There are only two works of fiction that I spend any time at all working on these days. The first is the video series “The Post-Postmodern Comedy Hour.” And it is a very sad. Because nothing I’ve ever written works as well. Nothing I’ve ever written so encapsulates who I am as a person. It is sort of like The Kumars at No 42 combined with F for Fake and a healthy dose of scientific nerdology. Thus far, I’ve written two of the six episodes I have planned. And once I’m finished with it, it will sit in a drawer, because videos require production and that requires people and that ruins everything. These scripts are the most perfect thing I’ve ever done and production would only reduce them. Art is like that.
Speaking of which, over the weekend, I sat down and read over what I had written of my second novel, “Treading Asphalt.” It was always meant to be my Moby-Dick. By that I mean that I was not going to limit the book to narrative. I would just write about whatever I wanted. And the way I’ve gone about writing it is very unusual for me. I’m a linear kind of guy. I wrote the first novel in the order that things occurred. Of course, in that novel, I had no idea where I was going. I had read The Shipping News shortly before it, and had decided that it really wasn’t necessary to have a plot. But half way through, a plot started to emerge and then all hell broke loose.
“Treading Asphalt” is simply a collection of scenes from all over the place in the novel. So it isn’t even something another person can read. But I do have a map, because I’ve had the plot laid down for at least a decade. But because of the kind of book that it was always intended to be—a book for me—it shouldn’t be surprising that the 50,000 words of disjointed prose pleases me very much. But I couldn’t help but think that no one else would ever want to read this. Or at least, no one would want to publish it.
It is, in a very real way, my Moby-Dick. But Moby-Dick was a flop when it was published. And it is only the towering figure in American literature now because of a fluke. And really, in many ways, it isn’t that great. I’ve really cooled off on Melville who I think usually renders scenes with less clarity than any major writer I know. And that’s in “Treading Asphalt”! Since it is written in the first person, it goes off on tangents that would mystify most readers.
And here’s the thing: it is a mystery. I know it would annoy readers. They would want to know what’s going on in the mystery and the narrator is off arguing that Houdini was gay. It’s filled with that kind of stuff. Again: I love it. But it is the very worst kind of narcissism. On the other hand, what is the point of trying to write a novel for someone else? Who would that someone else be? How could you possibly know what they wanted to read? And if you write just for yourself, at least you know that you’ll please one person: yourself.
Except: no. Because the problem with writing a long piece of fiction is that it never satisfies. I think that’s why I always feel happier with plays: because they are never actually finished. Or at least, they are never finished for me, because no one is going to produce them. But it is hard not to grimace at every sentence in your own novel. And that’s why “Treading Asphalt” remains unfinished. But coming back to it, it actually seemed fairly good. But I know if I start writing it again, I will quickly determine it is total crap. Of course, if I do that two or three more times, it’ll be finished. And then I can know for sure that it is unpublishable.
The great biologist
Paul Waldman asked a great question over at The Plum Line today,
I just happened upon an email that has apparently been bouncing around since before Obama was even elected president, 
Normally, I just pass by articles by David Brooks, because really, what is the point? But this one was pure click bait with the title,
But most of all, I hate these ostentatious acts of patriotism because they remind me of Gertrude in Hamlet saying, “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” I don’t think that the British find such displays embarrassing and avoid them in their own country because they are one people. I think they are just a lot more secure that they all stand together. Maybe it’s because of World War II. We haven’t really had a war here in the United States against another country for about 200 years. Regardless, all the chanting of “We’re number one!” just makes me think these people secretly fear that we aren’t. Personally, I think my kind of patriotism where I think we are and are not number one is the best. This is home, and I do love it—for good and bad. I don’t think all the flag waving proves people love the country and it certainly isn’t what binds us together. (Note: some of the biggest flag wavers want to secede from the union.)
in this country. One is that you are allowed to think what you want. Another is that you are innocent until proven guilty. So just to summarize: we are one; Bergdahl is one of us; we got it back; God bless America!”
You may remember back a couple of years that Eric Cantor celebrated Labor Day by tweeting out, “Today, we celebrate those who have taken a risk, worked hard, built a business and earned their own success.” It really was a shocking thing, but it tells you everything you need to know about the modern Republican Party: they just hate workers. They are the royalist party, if you will. John Adams would be so pleased. Bearing this in mind, it is Cantor’s birthday, so let me just say: today, we celebrate those who have taken an intellectual risk, worked hard, did something important with their lives, and earned their own success rather than being born into the upper class like Eric Cantor.
Ed Kilgore is right to noted that here in California we have a really stupid primary process, 
It is such a difficult choice for birthdays today.
Well, it is election day here in California, and I suppose I should tell you how I’m voting, because that’s what I do. None of this should be shocking. And it is kind of a boring election. Partly, this is true simply because I think that things are going reasonably well in the state. But going through everything has really made me realize that I need to pay more attention to what’s going on in education in this state. There is so much money to be made off educating California’s children, I have real questions about a lot of the people who are swarming around trying to “help” failing schools. Of course, I think the whole school reform movement is a joke anyway and I have radical ideas about education—namely that it shouldn’t be about providing the best labor force for the economy. We are educating citizens, not factory workers, or even worse, grill managers.
Too few people understand that citizenship is not just about rights; it is also about responsibilities. That’s why I think everyone should vote at a minimum, although I do think as a country we make it harder than it ought to be—especially for the working poor. But if a democracy is not constantly tended to, it turns inexorably into an oligarchy which I believe I have been seeing my whole life. When it comes to one thing that everyone cares about—the economy—there really isn’t much choice among the parties. “Liberalism” has come to mean “social liberalism” and “conservatism” has come to mean “social conservatism” because both parties now agree on what I call “economic conservatism.” And the worst kind of economic conservatism. (If you don’t know what I’m talking about, you really should read Dean Baker’s excellent
But while going over it all, I noticed that there was only one person arguing against both these measures: Gary Wesley. I don’t know how I managed to not know about Wesley until this time, but it has only been recently that I’ve been following politics while in California. Still, it is a major oversight because Wesley is a legend. Back in 1986, The Los Angeles Times wrote,