaving his family.
de Gramont: I imagine that I would die or witness some terrible, life-altering violence. Or else, I would just be worrying about that happening every minute. When I hear about people bringing their children to Israel I think they must be crazy. It may very well be the last place one earth I would ever bring my child, which is sad, because I'd love for her to see it. I'd love to see it myself.
Hood: Katmandu sounds exotic, even exciting. But I imagine that if I went to Nepal and trekked, I would fall from the Himalayas to my death. No. I don't imagine that would happen. I'm certain it would happen.
Zappa: That once I was debriefed, I'd be on every talk show and asked A LOT of questions I couldn’t answer truthfully, to the point I’d be more famous than the sun, more famous than Posh and Beckham even, but as internally conflicted as the middle east. At that point, at least I’d be known as an ambassador––no, better––emissary of earth and I could retire on the spin-off merchandise, bio pics, and endorsements.
Attenberg: My boyfriend went there last year to work on a documentary where they brought Katrina survivors to meet tsunami survivors. He hung out with lots of amazing Thai people and would go to these small fishing villages where he and his group would be greeted by songs and feasts. It was really a beautiful and important experience for him. But I always attract the Euro hippies, no matter what I do, so I would probably not have the same experience.
Braver: I’m almost certain that I would never sleep. During the day, I might believe the lie that got me there, convincing myself how fortunate I am to be in nature, intellectualizing a rationale about simpler times where all one had was the land, the solitude of spending my days amongst lakes and trees without the confines of the modern world. And for the most part I suspect that could be true. But night would be a different story. Never mind the blow up mattresses that lose their air by the middle of the night. Or negotiating the cold air with the inferno heat of the sleeping bag (or just the sleeping bag!).
Mostly, I imagine laying awake all night, hoping that I don’t have to go the bathroom, because should I need to go, it would mean having to get dressed, finding the flashlight, unzipping the tent, stumbling through a pitch black forest, stealthily avoiding hungry bears, walking in a way where every footstep sounds as though it echoes throughout the entire woods, before getting to a flickeringly fluorescent bathroom where the urinal cakes smell of piss, where there are shivering snakes in the stalls, or, where leaned up against the sink and staring at the ceiling, is a man who is contemplating leaving his family.
de Gramont: I imagine that I would die or witness some terrible, life-altering violence. Or else, I would just be worrying about that happening every minute. When I hear about people bringing their children to Israel I think they must be crazy. It may very well be the last place one earth I would ever bring my child, which is sad, because I'd love for her to see it. I'd love to see it myself.
Hood: Katmandu sounds exotic, even exciting. But I imagine that if I went to Nepal and trekked, I would fall from the Himalayas to my death. No. I don't imagine that would happen. I'm certain it would happen.
Zappa: That once I was debriefed, I'd be on every talk show and asked A LOT of questions I couldn’t answer truthfully, to the point I’d be more famous than the sun, more famous than Posh and Beckham even, but as internally conflicted as the middle east. At that point, at least I’d be known as an ambassador––no, better––emissary of earth and I could retire on the spin-off merchandise, bio pics, and endorsements.