Pop Tart
Tied Up
Sudbury-rasied comedian and Wait, Wait...Don't Tell Me! panelist Paula Poundstone performs at the Wilbur Theatre on Feb. 24.
Yes, I love coming back. When I started doing stand-up comedy, I went out to do an open-mike night. It must’ve been about two days before, and I took a shower and went to leave, and I had my underwear on the outside of my pants. And I realized that I was very, very nervous.
I’ve got nothing against those things. Personally, I like the feeling of a book in my hand. I think there is probably room for both. I don’t think the dawning of the Kindle-slash-Nook means the end of the bound book. There’s too many charms in the bound book for that to be the case. It’s definitely going to change publishing in some ways. The thing about the library is that it’s an environment as well as a clearinghouse. I go to the library to write because I like the feeling.
I just started reading 13 Bankers, I’m also reading a book called Water and I just finished a really trashy novel that took me like two days. The hard stuff that’s really important takes bloody forever.
Tragically slow. I wrote one book, and then I wrote three math workbooks with my high school teacher. And in all of those projects, I couldn’t even send an e-mail. I handwrote everything. Everyone kept saying how much easier it would be if I used a computer, so I went and learned how to use a silly, stupid computer. I’ll tell you, it has made it so hard. I know there are values to technology, but I think that everyone assumes that every bit of technology is a powerful move forward, and I’d really argue not.
For me, it’s like being a batter in a batting cage. I just get lobbed topics, and because it’s not scripted, some I can just watch go by, and some I get a little piece of. I find that very exciting.
No, and I’ll tell you why. I have two dogs. If you just have 16 cats, then people do think of you as a crazy cat lady. But if you have 16 cats and two German shepherds, you’re an animal lover. And I hate them all the same. They’re pissing me off so much lately. I’m totally sick of them. I take care of them. But there are days where I say to myself: Is this what I do for a living? The unseemly side of it, the waste, the cat throwup, it gets to be a bit much. I’ll tell you where I made my mistake. We had a peaceful domicile until I got male cats. It was a really bad idea. I always thought they would spray, and then this lady from a bleeding-heart cat charity said, “Oh, not if you get them fixed young enough.” Not true! It started the pee-o-rama in my house, and I spend my life chasing it, trying to keep everything sanitary.
Does returning to Boston feel like a homecoming?