[79] Screed City
[79]
01/13/2022 Thursday. Kitchen Microwave. Beaver Haus. Lower Granville, Vermont.
[insert Screed City Radio intro]
Brother Buck's birthday today. Happy Birthday, Bones! I don't remember how he got the Bones nickname. It was about the same time I got the nickname Jonx. In Laramie, Wyoming. Mid-90's. Back when UWE was starting up. Me and Jay G'Baur and Buck. Buck played bass, I played guitar and sang, Jacob played drums. Buck didn't last long in the band, from what I remember. I don't remember why, college I think got in the way. But we were living in the apartment that Dishwasher takes place in. Starving. I mean, I got some eye disease at some point, had to go to the doctor, one day Jacob and Buck dressed me up in the best clothes we could find around the house. A pair of khakis and a striped button-up long sleeve shirt. Sent me to the Welfare Office to get food stamps. I had to wear sunglasses because my eyes were so fucked up. Inside even. They gave me emergency food stamps because I was so pathetic. And then we bought some food. I don't remember what we got, but I do remember it being very embarrassing to use the food stamps. I never went back to the Welfare Offices to officially get the food stamps. And if I remember right, I eventually used the food stamps up by buying candy with them, taking the change and buying cigarettes at different gas stations. I mean, whatever. I was 17. I shouldn't have been starving in the first place, but I was. I mean, I remember getting job as a telemarketer. That didn't work out so good. I was really bad at it. And they paid you based on how good you did. So it was kind of just a waste of everyone’s time. After those Winter months I think I moved to Powell with Jacob and we acquired Rocky to play bass. And the rest is history.
Professor Curly left. Went back to Philly. Sad times all around. Unknown what the future holds. In theory I am going to Portland next week, but I haven't heard back from Brother Luke. Scott is down in Florida, taking the cure as it were. So the Albany job is still on hold. I mean, I still don't think we have the sign-off to proceed with that job anyway. I still haven't called Tom. No new information to discuss. I still haven't electronically mailed the radio station. Tomorrow. Always tomorrow. There is a poem by Jane Kenyon that kind of sums it up. The Pear:
[italics]
There is a moment in middle age
when you grow bored, angered
by your middling mind,
afraid
That day the sun
burns hot and bright,
making you more desolate.
It happens subtly, as when a pear
spoils from the inside out,
any you may not be aware
until things have gone too far.
I went to Canada today. I only know that because I got a text from Canada. I mean, I knew that I got to the border. I turned around when I got there. Then there was a sign welcoming me to Vermont. I honked the horn. But when I got home it turns out Canada texted me. Telling me to enjoy all the good phone service I wanted because there wouldn't be any roaming charges. And! Welcome to Canada. My fellow Canadans.
It was a nice drive. Kind of. Stressful a little. I am running low on wiper fluid. I keep meaning to buy more, but then I buy it and end up putting it in the Real Estate Wagon and poor Junior Mint is as dry as a bone. I mean, the damn roads around here. Just salt and mud. Eating my poor car's chassis. Gobbling it up. I mean, Chassis might be the wrong word, but you have to love that word, Chassis. I think I will name a character that one of these days. But when you are driving. It is just a dirty windshield, over and over and over and over again. I mean, I almost pulled over and dumped the water from the Reed College water bottle into the reservoir, but I never ran out. I mean, I conserved what I had. I don't know why I didn't just stop and buy some more. I mean, I did stop to get gas at one point. I just couldn't bring myself to go inside a gas station at the moment. There is just so much covid floating around. I guess.
Guy had his baby! Not sure if I am allowed to harold that to the world, but I think he posted it on social media, so...I assume the baby was born yesterday, but if it was today it is also Brother Bucks birthday. If that means anything.
I caught another mouse. Chocolate did him in. No. 56. In theory there is one more. But it is possible that he is the last one. I will keep my eyes peeled for droppings.
I got some meat soaking for beef jerky. Mimi got me a dehydrator for Christmas. I have already done onions. I am thinking I will do garlic with the beef jerky. Maybe give it an essence of garlic? I mean, I used Worchester sauce, vinegar, balsamic vinegar and soy sauce as the soaking agent. I think I will let it soak for a couple days. Then lay it out. Sprinkle secret spices and black pepper on it. Then dry the bones out of it. The meat was a little more fatty then I would prefer, but we will see. I mean, there is something a little gross about jerky fat. Like it becomes kind of rancid, but sometimes it also gets real chewy, which is nice. I mean, we will see. My dad used to make a real good jerky. I think he used antelope. Which is very un-fatty. I mean, sometimes it was really good. Sometimes, not so good.
I started a pineapple wine. That I will turn into a pineapple vinegar. The lemonade wine I made is still alcoholic. Somehow. I mean, when I was brewing it in the first place it shot the cork out over night one time. Which, I guess means it was brewing up real nice, but now it has been exposed to air for a few weeks. I don't know how long it is supposed to take to rid itself of alcohol. I suppose I could have a look on the computer, but for some reason the information on vinegars is all over the place. And not to be trusted. Details, I mean. And on top of that, I didn't bother writing down when I started the whole process, so it is just wait and see at the moment. The same can be said for my hot sauces. I mean, I need to learn to take better notes. I mean, I did take notes today about this thing. To keep me from going off the rails. But all the notes I took down were:
Screed City Radio
Beef Jerky
Mice
I mean, I know I was supposed to apologize to Professor Curly and the Publisher for accusing them of ruining my life. Which, I am sorry. You're right, I'm wrong, I am foolish and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to call them out. I just get emotional sometimes. I mean, I said it then and I say it now, I should have just written Soft Elbows instead of this thing that night. I mean, I could have used that frustration to better advantage. But I did not. Instead I was just a big, whiny jerk that needed a nap. I mean, I still feel as frustrated now as I did two days ago, I just need to figure out where to put that frustration. I mean, I had a thought today about it.
Monopsony. That is the word for it! In the world of art there is only limited buyers but a million billion artists selling their junk. And, I mean, talk about gate keeping and the nature of commodity. The reason that as an artist you feel like you should just give your shit away because nobody is buying it anyway, and then what? It is better to have an audience that actually sees your shit as opposed to having a bunch of shit that nobody sees, right? I mean, it is wild. Because the more inundation we get the harder it is to get anyone to see your things in a real and specific manner. I mean, I am more convinced than ever that the Serial is the way to go, I just don't know how to get the word out about it. I mean, I think there is a price differential happening too, in a way. Like, I mean, the New Yorker? That shit is kind of expensive. But people just buy it as a matter of course. And, I mean, I don't understand it. I don't read anything aside from the cartoons and the what is happening in New York at the moment and maybe a review or two. But is that worth $7 dollars a month? I mean, I hate to say it, but I think I need to come to terms with the idea of doing any serial at cost. Maybe even below cost. Like $12 dollars for 12 issues. I mean, that is stupid in a financial way, but that is better than what we have. I mean, 12 issues for $0 dollars. Sure, there is a few subscribers and I thank them with all my heart, but you know what I mean? I mean, I am thinking it might be best to just scrap the idea altogether than to keep going at it the same way. But still, as long as I am doing the things I know I will just send the shit out to my friends anyway, so the problem really is my own making. However, I think, I mean, I don't know, Donkey is kind of a nail-biter, but I think I need to write something really juicy, really unknowable that hooks the reader in a way that they don't expect. And then, BAM! I mean, just joking. I not only don't write like that, but I also don't see a sudden uptick in fiction readers in the near future. I mean, shit, Don't Look Up was the talk of the town for like what? A week? Before that, it was a week of Succession? I mean, my point is, we really have zero focus right now. And the idea of a thing coming to you in monthly installments? And then paying for it? I mean, it is not that it is a bad idea, it is just that the idea is flawed from the get-go. I mean, I am not saying that certain people don't like it. There is quite a few fans. But as a business model. It stinks!
But! Hear me out. But! If the thing was so cheap that you didn't think twice about buying it? And those monies paid for printing at the very least? That would be fine by me. I don't fucking know. I go down these rabbit holes thinking I will come to some great understanding and instead I am just filled up with more questions then before. I mean, I just need to work harder on getting the word out. And that is sad. Because I don't want to. I mean, the work part it fine, it is just what that means. I'm not Lil Nas X. My time has come and gone for any cuteness on my part. I mean, I have to make up for my lack of youthful good humor with actual product. But then again, I do like his music. So, I mean, there are two strikes against me. The only real thing I can do is stop caring. But then I would be like Keith Ridgeway, who is horrible at this shit too. But somehow he reached me. And, I mean, even Jane Kenyon, who happened to be on the book shelf when I happened to be going somewhere for a brief respite. I mean, you just have to be there when the time is right. And I don't know how to be anywhere at all. Aside from just being everywhere at once and I don't have the guts for that.
I mean, I think the solution is a very annoying solution. Not to me, but to whoever happens to be on my mailing list. I send out a postcard or a questionnaire:
Hi [SO and SO],
Did you enjoy getting Donkey serial? YES or NO
Would you be willing to pay $12 dollars a year to receive another serial? YES or NO
Please circle your responses and then return this questionnaire. Just cut the bottom off and stick it into the mailbox of your choosing. Postage is attached. Note* This is not a commitment to buying 12 more months of fantastic fiction, however, if you don't go to the website: whiskeytit.com and sign up, just remember, I know where you live. Have a great day!
I mean, direct marketing is the only way forward. It just is. I know it, you know it. Everyone knows it. There is no collective thinking anymore. The computer ruined it. Which is totally fine by me. Really! We don't live in an all or nothing Society anymore. What do they call that? I can't remember. I mean, there is plenty of money out there for shit like this. It is not like getting a grant or something. The money is unlimited. And $12 dollars is nothing. I mean, in theory the money should be $20 dollars, but people are idiots and $20 dollars seems like a lot of money. But as it is, $4 dollars a month I think is too confusing. Because people will do that math and think twice. And I think $20 dollars is also confusing because people will just think that they are buying a membership in something. Like NPR or something. But $12 dollars? That is like two Cubby Bubbys.
Anyhoodles. Just some thoughts. Maybe you have an idea about it? You can respond if you want to. The message goes straight to me. I mean, this isn't hyperbole, I mean it. I am genuinely curious. I am so frustrated with this project that I don't know what to do about it. Because I don't think it should end, but I don't know how to move it forward. I mean, aside from getting my ass on Facebook and Twitter and taking real ownership of my Instagram shit. I mean, I really don't want to do that. I think there are other ways around this mess that Tech-Bros created. You know? The Third Option. I mean, why can't a woman create a social media site? I mean, here we are. Half the country is anti-vax. Men are more likely to not wear masks. Joe Rogan is the voice of fucking reason to millions of people. I mean, this is not an accident. And if we go back to the Monopsony thing, I mean, that just means that bullies are running the fucking world. And, I mean, I am saying it is no coincidence that things are the way they are because of men. I mean, it is as simple as a cultural change. I mean, twice now, driving back from Waitsfield I have heard the Indigo Girls song, Closer To Fine. And twice now I have been just blown away by the messaging. I mean, the song is actually brilliant. If only we could live in their version of reality. Where all the assholes of the world can be ignored because everyone else is just doing their best to get where they need to be. And, for some reason the Racist Right is spending billions of dollars to get a megaphone to spread their hate talk and we, meaning anyone that isn't a fucking asshole, we just sit here on our thumbs playing wishy-washy with the bullshit that we have. Meaning Facebook and Twitter and whatever else. I mean, it is good enough, I guess is the thinking. But it is not good enough. We need a higher calling. Something to strive towards. And if it takes a couple lesbian raskal folk singers from Georgia to get us there, I mean.
[insert Closer To Fine]
I don't know. I have some thinking to do. Some phone calls to make. Some electronic mails to send. Tomorrow. Always tomorrow. Suppose to get really cold again. Winds and below freezing nonsense. Maybe tomorrow I will force myself to take a walk with the new horseshoes. Snowshoes. For now I am going to make a burrito and hit the sack. I haven't been sleeping well. There is something in the air or something. Memories. I don't know why. Probably it is just money concerns, but like always, SSDD as Jay G'Baur would say. I mean, I suppose I should just get a job and forget all this nonsense. But good luck to that. I imagine I would rather starve. But then I would be beach ready for the Summer, so, who knows, maybe if I was wearing a g-string Professor Curly would finally pay attention to me?