manic, desperate, happy… the Rev’s Updates… “they got the guns but we got the numbers”
The cold creeping steel-blue of morning shines brighter and brighter off the Empire State Building’s facade. Here, at one of 45,230 night jobs, I get a clear view of the old bugger. It’s huge and medal and stands up to airplanes (small ones at least).
**********
I always feel like there’s some pseudo-suicide watch on me. I used to think it was a pain in the ass. Now I understand why ppl thank I’m “that way.”
So let me do a little filling on what’s been up recently.
As per usual, I’m still in J-School, twerking out my master’s degree. Despite my bouts of laziness and mediocrity, I have managed to keep from getting tossed–so far. My mentor, Lonnie Isabel, is brilliant, in that old school editor kind of way. I know I’m banned from mentioning school here, but, I consider the man a personal mentor as well. And I’ll tell you why.
I’m pretty fucking stubborn. Last Tuesday, after chasing sources across three burough before 9am, I was ready to puke, quit and sleep. (I hate when ppl tell me they can’t do journalism on a hangover… that’s bullshit… even totally dry journalists have ot wake up at 2am, 7pm or god-knows-when… hang in there, stupid… i did) I called up my fam, and told em “no more craziness, no more howling mad manny, no more lost hours,days,weeks, no more darkhalos under these blue-greens, no more early morning sadness, late nite head scratching, no more using AK-47 to hammer in nails, no more living without reciprocity, no more pushups to stay awake, no more deadend editors treating me like toilet paper, no more petty pols and their petty fiefdoms, no more uncovering rubies with a bulldozer, no more shitstein interviews, no more stink of mass-purchased carpet, no more Community Board power-brokers, no more self-righteous preachers, no more gluttons, no more money pigs, no more football, no more graduate school, no more, no more, no more…. no more”
After a debate, in Romanian, consisting of pleas, yelling, crying and death-humor, I was resolute, done, finished, and ready to tell Lonnie. I’d call him up, let him know. Let him be like THIS FUCKING disappointed in me (sorry, dude) and go handle my magazine (which just went NATIONAL BITCHES!!)….
“Hey, Lonnie, I know this is crazy, but you got a min…”
“This ain’t crazy. You called me up at11 o’clock at night… it’s 9am…. don’t worry about it.”
“Hey, man, well, listen. Um. Well, I’ll just spit the fucker out. I hate this shit. I’m unhappy. I’m pursuing stories I’d be loathe to pursue on my own, and failing miserably at them. I’m tired of being a shitty writer, with shity ideas that turn into shitty stories. Before I might’ve been all that, but at least I enjoyed it and I was getting better. “
“So what’re you saying.”
“Dude, I’m sorry, I’m done.”
“What do you mean you’re done”
“Done, finished…. done with school…. i’m too much of a bum. I need to sit in the soup and really…”
“Now hold on, you’re just gonna up and leave school… “
“I mean they’re gonna flunk me out.. well, I’m gonna flunk me out… It’s like a fucking rap song or some shit, everytime I hand in a paper I swear I can hear the professors humming “Throw some D’s on it!”"
“Manny…”
“Yup…”
“Listen. I know it’s hard–I know how you are… I know… this aint your thing, man…. Don’t quit…. you may not like…. but you need that degree.”
“I really don’t. I just wanted to learn.”
“You wanted to teach too? right? Well in that case, it’s not just you who needs the degree its all those students, the remedial english and journalism students that will never have that professor unless you really bust your ass until the end of the year.’
“Yeah, but…”
“I understand, Manny. You know what. Just come on in. Just come in today.”
“I can’t, I’m so tired, I’ve been up since the crack of ass….”
“Come in… one class… what is that like 3 hours? You can’t sit in a room for 3 hours?”
“Well…”
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Now this is a severely abridged dialogue. Now, I know. I’m a stoner, slacker and general freak BUT I’m also about DIY and self-empowerment. My meta-ethic behind this is huge, so we can discuss some other time (or read any of m 6 or so years of journalism or last two years of blogging). But I’m all about how we can, bottom-up, create a far better global community (“I thought you were just here to be a pain in the ass”—if anyone’s ever “just a pain in the ass” to you, you’re probably not hearing some part of what they’re saying).
That being said, while I’m an ok writer, I’m a pretty friggin decent editor. And editor, the really good ones, have to wield managerial skill without seeming overburdening to writers.
Note Lonnie’s need to internalize the cause (grad school) within the worker bee (journalist manny)…
Well done…..
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So I’m still in school. The mag just went national (through an independent distributor). I also just got my own slam/spoken word competition. SWEET! I’m working on a massive immigration piece on Flake-Guttierrez for the IndyPendent and am now heading up Beyond Race’s news section.
Anyways, sorry to be so mundane and trivial. There are no insane vision here. Not now. The Great Awe will remain unexplored. My inner buddha will cry himself to sleep, but fuck him–he aint putting together this web-package for Urban Journalism class tonite.
Think Free, Live Hard, Die Funny,
–Reverend Manny and the Flux-Tapozed
ps–I miss you Ms Bergmann, but I didn’t miss your piece in the Metro … kudos!
