Self-Aggrandizement: April 2005 Archives

Geek Out
Filed April 30, 2005 4:57 PM.

I like to believe that, since entering the world of film, I've become a cooler person. In fact, just earlier today, I caught an off-Broadway play in previews, and a stellar exhibit of Larry Clark's photography at ICP.

But, just below the surface, I'm at least as dorky as ever before. That's the only explanation for, on a Friday night, showing up at Tekserve for their Tiger Launch Party, then spending the rest of the evening home alone with my laptop, installing Mac OS X Tiger. And, worst of all, for being absolutely thrilled about it.

I could say how great the new OS is, how Spotlight alone will eventually overthrow the desktop/folder file organization metaphor, and how all the other little cool bells and whistles are, to quote the Great Leader, 'insanely great'. But, frankly, most of you wouldn't care. And the ones that would, like me, have already blown a perfect stretch of prime drinking time installing it themselves.

cough Losers! cough

Recess Eats
Filed April 28, 2005 11:20 PM.

My father was always the lunch-packer in my family. Meticulous in his approach, he'd carefully construct the contents of each elementary school bound paper sack, from Ziploc-ed sandwich to frozen box juice.

The juice, in his system, served a sort of critical double-duty - both as a drink, and as an ice-pack to keep the sandwich fresh through a morning of backpack confines.

Problem was, as the box slowly thawed, the outside would accumulate moisture. By the time even the first recess rolled around, each day's lunch bag had entirely soaked through, slowly turning into a moist brown pulp that stuck to the sides of my book bag, and wet textbook corners into slow fan-shaped expansion.

Having peeled off bag scraps, having piled the contents table-top in an undistinguished heap, the problems persisted. Because, even as the bag had been soaking, the contents of each sandwich, otherwise safe in plastic confines, had been similarly seeping through the bread.

Which, at the time, always took me by surprise. Certainly, given a few hours, ketchup should inevitably ooze through all but the hardiest whole wheats. But turkey? Who would guess that a slice of white meat's meager moisture would be sufficient to soak your standard sandwich slice?

Some sense of elementary-school propriety prevented me from telling my father about the problems at the time, though, in retrospect, I'm sure he would have been more than happy to help me solve them. Still, laboring on against the slow disintegration of each home-packed lunch, I always looked forward to the days when I could buy lunch at school instead.

Buy, I suppose, is a relative term, as we traded in not money but tickets for our chicken nuggets and chocolate milk. But, for a seven-year old, those tickets were better than gold - tradable for tinfoil trays of such timeless yet nowhere-else-found classics as 'Mexican Pizza'.

Even better were the prototypical Lunch Ladies serving up each meal, plump women at the far end of middle age, in hairnets and orthotics, hovering above us, spoon in hand, with menace and protective love in equal counts.

As I aged, as tinfoil and tater tots slowly gave way to Yale Dining Halls china and mashed 'potato' served with ice-cream scoops, even as I squared off against such incomprehensible foodstuffs as chunky, brown 'Soylada', school food always held a special place in my heart. Bland, monotonous, and devoid of nutritional value as it may have been, at least it was never a threat to the interior of my book bag, and simple to keep in its atomic, separated, individual, non-seeped-through parts.

Airborne Blogging
Filed April 26, 2005 7:59 PM.

I set out to write a recap of my trip out West, but instead spent the last half hour staring at a blank screen, wondering why, on a spring JetBlue flight from Oakland to JFK, I would chose to wear the corduroy pants that now stick hotly to the back of my legs. I also wonder about my feet; from the sitting and altitude and lack of cabin pressure, they've swollen slowly against my shoes' toe boxes, until I imagine they threaten to spill, as old-fat-lady ankles, over the tops.

My brain is swelling up, too. Maybe in sympathy, or because I've for too many days traded sleep against caffeine in a Faustian bargain of attempted productivity. But mostly because so many stories from the trip - from funny vignettes to grand sagas - are pounding against the inside of my skull, jockeying to get out, that they've bottle-necked at the brainstem, unable to make it down and out through my fingers and onto the screen.

It's giving me a hell of a headache.

So, until my feet are normally sized and my pants cool and dry, until I've slept more than a few hours and drank less than a morning triple espresso, the stories will have to wait. By which time, in all likelihood, they'll be superceded by some other cockamamie tales of more recent misadventures, leaving this trip completely unrecounted.

Which is a shame. Because most of it was pretty fucking great.

Quick Apology
Filed April 24, 2005 5:47 PM.

Sorry to have gone MIA; I'm out in California, squeezing in Long Tail meetings and Cyan meetings and Passover seders and trips to Santa Cruz to meet the CrossFit folks and drinking heavily with West Coast friends.

Lots of stories, to be recapped shortly.

You Can Quote Me
Filed April 18, 2005 5:00 PM.

In several conversations over the last week, friends and business associates have remarked that I must be awfully glad to see I Love Your Work finally hitting theaters.

And, certainly, I am. Sure because of all the work that went into making it, or because of how much easier Cyan's life will be once we have a release under our belt.

But, mainly, because I'll no longer look like an idiot when I quote lines from the film.

By way of disclaimer, I should point out that I'm not normally a movie quoter. I don't walk around saying "here's looking at you, kid," or "I'll make him an offer he can't refuse," or even (perhaps my favorite movie line of all time, from Royal Tenebaums) "I guess we'll have to be secretly in love with each other and leave it at that."

My brain is overflowing with dialogue lines - the occupational hazard of watching movies all day long. But I don't let them out, because, frankly, everybody hates people who do that.

But with I Love Your Work, because I've read the script beginning to end more times than I can count, because I saw it brought to life on set and sliced and diced in the editing room, because I've watched the finished film endlessly through, the dialogue is so deeply entrenched in my subconscious that I can't help myself. I say something, thinking it's normal conversation, and then realize I've unwittingly recited verbatim a line from the film.

Which, of course, invariably leads to odd blank stares, considering that nobody I'm reciting to has actually seen the movie itself.

And, the thing is, whatever flaws the movie has (and it certainly has plenty), the writing is great. It's natural enough that several extended stretches of the dialogue have played out in my own life, even if I'm the only one who knows that's how it's all supposed to go.

It makes me giddy when that happens, and I inevitably start to point as much out, which, if you think the blank stares you get off of a single quoted line of an unreleased movie are bad, hoo boy.

So, yes, I'm thrilled to see I Love Your Work hitting theaters and coming out on DVD. And I hope you all go out and watch it. A little bit because I'm (literally) banking on its fiscal success. But more because I'll be glad if, when I say something in real life that unintentionally imitates filmic art, you'll all understand what the hell I'm talking about.

Blogopera
Filed April 15, 2005 2:47 PM.

Though my Italian is fractured, it's just good enough to follow along this saga, as blogged by my former professor and current friend Nefeli Misuraca:

In short, finding most men so below her standards that they barely warranted 'even one raised eyebrow', Nefeli took matters into her own hands, found another Italian blogger who seemed a suitable match, and declared the two of them engaged.

Unfortunately, she didn't actually inform him of this fact. Perhaps inevitably so, as the two had never previously spoken, online or off.

The guy discovered as much today. Hilarity ensues.

Update: Nefeli informs me that the fun is just beginning, as these blogagements are too be a weekly tradition, with some new unsuspecting mark on each pass.

Velocious Gourmet
Filed April 14, 2005 10:21 PM.

While I've long intended to eat more salmon, I never managed to work the pink filets into my regular rotation. Too protracted in baking, too prone to disintegration on the trusty Foreman, and stinking up my small apartment with a pungent fishy smell either way, salmon simply seemed too effortful to push me past my inherent laziness in pursuit of Omega 3 -laden benefits.

A week or so back, however, Abigail came over and cooked up a great Japanese-style salmon - in the microwave. Apparently, place a salmon steak in a glass dish, toss in some marinade, nuke it on high for four or five minutes, and the fish comes out baked to flaky perfection, with nearly zero prep, baking time or cleanup.

Always quick to steal good ideas from people smarter than I, in the past week I've replicated her high-speed technique, cooking up two separate nuclear-powered batches. Give it a try yourself.

Or, even better, find a hot blonde to come over and cook it for you. I can't recommend that second option highly enough.

FAQ
Filed April 14, 2005 10:53 AM.

In response to the emailed question I most frequently receive:

Q. Are you really this much of a pretentious asshole in real life?

A. Pretty much.

Inked
Filed April 12, 2005 4:58 PM.

I remember, before I knew how to drive a manual transmission, that admiring high end sports cars would leave me feeling vaguely ashamed. What right did I have to ogle a Testarosa, if I'd be completely unable to put it to good use?

After I learned how to drop the clutch like a pro, however, those feelings of guilt transfered over to high-end pens. Like expensive cars, it wasn't so much that I actually wanted to own one myself. Rather, passing through stationery or art supply stores, I couldn't help but appreciate the beautiful design inherent in a $1000 Mont Blanc, yet know my chicken-scratching would doubtless make short work of an 18 karat nib.

Back in January, appalled by the steady downhill slide of my handwriting, and increasingly unable to read my own notes just hours after I'd written them, I decided it was time to take action. So, aided by an online copy of Arrighi's Operina, I set out to learn how to write in Italics, a beautiful 16th century hybrid of cursive and print I'd long admired in Da Vinci's notebooks.

It turns out, in fact, that Italic handwriting isn't difficult to learn at all, and, once mastered, it's remarkably easy to write legibly at high speeds. The Moleskine journal I tote with me daily marks my progress - a slow transition from my prior cramped scrawl to the new smooth chirography that has become nearly habit. For the first time in my life, I have good handwriting.

So, when I stopped at a stationers last week to replace my filled Moleskine, I looked at the fountain pens a bit differently. By the register, I noticed a $15 Pelikano, and impulsively tossed it in alongside the notebook, figuring it was cheap enough to give a shot.

Sitting down at the coffee shop next door, I pulled out the new pen, pressed in an ink cartridge, and wrote my way through a first few paragraphs.

By the end of the page, I was hooked. Aqueous ink flowed effortlessly from the point, at even the slightest touch, leaving a slowly drying trail like a brush of water color paint.

And it occurred to me, dangerously, that while learning to drive manual didn't leave me jonesing for a 911 Turbo, my new handwriting - and the discovery of how well it flows from a nib - did make the Meisterstuck 149 perched in the window next door strangely appealing.

As far as my bank account is concerned, this likely doesn't end well.

Poetic
Filed April 12, 2005 2:39 PM.

Colin reports he received a piece of spam today containing the following rather delightful snippet of text:

On Halloween night, in a car rushing down the freeway, the tobbacconist soiled his underpants, and bearing an hourglass, he removed his hat.

Top Thatch
Filed April 10, 2005 7:31 PM.

I hit Central Park this morning at 9:00am, for Crossfit's brutal monthly NYC group workout. Afterwards, over brunch at a nearby diner, one fellow athlete asked me what I could possibly use in my hair, to make it spike up stylishly even after an hour or two of sweaty abuse.

My answer: nothing. When cut short enough (as it recently was, a few days back), my hair naturally stands up on its own. I do, on occasion, use pommade, but I do it solely to make the spiking look intentional. Even without it, Tintin has nothing on me.

Surveying my mane's misbegotten past, I realize that it always seems to gravitate, naturally and pre-emptively, to whatever new 'do is about to come into style. Bowl cut? Rat tail? Floppy eye-covering surfer shag? Yes, yes and yes - each time, my hair simply started self-arranging that way, even before the looks came (regrettably) into broader fashion.

Which, by now, leaves me blissfully zen when it comes to the future life of my locks. Though I've fortunately yet to start losing my hair, even if I did, I wouldn't much worry; at that point, a Male Pattern Baldness craze would no doubt kick in, leaving my shiny pate - naturally, preemptively - in full haute coiffure style.

Table-Setting Hack
Filed April 9, 2005 5:03 PM.

As I always have trouble remembering whether the forks go on the left or right side of the plate, I was particularly thrilled to note over dinner last night that, when properly placed, the utensils are in alphabetical order: forks, knife and spoon.

Two Long Nights
Filed April 9, 2005 4:59 PM.

Thursday

Though exact details are hazy, the night definitely involved karaoke, four bars, and drinking champagne direct from pilfered bottles in the conference room of the Union Square W Hotel, with Colin and Sarah.

From their emails the following morning:

Colin:

I am still drunk. And at work.

My memory of Lemon Bar is a little fuzzy, but I remember we closed the place. I passed out on the subway home and woke up in Long Island City.

I just want to be the first to say that last night was, unparallelled.

Sarah:

Oh my god, best night ever.

We are invincible.

And Colin's response to Sarah:

I am feeling very vincible.

I think I may yet throw up.

Friday

Came up to New Haven late afternoon for dinner at the Chai Society. Wandered around Yale's campus for a bit, marvelling at how beautiful it is, and trying to convince myself that I actually lived here for four years. Post-dinner, walked back to the train station, and discovered I'd missed the last train out for the night by about fifteen minutes, leaving me more than five hours off from the next train at 4:40am.

Spent those hours huddled on a bench of the quiet, cavernous New Haven train station, as I and three other poor saps who similarly missed the last train home sureptitiously eyed each other, mentally calculating the odds that one of the other three might rob us all blind if we drifted off to sleep.

Nonetheless, did manage to get some neck-crink-inducing naptime on the train ride itself, feeling safe under the conductor's watchful eye. Pulled into Grand Central at 6:30am, and pulled my bed covers over my head at 7:00am.

Sadly, after too many days of work-driven early rising, by 10:00am, I was up again and nominally ready to face the world.

Now, at 5:00pm, I'm ready to rock out Florida style: early-bird special for dinner, asleep by 7:00pm.

Step Aside, Phil Smith
Filed April 7, 2005 12:34 AM.

While nobody but trumpet-playing readers are likely to understand: just started rehearsals for two orchestras' next concert cycles; the programs include Tchaik 5, Pictures, Dvorak 8 and the Mozart Requiem. I haven't had that many notes in my parts over the last two years combined.

Burn Baby Burn
Filed April 7, 2005 12:26 AM.

Prior to launching Long Tail, I'd begun to forget what it's like to run a startup.

Sure, I've been slogging ahead non-stop with Cyan for a couple of years, but in many ways that's been a markedly different experience. Because movie production largely works on a project-by-project basis, nearly all of my mental energy has been focused on the details of individual films, rather than on Cyan as a whole.

That's especially true with fundraising, as - aside from a small chunk of seed capital at the very start - we haven't raised money for Cyan itself, instead working to align financing directly for the films Cyan produces.

As a result, fundraising is a fairly static, separate phase of each Cyan project. Knowing a film costs $2m, we can push ahead with courting investors until that $2m is in the bank, then switch over to operations, to actually making the movie.

With Long Tail - as with most startups - fundraising is instead ongoing, simultaneous to actually running the company, alongside acquiring and releasing and marketing films. It's a bit like bailing water from a leaky ship, constantly trying to stay one step ahead of a rising puddle of costs.

That puddle - and the speed with which it accumulates - is known in the business world as the burn rate. In short, a company's burn rate is the amount of cash needed to fund operations for one additional day. With at least that much in the bank, the startup pushes ahead for another 24 hours; below it, and it's game over, no matter how well things are going otherwise.

Which is why, as a startup's CEO, no matter what else your job description entails, you're first and foremost a fundraiser. You line up incoming investment money, and watch it flow back out, ideally watching it flow ever more slowly as the company's revenue picks up the slack and pushes to break-even, to the point where revenue alone is enough to cover the burn.

Which makes startup fundraising doubly frustrating; you're not just concerned about the amount of money raised, but also about the speed at which it rolls in.

Over the last two weeks, Long Tail has signed on another $60k of investments, bringing us close to closing out our seed round. But while that new money is there on paper, it's not yet in the bank. And without feeling the urgency of burn first hand, the investors behind the cash inevitably take their own sweet time in actually sending out their wires.

So, for most of this week, instead of blogging, I've been obsessively checking bank balances online to note any incoming fund arrivals, and paraphrasing Popeye's Wimpy to vendors - we'll gladly pay them Tuesday for DVD duplication today.

It isn't much fun. Particularly because it's all so very close to working, and yet so very far, all at once. And because letting it stop us now would be a bit like surviving a long open-ocean swim towards dry land, and then drowning in the last two feet of water.

We don't even need to swim this last little bit; we should be able to walk it. Stand up. One foot forward. Then another. Make it out one little waterlogged step at a time.

Back-Handed Compliment
Filed April 4, 2005 10:26 AM.

"There was nothing not to like."
- Anne Midgette, in her New York Times review of the Park Avenue Chamber Symphony concert I played in Friday night.

JP Toto: How You Like Them Apples?
Filed April 2, 2005 8:04 AM.

Mashing guest blogging up with service journalism, I'm today posting long-standing S-A reader JP Toto's open letter to the Dolly Madison Bakery Company.

To whom it may concern:

I am the most recent victim of the label on your Dolly Madison APPLE Sweet Rolls.

You'll notice I capitalized the word APPLE. This is to approximate, however inaccurately, the prominence with which the word apple is displayed on the packaging of your Dolly Madison Apple Sweet Rolls.

That prominence would suggest to me and, I suspect, many other helpless vending machine patrons, that the average Dolly Madison Apple Sweet Roll contains a modestly generous portion of (albeit almost certainly highly processed and enriched) apple filling.

This, I discovered, is not the case at all. In fact, the amount of apple filling contained within the baked doughy "roll" is a paltry sum when compared to the overall mass of the pastry. When considered critically, I think you'll therefore agree that calling your Dolly Madison Apple Sweet Rolls, such as they are, "APPLE sweet rolls", is a bit of a misnomer.

I cannot provide physical evidence of my claim, having already eaten such. Please let this warning serve as notice, though, that we consumers of pre-packaged vending machine fare will not stand for such poorly conceived confections, no matter how low our standards already are for your run-of-the-mill ninety-cent treat.

---

IOU
Filed April 1, 2005 5:32 PM.

One thing I've learned through years of full-contact martial arts is, the best time to punch somebody in the face is when they aren't expecting to get punched in the face.

Which, in short, is the problem with April Fool's Day. Because people have their guards up, April Fool's pranks almost never actually 'fool' anybody. And, as a result, most trouble-makers have stopped even really trying, allowing their attempts to veer out of the realm of true pranking, and into the world of satire.

Granted, there's an excellent array of such April Fool's Day 2005 satire currently floating the Internets. And, granted, in year's past, I've pepetrated such digital shenanigans myself. But, this year, I'm not pulling anything today. Honest.

I am, however, throwing down an April Fool's I.O.U.: an obligation to pull a prank, a real prank, later this month. Though the one I have in mind will take place in the real world, over the course of several weeks, I promise I'll journal it all up online as soon as it's done. And I promise it'll be way better than whatever one-page wonder I might have otherwise made out of s-a.com.

This will be good. No fooling.

Geek Out Filed April 30, 2005 4:57 PM.

Recess Eats Filed April 28, 2005 11:20 PM.

Airborne Blogging Filed April 26, 2005 7:59 PM.

Quick Apology Filed April 24, 2005 5:47 PM.

You Can Quote Me Filed April 18, 2005 5:00 PM.

Blogopera Filed April 15, 2005 2:47 PM.

Velocious Gourmet Filed April 14, 2005 10:21 PM.

FAQ Filed April 14, 2005 10:53 AM.

Inked Filed April 12, 2005 4:58 PM.

Poetic Filed April 12, 2005 2:39 PM.

Top Thatch Filed April 10, 2005 7:31 PM.

Table-Setting Hack Filed April 9, 2005 5:03 PM.

Two Long Nights Filed April 9, 2005 4:59 PM.

Step Aside, Phil Smith Filed April 7, 2005 12:34 AM.

Burn Baby Burn Filed April 7, 2005 12:26 AM.

Back-Handed Compliment Filed April 4, 2005 10:26 AM.

JP Toto: How You Like Them Apples? Filed April 2, 2005 8:04 AM.

IOU Filed April 1, 2005 5:32 PM.