So last night I met Chuck Palahniuk, acclaimed author of Fight Club although he's written at least six books since then. Not being much of a reader I couldn't tell you the exact number or what they're about. The only reason I even know his name is because of the movie Fight Club, which my friend Joe had told me about in late 1999. I didn't see or speak to Joe very often, not since high school anyway, and I can't recall the circumstances in which it came up. I remember seeing the commercials and deciding it didn't look like anything special. I knew Brad Pitt and Ed Norton were good actors, being a fan of their performances in past films like 12 Monkeys and Primal Fear, and I was definitely a fan of director David Fincher, but for some reason it didn't factor high on my to-do list. It might have had something to do with the fact that I was actively looking to escape from my basement "apartment" in Verplanck at the time, an escape that came around my twenty-third birthday later that same year. Also, most of the critics hated it and it left theaters pretty quickly, an apparent vindication of my initial dismissal of the picture. Whatever the reason I had to pass on Fight Club was, a ringing endorsement from a friend like Joe wasn't going to be ignored. Having come and gone from local multiplexes, we went to see it at the Silver Cinemas near Poughkeepsie.
The movie was everything I could have wanted, especially since I had no idea what it was about beforehand. It presented a cynical and sarcastic look at modern life with a central character that felt like he was going nowhere fast. The story unfolded in an unconventional, unexpected way, almost like Pulp Fiction had done five years earlier. Indeed, part of the impact of Fight Club might be attributed to the fact that I was starved for that particular style of storytelling, as Quentin Tarantino hadn't given me anything in nearly two years (and Jackie Brown hadn't really delivered that feeling anyway). All of the actors were fantastic. Ed Norton's narrative voice-over was humorous and engaging, and Brad Pitt somehow managed to convincingly play a guy who was disgusted by the very male image that Brad Pitt helps to perpetuate in our society. The music was fantastic, featuring no orchestration or pop songs, just a collection of beats and tones that fit perfectly with each scene. The forthcoming innovation of Napster would allow us to download the entire soundtrack a few months later, although at this point I can proudly say I own the actual CD. Since every element of the film was apparently perfect, I felt truly satiated and I thanked Joe for the recommendation.
After only a six-month reign, Fight Club had replaced The Matrix as the coolest movie I had ever seen. I closely identified with the views presented in the film, especially the Narrator's exhausted gripe, "I'm a thirty-year old boy," a sentiment for me that had nothing to do with age and everything to do with feeling aimless. As a twenty-two year old boy, I felt like I had neither potential nor direction in my life. I was watching most of my high school friends graduate (or at least actively pursue) their college degrees while I had just come off a three-year stint working in a movie theater (okay, two movie theaters). I was also about a year into my new job at the Post Office, and few things are more depressing than working in a Post Office surrounded by aged postal workers. I felt pointless and alone and I hadn't considered that anyone else felt the same way. Fight Club didn't make me want to make soap or beat the crap out of my friends, but after seeing a whole movie about grown-up boys who didn't know what to do, it somehow made me feel better about myself.
Flash forward five years to last night. I had seen fliers around campus and a notice on the Student Events website announcing Chuck Palahniuk's appearance and I was psyched. It seems Chuck is merely one of many authors who will be visiting the UAlbany campus this year, part of some kind of "writers' series." If I read more books I suppose I'd be just as excited to meet the other names on the list, but let's face it: I've only read one of Chuck's books and that was only after seeing it in movie form, so the only "writer" who would produce similar excitement for me would be someone like Kevin Smith or Bruce Campbell. The first thing that struck me was the long line outside the Performing Arts Center. I was about a half-hour early and I figured on a crowd but not a line of people outdoors. However, those people were just waiting for Chuck to sign their books. Apparently he was signing items before and after the event, so it was suggested that I just find a seat. I had to submit to an intrusive backpack search, something I'm getting pretty tired of lately as if Al-Qaida could even find Albany on a map. The suggestion had been a good one, as the auditorium was packed, and about five minutes later there was a scarcity of available seats. I immediately regretted not buying something for him to sign and contemplated trying to run to the bookstore, but with only my backpack to hold my seat I dared not leave the building for fear of losing my stuff as well as my seat. I had wisely remembered to bring my camera, so a photo with the author would suffice.
The curtain was drawn and the stage was nearly bare, save for a table and a podium. Chuck was sitting at the table signing away, doing his best to make each fan encounter into a miniature conversation. He was very accommodating, signing multiple copies of books as well as photos, posters, even copies of the Fight Club two-disc DVD set. That pissed me off a little as that was something just sitting in my dorm room, ready to be immortalized by a celebrity autograph. No matter, I reminded myself, just get the photo and you'll still have a story to tell. Chuck signed straight up until eight o'clock (who knows when he started) when the people waiting in line were told to sit down or wait outside so the event could begin. He took a brief offstage break before the event formally began.
The first guy at the podium was an older gentleman who I presume organized the "writers' series" that had gotten Chuck to appear in the first place. He rattled off some names of upcoming guests, no one I had ever heard of. Then he introduced someone to give a "proper introduction" to Chuck, some younger guy from the English department here at UAlbany. His introduction of Chuck wasn't bad, nor did it reveal too much about his work. It was mostly a response to someone's harsh dismissal of Chuck's novel Diary, something that bugged me because I got the sense that Chuck didn't give a shit about critics. His speech was aimed at the more literate fans in attendance, mentioning at least two authors by name that provoked a response from the audience. Meanwhile, I was distracted by his rather obvious homosexuality, which made me wonder about the rumor that Chuck is gay, and then I had to wonder why any of that mattered at all, because it shouldn't. Regardless of the machinations of my gaydar, Chuck's turn to speak came at last.
The first thing Chuck talked about was an extension of a story the gay guy had brought up from Chuck's novel, Choke: whale masturbation. It seems that Keiko the Orca (of Free Willy fame) was a chronic masturbator due to years of living in captivity. He simply didn't know any better and presumably he had never mated. While this hadn't mattered in the movies or in the shithole aquarium he used to inhabit in Mexico, it became an issue when he was relocated (at great expense) to Oregon after the public love-fest that had followed his exposure (no pun intended) in the movies. In particular, the window for observing Keiko swim underwater was his favorite "plaything," which means that the spectators would often be looking directly at Keiko's penis as he rubbed it back and forth on the glass. Chuck compared it to watching a tennis match, which somehow made me laugh even harder than I was already laughing at the visual of schoolchildren staring intently at a whale's dick. The aquarium tried to solve the problem by showing Keiko nothing but porn while the park was closed, hoping that he would jerk himself exhausted and then simply float around in post-climactic bliss during visiting hours. As if this story could be any funnier, I had spotted a young man carrying a small child into the auditorium at the start of Chuck's entrance, and as soon as Chuck began explaining the logistics of whale masturbation he bolted, kid in his arms. Talk about the wrong place at the wrong time to baby-sit!
Believe it not, Chuck wasn't booked to discuss whale masturbation; he was invited to read some of his writing to us. This was an unexpected surprise as I had read almost nothing of what Chuck had written, I had only heard how great it was from Ben, who has read just about everything Chuck has written. The short story Chuck read was called "Guts," from a forthcoming collection of non-fiction stories Chuck had collected and "written" as fiction called Haunted. By "written," I mean that the stories in the book were all true stories that Chuck had transformed into a fictional setting (new names, dates, and so on). Specifically, "Guts" was actually three independent stories linked together by a theme: they all involved unconventional masturbatory circumstances. At this point I realized the Keiko story was actually foreshadowing "Guts" and I wondered if the gay guy had brought up for that reason.
I refuse to elaborate any further details concerning "Guts" other than to describe my reaction, which was a combination of laughing hysterically and wincing with horror. Many others did the same, although I felt like I was laughing a lot more often than the people around me. A couple of people left during the reading and one person supposedly fainted, which Chuck said brought the total number of fainters to fifty-three on this tour. While that may sound ridiculous, you haven't read "Guts" yet.
The reading was followed by a Q&A session which was made crazier by Chuck's gift to each person who asked a question: graphic-looking severed arms and legs made of plastic. I didn't get chosen but I did learn a few things. At this point all of his novels are heading to the screen except for Lullaby, but he doesn't know more detail than that since he, as the original author, is pretty much out of the loop once the rights are sold. The only occasion where a publisher has "censored" his work was Fight Club in that all the homemade recipes for napalm and such were deliberately changed to be false. He seemed to respect their decision but at the same time he was disappointed as he and his brother had spent many hours researching those recipes, often while drunk. The biggest surprise for me wasn't a question or an answer; it was the number of women in attendance. I had made an assumption that, given the "maleness" of most of his work (and the movie), his audience was primarily young men between the ages of 21-41. Instead, his fans (or at least those in attendance) seem to be of all age groups and I saw no disparity between males and females.
Once the arms and legs had run out, the Q&A was over and so was the event. However, Chuck said he would stay as late as necessary to sign everyone's items. I wandered over to wait in line and again regretted that I had nothing for Chuck to sign, save for some random papers in my bag and Thomas More's Utopia. Luckily, someone in line had an extra flyer for the event, so that would make do so long as I got a picture. I also had to think of something to say to Chuck once I got up there, but I felt ignorant since I had barely read any of his work. I figured I would just casually mention that I named my website after him, which would explain why I wanted the personalized dedication to read "Do Not Talk About Feitclub."
Unfortunately, by the time I reached the stage, Chuck was exhausted. He clearly wasn't talking to people as much, and even decided that the only thing he could write at this point would be a name, not a dedication. So I revised mine to simply say "To Mr. Feit" and abandoned any thoughts of mentioning the website. Of course, I then realized I did have a question, one which he hadn't answered and I doubt anyone else had thought to ask: What kind of porn do whales watch? The more I thought about this question, the more I realized that this was probably the last occasion I would have to ask anyone about this and not be dismissed as a pervert. So when my chance came, and the lady who was handling the cameras stepped out of earshot, I asked him.
"I don't really know" was his tired response. It seems I was too late to discuss the peculiarities of giant mammal sexuality. He also probably thought I was some kind of a cheapskate for not bringing a book or anything of value. Before I could think of a sensible response, he shook my hand, posed for the picture and I was off the stage. I was almost disappointed by the experience, but I got a snapshot of us together as well as a signed flyer, so I really couldn't complain. At least, not until I had reached the lobby.
Leaving the auditorium, I suddenly realized what a foolish mistake I had made. They were selling copies of Chuck's books, all of them, right next to the entrance! I hadn't seen the table before due to the crowds, which means I had squandered my (lone?) opportunity to have an autographed copy of Fight Club. Frustrated by my own foolishness, I promptly bought a paperback copy of the book without pictures of the movie's stars on the cover for $15.16 for several reasons. First of all, I had decided during the presentation that I should make a concerted effort to read everything Chuck had written. Secondly, the books sold that night were from a local bookshop, not the campus bookstore nor a large chain like Barnes and Noble. If someone's got to get my money, better the small business than the corporate behemoth. I made verbal note of this, and the salesgirl appreciated the sentiment. And lastly, I knew the first Chuck Palahniuk novel I would buy had to be the one that had the most impact on my life, and that buying it on the same memorable night I got to meet the author would make it seem that much more important.
In hindsight, I suppose it's misleading to say that I "met" Chuck Palahniuk. We didn't hang out together or go drinking or anything like that. I was just an anonymous fan, one of thousands he "meets" every year. However, over the next few days I noticed something. Strangers started approaching me, asking me about that night. Out of the 10,000+ students here at UAlbany, I now had a shared experience with a (relatively) select few. Going to that event was one more step towards integrating myself in my new environment. I didn't meet Chuck; I met his fans and they met me. So thanks again, Mr. Palahniuk, for helping me feel better about myself.
© Copyright 2004 Daniel Feit.