It's Hard To Love A Place That's

Like Anyone Nostalgic For A Time He Didn't Live Through, I Chose To Weed Out The Little Inconveniences: Polio, Say, Or The Thought Of Eating Stewed Squirrel. The World Was Simply Grander Back Then, Somehow More Civilized, And Nicer To Look At.

It's Odd The Things That People Remember. Parents Will Arrange A Birthday Party, Certain It Will Stick In Your Mind Forever. You'll Have A Nice Time, Then Two Years Later You'll Be Like, 'there Was A Pony There? Really? And A Clown With One Leg?'

And One Of The Things I Noticed Pretty Early On In Art School Was That My Classmates Had No Notion Of An Audience. Right? I Mean, Growing Up With The Mother That I Did, I Learned That When You Walk Into The Dry Cleaners, There's An Audience Waiting For You. You Know, Maybe It's Just The Person Behind The Counter.

As I Searched The Atlas For Somewhere To Run To, Hugh Made A Case For His Old Stomping Grounds. His First Suggestion Was Beirut, Where He Went To Nursery School. His Family Left There In The Midsixties And Moved To The Congo. After That, It Was Ethiopia, And Then Somalia, All Fine Places In His Opinion. 'let's Save Africa And The Middle East For When I Decide To Quit Living,' I Said.

The Difference Between Writing Where You Know Where To Draw The Line And Writing Where You're Being Way Too Mean Is Whether You Can Tell That The Writer Is Not Talking To Family Or Friends Anymore. Generally, If You Say Something Bad About Somebody On Stage, You Need To Say Two Bad Things About Yourself. A Lot Of Times, I Think I'm The Worst Person In The Room.