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This weekend has been a vivid reminder of why I'm not usually an early adopter.

I upgraded to Lion (Mac OS 10.7), and everything went smoothly, except for one bug:

Every three or four hours my Internet connection will just stop working, and seconds later all my applications will lock up, forcing me to do a hard restart. Sometimes Spotlight demands to reindex my hard drive (which takes about three hours), and permissions always need to be repaired, and one of my Safari plugins always needs to be reinstalled. Otherwise I experience no real problems. But still, not fucking cool.
I was really nervous about the final run of the week, which jumps from eight minutes at a time to twenty consecutive minutes. I was a wreck after the eight minutes, so I thought twenty would more or less kill me.

I realize now that I've been going about it all wrong. I run on a track, which I like, but I've also been using it to motivate myself when I start to get tired. I can say things to myself, like, "hey, you might be tired, but there's only one lap left before you can walk again! That's not very far at all. You can do that in your sleep."

That was maybe helpful at a certain point, but I think counting laps like that got in my way. It can make the run look more daunting maybe than it is, or cause me to do weird things with my pace, or maybe not breathe properly when I know I only have so much distance left to cover.

So for tonight's run, which I was really intimidated by, I changed my strategy completely. I said to myself "look, you only know three things. You know that you run when you're told to run, you walk when you're told to walk, and no matter what else is going on, you must not ever run out of breath. That is the sum total of your knowledge for this evening."

And I made that run my fucking bitch.

I feel better, way better, than I did after Wednesday's run. I am less sore, less tired, and definitely feeling the runner's high to greater degree.

I mean. Fuck yeah.

In Conversation

I was recently interviewed by Finn Harvor on the current state of the book/publishing industry. I hope I made at least a little bit of sense.

-- stop answering his cellphone in restaurants
- ride in the backseat of a taxi


After six years of work, I finally finished the final draft of my short story "Mark Jarvis, Prophet". It's only ten pages long, but it's finally fucking finished. It only took, what, twenty or thirty drafts?

And yes, it's about a guy who has a tumour in his bum that predicts the future when he farts. It makes sense when you read it, I promise.

Dec. 11th, 2008

I'm not sure I care anymore.
Q: Where do you find a tortoise with no legs?

A: Exactly where you left it.

David Foster Wallace, 1962 - 2008

David Foster Wallace, novelist, essayist, and author of short fiction, was found dead on Friday night, an apparent suicide. Not everything I've said about him over the years was favourable, but he was a bright point in contemporary letters, and he will be missed. It saddens me that he felt such a drastic measure was necessary.

Me and Fiona II

Belated birthday gift from James and Amanda.