Sep 30 2002
MY DAY: Wrap-up
100 pages read, 3 naps, 2 baths, 1 1/2 movies, 1 book finished and a whole lot of sleeping in. MY DAY turned out rather nicely.
Kevin's Mailing List
Where, When, How Much, What Flavor.
Kevin's Mailing List
Where, When, How Much, What Flavor.
100 pages read, 3 naps, 2 baths, 1 1/2 movies, 1 book finished and a whole lot of sleeping in. MY DAY turned out rather nicely.
Since I don't own a digital camera and am resisting getting one for no reason at all, I've never pariticipated in the very cool Mirror Project, founded and run by my friend Heather Champ. So I probably don't deserve to be in the 10,000 Mirror Project picture, grinning on the right like I've got a staple remover stuck in my jaw. I equate it two beginning the 12th man on the league's best basketball team, spending the whole season on the bench but collecting a championship ring anyway.
The Art Car Parade just went right by my living room window. Beep Beep!
Today is my first day in three weeks with no work, my first day off in recent memory. Suzan is out of town. Therefore I have declared it MY DAY. Mine. Get it? Mine, mine mine mine. MY DAY has three simple principles...
1. Kevin does exactly what he wants on MY DAY with no planning, thought or consideration. Why? Because it's MY DAY, that's why. Neahh. That's why even though it's a beautiful Saturday afternoon in San Francisco, I may very well spend it inside reading Naomi Klein, watching movie trailers and wondering why I can't be as cool as Ben Brown. In fact, I think I'll do just that. Why? Because it's MY DAY.
2. MY DAY begins and ends when Kevin says it does and does not obey any laws of nature, common sense, health or decency. I may sleep at noon and do the lambada at midnight. I may menstrate. You say I don't have the parts? Shut up. I say its MY DAY.
3. MY DAY. See 1 and 2. Neahhhhhh.
Happy 10th Birthday to Critical Mass! In September 1992, a handful of bicyclists converged in downtown San Francisco the last Friday of the month during rush hour and rode in a big clump down the street in protest of the lack of attention and respect non-car transportation gets on city streets. Motorists were confused then angry, the police befuddled but someone listened. Today Critical Mass happens the last Friday of every month in 300 cities around the world and it's pretty damn hard, in most major cities, to ignore the presence of bicycles.
I was fortunate to ride with the Mass yesterday in the city where it all began, with thousands of other bicycles eager for and passionate about a safer, cleaner, more humane city. Critical Mass has a mixed reputation among practically everyone because as progressive as someone claims to be, see how long they stay that way when stuck in their car for an hour behind a wave of thousands of cheering cyclists. And infamously, in some larger rides, cyclists has been arrested and beaten by police, and gotten into screaming matches and physical confrontations with those on two wheels.
Media coverage of the ride has often emphasized these violent confrontations, portraying the riders as law-breaking thugs with a sadly misguided political agenda. Indeed there are rouge element of the ride who still think Critical Mass is about pissing off people in cars. Hell, even I did when I started riding it and still get a perverse charge out the angry drivers. But really I think the Mass, because it has no organizer, no governing body, it just happens, suffers from a public relations problem. I've been in the middle of it several times and mostly you see ordinary people smiling, cheering, happy to be riding in the city they love without fearing for their life. I've seen teenagers and senior citizens, people in wheelchairs, and dozens of parents riding alongside their children.
Thank God in celebration of the anniversary, some wise person passed out a sheet outlining the principles of Critical Mass, which included "MOTORISTS ARE NOT THE ENEMY!" It forced me to remember why I was there. And while I read about frusterated drivers "just drying to get home" and merchants worried that their customers won't arrive if they can't drive, and say "come off your high horse and take the damn bus!", I don't get the same self-rightous thrill I used to.
Anybody else here visit Newpages, a portal of information from alternative media outlets? Apparently now they're asking for a password. Were they gonna tell us, the readers, the loyal fans? What did we do wrong?
I did another interview on the Slack Street Radio program where I talked about some new fall books, the "book club" trend and the dreaded "How do I get an agent?" question. Please listen.
Employees of the Uptown Borders bookstore in Minneapolis are voting next month on whether to unionize. Since 1996, 11 Borders stores have become organized (including the one famously featured in the Michael Moore film The Big One) only to have the unions dissolve from lack of employee interest. Yet despite the odds and fierce corporate resistance, employees are insisting "why is it so radical for somebody to work in retail and earn a living wage?" (via NewPages)
Good point.
"If the future's looking dark,
We're the ones who have to shine.
If there's no one in control,
We're the ones who draw the line.
Though we live in trying times,
We're the ones who have to try.
Though we know that time has wings,
We're the ones who have to fly."
--"Everyday Glory" by RUSH
Elizabeth Coblentz, aka The Amish Cook died this week. Coblentz, a deeply religious Amish woman's cooking column was featured in newspapers nationwide and written by hand and the light of lantern. Oasis Newsfeatures came into being when it began syndicating the column in 1991. At it's height, the Amish cook appeared in over 100 newspapers nationwide.
We tend to forget in this wind tunnel of information called 2002 that newspapers, particularly small-town ones, were once the bastion of little useful pieces of information like the school lunch calendar, the price of the soy beans and pets for sale. I remember fondly grabbing section E from the Ann Arbor News as a kid and praying that pizza would be the featured hot lunch at Burns Park Elementary School.
We can all go the web for that stuff now. It's quick, convenient, sexy. I'd like to think that even online, there's room for a little homespunness like the Amish Cook. It helps me to take a break and breathe.
I took the train over to Berkeley last night to see Sarah Vowell read at Cody's Books. I had misjuded the starting time because there were only 6 people there when I arrived. Fifteen minutes later, there about 120. Apparently I'm not the only earnest NPR geek out there who worships her.
Sarah has said she's a loner on both This American Life and in her books. The first question during the Q&A was "Are you liking your book tour," to which she paused and said "Some of it, I guess." She was polite, answered everyone's questions (even the really stupid "Do you actually have a twin sister?) but seemed itching to go back to her hotel. "I'm a writer," she said "Alone in my apartment. That's my preferred mode of being."
I waited in line to say hi and introduced myself as the guy from the Grotto. Last year, I started a program of bringing writers on their book tour by the Grotto for breakfast, on the presumption that they might like to begin a hectic day with peers before a day worth of hustling. I guessed right. I had spoken to Sarah's publicist the week before about brining her by and Sarah liked the idea. But Friday I heard that Sarah was booked for the entire three days she was here.
Sad.
She apologized for not being able to make it this time in San Francisco and we both said we'd try again the next time she was in town. It was exactly the "let's be best friends!" moment I was hoping for. But I guess I'm feeling like my professional life is on enough of an upswing that Sarah Vowell and I will cross paths again. Maybe at this point I'm beginning to see her as more of a peer and her career something to shoot for than an idol. Maybe last night, I saw her as human.
So yesterday I gave a speech at the Peninsula chapter of the California Writers Club on "Non Traditional Ways to Promote your Book." Sadly, writers without big fat publishing contracts in the bay area still think the best way to get attention for your book is to mail it unsolicited to the San Francisco Chronicle's book section and pray they'll review it. They won't.
The talk went well, with the 25-odd members busily taking notes, asking questions, and passing me business cards at the end. I felt a bit like "the expert" they wheel out on Oprah to explain some social ill. Not that books going unnoticed is the rot of the nation or anything but jeez, the number of times I've heard a beginning writer say "well, this conference/agent/editor said they would read my manuscript for only $200. And they have great contacts!" and fall for this sort of malarky. Someone even asked it at this talk. Sad truth is there are lots of unsavory characters out there praying on people's dreams of getting their work recognized in some sort of official way. If I can spread a little education around about a real, organic, non-slutty way to promote yourself, then I will.
And lord, was it fun! Suzan was there and laughed her head off at what a Leo I am and how much I like talking to a crowd. Can't lie. I was totally jacked for rest of the day.
Members from a few other branches were on hand too and said they'd like to have me speak there. Soon, please. Soon.
but I did and spent a rediculous amount of money on an IPod for Windows. Now I only leave the house when armed with 863 mp3's.
Clearly I'm insane.
So Fray Day 6 was tremendous, over 5 hours of funny, powerful storytelling. My story (about Andrew WK being my brother's best friend in the eighth grade) went pretty well although I can never really tell about these things because I rarely prep and usually just get up and talk. But I got several compliments afterward so I'm taking their word for it.
Amongst the other stories, Jack Boulware tore the roof off the joint with a story about driving a scammed Porsche for three days. Laura Fraser held a hushed audience in her hands when telling about a guy she dated who died on September 11th at the World Trade Center. And Justin Chin didn't talk about anything in particular but was riotous.
Mostly, it was just great to see hundreds of people I knew enjoying themselves. Fray Day is really a very special thing.
Fasting is over. Had a lovely breaking of fast (which is indeed where the word "breakfast" comes from) with Derek and Heather. Now and serene, relaxed and very, very happy, the fortunate result of a day spent soul searching.
The lesson of this Yom Kippur: Each year, I write a letter to someone I feel I need to make amends to. This year, for the first time, I wrote this letter to myself. I feel I'm pretty nasty to me a lot of time, quietly yelling at myself for being a less than productive writer, a half-assed friend/son/brother, and an out-to-lunch boyfriend. I rarely cut myself a break and spent most of my waking hours juiced on some unholy concoction of work adrenalin, fear and self-loathing. This is not the recipe for a balanced, happy life.
What, brothers and sisters, is the point of exercising, eating well, not smoking or drinking in hopes of living a long time if you can't appreciate it, if you spend most of those overtime years berating yourself for not spending them better?
So I'm going to try to do it a little differently. I'm going to try and remember each day to thank God that I have a pretty good life, dang nab it. And that I earned it from hard work, good karma and being a decent human being, not through trickery, deceit or blind luck. I'm entitled to a little happiness with out my daily routine of convincing myself otherwise. So that's the new motto. Relish in the joy. Because there's lots of it around, if I let myself off the hook long enough to accept.
Today is Yom Kippur, the Jewish day of atonement. Yom Kippur occurs exactly ten days after Rosh Hashannah, the beginning of the Jewish new year. During that ten day period, as the legend goes, the book of life is open. All of us have the the opportunity to make right with our high powers, to apologize for those we feel need apologizing to, to clense ourselves, and promise to lead with the better angels of our nature. Yom Kippur is the last day in this period. We fast as a reminder of the solemnity of the day. At sundown, the book of life is closed.
Each Yom Kippur since 1995, I have spent the day by myself, thinking, writing, reading, praying. Each year, I write one person a letter to whom I feel I owe forgiveness. Mostly, I just try and "Get Good with God" and put myself in a serene spiritual place. But something tells me this year will be different. I'll let you know at sundown.
Sleepers (1996): Mess with your kids and they will mess with you.
Fray Day 6 is today, an annual live storytelling event run by my friend Derek, the creator of Fray.com. I'll be emceeing from 8-9 and introducing author Laura Fraser and poet Justin Chin, who are featured performers. This year, the event will be at the much bigger, Victoria Theatre but will still be packing in some of the smartest minds on the web, as well as folks from the local literary community and casual passers by. If you're a San Franciscan, please stop by if you can.
Last night, my friends Ben and Mena celebrated their birthdays, just six days apart. Have several wondering, meaningless yet utterly thrilling conversations with Kay (about Cognitive Psychology. She's a professor), Jason Kottke (about the Journey video game) and the whole room (about weird parental behavior and accents). I dig evenings like this, despite that when I feel most comfortable around people, I tend to get quite voluble, laughing probably too loud and buzzing about the room like a drunk moth. When I was growing up, this meant I was super nervous and was over-compensating. Now it means I'm in my element how odd.
So apologies to anyone I may have hit with an ill-timed remark. It just means I was enjoying your company.
My friend Dinah reminded me that I really have a pretty good life. Thanks, dear.
I spent much of yesterday talking over the last year with Suzan. She was camping with her sister on September 11 of last year and didn't find out what had happened until a few days later. We both realized how much farther our relationship had come since then, how much better we understand each other and how much easier it is to share our fears.
That night I spoke to my friend Laura who came home from work early last September 11th. We spent the day together, watching news, talking but mostly just being there for each other through a lot of long silences. We ended the conversation yesterday with this.
"It was honor to spend that terrible day with you."
"For me too."
When I went to bed, I prayed that one clear day in the future, we can take this horrible experience and use it to reach beyond ourselves, to become better people rather than swearing new ways to enact revenge.
I hope.
Freedom and democracy often must be maintained in the face of our greatest fears.
This October is ablaze with book festivals across the land. How about in your hometown? I've listed them alphabetically by locale:
California: Inland Empire Bookfest (Oct. 19)
Massachusetts: Boston Globe Book Festival (Oct. 19-25)
Concord Festival of Authors: (Oct. 24-Nov. 2)
Minnesota: Twin Cities Book Festival (Minneapolis, Oct. 12)
New Mexico: Sante Fe Festival of the Book (Oct. 17-19)
Washington: Northwest Bookfest (Oct. 19-20)
Washington D.C.: National Book Festival (Oct. 12)
November to come. Did I leave any out?
The web site for the Yoga Journal magazine has a section called "Poses" where you can, through pull down menus, select an area of your body, health, and mindset to focus on, be it a sore theigh, feelings of fatigue or recovering from carpel tunnel syndrome.
What an excellent deployment of the web for a print publication. Others should take note.
Dave Eggers answered readers questions recently over at McSweeney's web site, if you're curious about his second book and all, which is due out this month. There's an excerpt on the New Yorker's web site which, par for the course, is only readable if you're an aphid crawling on the glass of your own monitor. Try printing it out.
An item I passed on to Cory Doctorow ended up on Boing Boing, the mother of all weblogs. What's it about? Don't ask.
About a week ago, I put We've Got Blog!, a collection of essays and journalistic pieces about weblogging next to my toilet and would reada little bit whenever the spirit and nature moved me. I finished it up this morning and must say, I'm inspired. While I'm not entirely sold on the idea that weblogging is a full blown revolution, it does appear that citizens are reading, writing, staying informed and commenting more than ever, four of my favorite things in the world. Media is shifting, ever so slightly from a solemn pronouncement to the noisy buzz of a crowded birthday party. Information hierarchies, while still in place, are trembling. How we choose to learn, to stay informed is becoming increasingly a personal choice and a social responsibility. And being up on things is also becoming cool.
I don't think the world is about to be ruled by freaks and geeks, by cool-to-be-smart wankers like me and those I like to keep close. But I feel like there's a larger space at the global cafeteria table than there was before.
*grinning*
Why must safety always come at the price of liberty? Is our fear that great? Call me rabid but I would gladly fling open the gates of America to a 1,000 terrorists than to live in a culture where freedom is seen as conditional, where "an endless war on terrorism" really means "an endless state of martial law where dissent is hushed up, where the consitution is compromised and the fundamental rights of every American are compromised so those in power may act with impunity to ensure our 'safety'."
Take a history lesson, all of you, who think "endless war" is a noble endeavor. The constitution was established to be enduring, even in times of crises. Give up that right, make freedom dependant on the events of the age and you no longer live in a democracy.
27 books, 60$ breaking down to slightly over 2$ a book. All in great shape. The San Francisco Public Library Annual Book Sale is a wonderful thing.
Now, let's hear your own favorite bargain story. Go on. I'm listening.
So if ya gotta propose, this is kind of a cool way to do it (via my friend Dana T.).
"Gossip Girl" is a new collection of books being billed as "Sex and the City for teens", complete with plenty of drinking, drugs and lots of puttie tang. It raises an eyebrow but nothing more.
Apparently there's fear in the land that Baltimoreans are going to stop using the word "Hon" in everyday conversation, as they have since George Calvert stabbed his tent pole into the earth there 300 years ago. Some local residents, like famed Baltimore filmmaker John Waters are horrified. Others like former mayor Kurt Schmoke, the first African-American ever to hold the post, do not see the term translating so easily across racial and class lines.
Baltimore held me close to its chest when I lived there from 1991-1997, first as a college students, then as an iterant journalist and video store clerk. I probably got called hun about 8 zillion times by everyone from waitresses to longshoreman, to my first boss, who was 3 years older than me, male, Jewish, and from New Hampshire. He'd just been in Mobtown a long time.
Frankly, I never thought much of it, seeing the little sentence-ender as Baltimore's version of "dude," or "man" or, "guv'na". But the "hon" is embedded deep in the city's image of itself as a kitchy 50's throwback of bee-hive haircuts and crab feasts on Sundays, not a "real city" like neighbors Washington and Philadelphia mind you, but more like that crazy town where your great aunt Trudy still lives way after her decendents split for the suburbs.
And that's really what's at stake here, Baltimore's continuing confusion over whether its a town or a city, whether it wants be the muse of John Waters and Ann Tyler or to say proudly, "We have a Hard Rock Cafe too!" Don't look for this debate to be settled anytime soon as the sad Cafe' Hon aptly illustrates. Once the center of all things "Hon" in Baltimore where my college buddies and I used to breakfast for 3$ each, it is now a tourist monstrosity where it now takes 45 minutes and 6$ to get a blueberry muffin. And they taste terrible.
Diddy Reese's a tiny little sweet shop near UCLA in Los Angeles, has raised the price of its cookies from 25 to 35 cents. I used to frequent this little treasure over two miserable summers of slave labor on the Warner Brothers Lot (1991-92, I think). My favorite was the ice cream sandwitch wedged between two cookies. Total cost: $1.
Times change, I guess. Light night I had some friends over for dinner and we desserted on...Skinny Cow low-fat ice cream sandwitches (via Obscure Store).
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