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Too Hot For Radio: Rachel B. Glaser "Ira and the Whale"
00:35:22
Somebody, Somewhere's Jeff Hiller reads a funny and incisive story about a gay man trapped in a whale.
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- [00:01]
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- [01:01]
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- [01:35]
Narrator
Ahoy listeners and welcome aboard selected shorts Too Hot for Radio, the show on which we deliver lightly perverted and or provocative short stories that might be too much for the public radio audience. Although you just never know. Maybe fusty landlubbers who stay ashore in the safe harbor of the live airwaves just might have their eyes open by a short voyage on the SS Smiterati and Hot Heads. Maybe my nautical references sound less than subtle and more like one of those really loud overbearing whistles that boatswains use on boats. If so, you have seen right through my transparent motif. And you sense, correctly, that today's story takes us on a great sea journey. It is part Fire island fantasia, part melancholy rom com, part biblical epic. It's fun, funny, sad and playfully apocalyptic. And before we go any further, no, I do not know what a boatswain is. Neither do you. Except for Dave of course. Freaking Dave knows every trivia night. Dave is a guy who goes on about how Yar his 10 speed bike is, but I'll be damned if Dave isn't a lifesaver when attempting to calculate distance in nautical miles. Also knows some weird stuff about President Truman. Boatswains, though they were important maritime figures at some point, important enough they needed loud whistles to get everyone's attention. This story, though, needs no further touting. It's by Rachel B. Glaser. She is a poet, novelist and short story writer whose titles include Pee on Water and Paulina and Fran. Her stories move along clearly and cleverly, though they always have a playful poetic touch too. Reading the story is Jeff Hiller. Hiller is an actor who has been a charming anchor of the HBO series Somebody Somewhere. He's appeared in many other funny shows, such as 30 Rock, was on Broadway in the musical Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson, and performed solo shows at Joe's Pub. Oh, and in case you like to cover your ears in anticipation of the scary or naughty bits, let's get you prepped. Warning this story is a little sexy, also a little dark. Yes, it takes place inside of a whale, but let's not be too literal about it. Alright, Anchors away. Stay with me after the reading as I'll be talking to the lovely Jeff Hiller. One on one, race the rudders. Raise the sails.
- [04:23]
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- [04:51]
Narrator
And now, here he is performing Ira and the Whale by Rachel B. Glaser.
- [04:58]
Amica Insurance Representative
Ira and the Whale it is dark in the whale and hot Aira wades through the animal's stomach in shock, up to his knees in liquid goop. He sweats in his black Speedo. The whale's heartbeat booms and echoes like a drum. Ira hears water gurgling and rushing, mournful moos that go unanswered. Eventually his eyes grow accustomed to the dark. In murky gray scale he can make out the swaying surface of the goop spotted with mounds of algae, dying shrimp, stray squid tentacles, and the occasional fish head. Surely somewhere there is a throat that presumably leads to the mouth, but Ira can't find. Must be a magical whale or the biggest whale of all time, because its stomach seems infinite. Ira wanders for hours, passing sights he'd remember if he saw them again, but nothing repeats. He sees one of those intricate camp chairs floating in the muck, a hubcap adorned with the gnarled skeletons of Ira doesn't fucking know. He's just a graphic designer trying to get laid on Fire Island. In summer's past, he's visited with friends but this time he's alone. Liquid rains down on Ira and he closes his eyes and mouth. His body is bruised but still intact. He longs for his cigarettes, which are under his sun hat, on his towel, on the beach, near a hairy man in a tube top. But what he really needs is water. He wonders how long he can live without it. He dips his finger in the goop and touches his tongue. It's so bitter it burns. The initial panic has dissipated and bleak reality is setting in. He is trapped in a whale and will die alone. He'll never make it back to his Airbnb, which looked exactly like the pictures, only half the size. He sees his headstone, his name in a cold, boring font chosen by his parents. He's 44. His life has been average. It was his childhood dream to live in New York City and become an actor. He moved there for college, but gave up on acting after one class. He still lives there, though he doesn't love it the way he thought he would. He shuffles between work and home, squandering his paycheck at a gourmet supermarket. The others depress him. Ira has been single for much of his life. His hookups disappear back into the grinder pool, rarely to resurface. He only likes a certain kind of man. They must be tall or taller than him. He doesn't know why. And he doesn't like guys who are effeminate or overly masculine. He wonders how many notifications are accumulating on his phone, flirtatious responses to the rare selfie he posted on Instagram last night. He imagines the picture blown up and pixelated, greeting visitors at the funeral parlor across the street from his parents house. As a child he was mesmerized by the goings on out his window. How wood boxes carrying corpses were delivered and received. At a side door marked Flowers, a half digested octopus floats by. This is, hands down the grossest place he's ever been. It smells like rotting fish and vomit. If he can't crawl out, maybe he can cut himself out. He passed a giant crab claw earlier, but now that he's looking he can't find anything except an oar and some fish bones too small to do damage. His thirst is an unending tragedy. Dizziness sends him stumbling. He feels a burst of anxiety before fainting. Ira wakes up floating in the muck. A bare chested man is violently shaking him. Another man. It's a miracle. Ira is elated. Ay, he says. He staggers to his feet, his mind racing. It's difficult to see in the low light, but the man looks to be in his 30s. He's wearing goggles. His bathing suit is in shreds. He's built, but not excessively so. Wet strands of dark hair stick to his forehead. Ira steps closer and stares at the man's face. He's handsome. Ira wants to touch him, hug him or rub his shoulder, run his hands through the man's thick hair. You're alive, the man says coldly. He isn't tall, but it doesn't matter. The air feels humid with desire. Ira imagines them fucking. The whale's heart thumps. Everything tilts and Ira grabs onto the man to catch his balance. The whale is on the move when things level out. Ira waits a moment before letting go. I'm Ira. Austin. Austin seems checked out as they compare stories. Austin saw the whale and swam toward it. Ira had been looking at a turtle when he was covered by a massive shadow, then had the surreal sensation of tumbling down. What felt like steady. Austin seems like he's lost hope, but maybe Ira can restore it. Austin holds up a jagged piece of wood. There's a hole I've been working on since I got in here, but the skin's really thick. He stares at Ira, sizing him up. Want to work on it? I thought you'd never ask, ira says. He wades through seaweed, struggling to keep up with Austin. He fixes his eyes on Austin's muscular back. Austin doesn't seem gay, but still Ira can't stop himself from asking if he's here for pride. Austin scoffs. You're looking for Jake. Who? There's one other guy, but he's probably dead by now. A third man? This can't be. Ira wonders if he's hallucinated. Austin. That would be so. Ira. To hallucinate a straight guy? He was gay, said Austin. He made sculptures. You'd have gotten along. How do you know? You don't know me. You just met me. Ira needs water. His eyes burn. He notices sores on Austin's skin, then spots some on himself. It's probably from stomach acid. If he doesn't die of dehydration, he will just dissolve. Slowly, painfully. Bile jumps up Ira's throat and he swallows it back down. He breathes shallow breaths. It feels momentous to reach a wall, but the hole looks pitiful. It's more like a dent. It's hard to see. Austin jabs the hole with the piece of wood a few times, then hands it to Ira. Ira jabs it for a bit the wall feels elastic. Use your whole body, austin says. Ira leans into it. He gives it all he's got. No, like this, austin says, taking the wood from Ira's hands and stabbing the hole with new vigor. Ira thinks of all the straight men who have corrected him in gym class, at pool halls, at Home Depot, smirking it. Guys at work, disgruntled AAA men changing his flat tire. Ira's crush evaporates. Even if they work non stop, on the whole, Ira doubts they'll break through. And even if they did, they'd have to somehow puncture the whale's outer wall, which would be even thicker. They need a laser or a chainsaw. Austin answers Ira's questions as if they're an inconvenience, as if this asshole's got someplace else to be. Ira loathes the straight people clogging up Fire island during Pride. Where's the other guy? The gay guy? Ira says. Probably decomposing somewhere. Ira picks up some kind of bone and stabs the hole with it. He and Austin fall into a rhythm, alternating jabs, but it isn't clear if they are making progress. Ira's hungry. Only an idiot would starve in a stomach. His father scolds in his head. I need water, ira whines. Austin ignores him. Ira drops his bone. I'm taking a break. No time for breaks, Austin says. Ira hates being bossed around. It took him a decade to find a boss he could tolerate. You're gonna die in here, austin says. Do you want to die? Ira says nothing. Well, I can't die in here. I won't. I'm fucking engaged. Austin jabs the hole. Bits of whale flesh float by in a bloody clump. Screw him and his hole, Ira thinks, wading away. You're weak, Austin shouts after him. You're trash, Ira shouts back. He can hear Austin cursing at him, and it gives him a strange satisfaction. I'll just take a short walk, he decides. Hours pass. It pains him to realize the wall was a good place to be. He should have kept wading along it. The wall led to somewhere, and in his haste he's wandered back into infinity. Yeah, fuck it. He'll just die. What does it matter? He's already lived the best years of his life. Getting old is depressing. He wades with his eyes closed, but they still burn when he opens them. Everything looks dreary and endless. His mind flickers off and on. His body will never be found. His friends and family will assume he drowned, which is embarrassing because he's actually a decent Swimmer Ira passes out and is shocked to wake up still in the whale. Delirious from the heat, he thrashes around in a burst of energy that only lasts a minute. His skin has the awful texture he saw in Austin. He thinks of his parents sorting through his apartment, finding the bottle of lube in the back of his sock drawer. To live is humiliating, but to die is worse. He thinks about his first real crush, his socially awkward junior high Latin teacher. In high school he kissed a boy at a Gay Straight alliance dance. But then nothing else happened for years. Ira remembers his first boyfriend, George, whom he lived with the summer between sophomore and junior year at nyu. George was super tall, kind of fat, slightly stupid. They watched action movies, ate pizza, had sex. That was their routine. It seemed like their relationship could have gone on forever, but it ended the following semester. It seemed like it would be the first of many relationships, but it wasn't. Ira usually loses interest after a few dates. He hears a distant, droning melody. Probably he's hallucinating, but he finds himself wading toward it. The goop is thigh level. Ira craves water, air, sky. When he thinks of his friends, he feels anxious. He's been meaning to call them back. Ira limps past the remains of a seal. His legs seize up with cramps. He sees movement ahead and keeps waiting. His eyes burn, but he must see this. A blur, possibly a figure. It has to be. He wants it to be. Are those legs? It has a head. Yes, it's a figure. And he can tell by the way it moves that it's not Austin. It's a naked man trudging through dark wads of seaweed, carrying what looks like a basket. Ira's heart races as he wades toward the man, who moves in rhythm to whatever he's singing. There's something familiar about him. He's either the flamboyant man who single handedly got the dancing going at Sip and Twirl the other night, or just the same kind of man who is rare in life but in abundance on Fire Island. Men like this have always captivated Ira, but he sometimes felt jealous of their freedom. The man sees Ira and stops in his tracks. Oh my God, says the man, swinging his basket. Who are you? I'm Ira. The man shakes his hand. I'm Jake. His voice is high and spirited, but not annoyingly so. It's amazing to see another face. Jake has small features, a prominent forehead, and short, thinning hair. His skin is more decomposed than Austin's, which makes it hard to tell his age. But he looks older. Are your eyes burning? Ira asks, squinting at Jake. Yes. Can barely see a thing. Austin said you were probably dead. I was working with him on that hole. Oh, that stupid hole. I spent hours on it, says Jake. It's never gonna give. The skin is too thick. I told him so many times that he didn't like my idea. What's your idea? To get pooped out the butt. What about the throat? Ira asks. Can't we climb it? Maybe, if we can find it. I've been looking for days, but this place goes on forever. I'm just trying to eat as well as I can and entertain myself when possible. He pulls something out of his basket. Sushi. He drops a little bundle of seaweed into Ira's hand and Ira stuffs it into his mouth. It tastes terrible, but he makes a show of enjoying it. Jake looks proud. We need to find the throat or something sharp, ira says. Which way? Jake shrugs, then chooses a direction. As they wade side by side, Jake plucks shrimp from the surface and eats them. His voice is lilting, musical. His stories take unexpected turns. His line of questioning is natural and thorough, and Ira talks about himself for longer than he intends. Their taste in books is pretty different, but they like a lot of the same movies. Ira's never kissed a woman, but Jake once had sex with one. It's thrilling to have a real conversation. Jake is convinced they're in a blue whale, but Ira is sure that blue whales are extinct. Ira is too lightheaded to keep talking but happy to listen, so he asks Jake to tell him everything. Jake says he grew up in Virginia in a big house with a big family. He studied music in college, then worked in department stores, then hotels, where he grew wrestling. He became a flight attendant on boring short haul routes, eventually working his way up to be the head steward in first class. For many years he traveled the world until his drug habits, which he'd always had, grew in scope and intensity, becoming a madness that disassembled his life, costing him his job, his husband, and his West Village apartment. His sister pretty much kidnapped him and drove him to a treatment center where he suffered and played board games. Now he lives alone in Long Island City, head of customer service at the Jackson Avenue Target. Beams of light flutter over them. Ira shivers in excitement. His eyes dart frantically from one beam to another. Did you see that? Jake asks, grabbing Ira's arm. The light comes in thin waves, illuminating for the first time the ceiling, which is bluish black and dripping. Jake goes wild, screaming and dancing. They must be in the Throat. I rejoice with rejoices. He'll live differently this time. He won't spend so much time on his phone. They must be in the Throat, but. But Ira can't see it. As far as he looks, there is only the ceiling. Maybe the mouth is still hopelessly far away. A beam passes over Jake, and for a fleeting moment Iris sees his face in remarkable detail. It looks full of humor and intelligence, though prematurely ancient. We have seen the light. Jake shouts with what's left of his voice. But where's the throat? The walls? Ira demands, desperately throwing out his arms. We must be really close, jake says. The light suddenly vanishes. Ira's stomach feels like lead. Come back, jake pleads. They wade around in the dark, waiting. It's gonna come back, he insists a few minutes later. Any second now. I just know it's going to come back. But it doesn't. Neither speaks for a long time. They begin bargaining with God or whoever might be watching if they escape the whale. They promise to spend the rest of their lives volunteering at charities. Or at least a good portion, Jake adds. At least 15 hours a week. Really? Fifteen? Jake asks. Too little. Fifteen is a lot, jake says. They are disintegrating. Jake looks half dead, but Ira keeps telling him he looks great. Ira is forlorn. His legs ache with each step. His skin burns. He gives up praying for light and just focuses on Jake's voice, though it has been weakened by hours of talking and is now a whisper. They find a floating island of seaweed and plastic. Jake crawls onto it and lies down. It bobbles but supports him. Ira crawls up too. Plastic bags and cups, knotted nylon ropes, calcified surfboards. Ira lies next to Jake and drifts off. He dreams they are discovered by the flashlights of scuba divers. Ira wakes up and sees Jake's eyes are closed. He jostles him, but Jake is unresponsive. His friend. He'll never get to talk to his friend again. He cries silently. He'll just have to lie here next to Jake's dead body until he dies, too. Liquid rains down. I hate when it does this, jake says, lips barely moving like a ventriloquist. Ira bursts out laughing.
- [22:38]
Jeff Hiller
What?
- [22:39]
Amica Insurance Representative
Jake says, inching closer. Eric feels happy and then faint. Jake holds his hand. A voice breaks the spell. We'd be free by now if we'd all work together. Austin, jake murmurs. Ira's vision is obscured by pulsating shadows. We'd be out by now, Austin yells. He's standing in front of them Ira's stomach tight. Why is he here? Ira mutters to Jake. Because his fucking hole was a failure. Fuck you, says Austin. His bleeding face and deteriorating skin look like a gruesome Halloween costume. His dark goggles look like bug eyes. It would have worked if we all had worked on it, he insists. But no, you guys had to do your own thing. What exactly were you doing? His tone is infuriating. You look like shit, says Ira. You look like roadkill, says Austin. You were initially very good looking, let that be said. But now you look like a pizza the cheese fell off of, says Jake. Did you start a restaurant? Austin asks. Can I get a reservation at your fucking restaurant? Did you build a castle with a moat? Your hole wasn't even a hole, Jake says. I got it deeper after you left. Then why are you here? Ira demands. Where do you want me to go, Ira? Austin sounds deranged. Anywhere else. I can die wherever I want to die, Austin says. He crawls onto the island. It bobs and drifts, goop splashes onto their faces. No one says anything for several minutes. Why do straight people come to Fire island during Pride? Ira blurts out. Are they just bored? Or do they long to be seduced beneath the boardwalk, gay for one night under the COVID of darkness? My family owns a house here and has for 50 years. Oh well, whoopty damn do, Ira says. Jake laughs. Go fuck yourself, Austin says with pleasure, says Ira. He scoots to the edge of the island, wanting to leave with Jake. Where's the house? Jake asks. Fifth walk. That's on my morning stroll, jake says. Which house? One. It's right on the beach. Does it have wooden pillars? Yeah, the gray one. It's got double decks. Yeah, actually triple decks if you count the very top. But it's not up to code. Ira feels trapped. It's right by Stone Trail, says Jake. Yeah, one summer I stayed on Pepperidge Walk, but as far from the beach as you can get. Jake wipes his face of gunk and sweat. Your grandparents bought it 50 years ago. They must have gotten it for a song. Austin nods. Ira crawls back to Jake's side. Austin and Jake discuss the post office off Dune Walk. Some guy named Mike at the casino cafe. Ira closes his eyes. Their grating human voices chip away at the black sky of his mind. But as the minutes pass and Ira feels more and more out of it, the chatter begins to soothe him. Little phrases slip into his consciousness. Double major, fourth floor, walk up, destination wedding. And they linger for a moment, detaching from and Reattaching to their meanings. Solar panels, couples therapy. Warm goop is spilling over them again. Ira dreams he's in a dilapidated movie theater. He dreams he's watching Austin and Jake play tennis. Austin's muscles glimmer in the sunlight while Jake dances merrily around the court, the ball flying past him. The dream shifts, and they're all living in a loft overlooking Central Park. Everything is slow and dim. You're dying. His dad says. No, Ira thinks he wants more minutes. He wants whole years, lifetimes, where he lives as a woman, as an outlaw, a street musician, a benevolent king. He can't leave himself now. To die will be like tearing the music out of a song. It's wrong. His mind is slipping away. He doesn't even have to live. He just wants to keep thinking. He won't even say anything. He'll just think. He'll just watch. A wave of panic, a wash of relief.
- [27:15]
Narrator
Well, thank you so much for talking with me, Jeff. I enjoyed your interpretation of this story so much. It was such a joy to hear you read it.
- [27:23]
Jeff Hiller
Thank you.
- [27:24]
Narrator
Yeah. And I wanted to ask, what was your first impression when you read this story yourself?
- [27:32]
Jeff Hiller
Well, I think probably in the same way that when you hear it, too, you. You're on this journey. Right? Of, like.
- [27:40]
Narrator
Sure.
- [27:42]
Jeff Hiller
Wait, he's in a whale. Is this a metaphor? What? Right.
- [27:46]
Narrator
Right.
- [27:47]
Jeff Hiller
As I was reading it, I just kept thinking, like, oh, God, this guy's so much like me. I really identify with him and with him, the, you know, wanting more, but also, like, being a little tired to give more.
- [28:02]
Narrator
Yeah, I mean, I think that. I think so much. Many of us can relate to that. That feeling through the story. We see so much of what happens through Ira's eyes. Do you feel like there were any points in the story where you were like, oh, I've been there. Like, specifically, like, I've had this either in a relationship or, like, this point in my life. I've been in this. In this same boat.
- [28:25]
Jeff Hiller
When he starts talking to Austin and he is realizing that he's straight, and he has just this immediate revulsion and wants to walk away, Especially off the coast of Fire island, where you're like.
- [28:39]
Amica Insurance Representative
This is our space.
- [28:41]
Jeff Hiller
I came here to get away from this.
- [28:43]
Narrator
And did you prepare in any way to perform the piece? I really loved the different voices you gave, the different characters. It felt like they were each in their own little lane, and you could picture them so, so vividly.
- [28:59]
Jeff Hiller
I mean, I. I prepared in that. I just read the story a lot and.
- [29:02]
Narrator
Have you Ever been part of the Fire island scene?
- [29:05]
Jeff Hiller
Oh, I thought you were gonna say it in a whale. I have, yes. Yes. That's sort of the first. When I first moved to New York City, I went there the first summer I was here, and I found it so shocking, and it was so exciting and so amazing and so special. And, I mean, even. Even the straight parts of Fire island are beautiful. And, I mean, that sounds so tacky, just taking away the fact that it is this enclave of solely queer folks. It just. The whole island is so special because there's no cars there, and there's these beautiful little boardwalks, and you have this, like, nature. And there is something really special and profound about being around people that are all like you and having recognition and understanding and the excitement of not having to hide yourself or having to. I guess the kids call it code switching.
- [30:04]
Narrator
And, of course, you also are such an important part of the HBO series Somebody Somewhere, which is so good, and you're so wonderful in it. And it does feel like on the show, there's, like, such a family vibe with. Just throughout the cast. And how are you feeling as the series kind of draws to a close?
- [30:24]
Jeff Hiller
Oh, you know, I'm very sad. I'm a greedy actor who wants it to go on for 150 episodes. But I also just feel a lot of gratitude that it happened at all, because it is sort of a small show and it's not very likely to be produced. I'm very grateful that we got to do it at all. It was this really beautiful show about finding found family. And then while we were making it, we found a family, which is a little sweet and cheesy. But true.
- [30:55]
Amica Insurance Representative
But true.
- [30:56]
Narrator
Yeah. Hey, life happens.
- [30:58]
Jeff Hiller
Exactly. You can't control it, even if it is cheesy.
- [31:03]
Narrator
And it did feel like there was a very, you know, New York theater vibe to it in that both, you know, in front of the camera, behind the camera. Was that just nice to kind of feel like you all could make something together.
- [31:14]
Jeff Hiller
It was. I mean, it felt a little bit like Fire Island. Right. We're all kind of the same. We all come from this similar background of. Yeah. Downtown performing. And we were also all past 40 and had been trying to find any sort of success for a really long time. And then we all were able to find it together. And two of one, across the entire board of every single cast member on that show, we all. We're waiting for our big break, and that was it for all of us. And it was such a gift to have that together.
- [31:48]
Narrator
Yeah. And also, I loved how the show kind of framed, like, what, like, what is like, making it really, you know, like, is moving back to a small town, like, failure? Like, why is, like, one thing supposedly the pinnacle and the other thing is somehow shameful?
- [32:03]
Amica Insurance Representative
Exactly.
- [32:03]
Jeff Hiller
And it's really. It's not even about, like. Well, I guess it's a little bit about success, but it's also, like, not having to wait tables anymore is a real gift.
- [32:12]
Narrator
Yes.
- [32:12]
Jeff Hiller
And having health insurance.
- [32:16]
Narrator
Right, right, right. Let us not. Let us not minimize the beauty of health insurance.
- [32:22]
Jeff Hiller
Bridget always has these. This saying that she stole from LL Cool J. So we gotta give respect to LL Cool J, which is that dreams don't have deadlines. And really, the show is about not giving up on yourself in a certain way. That's what this story is about too. It' about, you know, Ira is not really giving up on himself. He's like, yeah, maybe if we get out of here or whatever. And he finds Jake and has this friendship and connected moment at the end. And I love that he can find hope and connection and friendship in truly the most dire of circumstances.
- [33:00]
Narrator
I mean, I know as a actor, you. We love talking about our performances, so I will say, watching you perform, there really is this spirit of joy that's kind of infectious. And I don't know, I feel like some performers, they're like, I'm in it, or. And then some people are like, I kind of go to a different place in my mind.
- [33:17]
Jeff Hiller
Oh, interesting. Yeah, Yeah, I guess that's true. I'm in it. Yeah, I'm really in it. And it's really. It's really like a place where I find the most joy is being in front of an audience, being. Being in control, but also using that control to make the audience feel safe. I don't ever want an audience to feel like, oh, I don't think he knows what he's doing.
- [33:42]
Narrator
Right, right, right. You're a benevolent dictator.
- [33:45]
Jeff Hiller
Yeah, yeah. Because I know from myself, like, you have that compassion for your. For a performer, and you're like, I'm worried you're not gonna. I started an improv, and so a lot like, like maybe 99% of improv, you're like, are you gonna.
- [34:00]
Amica Insurance Representative
Are you just stick the landing?
- [34:02]
Jeff Hiller
When I'm performing, especially with scripted material, I definitely want people to. To know you are fine. Don't you worry. But even, like with stand up or with or with reading a story, I want people to know I'm prepared. You're gonna be okay.
- [34:17]
Narrator
Well, this has been so Lovely. I'm gonna ask one last question, which is just, you know, it is short story podcast. So do you have any reading recommendations for.
- [34:27]
Jeff Hiller
Oh, yeah, you know, I just got this short story book by Lynn Tillman. It's her new book, Thrilled to Death. And I've only read. I'm not. I haven't finished it yet, but it's great. Oh, and I just read Self Sabotage by Jeffrey Self. Very funny book of essays.
- [34:44]
Narrator
Oh, my God, I didn't know he wrote a book.
- [34:47]
Jeff Hiller
Yeah, read a book and it's good.
- [34:50]
Narrator
Speaking of published authors, I also have hot intel that you have a book coming out.
- [34:56]
Jeff Hiller
I do. I do have a book coming out on June 10th. It's called actress of a certain my 20 year trail to Overnight Success.
- [35:07]
Narrator
Perfect title.
- [35:08]
Jeff Hiller
And it's really. It is about sort of like what we were talking about with somebody somewhere where it is about not giving up on yourself and about saying, I deserve to keep going even when I've committed the heinous sin of aging past 40.
- [35:26]
Narrator
And we can bleep that part out.
- [35:29]
Jeff Hiller
Yeah. Don't tell anybody.
- [35:31]
Narrator
And would you say your book is in conversation with Jeffrey's book, Self Sabotage?
- [35:36]
Jeff Hiller
Yes, except for it's like. It's like, not nearly as sexy, but it is funny, just like his book is. And it is a book of essays that sort of add up to a memoir about my life and about, you know, growing up in the church and about being a social worker before I became an actor because I was afraid to admit to being an actor and then leaving the poor homeless people behind and making up jokes in the basement of a grocery store for 20 years.
- [36:04]
Narrator
Listen, we all have our journeys and who are we to question exactly?
- [36:10]
Jeff Hiller
But it is a funny book.
- [36:16]
Narrator
That is the end of our story and the end of our show. No, friends, I did not become a boatswain. In the interim, a lot of red tape, including figuring out what a boatswain is. And I respect you too much to blast your eardrums with a real nautical whistle. I just gave you my gentle approximation. So on the day your child finally orders you those hearing aids you don't want, just remember, you entrusted your old palaparna with your ears and she spared you staving off the inevitability of cochlear implants by at least a couple hours. You're welcome. Our show is produced by Jennifer Brennan and Mary Shimkin. Our podcast producer and editor is Colleen Pelissier. This episode was recorded at Symphony Space in New York City. Miles B. Smith, Matthew Love is our consulting producer. Our theme song is by Pottington Bear. I'm Aparna Nancherla. Thanks for joining us for selected shorts Too Hot for Radio.