Tom Robbins: Still Crazy After All These Years

I had the good fortune to meet Tom Robbins last week. He was the headliner at the 2008 Summer Literary Festival held by the San Miguel Authors' Sala. San Miguel de Allende, Mexico is one of the most beautiful cities in the world. It reminds me of the French Quarter (actually, vice-versa) and like the Quarter, the muse is there. On my first visit in June I wrote feverishly. The place just has that inspirational feel. It's the balconies, the mountains, the happy children.

I was anxious to hear Tom R. speak and he didn't disappoint. In his keynote address he announced that he would not only speak about language being not the frosting, but the cake, but also he would reveal the secret of the universe!

And he did. (Email me for enlightenment).

There was a full buffet dinner served afterward and I was lucky enough to have my assigned seat right next to him! So I tried to strike up a conversation:

RS: Hey Tom, I read somewhere online that you wished you would have started writing novels later; that maybe you could have done better if you'd waited until you had a little more seasoning.

TR: I don't think I ever said that. In fact, I sort of think I started late. But there's all kinds of stuff on the Internet about me that's not true.

RS: But you do like the expressionistic painter Jackson Pollock, don't you?
TR: Well, yes. Very much so. I went to live in New York City for a year to research his life and write a book about him. But I never wrote the book. It was a good excuse to live in New York.

RS: Did you see that movie they made about his life? It was pretty good, I thought.
TR: Yes, it was good. I thought they captured him well. But the thing they didn't do was to say why his work was important.

RS: I dunno. That's Hollywood. Maybe they didn't want to get that deep into it.

RS: You know Richard Ford told a story in New Orleans that one interviewer said it was always such a disappointment to meet authors--they never spoke like they wrote.
TS: Yeah, people expect me to talk like I write.
RS: You never know what someone is going to be like, in person.
TS: Yeah, I used to go to parties in New York with Eugene O'Neill and people thought he was my retarded older brother. He could barely speak a complete sentence.
RS: That's incredible. What a playwright.

RS: You do like cigars, don't you?
TR: Yes.

RS: What kind is your favorite?
TR: Well, Cubans, of course.

RS: Yeah, but what kind of Cubans?
TR: Vegas Robaina.
RS: I like Montecristo. Montecristo #2. You know them?
TR: Yes.
RS: They're the torpedo-shaped ones.
TR: I know.

RS: They're only $40 a box in Cuba. I got some when I went last March.
TS: You have to be careful--they'll sell you counterfeits.
RS: But you can tell by making sure they are rolled uniformly, and checking out that the box matches the ring.
TS: OK.

RS: Cubans are $200 a box in Mexico. And, of course, you're not supposed to even have them in the U.S.
TR: I just drive to Canada. Put a couple of boxes of Nicaraguans on the seat and throw a sweater over them. Then put a box of Cubans under the seat. When I cross the border, they'll ask, "Hey, what's under the sweater?" I show them the cigar boxes and they look at them and let me on through. They never even think to look under the seat.

RS: I just separate them from the box and take the rings off them to bring them in from Mexico. I don't think they have cigar sniffing dogs yet.
TR: And if they did, the dogs wouldn't know the difference between a Cuban and a Nicaraguan.

RS: So, I was laughing about papaya juice in your, "Fierce Invalids" book.
TR: (laughs) Now that part was autobiographical. I was at a Havana hotel and I asked for "jugo papaya." The waiters just laughed their asses off. Papaya means "pussy" there.
RS: Ha, haa! I suppose it does sort of look like one on the inside...
TR: And it's juicy.

Suddenly, there was a thunderbolt outside and it began pouring rain. Both Tom and I looked out the open doors for a minute. He was mesmerized--and electrified.

RS: It's great to write when it's raining, isn't it?
TR: Yes, I love it.
RS: That's why I like New Orleans. It pours. It just really pours when it rains.
TR: That's why I like Seattle. It reduces the temptation to do anything else but write.

The lights went out and we were thrust into blackness, with only the flicker of candles wavering over the tables. It seemed we'd be eating in near darkness. Then the lights came back on, while the storm raged. Someone closed the doors, so we couldn't see the lightning and rain anymore.

TR: I don't know why they closed the doors.

He seemed a little distraught.

After several minutes, someone opened the doors and Tom craned his neck to see outside. But it seemed like he couldn't get enough, like the moment had passed.

TR: Excuse me, but I've got a long day tomorrow. I think I'll head out.
RS: See ya manana.