I hope your weekend was restful and untainted by several waits in line for iPhones that you didn't end up getting because you've just been paying your mom for all cell phone charges for the last five years rather than taking forty five seconds to go to the Verizon store and sign over the phone to your name. Because something like that would've sucked.

Today we are keeping things short, sweet and intensely focused as I have a workload this week that would make the average person stand up and say, "That seems like a pretty normal amount of work," but--for me, at least-- seems next to (mission?) impossible. See, friends, I am trying to do two-non-main-job things this week. The first is my official announcement to myself that I am starting another in my series of Boston Mag articles analyzing and commenting on the social values of people in the 27-37 age bracket. I will not say how this is going to go forward (it's a secret!) but I will say that involves me going pseudo-undercover, not unlike Johnny Depp in 21 Jumpstreet or Drew Barrymore in Never Been Kissed, except in my story, most of the people are not hanging out with David Arquette.

The second agenda item involves jumping back on the re-write train for my book. It has been awhile since I stared at the one or two chapters that  need to be pruned (deleted!) and, this weekend, I was watching VH1 Soul, which was playing a documentary about hip-hop that I've seen at least eleven times, and there was so much talk of creative interaction and artists and the creation of said art that I started to feel guilty that I was sitting watching it rather than taking part in the art party. Also, my dad asked me twice about it while I was using his swimming pool for (nearly flawless!) pencil dives and the consumption of that Gatorade with Tiger Woods on it. Guilt--such an amazing motivator!

Anyway, I have some topics to discuss or not discuss in the Section Formerly Known As Comments. What sort of things/events/motivational speakers get you back on the writing train when you've fallen off? Reading good writing? Hearing about other people's success? Watching hip hop documentaries while eating Peach Cobbler Ice Cream?

I await your motivations with a curiosity that knows several bounds and Billy Corgan.

19,
79

Smashing Pumpkins

Hello friends. I hope everyone celebrated the birth of our nation in  
a timely, safe, and socio-economically green manner. I sat in 40 min  
of post-fireworks traffic driving back from Wood's Hole (Cape Cod!)  
to Falmouth (Cape Cod!) on Friday night, which would've almost  
completely sucked if not for the intrepid lyrical hegemony of Hall  
and Oates, Steve Winwood, and Michael Jackson's "Dirty Diana" Also,  
we had Cheez-its.

Anyway, as promised via the Comments section (before a large chunk of  
that section disappeared into the darkness of the Interweb), I'm  
relaying the fact that I'm gainfully employed. Here is a short, not-
entirely syntax clean version of that story: during the madness of  
the thesis get a call from founder of a website saying I was  
recommended to him through a friend of a friend for an editorial  
position, he relays the details, they sound promising, I check it  
out, and then--in the midst of the thesis insanity-- I apply for said  
job. Interviews, resumes, and reference calls happen, writing tests  
happen, background checks check out, and miraculously, as soon as I  
have left the world of higher education, I actually have a job.  
Needless to say, my dad thought/thinks I'm lying.

"A website?"
"Yeah."
"That will pay you?"
"Yeah. Pay is the new free, Dad."
"I'm hanging up."

So, I am the Boston Editor of Thrillist.com, which launched here two  
weeks ago. Thrillist is a free (city-specific) lifestyle guide and  
daily newsletter, which finds cool "under-the-radar-assuming-the-
radar-is-other-Boston-based-publications" bars, restaurants, clothes,  
sneakers, inflatable rafts you can play drinking games on, websites,  
candy, animals, gadgets, magic, etc. If you know what Daily Candy is,  
it's a lot like that, except slanted more towards dudes. Its got  
around 320,000 subscribers nationwide with city-specific editions in  
NYC, LA, SF, Chi-town, Vegas, and now Boston.  My job is to find all  
of that stuff I mentioned, write the editorial content, take the  
pictures, hire freelancers, and yell quixotically at the interns I  
haven't hired yet. If that still doesn't answer your question, here  
is a Boston Globe article about the launch of the site, which  
includes several terrible quotes I gave to the reporter while  
extremely sick and extremely sleeping.

Part of my job involves walking all the different neighborhoods of  
Boston to see what has changed and what might be new, reading all of  
the free weeklies including the ones I severely dislike to make sure  
I haven't missed something, keeping up relationships with PR people  
that rep retail/bars/restaurants, owners of boutiques, buyers for  
stores, etc, to encourage them to dial me in whenever they get new  
stuff, and to spend an inordinate amount of time using my Google  
Reader to read trend blogs that discuss hep new sneakers. This--as  
you can imagine-- is cool, yet time-consuming stuff. As part of my  
agreement with the site, I'm allowed to keep my freelance gigs, which  
is nice of them, but it does  make it harder and harder for me to  
find the time to fit everything into my schedule. The woe is upon me.

Anyway, the good news is I now have a grown-up's salary and health  
benefits (?!), which allows me to pick and choose only the freelance  
stories I want to work on, which is amazing. Plus I'm writing and  
editing for a living AND I have business cards. The bad news is I now  
have about 45 less hours a week in which to pursue those stories, or  
re-writes to my book or short story about dating reality stars in  
Zurich, Switzerland. But, friends, if I truly want to get these  
things done, they will get done(ish). So it just means I have to work  
harder, better, faster, stronger.

Ok. There's that story. Now you know what I'm doing betwixt the hours  
of 9-6 when I'm not taking tv timeouts to peruse the philosophical  
gems embedded in the View. The Comment section is open to the public.  
Emoticon away;)

One More,
Time

Daft Punk

While perusing the Interweb, I realized that a lot of successful  
webhomes use surveys to conduct user feedback to finely tune their  
content and figure out how many old "Threes Company" clips to post.  
And since we--like the Web-- are an ever-changing, ever-adapting  
server of you, our reader, we want to get in on the quiz taking  
action. So--for customer service benefits-- I've composed a 5  
question quiz to gauge interest, air concerns, and continue talking.  
If you would be kind enough to take the quiz, I will be kind of  
enough to provide it. And that, friends, is how we kill the customer  
service industry (with kindness!).

Directions: Read, pick, read, pick, read, pick, read...pick, read,  
pick, write.

1. I come on the site to:
A) Talk about writing.
B) Learn what Kevin is up to.
C) See if I can acquire Kevin's email address so I can solicit him to  
purchase very cheap tech stocks that are just going to go up, up, up!
D) Watch old music videos.
E) I accidentally came to this site and accidentally read this quiz.

2. Entries I find most useful are:
A) The ones in which Kevin starts talking about something relatively  
important, gets wildly off topic, regains his footing in the last  
paragraph and then quickly signs off with a semi-forgotten vid pic  
from a year that makes him nostalgic.
B) Are there any other kinds of entries?
C) Seriously. See B. There shouldn't be any more choices.
D) "Useful" is a complicated word, especially in this context.
E) Please. Can I just get this over with?

3. Something I wish Kevin would do more was:
A) Write about fiction/books/short stories (writing it, reading it,  
dreaming about it, improving it, etc).
B) Write about non-fiction/magazine work (see parenthesis above and  
embrace its content).
C) Compose poorly worded (yet hilarious!) poems.
D) Respond to comments.
E) Work on his glutes and abdominals.

4. Something I wish Kevin would do less was:
A) Get off topic.
B) Stay on topic.
C) Talk about television/pop culture.
D) Complain.
E) Make us take quizzes.
F) Watch Zach Braff films.

5. Do you want more music from the:
A) Late 80s
B) Early 90s
C) Mid to Late 90s
D) Just Play That Funky Music, White(ish) Boy
E) I have regrets involving taking this quiz.

And that's it. We don't have anonymity's interests at hand, so feel  
free to leave your name, answers and anything else in the comment  
depository. I will not judge.  Other people will not judge. We will  
remain judge free.
Enjoy your pre-Birth of the Nation shortish week and remember: Below  
SPF 15 doesn't really even count as sunscreen.
Now check out Coolio's amazingly Zach Morris iPhone. He's got  
something brand new for your (rear end).

1, 2,
3, 4 (Sumpin New)

Coolio

Generally speaking, this blog is about the writing world, and the writing world is a large entity not just made up of books, magazines, and creepily specific dream journals. Within the confines of said blog, I try and talk about anything in that whole new world associated, connected to or living with good writing and sometimes those things involve television. To be fair, I don't actually watch much TV. I watch most shows on DVR, and yes, occasionally dabble in the live action of The View...and my roommate and I tend to leave the MTV JAMS continuous stream of music videos involving  Beyonce on when we've been overserved, but all in all, TV isn't one of my huge vices. But when I find something on the television to be passionate about (The Wire!), I feel the need to express my gratitude. And, friends, gratitude needs to be expressed via a show called Mad Men. Now the reason I'm writing this currently--the time hook, if you will--is because NY Times Mag just ran a cover story about the show, before the start of the second season, and I've realized that I need to get on the record about it before saying that you like Mad Men becomes synonymous with saying you like candy, rainbows or babies--in other words, just something that everyone takes for granted.

I came across this show when the Soprano's was ending and I knew that one of their writers-- a genius named Matt Weiner-- had got his gig with Soprano's essentially by showing David Chase the pilot he wrote for Mad Men, a show that HBO eventually passed on. The show is about the NYC ad world in 1960-- a place filled with white dudes drinking martini's and whiskey at lunch and making vaguely to explicitly offensive remarks about anyone who is not in their highly self-prized social bubble. The beauty of the show is the slice of history you absorb watching it--you feel like you're watching a documentary from a time that feels just as dated as when Paul Giamatti is dressed in a wig on John Adams--and that definitely makes it cool, but the best part of it--as always-- is writing characters that feel so, so real. There is a slimy Sales Rep from an old NY scion of power fam always trying to make moves, a 50s style beauty-queen wife who realizes she's married a man strictly for his paper resume and doesn't have any idea what she actually wants and a main character--Don Draper-- so elaborately complicated as to be possibly be the human version of a Rubrik's Cube. I watched the first season with a thirsty abandon I haven't felt since, ahem, The Wire, and I encourage you to. But like anything I write about here, I think ultimately watching this show helps me become a better, more visual, more complex writer. And here are two excerpts from the NYTimes mag article, the first with Weiner discussing his process of writing and the second a cute section about the importance of his wife's opinion when writing:

“I have a very good memory for dialogue and for conversation,” he said, “and if you tell me a personal detail about yourself I will never forget it and probably steal it. So a lot of me working out the story is me telling the story. My favorite people to tell the story to are my wife and Scott Hornbacher.” He is Weiner’s co-executive producer and creative partner. “If I can see their reaction, I can see what works and what doesn’t,” Weiner said. “That was not something I did on ‘The Sopranos,’ because it was so secretive, and I couldn’t bring in a stranger and dictate to them. But when I wrote the ‘Mad Men’ pilot seven years ago, I dictated it to Robin Veith, who is now a writer here. I wanted someone to be there so I would have to show up. I can write a huge amount that way if I have a good outline. Then I rewrite. That’s when I sit at the computer.”

Weiner married Linda Brettler, an architect, after he graduated from U.S.C. They have four sons. She supported him when he was broke, and she is now his most-important sounding board. “Every single script goes through my wife,” he said. “She inevitably says, ‘What is it about?’ We talk about it and I’m always angry when she’s talking.” He didn’t look angry, he looked glad, as he always does when he talks about his wife. “She’s chewing gum and taking her time,” he continued. “She went to Harvard, she’s really smart and I just stand there literally with my hands out like — ‘What?’ I argue with her, and I always swear I’m not going to show it to her again because I’m so defensive. I mean, my writers come up with lots of good ideas, but she is really something."

Anyway, I guess my point is this: watch the first season, embrace and absorb the characters, their arcs, fears, and most importantly the way they talk, etc, read the article-- especially the quote about Weiner not believing in bad guys--“Everybody has a reason for doing what they’re doing," and then move on to the second portion of the play, which involves relaying your favorite bits of dialogue from books, mag stories, tv shows, anywhere you feel necessitates a shout-out. I want me some good dialogue. Dialogue--after all-- is hep stuff.

Please leave these items in the Comment deposit box. A gift receipt can be made available upon request. Now sit back as Jewel decides who is going to help you out with your soul issues.

Who Will,
Save Your Soul

Jewel

I just read an article in the NYTimes titled "Small Publishers Feel  
Power of Amazon's 'Buy' Button," in which they talk about how Amazon--
in an effort to try and get an increasingly more favorable cut of the  
profits from publishers-- will take away the "Buy now with 1 click"  
button on many of the titles that that publisher puts online (which  
includes free shipping) unless they bend to their demands, forcing  
people to go through to the Amazon marketplace (and pay for shipping)  
to purchase the book.

The first thing I thought when I read the article was "wow, we're  
getting upset because we actually have to click the mouse at least  
three more times to purchase a book" and then I thought "well, three  
times is kind of a lot," and then I thought "especially when you cut  
your pointer finger moving an air conditioning unit." But after  
reading it over again (I'm thorough!), I realized the main point:  
Amazon is not being cool.

On one hand--and this hand is small, fragile, and needs its nails  
trimmed-- I understand Amazon's move. They are a business, and  
businesses make money, and money is what you need to buy Playstation  
3's, even if you're only using them for the Blu-Ray disc drive. Of  
course a business is going to try and gain a more favorable financial  
foothold, especially if their place in the market has increased.  
That's just Econ 101, a class I never took.

But Amazon touts itself as "Earth's most customer-centric company"  
and customers shouldn't be forced to get punished financially for  
liking titles that just happen to be published by companies who are  
not assenting to Amazon's demands. More importantly, I use the "buy  
now with 1 click" button all the time to make impulsive purchases,  
and then rationalize the purchase by telling myself that it's too  
late to take it back because it's already been shipped (free!), and I  
don't want to feel like I'm supporting someone who is being a jerk to  
people in our literary fraternity/sorority/society. So I'm (kind of)  
conflicted.

This remains just another example of the (business) man keeping me down.

But, friends, yours and my time would be wasted if I didn't have a  
solution for said situation. And I don't, which I feel bad about, but  
I think you can help. You're all smart, savvy, aesthetically pleasing  
people of various Interweb knowledge, so I figure you can provide me  
(and you) with the names of all other online book retailers that you  
use and think offer sweet deals or at least fair purchasing rights  
with moderately few clicks. You can provide these names in a section  
of the blog I have named "Comments" and then we will use that  
knowledge to better our lives. This is what economists call "very  
chill."

So let's do unto others as they'd do unto us in the Comment section  
and let the Tony Rich Project carry us home with another sweet sweet  
ditty from the year of Bob Dole. After all, he's missing you and nobody
knows it but him.

Nobody,
Knows

The Tony Rich Project

First of all, I mine-as-well get this out of the way: I saw the Sex  
and the City movie and it wasn't not good. I know, I know-- I want  
very badly to say that I was forced into it, that I had no choice but  
to see it bc (Insert Pseudo Interesting Art Film here) was sold out,  
but, friends, that isn't how it went down. I kind of like Sex and the  
City. And the movie was an emotional rollercoaster (with nudity!).  
With all the women decked out in cocktail dresses, I kind of  
felt like I was witnessing a female version of the dress-up  
fascination of Lord of the Rings, but with sluttier outfits on the  
hobbits. If I was a movie analyst--and I should be--I would say that  
movie is going to make at least 3 billion dollars (Canadian).

Anyway, I'm back in the designated driver's seat of my book, whipping  
off the final version before I send it out. And when I say whipping  
off, I obviously mean occasionally writing small edits at night,  
after re-watching portions of The Real World Hollywood. But I realize  
that I need to get the book out, and I need to do it this week,  
because of a crucial event immersing this weekend social calendar: My  
fifth year college reunion.

Fifth year reunions are the 18 plus clubs of the reunion world:  
everyone is too young, looks the same, and probably got drunk  
beforehand. But they do offer a crucial look at the success rate of  
your peers. And--aside from making sure that no one else's distressed  
status jeans are more expensively nonchalant than mine-- I have just  
one question that I need to answer: Is anyone else a more successful  
writer?

In college, I was a political science major, so I wasn't dialed in to  
who was in the creative writing workshops. And, although I wrote a  
column for the paper my senior year, I didn't actually ever go into  
the Trinity Tripod newspaper office. So I don't even know who to  
ultimately try and look down upon when comparing myself.

My plan is this: buy a pair of non-prescription eye glasses (to take  
off and absentmindedly gnaw on when I am trying to make a point) and  
immediately delve into the "so what are you up to nowadays" game.  
Hopefully, after I drop my several-time thought out, faux-self  
deprecating response ("Oh me? Hmmm, not much, just writing for some  
(national!) magazines, getting a book that probably won't sell out to  
my agent, you know... typical boring writer stuff,")  then I will  
delicately prod people to reveal if anyone else works in the  
"industry." People do this naturally: "Oh really? You should talk to  
Ramsey--he's also writing," etc, etc. And then I will find that  
person, provoke a convo and hope to the Lord that my writing stuff is  
cooler than their writing stuff. Then I will play beer pong, eat  
Lucky Charms and sleep in a dorm room.

I know I shouldn't care. I know I should take this as an opportunity  
to network with the other potential writers in my beloved class. I  
know I should be happy if anyone "made it" in such a hard business,  
especially because that speaks well of my school and opens the door  
for the younger generation of writers coming in after us. And when I  
think of it rationally, I do feel that way. But I am also  
competitive. And insecure. And really, really tired. And the dirty  
truth of the matter is that I want to be the only one. I want  
everyone else to be impressed by the fact that I actually am doing  
what I said I was going to do when I left school. I want street cred.

I am not normally like this, friends. I love hearing stories about  
other people's success. You know that. But there is something about  
the pool of people you went to college with--especially at a small  
school like mine-- that brings out the lion, tiger and bear in me (Oh  
my).

So hear you me, Trinity College (CT) Class of '03: Do you have a book  
published? Are you writing for Esquire or the New Yorker or, even,  
Redbook? Have you ever called the Internet a "fad" on a radio show?  
Do you have to wear pants on a daily basis? Do you like that?

If so, and you see me at the reunion, do me a favor: Please don't  
tell me.

Reunion stories, writing trivia, and jpegs from Sex and the City will  
be provided in the Comments section. Refreshments will be served.

Till I Hear it,
 From You

Gin Blossoms

I will be interviewed on Helen Coronato's Novel Idea radio show from 10-11 AM Thurs morning. Possible topics include books, supremely clever puns my illustrious career and the awe-inspiring fragility of my ego.
You can tune in and find out whether or not I accidentally curse via The InterWeb here:
http://www.homegrownradionj.com/DJs/shows/novel_idea.htm

And you can watch a brand old music vid from the Chinese New Year of the Rat (96!) here:
No Diggity,
No Doubt

Blackstreet

That should hold you at least through midday.

I know, friends that it's not yet summer. Trust me, I know. Boston  
has apparently decided that Mother Nature's iPod is going to play the  
Make it Rain (remix) over and over, and it is forcing me to stay  
inside, which is making me cranky and nearly translucent. And while  
I've been sitting here in my room amongst my boxes of (limited  
edition!) sneakers and Island Spa scented Yankee Candles, I've been  
staring at all of the books that I'd been meaning to read whilst  
slaving away on my thesis. And I've decided that it is time that I  
got off my (well-toned!) literary duff and started reading again lest  
I forget how to properly use nouns.  So here is a list of some of the  
books that I'm going to tackle over the summer, the reasoning for  
doing so, and the song from 1988 that comes closest to characterizing  
what I think the point of the book is.

All the Sad Young Literary Men by Keith Gessen
The new new Benjamin Kunkel, Gessen is the editor/founder of n+1 lit  
mag and I'm supposed to read this book because it's by a youngish guy  
who writes about guys, but kind of in a literary way, which is what I  
always thought I was going to be when I grew up. I am also supposed  
to have strong feelings about this book one way or the other and  
express those feelings to people who ask in aggressive and  
exaggerated tones. Obviously, this book is putting a lot of pressure  
on me.
Most fitting song from 1988: Man in the Mirror by MJ

De Niro's Game by Rawi Hage
This book came to me highly recommended by my dad, someone who no  
longer reads American fiction because it is "boring" or "not by  
someone Scottish." This book isn't by a Scott either as Hage is  
Lebanese, lives in Montreal and writes about civil war torn Beirut.  
Maybe my dad didn't know. A review from some Canadian newspaper on  
the back of the book reminds someone Canadian of Hemingway. This  
appeals to me, because I like Hemingway and Canadians. A potential  
win-win.
Song from 1988: I Don't Want to Live Without You by Foreigner (more  
for the band than the song)

Only Love Can Break Your Heart by David Samuels
I am a sucker for collections of essays by journalists I dig. And I  
dig David Samuels. He's the dude who wrote the story about Britney  
Spears and the Papa Razzi for the Atlantic. He also writes for The  
New Yorker and Harpers, which makes him automatically obnoxious to  
talk to at dinner parties. Despite this potential downside, I love  
his work and celebrate collections like this, because they remind me  
that I should be a better journalist if I'd only get over my fear of  
hard work.
Song from 88: Everything Your Heart Desires by Hall and Oates

Winner of the National Book Award by Jincy Willet
Something you may not know about me: I don't like funny books. I like  
books that have humor in them, but I need a point to the story. I  
can't stand humor for humor's sake. I just get upset about it, in  
some sort of meta-outside-the-Matrix type way. This should explain  
why I have a piece of paper taped above my desk that says "Forced  
Humor= Kill Yourself." Regardless, this is allegedly a hilarious book  
with a point. I am nervous because of the hilarious title, but more  
than willing to give it the benefit of the doubt. Plus I understand  
it has a decent amount of stuff about weather, which is interesting  
to someone who has to stay inside all day thanks to Mother Nature's  
insufferable inclination to drop April Showers in May. Wow. Sorry you  
had to see that.
Song from 88: Devil Inside by INXS

The Bottom Billion by Paul Collier
This is a serious look at "why the poorest countries are failing and  
what can be done about it." It takes care of two gifting birds with  
one stone for me. One, it momentarily neutralizes my occasional bouts  
of terrible liberal guilt, which I assuage by giving away things or  
reading intellectually heavy books like this one. And two, it  
fulfills my insecure notion that I need to be educating myself  
through whatever I'm reading as if I might be tested at any moment in  
some sort of impromptu Jeopardy match. Market research tells me  
otherwise but hey! It's fun to be prepared.
Song from 88: (Not so) Perfect World by Huey Lewis and the News

And that is that. More songs will come as time passes and the weather  
thaws, but please drop your own fantastic pseudo summer booklists in  
the comments portion of the show, and try and avoid  operating heavy  
machinery while ingesting le music de 1988.

Catch Me,
(I'm Falling)

Pretty Poison

As I've mentioned at least seven times before, I dabble in  
journalizing as a contributing editor at Boston Magazine. Unlike the  
stuff you see here, Boston Magazine is all about chronicling the  
lives of other people in Boston, which means I don't get to speak in  
the first person, which is hard for someone as talented AND modest as  
I. Anyway, I wrote a piece for the May issue of Boston Magazine which  
followed two young gentlemen whose interests lie in the pursuit of  
making time with older women. The piece was titled "On the Prowl with  
The Cougar Hunters."

Normally, when a piece I write comes out, I send my friends an email  
via one of the Internets providing a link to the story and then sit  
back and wait for them to feel guilty enough to send me a vaguely  
complimentary email about general aspects of the piece. Inevitably,  
one person--usually my mom-- calls to congratulate me, and in doing  
so accidentally offends: "Oh hon, that was great! It didn't sound  
like you at all!!!"

So you can be sure I was alarmed when--within the first 24 hours of  
the publication hitting the newstands-- I had seven requests to go on  
(FM!) radio shows, a comment war below the piece on the Mag website  
accusing me of plagiarizing a blog post that came out after the  
magazine had already gone to press, and two bowls of Frosted Mini-
Wheats mixed with some sort of organic maple granola . This is not  
something that normally happens to me. In the past four years of my  
journalism career, I had a total of  no requests for radio shows  
stemming from Boston Magazine work. No cries of plagiarism, no  
organic breakfast foods, nothing. What could have possibly turned the  
tide, I wondered. And then that night, as I lay in my Pima cotton bed  
sheets, I realized: it had to be me.

"Have you seen the movie Almost Famous?" I asked the Big Cat the next  
day, via phone, as he sat in his cube (probably) scrolling through  
thesuperficial.com. "That's like me now, without the almost part. The  
only question is how to exploit it. Do you think I should break into  
television or movies first, or do them simultaneously like Jennifer  
Garner did when she was on Alias?"

"First of all, you're even well known, let alone famous," he said.  
"You just wrote about something juicy and gossipy. And second, don't  
ever try to compare yourself to Agent Sidney Bristow. She was an  
amazing independent but ultimately conflicted woman."

Hmmm. The fact that this short-lived time in the spotlight wasn't  
about me was mildly troubling, but it did teach me several life  
lessons, which I will display for you in alphabetical order:

1. It is factually accurate to say that the general public loves  
stories about people of different ages making out in steakhouse bars.
2. Do not accidentally swear live on the radio, then swear again  
while apologizing for swearing.
3. Don't get really, really angry about a plagiarizing accusation and  
search the Internets for the anonymous person who posted the  
accusation, especially if the thing they accused you of was  
literally, physically, and socially-emotionally impossible.
4. Do embrace the fact that--no matter how many times you get  
published--it is still always awesome to get that tight, nervous,  
proud feeling in the pit of your stomach when you see something that  
you created released to the general public. Even if they're only  
reading it to hear about the tongue kissing.

May is upon us, friends, and I hope everyone is aware that--as John  
Quincy Adams said-- April showers bring May flowers. Please direct  
your opines, accusations of plagiary, Dancing With The Star guest  
appearance invites, and links to baby panda bears sneezing to the  
Commenting section located beneath your seat. In the event of a water  
landing, the songs from 1988 double as a floatation device.

Got My Mind,
Set on You

George Harrison

Friends. I cannot describe to you the relief that I feel right now. I imagine it's somewhere between finishing a (Boston!) marathon and beating Tetris on Level 9 with the music set to Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. Here are the details: In the last two weeks, I have written 80 new pages, re-written 220 pages, drank 11 (Sugar Free) Red Bulls, 17 Hot Teas (8 Green Ginger, 4 Refresh, 4 Awake, and 1 African Red Bush), ate 16 bowls of Honey Bunches of Oats mixed with Crispix, fallen asleep on my computer 8 times, run through 3 pairs of sweatpants, and let one man wearing a suit with a bow tie borrow my cell phone to make a "local" call to Canada. My final day I worked for 19 hours straight with a break only to eat pineapple and to field a call from my mom:

"Kevin, hon, how's it going?"
"AHHHHHHH!!! MY BRAIN IS FRIED!! I HATE THIS! I HATE THIS SO MUCH!!! I'M SOOOO TIRED!!"
"....Oh. It seems like you're a little overtired, dear"
"AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! (tears)"
(Pause)
"Oookkk....well, I just wanted to say good luck. I'll let you get back to it."

But then, miraculously, it was over. I got through the edits. I re-wrote an ending that will have to be re-written again. I went to Kinko's, printed out two 300 page copies of the manuscript, hand delivered them to the homes of my thesis adviser and reader, then drove to my favorite deli and used up the rest of a gift certificate I got last year for my birthday on Robust Russet Cape Cod Potato Chips. But by far the best part of all of this was waking up in the morning on Saturday and realizing that I had NOTHING to do. No magazine deadline, no chapter to edit, no re-writes...nothing. All I had to do was play in a soccer game, get sunburned, drink (imported) beers and pass out while trying to watch Juno.

This is not over, of course. I have to defend my thesis on Thursday, which will involve at LEAST learning the names of all of my central characters, and then make sure the formatting is right, etc, etc, to turn it into the grad school office, and then i have to re-write again before releasing it into the public, but whatever. That's, like, not even hard. That's like beating Tetris on Level 6 with mute on so you can listen to your own Maxell Cassette mixtape featuring "Have You Seen Her" by MC Hammer.

Anyway, I also wanted to thank everyone for all of their support during my thesis insanity. Your comments, your links, your Youtube videos, all of it kept me from focusing but, like, in a good way. Seriously though, you all are fantastic. And to show my gratitude--as promised-- click here for your own personal e-card: http://www.someecards.com/upload/friendship/if_you_ever_disappeared_while_hiking.html

I think that says it all. In the meantime, 1988 continues its unstoppable reign.

Tell it to,
my heart

Taylor Dayne

Well, friends, it all comes down to this (week). I have exactly 72(!)
hours before I have to turn in a copy of my thesis to my thesis  
advisor and readers. And since every creative ounce of my soul has  
been sucked out and dropped into my book, I have decided that the  
best thing to do for you--in lieu of an actual blog entry--is a poem.  
Poetry--as many of you know--is the long way to say I love you or I'm  
sorry or actually, I kind of made out with your cousin but it didn't  
really count because we were on a cruise ship. So here is a poem I've  
crafted for all of you entitled "A Modest Plea," which will probably  
be set for publication in the Paris Review sometime in early 2010.  
I'll return to twice a week ramblings next week.

A Modest Plea
By Kevin Alexander
Dedicated to: My Thesis.

Why, when I write
You, do you not sound better?
Are you Mad at
Me? Is it because
I called you Thinly Veiled
Pseudo-Clever
And At Some Points
Rambling?
Or Superficial, Lame and
Filled With
Grammatical Issues?
I apologize.
I didn't mean those things
I was just trying
  to be
self-deprecating
in front of that chick.
This Week
If you don't mind
it would be cool if
You got, like,
Good?
But Seriously
No Pressure

Even if I can't comment on them, your comments are keeping me half-
way sane.
1988 endures.

Got to have,
Faith

George Michael

I keep have a recurring dream. I wake up in my bedroom to my alarm  
going off and my roommate standing in the doorway asking me why I  
haven't turned off my alarm in days. Confused, I get up and realize  
that my thesis defense started twenty minutes ago. But I can't find  
my thesis. Or my computer. Or a quality pair of (expensive!)  
distressed jeans to wear. Perhaps more alarmingly, in this dream I  
have a full beard. This happens every other day.

Friends, the Thesis Insanity is in its full anti-glory right now.  
Perhaps this is because I've put myself on a plan that calls for  
eight hour writing days, then a break to think about going to the  
gym, decline that notion and watch part of the John Adams HBO mini-
series on my couch with several sleeves of Whole Foods brand Oreo's,  
a short nap on that couch while John and Abbey Adams share moments of  
passionate sophistry and then a second session that usually lasts  
until I fall asleep on my computer with my face mashed up betwixt the  
JKL and ; keys. The ending to my book won't stop expanding; each  
scene calls for much more work than I originally imagined; much more  
detail to explain where we're at, more details in the dialogue, more  
everything. I would be more specific but the idea of expanding on  
something other than my book saddens/frightens me, much like the  
movie Harry and the Hendersons. Less to the point, I haven't watched  
anything on Netflix since February!!! Do you know how far in the past  
February is???!? Sadly, I do not.

Of course there are bright sides to my pity party Evite. I have  
increased my typed words per minute by just under infinity. For some  
reason, other publications are all of a sudden interested in me doing  
magazine work for them. And, as my dad points out, I "finally know  
what it feels like to actually live in the real world," something he  
has informed me I "need to get used to" if I expect to ever "be  
invited to SoCal again." The fact that he said this from his cell  
phone as he was on a golf course and someone in the background was  
imploring that he "hit his lob wedge" remains a source of  
considerable angst.

The truth, friends, is that I'm just tired. I know I will look back  
on this time and remember how hard I worked and how intensive and  
invested I was and that will really make me appreciate a finished  
novel all the more, but right now I just want to take my shirt off,  
wrap it around my head, turn on some intensely melancholy indie rock  
and lie in my bed until May flowers have eclipsed April showers and  
someone has paid my taxes and washed my hand towels.

That is a dream I wouldn't mind having.

As I attempt to keep it more or less real, tell me happy things in  
the Comments, friends.

Sun shines through the rain.

Eternal,
Flame

The Bangles.