Wiretap - Pessimistic Pathers: The Best of Season 8

Episode Date: August 17, 2020

While first man on the moon, Neil Armstrong, receives honorary degrees from MIT, second man on the moon, Buzz Aldrin, is stuck doing space-themed fast food restaurant openings. Listen in to their embittered email exchange, featuring David Sedaris as Armstrong and Jonathan Goldstein as Aldrin.

All right, look, I am not going to lie to you. I love when an album drops, and it just, I know it's going to define my entire summer. And that is how I'm feeling about this new Lord album. My name is Alameen Abdul-Mahmood. I host a show called Commotion. And that is where we talk about the biggest stories in entertainment and pop culture, like this new Lord album or the Haim album or whatever great new music is defining our soundtrack for the summer. Come hang with us.

Follow Commotion wherever you get your podcast. This is a CBC podcast. I'm Jonathan Goldstein, and you're listening to Wiretap on CBC Radio 1. Today's episode, Pesimistic Panthers, the best of season 8, in which Margaret Atwood employs a platoon, David Sedaris visits the moon, and a woman worries herself sick all afternoon. Hello? Yes, I, hello.

I'm calling to speak with Ms. Adwood? Yes, this is her. I am she. This is Margaret Atwood. Yes, it is. I am Margaret Eleanor Atwood. You can call me Maggie if you want to. Okay, I'm Jonathan Goldstein.

We were scheduled to have an interview this afternoon. All right, go ahead. Ask away, shoot. Okay, because we're doing this, we're doing a show this week that deals with the idea of God. You once described yourself as a pessimistic pantheist, saying that God is everywhere but losing. What did you mean by that exactly, and do you still feel that way? Oh, yes. I am a pessimistic panther like you. said, the cat. Okay, I'm sorry.

This is ridiculous. You were not Margaret Atwood. This is Margaret Atwood. You're a man doing a woman's voice. Well, that's very insulting. I admit my accent needs a little work, but this is my first day on the job. What job are you talking about? Well, I'm one of Miss Atwood's Atwoods.

What? You know, Superman? Uh-huh. He has a number of robots, Superman robots. If he's too busy, he has a lot of things going on, he sends a robot, right? Uh-huh. Well, Margaret Atwood can't be everywhere at the same time. So...

Well, you're a robot? No, I'm not a robot. Don't be an idiot. I'm a trained actor, but I am Margaret Atwood number 36. Okay. You know, I don't understand what's going on, but this is... You know her robotic arm project? Where she was doing...

those book signings remotely with a robotic arm? Yeah, well, she's a big proponent of post-humanism, which privileges informational pattern over material instant. I can't really say that word. Instantiation. Instantiation. They have like a little cheat sheet here. So her presence physically on the telephone is redundant.

You know what I mean? I see. So I get the robotic arm. Bingo. You want the interview or not? Do you want it or not? Well, I don't even know what it is anymore. I mean, this...

Well, it's an interview with Margaret Atwood. You're not... It's not... I have the 36 iteration of Margaret Atwood. And, you know, I'm something with an Atwood scholar, I'd have to say. You're an Atwood scholar. That's right. I know everything about her book.

You know everything about... Yeah, absolutely. Uh-huh. What have you read of hers? Well, she's very prolific. You know that. Well, yes, she is. I haven't really caught up to where she... is today.

Uh-huh, and so where are you exactly in this project? I'm 15 pages into the edible woman. That's all you've read. That's it. What about her poems? I'm about halfway into you fit into me. It's a four-line poem. Well...

You fit into me like a hook into an eye, a fish hook, an open eye. That is the entire poem. Well, I read the part about, like, a hook into an eye. How do you not finish a four-line poem? Well, I was somebody called, and I had to do an interview. You have to work, all right, I have a job. I'm not like you just calling people. No, I'm not calling people.

I'm calling Margaret Atwood. This is my job. Well, you got her, all right? You got Margaret Atwood number 36. I was certified Margaret Atwood. How did you get this certification, exactly? Well, we go to an exclusive camp that's in the wilderness, and we have to hunt for our own food, as Margaret does. I've never heard that.

tents together. And, you know, we are instructed in all of the Atwoodisms. So you were trained personally by Margaret Atwood. No. Atwood number eight. Oh, you met Atwood Eight. That must have been quite an honor. We end up having a ceremony at the end. We were told there was a big surprise. And they wheeled in a box, and they opened it, and there was Margaret Atwood's a robotic arm. Uh-huh. And the armor extended towards each of us and shook our hands.

Oh. Powerful. And I think she squeezed a little extra hard on my hand because she brought me to my knees. It was excruciating. Okay. So you never actually met Margaret Atwood. What do you mean by Met? Well, I mean...

I mean... I mean... I mean... Maybe you with your prehistoric view of... Okay. I have to see someone from my first. face and their face there, you know, now we've met. You know, you sicken me in a lot of ways.

What did I? You insult the idea of Margaret Atwood? I'm not. Because she's more than a person. She is an idea, all right? Yes. And if she was there right now, her robotic arm was right there with you, it would punch you in the face.

I don't, that is not, I'm sure that's not true. Well, you're sure of so much. Why are you calling the interviewer? why don't you just interview yourself about Margaret Atwood? You could just step right in as number 37. Would you like that? No, I wouldn't. Of course you wouldn't, because you've got nothing.

I'm number 36, all right? I'm somebody. I am Margaret Atwood. Well, you keep telling yourself that. I am Margaret Atwood. You could keep telling yourself. I am Margaret Atwood. You could say it all day long.

I am Margaret Atwood. It doesn't... I am Margaret Atwood. I am Margaret Atwood. Are you still there? Yeah, I'm here. I'm Margaret Atwood. You're not Margaret Atwood.

You're one of many fake Margaret Atwood. How many of you are there? How many Jonathan Goldstein's do you have? I'm, well, one, I'm me. One, exactly. Must be lonely. Well, it can be sometimes. It must be lonely being only one.

Well, that's, I mean... We are many. We are Margaret. Okay, you know what? Within the Atwood, we are all one. It's like you're in a cult. Reach for your inner. Atwood.

Okay. You know what? It wants to come out, Jonathan. This really wasn't that important. I hear it crying. I don't need this. Atwood. I'm just calling up Douglas Copeland.

Atwood. Okay. Thank you. Can you hear it? You fit into me like an atwood, into an atwood. Adwood. Atwood. Okay, engine stop.

Crispin, uh, Tranquality base here. The Eagle has landed. Roger Tranquility. We copy on the ground. No, step off the land now. That's one small step for man. One giant leap for man time. Dear Buzz, long time no here.

Hey, what are you doing on the 10th? I double-booked a speaking thing at the Library of Congress on the same day I'm supposed to receive an honorary doctorate of astronautics at Stanford. Because I'm getting old and forgetful, huh? So what do you say? Up for a speaking gig? The money's insane. I mean, even if they pay you half what I was getting, it's a crap load.

Interested? If so, I'll have my girl put you all in touch. Which, it's really been too long, old pal. Let's get together and barbecue some steak with the wives. And let's do it soon, yeah? No one mixed a moon martini like you did, old friend. All the best, Neil. Well, if it isn't my old commander, Neil Armstrong.

The tenth, eh? Hmm. Let me just check my calendar. Now, the tenth of what month did you say? Oh, wait, it doesn't matter what month, because I have nothing going on at all, ever. Do you know where my last paycheck came from? A ribbon-cutting ceremony for a new space-themed fast-food joint in La Jolla. That's what being the second man on the moon gets you.

I still can't get the ketchup stains out of my space suit. Keep your charity. And do me a favor. Will you stop calling me Buzz? I hate that nickname you gave me. My name is Edwin, signed Colonel Edwin Eugene Aldrin Jr., astronaut. Excuse me, Colonel. Sue me, I happen to like the name Buzz.

It was the name of my first dog, a cocker spaniel with a spastic colon. God, I love that mutt. Anyway, I suppose it is true. I was the first man on the moon, if that's the sort of thing you're keeping track of. I certainly don't. I find that kind of scorekeeping. petty. First, second, who's counting? Now, stop being such a silly and tell Papa how you like your steak. Signed the number one most popular space hero in the world. Neil Armstrong. P.S., kidding.

Neil, you are not kidding. You know, I didn't fly 66 cobalt missions receive a doctor of science and Astronautics from MIT, spent 10 years at NASA and fly to the moon to end up doing career day in the Aberdeen Middle School gymnasium. But that's my life. And why? Because I was shoved out of the way by some megalomaniacal jackass barreling down the stairs yelling first-ees. You know, you're adorable when you're angry. If memory serves correctly, you were terrified of moon monsters and begged me to go ahead and make sure the coast was clear. Anywho, as long as we're talking turkey here, that first step, oh, sweet mama. The feeling was not unlike the first barefoot step I took on to my parents' freshly shag-carpeted

rumpus room when I was 13. Second step? Eh, seen it, done it, stepped it. Nope, nothing like that first step. It's all a dreadful bore after that. You know, fun fact, I want to I wanted to do it well barefooted, but the jerks and ground control told me I had to keep my moon boots on. Stupid ground control jerks. The point I'm trying to make is that we can't always get what we want. But if we try sometimes, we get what we need. Let's give thanks, Neil. Again with the rumpus room carpet.

When we returned to Earth, half your comments to the press were about that stupid shag carpet. were first because you tricked me, Neil. I was taking the Nassau required pre-extra-vehicular activity nap, and you promised you'd wake me up so we could step out hand-in-hand, together. But no, you didn't want to share the world's attention with anyone. Hand-in-hand? Like a couple of old ladies trying not to slip on the ice? Like hippies? Oh, sure, maybe do a little sand-dancing in the lunar dust while singing Mr. Bojangles? It's not being such a child. buzz, hand in hand. Yeah, that would have made a great postage stamp. A couple of men prancing around in a daisy chain like the rockettes. I am an American, sir, not a chorus girl. Get a grip.

You ingrate. Need I remind you, I'm the one who came up with the one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind, and I had to convince you to use it. Do you remember what you wanted to do? Bring a box of Ritz crackers down to the moon's surface and say, Hey, I thought this thing was made out of cheese. Classy, Armstrong. Real classy. I still think my cheese joke was more memorable. Everything's got to be so serious with you science guys. Oh, one big step on the moon, one giner step for... See, I can't even remember it. I am sick of standing in your shadow watching you get all the glory. Let me be blunt.

I was an astronaut, and you, a mere civilian. Not to mention a scoundrel and a thief. You stole my step. You are nothing without that step. Okay, buzzy boy, you asked for it. It. Here comes the Straight Talk Express. Choo! Chew! If you hadn't been so busy napping through life, who knows? Maybe you would have been the first man on the moon. Maybe if you hadn't been such a sleepy dud in the boudoir, your wife wouldn't have had to seek out

the comforts of a real man. A real go-getting, first-stepping, six-figure speaking, gig-netting man. Not that I'd ever act on those bedroom eyes of hers, but I'm just saying. I'm a great guy, and it's time you stop taking me for granted. Signed, Neil, my arms are stronger than yours, all the better to hug your wife with if I was that kind of guy, which I'm not, Armstrong. Huh, funny. I mean, you're being here on Earth and all,

exchanging emails with me when you could have just as easily been floating around, dead, in space. Do you remember, Neil? How I saved your life that day? How you didn't want to leave the moon? What is there for me on Earth, you asked? My wife and kids hate me, and the hippies are taking over the planet.

With only a few days left of oxygen and a handful of orange tang, you wanted to colonize the final frontier. You had space madness, Neil. Do you remember how before takeoff I had to pull you back into the lunar module and buckle you in, kicking and screaming? If it wasn't for me, you'd have died up there. That you don't remember. But fortunately, I have a memory aid.

I still have that photo of you rocking back and forth in the spaceship, your thumb in your mouth, and the American flag wrapped around you like a trauma blanket. Maybe seeing it on the cover of the next Cape Canaveral newsletter will jog the old memory, A. Armstrong? Okay, let's just hit the pause button, Kim Osabi. Let's not do anything either of us will regret. Now, maybe I've been a little insensitive here. Maybe you're right. Maybe I could be a little more proactive about getting us double-billed.

Neil and Buzz at the White House. Neil and Buzz doing a cameo in the next Harold and Kumar movie. How does that sound? You know, Buzz, more than anyone else, it's you and I who should have perspective on how small the Earth really is, and how insignificant we are in the grand scheme of things, even our differences. Do you remember looking out the space shuttle window and seeing our planet out there in the blackness, looking like a lost little marble? It's us Earthlings, Buzz, who make each other feel big or small, and I'm sorry for making you feel petite. Now, why don't you just go on and tear that old photo up and high-tail it over this weekend for the big, biggest, fattest, juiciest steak you've ever seen.

I won't take no for an answer. I'll have my girl get in touch with directions. Okay, Neil. Sounds good. Thanks for bringing me back down to Earth, as it were. I didn't get into this business for the glory anyway. I got into it out of love for the great beyond. And moon martinis.

I'll whip us up a couple this weekend. Sincerely, Edwin, Buzz, Aldrin. Great. And by the way, I'm being honored at the Smithsonian next Thursday, and I'll be needing to make a speech. Think you can rustle me up another one small step. And if you can throw in the line about cheese, all the better. Thanks, old friend, Neil.

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Now I'm worried that one of my fillings will fall out and both my dentists will be on vacation. Now I'm worried that soap will go in my eyes and I won't be able to see the faucet to turn it off and I'll flood my house. No one is available to take your call. Now I'm worried because the phone call I just missed may have been an emergency. Hello, it's Ruth from the book club, reminding you to print this week's notes for our meeting tonight. Thank you. Goodbye now.

Now I'm worried because my toner cartridge is empty, but I'd need to make a difficult left turn to get to the staples in the mall. Now I'm worried that my neighbor's chimney is on fire. Now I'm worried because the squirrel in my oak tree has lost weight, and maybe he has a nut allergy. Now I'm worried that I'll run into some big wig from my book club and they'll see how dirty my car is.

Now I'm worried that my Saturn doesn't really have it. doesn't really have airbags, and that the salesman in the hat was lying. Now I'm worried that the driver of the truck next to me is distracted by that wavy blow-up doll on the tire store, and he'll veer into my lane. Now I'm worried about this very dangerous left-hand turn. Now I'm worried that my granddaughter will get pregnant because she just got her braces off.

Now I'm worried that I hit the snooze bar instead of the off switch, so my alarm clock will disturb my neighbors while I'm learning errands. Now I'm worried that my emergency brake may have been up for the entire trip. Now I'm worried that the automatic doors will shut on me and cut me in half to teach me a good lesson. Now I'm worried that my grandson will get those things in his ears that'll make his lobes the size of silver dollar pancakes. Now I'm worried that they won't accept my 10% off coupon for the ink cartridge because it's slightly torn. Now I'm worried that the clerk will copy down the numbers on my charge card and flee the country. Now I'm worried I won't remember where I parked my Saturn.

Now I'm worried that my Saturn has been vandalized, then started. then stolen, then salvaged for parts, and left on concrete blocks in a dangerous part of town. Now I'm worried that the cashier's acne was really chicken pox. Now I'm worried that I got the wrong toner cartridge. Now I'm worried that I'm too wound up to take my afternoon nap. Now I'm worried that the ceiling fan will fall and slice me up in my sleep. Now I'm worried because I've been keeping my batteries in the refrigerator

so some of the voltage may have traveled into my nap. Now I'm worried about Drew Carey getting fat again. Now I'm worried that dwarf robbers broke in through my dog. Now I'm worried that the bank tellers prants around all the area. Now I'm worried that there won't be enough pickles on my sandwich, and I'll need to go back. On Wiretap today, you heard Sean Cullen as Margaret Atwood and David Sedaris as Neil Armstrong in a story written by Mirabirdwin Tonic and me. You also heard, Now I'm Worried, read by Katie Malick and written by Nancy Cohen and Brian Fraser. Brian is the author of Hypercondriac, One Man's Quest, to Calm Down.

For more adventures and worry, follow them on Twitter at Now I'm Worried. Wiretap is produced by Mirabirdwin Tonic, Crystal Duhame, and me. I'm Jonathan Goldstein, wishing you a very happy and healthy summer. For more CBC podcasts, go to CBC.ca slash podcasts.