JOI's father delivers the garage monologue (p. 157)
Your mother back in California before you were born, before she became a devoted mother and long-suffering wife and breadwinner, son, your mother had a bit part in a Marlon Brando movie. Her big moment. Had to stand there in saddle shoes and bobby sox and ponytail and put her hands over her ears as really loud motorbikes roared by.
Context
Winter 1960, Tucson: ten-year-old Jim's father, working through a two-pint flask on what was supposed to be the boy's first tennis lesson, starts the family's film history a generation early — the mother's one screen moment (a Wild One-shaped cameo) and her love-from-afar for Brando, whom the monologue goes on to treat as the archetypal screen-body ("playing the equivalent of high-level quality tennis across sound stages all over both coasts," p. 158). The Incandenza film obsession starts as a failed actor's grudge against a movie star.