for your eyes only!
Can you imagine me, sitting there on the recumbent bicycle, laptop in front of me, keeping my heart rate at 140 while spending that entire hour writing? Is it possible? Maybe. Is it wise? Maybe not.
Check back soon for the results of this experiment.
Orson Scott Card, widely regarded as one of the best science fiction writers living today, has declared that regular exercise should come before regular writing. Mr. Card offered that advice in an e-mail to aspiring author Matthew Schwartz, 24, of Washington, DC.
Already engaged in an e-mail conversation with Card about the declining quality of ABC’s spy drama Alias, Schwartz decided to ask a question about the craft of writing.
“I met you at an Ender’s Shadow book signing in Ann Arbor, back in 1998,” Schwartz wrote. “At the time, I was an eager novelist in training, and you urged me to ‘Keep on writing! Never quit.’
“Sadly, after six years and two career changes, writing has fallen below the breaking point. With any free time I now have, I spend it at the gym. I figure, five hours a week at the gym will produce far more immediate and visible results than five hours a week writing, which may not produce any results. It’s sad — a utilitarian calculation designed to provide me with the most benefit. I know you lost a lot of weight some time ago… how did you balance that with the writing?”
Schwartz expected Card to respond with some motivational words about making time for writing. But within two hours, Card had left a surprise in Schwartz’s inbox:
“The gym is a good idea. Your health is vital. It will allow you to write more later <grin>.”
Schwartz was surprised by Card’s unequivocal advice, but appreciates Card’s candor and admires his logic.
“The more you work out, the more energy you have,” Schwartz said. “The more energy you have, the more you can get done in the same amount of time. Card is right — body before mind, man. Body before mind!”
Asked what on earth that means, Schwartz refused to comment and directed all further questions to his press secretary, Ben Kepple.
As for Alias, Card is not shocked by the series’s sudden problems.
“It’s probably inevitable,” Card wrote. “They have to deliver a twisted double-agent story every week. That requires deft plotting but using a limited set of characters. Hard hard hard to bring off.”
Seriously, the quality of the “women seeking men” posts has been quite lax. As my friend pointed out, economics explains why: Every woman who posts gets at least three dozen responses, no matter how boring and unoriginal her ad is. This is because thousands of guys are browsing the list, and most of these guys have no standards.
Meanwhile, the “men seeking women” list is of a much higher caliber. The guys actually tell you something about themselves — they have to come across as interesting, or else they will simply receive no responses. After all, this list gets about 100 posts a day! Competition raises the standards. Long live Econ 101, eh?
FYI, my own personal can be found here.
• This morning I was standing in line, waiting for my coffee, idly chit-chatting with a cute girl who was also waiting. She referred to coffee as “that sweet stream of caffeinated deliciousness.” I thought to myself, This is the kind of girl I’d like to get to know. But then my mind settled into the more practical question of How will I do this? I have never seen this girl before. I will likely not see her again for months, and at that point I will have forgotten who she is. I have 5 minutes until class starts, and so I’ve no time to sit here and try to engage her in more conversation.
So I said my goodbyes and went to class, hoping I run into her someday soon.
• In other news, people I have never met before have been saying hello to me. Until this morning, I had no idea why. Then, sitting in the cafeteria, a guy came up to me and asked how I was doing. He looked vaguely familiar.
“Ed?” I said.
“No, R.J.” he said. “Ryan?”
“No,” I said.
It was the strangest thing, he told me. There was a guy in his section who looked exactly like me. I found this quite odd, as I am a rather unique-looking individual. But this would explain a lot of things.
“Don’t worry — he’s a good guy,” R.J. said.
“I would hope so!” I said. “Can you imagine the problems it would cause me if he was an asshole?”
• Last night, after many days of not enough sleep, I went to bed at 6:30 p.m. I woke up this morning at 8.
Inevitably, friends and acquaintances who know I have transferred from Case to Georgetown ask the question: What’s it like? How is it different? How do you like it???
The short answer is: I like it.
The slightly longer answer is: I like it, but it’s freakin’ BIG and I don’t really know that many people yet.
Of course, the longer the answer, the more accurate it will be. I don’t have time to write a full answer here, but about a week ago I penned an e-mail explaining a bit more. I will paste the relevant snippets here:
School here is fine, I guess, but I still don’t know many people, and so I am kind of lonely. I’ll admit, I miss Cleveland and I miss Case. I was on top of my game there — I was acing my classes, had lots of friends, had a great place in a nice residential neighborhood. Now I’m at Georgetown, which I know will be much better for me professionally (assuming I can at least maintain a B average!), but I do miss everything I had. Seeing the Capitol Dome from outside my window is great, and living in a fun vibrant city is great, but I do miss the comfort I had in Cleveland. I miss the little things — being able to get in my car at 11:30 p.m. and drive to CVS for a Mountain Dew. There’s no Mountain Dew anywhere around here. I’d have to walk seven blocks to the closest CVS, which I can do during the day, but not at night, because it’s really too dangerous to walk it at night. And it would take me at least a half hour, which really isn’t worth it. I miss the bagel store. There’s no bagel store around here. I’ve been looking for one, but I can’t find one. There is a Borders and a Barnes & Noble, but since I don’t have my car here (I left it with Katherine), I have to walk 10 minutes to the Metro, wait for a train, take it to the Farragut North stop, and then walk another 5 minutes to get to the Borders. So I don’t really go that much — I just kind of stay in my room, or in the law school.
I must say, however, I really do love the new gym! It’s right next door and I try to go every day when I have time. In the past two days I have spent 100 minutes on the exercise bike.
My resting pulse rate is back down to 66 bpm, which means I’m healthy! …
This letter was very wistful and reminiscent, wasn’t it? I assure you, there are lots of good times here. I get to hang out with my best friends who I haven’t seen in a while, and I am in the middle of everything. There’s always something to do, and there’s always interesting speakers coming around. And I have been job interviewing all the freakin’ time! Still, I miss the old days. I’m sure as soon as I have more friends here, I will feel a lot more at home.
And that’s the true answer. Honestly, I have been too busy to really take root here. When I moved to Cleveland, I had time to settle in before the work really started. No such time here; my plane landed and I dove into Early Interview week. I still haven’t had much of a chance to stop and catch my breath.
I’m sure that when I do, I will find solace. Until then…
Back to work.
Walking toward the elevator, I noticed an amazingly attractive girl standing in front of the elevator doors, waiting with a bag of food and a plate of cookies. Inside, we smiled at each other.
“That’s a lot of stuff,” I said.
“We’re breaking the fast,” she said.
The fast? She is a member of the tribe? Impossible. Blondes that attractive are simply not Jewish!
“I wonder why I was not told of this,” I said. “I am Jewish, you know.” Smile.
“Well, you can come — it’s in room 109,” she said. Smile.
The elevator door opened and we got out. She turned left, toward the feast. I turned right, toward my patiently waiting Chinese food delivery boy.
The lure of a beautiful Jewish temptress was strong. But the truth of a waiting bevy of Chinese food was stronger. Perhaps someday I will rejoin the Flock of my own accord. Until then, I shall not be swayed by cookies and bosoms.
I got this invitation from my Good Friend Dave. It was far too amusing to keep to myself. I hereby invite every and all conservative friend/acquaintance of mine to this Election Night Republican party! Note: You don’t have to be a registered Republican; you just can’t be a liberal. Sorry, but we don’t like to see bleeding-hearts cry, and you will likely be doing a lot of crying on November 2nd.
Without further ado:
Don’t wanna spend election night surrounded by liberals? Fear being thrown from the balcony when riots ensue once President Bush is reelected? Tired of being unable to show your true feelings about John Kerry, Jane Fonda, and the mainstream media? Then YOU need to join Dave for a conservatives-only election-night bash! That’s right: no need to check neither your conscience nor your good sense at the door at this election party! At Dave’s Election Night Bash, you’ll get to join in the fun as we:
* Consume mass quantities of pizza and beer — real American food for real Americans!
* Predict which state John “Deere” Kerry will lose next!
* Practice Zell Miller impersonations!
* Place bets on which member of the liberal media will spontaneously combust on air as the results come in!
* Laugh maniacally as collective screams can be heard throughout the city once the winner is announced!And that’s not all! So why spend election night surrounded by liberal friends or colleagues or stuck in a stuffy DC bar when you could be surrounded by like-minded folks drinking the night away in Dave’s Northern VA pad!
No liberal friends! No Democratic spin! Just a good old-fashioned election night to remember!
So come one, come all, to Dave’s Election Night Bash! The “B” in “Bash” is for BYOB!
Let me know if you want in!
When it’s on, it’s HILARIOUS. I love the jokes, I love the Steven Colbert stories, I love that the show is smart and funny and brimming with wit.
But I hate the invective.
Jon Stewart has made an executive decision: The Republicans are Evil, and Bush is a Horrible, Horrible Man. I understand that many people feel that way. Stewart’s audience DEFINITELY feels that way. Whenever Stewart makes fun of Bush in any way, the audience goes wild.
I don’t mind people making fun of Bush — hell, I do it on occasion. But when Stewart does it, it isn’t all in good fun. Stewart’s jokes are cruel. They reveal a deep hatred of the man. And the audience, ooh the audience reminds me of all the nonsensical liberals I had to deal with during my days in Ann Arbor. You know the type: Filled with rage at the thought of another Bush term, they lash out. They are blinded by their emotion. They refuse to engage in an intellectual debate; they just call Bush an idiot, and an evil man, and hurl their “Anyone But Bush” invectives.
Whenever Stewart has a liberal on as a guest, the audience falls to their knees in adulation. Whenever Stewart has a conservative on, the audience offers a smattering of polite applause, but never laughs WITH the guest, always AGAINST him. And Stewart treats the guests with condescension. He makes a half-hearted effort to respect them, but ultimately he cannot hide his disgust. And that disgusts me.
It has gone too far. I have decided, after many months of sitting through his bullshit, that I am done with the show. It is funny at times, yes, but I refuse to sit through the hate any longer. For now, it bothers me more than it humors me.
As far as I’m concerned, The Daily Show is cancelled.
I adore French music. Every time I hear something exquisite on my XM Radio — something so beautiful that it virtually forces me to turn my head toward the display to learn which composer I am listening to — I see a French name. Chopin.* Debussy. Saint-Saens. It never fails.
Why do I adore the music? It’s hard to put it into words. It has to do with its flowing quality, the way it rises and falls, kind of like waves crashing against the shore. Exquisite.
* Yes, yes, Chopin was born in Poland. But his father was French. Also, he lived the latter half of his life in Paris. So I’m counting him as French.
This girl is a monster who eats the hopes and dreams of men for fun.
Her MO: Post a new ad on Craig’s List every month or so, each time describing a new, sweetly dysfunctional woman. Receive dozens of responses. Cull the best and post them on her “Craigslist Love” blog, subtitled, “When I dream, I dream in personal ads.”
Someone should do a feature article on her. Or maybe a segment for This American Life!
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