That's a Habit I Don't Need to Keep

After I woke up this morning and put my bedsheets in the washer (Kitty puked at the foot of my bed during the night, and I didn't feel like getting up at that hour to investigate, though I kept feeling a cold chunk of something whenever my foot wandered to the right side, and all I did when I saw it was sweep it up and put it in the garbage, but for the yellow stain there, washing the sheets was entirely necessary. Not sure what could have caused it, maybe a delayed reaction from the Passover plates we made for her and Tigger, but she seems ok now. Thankfully nothing beyond a stomach upset), Mom informed me that a nasty habit of mine had returned: Nastiness.

It's not random or calculated nastiness. I don't have the dark soul for either of those. But apparently, when I'm at work on a book, I tend to get short and snippy with those around me. Artistic temperament, maybe, but I thought that that's only earned after the third or fourth book. It's not so much devotion to the work at hand that I shut everything out, although Mom told me that when I'm working on one of my writing projects, I'm far removed from the rest of the world. I cannot be reached.

Now, I'm working on being more accessible. It's not fair to her, Dad and Meridith that I remain so aloof when I'm in the thick of that jungle of thoughts. But I can pinpoint where it comes from.

It happened when I was doing research for "What If They Lived?" One of the people I had chosen to write about was Carole Landis, a 1940s actress who led a tragic life. For each actor, I searched for the books that were available about them. For Landis, there was a book called Carole Landis: A Tragic Life in Hollywood by E.J. Fleming, published by McFarland & Company, which is notorious for very little editorial oversight.

I ordered the book from Amazon, since the County of Los Angeles library system had no copies, and I tried to read it. I couldn't. Fleming was so obsessed with setting up the time period, and not getting quickly enough to talking about Landis's life. Plenty of gossip abounded within the pages, too, and that became annoying as well. I couldn't find any part of this that I would have enjoyed enough to write about Landis's life and then speculate on what she might have done if she had lived.

I told Phil Hall that I wasn't getting anywhere with it, and e-mailed him my notes. I got rid of the book.

That's only one part of this habit. The other part is that I hate transcribing notes. I get so bored by the stupefying chunks of time spent typing handwritten notes into Word files. My vehement dislike for it began when I became an intern at The Signal and spent nine hours on my first day transcribing audiotapes for Stephen Peeples, one of the writers there. I became very good at quick transcription, but was very bored with the interviews and always having to strain to hear certain passages on those tapes.

When I transcribed the notes I wrote while reading 40+ books for "What If They Lived?", I couldn't stand sitting at the computer to do the same thing. I could read my handwriting, but after the 7th, 8th, and 9th pages, good lord, how much more did I have to go before I could tear up the notes triumphantly and then focus on the occasional frustration of making those essays read how I wanted them to read?

I don't mind writing. An idea comes into my head and I roll with it without complaint. But I enjoy editing a lot more. I love moving around words, playing with punctuation, figuring out how to make each sentence fit what I'm trying to do.

So it was with the same situation for "What the Presidents Read", my next book. Yesterday, I finally finished reading The Clinton Tapes: Wrestling History with the President by Taylor Branch. 668 pages. It took me a week to get through it. I didn't mind the policy discussions or the international matters covered, since I grew up during the Clinton Administration. I love history and I especially love learning about those who made it. Moreso, I'm nuts for presidential history. So Branch, a close friend of Clinton, recorded conversations with him as the events of his administration happened (more or less, because there were sometimes months-long gaps between when they would get together for these secret sessions, which were necessary so no one got wind of the intent of the project, which was to create an unassailable record of his time in office), and inside this book, you get insight into his troubled relationship with his FBI Director, Louis Freeh, as well as his distant relationship Janet Reno, and as much as the media wanted you to think back then that the Clintons' marriage was rocky during the Lewinsky scandal and could have fallen apart, that doesn't seem to be so.

Branch's writing tends to get somnambulistic at times, as he wonders about what he's supposed to be during the course of these recordings, whether he's supposed to sharply question Clinton, remain a sounding board, or gently suggest insights that could push the conversation into different directions. He does that many times, although I eventually understood that he was trying to grasp his place in this history, as it happened.

The most illuminating part of the book is the conversation that Clinton and Gore had after Gore conceded the election to Bush. I transcribed those pages verbatim (as I did for the book-related passages I need for my own book), because I want to use them for another idea I have. There's fascinating drama there.

So I finally finished the book late yesterday afternoon, and I spent the entire evening transcribing my remaining notes (As I finished transcribing each page from my pad, I tore it up and threw it out, as I have my notes saved on this computer and on my flash drive), which was tedious and frustrating, because when in the hell was this going to be over? Not the project, I mean, but just having to pull these words from the book into the Word file. And I got short with Mom and Meridith during the evening. I noticed a bit of that, but not completely enough to really think about my actions.

And I have thought about them. And it's ridiculous. They didn't write that book. Branch did. And I was short-sighted because this one book shouldn't cause all that trouble. I only thought about my immediate frustration, and didn't think about what this would lead to. Eventually, I'll have enough book-related information about Clinton and hopefully all the other presidents to write another book. And then I'll write it, and I'll write query letters to publishers and agents, pitching my book, and hopefully someone will find it interesting enough to publish it. And then I'll repeat the process with more books that I have in mind, both fiction and nonfiction. And I'll continue to do that, also with the plays I have in mind. This process widens my name. What problems could I possibly have with that?

Unlike the Carole Landis book, I can't close any of the books I'm reading for this project. I have to slog through them if necessary because I need lots of information. And not only that, but I'm doing concurrent research. While reading The Clinton Tapes, I came up with an idea for another book, centered on the history of a certain room in the White House. So while reading these books, I have to look out for two lines of information to cover both books.

I've got to watch myself now. Neither member of my favorite trio deserve to be sniped at. Despite my obsessed life with them, these are just books. Just varying chunky sizes of paper. I became a former film critic because I didn't find it fun anymore, with all the hype that never changes from year to year. Books are always fun to me, and that's how it should remain. And if any more books should frustrate me during this spate of research, I need to remind myself that there are more to come and there are equal possibilities of pleasure in those. I can't think of anything else I'd want to do. This is it.

Sometimes You Just Need a Box of Chicken

This past weekend, in The Wall Street Journal Weekend, in the Off Duty section, there was a page about Atlanta, under the "Adventure & Travel" heading. The bottom of the page is given over to people living in the featured area, and there was Cee Lo Green, Richard Blais from "Top Chef: All-Stars", designer Kay Douglass, and Kathryn Stockett, who wrote The Help. All gave their favorite places in Atlanta, and I loved Stockett's second-from-the-last pick in her column:

"Poultry Excuse: Kroger. I get my fried chicken--and much of my writing material--at the location in Brookwood Square. It will blow your mind--the chicken, the divorces. I once heard a pregnant woman tell her husband it wasn't his baby. He went right ahead and ordered an eight-piece box. 1745 Peachtree St. N.E., kroger.com"

Bettie Page's Banana Stand

Yesterday, after a long day that took us from one corner of this valley to another, including a stop at Moon Wok, the Bible of Chinese Food here, we went to Trader Joe's. Mom and Meridith went to PETCO next door first, but Dad and I went right to Trader Joe's.

No matter how much Trader Joe's disappoints me by what they take away (I still miss the microwave-in-bag spanish rice), I will never tire of this place. Not the free samples, not the pre-made salads that keep rising in price, not the frozen section with its always reliable supply of meatless corn dogs (which I like a lot better than regular corn dogs). And brother, if you want to get a look at more attractive female fare in this valley, go to Trader Joe's. A plumper behind is always appreciated.

That wasn't even the most interesting part of this long overdue shopping trip. At the banana stand, there were three employees there pulling the ripened bananas from the shelf below and putting them on top of the green bananas already stacked, because there were boxes on carts with new green bananas to be placed on that shelf below.

There was one employee working on this who was particularly fascinating. She had modest tattoos on her left and right upper arms, a tight dark shirt, and deep black hair. Maybe it was the eyeliner that did it, or her entire head, but she looked like a serious contender for a Bettie Page look-alike contest.

And no, I didn't stand there while choosing what bananas I wanted, imagining her in one of Bettie's outfits while she stacked bananas. Ok, I did.

And lest you think that was all that visit to Trader Joe's meant to me (It was 80%), I did quite well in gathering what I hadn't seen in so long, including my favorite chunky olive and edamame hummuses, a huge freakin' grapefruit, those meatless corn dogs, and more veggie burgers.

SAT Test Dream: Part None

Not one moment in a dream last night to continue what I hoped would be a recurring dream. Not an appearance by her, not any time, nothing. I did find myself in yet another theme park, which is helpful, since one of my (so far) two novels takes place during a day at a theme park, but I was disappointed.

SAT Test Dream

The last time I had what could maybe be considered a recurring dream was when I had a series of dreams involving the same theme: A girlfriend. This led to what I did not know would happen, that I began dating Irene in 7th grade, right on the day of the Valentine's Day Dance, yes, that February 14th. This was in 1997, so it shows that I'm beginning to age gracefully toward my 30s.

I wish that the dream I had through the night from late last night on would become a recurring dream. I loved it, because of the fun and the boisterous spirit in it.

I was in some kind of testing hall for the SATs. I don't know why. I was sitting at one of the desks, wondering why I was even there, because I was 27, and there is no way the SATs would benefit me in any way at my age. Not that they did anyway, because I took them in 12th grade, and that was that. I didn't use it on a college application, didn't have to apply it to anything else I pursued, and I sure as hell didn't need it to get a book published. I'm not sure if I will when I seek a publisher for my next book, but I hope not, because I don't remember what I scored, but I'll bet anything that I did a lot better on the English section than the Math section.

In this dream, I didn't decide to become an annoyance, but it just happened. I was playing with some blue goo on the desk, spreading it around, even while the papers were there. I don't know why the desks were so close, and there were no partitions between the desks to prevent cheating, which I did, though not because I needed answers. Apparently, I didn't care.

There was a girl sitting to my left. I didn't get her name. She didn't need a name. She needed an excited description, a celebratory exclamation, a shout, a yell, a fist pump coupled with "YES!!!!!!" She had such a vast, happy spirit that I find so attractive in any woman. I think she was a latina, and what was also most attractive is that she made extra weight look good. Yeah, she was heavy, but in a way that accentuates all the right places. And she was so much fun. She had the same opinion I did about the SATs, but she was a few years younger than me. Legal, of course, but I'm not sure what her reason was for being there. Maybe she hadn't taken the SATs in high school and thought to do it now as a lark. Maybe it was required for something she wanted to do, even being in her early 20s. I don't know. The one thing I was absolutely certain of is that I wanted her. I wanted to run around the world with her without needing any kind of transport, or waterskis, or anything that would make a speedy trip. I figured we could just float on the wind and let it remain underfoot as we ran.

The test began, and I didn't bother to take it seriously. I looked around, I fiddled with the goo some more, I played with a few small toys I had on the desk. And then I looked over at the answers of the girl to my left, and the person to my right. And I was caught, and told to leave the testing hall. But I wasn't leaving the building without her. So I waited the few hours that it took for the testing to be complete. And she came out, and I was overjoyed to see her again, and so was she, and she rushed me over to her house. She wanted to introduce me to her entire family.

I thought she had such a dominant, boisterous spirit. I could see where she got it from. Her father was such a good-natured guy, incredible at a stove, constantly creating culinary masterpieces. He joshed me a bit, looking stern at one point, asking what my intentions were with his daughter, then bursting out laughing. He said he knew as soon as I walked in that he could trust me. There was nothing sticky there.

Her siblings were great, too. I didn't get as much from them as I did the father, but they seemed like they were comfortable with me, too.

And she, well, at one point, she wrapped her arms around my neck from behind, and put her head on my left shoulder, watching her father cook. The feeling from that alone was enough to make me hope that this dream continues tonight or some day soon. I know that I would also like that feeling in real life. That is pure happiness. I believe it is the one time that gravity would allow me to ignore its laws and just shake and shimmy with joy in mid-air.

The Wall Street Journal Weekend

Ever since that Saturday in January mostly spent at the Fairmont Hotel in Newport Beach (http://scrapsofliteracy.blogspot.com/2011/01/ghosts-grow-larger.html), I've been hooked on The Wall Street Journal Weekend.

It started with free copies I found of it and The New York Times on a table near a pricey breakfast buffet just off the lobby. I took both to the pool, and sat a few rows behind poolside with my sister on plush burgundy pool chairs, and while she opened up "Sundays at Tiffany's" by James Patterson, I began reading both papers.

I liked that while most newspapers report the news breathlessly, in anticipation of it changing in the hours that follow your reading of it, this one seemed calm about everything, taking in all the facts in measured consideration. I don't remember the headlines on that day, but just like the Weekend edition I have today (I went to the newsstand early this morning when my dad had to bring the PT Cruiser to the repair place that's attached to the Kmart building, but not affiliated with it), the facts are all here, laid out smoothly for you to pull from it whatever you want, whatever your beliefs are.

It's the latter sections that make this newspaper one that I absolutely have to get every Saturday. In the "Off Duty" section, which is usually the last section unless there's an issue of Wall Street Journal Magazine included (It's mostly high-gloss fashion stuff), on that January morning, there was an entire page devoted to sandwiches and many of the different kinds, including po boys, along with insights from chefs about what they consider a great sandwich. And then, in the "Review" section that's before "Off Duty", there were book reviews, more book reviews than I usually find in other newspapers. And long ones, too, not just snippets within a column, although there is that as well.

Today's Weekend edition keeps up the same of what I've always expected every time I buy it. There's an above-the-fold article about the budget cut passed by the GOP, financial troubles at Bank of America, and below the fold is where you can find that which you won't find often in other papers. There's a long interview with a former stock market inside trader, and below that, a profile of a bus museum that did not catch on with the public, and it ends with the passion that Jim Lehrer of "NewsHour" on PBS has for buses, including owning one himself.

The Business & Finance section is hit-or-miss for me every week. I usually just skim through it, since while business can have drama for some in numbers, there's not much for me in it. That was pretty much what it was this week, except for an article about Angela Leong, fourth wife to Stanley Ho, a Hong Kong casino magnate, gaining control of a $1.2 billion dollar interest in his casino holdings and therefore his company for six years. There's bits of family drama in that article, and you wonder about the stories within that family, beyond what's been reported, what the conflict is like, especially with all that money at stake.

This week's Review section has the standard Joe Queenan column, this time about him tracing his ancestry and reporting it as only he can in his own wonderfully twisted take.

They have space within Review for a column called "Creating", and they profile people who, well, create things. Today is about whiskey distiller Chris Morris at Brown-Forman. I don't drink, but I like learning as much as I can about everything.

I haven't gotten to the "Off Duty" section yet, which encompasses (according to the strip below the name) "cooking, eating, style, fashion, design, decorating, adventure, travel, gear, gadgets." (There's dots between the words.) I know right off that the article on heels won't interest me, but looking below that, way below the fold, there's "Fresh Takes on Eggs - Four recipes from top chefs" on D5. That's definitely for me.

I like to try to read The Wall Street Journal Weekend each Saturday because I can devote as much time to it as it takes me to read nearly everything. Of course, that depends on when we go out, and when I get the paper, because I don't read it in the car. I don't like to shuffle a paper around in there. I got lucky this morning because I was able to get the paper far earlier than I usually do, and read almost all of the front section at the car repair place, and then skimmed through Business & Finance and got through about half of the Review section at home.

This was in the paper last week, and it's here this week too, a glossy sheet of paper advertising a subscription to The Wall Street Journal Weekend, which I would like. 52 weeks for $52 sounds ok, but the delivery time bothers me. I remember reading on the website for the daily edition that they'd deliver between 3 and 5 a.m., and being that we have two dogs and a front-door walkway gate that squeaks, no way. It's not worth saving $1.20 for the dogs to bark like hell at that hour and wake everyone up. Besides, sometimes at the newsstand, I come upon magazines I want to read, such as the latest issue of Ute Reader, which I would love to work for, as they read alternative press magazines, hundreds of them it would seem, and compile the best articles into each issue. Since I read every day, that would be the job for me, since it doesn't require reviews to be written afterward that would be published. I was a film critic. That's enough as a critic for an entire lifetime.

I remember when I was a kid how reliable Saturday morning cartoons were. Or rather, for me, Saturday morning programming, since the only cartoon I remember watching every single Saturday was "Garfield & Friends." I was also devoted to the "Mighty Morphin Power Rangers", and made sure to tape "Beakman's World", since I was still at my Saturday morning bowling league at Don Carter Lanes in Tamarac by noon.

I like that I have something on Saturday now that's just as reliable, and just as enjoyable. The same pleasure I felt for Saturday morning television is here, too, for The Wall Street Journal Weekend. Yes, a newspaper. I refuse to throw myself into the permanent technological rush hour that has so thoroughly dominated this country. I don't need to know everything that's going on in the world every single minute. I'm fine with getting my news occasionally, but I also require some thoughtfulness from it and that's what I get every Saturday.

A Better Bond

Last night, while reading "Moonraker", I wondered why I liked it a lot more than "Live and Let Die", which I had read before it, going as chronologically as I can, at least with the Fleming books, since I decided to start on the Bond novels by John Gardner at the same time.

I finished it this morning, and I know why. It's because "Moonraker" is as compact as "Casino Royale." The card game that Bond joins to expose Sir Hugo Drax as a cheat at M's request is brilliant in its detail not only of the Blades club, but how Bond sets out to defeat Drax, the methods he uses, the history of what he knows in card playing. It's also interesting to see M differently here. He's usually the boss behind the desk, but here he spends time with Bond at this club.

Plus, Drax ties right into the rest of the story, so Bond doesn't have to travel far this time, getting special permission from Her Majesty's government to operate inside England, which is never the case, as MI6's Special Service (the "00" agents) operates outside of England, around the world, with no jurisdiction within England's borders.

But I know that I liked "Moonraker" because unlike "Live and Let Die", there's no interminable pages involving train travel. The only benefit for me were the descriptions of parts of Florida, and I always love to learn about the history of my home state. But all that time with Solitaire, who's as weak as Jane Seymour's Solitaire in "Live and Let Die"? It takes too long, and the excitement of Bond going after Mr. Big fades for a time because of those pages.

Gala Brand, the woman in this novel, isn't as interesting or really as mysterious as Vesper Lynd in "Casino Royale", but she is as strong as Bond in mind and skill, so it feels like an equal team at least. And the end of "Moonraker", which smashes all of Bond's assumptions about Brand and underscores why he can't have that particular world in which Brand exists as long as he remains 007, is shattering in its cold simplicity. It is indeed a cold world for Bond when he's not being that dashing, skilled agent.

Next is "Diamonds are Forever", and I think the last time I tried to read all the Bond novels, back in 2002 when I was attending classes at Broward Community College at its campus in Pembroke Pines, and hanging out all the time in the Southwest Regional Library (part of the Broward library system) next door, I only got up to "Moonraker." And since I didn't like "Diamonds are Forever" as a Bond film, I hope for better from the original work.