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Where, When, How Much, What Flavor.
As if we need any more indications that the "New Economy" is dead, it seems that sales of business books are way down and that anything having to do with dot com failure is "essentially unsellable."
Just got off the phone with Davy Rothbart, the impressario behind Found Magazine, a independently produced journal of "Found Stuff." My friend Rodes put us in touch. Davy has done stories for "This American Life" and his mag has been featured in lots of national publications. While in a week moment I'm probably envious of his press coverage, he's a really nice guy who grew up in Ann Arbor like me. We had lots to discuss and I'm going to try to help him out where I can.
Jeez, if only I had handled unemployment this way, I would have saved myself 6 months of temp agencies and working at the neighborhood video store!
So I'm over at Quicken.com, trying to learn something about writing a business plan since Central Booking's is in desperate need of an overhaul. I'm marching through the Biz Plan Wizard, which will apparently send me appropriate resources and sample plans based on my type of business. When I indicated that CB is an "Internet Only" business and click "Continue", I get this...
We are experiencing technical difficulties with our Web site. Please try back later.
A warning, perhaps?
Lingua Franca magazine closed after losing its biggest funder last month. Looks like it took Arts & Letters Daily with it. *Sigh*
From my friend Jenn on evidence that Hall and Oates were trying hard to be black: "That's why Oates had that Lionel Richie hair."
There's precious little on the web about the joys of pogo-sticking and I for one think that's a shame. I recently purchased a pogo stick because...well...I don't know why. But $70 later it arrived and after work, I've been taking to the sidewalk in front of my building and trying to bounce in succession. I'm up to 11 bounces, which kinda sucks. But I'm working on it.
A Few Things I Learned in New York City
I'm home.
From an Internet cafe in the West Village with my old friend Dinan. All is well.
Leaving tomorrow, on a jet plane. Hope to be back again ok.
Had a spectacular meal at Chez Panisse in Berkeley last night. Can anyone describe the decor the lovely decor in there for me? Like, in interior design speak? You see it in nice restaurants all over Northern Caifornia, but I'm stumped.
The San Francisco Chronicle published my long-ago review of Douglas Coupland's new novel, All Families are Psychotic, on Sunday. Yay!
My friend Evan's blog pointed me to an article that spells out what we all knew from the beginning: That the Sony Metreon here in San Francisco is a big, fucking joke.
Central Booking's server was down today. Now it's back up. Sorry everybody.
Had a conversation with Derek Powazek last night. Seems there's no work out there even for someone as talented as him. Jeez lord, show some mercy. Please.
My friend Rory's site is up. His 29 Films may be the next Dreamland Studios. Or View Askew.
I hope he remembers the little people.
Obligatory Waking Life review: A beautiful film to look at but overwritten to the point of insanity, like someone tried to film a staged reading of their undergraduate thesis. Brings up a good deal of interesting issues but they get lost in the self-involved, rudderless presentation. When it ended, I left quickly.
There's a weekend around here somewhere. I just know it.
Some jerk decided to follow me home from the East Bay and threatened me with violence. I guess I cut him off. I guess. I don't really know. Scared the shit out of me. Asshole.
Now I'm afraid to get on the road. This is why I take the train.
The first ever Central Booking Feed and Read was a raging success. Thanks to Suzan, my friends Jo and Arkady, and Super Intern Chris for helping out. Kristin of Booboolina and Jay of Openwire stopped by to lend their support. As did several folk from the CB forums.
We'll be discussing the whole wingding over here.
On a cab ride over to the Haight, the driver talked my ear off about his theatre company and their upcoming fundraiser. I admired his moxie, loud as it may have been. So here it is.
Plastic plates. Everywhere. I was not born an event planner.
Big props to Naked Eye Video in the Lower Haight, which I bicycled by this morning. In one fell swoop, I picked up Optic Nerve #8, issue #2 of To-Do List Magazine and the latest issue of Harper's which I've been meaning to check out.
Score!
VH1 is showing rebroadcast of The Sixties, a splashy mini-series NBC did a while back. It's got hippies, Black Panthers, draft card burning and pot. Lots of pot. No cliche' is left unattended to. I counted. The soundtrack is an incessant as a tickertape and the half-decent crop of actors they've assembled practically collapses under the wait of all the stereotyping. It plays like highlight reel of one of the most choatic decades in American history.
I lasted five minutes before I started to cry.
I was born in 1973, right as Richard Nixon showed the extent of his thievery, after the last men had come home from Vietnam, when New York City went bankrupt. My mother worked on Eugene McCarthy's presidential campaign in 1968 and was teargassed that summer from a Chicago hotel during the Democratic National Convention. My parents and their friends marched in Batlimore, Los Angeles and Washington. When I was in elementary school and we talked about that time, the live would drain out of their eyes. Sometimes they'd weep.
Saying I learned about the 60's at my mother's knee sounds like drivel but I still believe that decade is part of my heritage. I side with the little guy, well up with pride around civil defiance. A heathy spirit of contrarianism blows through me like wind.
So why does it all seem so foolish now? Did those kids my mom's age then, close to my age now imagine that a war across the ocean seems almost quiant compared to a stealth war at home? What would Abbie Hoffman say about September 11th?
My values are strained. My belief in love, justice and sisterhood may not go far enough when 4,000 can die just because they showed up at work in the morning. Here. In America. This place that holds my heart.
I once asked my mom if she loved America, if she ever got called a traitor. She said when you love something enough, you want to see it be the best it can be. You weep for it when you feel it's lost its way.
I don't know if how my country has reacted to September 11th is right. I haven't made up my mind on what "right" is. Those kids who occupied the administration building Berkeley seemed so sure of what "right" was. I've been questioning my idea of it for almost 2 months now. It makes me look at myself and weep.
Loading up on supplies for the First Ever Central Booking Feed and Read. Suzan's been a tremendous help. I have a really wonderful girfriend.
Where have I been? The police station, the autobody shop, a wedding and sick in bed. No blogging for days. Sorry, dear reader(s). I'm back now
Bookmark Now: Writing in Unreaderly Times edited by Kevin Smokler
