This is about my process. I begin with several journals in which I try to capture every possible idea or observation that could become an epigram, essay or a chapter in a book. These are unrelated sketches that I might delete, post, or expand. Or they might become the germ of something entirely different. I call this journal Crimes of Capitalism because it evokes the current mood of the country.

Chicago winter, mid-Twentieth century, ten degrees and the murderous wind off the lake. I’m walking down the alley, crunching snow, wool watch cap and parka, and I hear this faint voice, “Hey kid!” Look around, see nobody and start walking again. “Hey kid!” The voice almost seems to be coming from the sky. I look up and there’s a lineman on top of a telephone pole. “Hey kid, stay in school so you don’t end up like me.” So I did. True story. Yeah, but you ended up becoming a plumber. Well, that’s another story. 

I’m thinking of writing a culinary sartorial cookbook. It would contain tips such as: Never eat spaghetti with tomato sauce while wearing a blue shirt with a white collar. And never say yes to “You like spicy?” when ordering Tom Yum Goong soup in a Thai restaurant while wearing a heavy flannel shirt. And why you must immediately order a glass of white wine after hearing something so funny you snorted cabernet down the front of your new silk blouse. And the genius of wearing paisley or tie-dye if you’re a naturally messy eater.

When I was in high school I used to browse the dime bins of 45 rpm records at Woolworths on State St. in Chicago. Felt sorry for the old ladies standing all day at the cheap cosmetics counter. The same Woolworths I would be picketing with CORE a few years later because their stores in the south had segregated lunch counters. One day I saw something that looked promising, “Killing Floor” by a singer named Howling Wolf, on Chess Records. Forget what the flip side was. Invested my dime, took it home and listened to it 400 times, could not stop. This is the kind of music that changes your life. I saw Wolf perform a couple of times and if you had, it was easy to understand why other blues musicians were afraid of him. Demonic energy comes to mind. No way you can make music this powerful without selling your soul to the devil. “We talking about the life of a human being, how they live.”- Howling Wolf

The grandchildren are listening to a Jewish children’s record. It goes: “Old McDonald had a farm/Oy yoy yoy yoy yoy.” Sounds silly, but then I think of how farmers talk about farming. It’s always doom and gloom about weather, crop prices and debt. Oy yoy yoy yoy yoy.

I have 800 million slaves in my cheap factory in China. They make almost everything I need. I do give them a few Rmbs, just enough to pay for their shared room & a little food. I have communist overseers on my plantation that correct them if they are insolent enough to demand more. Of course I pay the overseers pretty well, but the communists are worth every penny. 

Speaking of the 1%, I was in Macys and a suit ahead of me was returning some clothes. He got one refund, but the clerk was having some trouble with a second. The clerk says, “Just give me a minute sir, you’re entitled to another $20.00. That’s okay, the suit said, “Not worth my time.” And he left. As he should, because One Percenter time is worth far more than twenty bucks a minute. 

People are always asking about the secret of my great hair. Okay. I use Suave shampoo and Suave conditioner. Yeah, they do cost a couple of bucks, and you have to bend down because they’re on the bottom shelf at Walgreens, but you get a really large bottle. A couple of tips: You can extend the shampoo by adding water when it gets low, but I wouldn’t recommend using the last of the conditioner, it gets really grody after about six months. 

 Suggested best times to think about...

1:00 A.M. Emails I should have replied to last week...

1:15 A.M. Calls I should have returned last week...

1:30 A.M. Bills I should have paid last week...

1:45 A.M. Fridge I should have cleaned out last month...

2:00 A.M. Whatever happened to so-and-so?  

2:15 A.M. ...and why we never spoke again after that...

2:30 A.M. People I almost had a thing with and luckily didn’t...  

2:45 A.M. People I had a thing with and wish I hadn’t...

3:00 A.M. Missed business opportunities...  

3:15 A.M. General regrets...  

3:30 A.M. Coulda/shoulda/wouldas... 

3:45 A.M. If only I had...

4:00 A.M. Death.

4:15 A.M. People I know who got a rare disease...

4:30 A.M. Strange blue dot on thigh... 

4:45 A.M. Zombies, vampires, scratching sounds by the window...

5:00 A.M. Whether to get a better mattress...

Nature never ceases to amaze me. What miracle of evolution or intelligent design enables birds to poop precisely at eye level on your windshield? And even more incredibly, how does the bird know that you are late for an appointment across town and out of washer fluid?

Gogol, Nabakov, Flaubert and Hemingway had one thing in common, they all wrote standing up. So that’s all they should teach in writer’s workshops. How to write standing up. It’s a big subject. Comfortable shoes. Good posture so you don’t develop neck or shoulder problems. Rugs and padding on hard floors. View or no view? How about writing on a treadmill? Or standing at a bar? Subway. Wedding. Police lineup.

Such is my process. The journals typically run about fifty pages, expanding and contracting as I add and delete material.