Worming my way back into your hearts with a little help from CJ Fam

Well, we're done writing the manuscript for book #2 and we're back from hiatus! Or at least I'm back from hiatus. Chris is vacationing with his dad in Maryland this week to celebrate finishing grad school. I'd like to say they should have aimed higher and picked a more exotic travel destination, but then again, my stance on Maryland is and always will be: Maryland—DON'T MIND IF I DO, AND DON'T MIND IF I DO!

So how did writing the book go? Um. Not "well", per se. Chris and I apparently wrote this manuscript on an ancient Indian burial ground because everything that could have gone wrong did. My laptop broke, Chris got strep throat, we had to get three extensions, Chris' apartment exploded in mice, I developed a really painful style on the inside of my upper-right eyelid. I know, A STYE!!! How the hell did that happen?? I really can't stress enough how irritating it was. Blinking was excruciatingly painful. I tried writing with my right eye closed for a while, but it threw off my depth perception and I just ended up getting car sick. It was a weird couple of days. But we're done (thank Christ) and I'm so, so happy to be back. We love writing for Adams because: 1.) they give us money and 2.) our editor is delightful, but writing for someone else really makes you miss writing without restrictions. Adams doesn't even restrict us that much, they just asked that we not write jokes about two subjects: abortion and suicide. Which is problematic because if there's anything funnier than abortion and suicide, it's child molestation. Now we have an entire binder's worth of aborted abortion and suicide jokes that just sits on a shelf marked "irony" in my apartment and collects dust. Therefore this needs to happen:

SUICIDE! SUICIDE! SUICIDE!

ABORTION! ABORTION! ABORTION!

SUICIDE! ABORTION! ABORTIONY SUICIDE! SUICIDAL ABORTIONS! ABORTICIDE! ABORTION! ABORTION! ABORTION!

KNOCK, KNOCK.

WHO'S THERE?

ABORTION.

ABORTION, WHO?

SUICIDE!

God, that felt good. Glad to be back here at the old 2b1b where the bar is set low. Really, really, embarrassingly low.

So remember when you were a kid and your dad would go away on long business trips and bring you back something nice to make it up to you? Or in my case, both of your parents would go to Monte Carlo on your birthday and then come back and give your bike to your sister to abandon in Malcolm X park, not replace it, and after years of not letting them live it down, you delude yourself into thinking that maybe they've learned a lesson, but then your dad gives his car to your sister, sells your car, and uses the profits to help buy himself a Porsche, and when you ask what you get out of that deal, he hands you a jar of baby gherkins and everybody laughs really hard?............Goddammit, I have no idea what my original point was. Oh, yes. Dad/business trip metaphor. So I know Daddy had to go away on business and now you're all mad at me, but I brought you back a little prezzie to make it better. (For the record: I feel like I just molested each and every one of you and I apologize profusely.) It's a privilege and an honor to start the 2b1b engine back up with our interview with C-C-C-C-CJ FAM!

I'm totally not making this up. Chris and I sat down on Easter Sunday and interviewed my new BFF #1, CJ Fam. It turns out after I wrote "In Defense of CJ Fam", CJ's mom (Brenda, she's a doll) found it and reached out to us because she and CJ thought it was funny. Which is awesome, because whenever I write about someone not in my immediate circle, I'm aware that it's going to go one way or the other, and it always tends to go the other. Like the time I wrote that really flattering piece about my ninth grade crush and within an hour of it being up, his cousin emailed me to tell me to take it down and his best friend called my best friend to be like, "Meg wrote some gay shit about Steve on her blog or whatever and Steve's like, really weirded out now." God, that was disappointing. It was like watching a magician empty his sleeves, or Santa take off his beard. Except once Santa's beard is off, it's not upsetting because he's just some random guy—it's upsetting because he has the sense of humor of a foghorn. Sigh. Anyway! CJ Fam is promoting her new single "Show Off" and we had the pleasure of chatting with her about it. (Side note: we did the interview over Facebook chat because it was just easier for transcribing purposes, however, because my Facebook photo is of Carl Winslow, the entire interview felt more like watching a fantasy version of "Inside the Actor's Studio" starring Carl Winslow instead of James Lipton and CJ Fam instead of James Franco. So, basically, a 5,000% better show.)

2birds1blog:
Hey CJ, Thanks again for taking time out of your Easter to chat with us.


CJ Fam:
Sure, anytime.


2b1b:
First and foremost: Ark Records: what was behind that decision? It seems like an unusual decision for a girl of your talent.



Fam:
Well, I wrote a song and they offered to produce it because every one has to start somewhere.


2b1b:
So did they find you, or did you already know about them?

Fam:
They were trying to launch a girl band and we submitted a video of me singing and they wanted to launch me as a solo artist.

2b1b:
That must have been flattering! I was hoping they were going to do that with our book deal. And yet. Here Chris is.

So are Patrice “Bizarro Usher” Wilson and Clarence Jay as creepy as the world collectively decided they are?

Fam:
Absolutely not, Clarenece was so down to earth and supported me and he is very spiritual.

2b1b:
Sounds about right. Are you still working with them at all?

Fam:
No, I moved on from Ark but still keep in touch with them.

2b1b:
Who are you with now? And what made you want to move on?

Fam:
I am with Famous Teen Traxx. Ark had suddenly broke down after the whole Rebecca Black situation. I moved on I could prove that I could sing because I have been under attack. I just recorded a new song called "Show Off" and made a video behind it so the song should be out soon. The producer's name is Ramone and we were in LA for a week.

2b1b:
Well, as Chris just said, judging from "Show Off", there's no doubt you can sing.

Fam:
I still have a long way to go.

2b1b:
Going back to Ark briefly, I know that you read my blog post about how I VERY MUCH thought “Ordinary Popstar” deserved to go viral over Rebecca Black’s “Friday”. Let’s rap about that. Are you as peeved as I was (/am)?

Fam:
I'm not angry because she has to deal with all the negativity and I would rather have less hits but they are mostly good then going viral in a negative way.

2b1b:
That's an incredibly good and mature point. It’s crazy that you’re only 11-years-old. When I was 11 I failed Earth Science and wore a fair amount of baby-doll tee/boardshort combos. Are you having fun or is this work?

Fam:
I think of it as fun and not work because you can express yourself in a different way.

2b1b:
So what can you tell us about "Show Off"?

Fam:
It is a jazz type song from the 1940's, they were looking for a singer for over a year, and they knew nothing about my song "Ordinary Popstar".

2b1b:
Does this mean you have a contract with Famous Teen Traxx?

Fam:
No they want to take me to different labels to get signed but my parents don't want me to grow up too fast. And I love going to school and having friends.

2b1b:
I know what you mean. [That comment was followed by an awkward 30 seconds of silence. I really expected a fair amount of HAHAHA's because I thought it was obvious that I was referencing the line in "Ordinary Popstar", "I want to have a regular life again, like going to school and having good friends. You know what I mean?" And when you've out CJ Fam-ed CJ Fam, it's time to get out of your fucking apartment.]

I’m going to be real honest with you: I went to a very performance arts heavy high school with lots of girls pursuing pop stardom and I usually describe them with words that I’m not going to use in front of an 11-year-old girl. Please tell me that you’re nice. As your #1 blog supporter, this is oddly important to me.

Fam:
I feel that I am very humble and I don't like talking about my popstar life at school so my friends can think of me as just a good friend. I enter these contests for myself to improve. My dad says that being a good person is the meat and potatoes and having good grades and being able to sing is just gravy. We all like gravy but we don't need it.

2b1b:
Ooo...my dad pushed grades. But in the end I'm just a blogger, so I guess I showed him. I have a question on behalf of my friend Andrew (who introduced me to your music, by the way). In all of the Ark videos, including yours, are those your real friends or extras that Ark hires?

Fam:
They hired extras, but I took one friend and she was in the video too.

2b1b:
How fun!

Fam:
And I wonder sometimes who are my true friends and who aren't.

2b1b:
I feel like that's normal for middle school (or at least in my experience) but I imagine it's even harder if you're a public figure.

Fam:
Well, being in Elementary School is even harder.

2b1b:
Oh, just kidding then. Middle school is a breeeeze!

Fam:
Good, can't wait.

2b1b:
Well, look. As I've written about on our blog, elementary and middle school sucked for me, but every day I came home and ate a box of cookies and watched "Mama's Family". At least you have this amazing project.

Fam:
Do have any words of wisdom for a girl like me?

2b1b:
GIRL, I could write you a novel.

Fam:
Well, I'm up for reading it! Do you think I should stop what I am doing?

2b1b:
I'm genuinely rooting for you, so any time you need advice, you come straight to me, missy. I guess my overarching advice is that grades 5-7/8ish can be rough, but it gets considerably better. And if not, just start a blog!

You totally should not stop what you're doing. You're a genuinely good singer! I think bowing out of the reality show was a good call though. [Fam was cast in a reality show about assembling the next tween pop group, but left when she was allegedly encouraged to be more competitive and start dramz with other other members of the group].

Fam:
I'll take that, good advice. I didn't want to target anyone out of the group, you know? I would never stomp on anyone's dreams.

2b1b:
I think that was a good move. It would have painted you as this fame-hungry tween and clearly that's not who you are. Well, I'm pretty sure we just became best friends, but I have one last question for you...I see that one of your biggest supporters is Sean “Barney Rubble” of Death Row Players fame. Can you, or can you not help me attain my personal life goal of meeting Dr. Dre? I am not too big to beg an 11-year-old girl.

Fam:
Well if you could write a blog on Famous Teen Traxx, maybe we can make some arrangement...

2b1b:
Muhaha...consider it DONE. Well thank you so much for your time, Ms. Fam! We can't wait for the release of "Show Off"!

Fam:
And we are rooting for you. Thanks!

2b1b:
PSHHH, stop. If you need any more advice from my anthology of middle school meltdowns, just holler.

Carl Winslow + CJ Fam = BFF4LYFE, OBVS

Thoughts I Frankly Didn’t Try Very Hard to Flesh Out into Full Entries Because I’ve Had A Shitty Few Days

Eugenics: My mother and my aunt have never gotten along, although now that they’re getting older and their health has started to fail they get along better because they finally have something to talk about. Any time my aunt comes up in conversation, my mother says “Oh! She married those two idiots! It’s going to take us generations to get those genes out of the family.”

Abortion: My good God Almighty, I am tired of hearing about abortion. Like the Roman senator that ended every speech, no matter the topic, with “Carthage must be destroyed,” every political argument in this country (and a surprising number of private conversations) works its way around to abortion. In later centuries, historians will study our political system and be sure they’re using a bad translation. I’m sure I used to have a rational, well-considered position on the issue at some point, but I don’t remember what it was after a quarter-century of “Choice! Life! Choice! Life!” I especially hate the bumper sticker that says, “Your Mother Was Pro-Life!” Ignoring the foolishness of having any bumper sticker that contains the words “your mother,” no, she wasn’t. She just didn’t have an abortion in 1984. (Five bucks says someone leaves a comment saying “But she should have!”)

To Hell with Punctuation: There used to be an anti-abortion billboard on the highway on the way to my mom’s house from the airport (it was across from a place that offered “tattooz” – why is the area near the airport always so frightening?) Like most ads, it featured a dopey grinning baby, and bore the caption “Did you know? I got my “GENES” at conception. Why in the world are they “GENES”? Is “genes,” pronounced “hen-ess,” the Spanish word for soul or something? It makes me think that the person designing the billboard doesn’t really believe in genes, but, hell, might as well fight fire with fire? “Genes is the keyword here. Better do something to it. Quotes, italics or something.” Yesterday I was walking to the post office and passed a house with a sign on the door that read “Please leave deliveries on the step…” And… what? Ellipses… generally lead to something. Adding punctuation for no reason… makes no sense. I feel like there are a lot of signs on restaurants that have similar random punctuation, especially the poor, exploited quotation mark. “Please” NO SMOKING. One per “customer.”

Creation vs. Evolution: I had a fight with my last girlfriend (last as in both “final” and “most recent”) over this issue. She strongly favored teaching evolution, and I strongly didn’t give a damn.

“How do you not care if people are taught good science?”

“Because I went to a public high school! Our anatomy teacher was a defrocked monk! Who the hell cares what the teachers in high school teach, no one listens to them.”

“But it’s science!”

“It’s high school. Nothing that happens in high school matters unless you get pregnant. Name six things you learned in high school.”

To be fair, I didn’t really… do high school. By a lucky quirk, we had an excellent theatre department and crappy-ass sports teams, so the theatre kids got the privileges jocks traditionally get. I also tested well, so I really didn’t have to do a thing. (The defrocked monk thing is true, though. He had other, more time-consuming classes to teach so my senior-year anatomy class was mostly making power-point presentations about various parts of the body. Fingernails, for example. My partner and I started putting heavily haloed Renaissance pictures of Jesus in our presentations and adding narration by “the Bioluminescent Christ.” We were theatre kids, so we got away with it.) Anyway, my take on the matter is this: Go to an all-you-can-eat buffet the day after the government pays out benefits. Watch everyone’s table manners, and then tell me if you think we’re not descended from apes.

Chris Goes to Work: I’ve designed a job for myself. I’m going to hang out in the maternity ward of the hospital and veto stupid names. I went to middle school with a kid named “Dude.” During my very, very brief stint teaching underprivileged children, I met “Acuchi” (pronounced “a coochee” as in “a sniz” as in “female genitals”) and “Grunisha.” A friend of mine once had a beau named “Cable.” My mother, who for all her other eccentricities is usually truthful, swears she knew a woman who taught elementary school who had a pupil named “Vagina” (pronounced “Va-geena,”) and my father’s sister knew a family whose daughters were Georgia, Virginia, and Tennessee. We’ve all met someone named McKenzie but spelled some jackass way like “MyKyNzI” – not that McKenzie was ever supposed to be a first name, but at least most people could spell it within three tries. Even my dear, dear friend Apples wants to name her daughter “Aoife.” The A and the O are silent, and it’s pronounced “eefuh.” I asked her if she had had a stroke, and she said “It’s Irish,” as if that explained anything. You know what other names are Irish? Claire. Maureen. Eileen. So spellable. So pronounceable. There’s clearly an opening for someone to sit by the bassinet and say, “Kensleyton is not a name. Your choices are Henry or Jack.”

Politics: Ronald Reagan was president of the most powerful country in the world for eight years. He was also the star of a movie about a chimpanzee called “Bedtime for Bonzo.” (Well, star after the chimpanzee.) To me, this says two things. One, follow your friggin’ dreams, because hell, they might come true. Two, there absolutely is a God, because in a world governed solely by cold, rational natural laws, the “chimpanzee guy” never comes near the big red button.

The whitest things I’ve ever done:

- gotten a sunburn through a shirt

- had a nightmare, an actual nightmare, about having made a bad financial decision

- been scolded for not crying, more than once

White men traditionally get shit for not showing our emotions, but I ask you: The plane is going down, the Russians (The Iranians, the Pakistanis, the Chinese, the North Koreans, the Basques…) have dropped the bomb, the risen dead have appeared at the head of the block. Who do you want near you: someone having feelings, yelling and crying and (God forbid) trying to hug you, or someone in control of himself? I’ve always feared dying in a group for exactly this reason. Given my luck, not only would my plane get shot down by the one anti-aircraft missile the Green Party managed to buy, but I would be next to someone who wants me to “open up” on the way down.

“Is there anything you want to address before the end?”

“I, uh… sorr about the bag?”