WHO’S ON A WALKABOUT JONES?
Walkabout Jones is writer and journalist Dann Halem. Dann writes for page and screen, does a little art and improv, and takes a decent photo. He’s published fiction, essays, interviews, poetry, investigative journalism and the occasional rant on Craigslist. He lives in Southern California, which is totally not right for him, is cranky and therefore single, and spends much of his time brooding while eating white-cheddar Cheeze-Its. Publications he’s written for include: Maxim, Salon, Premiere, Reason, The Hollywood Reporter, Slate, Forward and Playboy.
Updated: 7/08Â
Why did you name the site Walkabout Jones?
DH: Because it has all of the characteristics one dreams of in a website name. It is highly cryptic but easily spelled. Actually, the name is a fusion of Australian and American slang. In aboriginal culture, walkabout is a pidgin term for a boy who sets off on a six-month journey as a rite of passage. He’s thirteen when he goes into the bush, so it’s like a Bar Mitzvah without the band. Jones came into the game by accident. When asked why I was doing this, I’d say I was jonesing for adventure. Simple as that.
What’s the difference between doing a website and writing for a magazine?
DH: I’ve had great experiences as a magazine writer. Whether it’s the U.S. Senator who could only answer questions yelled into his good ear, or the Hollywood starlet who came to our interview with her mommy, or the felon, who after being sentenced to sixty years in prison, pulled down his pants and mooned the judge. You can’t make this shit up. Unfortunately, our business is caught between a mighty big rock and a hard place. There have been thousands of layoffs in recent months and many publications are taking last rites. I could have spent the next many moons sending out letters and going on interviews. Instead, I’m launching something original–a web mag about journeys, whether they’re physical journeys to distant lands or harrowing journeys inside social issues. And since variety’s the spice of life, we’ll also feature art, essays, our own brand of political coverage, and truth stranger than fiction. Is it Maxim? No, it’s smarter. And free.
Fewer women in bikinis too.
DH: No loss on this end. They came to the interviews in sweats.
What do friends say when you tell them what you’re doing?
DH: I’ve actually drawn inspiration from the barefaced panic this project spawned. Family and friends want to be supportive. Nobody wants to hurt your feelings, but when you’re a young guy, hardy and hale, who could find better things to do with your time, this engenders a modicum of head scratching. It’s goofy. Straight up crunk, even. So when others don’t get it, I’ll give them a friendly pat on the back, tell them I totally understand, then go into the parking lot and dump a can of paint on their car, run straight home and cry through three pillows, before reminding myself that most judge the quality of an idea by how much scratch it stands to make. It’s not ideas that makes them nervous, it’s the lack of a 401K. Yeah, I’ve had a few stop talking with me since I launched this project, but that could be for any number of reasons.
Still writing fiction?
DH: Sure. Short stories, essays, all sorts of mediocre crap.
So what’s in the short term cards for Walkabout Jones?
DH: So far, there’s been a learning curve. I honestly thought that I was going to be able to do this without ever leaving my bed. That’s what the late-night TV ads said. We started our journey in Lake Tahoe, but a health setback made me scuttle Act II, and head to the family homestead in San Diego. In some ways, this was a blessing in disguise as it gave me time to look at the site, think about where I was connecting and where I wasn’t. This is essentially a game of trial and error, and over the last year, I’ve slowly polished Walkabout Jones into the golden turd it currently is.
Season Two is about Medical Marijuana.
DH: Yes, I’ll be opening a medical marijuana service and writing about the experience. But first, I’ll be writing about my last many months as a medical marijuana delivery driver in San Diego county. San Diego has the largest DEA field office in America, not exactly the chillest place to do this sort of thing. The gig was hard work, exciting and dangerous, sometimes spine-shivering, other times highly satisfying. So this is where we’ll start, and later this year I’ll be moving to Hollywood to launch our non-profit, Artists Collective.
And in the long run?Â
DH: My hope is that Walkabout Jones can become a cool little oasis in an ocean of TMZ. I’m planning some very edgy projects–like nothing else out there, really. Once we get done in Humboldt, we might head over to Jerusalem and spend time writing about the Middle East. But that means funding, so we need your help to get the word out: Tattoos. T-shirts. Mass brainwashing. I can’t do it all myself.
I have sodium pentathol in my car.
DH: Wow. Creepy. But maybe a start. What we have is word of mouth. We have no sugar daddy, grants or sponsors. If friends enjoy it, I say a little prayer each night the bastards will tell their friends. And if strangers like it, hopefully they’ll pass the word along too. And maybe, just maybe, it will make it to someone at NPR, who knows someone at the New York Times, who spills the beans to Jon Stewart. Or Stephen Colbert—we can’t be picky.
Thanks, mysterious writer man.
DH: Not a problem. Or as we say in Los Angeles, “De nada.”