What the hell is your problem? I read Generation X, I liked it. I read Microserfs. It practically formed my opinion of what living in a geek-commune tech company should be like. It was the first book that was recommended to me by a peer that wasn’t utter filth. My memories of that book are inextricably linked to the memories of my Performa 400 and late nights showing people how to zmodem down porn from AzTec and my first 17″ monitor and full height, 5.25″ one gigabyte hard drives bought from onsale.com and watching Akira four times in a row and dry humping and milkshakes and bondage, laserdiscs of 2001 and the first time I thought I was in love and normal.
And now jPod.
As an author it must feel awesome when you decide to write yourself into a book. It’s the only thing I can think of. It must be like some kind of sweet release/tantric writing experience where you just imagine how awesome it’s gonna be. It ain’t. I haven’t read a single book where the author shows up (especially after as many fucking vaguely self-aggrandizing namechecks as you pulled) and not had my HACK ALERT go off. This was no different, Doug. I was tired of you being in the book around the incredibly stilted “They failed to credit me with Melrose Place” conversation, and was ready to scream around the time they were talking about how drinking Zima was such a Coupland thing to do. When you showed up on the plane? I was fucking ready to vomit. And then you just KEPT DOING IT. Did you read the last three Dark Tower books and go “Hey, Steve managed to do that with grace and style, it’s a new era where readers are totally cool with this.”? Because no, he didn’t do it with grace and style. He did it with the same sort of ratcheting, mechanical, contractually obligated put-on-a-rubber-let’s-get-this-shit-over-with attitude that normally accompanies this sort of schlock. Fucking hell.
Did you quit cocaine? That will make it OK. Just release a book where you explain how you quit coke and I’ll forgive you just like I forgave Mr. King. Some of his new stuff is even good! It’s not quite as good as his old stuff, but hey, what are you gonna do? Or maybe it was heroin. Whatever. I’d be willing to overlook some of this if you admitted you were addicted to airplane glue or lottery scratchers. But unless you explain pretty verbosely why you realized you hit bottom when you were having dog-sex in front of a crowd for lines of aspartame, I’m not sure I can forgive you.
Love and snuggles,