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.

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).