Kanye Has The Right Idea

Living in NJ means I have to deflect vitriol and chides deriving from the thing called Jersey Shore. As if I gave the thumbs up on that show, as if Jersey Shore applies to the entire state; funny, I don’t hear such things involving Brick City. Anyway, Snooki is in the news again, this time garnering $2,000 more than Nobel Prize winning author Toni Morrison. Personally, I think the news is a non-starter: Snooki got $32,000; Morrison claimed $30,000; meanwhile, I’m here blogging instead of wringing out my bank account to pay bills; either way, they’re both winning [remember him?].

My immediate reaction was to flip it into a sounding post on the devaluation of literature. But I have to remember my audience: well-read writers who have no beef with Morrison and may, occasionally, watch Jersey Shore–guilty pleasures and such. Besides, it’s Friday, April 1st. Hopefully, Spring is here as Winter takes his crabby ass back to Canada. Tis the season for writer conferences, workshops, retreats and rejections; it’s that time of the year when dudes wax their cars and roll down the road, music turned up, leaning to the left, looking mad for unknown reasons.

I can’t wait to get my car detailed. My black 2008 Mustang can’t be bothered with snow and salted roads. When I got it last year, I figured other Mustang owners–fellow pony riders [pause]–would show me love as we passed. A hand wave, a horn honk, an engine growl: no dice on all accords.

Maybe I wasn’t doing it right; maybe I needed to lean harder, drive faster, wear darker sunglasses. When I pass another Mustang, I can’t help it–I stare at the driver waiting for camaraderie; hell, I even initiate. Wave. Mouth yo. No response as they whiz by.

I should flip this into how writers treat other writers, but fuck writers. I mean to say–we need to relax. Take a moment, watch a movie, make plans to find, to use the Philadelphia colloquialism, a summer jawn to cuddle up with when it gets warm. I know, I know–the Great American Novel waits on your hard drive; all play and no work makes for a weak author platform.

But when you step outside, leave it all behind. Don’t stare at your plate of BBQ food thinking, “My supporting character would eat this.” Enjoy the sunshine, enjoy the summer anthems from hip-hop stars, come to the Jersey Shore and see if it matches the show [it does]. From what I’ve heard, the world is coming to an end in May–before Memorial Day–which sort of sucks because my Great American Novel isn’t done and I need more publication credits. But hey, few people read now–fewer people will care about books come Apocalypse time, so remember to have fun.