I'm going to interrupt my normal tone because I want to talk about  
the writer David Foster Wallace's suicide. For those of you who don't  
know who he is, I'll link to his NYTimes obit here.  As readers of  
this blog may or may not know, I love Foster Wallace's work. I became  
obsessed with it in grad school, wrote a paper studying his  
postmodern style, and blatantly tried to copy some of his stylized  
methods and techniques. I've read (almost) everything he's written,  
and have to admit that I prefer his nonfiction over his fiction  
probably because magazines and other things put restrictions on his  
seemingly unlimited and boundless talents as a writer, and I'm afraid  
some of those things were lost on me when he took off his rhetoric  
governor and just let er rip.

My earliest memory of reading Foster Wallace comes from college, from  
a friend recommending that I pick up his first collection of  
nonfiction, A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again. I read  
through the first couple essays unimpressed (or maybe just confused  
and college-style unwilling to admit said confusion) until I got to  
his profile of a mid-level tennis pro Michael Joyce and was  
completely and utterly blown away by his excruciating attention to  
detail, his knowledge of the game (being a former junior champion)  
and his humorous, confident, exuberant style.
"I want to be him," I remember thinking, probably knowing even then  
that I didn't have those sort of writing chops in me, but at the very  
least it made me want to try. And when I ending up reading the title  
essay about a cruise ship trip during my own cruise ship experience,  
I had the meta-feeling that he had actually jumped inside my head,  
taken everything I wanted to say out, and glossed it, gleaned it,  
times'd it by 20, and then made it much, much funnier and more final.  
So actually--from a personal confidence perspective-- that kind of  
sucked.

But really, that is just how he rolls. When he decides to write a  
piece, he writes THE definitive piece on whatever topic he chooses.  
On (2000 election maverick!) John McCain in "Up Simba", on talk radio  
in "Host" for the Atlantic, on the porn industry in another piece  
whose title fails me, he didn't simply take on topics, he destroyed  
them, sealing them off for any other writer. Which is why I think he  
influenced my style both in the ways that I copied him and in making  
me realize that there are some people that operate on a completely  
different level, and I should just try and appreciate the fact that  
these people exist and are willing to put their work in the public  
sphere. We are all worse off for not being able to experience more of  
him. I feel sadness for not just his family and friends, but for the  
entire American literary world. He truly will be missed.

Last week I did some TV stuff for the Boston news show Chronicle, in  
which I brought them around to some "insidery gems" in the city and  
talked about what made the places cool and what I saw as trends in  
Boston style for men. This is hilarious on several levels, the first  
being that I actually am considered some sort of expert on anything,  
but the shoot was fun, and I probably used the words "authentic" and  
vintage-esque at least eleven times per scene on camera. Also, for  
your own future benefit--should you find yourself unexpectedly on a  
news show-- do NOT eat a Sour Apple Blow Pop right before you're  
supposed to go on camera. Multi-colored tongues are not "in" right now.

Anyway, I am on a severe and utterly close deadline for Boston  
Magazine right now. The story is there waiting for me to nail it, but  
I keep being occupied by small tangential pieces of said story, and  
only seem to be able to work between the hours of 2-4 AM, which used  
to be fine, but now makes it impossible for me to do my day job  
without falling asleep in Espresso Royale and leaving myself  
vulnerable to pickpocketing by some of the less chill, more nefarious  
looking hippies.

It also is taking me awhile to get back into writing in the long form  
after spending the last three or four months exclusively writing and  
editing pieces that fall in the 200 word realm. Freedom of (word)  
expression is a mixed bag, friends. You always complain about wanting  
to "write the way you want" and "in your voice" and truly make  
something "completely original" but then, when you're finally given  
that chance, most likely you just sit there reading old issues of  
Esquire and praying that some sort of writerly osmosis will transfer  
their skills into your work while you watch Weeds.

With most of that said, I have a request. I want to know about dream  
jobs. The one writing job that you wish you could have. The more  
specific the better (don't just say you want to write for Tiger Beat,  
say you want to be the senior editor, etc, etc, etc) and how you  
imagine that someone would get that job. I'll reveal mine in the  
Commenting portion of the show and tell.

Luv to Luv,
to Luv Ya.

Timbaland and Magoo

Buying In: The Secret Dialogue Between What We Buy and Who We Are by Rob Walker

Normally my book recommendations fall heavily into the writing,  
words, fiction-esque category (Richard Price) or the magazine writer  
anthology category (David Samuels), which makes sense, because those  
are the things I do, friends. And you are what you read/eat. But I am  
adding another type of book to that list. And it's on--gasp-- murketing?

Rob Walker--the Consumed columnist for NYTimes magazine-- wrote a  
book that takes some of the major ideas of his articles and columns  
over the last few years and brings them together to help try and  
understand how consumer culture, trends, and marketing have changed  
over the last decade or so. And the book is kind of awesome. Now,  
this is more than just a passing interest of mine. I need to know  
about trends. I want to know about trends. I read RSS feeds about  
trends. I wear distressed jeans and tees made of ringspun cotton and  
write about wallets from Singapore (Property Of!) and bags made out  
of truck tarp and bike inner tubes by Swiss dudes (Freitag!). I'm  
kind of a tool. But even if you're not in this mix, the book does an  
incredible job of defining and naming what is going on with (the more  
clever) marketing and advertising schemes of nowadays and why--
despite our feelings that we are smart enough to no longer be tricked  
by companies-- we still get tricked by companies (into buying their  
bejeweled Ipod holders, etc).

The books rocks that Malcolm Gladwell Tipping Point story style--the  
"here is a random, yet interesting anecdote lede that'll hook you in,  
but won't let you figure out where I'm going, which'll further hook  
you in"-- and recounts stories of why the iPod sold even though it  
wasn't the first with the technology or even with the types of  
improvements that it made on that existing technology, why Timberland  
boots sell in the urban markets despite being marketed for scrappy  
dudes who work outside, how Pabst Blue Ribbon re-made themselves by  
accident, mostly thanks to bike messengers in Portland, Oregon, why  
Red Bull would spend $100 million dollars on non-advertised kite  
surfing trips to Cuba and Scion cars (by Toyota) would have parties  
where the guests of honor were from edgy artsy small, small mags like  
Art Prostitute, etc.

The main idea centers around this "murketing" term that Walker coined  
to mean murky marketing that's blurred the line so that we can't  
really tell we're being marketed to... and also drops a ridiculous  
chapter about word-of-mouth marketers... people hired to read a book  
on a subway and start small talk about it, or bring chicken sausage  
to a neighborhood BBQ and casually talk it up, and a bunch of other  
semi-creepy things that'll have you questioning your sister's next  
recommendation for Shake N Bake... is she actually being paid by the  
Shake N Bake company? Does Shake N Bake even exist anymore? Will it  
make a nostalgic resurgence, not unlike the shoe brand British Knights?

Regardless of the paranoia that may ensue post-reading, the book  
makes you think hard and long about what and why you consume what you  
do, and at least lets you feel kind of smart about it, even as you  
walk down the supermarket aisle in a trance, searching for the Shake  
N Bake for no good reason.

Oh yeah, and the Olympics are on... like all the time on MSNBC... and  
I can't stop (won't stop?) watching. Speaking of which, I need to  
go... China vs Poland, women's volleyball is on right now and it's  
the crucial third game.

If there are any comments, speak now or forever write your piece.

Black Hole,
Sun

Soundgarden

I've now spent a LOT of time away from the city of Brotherly Hub,  
which has made me reflective, which is the proper mindframe to either  
a) create a sappy (but totes cute!) collage of Saved By the Bell and  
Party of Five heartthrobs for your best high school girlfriend or b)  
think about some lessons that you've learned in your extensive and  
averagely-traveled writing career. And since I didn't have any hot  
pink posterboard on hand, I decided to opt for the latter (Sorry  
Kristin!). So here they are, in no particular order:

1. Write. The stupidest, most obvious one is actually the hardest  
to consistently follow. You can't get better without doing what  
you're doing, so keep doing it. More than you do now. 20% more.  
It's amazing what an extra half hour can add to your skill level. I  
wouldn't know, of course, but I've heard. From, like, other blogs.

2. Read. The only thing almost as good as writing. Reading is to  
being a writer as ingesting a ton of protein and eating Powerbars,  
and those little kind of nasty cans of tuna is to powerlifting. It  
gives you the base of knowledge to improve the writing. So read  
anything and everything you can. Absorb it. Ingest it. But not  
literally, that'd be gross.

3. A little bit of research goes a long way. You'd be surprised how  
many people blindly pitch things, hoping that the sheer quantity of  
mail they're sending will somehow cause something to stick. Take the  
time to read, skim, or at least Google whatever places you're  
interested in, narrow your list to a realistic portion and tailor  
everything to each individual magazine/lit journal/agent/pub house.  
Yeah it takes longer, but so does actually getting things accepted,  
and that's kind of the point right?

4. If you've established a relationship, check in. I can't emphasize  
how important it is to periodically check in with editors. Like parents,
they get busy and forget about you, so you sending them an email or giving them a  
call (only after you've established a relationship/written for them  
before, etc... only very lonely talkative people like cold calls)  
just to check in is a great way to get back on their radar. Do this  
once or twice a month and you will double your assignments not  
guaranteed! Unless, of course, they hate you and your work. Then this is probably
a bad idea.

5. Figure out who runs what. The published writing world is small  
circle filled with connections that resemble shorter versions of  
Seven Degrees of Kevin Bacon. If you're interested in getting into  
that world, figure out the genre you'd like to crack, and  
then go about getting closer to people in that arena through non-
stalkerish means. So if you're interested in writing mystery novels;  
see if anyone in your town/city/province actually does what you're  
interested in, and pitch the idea of profiling them for a newsletter  
or paper or something small. This gives you the chance to meet them,  
which could lead to figuring out who their agent is, other people  
they write with, publish with, etc, giving you a clear picture of their publishing
tree, how to climb it, and potentially setting you up to marry them and  
eventually ghostwrite their books.

6. Enjoy it. Because that's why you're doing it, right? It's not for  
the riches or the semi-exclusive parties at Hampton beach resorts, or  
the way that people double-take when you walk by them and then  
realize that you aren't the dude from Can't Hardly Wait... because  
none of that matters, or maybe even exists. So remember: you do this  
because you love it and because it's fun to make original semi-clever  
declarative phrases, not because of the wealth and the fame.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to be going: My butler just pulled  
the unicorn up to take me to a deep tissue massage.

In sign off news, Eddie Vedder continues his musical onslaught.  
Comment at your own peril.

Long,
Road

Pearl Jam