GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #181: FULL CIRCLE

Today was the first day of my new job. I thought back to the beginning of my previous job from 10 years ago. I remember seeing what I was going to do and feeling completely overwhelmed. I felt like a fraud just sitting there, nodding and pretending that I understood what I saw. But I learned fast, and I got promotion after promotion until before I knew it, the guy who barely knew how to copy and paste was suddenly in a tech support position.


During those ten years I trained a lot of people. I always saw the same look on their faces. They were terrified because they were nodding and pretending to understand what they saw. I did something that none of my trainers did for me: I told them I know it's overwhelming, but that the more they stuck around, the more they would truly understand what I was showing them. Before they know it, they'll be doing this like it's second nature.


I won a lot of people over with that. Some of them even went on to become great at their jobs. I lost a few. They couldn't take it. Usually they quit the same day they saw all the stuff that would be expected of them. It's scary shit, but I know that it can be conquered. I did it myself, and I helped others do it, too.


Today I went into my new job for the first time. I had a lot of information shoved into my brain, information that I probably won't retain at first. But I've been here before. I have faith in myself that I can learn to do this, and it will be second nature to me.


And then my new boss and my trainer both did something independent of each other: they checked with me to see if they were scaring me off. They told me that the more I stuck around the more I would truly understand what they were showing me. Before I know it, I'll be doing this like it's second nature.


I'm not one to believe in a sentient universe, but if I did I would say that it has a very delicious sense of humor. It makes me laugh every time.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #180: HOW I SPENT MY 38TH BIRTHDAY

It's been a while since I cared about my birthday. I appreciate all the nice things people say to me (and the occasional gifts I get), but I don't think I've given much of a damn since I turned 21. I just got a new job recently, and I'm pretty sure I would have started today if not for my birthday. It was nice of them to start me on the 26th instead.


I woke up a bit early for someone who is still technically unemployed. I had my morning Tang (which I know no one else I know does, but I'm OK with that) while checking my various online presences. My favorite, of course, was checking in with Warren Ellis's Orbital Operations newsletter. It made me so happy that I spent some time on rereading more of COME IN ALONE. More on that in a future Goodnight, Fuckers.


Then I went out and did some useful things, like checking out the train schedule so I know when I have to be at the station tomorrow for my first week of orientation. My work schedule is 11:30 am to 8 pm, but for the first week I'm going in at 8:30 am. I also got a shit-ton of caffeine. I quit caffeine a while ago, but it has become very useful to me again in my unemployment. With my brain emitting tons of energy I went home and watched some RAISING HOPE before I went out to see the new Star Trek movie.


When I got home, still feeling like I was on another level of existence, I finished the final draft of a short story, during which time I only said twice, "Holy shit, what the fuck have I done?" I also handled the three stories I got rejects for as described on my episode of the Bizzong podcast. So yes, I did productive things today.


I even spent a day self-promoting myself which I try not to do often. Too many authors spend their time pimping their shit on social media. I just want to be human with people. I hate the sales aspect of everything, but it's something I can't ignore. I pimp something when it first comes out and then let it go into the ether. Until I come to a week of self-promotion, that is. Sorry.


I considered masturbating after that. I didn't because I didn't have the time. Instead I took a shower and got some food. Fast food, which is something I'm going to attempt to quit again. I watched more RAISING HOPE, and I'm glad for it. I'm a huge MY NAME IS EARL fan, and it was a MY NAME IS EARL themed episode. It made me very happy, especially seeing TV's Tim Stack. I love that guy back to the Dick Dietrick days.


During that time I finished off the last of the Booker's that I have. It is the most expensive bourbon I've ever bought, and it's fucking worth it. I'm a huge Wild Turkey 101 fan, but this might have finally changed my mind after nearly 15 years. I'm not likely to ever taste it again. Too bad.


Then it was time for MAKING OF THE MOB: CHICAGO. That's a good show. Shitty dialogue, but it's fun to see how Al Capone changed my city. Every once in a while I stop by his grave to say hello. Once I even hunted ghosts there, but again, that's a story for another day.


And now it's time to write this. I had a lot of fun today by not going out and celebrating. I talked to a lot of awesome people who wished nothing but the best for me. Relatives gave me money when I just ran out of my severance pay. I even got a hundred bucks to spend at Amazon, which is amazing. My brother got me a POP! figure of Data, my favorite Star Trek character ever, and a Reflection figure of Scotty, who I sometimes felt like at mt old job. And I got to do a lot of things I like doing, including finishing the last draft of a fucked up story that no one will probably want to read.


For the first time in more than a month I have work tomorrow. So I'm going to bed. Goodnight, you wonderful people who are not actually fuckers, but I like to say that because it has a nice ring to it. And I like busting balls. Seriously. Thank you for today. I hope all of your tomorrows are awesome as fuck.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #179: THE ONLY WAY TO SEE AMERICA

I recently got a new job, and it's in the city. Paying for parking is absolutely insane, though. My only option: become a train commuter. I'm starting on Tuesday, so I decided to take a practice run today so I know where I'm going when I do it for real.


I've been on trains before but only as a child. I went to the train station in Elmhurst and got on a Chicago bound train. I craned my neck to watch out the window. What did I see? America. Seriously. I think I need to ride one of these things cross-country just to see what else America has to offer.


I saw my neighborhood in a different light, and then I moved beyond it. I saw forgotten buildings with more broken windows than intact windows. I saw warehouses. I saw truck depots. I saw a place where they store Dumpsters. I saw bridges with graffiti. I saw creeks surrounded by woods where underage teens and indigents undoubtedly smoke weed and get drunk. And I saw the city, both the ugly and the beautiful. Holy shit, my train ride should have had a soundtrack by REM. "Driver 8" is perfect for this shit. Or maybe Marcy Playground's "Memphis."


Aside from the stops there is nothing good to be seen from a train. These are the forgotten places. The abandoned places. The lost places. I feel the soul that used to be here and see only the shell of what remains.


It's the ghost of America. May it rest in peace.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #178: AT THE RISK OF SOUNDING LIKE A TOOL . . .

All right. I know what I'm about to say is going to make me sound like a pretentious fuck. A self important prick. Maybe even a fuddy duddy. But here goes . . .


I need you all to stop referring to art as "content." Seriously. I don't generally refer to myself as an artist. I'm an entertainer. But at the same time the word "content" demeans us.


Look, I want to entertain people. I write crazy fucked up shit with the purpose of taking you away from your serious lives for at least ten minutes. Or twenty, if you're reading a few chapters of a bigger work. My secondary purpose is to say something important. I want to make people feel emotions, but for those who are looking for something deeper, you'll find it. Even crazy shit like "Monster Cock" means something. It's a criticism of our phallocentric society destroying us. But that's there only if you're looking for something.


Alan Moore once said that there should be some kind of purpose to everything you write, and he's right. Behind all the crazy shit that happens in my work there is always a point. If you want it, that is.


When you refer to art as content, you're reducing what we do. To put it another way, remember English Bob from UNFORGIVEN? He has a monologue about how if you tried to assassinate royalty, your hand would shake and you wouldn't be able to do it. But if you tried to assassinate a president . . . why not assassinate a president? I look at the difference between art and content the same way.


Content takes up time in your life. It's meaningless. It will give you a quick laugh, but then it's out of your system. Art is not that. It gives you something to think about. Maybe you get a laugh out of it, sure, but it means something. The best of art actually changes the world.


That movie you just saw? It's not content. That book you just read? Not content. That TV show you like? It's *probably* not content. Shit, even those YouTube videos you watch are probably art. I had a conversation with a friend about whether or not podcasts are art, and I think they are. To a degree.


Content takes up time. Art makes a difference. Stop confusing the two. This has been a public service announcement from a guy who probably spends too much time looking at the lint in his navel, but still.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #177: I'M NOT SURE I LIKE THIS ODD FEELING

It's creeping up on 2 am as I write this. It's been a while since I've been up this late . . . and sober. When I don't have at least a nightcap, I get insomnia. I'm not even tired right now. I don't like that. I think I'm at my happiest when I'm sleeping. But I'm going to write this and try to force myself to close my eyes and stop thinking racing thoughts.


I have a drug test tomorrow. I know I'll pass it, but I'd prefer if massive amounts of booze doesn't show up on it. It's out of my system, I'm sure, but I want to be 100% positive. Don't worry, I'm not getting the shakes or the DT's. I tell people that, and they're kinda shocked. Maybe I just don't drink as much as they assume I do. OK, yeah, maybe sometimes I do, but I've known people who could put down an entire handle of alcohol in one sitting. People who can't get out of bed unless they have a drink. Stuff like that's crazy. When you reach that point you might want to think about other options.


I quit caffeine a while ago. The withdrawals from that were fucking horrible. I don't feel anything like it when I go a stretch of time without drinking whiskey. Caffeine is a real bitch, though. Everyone drinks it, so you don't get a lot of sympathy when you're feeling sick and achy. I've had a few caffeine drinks lately, and dear God I've missed it, but I'm not going into withdrawals from stopping it. Yet.


Holy hell. Being up this late and sober? I'm not sure I like this odd feeling. I guess I'll get used to it when I do it more often as I start my new job. I'll be working 11:30 am to 8 pm, so my inner clock is going to be kind of crazy for a while. You'll be getting your dose of GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS very late into the night, indeed. Hell, most of you will probably forget about it since it'll come out when you're all asleep. How many of you are reading this now?


I just opened my head and poured out its contents onto the keyboard. This is what my brain will be doing for the next hour or so before it finally gives up and lets me get some sleep. Imagine those annoying questions coming at you for hours . . . from yourself . . . and there's nothing you can do about it.


Goodnight, fuckers.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #176: AUTHOR PHOTOS

You know, I truly love some author photos. When I was a kid I told myself that every author photo of mine would be me holding a stuffed dolphin like a gun. Maybe I'll still do that. For now this is what I have:

I think it's pretty cool. I'm drinking in it, so it's a good depiction of me. It's kind of old, and I've gotten a bit fat, but Chuck Palahniuk always said to take your author photos when you're young, so . . . By the way this picture is also on my business card. I'm proud of it.


You know who has great author photos? People in the bizarro anti-genre. I love those folks, and I'm glad that I'm in that group. But when I think about truly outstanding author photos? I'm mostly thinking about Joe Hill's for THE FIREMAN.

Most authors published by the big boys want their photos to look like they're thoughtful or important. Joe Hill just looks like he's having a lot of fun. He's just being him, not the pretentious fuck that most of the rest of us are trying for.


Here's another great author photo from Hunter S. Thompson's KINGDOM OF FEAR:

Who the fuck does that? Someone who just wants to be himself, of course. Don't be plain, fellow writers. Let your freak flag fly, as they say. The author photo is, and I know I'll get some weird glances from this, an art. Just like the author bio. Let's not be boring, eh? Let's strive for excellence, as Outlaw Vern would say.

Outlaw Vern's author photo

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #175: FARTS: A PHILOSOPHICAL DISCUSSION

I just saw SWISS ARMY MAN recently, and I couldn't help but notice how important flatulence is to the plot. But then I thought about something deeper than that: for that particular film, farts turned out to be someone's job. That's right, someone had to select the farts that were going to be used in the movie. How fucking weird must that job be? You can't just go with any fart, either. Sometimes you need a squeaker. Sometimes a growler. Sometimes you need something that's going to be loud enough to vibrate the chest of a viewer. The filmmakers needed a fart expert to do this.


And then I remembered something else. When I was a kid I was lucky enough to score a copy of GAUNTLET's Stephen King tribute issue. Among my findings in that selection was a piece King wrote about filming MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE. He talked about the one bathroom scene which was kind of heavy on farts. He described listening to a bunch of fart recordings because he wanted to get the exact fart that would be perfect for that scene.


How fucking cool is that? Are there people in Hollywood who consider themselves fart wranglers? If so, that's the job I want. I'll write stories for my ideal job, but I want to earn my bread and butter finding the farts that movie directors need for their work. The Academy needs to start awarding movies for Best Fart.


Let's face it: farts are overlooked when it comes to Oscar season. Not enough creators take farts into consideration when they're doing their thing. Lest ye forget, most of "fart" is "art."


I think I need to create a Kickstarter for this. Or maybe a change.org petition. WHO'S WITH ME?!