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.

I’m not one to make New Year’s Resolutions, but one of the things I did upon my return from celebrating the holidays in Pennsylvania was to go through my bookmarks and remove all the gossip sites. I just want to remove the 24/7 coverage of Britney and her brain-dead ilk from my consciousness. I’m sure I’ll stumble upon information about her here and there beyond the gossip sites (When Britney’s sister got pregnant, I found out because it was on CNN, with an exclamation point, no less), but it will still be at a much lower rate than the daily onslaught.

It just seems strange to know and read so much about people who artistic lives have so little relevance to me. I follow them through going to the studio, working with producers, the leaked tracks (which I don’t listen to), etc., etc., and when the album finally officially drops, I won’t even download it illegally for free. So, just a natural step to dump them, I think…

I’ve been thinking a lot about Meryl Streep lately, which has never happened before. She was one of the people featured in Rolling Stone’s latest 40th Anniversary Issue, and she just put our current interaction with art in a way that perfectly crystallized it to a point where I want to take as many steps possible to not continue down this path. When asked about the fact that we’re living in a time of big technological change, she said:

“It goes horizontal, it doesn’t go deep. When you have 10,000 songs on your iPod, do you have one that really sticks in your head for longer than two weeks? How about two years? I can remember the sequence of cuts on Rubber Soul. My kids don’t have that same sense of a whole, an album, so they don’t follow an artist’s career from the beginning and go back to the basement tapes. In fact the younger ones not only don’t listen to a whole album, they don’t listen to a whole song. They get to the riff. It’s like skipping to the sex scenes in a movie. It’s really weird.”

When asked if it’s wrong or destructive, she continues:

“It is what it is, and it’s going to make a different art, a different culture, a different society — just the fact that nobody sings the same songs. You get in a car and nobody knows the same songs.”

For about two weeks now, I often think about the fact that ‘it goes horizontal, it doesn’t go deep.’ And she totally nailed it.

If anyone asked me the most interesting album I got recently, I would probably say Radiohead’s “In Rainbows,” for which I think I paid one pound. If you then asked what’s my favorite song on it, favorite lyric… I’d be at a loss. I’ve played it through maybe twice.

Anytime I find things that make me part of ADD culture, I rebel, so Meryl has changed the way I’m going to interact with music again. I need to open myself up to the deeper layers of things, of letting less things in but letting them take root.

Otherwise, it’s just more distraction.

I have a love-hate relationship with my iPod.

Here’s the issue: Part of being a professional novelist is constantly being open and available to new things. You never know where the bits of conversation that inspire you will come from.

For my first novel, the seed came at the gym while weight training, and the guy next to me grunting out upsetting phrases under his breath (You’ll have to wait until the book is published for that anecdote, since I’ll be publishing that on Backstory around that time). Now, here’s the rub: if I were weight training today, I’d be listening to a podcast on my iPod.

In defense of the iPod, I listen to some fascinating things. iTunes just started a new “Meet The Author” series, and their interview with Alan Alda was so inspiring, I want to buy his book now. When he was in town a few weeks back, I was just like, eh, I like him, but…

I guess I want it both ways. I want to be a perfect receptor, but at the same time, I don’t know where the seeds for future projects will appear. You’d think pumping my head with interesting people saying introspective things, like Alda, would increase the ratio, except my current book was birthed by a grunting lat pulldown. I’m basically trying to manage serendipity.

The other day, a drunk guy got on the F-line streetcar. He was feeling no pain and couldn’t have been more pleased with himself. As you would expect, he started hitting on the 30-years-younger well put-together girl headed home from work. Instinctively, I paused my iPod in my pocket, leaving my headphones on (of course. Aside: Oftentimes, even when I’m not listening to my iPod in the city, I leave my headphones on. It lets you walk past all the pleading homeless and Scientologists easier).

So, I was ready not to miss whatever he said, and basically it was just drunk posturing and gibberish, until she finally moved to the front of the car, and he stopped bothering her. He started running down the list of sexual menu items she was turning down (and, I know it’s rude to judge this on sight, but I can’t imagine he’d do half of that stuff as well as he purported). Eventually, I just grew bored with it and hit play in my pocket again, starting up the podcast du jour.

But, what’s the balance? I realize there is no answer, but I do seriously question this stuff.

As an artist, it is my responsibility to be available to input from the outside world. Only boring, arrogant people think they know everything. The question is: am I shutting myself off from better input? And, if so, is said better input coming from the world around me or my iPod?

I’m just not sure.

I look at the pictures first, I’ll admit it.

After buying a new book today, I didn’t bother with the index or anything else. Certainly not the text. I’ll get there eventually, sure, but first, it’s about the visual elements.

It’s a weakness, but I never take in one photo for too long before I’m onto the next. And, far too soon, it’s over.

Let me describe the first picture. Just looking at it again and parts of my brain are already firing anew. I’m salivating.

Seven spicy tempeh nori rolls are arranged on a plate. All seven have the rice on the outside of the roll (and I know it’s wrong I forget the name for that. But, I’m being honest here. I could’ve Googled, come back and appeared smart, but I didn’t). Three of the rolls were rolled in black sesame seeds, the other four have some sort of orange-red powder on the outside (cayenne, perhaps?).

The second page is a Portobello Salad with Spicy Mustard Dressing. And, after that, it just gets worse, with subsequent pages adding an inset photo on every page, so that the dominant Baked BBQ Tofu with Apricot Sauce gets less time before you shift to the top right to take in the Hot Sauce-Glazed Tempeh. And we haven’t even hit the seitan yet!

I’ll admit it. I’m into food porn. So far, I stick to the pro stuff: professionally-bound books purchased in stores, with plentiful pictures of mouth-watering dishes. I had some Borders gift cards today, and this is what happened to them. I almost got two books, since I did have another card left, but I stuck to my guns and only bought the one book.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m aware there is a lot of amateur food porn online, but flickr doesn’t really do it for me. If I want to see a bunch of limp porcinis on ugly stoneware in bad lighting, I know it’s available. But, honestly, keep it in your kitchen. I’m not that desperate.

Besides, professional food porn is aspirational. With a recipe, a digital camera, and a Flickr account, I could make my own amateur stuff now. The bar is way too low. And, let’s face it, a lot of stuff on the amateur circuit could never go pro if it tried. I’d rather strive.

Better to make my Potato and Kale Enchiladas with Roasted Chile Sauce three or four times until they look like the photo than just bang out my first attempt at Chickpea Cutlets and think it’s ready for a money shot. Yeah, and next you’ll probably think I’d use non-organic beans from a can, as if…

Now, I do realize that my prowess is more kitchen than camera. And the pros have separate people doing both the cooking and the photography. So, when I do make my Eggplant-Potato Moussaka with Pine Nut Cream, I do take that into account. I won’t be using Photoshop to punch up the translucence of my quinoa.

But, that’s the point. This is about fantasy. I mean, sure, if I go to the French Laundry, it could be like that in real life every night. But Yountville is a total red-light district at this point, and I can’t afford to hire professionals every night.

No, I have to live in the real world most of the time. Some days, the food will taste perfect, but it might not photograph well. Other days, it might be photogenic but the spice balance is off. But, vegan comfort food is like a waiter’s tips at a gourmet restaurant, even when it’s bad, it’s still pretty darned good.

Soon enough, I’ll work my way into this book and try some of the moves myself. It’ll be a bit awkward at first, until I get to know them better. But, before long, it’ll find its own rhythm.

Of course, before I master it, there will be a new book, with new promises, perhaps a unifying theme, and the cycle will begin all over again.

—
(Recipe names taken from my new vegan cookbook, just purchased today, Veganomicon: The Ultimate Vegan Cookbook, by Isa Chandra Moskowitz and Terry Hope Romero, authors of the amazing Vegan with a Vengeance and Vegan Cupcakes Take Over The World.)

Hmm… just got off the phone with Steve Corbett, who was the main opinion columnist back in the day when I was a newspaper reporter in Wilkes-Barre. He had a front seat for when I came out at work, fought those battles, and got my footing.

I just got an e-mail from the WILK Insider, a radio station back home, this afternoon mentioning that Bill O’Reilly is back on their lineup. O’Reilly got his start as a TV news anchor in my hometown, so the radio thing makes sense. I knew Corbett had some affiliation with the station from when I was last back home, but that has since morphed into a full-on four hour show.

But, he does his 4 hours following Rush Limbaugh and Michael Savage, and O’Reilly comes on after his show. So, my first thought was… what the hell happened to Steve? Usually, radio stations don’t counter-program, there are conservative stations and Air America, and that’s usually how it works.

As it happens, I was on their website while Steve was in the middle of his show, so I clicked the “Listen Live” button and checked him out. My concern were unfounded that living in Santa Maria and hanging out in the insanity of the Michael Jackson trial had made something snap, and he was now coming at things from the right. Or, being in California, he went so far left he went all the way around.

Instead, it seems like he sort of has this incongruous show in the middle of conservative land. He’s challenging the locals about immigration a day after Vincente Fox visited, in the region where illegal immigration is one more way to look out your window, instead of into your mirror, for problems.

He seemed to be in his element on the radio. It wasn’t an unfamiliar voice to me, however. I recognized it immediately from how he used to relish arguing with people who would call the newspaper to challenge his views.

On the WILK website, some of his writing is available. Now, it would be a lot better if there was some RSS link for his writing, and a podcast version of the show so I could check it out when it wasn’t live and on my own time, but nothing like that is there yet.

In any event, it was fun hearing his voice, so I decided to call in and we chatted on-air for a bit about me being in San Francisco, how often I get back home, election day stuff, etc. In any case, I’ll try and check it out every so often.

Finally made it to the gym today after being out of town and then sick. Was hoping I’d be able to get through the workout considering I actually worked up a sweat last week by walking slowly to the bus stop, sitting on a streetcar for a few blocks, walking into the shopping mall, and taking the elevator up to the movies.

Actually went OK, no profuse sweating. The sweat just started showing up about 7-8 minutes into the workout, as per usual. Not sure how the heart rate fared, as the machine wouldn’t give me a reading, but certainly didn’t feel like I was pushing anything.

So, that’s a good sign. Probably stick with cardio this week and start folding in some weight training next week (per body worlds post below).

Been strange since I’ve been back in SF, as I’ve primarily been staying in my apartment and not venturing out too much.

First, the gas company is putting in new lines/sewers on my street, so around 9 a.m. every morning, it sounds like the Jurassic Park backlot, with the T-Rexes walking out to the exhibit.

Behind me, a neighbor is doing some sort of work that has resulted in constant jackhammering throughout most of Monday and Tuesday, although it has been absent today.

My phone line was down for about seven hours yesterday for no good reason, cutting out right in time for an important interview with a recruiter and a very special job I hope to get. Thankfully, we worked it out and did the interview on my cell phone.

Last night, my apartment shook for a good 15 seconds from the South Bay earthquake, although I really didn’t do anything but wonder how long it would last. I hit the quake info webpage while my room was still shaking and it showed no activity in the last hour. So, for a while there, I was wondering if the gas company screwed up and there was a big hole on the street outside or something.

Today, after my movie, I walked through the Castro as it prepared for “No Halloween,” with police barricades, and a lot of cops and tow trucks ready for the non-festivities. I will not be going anywhere near that area tonight, as it will either be nothing to see or Halloween in Thunderdome.

Just seems like a lot of chaotic events at once, no?

Just spent a week in Orlando with the family, hitting the sites. Pretty much did it all: Magic Kingdom, EPCOT, Disney-MGM Studios, Animal Kingdom, and Universal Studios and Universal Islands of Adventure.

Got sick for the latter half of the trip, not sure exactly why, although I’m still getting better. I tend to always get a sinus thing when I’m in an air-conditioned setting for more than 3-4 days. Then again, there was also the whole repeating cycle of: you just got wet on a ride, you’re in an air conditioned line, you’re in the humidity and sun again. The good part was it was mainly just a sinus thing and I didn’t feel all that run-down, so it didn’t make the parks too bad, just a bit more somber and quiet as a result.

Today, I went to see a matinee movie and from not doing all that much, I did get pretty sweaty, so there’s definitely still something going on in my system. I’ve not started back up at the gym yet, but we’ll see about trying it one of these days.

The trip was good, but I think I’m getting too used to down time. The vacation didn’t have much. I had seniors waking up in time to nudge the roosters, infants crying for fake powdered chemical nourishment at all hours, 4 year-olds demanding attention, and trying to hit the parks around all of this. So not much sleep, no reading, no writing… I don’t think I have many of those vacations in me anymore. I like my quiet. I like reading before bed.

Taking nine people ranging from 7 months to 85 years to an amusement park is its own magic. I went in with no expectations, aside from eating a lot of veggie burgers, and that was a pretty good plan. The whole vacation was sort of a bonus, so I was just along for the ride. When the occasion presented itself to peel off of something boring (parade) and hit a ride (Haunted Mansion, which wasn’t much more exciting), I tried, but largely stuck with the group.

I tried to keep quiet when relatives said I should have been able to write four books by now, let alone not have finished one, or someone else passed off some South Beach cheese thing as “healthy” dessert. Of course, having gained weight as a vegan doesn’t help in that regard, if they lost weight eating their junk food, hehe. I mean, sure, I’d win a blood test, but we’re working on a superficial level here.

Of course, this vacation is unlikely to repeat ever, so no point dissecting it too much for what I would do differently in the future.

As I stated earlier, the point was mainly to see Disney through the eyes of the young kids in our party. My niece was a bit too young to go on anything, or know she was on a ride when she was. She did do well with at the character breakfast, though, taking great pictures with Mickey, Lilo and Stitch. My nephew on the other hand got shy and a bit freaked out around them. I think it’s partially because he’s the size of a five year old, but is only three and a half, so you have to keep adjusting for age, even when kids his size are doing the same things.

As expected, I was most intrigued with EPCOT, but bought no souvenirs there, using it primarily as a precursor to seeing proper all of the various countries on display. I’ll get my future Japanese trinkets in Japan, my French stuff in France, etc. My only purchase on the whole trip was a classic old-school Mickey ringer-T.

It was hard adjusting to time on vacation. I never got to the gym, because I would hear people say we needed to get ready to go soon. In the first half of the week, I would often be ready and then realize that “soon” for nine people is 90 minutes, enough time for me to have worked out for 45 minutes, come back, showered, and still not held things up. Once I realized the system, I was sinusy and not in the mood to work out.

But just the ability of getting nine family members on vacation in one suite together, and everyone is still talking afterward, that’s accomplishment enough.

I had mixed feelings about going to see Body Worlds 2 & the Three Pound Gem on a recent jaunt to San Jose. I had heard there was some questions as to whether the donors knew hanging a skateboard hand plant would be their final resting place (but Wikipedia seems to indicate they did). Many people I told about the exhibit said they wouldn’t go, that it seemed “creepy.”

I don’t really get grossed out by such things. In fact, back when I was an obituary writer and then criminal justice reporter, the coroner and his assistant deputy coroners said I could see them perform an autopsy, as long as the deceased wasn’t part of a criminal case (so I wouldn’t show up in any future court transcripts, etc.), but it never happened.

Going there, I did think of it as more of a science exhibit. But afterward, it was predominately an art exhibit. It does take a bit of adjustment to realize that you’re looking at actual corpses pretending to figure skate, ski jump, and hit home runs, but eventually you start to marvel at how the various systems of the body work together. It is less about some anonymous donor trapped in a skateboard pose, but what muscles work together to make the body pull off such a pose.

You can see what it means to have an artificial hip, replacement heart valve, the effects of smoking on a lung, and they become more real than anecdotes and pictures in textbooks. Seeing the lungs of a coal miner, looking much like coal themselves, made me think of my grandfather who receive a black lung check and somehow stayed alive into his 80s. How every morning, there would be noises from the bathroom, like he was trying to cough something up, and that sometimes black stuff would actually come out, and now here’s what those lungs possibly looked like (although his black lung ultimately didn’t cause his death, go figure).

The more the exhibit went on, the less they were corpses. You just get pulled into the exhibit and realize how the body is such an amazing, interlocking system: How the bones in our ears are nearly the size of grains of rice; the minuscule nervous system; the amount of blood vessels in your arm.

The strangest part of the exhibit was that, after seeing these skinless corpses, I wanted to start muscle training. I mean, living in my gay ghetto, it’s not an uncommon sight to see muscular people. But something about seeing the exhibit made it more important to get muscle training back into the mix, rather than my all-cardio approach. I have no idea why that is, exactly. Seeing the younger, athletic corpses made it seem more relevant in a way it never was before.

Of course, wanting to get rid of the fat is nothing new, and there’s a bit more of it now than there was recently. But again, the fatter corpses made body fat even less appealing. It seems the opposite of vanity that I’ve become more interested in building muscle and losing fat because of what it looks like on the inside (it is all about while I’m alive, though, I’m not concerned about having a hot corpse).

So, a lot of strange things came out of the visit. All of the creepy downside was non-existent, and somehow seeing all of the dead people made me question how I’m living… all due to a graceful, thought-provoking exhibit. Good stuff…

So, I would recommend anyone on the fence go see it.