steinber.qxd
First, the jukebox book. Do you think I wanted to show this guy around? I had never met him before. I never saw him again–he didn’t even send me the book when it came out. I certainly didn’t hold myself up to him or anybody else as Mr. Jukebox. We both had the same agent, so when he came to town, my agent asked me if I wouldn’t take him around. What was I supposed to say: “No, I’m not schooled enough, jukeboxistically. I am not worthy”? So I endure his company, kill an evening to his quest, and am rewarded by being not only pissed on in his book (he refers to my apartment as “grandiose,” as if I were Mussolini or something) but then I have to take heat from people such as yourself because his book is swill. Now tell me, is that fair?
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By the end, I did sincerely want Bob to win, as a final, crowning gesture of obscenity, a Gotterdammerung after which I could happily walk away from the Bob issue and never think about him again.
