The Steve Delahoyde Interview

April 5, 2002

Today is the day to take it. And like it.

Oh, you lucky people, today runs my interview with Steve Delahoyde. Don't miss a single juicy word.

And, to make things easier on you, in the archives you will find the interviews labelled nicely. All three of them (including this one.) But there will be more. Oh yes, there will be more!

The Steve Delahoyde Interview: Slightly Less Than 20 Questions

You are in a band with a funny name. Please tell us about it. Also, do you need groupies?
The band I am in, one that rocks with an efficiency rarely seen in modern pop acts, is called Irritable Colon. The name was founded near ten years ago after seeing an article in the paper whose bolded tag-line read "Irritable Colon?" What began as just an inside joke of saying "Yeah, we're in a band," has now blossomed into a raging inferno of musicality. "Raging inferno of musicality" of course being synonymous with "two guys wasting away their youth and their finances in recording absurd little bits of noise." As for groupies, we already have a roster that well exceeds a thousands members, though we're always looking for more. If interested, we require that you be extremely literate, of a good disposition, and, above all, have access to some hot pink halter tops. Sign up here!

If you were to be a wrestler, or, say, a superhero, what would you want your alias to be?
I think a perfect superhero/magnificent wrestler alias would be that of a social critic, maybe gainfully employed at some prestigious think tank on the East Coast. In this way, I could decry the natures of superheroes and wrestlers in my report, "Cliched Americana: A Nation Longing For Unimaginative Salvation." By doing this, my enemies, whether they be Guy Incognito or even the evil Molebot, would not have the capacity to find me in my top secret lair, asleep, clutching my top secret teddy bear.

What's your favorite sentence that you have written of late?
"He sees a homeless woman across the street who watches him throw it out, full of coffee, full of a warm luxury he casually disregards." Oh, it's so sad. It's so serious. It's full of sad, serious potential, which, of course, leads to people believing that I'm not the curmudgeon I really am. It's from a story called "Blah", which is about a writer.

Why should more writers smoke?
To thin out the ranks. Say for example DeLillo or Updike, take up chain smoking, three packs a day or more. Then their peers, then theirs. Within a matter of years, they'd all be dead and then the publishers would come rushing back to me, just begging to publish my first novel "The Frog People Meet Lamar Alexander."

Please tell us about the project you’re working on. If you had all the time, money and fame in the world, what would it include?
I was working on a literary/film/art festival, sort of a method of injecting some oddness into Phoenix, but it's recently been befouled by cancellations and frustrations. I am in the reconsideration stage right now, wondering if I can continue wading in this puddle of apathy, my proverbial wading boots of indecision protecting my proverbial slacks of heartbreak. If I had all the time, money, and fame, I would quit my job and just keep writing more strange metaphors. Then I'd pay world leaders to read them aloud at truck stops.

True or false: it's a small world, after all.
True, and we know that quite well, don't we Ms. Zulkey? You spent your college years with one Mr. John Damaso, and I spent my sunshiny high school days with the exact same man. In addition, and your mother and father won't tell you this because of the horrible things that could result if the truth was ever revealed, I am your twin brother, sent away to a Belgium monastery shortly after my birth. Do tell mother I miss her, won't you?

Who is Reginald McMcinson?
He is a well renowned poet who is often, for some reason, associated with yours truly. Some have even said he is nothing more than a pseudonym I created. I am aghast at these accusations! Granted, no one has ever seen Mr. McMcinson, and he happens to share the same address, phone number and credit rating that I do, but I think these assumptions are entirely unwarranted.

Here is an analogy: This season, Hilton Head is the new Palm Beach. Now fill in these analogies: This year, Arizona is the new ____ and Steve Delahoyde is the new ____.
This year, Arizona is the new stomping ground of C. Everett Coop, and Steve Delahoyde is the new C. Everett Coop Wrangler (commissioned by the local tourism authority).

You are a literary escort. If you were in the mood for a male literary escort, would you contact yourself, and why?
I think it would be foolish not to, what with my strong jaw line, my seductive wit, my deep, richly-complex persona, my flaxen locks, etc. etc. etc. And who could forget my vain callowness? I'm a winner!

When you’re a famous author, do you think that you’ll burn your bridges and become a complete jerk, or maintain keeping it real with your peeps?
What are you saying? That I'm not a famous author now? Screw you, Zulkey! I never want to speak to you again, nor any of your friends!

Why do you think that so many authors like movies by Wes Anderson?
Because "Wes Anderson" is anagram city: sane wonders, renowned ass, sew and snore, answer nodes, done rawness.

You seem to enjoy coming up with nicknames for people –who do you think you are, George W. Bush? What are some of the best nicknames you’ve come up with and had applied to yourself?
I think I'm afraid of calling people by their real names, so I resort to hiding away in silly-ness. It also keeps the brain moving. Here are a few from this week: Stoic Pant-less Groove Department Chairman, Robotic Sternum Man, Reinhold A. Spacehound, Tenured Marsupial, Chastity Bono's Pool Boy.

Rejection letters suck, don't you think? What would the perfect, most encouraging rejection letter say?
"You, the one who sent us this drivel, this is drivel. When we read it, we fell asleep and all the blood rushed to our heads because we were in a strange position for sleeping. When we woke, we felt dizzy and our skulls ached to some uncertain degree. We are angry at you. If you send us something again, we will hire trained professionals to read it first. If they are not killed, or injured in any way, we might contemplate reading your story, if we're still not nervously laughing, amazed that you'd have the gall to try sending us something again after this fiasco, distantly worried that you might be waiting in the dark corners of our office, ready to pounce, you crazy freak."

You're full of funny stories. Please tell us one, either true or made-up.
A friend of mine was recently stung by a bee. He, like I, had never been stung by a bee in his twenty something years. He's the last of those I know who had previously never felt the painful wrath of one of these tiny, winged beasts. Now I am worried sick, knowing that I am the next to fall. The Last Mohican, without the Mohican part.

If you’re having your photo taken for the bookjacket of your best-selling novel, or simply as a headshot, how would you like to be depicted?
Standing stoically atop a cliff somewhere in the Indus River Valley, surveying the land, thinking over this thing we call "life". I will also have my roots highlighted, be wearing a fake handlebar mustache and adorned with a mesh tank top and hot pants.

What albums have you been listening to of late?
Boards of Canada's "Geogaddi", Elbow's "Asleep In the Back", Aim's "Hinterland", Sparklehorse's "It's A Wonderful Life". Okay, the truth? The "Glitter" soundtrack, on repeat, for the past six months.

How does it feel to be the third person interviewed for
It reminds me of those summer nights I used to spend in Spanish Harlem. Just me and my friends, trying to stay alive in the barrio, confused and hopeful about what our future might hold.