Roz Chast
Roz Chast
Rosalind "Roz" Chastis an American cartoonist and a staff cartoonist for The New Yorker. She grew up in the Flatbush section of Brooklyn, the only child of an assistant principal and a high school teacher who subscribed to The New Yorker. Her earliest cartoons were published in Christopher Street and The Village Voice. In 1978 The New Yorker accepted one of her cartoons and has since published more than 800. She also publishes cartoons in Scientific American and the Harvard...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionCartoonist
Date of Birth26 November 1954
CountryUnited States of America
When my father died, my mother was still alive. And I think when your second parent dies, there is that shock: 'Oh man, I'm an orphan.' There's also this relief: It's done; it's finished; it's over.
I had to get good grades and do well in school - my mother was an assistant principal and my father was a teacher - and they took this very seriously.
I love my parents. I did love them. It's complicated.
In Brooklyn, I don't feel that I'm holding up people with briefcases if I catch a stroller wheel in the sidewalk.
My kids always joked that I spent more time cooking the birds' food than I have cooking for them. And it's probably true.
My parents were fine at 85. So 85's nothing. 100 is another thing. I have a friend whose mother is about to turn 101, and it's not great.
I putter. I nurse old grudges. I fold origami while nursing old grudges. I think about the past. I wonder if there's any grudges I should start.
Theres something about most phobias where theres a tiny, tiny corner where you think this really actually could happen.
I gave up on ever trying to get 'my way.' I barely knew it existed.
I just really love the cartoon form. I love the plasticity of it.
My life is so boring that your brains are going to melt and come out of your eyes.
I like being able to go grocery shopping and not feel that Im fighting a thousand people.
Grime is not like messiness or some fingerprints on a cabinet; it takes a long time to accumulate.
Childhood - that was not my favorite time in my life.