MY LIFE AND THOUGHTS

Issue 7 of n+1 magazine, which contains Part One of my memoir about Samarkand, is returning from the printers today.  Let me clarify that when I say “returning from the printers,” I don’t mean it will happen by magic or thanks to a federal bail-out, but, rather, that the editors are going to drive to Pennsylvania in a U-Haul to get them.  Subsequently there will be an “unloading party” at the n+1 offices in Dumbo.  They will ply their writers and subscribers and the readers of their writers’ blogs with beer, in the effort to get them to unload the truck.  Needless to say this is just the kind of literary-proletarian evening I myself particularly relish, but to my dismay I somehow find myself 3000 miles away.  But the truck will be at 68 Jay Street, #405 (the corner of Front and Jay, a block from the F station), ETA 8pm, and those of you in New York are warmly invited.

In other news, I also have a piece called “On Complaining” in the upcoming issue of the LRB.  It’s kind of ironic because “On Complaining” takes a generally negative attitude towards complaining, whereas in the Samarkand memoir I myself kind of do a lot of complaining.  This is another example of the complexity of the human condition.  Still, you definitely don’t want to miss that issue of the LRB because I hear it will also contain Keith Gessen’s “notes about his grandmother.”  And you don’t even have to unload their truck.

Dear readers, I leave you with an image unrelated to this post, except maybe in some deeper, metaphysical sense.  But I just can’t stop thinking about these Siberian hamsters:

I am just back from my polling location at the garage of 238 Glenview, where I was able to express my opinion on such important matters as Proposition R, which would change the name of the Oceanside Water Pollution Control Plant to the George W. Bush Sewage Plant:

Just as France presented the Statue of Liberty as its gift to the nation, the citizens of San Francisco may now bestow their own special gift to the country by renaming our award winning waste water treatment plant in honor of outgoing President George W Bush. We think this is a fitting memorial for a truly outstanding Commander-in-Chief. On matters ranging from diplomacy to fiscal and environmental stewardship, no other President has had such a dramatic impact on the country and the Constitution in such a short time…

Critics of this measure point out that the initiative… memorializes an administration best forgotten. To this we simply say that those who forget history are condemned to repeat it. President Bush has left us with a gigantic mess, and this facility symbolizes the city’s deft ability to clean up its share of the financial and diplomatic mess left in this administration’s wake. It will also become the world’s first presidential sewage plant, a potential tourist attraction, and therefore an opportunity for the dedicated plant workers to educate visitors about this essential and heretofore unknown public works.

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Well, yes, OK, this might not be the last time I ever write about cats. Still, I definitely promise at least a moderate cat hiatus—right after this post, which is about modern-day cat literature classic Why Cats Paint: A Theory of Feline Aesthetics.

The existence of Why Cats Paint was first revealed to me early in 2007, when I happened to attend a calendar sale at Kepler’s Books in the company of n+1 editor Mark Greif, who purchased a Why Cats Paint calendar, as a gift for the mother of a certain young person. “The genius of the thing,” Greif later observed, of the Why Cats Paint calendar,

is that they never tell you why cats paint—they just show you that cats paint. Which they don’t. But there is this further horizon of promise that distracts you from the original problem.

I remember thinking that this was an ingenious formulation, and that I could be the calendar girl for a Why People Dissertate calendar… but would it successfully distract my committee from the “original problem”? My committee of course was made up entirely of benevolent schnauzers:

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Today I will tell you the story of my bittersweet first experiences on MySpace.  Sometime last fall I got an email with the subject line “Secret MySpace Project,” from Sam Frank: former n+1 copyeditor and current editor of Triple Canopy.   Sam sent out a number of  photographs of “defaced faces” by the multimedia artist Jon Kessler.  The faces were exhibited in a Drawing Center show called: You Have 43 Friends.  Sam, who had copyedited the catalogue of Kessler’s The Palace at 4 A.M. (the text of which includes ”a fictionalized interview between Jon, a four-star general, and the general’s youngest son, a Bard curatorial student“), decided it would be cool if he could get 33 of his friends to make MySpace profiles for 33 of the defaced faces. 

You Have 43 Friends	dissidentguy15

By disposition I am naturally quite sympathetic to secret art projects, and I was particularly happy to be assigned my ”first-choice” defaced face, for whom I set up a profile under the name of dissidentguy15. 

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Remember how in an earlier post I said that the sad young literary men didn’t supply any recipes to the Muskogee Daily Phoenix, and only the resourceful young literary women came through?  Well, this was not entirely accurate.  The situation, it seems, is more complicated than I thought.

I recently received an email from Melony Carey, author of the combined book-review–recipe column in the abovementioned Phoenix (check out her latest: NASCAR-themed recipes to accompany a novel narrated by a dog belonging to a Formula One racer), to the effect that Guillermo Martínez, former grad student and current writer of math-themed mystery thrillers, had, in fact, contributed a recipe for “almond chicken baked on a bed of salt,” which had been blocked, for reasons yet unexplained, by the Norton anti-spam software.   

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