Ripped from the Headlines

Why I will not be killing my treadmill desk

It happened today. I sat down in my elevated desk chair, in front of my elevated desk (probably about four, four and a half feet off the floor) and pulled out my retractable keyboard rest and began working at my computer. And I thought, "Now this is what I wanted."

Getting here has taken time. Years, really. I always said, while stuck at my stationary desk in my old apartment that my next desk would be a treadmill. So when we moved, I got rid of the big hutch desk and plunked down a fair amount of money for a desk that would rise and lower to be either seated or standing. It arrived in November, and I've used it most every day since.

A treadmill desk is, without question, a conversation piece. Tell folks you have one and there's a lift of the eyebrow, a "really?" that's a terrific blend of "that sounds like fun I'd like to try it for a day" and "that is probably not for me no matter how neat it sounds."

In my case, I am the convert I expected to be. That doesn't mean it's a perfect mechanism. And to me, alternating between walking (I average 3-4 hours a day, 2 miles an hour), standing and sitting is crucial. You can't really get away with just doing one: Sitting gets really tough after a while, and standing is no good for long periods -- I tried just standing with my laptop resting on my dresser for a time in the old apartment, and while the height was good, after an hour or so it's tough on the body to stand more or less in one place. And walking, walking is good for a lot of things but not for actual concentrated writing -- so I sit for that. It's about variety, and with my one desk, I'm getting it.

Which is why an article like "Why I Killed My Standing Desk" is irritating. It does provide good options for people who can't stand/walk at their desks to keep moving, so that's useful. But the author posits it as an all-or-nothing proposition: I couldn't stand at my desk forever, ergo standing desks are a bad idea. Dumb.All that said, getting to this point with my treadmill desk has been a bit of a learning curve. A dynamic desk, full of items that are not necessarily meant to move or shift, means you need to adjust. Wires? They'll have to stretch. I have my computer tower under the desk, next to the modem, next to the treadmill, so that helps but then you need to make sure you don't kick the computer accidentally. (The other day my computer kicked back; I gouged the side of my foot on a sharp bit.) And when the desk rises or sinks, at least in my case, you have to compensate for the descending legs, which are a shell over the inner, narrower ones -- you don't want to lower the desk onto equipment, slippers, toes, etc.But I'm learning. We're learning, the desk and me. And for now, I can't imagine having it any other way. Well, maybe I can: I could use a larger office. This thing is a monster!

How to deal with freeloading publishers: Look to 'Goodfellas'

When I got started writing for newspapers and magazines, I did it for peanuts. Not literally legumes, but CDs. I was writing reviews for a tiny paper in Boston called The Beat, which was essentially done out of a basement and given away free in stores, and if I got a free CD out of it -- and sometimes free admittance to a show -- it probably boiled down to around $10 of merch and so forth so in a way I was getting paid ... right?

The Beat did eventually pay in metaphorical peanuts, and I was thrilled to take home an extra $25 here and there, and eventually worked myself up to the level I'm at now -- getting $1 per word, more or less, depending on who I'm writing for. Often, that's just how this stuff works: You write for pittances or freebies, and then you got some clips and self-respect and you move up the ladder, getting paid better with each rung. Never a lot. Never a ton. But enough that it was worth doing and sometimes paid the rent (not always).

We all know the Internet changed everything for writers and publishers alike; words are every freaking place on the Web, and a lot of them say nothing and cost nothing -- it's not like I'm writing this blog for compensation. But the ones that are actually asked for by legitimate, for-profit organizations are worth money -- and should be paid out accordingly. That sounds fair, right? I mean, you ask someone to do something involving writing, your company makes money or burnishes its prestige, you should pay for the work?

Not if you're Random House's new Hydra imprint.

And not if you're The Atlantic.

Caveat: These are very specific situations. I'm not trying to say Random House and The Atlantic pay no one. But based on John Scalzi's take on a contract issued to a Hydra writer, someone over at that imprint is trying to weasel in on e-book publishing through a back door, by pretending its parent company doesn't earn billions -- yes, billions -- every year. In fact, they're actually assuming a writer would like to pay for the privilege of being associated with Random House so badly that they'll overlook a $0 advance and the requirement that they pay for the setup costs and all but sign away copyright.

Meanwhile, The Atlantic has what it appears to now be claiming as a rogue editor who asked a freelance writer to shorten and repurpose a previously-written article to put on their site. The intimation is that the writer would benefit from Atlantic's 13M monthly online readers. Meanwhile, the Atlantic would look awesome with a piece they liked and didn't have to cough up for.

Non-freelance writers might not see the harm in this. But even if Atlantic hadn't asked the writer to change anything, and simply asked for a reprint -- they still should pay for it. It's the principle of the thing: This is an original creation of mine you would like to use to help benefit yourself. That means you owe money.

Fuck you, pay me. Sing it, Ray Liotta.

 

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Why 'American Idol' has nothing to fear from me

Singing has a checkered past with me. I love singing, I love music, but put me in front of people to do it and things haven't always gone so well. (As a kid I was at a summer camp where we were all asked to perform in a pseudo talent show; I thought I could just sing with a record going on behind me, didn't practice, and got seriously booed. And Todd Fishburne, if you're out there, you're still on my list for throwing a bottle.)

Anyhow, I'm currently singing. I've been in a couple of no-audition, no-stress (except for the work involved) choral groups over the past few years, and thought I might be ready to step up. I'm never going on "American Idol" (and wouldn't want to, even if I wasn't past my sell-by date on that show), but I would like to be able to do something properly, and get some challenge doing it.

Be careful what you go looking for -- without giving too much detail, I'm currently doing just that. But: There is an audition song. At first, I thought an audition song would mean you showed up with a song that worked for you, sang it, and they said, "okay, she's not calling any cats," and that would be pretty much it. There has to be a learning curve, right?

Not so much. On the one hand, this group does give you three shots to get a short song of their choosing correct. On the other hand, they want it note perfect, breath perfect and phrasing perfect. And if you can do a little gesturing to emphasize, all the better. And this part of things isn't going so well. It isn't that hard a song. But when you sing your part (I'm a bass, it's all women) alongside the other parts (baritone, tenor, lead), it's easy to trip up and lose your place or start mimicking other parts. And I can't help but wonder if I've overreached this time: I've come very close to getting it right twice, and have just one more audition. That said: I have been practicing, alone I know I can do the song, but at some point there's no substitute for actually singing it with three other parts and getting evaluated -- you can record yourself until you're blue, play it on the piano or just belt it out a capella alone, but if no one who knows the song is around to hear, you can't always know if you messed up.

There are a ton of places I could go in terms of talking more about this, but for now I think I'm going try to capture what's top of mind now: Here's what they don't tell you when you're growing up -- sometimes you can work hard at something, sometimes you can do your best, and sometimes you still can fail. This is such a basic thing, yet we don't underscore it. We keep saying everybody can do anything they want if they just a) want it enough b) try hard enough. And arguably, if I spent the next two weeks (I can't audition again until February) doing nothing but eating, breathing and sleeping this song ... yeah, that could work. It's not practical.

The thing is that sometimes, Stuart Smalley, you aren't good enough. And as a kid who grew up thinking I could do pretty much anything, at least creatively, which led to my getting to a "you did good!" level and then abandoning many things -- which is not the same as actual talent, unless you count the talent for mimicry -- I bought into the notion that if I put my mind to it, I could get things done.

Life doesn't always work out that way. In fact, it often doesn't work out that way. And all of the mind-trickery and Oprah-isms we can conjure won't change it. So that's what I'm sitting with today. A silly failed song audition probably shouldn't be a referendum on the whole person, but I'm still struggling with a little perspective.

Maybe because I'm always pre-flinching for the next bottle.

Blackouts and slippery slopes

Blackout day! Today, several sites around the Internet will be blacking themselves out for 24 hours to bring awareness to SOPA/PIPA, legislation that wants to start the process of muzzling the internet on behalf of corporations. That's a huge generalization, but I've only got a few minutes here. It is funny to think how quickly we've become reliant on things like Wikipedia for information; there was one Twitterer who was amassing all the collective moanings of students saying they wouldn't know how to do their homework without it. Hello: Libraries. We're letting our kids down if the only way they think they can get information is via the internet. The collective hive mind is great and powerful, but only works if we have electricity and a hundred other things going right.

Anyway: Went out of town Friday through Monday. Did my best to eat Paleo by way of the convention food that was available; did bring nuts, dried fruits and real fruit but didn't have a proper refrigerator. The hard-boiled eggs in the staff den were so hard boiled you could have balanced furniture on them; the fruit was excellent, but three days of that is fairly dull. Got a lot of Caesar salads, but even there it's dodgy: No croutons, no cheese, and the dressing is also a no go, so finally I just threw up my hands and did my best. I had one very "off" meal at Redbones (ribs, dontcha know) and that's OK. Then came the cookies. It's a very short slope down to where things had been. That said, I'm back on track and doing well. Really -- not so much cravings, as we don't keep that stuff around the house -- but if you put cake in front of me I am going to start thinking about it.

Caaaaaake.