Mark St. Amant talks to author (and former college band-mate) Andy Abramowitz about his debut novel THANK YOU, GOODNIGHT, risk-taking, crying, adoption, and the confusing appeal of Lou Reed.
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The year was 1990 and we called ourselves “The Super Groovy Love Boat Band.”
Why?
Who knows. The Love Boat had been canceled three years prior. And we were anything but “super,” let alone “groovy.” I guess, like a lot of things that year—Saddam Hussein invading Kuwait, Vanilla Ice, parachute pants, Lambada (both the movie and the dance itself), driving an Exxon oil tanker through way-too-shallow Alaskan waters—it (A) just seemed like a good idea at the time and (B) was probably inspired by copious amounts of alcohol (more like definitely in James Hazelwood’s case).
But that was our oh-so-whimsical band name, and we were sticking with it. Five guys: Charlie on drums; The Pearl on bass; Andy Goldenberg on lead guitar; I was the “singer” (loose term) and rhythm guitarist who knew just enough chords to be laughably dangerous; and on keyboards and vocals, a wry, studious kid from Baltimore named Andy Abramowitz.
We played gigs at our fraternity and…well, our fraternity. I don’t recall being able to get booked anywhere else in public. For money. By other people. Not that we weren’t good—I think we did some justice to Tom Petty, Pink Floyd and R.E.M—but it was never going to be anything one might call a “profession.” Except, that is, for the Andys. They had both sustainable musical talent and actual musical ambition. After college they became a duo and put out an album. A pretty good one, too, as I recall. But not much happened with it beyond the local bar circuit, far as I know. Life caught up. They moved on. Abramowitz went to law school in Maryland and later joined a firm in Philly. Got married. Had kids. Grew up. Became a “responsible adult.” You know the drill. But little did I know, Andy also liked to write stuff besides music and lyrics. And it turns out he’s quite good at it.
Because now, twenty-five-years later, here I am interviewing my former keyboardist about his debut, music-themed novel, “Thank You, Goodnight.”
Appropriately enough, it’s about a onetime rock star-turned-reluctant lawyer-turned maybe possibly back into a rock star, and it’s being praised by everyone from Billboard, The Washington Post and Businessweek to Kirkus Reviews, Booklist and the one and only Rick Springfield. It’s one of those summer page-turners that also has a complex character-driven brain, heart, sense of humor, and soul. That makes you wonder what you’re doing with your life. And why. And, perhaps more confounding, why not. That’s equal parts absurd and serious, neurotic and grounded. That deftly crowbars heavy questions out of your subconscious—What will my legacy be? Why do I do what I love, or why not? What’s the price of chasing a dream?—and slams them down on your chest like a lead radiation blanket, while also making you laugh your ass off despite their potentially stifling gravity.
In short—terrible pun completely intended—Andy’s book rocks. Sorry. Had to. Oh, shut up, you would have, too.
Anyway, before you delve into the Q&A, I hope I’m not overselling it when I say—and I’d honestly say this even if I didn’t know Andy personally—that this is hands down my favorite Man-to-Man yet. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so much at, or appreciated the obvious thought and care put into, someone’s answers. So I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Which you now probably won’t because I did, totally oversell it. Like when someone says “No offense, but…” just before they brazenly offend you.
But, hey, at least I didn’t call it super groovy.
Mark for The Good Men Project:
First, huge congratulations on “Thank You, Goodnight.” The reviews have been generally great. And rightly so. Comparisons to Nick Hornby and Jonathan Tropper abound. Have there been any criticism or reviews that have surprised you so far (in either a good or bad way)?
Andy:
Thanks a lot, Mark. I’m so grateful for all the good reviews, and far be it from me to discourage anyone from comparing me to Nick Hornby or J-Trop. I’m a huge fan of both. As for surprises, any positive review shocks me. That was a joke. (Sort of.) Actually, a couple of reviews have called it a quick read, which I’m trying to look at as a selling point: if you hate it, don’t worry – it’ll be over soon. The quick read thing doesn’t really bother me, but it does seem incongruous with the experience of writing the book. It was not a quick write.
I’m also surprised every time someone deems the book “male.” I’ll grant you it’s not quite Bridget Jones’ Diary, but to me, this book is as much about Teddy’s relationships with Sara and Mackenzie – both of whom are non-male – as it is about his drive to be a rock star again.
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Good Men Project:
Okay, Andy [lights incense, puts on Tangerine Dream and/or Brian Eno] lean back on the couch and just relaxxxx . . . what was your childhood like? Parents? Siblings? Pets? Fights? Broken bones? Broken hearts?
Andy:
Uh-oh. Eno always takes me back to my dark past. Settle in, here we go…
My childhood was great. I was raised up by two wonderful parents who appear to have inflicted minimal emotional distress upon my older brother, younger sister, and me. I grew up in Barry Levinson’s Baltimore, not David Simon’s. It was your typical suburban American upbringing, replete with little league, piano lessons, Intellivision (definitely not Atari), Genesis tapes, and obviously the mall.
I apologize because I know it doesn’t make for a particularly compelling interview, but my youth was pretty smooth. My folks remained alive and married to each other through all of it. No incarcerations or involuntary admissions to mental health facilities. The usual insecurities that bedeviled a boy coming of age in the ‘80s certainly nipped at my heels, but I always had good friends, and there were even one or two girls with the necessary self-esteem deficit to allow themselves to be called my girlfriend.
Okay. Whew. I feel better now. It was very helpful to get all that off my chest.
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The Good Men Project:
When was the last time you cried, and why?
Andy:
It was a few weeks ago when the girl in Inside Out was lonely and missing Minnesota. I cried over a frickin’ cartoon. Damn those manipulative Pixar people.
I cry all the time now. It’s just humiliating. I was biking with my two daughters last weekend and got teary-eyed thinking about them going off to college. They’re 12 and 9; they don’t even have their applications in yet. Also, my wife and I are watching Parenthood, and I just sit there trying not to sniffle or wipe my eyes for fear of ridicule. When I grow up, I want to be Craig T. Nelson. Who knew Coach had serious acting chops?
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The Good Men Project:
What advice would the fortysomething Andy give the teenage Andy?
Andy:
“Parents aren’t the most reliable source of fashion advice. You get to tell the barber what you want. It’s your hair.”
I would tell the little twerp to take more risks. When I was 25, a close friend of mine took his life. I think he was struggling, feeling pretty lost, but ironically, only a few weeks before he died, we were talking about life and he said, “Look, it’s not where you are when you’re 25, it’s where you are when you’re 45.” That made a lot of sense to me – still does – even though he apparently wasn’t able to hang on to that kind of perspective.
My point is that I think it’s really hard to irreversibly screw up your life before the age of about 35, so you shouldn’t be afraid to let the winds carry you a bit. Not that I was some sort of meek wallflower cowering in the corner. I had a good old time, but I tended to be preoccupied with rules and with keeping myself on a positive, productive trajectory. I didn’t realize that there was plenty of time to “make something of myself” later.
So, if I happened upon teenage Andy now – and I’d spot him a mile away, with that half-ass mullet and stone-washed jeans – I’d wink at him and say, “F!%# the curfew, man. It’s fine.”
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The Good Men Project:
You and our mutual college friend (Andy Goldenberg) released what in prehistoric times was called a “compact disc” of original music back in the ‘90’s—and called yourselves “The Junction,” which will sound very familiar to those who’ve read the book. And your “day job” is an attorney. Obviously, these experiences played into the creation of your main character, Teddy Tremble. But where did the rest of the story arc and characters come from?
Andy:
Actually, before we did that “compact disc” you speak of, Andy Goldenberg and I had a demo “tape,” which, some may recall, was a cassette. They’re difficult to describe other than to say that they played noisy, hissy music and car stereos loved to eat them and drool them out.
I did draw on our musical adventures (misadventures, really) in writing many of the chapters. But the basic story originated from a work trip I took to London years ago. Much like Teddy Tremble in the book, I had a few spare hours and visited the Tate Modern. I happened upon a photography exhibit with people who were all seemingly unaware that they were being photographed. I started to think, “How would it feel to discover one’s own image being used as part of an art exhibit?” To most of us, I think it’d be a hoot. But if you were slightly more well-known than the average bear, as Teddy was, and you weren’t being presented in the most positive light, you might start to ask yourself some weighty questions about how the world perceives you – and whether there’s anything you can do about it. I walked out of that exhibit that day certain that there was a story in there. And that somehow it involved a trip to Switzerland.
As for the characters, I knew early on that there had to be a buffoon. Teddy took the music very seriously, and he was carrying around this ugly chip on his shoulder, so we needed a big, fat, good-natured clod to both irritate and loosen him up a bit. And why not a predilection for pot and Southern Comfort? Thus was born Jumbo. And he needed to be, like, the best guitar player ever or else Teddy wouldn’t have bothered.
I needed a Warren (the drummer) to be the adult in the band, the guy who’d moved on with his life and who was always dropping perspective into Teddy’s lap.
And bassist Mackenzie, the one-time love interest, had to be cool and slightly aloof. I won’t give anything away to the few remaining human beings on the planet who haven’t read the book, but I wanted the reader to be conflicted about who Teddy should end up with, so I was careful not to write him a dream girl.
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The Good Men Project:
When/where was the first time you saw an actual copy of THANK YOU in public and who was the first person you called?
Andy:
About a week before the book came out, my family and I were strolling through the streets of Philadelphia. We walked into the Barnes & Noble on Rittenhouse Square and there on the New Releases table were some copies of Thank You, Goodnight. It caught me off-guard since the publication date (which, I’ve learned, you have to refer to as the “pub date” if you want to sound like you’re part of the industry) was still a week or so away. I didn’t call anyone, but I’m not too proud to say that it felt pretty rad. I did have to share the table with lesser known authors like Stephen King and Judy Blume, but I can be gracious when the situation calls for it. If King and Blume sell a few books for having been placed next to mine, I say good for them.
In candor, I should add that the initial thrill of seeing a stack of my books on that table was quickly supplanted by crass concerns of commercial viability. Hold on a second, what are those things doing here? Who’s not buying them?
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The Good Men Project:
You’re a father of two adopted girls from China, and your wife, Caryn, is also an author of a book on this very subject. Has fatherhood been what you expected, or have there been any curveballs? And what advice would you have for prospective adoptive fathers, especially internationally?
Andy:
I want to meet the guy who says, “Oh yeah, fatherhood has been exactly what I expected. I was perfectly prepared for all of it.” It’s pretty much been one curveball after another. I adore my girls, but I have no idea what makes them tick. Oh, and another thing: they’re girls! That adds a whole other dimension of inscrutability.
The adoption component was a bigger deal early on. Instead of a pregnancy and a hospital stay, we got a condensed two-week boot camp in China. Both trips were remarkable, emotional experiences that I wouldn’t trade for anything in this life. But it’s an odd sensation to be handed an eleven-month-old who’s looking at you like, “You guys are kidding me, right?” Very soon though, the fact that they don’t share your genes is not an issue. They’re just kids – kids who won’t go to sleep, who won’t eat that particular kind of jelly, who swear they don’t know how the red magic marker got on the sofa notwithstanding the red magic marker they’re holding in their hand.
The only advice I could ever offer is this: figure out how to freeze time, and do it. When I get home each night, my kids no longer run to the door to jump into my arms. Instead, they look me up and down and say, “Daddy, you didn’t match today.” I miss my babies.
As for my wife’s book, which she co-wrote with our good friend Amy Montemarano, it’s a fantastic educational tool for prospective adoptive parents, but even more so for the broader family. We passed them out to siblings and cousins at holidays so that our kids weren’t subjected to comments like, “You’re different – and that’s bad.” And so on.
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The Good Men Project:
Speaking of your wife, does being married to a writer make it easier to get “Andy time” to write your own novel? Speaking from experience, I’d personally find it nearly impossible to write as consistently, or effectively, without the thumbs-up from the spouse.
Andy:
“Andy time,” huh? Never heard of it. Tell me more.
I tend to write at odd times – late at night, early in the morning on weekends. It’s not as though I tell my wife and kids to leave me be while I create. If I stayed home to write while they went out and did stuff, I’d feel like I was missing something, even if that something was Panera. I don’t think anyone in my family feels neglected. They might prefer that I neglect them a little more actually.
My wife is enormously supportive. As a writer, editor, and avid reader, she’s the one I trust with the first read before anything goes to my agent. She has a fantastic eye for fiction. Some of her more helpful comments include, “I just don’t get this character. Make him different.” Or “Is this really what you think women want men to do?” You can’t put a price tag on that kind of feedback.
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The Good Men Project:
It’s funny, my wife has that same editorial meat cleaver. She calls it the Skim Factor, as in, “I’m reading, I’m reading, okay, now I’m skimming…you made that same dumb joke three times, move it along, funnyman.” Tough love. Anyway, speaking of moving on: which do you think has been most affected, positively or negatively, by what the kids call “The Internet”—the publishing industry or the music industry?
Andy:
I’m the furthest thing from an expert on either, but my hunch is that music has been impacted more radically by this whole Internet fad. Until maybe ten or fifteen years ago, artists were exclusively reliant on record companies to proliferate their product. That meant that we as music fans only got to hear music deemed worthy by a handful of executives sitting in LA, New York, Nashville, and London. That model seems to have completely changed because now anyone can upload an audio file to a website that can immediately be accessed by anyone in the world.
As I write this, I’m listening to a great Philly band called War on Drugs, which I met while surfing iTunes, not browsing in a Tower Records or listening to the radio. Before that, I had on Blitzen Trapper, also introduced to me through a computer. I’m sure the vast majority of artists I listen to are signed to record labels, but for some of those artists, to be honest, I’m not really sure what their record companies do. If you’re in a band, you could put your music up on the web, promote it by hopping in a van and touring the country, develop a following, and create a buzz without a whole lot of outside help. We seem to have an unprecedented level of access to music nowadays.
The flip side, however, is that to the extent the major labels functioned as a gatekeeper, we’ve lost some of that filter. There’s no one to sort through the pile of demos and discard 99 percent of them. So, I’ll ask without answering: does everybody who can now be heard deserve to be heard? Discuss amongst yourselves.
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The Good Men Project:
One of the book’s major themes is the one-hit wonder phenomenon (in life for sure, but specifically in music). From Kung Fu Fighting to Tubthumping to Turning Japanese to video killing the radio star to someone, for some dumb reason, letting the dogs out—we’ve always gotten a sick satisfaction out of seeing our heroes, musical or otherwise, rise and then crash. Hard. And in flames. But what’s worse: being a one-hit wonder or a no-hit wonder? And why do you think so many people “settle” versus pursuing their dream job/career/life?
Andy:
Hands down, it’s far better to be a one-hit wonder than a no-hit wonder. (Easy for a no-hit wonder to say, right?) The term one-hit wonder implies disappointment, a career that flamed out early. But that’s not necessarily so. Take your “Tubthumping” example by the band Chumbawamba. To you and me, Chumbawamba is defined exclusively by that hit from the ‘90s. But they were together for more than three decades. They seem to have managed just fine before and after that chart-topper. (That said, no idea what Buckner & Garcia have been doing since “Pac Man Fever.”) By the way, Harper Lee is a one-hit wonder – okay, so maybe that changes this summer – but how many sympathy cards do you think she’s received over the past half-century?
I think we’re all one-hit wonders to some extent. Most of us have a specific period in our past that we look upon as the time it all clicked. Maybe for you it was an entire epoch, like high school, when you just ruled! Maybe for me it was a single afternoon 30 years ago when everybody thought I was the best roller skater at the birthday party.
As for why most people abandon their dreams, I think the answer is that there’s not a lot of money in dreams, and all the other stuff we want costs money. Sure, I want to sit home and write all day with a bowl of Froot Loops on my lap, but I also want a family, a house, a kickass phone, a blue tooth speaker, and a Netflix subscription. And if I’m going to have kids, I’ll probably want to buy them clothes, books, gymnastics lessons, and, if there’s anything left in the kitty, health care. It’s straight economics. The trick is to do all that without feeling like you’ve settled. Or put another way, you have to strive for balance. My goal for Teddy Tremble – without giving too much away – was to try to resolve his situation in a way that felt honest and realistic, which meant setting him up to make that very choice: how do I take the next the step in my life and get most of what I want? (Maybe I did give too much away.)
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The Good Men Project:
Your favorite band/musician of all-time and why? Most hated band/musician of all-time and why?
Andy:
My all-time favorite is sort of obscure, though he’s been putting out music since the ‘60s. He goes by Bob Dylan. Cliché? Sure, but any other response would be disingenuous. Every year though, Jeff Tweedy inches closer to the top spot. The Wilco records, the album he did recently with his son, the Minus 5, Loose Fur – every project he touches is an embarrassment of riches. There’s so much intelligence, craftsmanship, and most of all, humanity in Tweedy’s songs. He’s as honest as they come. That dude means it.
As for most hated, I don’t actively hate too many musicians. (That’s not to say they don’t irritate me.) I simply choose not to listen and think, okay, that’s not for me. But I’ll be bold: I don’t get Lou Reed. I’ve tried, I swear. I can tolerate maybe three of his songs. I just don’t see what all the fuss is about. But please don’t interpret my singling out Lou Reed as my being happy about anything Chicago has done since 1976. I am not. I hear those puny synths and flaccid vocals, and I just think, why, man, why?
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The Good Men Project:
We’ve discussed our respective paths to getting books published, and both coincidentally ended up at divisions of Simon and Schuster (you with Touchstone, me with Scribner). But for readers: how long did it take you to write a novel? What was your process/routine like, how long did it take you to find an agent, and how long before you found a publisher/the book hit shelves? Sorry, that was like 16 questions…
Andy:
My process is basically this: write a whole lot of pages, scrap them entirely, then write something else that gradually, over the course of several years, becomes publishable.
It took me about three years to write Thank You, Goodnight and to get it to a point where I could comfortably share it with my agent, the wonderful Caryn Karmatz Rudy of DeFiore & Company. (No relation to my wife, whose name is also Caryn.) I met Caryn years ago through a friend and periodically ran into her at social, extremely non-literary gatherings. When I imposed upon her to read my manuscript, she generously did so, and offered some terrific suggestions – they were terrific in that they made a lot of sense and made the book much better; they were not terrific in that they entailed more work on my part.
A year or so of that type of back-and-forth ensued, after which she shopped it around to editors. Within a relatively short period of time – a few months maybe – I was lucky enough to be part of the Touchstone family with editor Sally Kim. What I wish for every human being on the planet is to one day work with Sally and her creative team. I think it was a little over a year between Touchstone acquiring it and the June 2015 publication. That year was filled with editing, proofing, meetings about promotion, picking cover art, lots of fun stuff and some hard work. I couldn’t have had a better experience.
The best thing I can say about it is the thing I was least expecting: I’m so happy with the way the book turned out.
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The Good Men Project:
What’s the best and worst advice about anything—life, love, career—you’ve ever received?
Andy:
Best advice, delivered to high school freshman Andy by an unnamed senior: “You should come out for the wrestling team.” I did – and I learned that I could do something I sucked at and hated for a protracted period of time. They tell me that builds character. Whatever.
Worst advice, delivered in unison by my daughters recently: “You should try birthday cake M&Ms.” And just like that, they guaranteed that their mother’s husband would never have washboard abs. They’re. So. Yummy.
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The Good Men Project:
What two words describe your dad? How are you most like or unlike him?
Andy:
If we count hyphenated words as one, I’ll go with “well-coached fashion-wise.” I’d hate to think of how my dad would leave the house without my mom’s authoritarian supervision.
My dad is a class act and probably the nicest guy I know. (My wife has always called him a nicer version of me; so I must be a meaner version of him.) He’s more cultured than I am, can hold his liquor better, and can blend into a greater variety of cultural situations than I can. He’ll read a history of the British empire (for “fun”), and then put that book down to go scream his guts out at a Ravens game.
The good news for me is that my dad and I are alike in a lot of ways. We have identical senses of humor. When I see something funny in the movies or on tv, I know as a mathematical certainty that it’ll crack him up too.
The bottom line is that he introduced me to Antonio Carlos Jobim, so everything else is just gravy.
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The Good Men Project:
First bossa nova reference I’ve ever gotten. Well done. Okay, long one: a common refrain about THANK YOU is that it’s tailor made for film. This is often someone’s cute/clever way of quasi-insulting a book—movies are soooo lowbrow while books are “high art”—but (A) do you see that as a negative? And (B) if it is made into a film, who plays Teddy, Sara, Jumbo, Mack, Warren, Alaina, Sonny, Warren, and Lou? While you ponder, here’s whom I pictured while reading…
Teddy—Miles “Whiplash” Teller. Or skinny Jonah Hill.
Sara——Kat Dennings. And bonus, she’s from Bryn Mawr, PA!
Jumbo—Rob Corddry, after gaining a few lbs. Or TJ Miller, but balder/older.
Mack—Lizzy Caplan.
Warren—Anthony Mackie.
Alaina—Leaning Asian? Lucy Liu. Leaning Jewish? Jenny Slate.
Sonny—Don Cheadle. Or Jeffrey Wright.
Lou—Bruce Willis.
Bonus casting choice: Jumbo’s Dad—James Caan. This is non-negotiable.
But now that I think of it, I could easily play Teddy. I know about 20 rhythm guitar chords like Teddy. My waistline, like Teddy’s, is expanding as I reach middle age. I generally work in an office, like Teddy. And I’ve been told I look like a homeless man’s Greg Kinnear. After some botched plastic surgery. In Tijuana. I’d be perfect. Just sayin’. Anyway, your choices? Better just agree with me so we can move on.
Andy:
Wow! You totally are a homeless man’s Greg Kinnear! Spot on. But hey, I suppose it could be worse, right? You could be a homeless man’s Steve Buscemi. Or Wallace Shawn.
To answer your first question, the suggestion that Thank You, Goodnight would work really well as a movie is not, in my judgment, an insult. The suggestion that it would work better as a movie is. I’ve heard both. Validly, I suppose. But if liking movies is wrong, I don’t wanna be right. I also really like films, which are different from movies in that they star John C. Reilly, they take place in small towns in New England, and generally nothing happens in them. So, while I might get low-brow demerits for writing a book that’s arguably cinematic, I don’t think the movie would be a blockbuster. So I’m not as low-brow as someone who writes a book that’s destined to be made into a Ryan Reynolds star vehicle.
As for casting, your choices are intriguing. Jimmy Caan for Elmer Jett is flat-out brilliant, especially since Jack Palance, as far as I know, is unavailable. Lizzy Caplan is perfect for Mackenzie; go ahead and book her. Don Cheadle would kill it as Sonny Rivers, but I hear he’s doing a Miles Davis biopic, so he may pass on another music-themed movie. (Yeah, that’s why he’d turn us down.)
Not all of your ideas, however, are inspired. Lucy Liu for Alaina? Come on, man. Admit it – she’s the only Asian actress you could think of aside from Sandra Oh, whom you figured was too old for the part even though she’s actually younger than Lucy Liu.
Let me help you out here:
Teddy: Mark Ruffalo, Edward Norton, Jason Bateman (Mark and Edward might have to gain five or ten pounds for the role; Jason, you’re fine)
Jumbo: Zach Galifianakis, Josh Gad
Warren: Anthony Mackie would be great, but just in case, call Mos Def
Mackenzie: Lizzy Caplan, but let’s not rule out Lauren Ambrose
Sara: Jennifer Garner, Vera Farmiga, but let’s not rule out Lauren Ambrose
Alaina: Lucy Liu – I wrote the character with her in mind (understudies: Lynn Chen, Gong Li)
Sonny Rivers: let’s give this one to a screen legend like Denzel, Eddie Murphy, or Delroy Lindo
Lou Tremble: Christopher Plummer, Ted Danson, Dustin Hoffman (although I hear Dustin’s a tough customer)
Elmer Jett: James Caan; if he declines, I don’t know – Bob Balaban? Do you think we can get Sean Connery to come out of retirement (and tone down the accent)?
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The Good Men Project:
Kimiko Glenn. Claudia Kim. Rila Fukishima. See? More Asian actresses not named Lucy Liu that I totally didn’t Google*! (*Did Google.) How would the women in your life describe you?
Andy:
It’s funny – among all the women I know who are not my wife, I sort of have this reputation for being very upbeat, very attentive. I get “you’re such a good listener!” a lot. My wife would say otherwise. I know this because she frequently says otherwise. And you know what? She’s right. I can be a little moody. I’m working on it. I was a lot nicer when I was younger, and frankly, it got me nowhere.
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The Good Men Project:
Who are your heroes and why?
A: It’s really not something I’ve ever been conscious of, but I’ll throw out three…
(1) Cal Ripken Jr.: Best shortstop ever (quiet over there, you Jeter and Ozzie fans!); humble; unparalleled work ethic; from my hometown.
(2) Bono: It’s not that I’m such a big U2 guy, but he’s the ultimate rock star, the ultimate family man, and, you know what, I feel like he really cares.
(3) That director guy who’s married to Kate Beckinsale: Obvious reasons.
Runner up: Tom Robbins: He wrote Jitterbug Perfume. I’m going to say that again: He wrote Jitterbug Perfume.
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The Good Men Project:
Agree. Len “Beckinsale’s husband” Wiseman married above his pay grade. What’s the worst decision you’ve ever made – personally, professionally, or both — and how have you learned from it?
Andy:
I’ve let some friendships fall by the wayside. There are people who’ve meant a lot to me over the years that, for whatever reason, I just let slip away. Was it a conscious decision? Of course not, but I have to take responsibility for my inaction. What I’ve learned from it is to just make the stupid phone call. I’ve never regretted reaching out to a friend, even when I can’t get the chatty bastard off the phone.
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The Good Men Project:
What is the your most cherished ritual as a guy?
Andy:
Not shaving. I live with three women, one bossier than the next. I’ve had more tea parties in the past ten years than the Queen – which doesn’t seem like a big deal until you consider that for the first 33 years of my life, I had none. I have very few male rituals (it would be sexist, would it not, to call watching Ravens games a “male ritual”), but the one I cherish the most, the one I look forward to with giddy joy, is looking at my razor and saying, “Not today, Mac!” (It would be more accurate to say, “Not today, Mach!”)
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The Good Men Project:
What, in your mind, defines a good man?
Andy:
The ability to commit – to anything really, but mostly to other people – is the definition I’ve settled on. If I were to think about the men I consider to be good, I think all of them have that trait in common, the surrendering of yourself to things and people you believe in. If you’ve turned a part of your life over to other people – a significant other, children, friends – you’ve necessarily imposed a limit on your ability to be selfish. In my experience, those are the people that are the most grounded, the most reliable, and consequently, the most happy. The notion that misery is directly proportional to the demands on your time is absolutely backwards. Letting a little chaos in, trying to say yes as often as you can, and just rolling with the consequences of doing so – all of that is enriching and character-building in a way that, in my mind, makes a man good.
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The Good Men Project:
One more bonus question, which will certainly appeal to those who’ve read the book (but isn’t a spoiler for those who haven’t): If, after you’ve hopefully lived a long, happy life, there’s a photograph of your legacy, what would it look like and where would it be hanging?
Andy:
Family portrait – and it would be hanging in my daughters’ homes. Toward the end of the book, two characters are discussing the concept of a legacy, and Warren, the drummer, says that his legacy has bucked teeth, eats too many Oreos, and is either going to be an astronaut or a centerfielder. That’s basically how I feel. My wife and kids are the coolest thing about me.
Thank you, Andy, for patiently answering a bajillion questions.
The summer is only about half-over and there’s plenty of beach reading time left, so I highly recommend you all get a copy of THANK YOU, GOODNIGHT here.
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Photo Credit: Thank You Good Night
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