A Little Fun With a Shot of Depression
The Cut is only four days away! That’s the good news. I got thrown out of bars over the weekend trying to promote the show. That’s the bad news. Here’s how my Saturday night went. I dropped off some flyers with one of my DJ’s and headed to Skybox in Fairfield to hand out some on my own. We have street teamers doing the bulk of the handouts but I figured since it’s my show I should make an effort to get some of these things passed out, too. Well, I walked into SkyBox and they had the usual chubby genius at the door who had his usual hard time figuring out the fact that I was born in 1978 means I’m old enough to drink. I’ve never seen a guy stare at a driver’s license harder. He really looked like he was in pain trying to do that math and judging by the two, yes TWO, answers he’d filled in on the crossword puzzle he was attempting, math wasn’t his only shortcoming.
Once inside I started making the rounds, handing out flyers to people who looked like they might be interested and giving the 30 second version of what the show is all about. I had hit basically everyone at the bar when I moved to the pool table room. There weren’t a lot of people in there but I handed four flyers to some people seated at a booth. This was when chubbster decided he was going to step in. He said I couldn’t hand out my flyers because I didn’t have permission. I said that’s fine and promptly left. I had handed out flyers to most everyone there already and was planning on leaving fairly quickly anyways. Of course, if chubbster had been even a half wit he would have seen I was promoting a party and asked if I needed extra security. He didn’t, because he’s a moron, so he goes back to him minimum wage job squinting at driver’s licenses.
The weekend wasn’t all bad, in fact it was far from it. Friday night I went to a friend’s birthday party and had a blast. I didn’t drink much (one beer) in light of the events of last weekend, but I chatted up quite a few good looking ladies and got people interested in coming to my event. When it comes to talking with the ladies I’ve been very Vincent Chase the past few weeks. The irony is that while my luck seems to be changing for the better with the ladies, when it comes to my writing career it’s most certainly taking a turn for the worse. It’s almost like there’s only a certain amount of positive energy and I have absolutely no control over where it goes.
Recent weeks have seen my work go almost completely unnoticed and it’s getting on my nerves. I have great stories I’m pitching but because they don’t fit some editors’ formulas, or preconceived notions of what they want to hear from artists, they get ignored. Real journalism is dying, I’m seeing this more and more every day. It’s no longer about the news, or about what’s new and interesting, it’s about what editors and publishers want to tell you. It used to be about the truth, now it’s about someone’s message, and I’m having a hard time fitting in. I would be elated to find a magazine who’s editor simply told me "find me interesting stories that will hook readers," because I have a ton of them and I’m just waiting to unleash them on the world.
Once inside I started making the rounds, handing out flyers to people who looked like they might be interested and giving the 30 second version of what the show is all about. I had hit basically everyone at the bar when I moved to the pool table room. There weren’t a lot of people in there but I handed four flyers to some people seated at a booth. This was when chubbster decided he was going to step in. He said I couldn’t hand out my flyers because I didn’t have permission. I said that’s fine and promptly left. I had handed out flyers to most everyone there already and was planning on leaving fairly quickly anyways. Of course, if chubbster had been even a half wit he would have seen I was promoting a party and asked if I needed extra security. He didn’t, because he’s a moron, so he goes back to him minimum wage job squinting at driver’s licenses.
The weekend wasn’t all bad, in fact it was far from it. Friday night I went to a friend’s birthday party and had a blast. I didn’t drink much (one beer) in light of the events of last weekend, but I chatted up quite a few good looking ladies and got people interested in coming to my event. When it comes to talking with the ladies I’ve been very Vincent Chase the past few weeks. The irony is that while my luck seems to be changing for the better with the ladies, when it comes to my writing career it’s most certainly taking a turn for the worse. It’s almost like there’s only a certain amount of positive energy and I have absolutely no control over where it goes.
Recent weeks have seen my work go almost completely unnoticed and it’s getting on my nerves. I have great stories I’m pitching but because they don’t fit some editors’ formulas, or preconceived notions of what they want to hear from artists, they get ignored. Real journalism is dying, I’m seeing this more and more every day. It’s no longer about the news, or about what’s new and interesting, it’s about what editors and publishers want to tell you. It used to be about the truth, now it’s about someone’s message, and I’m having a hard time fitting in. I would be elated to find a magazine who’s editor simply told me "find me interesting stories that will hook readers," because I have a ton of them and I’m just waiting to unleash them on the world.
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