Our theme song, "Mother Mother" by Tracy Bonham, is performed by Jocelyn Mackenzie with Harry Bolles. Questions? Comments? Want to advertise? Contact Emily (Farris) at for listening and be sure to subscribe so you get a new episode of Mother Mother every Tuesday! They discuss the challenges of trying to be creative when your brain feels like it won’t work anymore, they bond over their shared fantasy of sneaking away from their families to write for a few weeks, and Emily (Farris) tells the story of her Internet-micro-famous inner-thigh bruise.Īnd her other book, "These Things Ain’t Gonna Smoke Themselves": Īnd, as promised, images of The Bruise ™: Sa bande dessine hebdomadaire Lulu Eightball parat dans de nombreux magazines alternatifs depuis 2002 2. Son travail a paru dans The New Yorker, The New York Times, Time et de nombreuses autres publications. Emily and Emily consider each other friends from the Internet - but this is their first time interacting in real life (well, as IRL as you can be when you’re halfway across the country from each other). Flake (ne le 16 juin 1977 1) est une dessinatrice humoristique amricaine. If this is what writers are like, trust me: I’ll take dialysis.For the second episode, host Emily Farris interviews New Yorker cartoonist Emily Flake. But truly, what is the diff- UGH, that’s just kidney talk. Hook it back into whatsername, call it a consolation prize for having achieved notoriety instead of fame. Born and raised on Martha’s Vineyard, as the daughter of a prominent island builder and a real estate broker, she’s been immersed in the housing business her entire life. So if this is just the kidney talking, get it out of me. Her work appears in Time, The New Yorker, The New York Times, The Globe and Mail, Forbes, The Nation, and many, many others. Other stuff, too, like thinking about my childhood and how I could weave a dark but ultimately compelling narrative out of it? I don’t even know what those words mean, but it feels real important that I get an agent. Emily Flake is an award-winning illustrator, writer, and cartoonist. I don’t know whether kidneys are imbued with the souls of their bodies of origin, but I’m starting to think I might just as well give it back.Īnd not for nothing, but lately, every time I go to take a piss, I feel things, weird things I’ve never felt before, like a desire to have myself filmed while handing out twenties to homeless guys. Why couldn’t I have gotten a kidney from some nice dead kid? A terrible boating accident, a traumatic head injury-something, as long as the kidney becomes available through an act of God that forces a bereaved and loving family to make a final gesture of kindness and generosity, not through some weirdo theatrical display of nephro-altruism that didn’t get enough likes on Facebook. I don’t need to be tangled up in some petty mishegoss over how a writer makes money, or prestige, or whatever it is those people live on. I need a small organ to sit in my retroperitoneal space and filter my blood into urine. What I do know is that “internet controversy” was never presented to me as a possible complication from surgery. Lousy thing for a friend to do, but what do I know? I don’t swing in these circles. Well, not a story about her, exactly, but like using her story, and not even making her out to be all that nice. I’m grateful, I really am, but I didn’t sign up to be anybody’s big step on the stairway to heaven, you know what I’m saying?Īnd now it turns out that not only did she go bragging all over the internet, but some writer friend of hers wrote a story about a lady who gives away a kidney. What an angel, right? A selfless act like that? Well, come to find out, she’s been yapping all over town about how she gave away one of her kidneys and isn’t she such a saint and whatnot.
I make cartoons for The New Yorker, mostly, but also sometimes MAD Magazine, the New Statesman, and other places. I live in Brooklyn, NY, with my husband, our daughter, and an absurdly large cat. So, yeah, I was pretty thrilled when my number came up, courtesy of some broad who went and handed out a kidney just because she thought somebody might need one (I hate to break it to you, lady, but just because you have two doesn’t mean one’s a spare). I'm a cartoonist-writer-performer-teacher-illustrator. When my kidneys shit the bed I knew I was in for a long wait, and let me tell you: dialysis? It’s no walk in the park. These Things Ain't Gonna Smoke Themselves: A Love/Hate/Love/Hate/Love Letter to a Very Bad Habit. Listen, I don’t know whether you’ve ever been on the waiting list for an organ. Mama Tried: Dispatches from the Seamy Underbelly of Modern Parenting.
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