Finished the latest edit of the book this morning, which is good. Still on target to have reviewable drafts before my birthday (I said I wanted to do this before I’m 40, so I’m cutting it close). Starting tomorrow, I will begin writing the next project , and starting to research the second novel (sorry, unsuspecting m4m people on Craigslist), while giving myself the Stephen King-recommended six weeks between drafts.

I got this draft down to 692 pages (from 760 or somesuch), and shaved about 30,000ish words off of it, so good progress. I am still rather amazed by the lazy notes in it, as though it was written in such a hurried, scattered pace as to not allow time for research, which I know was not true. There was lots of bold notation such as “Look up other obesity-related sleep disorders for this section,” so the question is always how I had time to write that, but not just Google the damn things and fix them then.

But, in any event, the current draft has no notations or placeholders. It is complete. Also, I should point out that the 692 pages is based on Courier, 14pt, so when that comes down to the 11pt world, it would probably shave some pages, as well.

Was interesting reading the ending today, which is not how the book will end in the next draft. It took me a while to realize the way the book now ends in my head was not going to happen in this draft. I didn’t change it up, though, because I wanted to preserve this draft as its own entity. While I think this ending is very satisfying, it ties everything up with pretty bows a bit too much, which I want to resist. I hate Hollywood for doing that all the time, so I can’t join them when I’m at the wheel.

Of course, I think my intended ending for the next draft is still satisfying, just a bit more open-ended. I like art that leaves itself open for discussion afterward, leaving people to wondering what will happen next for these characters after my text ends.

And, to celebrate finishing the novel, I’ll see Crowded House live at The Fillmore tonight and tomorrow night. Good timing on that, makes it more of a celebration now.

Just finished working on the novel for the morning, and still have about 15 minutes on this bus before I’m at work. Private, corporate bus filled with overpaid tech employees, so it’s OK to be on a laptop here. Nearly everyone is.

Really enjoyed the book this morning, which always seems strange, but I’ve definitely hit the part of the book that hasn’t been edited as much as the rest. See, I would always start at the beginning every time, so it was always dependent on when that cycle would trail off that determined how much of the book got edited.

I recently raised the stakes on the novel by sending out copies of a book to review. It’s actually the 150ish page book that my lead character writes as part of my novel. Didn’t really warn people, most just it show up unannounced in their mailbox.

Not sure what the review cycle on that will be. Or what the fate of that text ultimately is. I think it’ll be clearer what to do with the proper novel when that arrives, as opposed to the book of the character in the novel.

Of course, for my family, this has started a whole round of craziness, because they think this is memoir. I once said that everything I write is real, and I think that should be true of all fiction. It is all inspired by things that are real. That said, these real thing didn’t necessarily happen to me. I steal everywhere I go. And this isn’t some James Frey confession here. It’s a novel.

So, yeah, I can’t really say it bothers me to create a fictional character and have people think it’s me. I guess that is the price of admission.

There’s a lot of me in the book, but there’s a hell of a lot of invention, too. It’s too easy to think the main character is me, but since I came up with all the characters, aren’t they’re me, too?

But I know there is no way to divorce the writer from the art, especially when it comes to family and friends.

Although, considering I’m already locking in on what my next novel is going to be (based on this, but don’t expect me to ever reference it again on here), I think book two will provide them with even more to question if they keep thinking that.

I started a new job recently, the first full-time gig in quite some time for me.

The biggest challenge for the job is being present, although I don’t think it is a new pursuit by any means. It almost seems we live in a world that thrives in the myths of multitasking and connectedness. Especially at high-tech jobs, we live at networked computers that are always ready to go.

Our jobs require us to be surfing the web, so the challenge is to commit to that moment. Go to the page the job requires, do that task and, when I’m finished, go to the next page.

It is easy to quickly check FaceBook, MySpace, pop onto my webmail client for jeffwalsh.com, or any other distraction. But I’m trying to resist. My goal is to stay focused on the job for the full eight hours.

I mention I haven’t done a full-time job in a while, but that’s not entirely relevant because at previous jobs there was also no such division. At my last full-time job, we used an AIM client to talk within our team, and I used the same login name as I give out on Oasis and to friends, so there was a constant blurring of work, personal, Oasis, etc.

I commute to this new gig a few days a week, and today, I noticed people who work on the bus and it is that same shift. You look up and someone is writing e-mail. Two minutes later, they are playing Solitaire over the e-mail. Look again, back to e-mail. Next time, they are surfing dish patterns.

This pattern seems to exist everywhere. When I recently went to see Panic at the Disco in concert, it was amazing how much time was spent by their most ardent fans texting throughout the show, and taking pictures on cell phones (I’ve never seen one that looks worth the effort, quite honestly). If you’re really into the band and their music, and one of the band members brings their guitar right in front of you, it seems like a perfect time to drink in that moment, possibly make eye contact, smile, sing along… and not necessarily grab a fuzzy 1 megapixel snapshot to post on your MySpace. We’re capturing moments to post in the future without letting them fully be realized in the present.

I download stuff to watch on my computer, some of it broadcast stuff I missed or things from other countries that I otherwise wouldn’t have access to. In the past few weeks, I’ve determined to watch everything full-screen instead of my usual method, which is to make it as wide as possible while leaving just a sliver of desktop to play tetris.

I try and do that with everything, with varied results. I don’t bring my cell phone to this new job except for days whereby I’m meeting people for dinner afterwards and might need to sync up. Otherwise, it’s pointless for me.

I’m also still juggling how to balance this new gig with working on the novel (hasn’t been an issue) and getting to the gym (the bigger casualty), and it’s kind of surprising (but not really), that on days when I commute, the novel is done quickly and effortlessly. But on days when I work from home, and don’t have to wake up as early, the novel is often put off until closer to my start time, or after my shift entirely.

So, it’s all a work in progress, but in a specific direction.

I’d talk more about it, but I’m hourly, at my desk in the offices of my new job, and it’s 9 a.m.

It’s time for me to focus my attention somewhere else now.

Tonight, millions of people around the world will turn off their lights for one hour to celebrate Earth Hour, to make a statement about climate change.

Apparently, I make a statement about climate change EVERY Saturday night almost year-round, because my lights are always off at that time for a simple reason: Why the hell would I be sitting around at home on a Saturday night?!

So, watched a friend’s place for him while he was out of town for a few days and one of the perks was that I also had access to his car the whole time. And, I have to say… I’m convinced that I’m officially happier to be car-less.

Until now, I would cite things like the cost of having a car given the payment/lease, insurance, gas, etc., and of course, the big issue is finding a place to park near my apartment, but after this weekend, I’m changing my tune. None of those things matter as much as the fact that I really was just bored driving around.

Some of this is the fact that it wasn’t my car, of course. For example, when I walk around the city, I usually listen to podcasts or new music on my iPod. But the car didn’t have a line-in, so when I drove down to a party on Saturday, it was all just… the radio.

On top of that, it just seemed like such a waste of time. Nearly an hour of making sure my car stayed between painted lines at a high rate of speed (within 5 miles of the speed limit, so of course, I was being passed quite a bit), listening to radio, and having to deal with all the aggressive drivers trying each lane out to see which would get them to their destination faster. Blah, such bad energy.

By contrast, without a car, I would have been on the train. While sitting there and relaxing for an hour, I could have read a book, listened to an audiobook, brought a laptop and worked on something there, watched some video on my iPod… all of which seem like so much more civilized options.

I understand that driving a car is supposed to be some primal, masculine thing, but you can have it. I’m sticking with sneakers, buses, and trains.

I got the chance to see Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova of the movie Once, in a nice little ballroom in San Francisco back in November. I e-mailed someone my reaction to the show, but never got around to blogging it. So, with them recently winning the Academy Award for Best Song, and starting a new US tour, I figure that’s as big a hook as I’m going to get to recycle this text, so here you go, more of an e-mail style read than a blog essay thing…

They were good, but it’s an odd concert.

Usually, when you go to a show, it is people who all like the same music. Now, for some reason, this crowd didn’t have that vibe. It was clear they were there because they liked the movie “Once.”

You didn’t get the sense these people usually are turning off NPR and going to a night concert.

First, I arrive and they are all seated on the floor. Fair enough, no need to stand until anything happens, only… it was clear they thought they were settled in for the night. Like, people whose friends had yet to arrive, they had their jackets spread out to make room for them, etc. There was no standing in their planned futures.

I got up around the fifth row of people from the stage, and at about 5 minutes until showtime, the first two rows got off the floor and stood in front of the stage. From the third row back, they clearly seemed horrified by this malfeasance and were holding their ground. Only, there was now a six foot moat between the third row, and the greatly-compacted first two rows standing up at the stage. You could clearly see people on the sides starting to make their way up to fill the gap, and the third row and many rows behind them aren’t moving.

So, I decide, screw this, get up and go stand near the people at the stage. Apparently, this was not acceptable to the person whose view I just blocked (they are still on the floor, keep in mind, so if he intends to stay on the floor, the stage is chest level for me, so I will be blocking his view of Glen’s foot). So this guy says, you’re blocking my wife’s view. Why do you think you can just stand wherever you want? We’ve been sitting there for a half hour now.

I explain that within 5 minutes, only the balcony people will be sitting, and that at a general admission show, you stand wherever you want. If someone were blocking my view, I’d move accordingly, and if I’m blocking their view, they can do the same. He then said, what if I decide to push in front of you? I tell him to go ahead, and he wedges himself into the 8″ gap between the last person in the second row, and a bass speaker on the floor, the corner of which I selected specifically so I could rest my arm on it. So, having pushed himself directly in my eye line, he turns around squashed and triumphant and says, what would you do to that, and I non-chalantly take one step to the left, my view once again unobstructed.

His poor wife, clearly not enjoying seeing her husband be a jerk, though also not surprised this persona exists, just asks him to come back with her and to forget about it. That’s sort of the end of my encounter with them, except for the fact that they seem completely oblivious when Martha Wainwright is doing her opening set.

As I have a lot of performer friends, you know that although the audio is projecting out from the stage, a lot of the noise from the audience is heard loud and clear onstage. These people, now joined by their obnoxious friends, never stop talking throughout her entire set (just her and an acoustic guitar five feet away, mind you).

Loud, dull, and non-stop, part of the new cell phone culture that seems to constantly need to narrate a life, blissfully unaware that it’s a boring one. On two separate occassions, Martha actually stops the song and asks people to stop talking and mentioned there is a foyer if they don’t want to hear her.

Normal people would get the hint, especially when most people around these idiots start clapping, and looking at them. Instead, the female friend that joined them later decides better and starts yelling “Get over yourself! We’re not hear to see you! We can do whatever we want!”

I do feel vindicated at this, knowing that my earlier exchange occurred with complete and utter assholes. I mean, I’m no huge Martha Wainwright fan, but she was pleasant and trying to entertain us. It’s not really an adversarial role, just additional entertainment.

When the Swell Season came on, they piped down a bit more, but there was a noticeable difference in the audience reaction between the “movie” songs, and the “other” songs. Movie songs got attention, other songs were sort of treated as filler, although it was all delightful, fun, and in the same exact spirit as the other tunes. I knew going in (partially for this reason) that this would probably be my only Swell Season show, because if I like them, I’ll just switch over to the Frames. I normally don’t follow mellow coffeehouse strummers with some piano and string players. I like rock and roll, drums, and electric guitars. So, these songs will eventually get tarted up for the Frames or be an acoustic set in the middle of their future shows, I would imagine, especially as three of the extra musicians added to fill out the music were from the Frames.

So, there was something off about the whole event, seeing as we were all people in a room who liked a movie. We weren’t Swell Season fans, per se. We just connected to Once and wanted to extend that connection in person with the people responsible for its magic.

I don’t want to give the impression that The Swell Season were off and responsible for any of this. They did a fun, inspired set. He is clearly the showman, and she is bookish and quiet. So, when he’s front and center, it is effortless and self-effacing, and when she is front and center, it seems like she is challenging herself to do it.

I’m completely glad I went, amazed at the rudeness of some of the crowd (especially people who want to be close to the stage and act like that), and the best moments of the night were the small exchanges that brought me up near the stage in the first place: the little sparks that shot between them when they made eye contact and both broke into big smiles at one another, his look of joy when she sang, and his complete ease and candor at what he called “the best year of my life.”

On February 1, I embarked on a life-changing program to help prioritize my life and help me think clear about what I’m trying to accomplish. I’m talking, of course, about Seintology. I’m sure there are detractors but, with the month coming to a close, I have to acknowledge how well it has been working for me.

Now, I realize Seintology isn’t for everyone. Many people don’t want to believe in something larger than themselves to accomplish results. And far be it from me to prosthelytize. Do what you want. I’m only here to explain what I’ve found effective in my own life.

The word Seintology literally means “the study of Jerry Seinfeld.” It comes from the Jewish word “Sein” meaning “knowing in the fullest sense of comedy” and the Greek word “logos” meaning “study of.”

Like the Buddhist concepts of emptiness (shunyata), Seintologists have long questioned nothing. By which I don’t mean they didn’t question anything, just that they specifically questioned the notion of nothingness itself. Seinfeld’s nine-year run on NBC was often derided unfairly as being “a show about nothing.”

In 2001, Seinfeld himself stated:

“Doing nothing is not as easy as it looks. You have to be careful, because the idea of doing anything, which could easily lead to doing something, that would cut into your nothing — that would force me to have to drop everything.”

This is one of main texts in Seintology and is heavily debated among people who fear its implications. There are smear campaigns and million-dollar lawsuits meant to protect Seintologists and enable us the right to practice our beliefs.

But I’m not here to hash out the old tired arguments about the road Seinfeld took to get his headliner (or thetan) status, only how I’m using those philosophies to improve my own life. The knowledge is already out there, but I think the only interesting thing is showing how I put it to work for me. Only applied knowledge has actual use in our daily lives.

In his documentary Comedian, Seinfeld impressed me with his work ethic. He said that from his office window, he can see construction workers who take their lunch break, but then have to go back to their jobs. They likely don’t want to return to those jobs, but it’s just how the world works. But his takeaway was that if people who have jobs like that have to put in a full day, then far be it from him to pack it in after a few measly hours.

It reminded me of Woody Allen’s famous quote about show business: “Eighty percent of success is showing up.”

And just seeing Seinfeld’s focus throughout the movie getting a joke perfectly tuned was pretty impressive and a testament to how seriously he takes his craft.

Recently, I found a website that had a productivity secret from Jerry Seinfeld, and as soon as I read it, I knew it intersected with the twisted way my mind works.

In the piece, Seinfeld says to motivate himself he gets a calendar where you can see the year at a glance, and on days he writes, he puts a big red X through the day. And after you get a nice chain going after a few weeks, the only thing you need to do is not break the chain.

“After a few days you’ll have a chain. Just keep at it and the chain will grow longer every day,” Seinfeld said. “You’ll like seeing that chain, especially when you get a few weeks under your belt. Your only job next is to not break the chain.”

“Don’t break the chain,” he said again for emphasis.

It sounds simple, but I have to say, it has made me write for the past 23 consecutive days, as well as keep track of my weight lifting and cardio as well. One day, it was rainy and early in the day, I didn’t get a chance to go to the gym, as it was quite a downpour at the time. Later, I got into a project. Then, it was dinner time. Finally, it was about ten o’clock at night, and I saw my calendar on the refrigerator. It had the red X for having written that day, but lacked the green X for cardio. So, it was down to a drizzle now and I dragged myself to the gym to make sure I got my X for the day.

Some days have certainly been better than others. For example, I am still trying to get the writing happening at the same time every day, which is supposed to improve things. But, for now, that it is happening every day is enough of a victory.

Like I said, I’m not here to sell you on Seintology. Only to tell people about my own personal journey.

Today was my first day as an extra on the set of the movie about gay rights icon Harvey Milk. “Milk” is being directed by Gus Van Sant, with Sean Penn as Harvey Milk, Emile Hirsch as Cleve Jones, and James Franco and Diego Luna playing some of the other roles.

The Castro has been buzzing about the production for a while now. First of all, the place looks amazing. The Castro Theatre, which is the defining landmark of the gayborhood has been given an amazing paint job to bring it back to its 1970s glory, and for the first time in my decade-plus of living in San Francisco, all of the neon letters spelling out CASTRO actually work. It does raise the question as to why the gays let it get so run down. Vintage is one thing, this thing was tragic.

I had went to an open call a while back, where basically they took our photos, we filled out a form, and that was basically the end of the run for me. Supposedly that was to cast some background players, so my not getting a call was just that I didn’t look like some random city councilman in the 1970s for the sake of authenticity or somesuch.

Today was the first day where we had signed up to be a part of a march out on Castro Street. Before our march, as a special treat, we were shown the Academy Award-winning documentary about the life and death of Harvey Milk in the Castro Theatre. Before the film, we got to hear from the producers of the movie, Gus Van Sant, and he brought out Franco and Hirsch to say hi. Cleve Jones, who was there on the front lines with Milk and later founded the National AIDS Memorial Quilt project, taught us cheers from the stage, so we might use them later in the street scenes.

I sat near the front, and happened to be across the aisle from and slight behind current San Francisco Supervisor and stand-up comic Tom Ammiano, who is one of the eight people who tell the story of Harvey Milk in the film. When he was describing hearing the news of Harvey Milk’s assassination and how when we went to City Hall, he happened to walk by the doors where the bodies were being removed from the building and how Harvey Milk’s body bag had his shoes sticking out, he was crying onscreen. I looked across the aisle and saw Ammiano crying again nearly 30 years later.

After we saw the movie, they said we’d probably start sooner than they had expected, and they told us about the scenes we were going to do. I didn’t sign anything (and I just checked the website and it doesn’t say we’re not supposed to talk about anything there, either). So, in the first scene, the crowd is milling around Castro and Market, after an anti-gay ruling in Anita Bryant’s campaign had passed successfully. As we are angry but aimless, Sean Penn (looking pretty damn convincing as Milk, btw) jumps up onto a platform with a bullhorn, says a few words, and then jumps into the crowd, channeling our frustration into a march to City Hall (or, in movie terms, half a block down the street).

So, I noticed pretty quickly that there are a lot of hot guys who are really dressed the part for the mid-70s scene. As we are supposed to keep milling about for each take, and then go back to our places after they cut each time, I use my milling to get closer to the hot guys. Not because they are hot, but because I figure they are the paid extras (hence, them being models and actors), and they are in the foreground of the shot, whereas we the self-dressed non-descript 70s people are mainly adding “volume” to the wideshot in our unfocused glory. By take three, I am the first line behind all the paid extras, and stay there for the rest of the scene.

The second part of our Sean Penn time is just a different angle on that same scene, where he is pushing through the crowd with Emile Hirsch in tow, and we follow him toward City Hall. In the first take of this one, I am like two feet from Sean Penn as he pushes through the crowd, so hopefully that’s the best cut, because it’s as close as I ever got. (Well, I think I was closer to him one time at a Strokes concert, but that’s not quite the same thing).

Then, we film a similar thing where Emile Hirsch is rallying the crowd, and again, we turn and march to City Hall. In each take, we do different things each time, sometimes we chant different things, turn toward City Hall at different times. The most interesting thing is that we are screaming and chanting and when they are doing takes with dialogue, we do like 2-3 chants and then we switch to pantomime, so the only people still chanting aloud are Penn, Hirsch and the real actors, and the rest of us are just throwing our fists in the air and making no noise. (This is similar to how on the set of Queer as Folk, they would play some music, get everyone dancing, and then cut the music so they could get clean dialogue recorded).

Both scenes seemed to be really short, though. So, I’m guessing this has to be part of a montage to compress time in the final product.

I must say, though. Ricky Gervais made extra work FAR more glamorous than it actually is (he made the HBO/BBC series Extras), which is saying a lot. We were all there because Milk is part of gay civil rights history, and you wanted to be a part blahblahblah, but it’s certainly mind-numbingly boring.

Of course, the greater tragedy was seeing the paid extras. Most of them were just skinny hot guys wearing tight 70s outfits, and just doing whatever they were told. But, every so often (since I kept close to them), you could kind of pick out one or two who think this is a stepping stone to bigger and better things. Are there many examples of known movie stars who were first seen doing extra work? All the examples I know of are minor speaking roles and bigger parts that didn’t make the final edit, it’s never, “Look, there, in the fourth row of the crowd… a young Julia Roberts!”

At one point, I’m in a crowd that crosses around and toward the stage when Emile is speaking, and they just brought in even more paid people because they were told to follow Emile when he jumps off the stage and runs toward the front of the rally. So, one of the paid guys starts working on blocking with me since I’m next to him. Now, I’ve already done this same thing three times, AND he understands it wrong. He says I can’t be in his way because he needs to be in the shot when Emile runs by. I told him that I’m very much gone before Emile is done speaking, and that Emile doesn’t go right off the stage, he comes around past the point where he’s standing and runs around the mass of people, so he shouldn’t move at all. He said that’s not how he was told to do the scene. I knew I was right, although I didn’t look back to watch how far off his mark he got, since well, I’m a pro and I’m meant to be headed to City Hall at that point. It just seemed a bit mental. I mean… it’s a crowd scene, chill. (Emile did run past me way on my left, as I told that guy he would).

After those two scenes, they mention another set-up, that someone is going to pull the overhead hooks off a streetcar, with some pyro sparks, and another march toward City Hall (these people certainly marched to city hall a lot). But I was just kind of done at that point, so I packed it in and went home. I’m also signed up to be part of the candlelight vigil for Harvey on Friday night, after we find out he was murdered… but as of right now, I can’t imagine standing around for 7-8 hours doing that.

And, as you may have noticed from this play-by-play, one missing element… where is my Diego Luna?! Love him! So, yeah, I’m sure the time would have drifted by easier if I were staring at Diego, but that wasn’t to be. Actually, between takes, you rarely got to see the actors hanging around, they had some area they were taken to (aside from Sean in the middle of the crowd, where we just did a bunch of sequential takes in a row). So, we’re waiting to shoot a scene with Emile Hirsch, but instead some older guy in his 40s with Jewfro to match Hirsch’s in the flick is just standing in the same spot, so we’re mainly getting stand-in.

(I do plan to get some interviews of the gay people involved for Oasis while they’re in town (definitely the writer, maybe Van Sant, but I’ll hold off on running them until the movie is about to come out, which I assume would be this fall).)

I was slightly surprised by the amount of passion people brought to the project. I think I stay too aware of my surroundings in general (I always knew where the cameras were being set-up, got close to the paid, period-costumed extras, etc.), but one lady seemed to go to the same desolate spot way far removed from the scene, and walk toward it like she was completely pissed off about whatever we were rallying about. She was throwing her hands around and looked ready to snap, but I knew for a fact she had never gotten anywhere even close to being in front of a camera the whole night.

But I’m sure she went home saying what a great time she had, and will look up at the screen this fall and see if she can spot herself, whereas I was like two feet from Sean Penn and thinking, eh, this is sort of boring. It’s like seven hours of waiting for 20 minutes of doing something.

I completely forgot to mention on here that I launched a new website called Vegocentric. It doesn’t replace this site, but will be the home of a lot of my thoughts on food, culture, health, and diet.

Right now, I’m finishing day one of The Master Cleanse, where I’m drinking nothing but a strange concoction of lemon juice, maple syrup and cayenne pepper all day.

You can read all about it over there, as well as upcoming DVD and cookbook reviews. Oh yeah, I’m doing cookbook reviews while I’m fasting!

My first paid writing job was on the obituary desk of my local newspaper in Pennsylvania. It’s a strange job, given that you often deal with people at profound moments of loss, though you usually only dealt with the funeral directors. But one of the lessons I picked up from doing that job is to be careful what you wish for, because you might get it.

Some of the worst days on the obituary desk, where it was wall-to-wall dead people from the start of the shift to the end, was after major holidays. You could pass this off as people who died late on December 23, all of December 24, and Christmas itself deciding to just wait to publish the obituary after the holiday, but my takeaway was always that people were knowingly on their deathbed and saying, “If I can only make it until Christmas…” And they do, barely.

This pattern repeated for all major holidays throughout the year. So, it is with a bit of self-flagellation that I think back on a similar stupid deadline I set for myself. You see, I’ll turn 40 in August. When I was in my early 30s, I was probably still whinging about writing a novel, about needing to lose weight, etc., and when I finally stopped working full-time three years ago, the motivating factor was needing to wrap all this stuff up before I’m 40.

Well, here we are at eight months and counting, and the connection between setting a vague deadline and then taking as much time as you have has seemed to creep up on me. I never wanted to take this long with things, but it’s pointless to question what has already occurred. It just seems so obvious that even an innocuous phrase like finishing things “before you’re 40″ would set up a mental timetable.

But, at this point, it’s something to work in my favor, since it means I have eight months to wrap things up…

Or, according to my countdown Dashboard widget, I specifically have 216 days, 10 hours, and 41 minutes until I’m 40, so… time to get cracking.