Skyfall

My friend called me at six for a six o'clock Twilight showing. I was still in bed, passed out hardcore. Twenty four of the last thirty six hours had been spent in front of my computer, trying to make the infinite deadline. I came close this time, really close, but ultimately the work was not where it needed to be.

What I realized is that my schedule will look like this for a couple months, as there will be no writing reprieve after this book. The due date for the next one looms early next year. Hopefully I'll be better prepared for it, and with this one 90% under my belt, I'll have learned what their expectations are and also what I'm capable of.

I'm hoping to take a breath to prioritize what I need to do in 2013. I feel like I've neglected all manner of things, from work to social, and I should probably literally make a list. I need to get back on track doing other projects, as my days can't revolve around writing this one thing. My general strategy of holing up until something is done isn't sustainable.

Here is a short video of Shanghai's marriage corner, made by a family who has taken a year off to travel the world and explore. Just looking at their itinerary makes me tired. The marriage corner is a park in Shanghai for the parents to go and exchange profiles of their unwed children. The detail that fascinated me is that some of the profiles contain information about when the parents are looking to retire, and how much financial support they will require in their old age. You aren't just getting a husband/wife, but the whole family too. Very Confucian.

Someone needs to make an online version of this for immigrant parents in the United States, as I'm sure they'd love to hook up their American children in a similar manner. This is my great idea nobody will invest in: social networking -- and matchmaking -- for Asian parents.

I've been obsessed with David Chang and his new PBS show, The Mind of a Chef, produced by Anthony Bourdain. The episodes are available online and I can't recommend them enough. Really, I can't shut up about them and I literally talk about something I saw on the episodes to anyone who'll listen. AMR took the effort to poach some eggs Chang-style, so clearly he is a true friend.

I met some Danish people the other night and totally forgot to ask them about Noma, holder of the title for "greatest restaurant in the world." Chang visits Rene Redzepi in episode six of his show. It's not my favorite episode, but coming on the heels of just reading a lot about Noma, it was interesting to get a look at Redzepi and his restaurant.

And then there's Eddie Huang and his series on Vice, Fresh Off the Boat. The current episodes are set in Taiwan -- earlier ones were in the Bay -- and regardless of how you feel about Huang's personality, the episodes are great simply for showing you spots you'd never find on your own. Here's an earlier video of Huang's trip to Flushing for soup dumplings. A couple of years ago I read through all of Huang's blog and followed him for awhile. Now he's got a memoir coming out. The actual buns he kicks out at BaoHaus? Decent, nothing amazing.

We've been eating recently at a few hipster-y Asian places (see "The Year of Asian Hipster Cuisine"). The food is Asian but the presentation is white people. M-Noodle is open late and it serves Chinese food that's exactly home made. The entire front and wait staff are Williamsburg hipsters and the people making the food are straight Chinese. The one time I went there with JMZ, in the mid-afternoon, we sat at the counter and watched them bang out the dumplings while JMZ talked to them about where they were from.

I've been trying to figure out how this setup happened, like the owner just went out and found these cooks after he decided he wanted to open up a semi-trendy but very traditional Chinese food spot? Or was it the other way around? At Talde, located in Park Slope, the food was quite good but a little overpriced. Most of all, the decor was interesting/jarring. It was half Oriental-looking stuffs, and then paired with a dark wooden pub sort of feel. I guess JMZ nailed it by saying it was like a trendy PF Chang's.

Talde has this variation of halo halo with Cap'n Crunch in it. It comes in a huge bowl and I had to bring the rest home because it was so damn good. The next thing I need in my home: a shaved ice maker. George and I had this Snoopy one growing up and I may now need this Doraemon shaved ice maker. I'll blast some music through my new speakers and we'll go heavy on the condensed milk.

Pioneers Without a Frontier

Whenever I'm around St. Mark's, I always think about Patti Smith. This despite the fact that I know absolutely nothing about Smith except that St. Mark's Church plays a big part in her mythology. If you're a frequent bookstore browser, you'll probably recognize Smith's book, Just Kids, as it was one of those titles that greeted you at every entrance and check out counter. It won the National Book Award a few years ago and just about everyone's reviews were glowing.

I started Just Kids today, and with subways delays both to the city and back, I'm about 75% done with it already. Verdict: It definitely measures up to all the acclaim. At its most basic, Just Kids is about being an artist. More specifically, a starving artist in 1960s New York. It's got a lot of Truth & Beauty in it too, intermixing the creative life with friendships that come and go and ultimately never leave. They'd make nice reading companions I think.

Another thing that hooked me was that the beginning of Just Kids is set in Brooklyn, as Smith moves right to my area, with a few head nods to DeKalb Ave and Myrtle Avenue, the two streets sandwiching me.

The thing that strikes me most about the book is that even though I'm three-fourths of the way through, I still wasn't able to figure out exactly what kind of artist Patti Smith was/is, until I hit the Internets. Turns out Smith is mostly famous as the "godmother of punk rock." Here's her biggest Billboard hit: "Because the Night."

But before that, Patti Smith was a poet, a visual artist, a music critic, a sort of actor, a sort of fashion trendsetter, and then finally, she became a rock star. The other subject of her book, Robert Mapplethorpe, has the same sort of confusing trajectory. He painted, he drew, he made jewelry, and he ended his life mainly identified as a photographer. Basically, the two of them were just artists, through and through. They happened to get famous for specific stuff but their message was in every medium, as the non-saying goes.

When we went to the Met a few weeks ago, I half-jokingly decided that I'm going to make a transition to becoming an "artist." Apostrophes emphasized. What I realized is that being an artist doesn't necessarily have to do with technical skill, whether you draw or sing or carve wood or push pixels around -- none of which I do, keep in mind. The most important part of being an artist, the most essential bit of being an artist, is having a point of view. It's about expression. Doing comes first, sharing comes later. (Or you could not share, up to you.)

This is no great revelation.

However, not just any P.O.V. is an "artistic" point of view. After all, everyone has a subjective viewpoint, but we're not talking about mere opinions here. Art is finding something you care about, and then trying to make other people care about it. I think.

Also, artist, craftsman, creatives, those are different things. But that's a differentiation I'm still working through. Perhaps it's too close minded me to think that they should have to be separated. But I do strongly feel that just because you can paint, you aren't necessarily an artist, etc. To be explored.

The first thing I've decided to do on my self-appointed "so you want to be an artist" journey is to start learning how to write those art blurbs. The ones about the artist's work, or explaining the specific piece installed in front of you. That's a useful skill to have, and while sometimes I think those snippets reek of art school bullshit, learning how to write in that specific b.s. language can only help elevate my eventual art from the living room to the galleries. Right?

Reading Just Kids makes a strong argument for the idea that you're either an artist or you're not. So if I'm not one now, it's highly likely I'm in the latter camp. Are my hopes dashed before they've even been formed?

Before I Let Go

Listening to: Shanice, "I Love Your Smile."

I'm so ashamed to say it: I didn't vote. There are no excuses really, especially since yourexcusesucks.com exists. My roommate went to Ohio on a bus last week, to go door to door and get voters out for Obama. I sat at home. I was okay with not voting, thinking that I had clearly missed registration and being in Democratic California and all that. But then I opened up the mail on Tuesday -- a big envelope sent by my mom -- and there was my mail-in ballot. It would have taken less than ten minutes to fill it out, since I mostly knew where I stood on the props. I considered doing it and just dropping it in the mailbox, but it would have obviously not made it back to San Diego by eight o'clock. Ugh, I'm lame.

I'm one of the 100 million people eligible to vote who didn't -- there are about 220 million eligible voters. I can't even talk to my politically minded friends. They'd castigate me. As they should. I sometimes rail about people who don't care about things and I have no soapbox to stand on, not after this.

What if Romney had won?

I've got about four days between now and annihilation. I need to finish up this project and get it 95% great and just out the door. I've run out of time. Hurricanes, elections, snow storms, nothing can stop me now.

Actually I'm pretty sure I'm not going to make it.

Hurricane Sandy wrecked New York for most of last week, you may know this. I haven't seen any of the effects personally, aside from a fallen tree or two. Everything in my immediate vicinity was fine, perhaps too normal. I spent most of post-hurricane time camped out at JMZ's house -- there was a lot of Letterpress playing. They eat good over there. Like it was deliciousness on top of deliciousness. Personally I've stepped up my food creation by making a daily grilled cheese turkey sandwich. Onward and upward.

I've also lost the taste for cigarettes. Poof, gone. Being out and about on pre-Halloween weekend, it took me an hour and a half to get home via subway and I think I lost the will to go anywhere after that. My friend passed me David Rakoff to read and we've decided to adopt his curmudgeonly charm to the max. Experiments in misanthropy will commence soon. Stay tuned.

Oh look, snow.

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