Home Now:

Back from a week and a half away. I'm going to be in and out all summer long with a week in L.A for my book and to visit family, Lollapalooza and my birthday in Chicago, Jer and Allie's wedding, my cousin Jake's wedding and a September invitation to speak at a conference in Banff. I've got my book proposal to finish before Sept. 1, pieces due for Poets & Writers, The Chronicle and Dailysonic, plus a half dozen other projects to make some much needed green. I'd also like to get to the gym and the Jews, see my friends and breathe deep.

Which means this weekend, I need to to do two things: Lay low and plan for the summer. Much to do and see, much of it exciting. But I will need some Me Time to see it that way.

In Boston:

Trying to decompress from a simply incredible weekend of Best Manning for this gentlemen. Back in Da Bay on Friday. You'll hear from me then.

Gleanings: Jews, Wal-Mart, Bambi, Porn.

I'm in Philadelphia...

• The most emailed New York Times story the last few days has been this one about the growing Jewish community in Bentonville, Arkansas, Wal-Mart ccountry. Either folks can't imagine the words Jews, Arkansas, and Wal-Mart in the same sentence or the doings of my people is much more newsworthy than I had thought.


• The Chronicle of Higher Education declares that University Presses must change their business model if they want to compete in the 21st century. Amen to that but how? I spoke at U of Chicago Press last year and they get that the Internet is kicking over the whole apple cart. But they have neither the funds, staff or institutional support to adapt. They've got rss feeds and a blog. (via ArtsJournal).


• An absolutely fantastic episode of the Nextbook Podcast, where David Rakoff discusses Felix Salten, the author of the book which inspired Bambi. Salten dabbled in some soft core porn as well.


• Movies via iTunes? I'm not sold yet (via New Media Musings).


• When in Philly, please visit the Reading Terminal Market. It's a foodie paradise.

One Sentence Movie Reviews: "Proof"

Proof (2005): "Genius and regret are a terrible combination."

Giant Pile of Day-Glo:

Screw it. One more before I leave. Del.ico.us/Popular has clued me in to this giant copyright violation/database of 80s music videos.

Imagine days, no weeks disappearing. I'm starting with A. Air Supply did videos even though they probably shouldn't have.

Working on: (6.19.2006)

• In edits on an article for Poets & Writers magazine.
• Pitches for Fast Company and HEEB.

• Plugging away at the proposal for Book #2.
• Trying to get some infrastructure behind the Citizen Media project that I've heretofore kept under wraps.
• Consulting for the Idea Festival
• Consulting for Mental Floss
• Writing a toast. My buddy Dave is getting married this weekend and I'm the Best Man. That means I'll be in Philadelphia this whole week. Blogging will be light.

  See you soon.
  

Another Wild Day for Birthdays:

Born today: Pauline Kael, Greil Marcus, Blaise Pascal, Tobias Wolff and my parent's marriage. They're still together after 36 years. Happy anniversary, mom and dad! (via The Writer's Almanac).

At the End of Father's Day:

A true story about me and my dad, Irving Alan Smokler. And yes, I will be counting flags again this Independence Day.

Happy Father's Day, dad. I love you.

Cliches', The Good Kind:

I heard this poem today on The Writer's Almanac which I think makes brilliant use of famous sayings:

Blessings

occur.
Some days I find myself
putting my foot in
the same stream twice;
leading a horse to water
and making him drink.
I have a clue.
I can see the forest
for the trees.

All around me people
are making silk purses
out of sows' ears,
getting blood from turnips,
building Rome in a day.
There's a business
like show business.
There's something new
under the sun.

Some days misery
no longer loves company;
it puts itself out of its.
There's rest for the weary.
There's turning back.
There are guarantees.
I can be serious.
I can mean that.
You can quite
put your finger on it.

--Ronald Wallace

Sober Hungover:

If it's possible to be hungover without drinking a drop, that's where I'm at. After hitting both my friend Jish's birthday at Zeitgeist (which I'd never been to before and resembled rec hour at the local supermax prison. I loved it) and then my friend Willo's birthday, I thought I'd taken good care, had a great time, left at a reasonable hour and slipped into bed with a book at 1:30.

So why do I feel like I've been beaten with a long wooden object? Why did I wake up at 5:30 despite no bad dreams or noise outside? And why did I start doing my Sunday morning butt-shake-to-music before I got out of bed where the only music playing was Faygo's meow through the bedroom door?

I don't know. Oy, what a way to wake up.