Blog

  • There’s No Money in the Media

    VICE filed for bankruptcy. I’m not surprised. VICE was the only media company I knew that no one read or watched. Hold on, except for Desus and Mero. But outside of that, I never met another person who was like, “I just read this piece on VICE,” or “Did you see that story on VICE news?”

    Nope.

    Not a once.

    Oh, I did see Shane Smith everywhere, talking about how great and important VICE was. As far as I can tell, Shane made Williamsburg worse, by putting VICE’s headquarters there, and Shane also paid himself a huge, unreasonable salary while paying his writers barely above nothing with a side of free exposure.

    And don’t forget that one of the co-founders of VICE went on to found the Proud Boys. So… that says something…

    Yet, when I read that they never turned a profit, and were forced to file for bankruptcy, thus the sense was made; It was all hype, with no substance.

    I don’t mean to dance on VICE’s grave, and I do feel bad for the writer who will get laid off, but Shane Smith drove that ship onto the ground, and he’s still going to walk off a millionaire. And I though Canadians were all nice and shit.

    But the truth of this situation, which is the same truth that has been around forever, is that there is no money to be made in media, unless you own a lot of media. My first day as a journalism major, the professor told us there is no money to be made being a journalist. (Incidentally, on the first day of film and theatre school, those respective professors said the exact same thing.) I find it very strange that there is no way to make a living wage in media, but somehow the richest people in the world are in media.

    Has no one else noticed this?

    Well, outside of people in the WGA, that is…

  • ODDS and ENDS: Eyes – A Follow Up, NFL Schedule Release Videos, Up and Running, Mother’s Day

    (Education is Social Justice)

    Earlier this week, I talked about going to the eye doctor to get a new prescription for glasses. I also mentioned my thin-skinned-vanity about not wanted to get bifocals just yet. Well, I did not get prescribed bifocals. The Optometrist suggested that I get readers, and also gave me a prescription for that. So, I think I split the difference here. I don’t need bifocals, but I no longer can see close, nor far away.

    I didn’t know this was a thing, but I should have known it was a thing. When NFL teams release their schedules for the upcoming season, they make a little video for it. Makes sense as everyone releases a video for everything. Most are okay, but two stood out for me. First was the Chicago Bears which was a take-off on the show “The Bear.” (And if you haven’t watched The Bear, do it!) The other one that made me laugh out loud was the Tennessee Titans asking people on the street to identify other team logos.

    The A/C’s are up and running in the apartment. Summer has officially begun!

    Mother’s Day is this Sunday. Call your mom. Don’t text, actually call. And if you can, give her a visit. The wife and mother of my kid wants to go to a yoga class and have lobster rolls. I think I can do that for her. And let her know that we love her. Which is what mom’s want. That and visit more.

  • Air Conditioners

    It’s going to be 80 degrees in NYC today, and then 87 tomorrow. In other words, we are going to die from this heat. May, normally, is one of the two best months to be in New York – the other being September. May around here is pleasant, a little cool, and little warm, everything is blooming, and green. The City feels alive, reborn, and full of life. And rarely does the temperature get above 78. Anything in the 80’s is Summer Weather – which should be the sticky and awful July and August.

    But the world is warming, and the Summer Heat Creep has begun, or more accurately, started a few years ago. The Summer heat and humidity in New York is now June through August. Sometimes it starts in late May, and can linger into mid September. I find it a tad bit sad that the Summers of old are gone, and never to come back; hot in the day, cool at night.

    With the coming short heat wave, I have tasked myself with going to our storage space to recover our air conditioners. We are the people who remove our window units in Fall, only to bring them back in late Spring. Like changing out your wardrobe, or full house cleaning, the dance of the air conditioners is another seasonly ritual we partake in. We do this so we can have a clear view out our apartment’s windows of a cinderblock wall, and a construction site. Breathtaking vistas, to say the least.

    In the end, the gathering of the air conditioners is yet another sign that the year is continuing to move on. After the a/c’s are installed, soon school will be out, and vacations and camps begin. Only to lead to road trips, and attempts to escape the heat.

    How long until Fall?

  • Getting My Eyes Checked

    This is a long overdue bit of personal maintenance, but today I am getting my eyes checked, so I can get new glasses. My eyesight has never been awful, I’m just a little nearsighted, but I have noticed over the past three years that things are getting fuzzy far away. At night, lights are stars, and not balls. All the telltale signs that my glasses need an updating.

    The one thing that I am a little nervous about, and this is all vanity talking, is that I might need to get readers or bifocals. That’s what old people have. I’m not old. Sure I might be balding and my hair is all gray, but that is a common feature of younger middle aged people…

    My father has bifocals, and I was hoping that I could hold off turning into him for a little while longer. I don’t like to admit it, but some print is starting to be too small, and I think I need to get a phone with a bigger screen. And I started listening to more jazz. I think this all might be connected.

    It is a weird dynamic being in my forties. In one sense, I feel very confidant in who I am, and have come to accept that I’m not perfect, but I’m pretty good. I like me. And then on the other hand, I can tell I’m getting older; the hair, the eyes, the twenty pounds that just won’t go away. Once I really start liking who I am, it all starts changing and breaking down.

    But I’m going to pick out some cool frames.

    I gotta go here…

  • Endless/Nameless

    I should be writing. A focused writing, where I have a clear idea that I am fleshing out. I should at least be writing a draft – a draft of this blog.

    But I am not.

    This is a fluff piece, as I cannot get my mind to focus.

    See, I did the family grocery shopping this morning, which took more out of me than I expected, and as I sit on the couch, computer in my lap… I just can’t get the act of writing to happen.

    (This is a forced act. An illusion. It appears that I am writing something, but I am just running out the clock to get to 250 to 500 words in the next twenty-one minutes.)

    I thought I could write about the politics of the current moment, or the never-ending gun violence that’s slowing making this nation callous to its horror. I thought about writing on health insurance, or public schools, or STEM programs for my kid. But none of the gripped me.

    I started looking up what a new MacBook Air would cost me, as my current machine is ten years old and staring to show it wear. But that’s a thousand dollars I don’t have right now.

    I thought about writing on the state of the job/gig market, as I still am looking for a side hustle to bring in some extra cash. But the more I think about that subject, the more depressed I feel.

    And if we are going to talk about depressing, then I could talk about being a middle-aged guy who is out of work and is attempting a writing career. But that topic makes me feel really, really depressed.

    I could talk about my lack of vocabulary as I get older.

    Ear hair is a subject that I feel doesn’t get covered enough for men.

    I could give this blog the name of a Nirvana song, but I think that would give me away as a 90’s kid.

    I could write about how I have nine stories floating out in submission land, waiting for a response. I could speak about my system of sending a story out to five magazines at a time, and if it gets rejected from all five, I start the process all over again. But speaking about rejection isn’t that much fun.

    I’m always impressed with people who can write about depressing things, but you end up feeling better about life. When I write about depressing topics, I just feel worse.

    I know what I don’t want to write about. That’s a start.

    I got a flash story I need to work on so I’ll go do that.

    Thanks for killing time with me.