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The 600 month project
In my first Dispatch I mentioned I’d soon be turning 50. Yup, a milestone birthday if ever there was one. I’m excited. Really. A half-century pit stop to have a think about life. A golden jubilee awarded to a silver-haired fella.
To mark this anniversary of my birth, I wanted to do something special: publish a book.
And I’ve been prepping to do just that, with some anxiety…
As I finish the edits, several pens and a snog (or two) of wine later, I’m pleased with the outcome. In this book will be some of my favorite stories that I’ve published here the last few months.
Tiny Worlds | Volume One will be available in a few weeks in both print and ebook formats.
I’m becoming less cagey about public declarations, so, you’ll definitely hear about it. I’ll try not to be excessive.
Once I hit the “go” button stories included in the book will move to the pay side of the aisle, with updated edits. It seems a fair trade: free until they’re published formally. Perhaps, as the next set of stories build, the cycle will repeat. Who knows.
Thanks for being with me on the journey thus far. It’s been a blast and I can’t thank you enough for your readership, kind words and (virtual) friendships. The culture here on Substack is really inspiring.
If anyone is interested in supplying a blurb, I’d love to link to your Substack in the ebook edition!1
Non-Sequitur(s)
The Technicolor Fab Four - Many moons and wrinkles ago I was sitting around with Bob Eubanks, famed TV host of The Newly Wed Game. We had hours to shoot the shit as he told me about a book he was writing about his career. Apropos of the entertainment buyers conference we were at, he would be including a section about being a concert promoter in the 60s.
Now, you can read the book but there’s nothing quite like hearing him tell the story about bringing The Beatles to the Hollywood Bowl in August of 1964. This concert is a seminal one in the pantheon of big shows. To say you were there, even nearby, is a badge of Beatle-fandom few can top. And Bob was the guy who made that happen.
Of course, they were quite the get for a new promoter. After all, the British Invasion had started in earnest just that spring when the Beatles performed on The Ed Sullivan show. Bob, though short-of-tenure as a promoter, was no slouch dealing outrageous requests from bands. There would be no hogwash, no poppycock, no hooey. Not on his watch.
Except, The Beatles had but three requests: clean towels, a case of Coca-Cola and a color TV. Pretty sparse accoutrements for backstage, wouldn’t you agree? But as Bob told it to me, “…clean towels, sure. A case of coke, okay. But I told them they can get their own fucking color tv.”Who Effin Cares? - I had, erm, a discussion with another substacker the other day. They posited something, I disagreed. Their position, paraphrased, is: stating that you’re ‘writing for yourself’ but publishing publicly is intellectual masturbation. This went back and forth a bit before I simply exited the conversation having said my piece, civilly. The next day I was restacked with a schoolyard bully screed appended. Sigh…oh, the internet.
I couldn’t conceive why it could possibly matter the reason someone published publicly. I mean, everyone is entitled to spending their time, their energy in ways that make them happy (sans maiming others), why not writing/publishing, too?
My experience is that wonderful stories, and storytellers, are discovered – sometimes much later – through this process. Finally, not everyone who publishes publicly is in it for the likes, the accolades.Further, why should you effing care the reason?
But because every event in our lives is a chance to re/learn something, here are a few lessons worth sharing:1. Write for whomever you want, publish with wild abandon (or not)
2. Always be civil
3. Arguing on the internet is like masturbating with a cheese grater
Mr Salty - Kids and snack food are as inseparable as an old person from the scent of Ben Gay. For this reason we’re constantly stocked like a Costco for trip to the park, swimming pool, library, etc. And, because parents get hungry we often overpack knowing there are goodies for us on the commute from here to…wherever.
Recently, I reached back to my son’s seat, hand out, demanding a hangry handful of pretzels from his cache. Begrudglingly he agreed. I quickly crammed a handful of those tiny stick pretzels into my mouth and the conversation went like this:Me: [mouth full] Oh…these are stale!
Him: [indistinguishable mumble + shrug]
Me: Did mom buy unsalted pretzels?
Him: I like the salt.
Me: Me, too. But these don’t have any.
Him: I suck the salt off…
Me: [putting the puzzle together]
Him: …I don’t like wet pretzels
Me: [reluctantly swallowing semi-dried, de-salted pretzels]
Music
Eitheror - Little People
Super Strut - Deodato
Blood on the Rooftops - Genesis
Between Two Points - David Gilmour
The Cat - Jimmy Smith
Words
In the off-chance I’m inundated, favorites will be assigned.