there's a place i know.

I have not yet gotten the hang of San Francisco.

I keep thinking about it, though. All of it, all of what I'm doing and all the work and everything, and it's all so very... I don't know! Words are failing me. They aren't lining themselves up neatly to be transcribed from gray squelch electronic spasms into typing. All I know and all I can say is that I work too much. I need to work less. I want to only work 30 hour weeks so that I can actually enjoy this city that I live in.

I like selling socks and apple computer machines and fries and stuffed animals and all of that, but I'm ready to be doing something more up my alley. More me. I guess that's why I have been spending my time with my computer strapped to my back, ready for adventure (the type I write) in case it strikes.

So I don't know. Lots of options here. I need to live more cheaply to live more fully. I like my decadence but I can't afford it. I will have to be decadent in other ways. I have to choose more selectively, the decadence I partake in. Nice coffee beans, not a nice coffee place. Nice ingredients, not a nice restaurant.

Maybe I'll get good at the living part, and then I can start getting better at the adventuring bit.

Also, until friday, I have 29 dollars. Unless I sell a stuffed animal, a story, or my moped. I hope to sell all three.

A bientot.

Why I've decided television isn't evil.

This morning I woke up and watched Zack Gailfiirnocdkraiis (sic) in Visioneers - a movie set in the future where people explode because their lives don't match up with their dream of what life should be. In the movie, television is shown as how I used to see it - as an opiate of the masses, the drug everyone takes to escape, to have on in the background, to turn their minds off because, gosh darnit, life isn't good and maybe someone on television's life probably is.

I used to see television like that. When I got to college, I didn't watch television. At all. TJ and I were proud of our severance from the tube, and I didn't start watching television again until my life was kind of spinning out of my control, and someone turned me on to Arrested Development. I was proud because I was going to finally be "an intellectual" or whatever, deriving my pleasure from the books I read and the people I would encounter. And then, you know, I wasn't. So I turned to television and there it was - people I wanted to know. Gob and Michael and George Michael, et al - and ensemble cast who I wanted to watch the plights of.

I didn't do much my Spring quarter of freshman year other than sit in my room and watch that show, the Office and (I'm embarrassed to admit, actually) My Name is Earl. I emerged from that year in a haze, going back home and working at Jamba Juice, disillusioned with the college experience and hoping that the next year would be better.

It was. I moved. I got new friends and integrated them with old ones, I started new projects. I became someone closer to who I am now, I think - and I realized what television could be to me - it's a way into the discussion. The cultural discussion, that is - the blueprint of humanity that we are all trying to look at from a bird's eye view, an amalgamation of television, the news, the people around us, the city we live in, the music we listen to, the movies we see, the way we form words in our conversation - sentences.

It was from there that I realize that television is not evil, it's just a facet of the multi-faceted diamond of life, given to us by (I'm not finishing this metaphor, you get it.) And ever since, I've seen television as two things - one, it's the door to new relationships with new people, be them fictional or real. Yes, I believe I have a relationship with Ned from Pushing Daisies - he is someone I know. I let him into my house, he makes pies that I emulate. I root for him. I hope he gets the girl. But Ned is also someone that I get to talk about, to someone else, someone real. Me and the person sitting next to me on the couch both get the chance to talk about him afterwards, talk about what happened to him and what we hope will happen to him in the future.

And then we get up, we take a walk and we go get a cup of coffee. We, the real person and I, talk about real people. We might even compare Ned to someone we know, and vice versa. We might even compare Ned to someone we don't know in real life. Do you see what I mean? Am I making myself clear? Everything bad, like television, can be good for you - it can be another way to get to know how you're living your life. It can provide a side of the venn diagram to which you compare your life. It can be a story that I want to emulate - not in plot, maybe, but in style and grace.

There is grace to the plot of Lost - there is a serenity to the way the men of Sterling Cooper talk to each other and belittle their women. There is (was) beauty to behold in the world of Pushing Daisies, and laughs to be shared with the friends of How I Met Your Mother. All of these things, all of these escapes - they aren't really escapes. You don't turn off your television because you want to turn off a facet of your life, you turn it off because your going to take those relationships and apply them to your real life, in whatever small way.

And yes, I still think it should be small. That's the insidious bit of television - there is always another show to watch, there are always a new group of friends to be letting into your living room. But there are also books to be read, movies to watch, and mostly, mostly, MOSTLY people to talk to these things about with. And that's really what it's all about - it's finding the people who will share in these things the way you share them with yourself. And I find that all the time. And that's why television isn't evil - if you don't let it be.

why don't you sit right down and stay a while?

Hey cats. Living in San Francisco has its perks. Like three fantastic ice cream places in walking distance. Max and I went and got weird ice cream at Harvey Slocombe last night - I had Thai Chili Lime, he had Root Beer.

Next time I'll have Jesus Juice - Red Wine and Coke flavored.

Today, I'm going to hang out in a cafe. Old school. I wrote a story, wanna read it?

Pigeons

My girlfriend likes pigeons. We moved to Venice because of it – she saw my pictures from my trip to Europe and saw all the pigeons and pointed at the picture.

“There,” she said, pointing. “Let’s move there.”

It’s nice to have rich parents, I thought as we boarded the plane. I asked her if she wanted to keep any of her things, and she said that we would buy things in Venice. So we are leaving our apartments fully furnished. I am leaving behind my collection of guitars that I bought at estate auctions. She is leaving behind her bird feeders.

In Venice, we get along great. We have sex with each other with the windows open. She leaves bird seed on the windowsill so that pigeons will come and keep her company while I’m out looking for work. I don’t need to work, and I won’t work, but it’s fun to look for it. I like to get dressed up and present myself to the American ex-patriots and convince them to hire me and then not call back.

While I’m out once I see a pigeon. He’s fearless. He is brown and white and mottled and he is eating off a café table while the people are still there. They are trying to shoo him away, but it’s not working. I walk up and ask them if I can have their pigeon.

“Si,” they say. I pick him up and take a piece of bread from their bread basket and go to my friend’s house. I ask him where a vet is, and he looks it up online, and tells me that the only one in walking distance doesn’t speak English. We tape record his neighbor asking the questions we want.

“Is it sanitary? Does it carry disease? Will it make a good pet?”

I bring the pigeon to the vet and play the questions for him, and then record what he says and take it back to my friend’s neighbor. He smiles and gives me the a-ok sign, so I bring the pigeon home.

My girlfriend loves the pigeon. She names him Pierre. It sits on her shoulder and gets fat and she won’t put a blanket over the cage when we have sex. She says Pierre has no idea what’s happening anyway. I disagree. He snaps my guitar strings with his beak when I leave the apartment to go get another bottle of white wine.

I get bored of Venice eventually, but my girlfriend doesn’t. She has started sending Pierre out with messages, and the bird brings back messages. They are from a stranger, and she thinks it is the person that used to own Pierre. She won’t let me read the messages so I try to follow the bird on a bicycle. I’m too slow for a bird that can fly, so I borrow my friend’s moped and can finally keep up.

Pierre stops at a bookstore and gives the bookkeeper his leg. The bookkeeper is an old man. Bald. White eyebrows. He doesn’t wear glasses but he reads my girlfriend’s handwriting with a magnifying glass.

“Is that your pigeon?”

He doesn’t understand. I point to the pigeon and I point to him, I point to him and I point to the pigeon. He shakes his head. He shrugs his shoulders. I make an angry face. I mime writing a letter. I mime slitting my throat. He looks scared, like I got my point across. I moped back to my girlfriend.

“I don’t think that pigeon is coming back,” I said. I feel sick for being jealous of an old man but she kisses me.

“Tralala,” she says. “That’s why we moved to Venice. There are a lot of pigeons.”

I don’t understand, but I kiss her back.

matchstick girls.

Today I am going to write a new story.

Yesterday I met a guy who takes his typewriter to Haight Street and writes poems for people on a sliding scale. They are the only people who own those words. I wanted to ask him for one but I don't have cash and plus I want to do exactly what he was doing.

My new thing for yesterday was going with Max to go check out a motorcycle. It was a funny experience.

I read Three Bags Full yesterday and Wintergirls today. I am going through a book a day. No wonder I am always buying more books.

Sometimes being alone is an advantage.

I have not broken my new year's resolution to do something new every day.

But I have broken my steady stream of blogging. I thought about it often, and started a twitter so that I could remember the new things I did, but at the end of the day - I didn't blog.

I'm not even going to round up everything that I've done. Or hit on the big points. The big points should reveal themselves in reflective glory at some point.

Instead, I'm just going to say that I am going to blog again. I missed it. I like writing every day, and I like writing that I know that at least five people read.

I hope my new thing for today is going to be winning a writing contest. Or getting a job. Or an adventure.

But just in case, I am going to have to go to a new park anyway. On my Vespa moped.

keep them nice.

I'm giving myself a small round of applause today.

I finally (finally!) finished my first draft of the novel. That's a damned good new thing for the day.

It's 130 pages. 8 of those I wrote today.

It's probably going to be longer before it gets shorter.

But the most important is... I kind of like it.

said she's got it all, said she's got it all, said she's got it.

Back in Lulu's. Today's new thing is probably going to be Nick and Norah's playlist with Kristan.

But it might MIGHT MIGHT MIGHT be finishing this story. Or, at least, the first draft. That would be a great new thing. Perhaps the most fantastic new thing ever.

So, keep your fingers crossed? I know I am. It's making it hard to type. But all the luck it gives is worth it.

let's make some money.

Okay. I have a goal today.

I want to write to page 100.

So I'm liveblogging the event, just in case the new thing for today isn't "writing page 100 of the novel I'm writing."

I've never liveblogged before! Never really had a chance, but still!

So, let's see here... it's 2:25 pm. I have 9 and one half hours to write. I happen to be on page 60 since my last edit.

.....liveblogging now.....

2:26pm - blogging about liveblogging about writing. The spiral continues. It's like putting two mirrors that face each other. I'm at Lulu's at the Octagon (pretentious!) and I put a book on hold for myself over at Literary Guillotine as a treat for if I get as far as I want today. I have a full cup of coffee, a full cup of water. My computer is connected. My outline is next to me. I have fruit snacks, granola bars, and I am charged. Charrrrged. San Diego Super Chargers. Let's go team!

2:44pm - broken from my writing reverie by one someone whistling along to a song. The headphones are going to go on soon. I already wrote two pages! Beat that, Virgina Woolf!

3:08pm - it's funny what makes me stop writing. In this case, it was that I suddenly had no idea where my character was. Not my main character. The one that is going to enter the scene. I mapped out their conversation on my outline (and when I say mapped out, I mean I have three scribbles - "dead, me too" "where did they go?" "you and me, pete") but I have no idea where they have the conversation. So I stopped to visualize. I think they will have it on the couch, eating dry macaroni. Thanks, blog!

4:06pm - I am sort of trying to outlive everyone here at Lulu's. Wait, not outlive. Outstay. The girl on the right of me has been here before me. Same with the guy in the corner. Everyone on the other side of the octagon has changed, though. My coffee has gone cold, and I have that caffeine rush type of headache, but it isn't bad. I'll eat at six. I wrote eight pages this last hour. So, it seems extremely plausible that I can do forty by tonight. This goal seems incredibly reachable.

4:55pm - didn't write nearly as much this hour. I'm trying to get Pete back. Then everything is going to hop skip and jump towards a conclusion. I wouldn't be surprised if that happened, anyway. I think it will. Pete is the catalyst. Tock is trying. Ha! I'm talking utter nonsense. The guy to the left of me left, but the guy and the gear to the right are still there. I'm writing a novel, guy and girl. What are YOU doing?

5:25pm - thanks for the words of encouragement, April. I'm on page 75. But, that was with two interruptions. One was Chris Miller! He was my favorite employee from Sockshop. He quit before I got back from England, and I hadn't seen him since. And then Julio for a moment. We discussed sunglass flotation. And now I'm behind. Or whatever. I might be right on schedule. Pete's back soon. I missed him.

6:32pm - I win! I have officially been here the longest. Or perhaps I lose. I don't know. I am running out of steam. I am quite, quite hungry. And I don't want to spend any more money on coffee. I should go home, I guess... and then try to write more there. Maybe outside? 4 hours, 22 pages. Not bad.

9:16pm - ran into more folks I know - my focus is totally gone. Going, going gone. But it's a ground roll double. It ain't no home run. I still think I can write some more, but I want to hang out with some people tonight as well. I have decided to extend the deadline past midnight. We all know that it makes more sense if the day is just how long I've been awake. So... keep your fingers crossed. I have a good feeling about writing again at around 1030 or so.

12:33am - lightning struck. I know how it ends. It is the only way it could end. I can't wait. I have a long way to go, but I can do it. I'll see you all on the other side.

1:49am - I may know how to end it, and it's going to be awesome. But I can't write it well anymore. Caffeine fried my brain. I'm going to drink water and go to bed. 92 pages, my friends. Eight from the goal. Thanks for playing. Tomorrow and Sunday - the sprint to the finish line.

into the fold.

I left my camera in Davis, damnit. Or "dammit?" Which is correct? Dad, do you know? Ask mom.

Today's new thing was a book signing for Neil Strauss. I have never read one of his books. However, he has written such tomes of American literature like How to Make Love like a Pornstar (with Jenna Jameson, of course) and The Dirt with Motley Crue. But perhaps he is best known for The Game, which is about his rise to the top of the pick-up artist secret society. He gives a lot of advice on how to become a pick-up artist yourself.

Anthony and I went because for the book Emergency: This Book Will Save Your Life, we heard he was bringing a live wolf to readings. He did not bring a live wolf to this reading. But he should have.

He is not a classically attractive man by any means.

So, that's comforting.

All the questions had little to nothing to do with his new book. Everyone wanted more advice on how to pick up women. There were about two girls in the crowd. He had brought his girlfriend along with him, and would use her an example, as in, "this is the type of girl you could get." She was heavily made up and showed a lot of cleavage.

Overall, I think the reading did its job. I want to read his book now. The first chapter of Emergency is him about to kill a goat. I'm trying to get a copy of the book The Game on bookmooch. He was a really, really nice guy. He gave me advice on how to write for Rolling Stone, which is his day job.

I don't want to be a pick up artist. But I think "running the game" (that's how everyone referred to it) sounds like an interesting new thing. Then again, everyone in line to get their book signed said it mostly boiled down to confidence.

I got a watch on my wrist.

Just got back from my final Creative Writing class with Karen Joy Fowler.

I really, really loved her class. She was a very nurturing CW professor.

I had her sign my book.

That's my new thing for today - I have never had a professor sign their book, and it was strange - not like other book signings. She wrote that it was a pleasure to work with me.

And I was really glad to hear that. I would take a picture of that, but I think it's cooler if I keep it between her and me. But, of course I had to blog about it!

Of course I had to.

Oh oh. We've got eyes like Oklahoma.

Bookmooch came through! I got my CW professor Karen Joy Fowler's book in the mail.

It's an uncorrected proof, and a different title! I already like the first 50 pages, and it is difficult to read it without picturing her. But that's okay, I think.

I love bookmooch! Everyone should join Bookmooch.com. You sign up your books and then you can request other books! You should do it. Really. And it's free!

Wooooo I'm going to go reeeead.

the stars of track and field are beautiful people.

I got rejected by Sci-Fi/Fantasy magazine today. That was my new thing.

It's okay though. I sent in Nancy and the Traffic Light.

I think it's because that story is too slight and flighty for their pages... but that's okay. I think I'll send it off again. I like that story quite a lot.

I'm going to save my rejection letter. Usually, it's an e-mail, and I delete it. I haven't sent in a story someplace in ages and ages. I'm going to be better about that now.

heads will roll on the floor.

I went to a YA fiction workshop for my new thing today. It was in this neat room in the feminist study library on campus, and I met a penpal accidentally who had gone as well. It was interesting, if not illuminating. Jill Wolfson writes well, though, and it was neat to meet her.

She told me she would look over my book. I wonder if she was kidding.

keep hearing your name.

I got a haircut. I hate it.
But I've gotten haircuts I hate before.

Today, my great new thing was being told that my play was accepted into Chautauqua 2009, a student-run festival of plays. I can't wait to see it.