Although profiling works with music, it absolutely, positively, does not work where money is the target—you can work these clubs until you're well into your thirties or beyond, and still not be able to figure out why some big spenders look like they just crawled out of a dumpster. And, on the flipside, there are more fake ballers than there are big spenders. The faux-hustler isn't just limited to the scammers and trust-me-bros of Instagram-suggested reels (maybe it's just me, as I have neither risen nor ground as a result of these ads, yet the rented, yellow Lambos next to ethnically ambiguous guy-in-a-suit images haunt my feed to this day). With the rare exception of bachelor parties and dudes looking to get robbed in the alley, in the strip club world, there is no correlation between suits and money...

April brings a lot of things to the table, like ham, painted eggs, chocolate, Jesus (I guess? Maybe this year…), rain, and that one special day of the year where everyone gets together secretly, by themselves, in windowless rooms, to plan massive power outages, national treasure robbery, resurrections, or some joke-equivalent, to unsuspecting people. I’ve never been good at it—April Fool’s Day, I mean. I always thought it required someone a bit meaner and more confident than I was, so every time I’d try to pull a prank, I’d immediately back out of it, tell the “victim” I was lying, and apologize. Such a waste of energy and a massive source of undue stress on my part, feeling like an awful human being...

I’ve been reading David Byrne’s How Music Works and was pretty bummed out by the section where he addresses his anger, disappointment, anxiety, and sense of helplessness at the Bush Administration’s invasion of Afghanistan, and then Iraq two years later. I came across this passage right as the missiles were raining over Iran in the present day, killing state leaders and school children alike. Timing couldn’t have been better. I don’t know what I was expecting from this elder statesman of pop music. Maybe I was hoping there would be some…instruction? Some path forward for what to do when you live in a country that is just flagrantly committing war crimes like a bully, while asking you, “What are you gonna do about it, nerd?”...

Death. We know we are going to end up there eventually. Nobody lives forever, except maybe Dracula. But the undead are not my concern. Your humble author has died twice. Didn't want to, but sometimes ya get sick and it happens like that. My personal experience of ying was having Pat Sajak, of all people, as the reaper, beckoning me into the abyss. He didn't make any corny jokes or anything, and he just extended his hand. I don't even like Wheel of Fortune! He extended his hand and beckoned. Didn't say a goddamn word, and where the fuck was Vanna White? I'd rather have her offering me a lawn mower to pursue my un-life. I was like "I ain't buying a vowel or any of this shit!" Still ended up dead...