One Christmas my father kept our tree up till March. He hated to see it go. I loved that.

It's interesting, because I tend to trust a man with big ears.

Digital television, satellite radio, videogames, iPods - so much media. Do books even matter anymore?

I love the excess of Christmas. The shopping season that begins in September, the bad pop star recordings of Christmas carols, the decorations that don't know when to come down.

Politicians who wear little tennis socks with the balls at the back should not be taken seriously.

Generally I get up at around 7. But oftentimes, I'll be lolling in bed a little bit earlier - sometimes as early as 5:45 - filing in my mind all the things I have to get done. Which is, of course, totally unproductive.

I'd rather call myself a mischief-maker, an imp, rather than a satirist. Satirist sounds so self important. Plus no one is calling himself an imp right now. It makes me feel special.