The bumper sticker on the back of the
luxury SUV said “Don't spread my wealth, spread my work ethic”
and I nearly lost it. Here in the remains of Central Michigan, where
the industry had skipped town and taken most of the jobs with it?
Where McDonalds issues a packet to their workers explaining
dispassionately that the only way to survive on their wages from
McDonalds is to take a second job? I'm fortunate to be able to earn
my living mostly doing the things I want to do, but it comes at a
price of constantly contorting my finances and schedule. And in the
last 4 months, I've pulled a string of 20 hour days without a single
day off to come out the other side as broke as I went in. So question
my sanity for trying to make a living as an artist in the worst
economy in almost a hundred years, but don't question my work ethic.
This is Pen Pen saying “fuck that” and flipping the car the bird
(it's funny because penguins are birds).
A few triumphant hours of reading while
the sounds of summer permeated the air. The to-do list glared
naggingly in the back of my head, but I pushed it aside. Yeah. I know
this means one more 20 hour day somewhere down the line. But right
now? Right now it's the 74th annual Hunger Games and I'm
not about to miss that. This is Pen Pen winning the Hunger Games
Chicago style.
As I left Chicago the next morning, the
tired still hadn't abated. But my work ethic is indefatigable even if
my wealth is fatigued. So I pulled off into a coffee shop for a few
hours to try to polish off some of the work I'd run from the day
before. A dent, but not an insignificant one. I headed back on the
road for a few hours, then pulled off again, having made good enough
time to justify a brief break in the road and lured by the promise of
a “state trail.” A weird weird part of me felt a tinge of guilt
for going hiking when I still had so much to do. An even weirder part of me contemplated not writing about it for fear that some of the people I'm doing projects for would know I was having fun during time that I could have been doing work. “Why aren't you
working?” Bender orders. “We are working!” Leela and Fry
respond. “I mean working yourselves to death.” 8 hours of
work, 8 hours of sleep, 8 hours of what we will? I'll settle 18
of work, 4 of sleep, and 2 of what we will. This is Pen Pen what we
willing.
I headed off on the Northwest trail
because A. it looked like I could do it in an hour and a half, and B.
it was the only one marked difficult. If I'm going to take it easy, I
might as well take it easy with difficulty. About a hundred yards in
a path split off from the main one. “Time Warp Trail,” the sign
said, with a tiny red sign affixed beneath it, “Do Not Enter.”
You really should know better than to name something awesome and
mysterious like “Time Warp Trail,” put a sign up explicitly
telling them not to follow it, and expect curiosity not to get the
best of everyone who walks by. This is Pen Pen doing the time warp
again.
Sadly there were no frozen donkey
wheels. No four toed statues. Not even a polar bear that would turn
out to have nothing to do with the plot. As far as I could tell it
was still 2013, and there was no Dr. Frankenfurter, Doc Brown, or Dr.
Juliet Burke. But I did come across the ruins of an old wall handmade
stone wall that was clearly built by Jacob to keep out the Smoke
Monster. This is Pen Pen screaming “Waaaaaaaalt” loudly and
dramatically despite it also having nothing to do with the plot.
I got to the venue late. Cursing my
brief dalliance with fun. But everyone there was incredibly friendly.
From the other bands to the promoter to the sound guy, I was
immediately welcomed into this community in St. Paul. When I got up
to play there were at most 30 people in the venue, but they were
appreciative, attentive, and incredibly supportive. It may have been
a small crowd in a large venue (funny how I can play to 6 people in a
basement and think that was a great crowd!),
but it didn't feel small. The other bands were unanimously great. At
the end of the night, the promoter apologized for their not being a
lot of people there to see me. “That's OK,” I said, “They were
the right people.” Those moments when you're welcomed with open
arms into a new community? When the performance of your art forges
real human connection? Those are the moments when all the hard work
becomes worth it. Those are the moments that propel you through the
20 hour days. This is Pen Pen turning on the Red Light despite Sting
telling him he doesn't have to.
This
is a song I wrote one time. You should download it and share with
your friends.
