It's odd the things that people remember. Parents will arrange a birthday party, certain it will stick in your mind forever. You'll have a nice time, then two years later you'll be like, 'There was a pony there? Really? And a clown with one leg?'

... [I] recall thinking that the computer would never advance much further than this. Call me naïve, but I seemed to have underestimated the universal desire to sit in a hard plastic chair and stare at a screen until your eyes cross.

I'm not a reporter but the 'New Yorker' treats everyone like a reporter.

I would be writing and trying to write like Joan Didion. Or if I was reading Raymond Carver. You know, strong stylists. But that's how you find your voice, is imitating other people. So things like that didn't embarrass me, because I thought, well, that's how it goes. That's how everyone learns.

But I'm a humorist. I'm not a reporter, I never pretended to be a reporter.

When I look at a lot of older stuff that I've written, I think one sign of amateur humor writing is when you see people trying too hard.

A lot of people don't know what they want, you know, or they're just kind of vague about it.