Hey, you magnificent seven (hope it’s more, unless you’re a hateful eight)!
Here’s an update on what’s happening at the beginning of 2024, and what’s to come through 2080. It’s been a hot, sweaty, bulbous minute since I started selling t-shirts, then printing them. Did you know that’s really hard work?
Well, either I thought there was a way to fit 40 hours in a single day, or I ignored a bunch of key reality stuff, including the reason for selling shirts in the first place.
No matter. Everything’s a lesson. Or, it’s not. Kinda up to you. If you learn from it, it’s a lesson. If you don’t, it’s a mistake accident, and them are no good.
But here we are and – I’ve – got a plan.
More than I need to be a fashion mogul, I need to write. I mean, I’ve been writing. A lot. Forever. What I need to do is show you the writing.
When flying solo professionally and it’s time to share your work, the genetalia sucks itself right up into the sternum. But, now that I’ve had lots of therapy and acquired so many other mental health tools, I can confidently say nothing’s changed, except I’m ignoring the fear and hoping food will squeeze past my nuggets on its way down the gullet.
I’ll keep this short because I need to hit the road to deliver food for an app. It’s a simple gig but the wiper blades are doing a real number on my eyeballs. I, um…cry a lot.
The plan? Ah, yes, the plan.
In the past, I’ve wanted to purge my restaurant and bar experience in the form of a book called 86 Sense: How to Run a Restaurant and Why You Shouldn’t Do It. Now, I’m still writing it, but I’ve been out of the game long enough to purge with a little less venom, and a little more help. I’ll post everything on the site first, and eventually slap it in a book for a comprehensive look at WHY THE FUCK YOU SHOULDN’T DO IT!
Speaking of standup, I’m gearing up for a triumphant return to the stage. More on that never.
Or maybe just a little more on that now. I’ve been watching what’s happening out there and it feels like I’m missing out. It’s like standup in a dunk tank at the fair. You get to throw shit at me when you don’t like – a joke? That’s the, um, way now? K, cool.
For me, the stage has always been the greener grass on the other side of restaurant work, which is a daily, dirty, and sticky interaction with the general public. Might as well say all the same shit without HR breathing down my dick.
Really looking forward to it but I gotta get back to work on these shirts. No, deliveries. Wait, it’s posting this, then sharing it, spreading the word, trying to go virus and making homeless people eat bugs in a well for algorithm pennies. No, yeah, it’s deliveries.