All That's Left When You Die

Last month my dad turned seventy-eight years old. A few days before his birthday, I drove down to San Diego to see him.

“What do you want for your birthday,” I asked, as we sat in his living room.

“I want to talk to you about something. Let’s take the dog for a walk,” he said, as he grabbed a leash that sat next to his recliner. “You take the shit bag,” he added, handing me a bundled up plastic baggy.

We headed up his quiet suburban street as his large brown Rottweiler mix walked ahead.

“The human body wasn’t meant to live this long,” he said.

“Seventy-eight is not that old,” I replied.

“Do we have to sit here and dignify a clearly horseshit statement such as that, or can you cease to pander to me and just have a conversation?”

“Okay. Seventy-eight is old.”

He hiked up his sweatpants and quickened the pace of our walk.

“I’m not complaining. I’m just saying people peddle this ridiculous idea that you can be an old person and go water skiing and fuck whenever you want and it’s bullshit. It’s fucking hubris that’s specific to humans and no other species,” he said, as he yanked the dog’s leash, pulling it away from the neighbor’s lawn right before it trampled their flowers.

“Well, the other option is to just accept that death is coming for you,” I replied.

“It is coming for you. You can’t beat death. It’s un-fucking-defeated. And if you fight it, it will humiliate you. It’ll chain you to a bed and make someone have to wipe your shitty ass. It’ll make you forget who your own fucking kids are. It takes your dignity and it whips its’ dick out and pisses on it. When you’re younger and it comes for you, it’s worth it to fight it and suffer through the humiliation. When you’re older, what the fuck does it get you to go through that?,” he said, then took a deep breath and stopped on the sidewalk.

I looked at him collecting his thoughts and every muscle in my stomach contracted in fear. I could barely get out my next words.

“Are you dying?” I asked.

“What? Fuck no. If I was dying I’d just call you up and say ‘Hey, I’m dying.’

“I would prefer you didn’t do it like that,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Like I’m going to give a shit what you prefer when I’m dying,” he laughed, as he began walking again.

“So then why are you bringing this up?”

“Take a look at the dog,” he said, pointing at his best friend. “The dog gives a shit about three things, in this order; Living, fucking, eating. Now, if he’s eating, and the opportunity to fuck presents itself, he’d stop eating so that he could fuck. And if he’s fucking, and something threatens his livelihood, he’d stop fucking so that he could protect himself. What does that tell you?” he asked.

“I don’t know, isn’t that, like, Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs or something?”

“I’m okay with you just saying ‘I don’t know.’ I’d actually prefer that to a dumb answer.”

“I don’t know, dad,” I said, getting a little annoyed.

“The dog, just like every other animal including us, thinks first and foremost about staying alive and passing on their genetics. It’s in our DNA to do so. You spend all your time when you’re young making sure you do all the best eating, fucking, and living you can. But then you get old like me and you can’t even tell if you farted and nothing in your body works like it used to. And you start to think, or at least I do, about how you can spend all your most effective years on this planet, which is filled with billions of people, not giving a shit about anybody but the ten or so motherfuckers that share your blood. And I think human beings are capable of more than just that. And we should want to be. Because when you die, all that’s left of you is the people you gave a shit about. Everybody loves to say how much we’ve evolved, but the real measure of whether or not a species has evolved is if they can look their DNA in the eyes and say, ‘Fuck you, I can do better than you think I can.’

We turned down his street and he wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.

“That said, I want a nice bottle of bourbon for my birthday because I’m your fucking father.”
arnold schwarzenegger

10 Essentials: Rainn Wilson

No longer Dwight Schrute, The Office star talks about sexy custom vans, sad men with guitars, and Vitamix

Rainn Wilson's tastes tend toward the moody: indie singers, burnout actors, film noir. Not what you might expect from the man who for nine seasons starred as Dwight Schrute, the nitpicky, egomaniacal assistant manager on The Office. Or the funny guy whose media website, SoulPancake, hosts a talk show where he asks actors things like, "If you had a magic bus, where would you go?" and, "Draw a picture of your soul." Wilson's site is also home to the Internet's favorite child politician, Kid President—the black third grader who met Obama in the Oval Office—and a slew of other original content. So Wilson's creativity will clearly outlive Dwight…but in what form?

Wilson is reticent to say. Now is a fresh phase, and he's excited to do something new. There are indie film projects he's involved with, and he starred in a pilot for the CBS crime drama Backstrom, as an offensive criminologist whose only commonality with Dwight is that he's also a curmudgeon. He'd also like to get back to New York theater, where he got his start in acting at NYU. But in the meantime, the former Mr. Schrute told us about Orson Welles, swaggy custom vans, and his mini-guitar.

1. 1970s Custom Van
"When I came up with the idea for Metaphysical Milkshake, it was mostly an excuse for me to make a custom van. I've been in awe of them ever since I was a child in the '70s—there's such an air of mystery, like, 'Wow, anything could go on in the back of one of these things.' We're not completely done, but I love it. It's an awesome feeling to tool around town in this mysterious, sexy custom van, and we use it for the talk show."

Kristen Wiig's Top 5 Reasons Every Man Should See Bridesmaids

We know, we know: There is no way in hell you're going to see a movie called Bridesmaids. Especially if it's about actual bridesmaids (the kind you might find at, say, a wedding) as opposed to naughty bridesmaids or slutty bridesmaids (the kind you might find in, say, pornography). But ignore the title and focus instead on these facts: Far from being a celebration of dresses and tuxes and petal-dusted aisles, the movie is about a single, thirtysomething, fall-for-the-wrong-guy specialist's comic descent into bridal-party purgatory. It stars and was cowritten by Kristen Wiig, Saturday Night Live's reigning MVP, and most important, it is damn funny. But if you're still not on board, Wiig has a few more reasons why this is one chick flick you should let yourself get dragged to.

The very first scene is a multiposition sex scene involving Wiig and Jon Hamm.
"There's some good positions in there. Jon Hamm—pumpin' away. He was making his money that day. There was nothing hot about that scene. We weren't, like, looking into each others' eyes. A lot of women who've seen the movie tell me that they can totally relate to that relationship. We've all had that one person where we're like, 'I don't know.... But he's good-looking. And it's convenient.' Am I saying something about myself that I shouldn't be saying?"

There's a laser show in the movie.
"Yes, lasers. Car stunts. Littering. Drinking. Drugs. Vomit. These are all things guys like, right?"

It is R-rated.
"I don't want to make it seem like it's just this crass, farting raunchfest. It's an adult— Well, I was gonna say it's an adult film. But then it wouldn't be rated R. It'd be rated something else. Although if we want guys to come..."

It's in 3-D.
"Okay, it seems 3-D. It's shot in such a way that it just leaps out at you. And the people in the background are smaller than the people in the foreground. That's kind of like 3-D, right? Or maybe that's just how your eyes work."

It does not fetishize marriage and weddings.
"Even in this day and age, if you're not married, there are people who are like, Awww! Don't worry, it'll happen for you someday. Which is fucking crazy. So when we were writing the movie, we were hoping to send the message that you don't have to be married to be a normal member of society."

There is a scene in which multiple wedding dresses are vomited and/or shat upon.
"And I cannot take credit for it. That was all Judd."

Oh, right: It's produced by Judd Apatow.
"Even though his movies tend to be male-centered, women love them, too, because they have heart. It's not just joke, joke, joke, the end. He brought a lot of that to the script this time. And maybe knowing that Judd had something to do with it, people will realize there's more to the movie than what the title suggests."

And anyway, the title was his idea.
"We had a hard time with it. Really hard. And finally Judd said, 'Let's just call it Bridesmaids.' He was like, 'Look, that's what it is, that's what it's about. It's simple. It's one word."