In the introduction to you book, David Remnick says you defy the conventions of what is funny. What do you think he meant by that?
I have no idea.
What is conventionally funny? People falling down stairs?
Well, that can be very funny. When you watch sitcoms or, I hate to say it, but a lot of comic strips in newspapers, there's a certain rhythm that might as well be a laugh track there. They're telling you, "This is going to be a joke. . . jokes are coming. . . here's a joke!" And I can't stand that. I can't, can't, can't bear it. Do you watch The Office, the British one?
Oh my God, well, I have seen it, but it's very difficult for me to watch.
I have friends who feel the same way about it. The same thing with Curb Your Enthusiasm. They say "I can't stand it," it doesn't seem funny or it's just too cringey. I love that. Humor is so subjective. I could watch the same episode [of Curb Your Enthusiasm or The Office] over and over rather than watch most sitcoms, which make me want to lie down and not get up again.
I watched your interview with Steve Martin where you talked a lot about inanimate objects. What is it about inanimate objects that you like?
They're fun to draw, and they're kind of, I don't know, some of them are kind of anthropomorphic.
What else do you like to draw?
I like drawing interiors, I like drawing people. I don't like drawing trees particularly. I like drawing tea sets. I like drawing machinery. I like drawing the backs of television sets because you can put all these lines and dials in there and make it look like you really know what's going on back there. But really, I have no idea.
Some of your cartoons are about poetry and poets. Do you write poetry?
[laughs] No. Only what you see in the cartoon. I think there's something about poetry which seems even more hopeless than being a cartoonist.
How long does it take you to write a cartoon?
It really varies. Occasionally there's a cartoon that kind of comes all at once, I can see it, it's kind of clear. And there are other ones that take days and days and days.
How many things are you working on at any one time?
Every week the New Yorker has a weekly art meeting. I'm always working on what we call "the batch," which is the group of cartoons we submit every week. We usually submit anywhere from five to fifteen. I'm usually on the lower end of that, about seven or so, because some of mine are kind of long. And then I'm usually working on a book or two, and then a project that I'm fooling around with for no particular reason.
What's your day like?
The New York art meeting is on Wednesday, so Mondays and Tuesdays are pretty intensive batch days for me, although I usually have some ideas 
that I've written down during the week. Sometimes not. Wednesday is my Sabbath. After Monday and Tuesday I need a little break , unless there's a deadline that has to be dealt with. And then I'm working on illustration projects, or book projects, or doing finishes — if the New Yorker buys the drawing, I get to re-draw it and make it better. This week they bought a drawing and the sketch, of course, was black and white and pretty loose and all patchy and weird and messy. I re-draw it in pencil, and then I ink it, and then there's color. If it's a current thing, they might get it on Friday or Thursday, and it might be in the issue that hits the stands on Monday. But sometimes they might hang on to it for weeks or months, or even years.
Do you feel competitive with the other New Yorker cartoonists?
To some extent, there is that aspect of it. We all know that there's between fifteen and twenty places for cartoons in the magazine, and they get hundreds and hundreds of submissions every week. I don't think about that a whole lot.
Well, you're so established.
I don't know whether it's part of the psyche of most cartoonists or just a reflection of the reality that none of us are really established. Editors change, and if they don't like you then that's the end of that. And also you could wake up one day and never have another idea again. Or they could decide that they've totally been kidding themselves about you and say "You know what, she really sucks. She's terrible." There are all these things to consider. So, established? I don't think any of us ever really feel that way.
You've done a lot of "mixed marriage" cartoons — where did that idea come from?
The phrase "mixed marriage" usually refers to Judeo-Christian marriages, although I feel like all marriages are mixed marriages. Even same-sex marriages, you've got two people. You've got this idea that you're supposed to form a union, and it's not easy.
What religion were you raised with?
My parents were both Jewish, but I wasn't raised in any particular way. My husband is Protestant. I'm mildly curious about religion but also a little cautious, because it does seem like when people get into it, a lot of more trouble comes out of it than good. He's more anti-religion than me. He was made to go to church. He didn't want our kids to be indoctrinated.
The last cartoon in the book shows you at age nine reading books about horrible diseases. What appealed to you about those?
Well, it's again one of these things where anxiety and hilarity. . . well, maybe it's not very funny at the time. It's kind of horrible at the time. I really did think that at any moment all my teeth could fall out of my head. I wouldn't even have to cross my eyes for them to get stuck cross-eyed, they could just suddenly cross by themselves! [laughs] And I'd walk around with crossed eyes for the rest of my life!
