You stay classy, San Diego. I’m Ron Burgundy?

We made it back from San Diego, dear readers! My friends’ wedding was wonderful and joyous, and I got to embarrass myself when I was called one to do Just One Thing: introduce the new couple.

I stood by the gate that led into the reception in the courtyard of the church, got everyone’s attention, and announced, “It’s with the greatest joy that I introduce Ian and Jessica Kelley!”

At that moment, the delivery truck for Raphael’s Party Rentals pulled up outside the gate. Ian & Jess were not in this pickup truck, and the photographer was not excited about taking pictures of the bride & groom with Raphael’s truck in the background.

So the wedding planner asked the truck to move. I waited till I definitely saw the happy couple a few steps from the gate, and said, “It is with slightly less spontaneity but just as much joy that I introduce Ian & Jessica Kelley!”

And everything worked out. There are even pictures, if you don’t believe me. (Amy will post hers soon, and they’re SO much better than mine, so check back at her site for them.)

In-N-Out

We’re here for 44 hours in San Diego! Of course, I made a mess of the trip before it even started, by slicing a nice bit out of my finger last night, which led to nearly 3 hours in and around the emergency room of the hospital where I was born.

The cut was of the grotesque variety that can’t be stitched up, so treatment consists of “keep pressure on it”. They gave me two doses of Surgifoam to keep pressed on it, but that’s all melted away, so now I’m just wrapping it in sterile gauze and surgical tape, and taking antibiotics to prevent gangrene. This post is being typed without the use of the middle finger of my right hand. Which, I should point out, I cut while slicing a lime for my G&T last night. Adventures in gin, indeed.

On the plus side, we’re in San Diego! And my best friends are getting hitched! Off to the rehearsal dinner! (even though we sneaked over to In-N-Out for burgers a few hours ago.)

Quitters Never Win

Last week, I received the dissolution papers for my old publishing company. I waited quite a while before filing to dissolve it. While some of you might suspect it was because I harbored a romantic desire to get back into publishing, it was actually because I was scared that I would file something wrong. Essentially, it was like that dream where you’re taking the SATs but you haven’t prepared, and you’re naked, and you’re talking to a snake who’s wearing a vest, and —

But I’ve said too much.

Anyway, the company is officially dissolved, which leaves me very relieved. There were a variety of reasons I failed (or, “was not capable of succeeding”) in the literary publishing business, some of which I beat myself up over, and others of which were utterly beyond my control.

Which brings me to Dave Eggers. Last I week, I found a neat article in Forbes about Eggers’ work as a publisher. Now I didn’t get far when I tried reading Eggers’ blockbuster book, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, and I made some pretty savage remarks about the book to various friends and acquaintances, but maybe I’ve just got an aesthetic blind spot.

Or maybe not. It’s not germane to this rant. Regardless of the book’s merits, it sold a bazillion copies and made a bunch of money for the author. Admirably, he put some of it into worthwhile causes, including learning centers for kids. He’s also continued his quirky literary mag, McSweeney’s, and built up an independent publishing company.

Since it’s in Forbes, the article discusses some of the business practices of Eggers as a publisher. In particular, it explores how his early failure with Might led to a different business model with McSweeney’s:

When he began, Eggers was no stranger to traditional publishing. He’d co-founded the influential but short-lived Gen-X magazine Might in the mid-1990s, which taught him that dependence on advertising is a road to frustration. With Might, he says, it “seemed crazy that an advertiser–or a 22-year-old media planner–could determine whether or not your magazine had merit, how many pages you could print or whether (in the end) you existed at all.”

Might folded in 1997, and Eggers embarked on a different path a year later. With McSweeney’s, Eggers chose to start a much smaller publication, with a modest distribution and a very high cover price (between $22 and $24 per issue). He managed to win a readership without having to play the advertising game.

“We were determined to rely only on the support of readers. We grew only in relation to what readers would support,” Eggers says.

We learn that McSweeney’s grew among independent bookstores before reaching major distribution:

McSweeney’s Quarterly–which now prints 20,000 copies an issue and remains the flagship money-maker for the company–is now distributed by San Francisco-based Publishers Group West, which puts McSweeney’s products on the shelves of online and chain retailers as well as independents.

And this is where I pulled up short. I scrolled back to the top of the article and checked the dateline: Dec. 1, 2006. Unfortunately, this article about the growth of McSweeney’s Publishing came out four weeks before its distributor, Publishers Group West, went bankrupt.

According to this article in the San Francisco Chronicle, McSweeney’s was left $600,000 in the hole by this turn of events, most of that cash intended for a Sudanese refugee charity (Eggers pledged the proceeds of his new book to that cause: like I said, he seems like a good guy).

There are bailout plans from at least two other distributors, promising between 70% and 85% of the money owed to the publishers who choose to participate. But the very fact that this occurred, and was so unforeseen, makes a major point about independent publishing.

See, the article was structured such that Eggers learns from the pitfalls of his first publishing venture, and decides to follow a different path. He gets away from the advertiser-supported world in favor of reader-supported projects. Eventually, this model is so successful that the company seeks larger distribution to reach more readers. Then there are years of success, followed by the cataclysm of PGW’s collapse.

The worst part about this is, McSweeney’s Publishing did nothing wrong. It was a success story, financially and artistically/aesthetically (so I’m told), but the very framework of the business meant that it had to trust a distributor to help promote books to buyers, physically get them to stores, collect payments, handle returns, and a million other things. There’s no way that a publisher can do all that on the scale that Eggers’ company had grown.

Now, please don’t read this as sour grapes on my part. I’m not happy about PGW’s collapse, nor about the hit that McSweeney’s took. I’m hoping that the company bounces back, finds a new, stable distributor, and continues fighting the good fight.

What you should read this as is a lament for how difficult it is to successfully publish books, especially for an independent company. On the tiny scale I operated on, it was silly to keep going (and thanks for never bothering to pay me, Small Press Distributors, you lousy sonsabitches), but it’s a shame when the publishers with a real presence can get struck down by circumstances so utterly out of their control.

Four More Years?

Happy anniversary, dear readers! Today marks four years since I started writing Virtual Memories, and I can’t believe some of you are still coming back after all this time!

But seriously, thanks for checking in on this site, all of you regulars.

And to all you people who keep getting to this site because you’re looking for images of Giada De Laurentiis, I’m sorry, but I only have that one from the Gatorade post.

Anyway, I’m glad I’ve been able to keep this blog going for so long. Despite the season, you should have a G&T (or the drink of your choice, but the G&T is the official drink of VM) in honor of Virtual Memories tonight! (In fact, if you take a picture of yourself drinking one (or the aforementioned drink of choice), e-mail it over to me, I’ll post it in a goofy flickr photoset!)

Cheers! And here’s to many more years of strange links, random reminiscences, and quotidian ague!

Mall crawl

A lot of my years were spent in malls. Most of my friends detest malls, or at least profess to, but I embrace them. I enjoy meandering through high-end ones with quirky boutique shops, and I enjoy visiting the occasional Mall of the Living Dead, if only to see how it can all go wrong, and how a new highway can leave a landmark in the dust. I am unabashedly obsessed with retail in its many shapes and guises.

Fortunately, I live and work close to Paramus, NJ, which puts me in proximity of a broader array of retail than you can imagine. One of the neat things about Paramus is that, despite having a mind-blowingly huge amount of malls and strips, everything is shut down on Sunday. Here’s a neat newspaper article about the town, its evolution, and just how much the locals treasure that day off.

Say hello to Hollywood

Derek Lowe writes about a great article in the February issue of The Scientist. The anonymous author discusses the flaws in the R&D model among major pharma companies and develops an interesting method of fixing them: Go Hollywood!

Big Pharma continues to follow the old studio model, though there are signs that this may be changing. A similar and necessary evolution to what Hollywood underwent in the 1950s may be beginning, with increasingly more drugs being discovered outside Big Pharma, presumably because the R&D process elsewhere is more conducive to creativity. Biotechs or small pharma settings tend to be flexible and nonhierarchical, with a tolerance for mistakes and constructive dissent — all characteristics of environments that nurture creativity and innovation. Consequently, the trend towards more drugs being discovered outside Big Pharma is likely to accelerate.

There is a precedent for pharma emulating Hollywood: Pharma’s main preoccupation, the creation of blockbusters, was directly copied from Hollywood. The blockbuster model is really defined by broad and aggressive marketing, though the term is less accurately, if more commonly, used to define revenue thresholds. Hollywood’s blockbuster model was created in 1951, when the term was first applied to the movie Quo Vadis because of its then-huge budget of $7 million and the unprecedented zeal of its promotion.

I know it sounds bizarre, and it may be dry subject matter, but this is a really compelling opinion piece, and I think laymen (like myself) can gain a lot of perspective from it on some of the problems with developing new drugs.

Blame it on the rain

The Colts win left me at 2-9 for this year’s Playoff “Challenge”, while Ron Rosenbaum went 6-5. More importantly, I’m out $50 after the Bears failed to cover. Of course, devoted readers of this site — seek help! — may recall such remarks as

Rex Grossman looks like the most confused quarterback in the NFL, with literally no ability to grasp when the pocket is collapsing.

and

Rex Grossman is a terrible QB.

Unfortunately, I had to stick with Chicago +7 to have any chance at salvaging some pride in this playoff debacle, and the city of big shoulders let me down. On the plus side, their wind chill is about 20 degrees worse than the wind chill here in NJ right now. And maybe I’ll stop getting a bazillion google hits from people trying to find out if Rex Grossman is Jewish. (He’s not.)

At least our little party went well. Amy’s red beans and rice and her king cake bestowed a nice Mardi Gras vibe, and our company was top-notch. We didn’t take any pictures during the festivities, but Amy will soon post some shots of the food preparation and display. I even broke out my framed copy of the Super Bowl Shuffle 12-inch record, just to get some Chicago mojo going.

Oh, well. Time to get ready to fail at my March Madness picks. . .

(P.S.: Many thanks to Ron Rosenbaum for being a good sport and participating in the NFL Playoff Challenge. Pick up his new book, The Shakespeare Wars, and/or his tremendous collection of writing, The Secret Parts of Fortune. You’ll thank me.)

Monday Morning Montaigne

This week’s Montaigne passage comes from Of the Power of the Imagination. When I saw that title, I assumed it would be an essay on creativity and art.

Nope! Turns out it’s all about erectile dysfunction!

People are right to notice the unruly liberty of this member, obtruding so importunately when we have no use for it, and failing so importunately when we have the most use for it, and struggling for mastery so imperiously with our will, refusing so much pride and obstinacy our solicitations, both mental and manual.

If, however, in the matter of his rebellion being blamed and used as proof to condemn him, he had paid me to please his cause, I should perhaps place our other members, his fellows, under suspicion of having framed this trumped-up charge out of sheer envy of the importance and pleasure of the use of him, and of having armed everyone against him by a conspiracy, malignantly charging him alone with their common fault. For I ask you to think whether there is a single one of the parts of our body that doesn’t often refuse its function to our will and exercise it against our will.

It even has a “friend of mine” anecdote that’s pretty obviously referring to the author himself. Anyway, I enjoyed this one much more than the previous, which was about how philosophizing is how we prepare for death. Especially since the passage above leads into a digression on flatulence.

Adventures in Gin

We stocked up for tonight’s party at Bottle King yesterday and, as is my wont, I sidled over to the gin section to look over the wares. They had one of my favorite gins in stock: Martin Miller’s. There were two of the six-sided bottles on the shelf, so I grabbed the first one, with its familiar blue foil-wrapped top. The one behind it had a silver top, which struck me as odd. I picked up both bottles and looked them over, trying to figure out if there was any other difference, or if the company had just changed its packaging slightly.

Finally, I noticed that the silver-topped bottle included the words “Westbourne Strength” on the label, as well as in frosted panel down the sides. Checking their resepective alcohol contents, it turned out that this bottle was 10 proof higher than the blue-topped bottle. Naturally, I picked it up for tonight’s G&Ts.

Now, does anyone have any idea why it’s called “Westbourne Strength”? I’m thinking it might be some sorta “Westsiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide!” thing for snooty gins, but that can’t be right. I tried e-mailing Martin Miller’s, but got an undeliverable bounceback. So if you have any clue as to why my new gin has this name, please let me know.

And if you ever stay at the hotel that they run in London, tell me how it is.