the obvious." So British comedian Russell Brand describes one credo, his refusal to respond to women when they say nothing but instead "make a lot of noise, aggressively clumping about" in order to force you to ask them what's wrong.
Mr. Brand would certainly never resort to such tactics, not with his way with words, which I experienced with increasing delight during an interview with Scott Simon on NPR. This is a man who, when he leaves you with the phrase "lovely talking with you" has probably done most of the lovely talking, and he's not hard on the eyes, either. He describes his childhood as "tumultuous," his discovery (through acting and comedy) that "life doesn't have to be a maudlin trudge through misery...it can be a right laugh," and his preference for the very specific craving for heroin over a generalized feeling that life could be improved by, oh, I dunno "new wallpaper, or a cat, or fellatio."
The interview was prompted by the publication of his autobiography, and I twas charmed by his admission that writing is "difficult, innit, you've just got to be dilligent and fastidious, and churn out the words. I think My Booky Wook's got 90,000 words in it." Dilligent and fastidious, such a wonderful combination, the first naive and trustworthy, the second refined, discriminating, even scornful. What happens when the clerk and the aristocrat combine forces to tell a story?
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