‘Anna Baldwin,’ the sex debate and more

Hello, dahlings. I’m finally back from my crazy month of travel, so will hopefully have time to blog again soon. In the meantime, if you didn’t get to hear my interview on the Baldwin McCullough Radio Experience Saturday night, I believe you can hear it online at blogtalkradio.com. Find out why Stevie B thought I’d be good for his brother, and catch all the rest of the evening’s zaniness. And if you haven’t yet checked out Kevin’s latest book, it’s available from fine retailers online and everywhere.

The only place you can get a signed copy of Sexless, however -- unless you’re coming to Litquake Saturday -- is by ordering it directly from me. Payment accepted via PayPal.

If you are on the West Coast and free this Saturday, I’ll be reading a short excerpt during the 4 p.m. Koret Reading Hour at the San Francisco Public Library (BART stop: Civic Center), along with several other memoirists. Afterward, we’re all signing copies of our books at the nearby Books Inc. store.

Finally, if you missed my debate Sunday night -- on whether modern sex is good or evil -- I believe there might have been some sort of recording made of the event, but you’ll have to pester host Todd Seavey about that. If all goes well, I’ll try to at least post a summary of my position on here in the next few days.

Things that make me miss New York

What’s that, you say? This blog’s been so quiet, you worried that I had gotten injured or married?

Nothing like that exactly has happened, but somehow since the book came out, it’s been harder to keep scribbling posts about the spinster life, much less with the candor I used to have. And there have also been various projects, family things ... yadda, yadda, yadda.

Now and then, though, I do manage to squeeze some reading in, though it’s long since eclipsed my knitting as the ultimate leisure activity. One of my occasional reads, thanks to a peculiar email subscription that suddenly started more than two years after my year of getting the New York Observer for free in the mail ended is said paper’s online version.

It’s not as common as the city tabloids, but neither is it as literary and self-important as the Times. And sometimes, the faintly gossipy tone they take with almost all subjects lends itself to nostalgia-inspiring stories of New York quirks, such as these two from a recent issue:

• A snail-mail break-up
• The strategic role of publishing galleys in increasing one’s odds of a subway hook-up

And speaking of the subway, I was utterly delighted with this creative illustration of two New York tots’ ardent passion for all things transit. Did I mention how delightful it was?

Finally, if you haven’t yet picked up the book, it’s now on sale at Amazon (if you want your copy brand-new) or deeply discounted as a used copy. And if you have got the book, don’t forget I’ll send signed bookplates (until they run out) to you and a friend if you want to give it as a gift. Just email me for further details.

Have a happy, safe holiday! And if you’re going to enjoy the fireworks, be EyeSmart.

More on girlspeak/guyspeak translation woes and what marriage does for your health

I don’t plan to make recommended reads the substance of this blog, but when making chowder collides with finishing a bottle of Chimay and putting the final touches on yet another op-ed draft (as it did last night), I’m left with just the latest interesting headlines to share. (Besides, as I think Andrew Sullivan once said, bloggers are the “sherpas of the internet.”)

Today’s reads:

• Why men can’t tell the difference between a flirty and friendly gesture
• What marriage means for your blood pressure

And as an unrelated announcement ...

Have any new, unused makeup or jewelry you don’t need?
A friend of mine is collecting donations of these and other items girls love -- all new, of course -- for a gift bag project. Donations need to be mailed by April 3; contact me for more details if you’re interested. No excuses, now; I know you must have at least some gift-with-purchase you’re never going to use ...

Coming soon ...

Dahlings, I promise, I see your hits checking back for more, but sadly all the most promising phrases and post ideas to drift through my brain come only at the most inappropriate (read: laptopless) moments. Gearing up for a weekend trip to New York and DC isn’t helping either. I did at least manage to fix one problem with sidebar links, so if the “Recent Post” list has been lately spurning your click-throughs, try again.

In the meantime, read, marvel and be scared — very scared — by this fabulous, funny example of girl brain, from Emily Giffin’s novel Baby Proof, in which the heroine ponders a proper response to invite she knows her ex has gotten as well:

I suddenly wonder exactly why I’m going out of my way to avoid Annie and Ray. I … don’t want to be around anyone or anything that reminds me of Ben, period, and I’m afraid that Annie will offer up unsolicited details of Ben’s new life. Details I most certainly don’t want to hear. Unless those details include that he’s single and miserable. And there’s no way that’s the case. After all, I saw him yucking it up with Tucker. He may not be in love with her, or even with her at all, but by no means did he appear to be a broken man.

Of course I could always tell Annie that I don’t want to hear anything about Ben, but I don’t want to come across as the big relationship loser, and I would appear to be emotionally unstable if I ruled out conversation about the most significant thing to happen to me, ever. Then Annie would pass this along to Ray who, as a man, would not have the good sense and tact to keep it to himself, and would instead tell Ben what a pitiful case I am. Moreover, if Annie obliges my request to avoid mention of Ben, I inevitably will read all sorts of things into her ensuing silence. I will wind up thinking that, yes, I told Annie I didn’t want to discuss Ben, but if the report were favorable to me (unfavorable for Ben) she’d somehow find a way to sneak it into the
conversation, as in, I know you didn’t want to hear anything about Ben, but he asks about you every time we see him and he seems desperately lonely without you.

In any event, this invitation forces my hand.

And that, in a nutshell, neatly sums up the sort of hyperanalytical lunacy women are constantly processing, at the drop of a hat (or invite, in this case). Back soon!

Still kicking, despite the quiet

Good readers: my apologies for the long silence since the last post. You were so zealous in continuing the comment thread even long after I had posted my friend’s emails that I had hopes of creaking by on that for a while — which sort of worked. But as assiduous reader VJ points out, it’s now been at least ... gulp ... a quarter since even that post, and still no signs or hints of the once-touted Sexless 2.0.

That, I hope, is still coming, though talks and other such needed details to actually launch the new version have been sidelined along with things like, say, blogging. Why exactly is that, you ask? Two reasons:

1. I now hold a real (and fairly consuming though generally not too overdemanding) job
2. I mostly live a spinster’s life

The job
I won’t go into too much detail on the first point, but the short version is that after working several months as a temp, the company I first began trekking out to last December made a real and indentured woman of me in May — “indentured” only in the best sense, of course. Since then I’ve been happily employed in such tasks as making sure to get my share of the twice-weekly organic fruit delivery and, lately, remembering how many other colleagues I’m collecting the Starbucks Song of the Day cards for. Well, those tasks and what they pay me for. On the whole, though, it’s probably one of the best jobs I’ve ever had (aside from the less-than-ideal commute, which can take up to 90 minutes one way, and never less than 45 — but this only when I carpool, which isn’t always). I’m nicely challenged in the work I do, have a great boss, and work with a small team of people I much like collaborating with.

I’m even getting to do a bit of paid travel! Starting Thursday, which is why I can’t make any promises of kicking this barely-blogging rut any time soon. In fact, once I leave town, I’ll be on the road almost three weeks straight — one week in New Orleans (with a quick stopover in Texas to see family), two days home, then off to India for a 9-day Thanksgiving trip to see a friend. Once back from that trip, the month is almost over, and I have just less than two weeks before my last trip of the year (at present): off to Chicago for a conference. With all this on top of wrapping up final details for the book (almost to the galley stage) and keeping up on knitting for the countless friends of mine having babies, I must be chary with promises of any blogging resurgence.

There is nonetheless the hope that jaunting off for such a colorful place as New Orleans, a town already famous in company lore for certain prior employee hijinx, and attending a meeting of several thousand could yield some adventures ... but who knows.

The spinster life
You see, whether because I've left New York and a larger church or am now cheerily staring down 30 (I’ve got eight months left in my 20s), there hasn’t been much in the way of a love life lately ... or actually in the last year. Yup, that’s how long I’ve been out here now (though it’s hard to believe), but other than having found myself a great coffee shop peopled with some fascinating older men (which word I use in the most platonic sense ... aside from their occasional efforts to flirt), there hasn’t been much to report in terms of contact with the other sex.

But really, when you spend 10 or 11 hours on work and commuting (with a wee spot of knitting or shopping squeezed in here and there), you’re doing well to have the occasional outing with friends, keep up on laundry and still cook your own meals often enough to keep within a budget. And somehow, all that pottering ’round the house on weekends and savoring Saturday sleep-ins just hasn’t led to meeting men. Finding great new recipes, yes, but men ... not so much. We’ll see what New Orleans can do me for (as the characters in a book I just finished [at right] say sometimes) ... besides great beignets, coffee and music.

Thanks for your long-suffering readership!

Keen for greens, lean on cash?

Last month I had a chance to lunch with a reader, who mentioned in passing that she’s been growing her own garden this summer. Said tale of backyard veggies was so inspiring that a week or so later, I spent my Saturday digging through the California clay behind my house, coached in said “tilling” by a friend of my housemate’s, Garden Buddy.

Nearly one month later, I’ve got green beans, carrots, lettuce and chard reaching sunward every day, with shoots from recently sprouted pumpkin and zucchini seeds madly racing to catch up. Despite the lost sleep from rising 10 minutes earlier each day to water, I’m finding it’s more than worth the delight of checking my “babies” each day when I get home from work.

So what if you’re not as land-spoiled (or intrepid about worms and weeding) as I, but still want to ingest more-healthful produce, preferably without wiping out your beer fund? The answer (thanks to a girlfriend’s morning email tip): this guide on which produce is most worth buying organic.

Disclaimer: I know the above isn’t all that love-life germane (unless perchance you need a game-plan on how to woo a vegan with your cooking), but these days either my life as both sexless and dateless leaves this blog rather postless ... or the contents range more broadly.

Personally, I’m happier being more content with this season. Life was far more stressful when it revolved around the ever-absent Relationship. If you, however, prefer that posts herein serve all-romance, all the time, feel free to say so in the comments. I can promise, though, a male guest blogger perspective on the timidity of certain Jesus freaks, coming soon.

Chills ’n fevah!

I know. You’re probably surprised some guy in the Caymans hasn’t taken up squatting this here domain (or whatever the proper term is). I think I’m almost equally shocked myself.

What I’m not is well, sadly. Some fevah hit me Saturday, and I’ve been home sick ever since (except for Easter, that is — can’t miss the hymns!). That’s meant to be both update and excuse, I guess. The good news is, whenever I manage to lick this thing (they tell me a fever is good news, and the thing you really want most to lick is not so much the fevah itself as its adversary), I’m super-close to wrapping up final edits. For real.

And that means ... Yes ... A final return to blogging! Less talking about Sexless 2.0, and more implementation.

So, in the mean time, go to it, body! Fight that virus, fever!

And thanks for your extremely longsuffering patience, to the readers who still check this blog.

Yes, I’m still alive!

Dahlings, I haven’t forgotten you, I promise, but life’s been sadly rather busy. And since I’m still slogging through a final edit on the book, I really can’t justify taking time from that to write this. Happily, though, I seem to be nearing the end at last. If nothing else, I’ll try to post a reply to Brent and VJ’s latest comments on my reader question, but hopefully I’ll be free to write that long-overdue full-length response in a week or two.

Haven’t read the dialogue of which I speak? Check it out and add your own thoughts!

About this here silence ...

I fear some of you have started to think I’ve died or something, but rest assured, it’s only a brief hibernation while I gear up for Sexless 2.0, settle into life with my new 21-year-old roommate (yes, I really do mean roommate), and otherwise ease into life on the West Coast.

2.0 launch has been pushed back to February, alas, but I will probably post a few more “classic” entries, and perhaps address a reader query until then.

Thanks for your patience! And keep checking back here over the next few weeks.

xox from the Bay,
AB

Don’t hate me ’cause I’m swamped ...

But since I’m madly dashing to meet my deadline (11 days and counting!), no time to blog this week, except to share my soundtrack for the fortnight or so. Yeah for MySpace!

soulful stuff

• Starting us off with some white-boy soul: Jamie Lidell. Check out “Multiply.”
• Then see also Ray LaMontagne — American, but that growl says he’s seen his share of pain (a possible prerequisite for getting soul right). Check out “Three More Days.”
• And now that I know they’re not some crummy rap band from L.A. ... Hooray for British hip-hop! That is to say (per reader correction) Americans making hip-hop across the Atlantic: Gnarls Barkley. Throw up your hands for “Crazy.” (OK, so I’m getting populist.)
  

when you’re mellow yellow

• Nifty Oregon folk-rock with a blues tinge: M. Ward (courtesy, Paste sampler, September ’06). Check out “Chinese Translation.”
• And to show I like more than one band outta S.F., Vienna Teng. Paste pick I liked was “Whatever You Want,” but it’s not online right now
• Getting the “Funny name, great songs” award: Old Crow Medicine Show. Paste pick I liked was “My Good Gal,” but it’s not online right now ... Can you tell whose samplers I took on my recent NoCaro trip?!!

romp-stompin’ good fun

• New York fans, keep an ear out — this band’s local! Ollabelle. Pastepick I liked was “Fall Back” but it’s not online presently, so check out some of their other stuff.
• Elvis Costello & Allen Toussaint — their “Tears Tears and More Tears” makes most excellent driving music (courtesy, Paste, as always).

Back in a bit, dahlings. Thanks for your patience!!!!!