If I had any sense at all

On page 4 of the article…

Right, like any articles on a website have real pages. That’s just wrong. But that’s not where I was going with this, it was my reaction to an artist who’s been a big influence in my life. In fact, until previously alluded to Bucky showed up, I’d given up on that medium.

From a writer’s point of view, though, what I liked best was a quote from Bill Watterson “… If I had any business savvy at all myself, I’d lump the whole business tomorrow and self-publish.”

I was – figuratively – banging my head against the desk top while wrestling with another subscription problem. Still a few ghosts and gremlins leftover from the server switch. But what it amounts to, and after hanging around Sister last week, and her “artist’s angst,” I’m in a much more comfortable place.

It’s all about selling out – or not selling out.

Then, to compound the questions – I got yet another piece of, well, the tone was upsetting, mail that started with a really long subject line: “I’ve been getting your horoscopes in e-mail for several years.”

It continued in the body of the message, “Have you dropped me from the mailing list because you want me to pay for them?”

I spent a portion of my birthday in the company of an idol of mine. A guy I like. A Scorpio. However, I’ve also walked, literally, many miles in his shoes. When I showed up, I didn’t expect a miracle. He was quiet, soft-spoken, gentle, and when I left him, he was sitting on his stoop, shuffling through junk mail, just like anyone else. Pretty awesome experience for me.

One point I’d never considered in my own chart, that he brought out, was the idea, concept, theory, pattern, that I have to work for myself. I don’t do well when I’m “employed” by other folks.

I know from a fairly recent experience that I don’t do well working for other people, not with me as an employee. So what does this have to do with a quote from the creator of Calvin & Hobbs?

It’s about taking it to the streets. In the 8 or 9 months since I started running this site as a subscription-based deal, it’s working much better. Still, those several dozen subscriptions are paying for the bandwidth burned up by the thousands who hit the site looking for free advice.

Doesn’t much pay for the time involved, but a few readings here and there pick up the difference at times. Other times? The idea of regular paycheck sure is nice. But with my last experience as a guideline, that pretty much precludes working on the website, or, more importantly, writing the scopes – which – is what it all comes back to.

Bill Watterson was quoted from some time ago. Now that the web has evolved, if he his strip showed up – as a subscription based deal, would it be worth it?

For that matter, is it worth pounding out horoscopes when no one wants to pay?

I didn’t fire back a nasty comment, but as the evening wore on, I kept rearranging the words in my head. I’d add an “expect” in front of the “me to pay” in my head. Wasn’t there. No need to get carried away. Yeah, my on brain, plus tone. I read a lot into words. I look at how they are arranged.

The tone was pretty clear, the “expect me to pay then take a long hike off a short pier, buddy.” That was the tone of the message. But not the words used. So this is an experiment. I’m still looking for ways I can run this business, do what I like doing, and not sell out.

There is always the other option, like Bill Watterson, I can just retire, or, like other folks in the “online world,” I can close up and disappear.

Holidays – weird Wednesday
I did a wish list, and almost immediately regretted it. There’s always one item that no one will understand, but to me, seems absolutely indispensable.

The Simpson’s Lure(s) (TM, (C) LLC NAACP NRA DM &etc.).

From Relic Lures.

I kept thinking to myself, “Self, you just ain’t got enough time to wander over yonder to the East Side. Not enough daylight. Not enough time. Too many miles.”

I was thinking that while I “chummed” another lure into a tree. Slightly windy morning, line flew over a branch and I never did get the lure back. One of my favorite fictional characters does his best thinking in the litter box. I tend to meditate best with a pole in hand. Some days there might be fish involved. Other days? The vegetation wins.

As I followed the trail eastward, I stepped up closer to the shoreline to observe some baby bass spooling in the shallows. A blond female (human, not fish) flittered into my peripheral vision. Decision? Look at the fish, see what they’re feeding on. Some days, those are the priorities.

So I didn’t take that easterly hike. I took a shortcut over the pedestrian bridge, followed the rail line for moment, then headed towards the PO Box. And stopped. I was hungry. I wanted something different. The same but different. Hoffbrau came to mind. Hove into sight. Yee-haw, still open. I was the second to last customer for the lunch rush. Ain’t been there in a coon’s age. It was just as good as I remember it, too. Greasy salad (heavy on salad oil, I’d reckon). Delightful. As I sat next to side door, with my back to the wall, I gazed at the counter. Looked at the floor. Took a quick Gemini call on the cell phone, yes darling Gemini, I’ll fix that thing soon enough. I was figuring that the linoleum on the floor must be a good ten or twenty years old. Watched while the waitress swept the corner out.

Sirloin. Medium. Served in a puddle of butter, lemon, and hint of something else. Three fries, which were more like one potato, cut length-wise and deep-fried.

It just all hit the spot.

Up, on the wall behind the register, there was a sign: “If you are grouchy, irritable or rude, there will be a $10 surcharge for putting up with you.” I’m going back, soon, just to take a picture of that. Plus the food was dependably good. Probably play hell with the cholesterol level, but who cares on a fine afternoon?

Weirdest thing in the post box, a postcard from Amsterdam, another birthday card, wishing me the best. That was cool, I mean, coming from the Netherlands. For real.

I stopped for an afternoon espresso, served by a Gemini, and then I peeled out of my T-shirt again. I know it’s December, but it was 77 degrees, warm enough to justify no shirt on the trail. As I stood near the corner of Congress and First, I decided to try for a little extra mileage. I’ve heat-stroked before going the long way, but what the heck, it’s the middle of winter.

In the shade, against my bare chest, the cool air felt at times, almost like it was burning cold. In the Sagittarius sun, it felt warm, the faintest hint of perspiration collecting on my skin.

When I finally rolled into the trailer, I realized I’d actually cleared all that mileage I originally figured I could never do. Plus an excellent greasy steak and fries.

A song kept coming back to me:

Album: One More From The Road[/I> – cut: Travellin’ Man (Leon Wilkeson — Ronnie VanZant)