Zombie Spaceship Wasteland: A Book by Patton Oswalt
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Now in paperback, from a “multi-faceted, medium-hopping, culture skewering performer” (SPIN), this is a journey through the world of Patton Oswalt, best known for his roles in film (Big Fan and Ratatouille) and television (The King of Queens and The United States of Tara), but also beloved for his ascerbic, highly eloquent, and wildly funny standup comedy.
Prepare yourself for a journey through the world of Patton Oswalt, one of the most creative, insightful, and hysterical voices on the entertainment scene today. Widely known for his roles in the films Big Fan and Ratatouille, as well as the television hit The King of Queens, Patton Oswalt—a staple of Comedy Central—has been amusing audiences for decades. Now, with Zombie Spaceship Wasteland, he offers a fascinating look into his most unusual, and lovable, mindscape.
Oswalt combines memoir with uproarious humor, from snow forts to Dungeons & Dragons to gifts from Grandma that had to be explained. He remembers his teen summers spent working in a movie Cineplex and his early years doing stand-up. Readers are also treated to several graphic elements, including a vampire tale for the rest of us and some greeting cards with a special touch. Then there’s the book’s centerpiece, which posits that before all young creative minds have anything to write about, they will home in on one of three story lines: zombies, spaceships, or wastelands.
Oswalt chose wastelands, and ever since he has been mining our society’s wasteland for perversion and excess, pop culture and fatty foods, indie rock and single-malt scotch. Zombie Spaceship Wasteland is an inventive account of the evolution of Patton Oswalt’s wildly insightful worldview, sure to indulge his legion of fans and lure many new admirers to his very entertaining “wasteland.”
one before I headed west, was a feast even before I sat down at the table. I can vividly remember the smell of the fireplace in my grandfather’s basement, the feel of the fabric on his couch. Snow was visible, falling, through the big glass doors in the back of the living room. And I remember how it made the white winter light ripple like seawater. I couldn’t summon the illusion of the house rising through the air, but I tried. And I can taste every bit of that
and they say they cured him.” And then the thicket would close in again: “But when Father Bowdern came back, me and the other altar boys could tell he wasn’t Father Bowdern anymore.” And then one final, comforting frosting flower of reality: “Anyway, the house is gone now. They put a gazebo up in its place. You and your brother used to walk down there all the time when you were little.” Wines by the Glass WHITES BY THE GlASS MUSTARD TIPTOE VINEYARDS FRESNO “THE SENSITIVE TEEN”
“Making ’em laugh over at the Wide Hole. But right now, the Divinyls want to touch themselves . . .” Christina Amphlett’s throaty voice fills the teepee and the deejay thanks me for dropping by. Reed gets lost on his way back to the club and apologizes for not being able to get me over to the hotel in time for a shower. “Your bags’ll be safe in the car here in the lot,” he says as we pull up to the Smile Hole, the only thing open in an otherwise abandoned strip mall. “Or we can go over to my
Whereas Clemm’s song is comical and boasting in nature, Toenail evokes a thoughtful, reflective quality. Spring is a time of renewal in nature, and that goes doubly for hobos. One of the first signs of spring is bees, traveling from flower to flower as they gather nectar and unwittingly pollinate a summer’s worth of blooms. It is a sight that inspires poetic reveries—dreamy, hopeful inner vistas that remind us we are all, great and small, connected to the diurnal cycle. “Bug-dicking” is a hobo
beer, plus a bottle or two of Mad Dog 20/20—Bryan and Trace’s favorite. On days when they wouldn’t work, and we had some random “floater” filling in or training on the platters, I’d pocket all the half-stub money. I was a thief. I spent the money on books and music. I stole from a struggling three-plex movie theater to expand my cultural horizons.* So once the early evening tickets were sold—or, better yet, the weekend matinee tickets—I’d curl up on the floor and put R.E.M.’s Fables of the