as my Ask Metafilter reading history:

• http://ask.metafilter.com/83669/Bad-pork-or-just-a-bad-smell
• http://ask.metafilter.com/83681/something-concerning-no-kids
• http://ask.metafilter.com/83689/Super-depressing-winter-murder-movie
• http://ask.metafilter.com/84685/I-do-declare-But-my-XML-doesnt
• http://ask.metafilter.com/83685/Does-this-guy-like-me-or-what
• http://ask.metafilter.com/84701/What-are-some-heavy-guitar-focused-triphop-albums-similar-to-Massive-Attacks-Mezzanine
• http://ask.metafilter.com/83656/allclad-or-bust
• http://ask.metafilter.com/83642/Im-a-bookish-introvert-stuck-in-the-advertising-industry-Help

Proposals for talks are now being accepted for Web 2.0 Expo NYC. The proposal deadline is March 31, and the conference is September 17 – 19, 2008.

I’ll be reviewing proposals on the design/UI and technology front, so you totally have a in. Plus I bet we can get into all the good parties.

Details and the submittal form are here.

The reason I was in New York (other than to visit Death & Company) was to be on the program committee for the Web 2.0 Expo conference in NYC. Between now and then I’ll be reviewing submissions for talks and trying to convince people I know to attend so I’m not standing around awkwardly a lot.

What I learned from the experience is that there are two ways to get on a conference program committee: found multiple successful web startups by your mid-30’s, or to go to high school with the conference chair.

There’s a good article on Accidental Hedonist about the history and revival of rye whiskey. On the one hand, I order rye all the time, so the conceit that it’s been lost is a little surprising. On the other hand, I have no real idea what rye (as opposed to bourbon) tastes like, since I order rye in the context of rye cocktails and never drink it straight.

We just bought a replacement bottle of Old Overholt but I’m definitely tempted by Old Potrero 18th century, in which case I will definitely know what it tastes like because that is not cocktail-level stuff. I may, however, hate it.

In other booze news I finally made it to NYC’s Death & Company on Friday, and while I enjoyed my two cocktails (unlisted on the website), I’m still plenty happy to patronize Green St.

The Master and Margarita

Mikhail Bulgakov (trans. by Burgin & O’Conner)

I’m obsessed with being completely unspoiled about a book once I have made a commitment to reading it. This includes avoiding the back cover or inside flap until I am at least two-thirds of the way through. Since I knew I was going to read The Master and Margarita as part of this project I did no research whatsoever on it. I knew only that it was Russian, obviously, and I had a faint idea that it was written in the 1930’s. Otherwise I approached it as a completely blank slate.

I’ll extend the same courtesy to others and not describe the plot, even though I realize I’m an extremist in this regard. I will instead say this: The Master and Margarita is among the most moving, fantastical, dark and savagely funny novels I have ever read. I finished it before bed, thought about it for an hour, slept, woke up and re-read the haunting and beautiful conclusion the next morning.

I may not have felt this way if I hadn’t been “forced” to read it. The early chapters are disorienting and erratic, and if I had been reading casually I might have set it aside. That would have been a tragedy. This is a truly great work.

Death in Venice

Thomas Mann (trans. by Heim)

The Master and Margarita translation is in contemporary English, with crisp, conversational language. It was a real bummer to shift right into Death in Venice with its languid, overripe, high-falutin’ prose. Sure, I realize that it’s meant to evoke Italy and cholera and Greek tragedy and a gradual descent into idleness and debauchery. Maybe it was just the wrong time to read it (the book was listed for March). Luckily it’s short. I’m happy to move on.

The subway on the commute home was unusually subdued for a Friday evening. Maybe it was the crappy weather.

About halfway through the trip a perfectly normal-looking guy next to me said, clearly and distinctly, “Elephants.”

He got off at Harvard Square without saying another word.