INTERMISSION: You write about yourself. A lot. According to renowned child psychologist Piaget, egocentrism is supposed to fade by the age of seven. Were you ignored as a child?

JOEL STEIN: Seven, really!? When was this guy around?

INT: Uhhh.

JS: You have no idea. You don’t even know his first name do you? Well if he were around today, he would not say seven. If he were around in the world of MySpace and Blogging, he would bump it up to 52, easy.

INT: So you’re still in the range then.

JS: Yeah. I’m in the middle. I’m in the red-hot heart of egocentrism.

INT: Why do you tend to write about yourself, though? You’ve been writing a column since your sophomore year at Stanford.

JS: Um, I’m not really interested in anything else besides me. I can fake it, and I feel like other people do fake it. And other people develop interests. I’ve just never really developed an interest in anything else . . .

INT: Except for yourself.

JS: Except for myself . . . every so often my wife. But that’s rare.

***

INT: Do you feel bad writing about coyotes and Brad Pitt when thousands of people are dying everyday?

JS: Yes. Do you feel bad interviewing me when thousands of people are dying everyday?

INT: Yes.

JS: See, that’s the guilt we walk through as humans.

INT: You taught a humor-writing class at Princeton. I’ve read that you think East Coasters are funnier. Are we too earnest, us Californians?

JS: East Coast is definitely funnier. Humor here is less intense. In general, humor is a little hyper and competitive. It should be intrusive and not passive. If you’re funny, you’re never really listening to the other person — you’re just judging them. And that’s a little more East Coasty. Also, people don’t talk fast enough here to be funny.

***

JS: Anal bleaching is big in LA.

INT: What? Are you serious?

JS: I wouldn’t say big. But it’s getting there.

INT: That hurts me just thinking about it

JS: I heard it doesn’t. It’s a cream.

INT: You should try it and write about it.

JS: I should! That’s such a disturbing column, I might finally stop my editor from running something.

INT: Maybe you’ll get fired again.

JS: Or maybe I can be in the way forefront of anal bleaching. Straight male anal bleaching. It’s a cream, that’s all I know.

***

JS: Putting Q-tips in your ears is incredibly dangerous. My Branner girlfriend, who is a lesbian, used to love to get her earwax taken out. She used to go to the doctor all the time to get her ears flushed out.

INT: One of your girlfriends is lesbian now?

JS: Yeah. In Boston.

INT: A range of people seem to have beef with you. Do you genuinely enjoy making people angry?

JS: I hate making people angry. It makes my stomach hurt. God I hate it. I’m so nonconfrontational.

INT: Yeah. When I met you, I was a little surprised, in all honesty. On paper you’re so snarky but in real life you seemed . . .

JS: . . . a little less dicky. Yeah. Good. That’s my goal; I’ve been working on that for many years.

INT: Do you consciously work toward that?

JS: Over time you develop a voice. It’s certainly my main goal in a lead or a story to engage the reader and get their attention. But voice becomes an exaggerated version of what you’re like or what you think. There’s no need to grab people’s attention that much in person.

***

INT: I love “Best Week Ever.” I want those boys to be my friends

JS: I’m good friends with them! They’re the nicest guys you’ll ever meet.

INT: Are they dating?

JS: No! They’re both married; one has a kid.

INT: You never know. They’re very Bert and Ernie.

JS: Very Bert and Ernie. Honestly two of the nicest guys I’ve ever met.

INT: Maybe we should get a connection . . . . I’d love to interview them.

JS: They went to Harvard.

INT: Nevermind.

***

JS: When I was editor of Intermission . . . .

INT: You were editor of Intermission?

JS: Yeah.

INT: I didn’t know that.

JS: Why would you know that?

INT: Because I know everything else about you.

JS: (Nervous laughter)

INT: You say most of your fan feedback comes from 16-year-olds. Is that flattering, or do you feel like a creepy old pedophile?

JS: (Taken aback) Oh! Well, I don’t feel like a pedophile. Not until I ask them to meet me in a hotel.

INT: Do you frequently ask girls to hotels?

JS: I frequently ask, I don’t frequently get yeses. Parents are pretty touchy about that stuff.

INT: Yeah, my mom was a little worried.

***

INT: Any topics taboo now that you are married?

JS: When I cheat on my wife, I don’t write about it. Because that just hurts her, I’ve noticed. So that’s taboo now.

INT: Is it true that you had a mullet while at Stanford?

JS: Hell yeah.

INT: How’d you have a girlfriend? Maybe the lesbian girl thought you were a girl.

JS: Maybe she did. It was that kind of relationship. No. I don’t know what that means. I thought I was so good at certain things that she wanted more of it and became a lesbian. That’s how I justified it in my head. It was my skills that caused her to go to the other side.

***

INT: Worst Stanford tradition?

JS: Full Moon on the Quad is pretty creepy. Never did it.

INT: Did you ever go?

JS: My senior year I went to write a column about it. But I didn’t kiss anybody.

INT: Best Stanford tradition?

JS: Uhhh. What are my options?

INT: This isn’t a multiple choice test....

JS: I’m forgetting the traditions! I’m 35.

INT: Um . . . Band Run . . . screw your roommate?

JS: Screw your roommate is pretty good. I had the worst date of my life there. The first column-y thing I ever wrote was a letter I wrote to my friends about screw your roommate. Screw your roommate is pretty awesome. What are my other options?

INT: Big Game, fountain hopping, sex in the stacks.

JS: I never had sex in the stacks. Okay, this is the most beautiful campus maybe in the country. Only the biggest nerds in the world would think that it’s cool to have sex in the book library stacks.

INT: You are a big nerd. Why do you think we’re featuring you in this issue of Intermission?

JS: I gotta say, I draw the line at sex in the stacks. That seemed to be the coolest thing when I was here. People saying, “I wish I had sex in the stacks!” Why would you want to? This is the biggest, emptiest campus in the country .... Go have sex in Hoover in that little spot. Go have sex in the middle of the quad, or even a classroom.

INT: The church, maybe?

JS: If you’re a Catholic, I’m sure that’s hot. It wouldn’t mean much to me.

INT: You should become a Knight Fellow and hang out here for a year.

JS: Yeah. But I’d have to quit work for a year, and I’m not ready to stop writing my column.

INT: You could bring your wife here. You could have sex all over campus.

JS: Sweet! In the stacks. By the musty old books. I gotta say, I think I’d like to watch people have sex everywhere but not in the stacks. “Ooooh God. She took off her clothes and she was right near the colonial literature. I’m so turned on.”

INT: What do you miss the most about being here at Stanford?

JS: The thing I thought I’d miss most — the sense of community. You’ll never be in a place of people so outrageously similar to you where you feel that sense of community that people have with their own

demographic. It’s kind of awesome to be a part of. Walking around, running into people, and having things in common. You all sort of know each other. That’s really nice.

INT: Wow. I miss it already.

JS: Yeah. My senior year I remember walking around saying, “I’ll miss that palm tree.”

INT: What was your favorite way to procrastinate when you were here?

JS: We had Tetris.

INT: Did you play on the computer or with the video game?

JS: We had to use actual blocks back then. One guy dropped them.

INT: How has Stanford changed?

JS: Better-looking crowd. Also, Stanford seems richer. More awesome buildings. Way more sports-obsessed. More tourists. But we were ranked better in US News & World Report when I was here. You guys need to pull your weight.

***

INT: What are the first three words that come to mind when I say each of these words?

INT: Bar Mitzvah.

JS: Disco.

INT: The 80s.

JS: Love.

NJ: Stanford Dining.

JS: Bad.

INT: Glass unicorns.

JS: Love.

INT: Why do you collect those, anyways?

JS: Why wouldn’t you?

INT: Joel Stein.

JS: Totally awesomely awesome.

INT: Oh, so now you use three words?

JS: It was necessary.

INT: Do you think you’ll ever dry out?

JS: From the drinking you mean?

INT: Of stories.

JS: Oh, I dried out long ago.

***

INT: What would it take for you to regrow the mullet you sported when you were here?

JS: I did it! I did it for this really small, super snotty club in NY. They let me DJ for a night. I hadn’t gotten a haircut in a long time, so I got a mullet that day and DJed and played 80s pop metal.

INT: What’d your wife think?

JS: She was so grossed out she wouldn’t even touch me. She let me sleep in the bed, though.

INT: You come to a fork in the road. What do you do?

JS: You pick it up! Did I get it right? Do I win something?

***

INT: If you could be a color, what would you be?

JS: I would be the same goddamned color I am right now. That’s how happy with myself I am.

INT: If you could ask me one question, what would it be?

JS: Wow. You have just outdone me in narcissism. Touché, Natalie. touché.

INT: If you lose your job again, will you come back and write for The Daily?

JS: As soon as you guys pay me the goddamned $10 for each of my columns you keep re-running. You owe me like $50.

Editor’s note: Let it be known that we paid him the $50 when he came and spoke to The Daily last night.