Let's Do Launch

Wait . . . Dad?


Are you gonna be on the computer all day?

No. I just have to finish this video, build a website, and establish a presence on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, MySpace and Pinterest, send some notes to the mixer and check the account to see if I've got enough fun money to get some new strings, . . . and then the computer is all yours for the rest of the day.

So . . . dad?


So . . . like twenty minutes?

Early last year, as it looked like this project would be finished before the summer was out, (my crew says HA HA HA), I decided implicitly that I was going to focus on recording, performing, and content creation.

Find someone else to mold the message.

Find someone else to package the product.

Find someone else to sell it to the people.


That didn't go so well.

Everyone wants to be a freak, but no one wants to be Barnum.

And the media is in such flux that an MFA in Marketing is hopelessly out of date before the ink dries.

I talked with a gal who was running a hip new production company. The kind of company that I would've paid some serious money to in order to do the kind of things that I'm am guerrilla styling now.

She asked me what my writing was like.

Trying to find a way to describe this cunning mixture of suburban dad humor and punk rock ranting, I told her that the concept was like Dave Barry meets Henry Rollins.

She stared at me for a moment.

Then told me she had no idea who those people were.

And here's the thing. I didn't pursue the company because she wasn't familiar with a columnist for the Miami Herald or because she probably didn't own any Black Flag albums; I didn't pursue it cause she had no idea how to lie to me.

The least she could have done was nod her head, say "Awesome" and then Googled them later.

How can you sell me and not know how to bullshit your way out of a little chit chat?

To be a key demographic for me doesn't require a PhD in pop culture references, but you do have to have at least watched some Star Wars movies and listened to the Beatles.

Not the Stones so much.

But you should have purchased the White Album at least twice.

The best part of the modern world is that consumption of my style of guerrilla indie pop is at an all time high.

The problem is that the consumers are fragmented into their own little niches.

Case in point:

Last night, at the dinner table, my 20 year old son was doodling around on his Facebook, whilst his 19 year old cousin was engrossed in her Instagram universe.

And here's the thing: I spend three to four hours crafting a hilarious essay on modern marketing, post it, and get 20 views, 2 comments, and 1 like.

The two kids I had dinner with last night put up a note saying how boring their chemistry professor is and the response is deafening.

57 other kids jump in and agree, disagree, or wanna know when dinner's over so they can hang out.

Within the first three minutes.

Which I think is effing awesome.

I just gotta figure out a way to figuratively tap that.

Which means being everywhere.

All the time.

And awesome.

All the time.

And finished.

In twenty minutes.

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