per usual, you heard it here first

In the ever popular “is the Wall Street Journal ripping off ideas from my blog?” category: just days after I illustrate having raised the techniques of slacking to high art the venerable WSJ runs a story on, you guessed it, how to slack off more effectively.

Related Note: Ironically, whether or not the WSJ is stealing my ideas, the New York Times is certainly doing so, though in a more sanctioned context, as I’ve recently been doing some advising (on topics related to tech, film, 20-somethings, etc.) for a number of section editors. One very cool upcoming article to watch for in a future Sunday Style: the long-term effects of blogging on bloggers’ lives.

Update 5/17: As promised, the Sunday Style article on personal blogs’ impact on bloggers’ lives, plus another on the New York blogs I got the Style section hooked on reading. Seems I’m single-handedly shaping the editorial agenda of the venerable Gray Lady. A scary, scary thought.

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May 15, 2003

street cred

Jay-Z is currently shooting his next music video directly outside my window. I’m fairly sure that makes me officially ghetto fabulous.

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May 14, 2003

today’s quote

“The true man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything.”
— Friedrich Nietzsche

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May 13, 2003

the shadow knows

Michael Simmons, rising business guru and author of an excellent new book on student entrepreneurship, recently emailed to see if he could shadow me for a day or two, using his findings as anecdotes in his future writings. In theory, I was absolutely flattered. In practice, I was absolutely terrified, mostly at the thought of how short of his expectations such shadowing would fall.

People frequently say to me “you’ve accomplished so much; your days must be incredibly busy.” In fact, they’re not at all. I wish they were. But, in the heat of the moment, I’m a terrible, undisciplined worker, frequently unable to actually sit down and accomplish anything. In those rare moments that I do apply my butt to my Aeron chair, my hands to my ergonomic keyboard, and my brain to the problem at hand, I can bang out work at a whirlwind pace, concentrating laser-like for hours on end where necessary. So much of my day, however, is taken up by the exact opposite – carefully determining what I should be doing and then simply not doing it – that the thought of having someone watch the entire process as a model for achievement strikes me as embarrassingly ridiculous.

To better illustrate, consider my schedule on a representative day from the past week:

8:00 am
Wake up.

9:00 am
Wake up, again.

9:30 am
Wake up, yet a third time. Stumble out of bed to prevent falling back asleep. Consider going into the office but decide instead to work from home. No need to shower, in that case. Could make breakfast, but the tail end of the previous night’s hangover makes the thought of eating somewhat dicey. Instead, briefly check inbox to make sure all email can be temporarily ignored and cell phone to see that nobody tried to track me down in the middle of the night. That accomplished, sit down in desk chair and space out.

9:45 am
Walk into living room. Colin (a roommate and Cyan’s Exec VP) appears to be working at home as well, though much more efficiently than I, having already showered, eaten breakfast, and read halfway through a script sent to us by a large literary agency. Stride purposefully into kitchen, lest Colin think I’m not doing something highly important and executive. Sit down at kitchen table and space out again.

10:00 am
With refrigerator this nearby, decide perhaps I could eat after all. While standing, toss back haphazard breakfast consisting of a very large spoonful of peanut butter, two glasses of milk, a banana, two slices of whole wheat bread, four hard boiled eggs (sans yolk), a chunk of gouda, and a handful of Crispix. Return to desk, sit down and look at daunting to do list.

10:10 am
Decide instead of accomplishing anything on list to look at Metafilter, Google News, Gawker, and a handful of other regularly visited blogs. Consider making the endeavor more productive by emailing various contacts links I’ve come across relevant to their work or interests, but decide the idea is a bit too Harvey Mackay, close all browser windows and look again at to do list.

10:30 am
In search of lesser evils, ignore to do items again in favor of previously ignored emails. Contemplate best approach to standard weekly melodramas emerging on I Love Your Work. Add three or four related calls to ignored to do list for completion once the callee’s arrive in their California offices.

11:00 am
Decide to start chipping away at to do list after all by accomplishing smallest, least daunting tasks, in this case daily practice of guitar and upright bass, two new instruments I’m trying to learn.

11:20 am
Realize I’ll probably have to do some actual work sooner or later, so, taking opposite approach of previous effort, choose the ugliest, most daunting task on the list, and (surprisingly painlessly and quickly) bang out new drafts of several key co-production financing term sheets for Miller (our next film). Send them to Yoav (Cyan’s Finance VP) for feedback.

12:15 pm
Reward myself for actually having done something productive by pissing around with HSX portfolio.

12:30 pm
Meet Yoav at the Go Sushi on the corner (as he, similarly, is working from home, and lives about a block and a half away). Eat bad chicken teriyaki bento box and go over Yoav’s changes to the term sheets as well as general fiscal strategy for the film.

1:15 pm
Receive call about previously read-about I Love Your Work melodrama and decide now is good time to spring in to action on previously noted calls. Via phone: shake hands, kiss babies, play good cop, play bad cop, and, for yet one more day at least, manage to keep all the various parties involved in finishing the film happy enough that we continue to roll ahead towards a polished finished product. Feel good about life due to positive comments on the state of the cut from several of the more respected of the individuals called.

2:00 pm
As further escapism, practice trumpet.

2:45 pm
Get back to work. Open draft of an investment document, stare at screen, get up, wander aimlessly, sit down, stare at screen, repeat, repeat, repeat. Intermittently stop in kitchen to pick up various snacks before returning to more blank staring and aimless wandering.

3:30 pm
Saved by a string of work calls. Engage in more cajoling, threatening, hard and soft selling, in the end yielding surprising progress on a couple of Cyan and Paradigm Blue projects.

4:30 pm
Yoav has headed into the office briefly to check for some incoming documents, and stops by our apartment on the way back to hand off a number of just-received scripts. We stop to watch a daily movie (a key Cyan ritual), and though we should select something like Paths of Glory or Ponette (both in from Netflix), we decide to watch a recently completed Portuguese film (Chasing Life) we received along with one of the incoming scripts from the same writer/director. After about fifteen minutes, it is entirely clear there isn’t a chance in hell we’d produce any of this guy’s films, yet, in the same way one might touch a canker sore on the inside of their lip repeatedly just to make sure it still hurts, we can’t help but watch the rest of the film.

6:30 pm
Return to desk to stare at investment document one last time before giving up for the day.

7:00 pm
Off to a dinner meeting at Uncle Nick’s Ouzaria with Hannah and Nicola, the heads of Stellar, a networking group for young New Yorkers in film that wants us to sponsor their upcoming screenwriting competition. We get sidetracked from the ostensible purpose of the dinner fairly quickly, which is probably just as well as the two have yet to prepare any sort of concrete sponsorship proposal. The food is excellent.

9:30 pm
Head over to Russian Samovar to meet Yoav and Colin for a general rundown on all things Cyan, as well as for several carafes of New York’s best handcrafted vodka. Natasha, our favorite bartender, is out sick for the evening, so sadly we actually have to pay for the drinks.

12:15 am
Stumble back home. Consider relooking at forsaken investment document, but decide it would be better saved until more sober moment. Get ready for bed.

12:45 am
Spring out of bed with sudden relevation about the digital future of film distribution, a relief since the Director’s Guild wants me to talk at their upcoming Digital Day about this very thing, and I previously haven’t a clue in the world what I might say.

1:30 am
Back to bed.

1:45 am
Spring out of bed a second time with an idea for a short story.

2:00 am
Back to bed.

2:22 am
Having lain somewhat drunkenly awake thus far, convince myself that my alarm clock’s current numeric alliteration must be a good omen. Roll over and finally fall asleep.

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May 12, 2003

the best and brightest

Though, over time, I’ve progressed closer and closer to a Good Will Hunting view of education (“You wasted $150,000 on an education you coulda got for a buck fifty in late charges at the public library.”), occasionally I’m hit with a pang of ivory tower remorse. Perhaps, I catch myself thinking, there is something to be gained from time in the world of academia. Perhaps heading back for a PhD would be a noble, worthwhile pursuit that would enrich…

And then, at that point, just as such thoughts crescendo to their most feverish pitch, I fortunately and inevitably come across something like this.

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May 11, 2003

the great cleanup

Despite a scarily slow start, yesterday’s Derby party surpassed any of our expectations, pulling more than eighty revelers, a fair number of whom stayed until we finally kicked them out at five in the morning. The mix was exceedingly eclectic, from Ivy Leaguers to Knicks dancers, with musicians, actors, investment bankers, med school students, an MTV VJ and a slew of filmmakers in between.

Still, we woke this morning to find our apartment covered in a thick layer of Boones, juleps and Old Milwaukee, and spent much of the day scrubbing the remnants away. As a result, our apartment is now the cleanest we’ve seen it – better even than its relatively pristine state when we moved in mid-November, and certainly better than it stood on Friday, considering we’d not actually cleaned the place in the intervening six months since the move (as evidenced particularly by the state of our bathroom, christened by at least one previously overnighting female as “absolutely, disgustingly unusable”). In the whirlwind clean-a-thon, we even went so far as to remove the windows from their frames for a thorough inside and out Windexing – with them transparent rather than the previous opaque, we’ve now discovered we overlook a busy street in front and a small park in back.

Stunned by the beauty of our apartment in its newly washed down state, we’ve vowed to clean the place regularly, a sentiment that should last until slightly before whenever we next had intended to clean. Consequently, we’re preemptively planning another party for later this summer as a sort of backup plan. The next post-party cleanup should bring us back to pristine, no matter how bad the inevitable downhill slide in the months between.

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May 4, 2003

post-derby throwdown

About a month back, my roommates and I decided it was time to throw a housewarming party. Or, rather, it was well past time for a housewarming party, considering we moved into the apartment back in November. Which, essentially, was the problem – we couldn’t really call it a housewarming party without sounding like morons, especially considering that several large rooms in our apartment are still largely unfurnished. Compounding that problem was the issue of high expectations – the last time the three of us regularly held parties, they were good enough to eventually become the basis of a movie on Comedy Central.

After some thought, we settled upon the idea of a Derby party. One of us, Colin, being from Kentucky, we figured had some legitimate claim on the event. So, in typical style, we talked about the idea for several weeks without actually doing anything. Then, about a week back, with the panic of true procrastination, we sat down and banged out an Evite:

Dearest Friends and Lovers:

Next Saturday, May 3rd, 10 p.m. Mark the date on your calendar with a large, red pen.

We, the proprietors of the Gotham Sugar Shack, invite you’ns (and yer sister) to join us in celebrating the Kentucky Derby. Yes, this is a theme party (sans the spooky masks, organ music, and sacrificial orgies).

Here’s how it works: our lovely Sugar Shack will be divided into an “infield” and a “grandstand” (a la Churchill Downs). In non-Kentucky speak, that means you should dress either as “southern gentry” or “white trash.” (i.e. Scarlett O’Hara vs. Daisy Duke). We’re serious about this; we’ll have a big motherfucker at the door checkin’ for overalls or white seersucker.

By the miracle of Tivo, we’ll have a midnight broadcast of the ACTUAL KENTUCKY DERBY. That means real horses running in a circle for 60 seconds. Then the race is over (but the party will continue going round and round). Let us know below which horse you think will win – placing bettors will receive genuine horse products. That’s what they do in Kentucky, and that’s what we’ll be doing in Hell’s Kitchen.

We’ll provide cheap beer & wine coolers (infield), Mint Juleps & champagne (grandstand), and fried chicken. But please bring a bit of your own beer, bourbon, or chicken to help the Ol’ Kentucky Cause.

And remember: Everybody Pig It!!!

Yours and we are,
Joshua, James, & Colin

Amazingly, over sixty of our friends have RSVP’ed. And, more than likely, thirty or forty more will be showing up unannounced.

But we’ll be ready for them. As promised, we’ve stocked up on champagne, marinated mint for the juleps, bought out every flavor of Boones, and filled giant Styrofoam coolers with Schaefer, Schlitz, Schlitz Ice, Schmidt’s, Old Milwaukee and Pabst Blue Ribbon. We’ve decorated the Infield with a holographic Jesus, an American flag made of Christmas lights, empty buckets of fried chicken, and NASCAR paraphernalia, while the grandstand has pictures of Secretariat and My Old Kentucky Home.

And, best of all, we’re suited up and ready to go. Colin and James are holding up the white trash end of the spectrum (with James doing the modern variant, and Colin a retro Hatfield/McCoy), while I’ve picked up a seersucker suit/bowtie/suede shoe ensemble.

In short, we’re set. If you’re going to throw a party, we say, throw a fucking party.

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May 3, 2003