I usually introduce my guests with a little background info, sincere personal praise – a mention of nominations and awards, spectacular blurbs from acclaimed writers, a few glowing reviews from prestigious critics and publications – and then we head right into our chat. I have never asked my guests to provide this info-I seek it out myself. In Dylan’s case, I was prepared to remind you that besides being a criminal defense lawyer for the past fiften years, Dylan was also a guest blogger here at Murderati, AND he writes an absolutely terrific legal thriller series – first being, of course, MISDEMEANOR MAN, which won Mystery Ink’s 2004 Gumshoe for best debut, and the second in the series – I RIGHT THE WRONGS, was a Booksense selection. Oh, so was MISDEMEANOR MAN. And then I was going to tell you that his next book, LIFE, DEATH & BIALYS: A FATHER/SON BAKING STORY (which made me laugh, smile and cry all at once) is due out September 6th. And…ta da…is a Barnes & Nobel Discover pick.
Anyway, God help me, I still don’t know why I asked Dylan for some additional info, but I did. I mean, I know him, okay? He’s a pal. I know that a mischevious monkey resides in his cranium-so I shoulda been warned.
Fasten your seat belts – here’s what he sent me:
Dylan Schaffer was born Hilda Nihelitheg in 1912. During WWII she served as a factotum to the Emperor of Jerusalem. Ms. Nihelitheg disappeared from the political scene until 1974 when, having shed his female skin, he took a position as Gerald Ford’s manicurist. After careers in journalism, plumbing, and phlebotomy, Mr. Schaffer settled into the final chapter of his life as a writer. His comic legal thrillers, MISDEMEANOR MAN and I WRITE THE WRONGS were both well received in the Japanese religious community. The well known celebrity chef Mario Batali called Schaffer’s new memoir, LIFE, DEATH & BIALYS: A FATHER/SON BAKING STORY, "a book."
See what I mean? But, not to worry, it gets better. Well, sort of. But be warned -you ain’t seen nuttin’ yet.
Oh, and I should mention this interview will be in two parts. Dylan was so generous with his time, we just got carried away chatting. You know how that is with friends. You just go on, and on and on. So be sure to come back next Saturday for the conclusion. If you can handle more, that is.
EE: Somewhere in the night, Dylan, or at what point in your career, did you find it necessary to stop after each chapter draft to go outside and stare at the moon? I mean, to know you is to love you, but what?
DS: Elaine, Elaine. You’re amazing. I haven’t thought of that weekend in New England in years. It was fall, Saturday, 1970. I was taking a few days away from my job trading zero coupon bonds on the Street. My pockets were full, but my heart was empty. I parked in a shuttered seaside town. The fog slithered over me, its chilly fingers sneaking behind my collar and up my pants legs. I ducked into a dive, Avenue C. The barmaid was called Mandy. She looked like Terri Hatcher, only blond and tall, with Streisand’s nose and a chest that would have hooked Johnny Depp. She fed me near beers and laughed at my jokes about Jewish cannibals and David Hasselhoff. By the time her shift ended I swear I couldn’t smile without her. It could have been magic. But around daybreak, during some romantic gynmastics, I tripped and spent the next six hours in the emergency room trying to get the feeling back in my left foot. Mandy said she was going out to find some Chuckles. I never saw her again. To this day I’m running too hard, chasing that feeling, saying these words, "Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there."
Gosh, is that all it took? Uh, Dylan? Don’t turn around. There’s a duck chasing you yelling, ‘AFLACK!
EE: I understand you like to talk to yourself (?!). I’ve been told you and Gordy Seegerman, your protag, spend a lot of time deciding you’re ready to take a chance again and get Barry Manilow to sign one of your books.
DS: I knew you were going to ask that. You could substitute any kind of cannibals you like – Polish, Republican, doesn’t matter. But the way I like to tell it, two Jewish Cannibals are standing around a big pot of stew. One says to the other, "I just can’t stand my mother-in-law." So the other says, "Geeze, what’s the big deal? Just eat the noodles."
Ha! I’ll bet that was you and Jackie Mason last week at the Joan Rivers soiree.
EE: When October goes, will you have fond memories of Bouchercon in Madison? Or will you still want to ring ‘…………’s’ neck for heckling you last year at your panel in Chicago?
DS: Speaking of Bouchercon in Chicago, my wife has a bunion. Do you know anything about bunions? It’s more serious than it sounds. She’s a very normal person, my wife. Cute, smart, pretty good dresser. Works like a dog to keep me in electricty and Captain Crunch. But all of her left shoes have a bulge at the side that looks like she’s growing another toe. The disturbing thing about bunions is that they are mostly self-inflicted. Women, mostly, get them from wearing tight shoes. Reminds me of the Chinese practice of binding women’s feet. Women who wear the wrong size shoes can also develop other disabling foot problems like corns, calluses and hammertoes. I suppose this will sound unfeeling, but I really hope my wife doesn’t develop hammertoes.
Actually, I know very little about bunions. But, Pari does. Maybe you three should get together? Uh, Pari? Take two Advils first. Preventive medicine is always smart.
EE: Please don’t be scared, or take offense, but I’ve got to ask this next question. You do thoroughly scrub your hands before making those famous cookies you give out at book signings, don’t you? I promise not to turn you into the Cookie Police if you just rinse them, but I’ve been asked to ask you.
DS: Thanks for asking. You’d be surprised how many people don’t know what a bialy is. I suppose you can’t really blame them. I sometimes think that bagels are the insecure bread, couldn’t tolerate sharing the Jewish breakfast food arena. I suppose we have Noah to thank for that. You don’t see that dude pushing bialys on bus stop advertisements, do you? Anyway, I suppose by now it’s pretty obvious that bialys are like bagels – round, baked, made with flour, good for spreading cream cheese. But unlike bagels, they don’t require boiling to taste good. If you ask me, only narcissistic bread feels the need to sit in a hot tub before baking. A hot oven is good enough for bialys, and bialys are good enough for me. There’s a good bialys recipe (http://bialybook.com/bialy_recipe.htm) on my site.
Where’s my Advil? Nevermind, where’s my Jack Daniels??
EE: Okay, I can handle this guy. Really. Let’s try this: What is your favorite retreat? And what do you do there? Just don’t tell me it’s the Bermuda Triangle, okay? Or a weekend in New England.
DS: My favorite retreat? Well, that would be any sort of conversation with you, Elaine, of course. I’ve done a lot of interviews in the past few years, and before that, even more in my work as a construction engineer, and before that when I appeared in the sixties situation comedy, My Mother the Car. I’ve rarely encountered someone with a more natural, instinctive, relaxing style. Obviously this is because you’re a writer, and you understand character, and you know how to work your way into a guy’s heart before getting under his skin and finally opening up his arteries. You’re the best, Elaine, truly. Chatting with you is one of life’s great treats.
Gosh, that was nice. But I owe any and all accolades to my guests. Particularly the lucid ones.
EE: Somewhere down the road, people begin to develop a Walter Mitty dream. I’m almost afraid to know yours, but what the hell, go for it.
DS: Incredible. I swear to God I have goose bumps. My gardener’s name is Walter. Seriously. I have no reason to make this stuff up. Walter Laing. He’s normally a damn good gardener. But lately, I don’t know. We have some trees in the backyard he’s been promising to cut down for ages. When I call him he give me all sorts of excuses – his back went out, he’s in Boston. It’s just ridiculous. If he doesn’t want to get paid to cut down our trees, all he has to do is say so. I’d be fine having someone else do it. But this business of putting me off is aggravating to say the least.
Walter Laing? Sure you got the spelling right? Wasn’t Walter Lang that famous director? Didn’t he direct ‘Call Me Madam’ and ‘The King and I’? So he turned to gardening, huh? But, Dylan-since he died in 1972, it’s no wonder he hasn’t done your trees.
EE: Word on the street is that even though some good things never last, you’ve been plauged by angry Oaklanders to change the name of Santa Rita in your series to Oakland in the next Gordy Seegerman book. Has there been that much social pressure from a town known as ‘there’s no there there‘?
DS: I’ll just answer that question by asking you a question. Is that okay? I hope so. I really do. Sometimes I think being definitive, answering directly, is such, I don’t know, western, linear, right brain bullshit. Sometimes the reader ought to have to work for the answer. Sometimes the audience should have to engage. I’m not criticizing the question at all. It’s totally a fair question. But I’m just weary of the straightforward response. Anyway, sorry, here’s my answer: If there’s no there there, then where are you when you’re there?
That’s what I mean!! There’s no there there! I know that for a fact! I was born there!!
EE: Could it be magic, or can you really complete a first draft in two weeks?
DS: Magic. Please. Magic? I don’t think so. I’m not trying to embarrass you, but magic? If someone’s magic, it’s you, Elaine. Your books? Incredible. The awards? Deserved, deserved, deserved. I remember watching you eat your Kung Pao shrimp in Chicago last year and thinking to myself, "Magic. There’s really no other appropriate word." Listen, if I’m Magic – and I have my moments, sure – well, you’re triple super-duper magic. Seriously.
You’re a darling to say such wonderful things about me, but lean closer and I’ll let you in on my secret. No, closer. That’s it…a few more inches. Okay, just between us, right? I cast a spell, and it worked. I have all these dolls, see, and at midnight at every new moon, I…well, I’ll have to show you. It wouldn’t have happened otherwise. I mean, a gal’s gotta do what she can, right? So I used magic. They don’t call me Evil E for nuttin’.
EE: Even now, after reading MISDEMEANOR MAN and I WRITE THE WRONGS twice, I still can’t get enough of Gordy. When can we expect to see him again?
DS: That’s a painful question to address. I don’t want to seem like I’m unwilling to go there. I’m willing. I am. I don’t want to come off as someone who is unwilling to answer the tough questions. I just, it’s only, well, it’s painful. Can you understand that? I’m being honest here. I’m not hedging. I’m not avoiding. I’m letting it all hang out. I’m showing you the real me. Can you handle it? Can your readers? They’re used to seeing the protected me,the closeted me. The guy with the smiling face on television and in the magazines. The guy with the beautiful woman on his arm walking the plank at the Oscars. That’s me. Sure it is. But there’s another me, too. This is that me, the me you’re talking to. The me who’s willing to face the music, who’s open to a meaningful, heart-to heart dialogue. The me who says, "Shit, bring it on, baby." I wasn’t born yesterday. I’ve been to hell and back. Give me your best shot. You may knock me out today, but I’ll be back tomorrow. Oh yeah.
Oh, just come here and let me give you a big hug. Poor baby, I had no idea! Come hell, or high water, we’ll work it out. You’ll see. Trust me. Have I ever let you down? We can do this.
SEE YOU ALL NEXT WEEK? LIKE I SAID, YOU AIN’T SEEN NUTTIN’ YET. NEITHER HAVE I!
Oh . . . my . . . gawd. The first part of this interview is like driving fast down a winding mountain road or, maybe, driving off a winding mountain road really fast.
Let me catch my breath.
What a wonderful, funny, totally non sequitor read.
Oh, and Dylan, bunions often are caused because of the shape of the foot rather than wearing the wrong shoes. Believe me, I know. Last week when I was at the OB/GYN, my feet up in stirrups . . . um, well, my doc looked at them and said, “Just get the damn surgery, Pari.”
When I can’t do Tae Kwon Do anymore, I’ll consider it.
Thanks again for the great read.
TO MS. ELAINE FLINN, AKA, EVIL E., AND DOES 1-100, RESPONSIBLE FOR TEXT POSTED AUGUST 26, 2006, AT INTERNET SITE CAPTIONED MURDERATI.COM, RE: PROSPECTIVE CLAIMS FOR LIABLE, SLANDER, INJURY TO REPUTATION AND BUSINESS INTERESTS.
FROM: DYLAN SCHAFFER
CC: GERALD MUX, ESQ., MUX, GOTE & EUNICE, ATTORNEYS AT LAW
At an early hour on 26 August 2006, it was brought to my attention by a thoughtful acquaintance who, additionally, happens to be the sort of person who spends/squanders his time looking at internet weblogs, that on the same day, at the internet address of https://www.murderati.com, you had posted and therefore set into the public sphere a long series of questions and answers, which answers you claim originate from Dylan Schaffer, the writer.
After reviewing the “interview” (which I found tedious and unfunny), I quickly concluded that the alleged interviewee is none other than myself. While there may well be a few other Dylan Schaffers on the planet, none other is the writer responsible for the books you mention.
I further concluded that one of two possible circumstances is responsible for the attribution of this appalling display to me. First, you geuninely attempted to interview the writer Dylan Schaffer, and someone highjacked my e-mail address, intercepted your messages, and responded on my behalf (albeit, without bothering to learn how to employ the English language). Second, it is possible that you, or another of your Murderati comrades, is responsible for the “answers” that are attributed, falsely, to the writer Dylan Schaffer.
I strongly believe the second circumstance is at work. Indeed, you essentially admit as much by referring to yourself as “Evil E” in the post. By “Evil” I assume you intend both definitions I find in Websters: “morally wrong or bad” or “harmful or injurious.”
But no matter whether you are responsible for this atrocity or not, three responses are in order.
First, I am the writer Dylan Schaffer and not only did I not answer your questions, also I would not have done so on threat of torture on a rack.
Second, the text you’ve attributed to me is not simply illiterate, it is, as I’ve noted, unfunny, obtuse, overlong, and apparently the work of someone who is demented. Indeed, I fear that anyone reading it would be so disturbed by its incoherence that he/she would hesitate to buy my new book, “Life, Death & Bialys: A Father/Son Baking Story” which comes out in September, and, as you mention, is a Barnes & Noble Discover Pick.
Finally, I must request that you (or whomever is actually responsible for this assault on my standing in the professional community) cease and desist immediately, that the post be removed forthwith, and that you never again attribute the text to me in any forum.
I have an idea this was your or someone’s idea of a joke, some good fun for a dull Saturday. Apparently you assumed I would never learn of the posting or that I would take what amounts to a personal attack in stride. Well, let me assure you, nothing could be further from the case.
I stand ready to pursue all avenues of relief open to me, and I expect your immediate attention to this matter. My attorneys have advised me that a civil action for injunctive and monetary relief could be filed a.m. Monday should that be necessary.
Um, Dylan,I see that you’re trying to squirrel out of the interview. Didn’t you see that micro-recording device Elaine wore in her bustier? Or, were your eyes otherwise occupied?
Just because you didn’t notice doens’t mean you’re a victim now . . .
Oh, so that’s the way you wanna play, eh, Dylan! Okay-bring it on, baby. Not only did I have that micro-recording device Pari mentions, but I also have PHOTOS!! Yes, several. In the bar at Bcon in Chicago-remember that blond from Hooters? And on the promenade outside with the redhead? Oh, yes – I’ve learned a few things from writing mysteries, pal. I know things that…well, let’s just say I take my offer of a hug back. You’re on your own, the gloves are off and just you wait until next Saturday.
Ms. Flinn et al.:
Apparently for you and your readers (I assume you have readers) the trashing of my reputation is a form of sport, a diversion, a chuckle. But I assure you I do not intend to stand by and allow myself to be abused by a collection of half-wits.
Re your comments: I have no doubt you have photos; but photos, as we know, can be doctored. Indeed, should I be required to do so, I’m confident I could produce a photo of Ms. Flinn (or anyone else associated with your enterprise) flagrante delicto, oh, say, with Condi Rice.
As for recording devices, again, I have reason to doubt your claims. Of course, under California Penal Code secs. 630 et seq., any unauthorized recording would be a felony. I would relish the opportunity to file a complaint with the local District Attorney which would require a comprehensive search of your undergarments. I wonder what kind of interesting stories you might write from the Security Housing Unit at Chowchilla?
No, Ms. Flinn, this is no game. While I have no desire to embarrass you or damage your career, I seek reasonable redress for the harm and insult you have caused me.
P.S. At the very least you might have done a thorough fact check. Ms. Nihelitheg was born in 1910, not in 1912, as you suggest. And she was factotum to the “Mufti” of Jerusalem, not the emperor.
Mufti, Smufti-I give a cupcake,okay?
You, Mr.Schaffer, obviously have no idea who you’re fooling with here. I have friends, okay? Don’t let my last name fool you, I’ve got Italian blood running in my veins, capice?
Oh, dear. Dylan’s gone off his meds again, hasn’t he. And Elaine? Was there a particular “sing along” quality to your questions?
Well done, you two!
Oh, Louise…you have such a perceptive eye. Wonder if anyone else will see what you see. Dylan off his meds? Isn’t he always? I should be more understanding, but he’s just gone too far this time. I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got some ‘friends’ on hold. Know what I mean?
After hastily assessing the use of sentence structure, word choice, cadence, intent and absurdity, it is my untrained opinion that the answers attributed to Mr.Dylan oh Mr. Dylan, have a 99.999% chance of having been conceived and contributed by the same person who in the Comment Section has now tried to rescind, retract, revile and revoke them.
I’m especially thankful my hand has been holding 16 y/o Lagavulin and not some lesser swill for the show!
(…aside to Evil E: yes, Uncle G. and Associates are available…)
Hey, B.G.,I’m glad you’re in control and your assessment is spot on.
This Dylan fellow had better watch out.
What’s with this Dylan? I read his two books and really liked him……but THIS is weird. Maybe he didn’t write the books. Maybe he didn’t write all this. Maybe I’m losing my mind…………..agggghh
Thanks, B.G.- I’ve reached out. I think I have a deal elsewhere.
No, Jane – you’re not losing your mind – but after next Saturday, you might.
And yes, Pari-I’m afraid it’s bonkersville for the guy. But still-I’m not taking any chances. I’m ready.
Please note that the person writing under the name Jane Herndon is a known psychopath and Georgia Bulldogs fan who has been stalking me for years and against whom I have three active restraining orders in separate jurisdictions. I am also aware that she recently was involved in a suspicious bicycle accident, with injury to her head, which may have left her more demented than usual. My advice to all: steer clear of Ms. Herndon (especially on the ski slopes).
As for the person purporting to be B.G. Ritts, need I go much beyond the fact that the comparison between comment and post was done while admitted under the influence of a scotch known for its power to induce hallucinations. I do not intend to take the time to expose its many flaws, except to say that the person purporting to be Dylan Schaffer in the post sounds like a dangerous socio-path with a consuming foot fetish. The real Dylan Schaffer — that is, me — abhors the site of feet and hasn’t had his socks off in ten years.
As noted, I’ll be seeing you all in court.
Yeah, pal – see you in court! My dream team is assembled and ready. Jane and B.G. – not to worry, okay? I’ve hired a knockout team, Grisham, Turow & Margolin. New guys, but hungry.
I offer myself as personal assistant to the next incarnation of Mr. (or Ms. – guess I shouldn’t assume) Schaffer, in the hope of one day, maybe, understanding what this was all about.Meanwhile, I can’t wait for installment #2 and the continuation of this disturbingly entertaining string of lies (I’ve seen your toes more often than I care to remember, Dylan) and, especially, more on California Penal Code secs. 630 et seq.
Is it possible we could get this interview translated?
English might be nice.
I’m keeping my eye on those two…
Glad you noticed,David – I had the same problem a few times myself. And it gets worse-wait until you see Part Two!
Okay everyone-Dylan has help. Watch out for Laure. Is it possible she understands him?
Once again, you all miss the cruise liner for the shrimp cocktail.
As with Jane Herndon, the person with the name Laure is well known to me. She is of foreign descent; specifically, she is from France. I doubt another word is necessary.
Re Mr. Montgomery’s comments, I say, Yes indeed. Finally I’m joined by a rational voice. As he correctly intimates, the original post (have we forgotten what started this ugly mess to begin with?) is so clearly the work of a foreigner (Laure, perhaps) or someone without even the rudiments of English usage, that the attribution to me is injurious to my writing career. Which means Ms. Flinn’s failure to pull it several hours ago bodes badly for her bank accounts.
I will take great pleasure spending her money next summer at blackjack tables in Monaco.
Yours very truly,
If he ever gets a divorce, let me know.
Too late, pal. Grisham, Turow & Margolin already got all my dough. You’ll never find the antiques, the Jade jewelry, or the art work – already out of the country. Now maybe you know who you’re playing with. Muhahaha.
Kell? Surely you jest. Our family is already certifiable. Besides, Dylan’s a LAWYER!! You KNOW what Shakespeare said about lawyers, don’t you?
Evil! Evil! I mean: Advil! To know Dylan is to love him! Let us not forget your own parting words, Evil E. – and I quote: “Come hell, or high water, we’ll work it out.” Now whose French is that?
Yes, Laure – I did say ‘Come hell, or high water, we’ll work it out.’ And I meant that at the time, and with all my evil heart. But now…Dylan has turned on me. I’m crushed by his deceit and his callous accusations. I fear I can no longer offer my warm generous heart to him ever again. The magic between us is gone. The die is cast. The ship has sailed. 7-11 is out of lottery tickets. We have reached the Rubicon. Alas, and alack.
This too shall pass. The Rubicon was crossed, and something or other happened to the die, the ship and 7-11’s lottery tickets. I mean: surely. Please, please don’t even let me imagine that next week’s upcoming part deux was but a shallow promise. I MUST know the ending!
As Evil E — via the inference made by ‘evil’ in said’s title — has in no way used any of the techniques codified by the aforementioned secs. 630 et seq. of the CPC, the ‘real’ Mr. Dylan oh Mr. Dylan will likely be thrown out of court for bringing a silly suit. He then would have no statute to stand on.
Meanwhile, Evil E, the intrepid interviewer, will get to expose this effete endeavor with her conclusion to this excellent expose with next week’s closing arguments…uh, installment.
All will be known.
(that diacritic was almost a no-show)
To Dylan, or not to Dylan, that is the question.
Yes, dear friends, there will be a Part Two. And to my supporters, may I offer you the warmth of my fondness. Though I am Evil E, I am also benign to those who follow me as we travail this treacherous path.
I am not one to shirk my duty, nay my promises. As one of history’s famous said – ‘I shall return.’- for there is nothing to fear, but fear itself.
Yay, verily, I shalt not fear, for the Evil E and her minions will shackle the vituperous Schaffer and maketh him speak once more.
Ye Gods! What mischief shall be wrought whence next Saturday cometh?
I feel like I am repeating myself everyweek because everyweek is a great interview, and i was hoping I could find a flaw or an unappealing I didn’t like, but i couldn’t. I will try next week to find an unappealing passage just so i can write something other than saying another great interview. So keep up the good work, jurt not TOO good.
Ah, Pari! Yes, what mischief indeed! Dylan shall come to know our wrath as the legions form.
And to our faithful friend, Vito – I shall do my utmost to offer a flaw or too – if only to keep you with us.
Merci, my loyal followers. Next Saturday draws near and we are ready.
Ah, triple super-duper magic Evil E indeed. Kung-Pao Schaffer (rhymes with gaffer?) too…
Yea,verily doth many attributes apply to Mr. Schaffer, Cornelia.
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