We All Eventually Become Whatever We Pretend

Instead, We Were Given A Publication Called The Weekly Reader, Which Was Like A Newspaper For Four-foot Illiterates.

What My Mom Failed To Understand Was That I Didn't Even Want Long Hair -- I Needed Long Hair. And My Desire For Protracted, Flowing Locks Had Virtually Nothing To Do With Fashion, Nor Was It A Form Of Protest Against The Constructions Of Mainstream Society. My Motivation Was Far More Philosophical. I Wanted To Rock.

I Guess It Really Didn't Even Dawn On Me That You Could Be A Rock Critic As A Job Until I Was Maybe Almost Out Of College. I Knew Criticism Existed. I Read Rolling Stone And Spin. Siskel And Ebert Were On Television. But I Had Absolutely No Idea How To Get That Kind Of Life. And Moreover, It Didn't Interest Me That Much. I Just Sort Of Read Normal Books Growing Up. I Wasn't That Media-conscious. I Felt Like The One Thing I Was Able To Do Was To Listen To A Record And Decide Whether I Liked It.

The Amount Of Response I Get, In Both A Negative And A Positive Context, Is Completely Related To The Amount Of Books I Sell, I Think. It Seems To Have Nothing To Do With What I'm Writing, But What Degree Of Success I'm Perceived To Have.

To Me, Fear Of The Future Means Fear Of Technology. I Have A Little Bit Of That. I Still Use It, But I Kind Of See Technology As This Harmful Thing That's So Ingrained In My Life That It Sort Of Dictates And Controls My Relationship With It.