Priced Out of the Market

Last night (Friday) I had two totally surreal experiences which made me realize you can quite easily price yourself out of the market in this town if you're not Very Very Careful. Maybe it's because Santa Fe media has an inferiority complex - maybe it's because medicority is so very much the rule of the land that if you happen to Get Press for Being Press, you must be Too Damn Good for everyone else. (And maybe that's the Same Damn Thing.)

Experience #1: So I'm standing on the floor of the Indian Market Preview at Sweeney Center, looking though 1200 pieces of Native craftsmanship, when I hear my name called out. I look up, and it's an Editor (nameless, baby, nameless) from the New Mexican, telling me she's read my latest piece on Native Art (sadly, not on the web) and wants to know what I'm up to. She shows me the glossy-covered guide to Indian Market, published by her paper, and tells me she was behind it. I say, (innoncently enough) "Hey, when you're doing this sort of thing, give me a call."

She says, "Gee, I wasn't really sure if you were writing."

I blanch and say "Of c ourse I'm writing - that's what I *DO* for a living."

She says, "Well, I mean, I just thought that maybe writing for The New Mexican was beneath you now."

Why? Because I have a self-published book out and a short string of national credits? Or because The New Mexican is a rancid piece of shit that doesn't pay enough? Either way, I'm a broke-ass writer trying to keep my ideals together in an era of hyper-capitalism. Throw me some fucking work, you morons - dissident writers *don't* keep food on the table by having people think they're too fucking cool to write for *whomever* has a paycheck to throw at them - actually, we end up writing by the hour for some multinational or someone with an agenda to MAKE FUCKING SURE the rich get richer and the POOR GET FUCKED, you goddamn LOSERS!!!!

(Oh, if ONLY I could send you a URL of my Next For-Hire contract - but I can't of course, because I'm under NDA. Suffice to say that My Next Car is being financed by people who think this kinda copy is Really Kick-Ass:

Nestled in the heart of the Sangre de Christos at the southern foot of the Rocky Mountains, the people of the city of Santa Fe enjoy an
unsurpassed lifestyle that includes beautiful views of mountain and
sky, outdoor living made possible by over three hundred sunlit days
per year, and a genteel and thoughtful culture that is marked by a
thriving arts community and unparalleled local and international
cuisine.

Downtown Santa Fe bustles with tourists and locals alike enjoying the
Plaza, a central spot for community activity since the 1600s.
Numerous art festivals – including the world-famous Indian & Spanish
Markets – as well as several music and film festivals, bring a
constant flow of craftspeople and artists through the city. And just
fifteen minutes from the downtown Plaza is a world-class open-air
opera house which features classic and new operas every summer.

Horseback riding, hiking, fishing, golf, and serene camping sites are
within an hour's drive of the city. At 7,000 feet above sea level,
the air is so clear that you can see the deep blue sky all year round,
and gaze at mountains over a hundred miles away. And at night, you
can settle into dinner at one of our many four-star restaurants,
enjoying a kind of good life that most people only dream about.

Santa Fe – it's the lifestyle you've been waiting for. Come be a part of it."

Virtually gauranteeeing that there will be More People with Dough you Wouldn't Want to Know moving here - which would be great if I owned a house, but no, guess again - I'm pricing myself out of the the market - again! Taste the irony....can ya?

(by the way, Jules - "provocative" Dan Savage has his fucking head up his ass. The best paid people at The Stranger SELL FUCKING ADS - editorial is so fucking weak over there it'd make your head spin - and WHY? Because the MONEY is in SELLING ADS. So convenient for him to take the fucking high road, as if The Stranger were a serious journal of anything. It's not - in fact, when I lived there, I dubbed it "a newspaper with the dubious distinction of being a paper you should never take seriously."

Writers don't MAKE ENOUGH TO REBEL - that's why alt-weeklies are all sex ads and nonsense. Lifestyle rebellion doesn't FUCKING count, particular when it's so FUCKING tepid. "Gay raise kids in Seattle - while in Tacoma, fag-bashing is barely noticed by police." Live in a strongold for tolerance and you think you rule the world. Thanks Dan, for all your fine fucking work.)

Experience #2: (It'll be real fucking hard to keep this editor's name a secret.) Friday evening, after the preview, I head over to the Cinema Cafe to pick up a couple o' short films. As a juror for the Southwest Showcase of the Santa Fe Film Festival for the second year in a row, I am going to watch short films and pray there's something to hold my interest. I meet with the head of Film Fest, briefly, and he introduces me to someone else by saying, "This is Gregory Pleshaw, one of our jurors. I should say one of our esteemed jurors, because Gregory is a published author."

He says this shit all breathless, as if he's really impressed by my feat, so I volley back and say, (not verbatim) "Well shit, MAN, if you're so impressed by my creds, howsabout you kick back a reply to some of my FUCKING pitches to the magazine you edit?" He says he didn't think I'd be interested in his rag, since it only pays 30 cents a word. Because we're in mixed company, I forget to press the point that he HASN'T FUCKING REPLIED TO MY PITCHES, and simply say, "Hey, I need to pitch a little for the home-team every now and then."

What's my point? You CAN be too big for your britches in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Which is why most of my peers - writers, graphic designers, ad people, movie people - you name the creative industry - go out of state to get clients. Because no one here thinks, "Hey, so-and-so's doing all right - maybe we ought to get them to do the goddamn work," - because mediocrity has been the rule of the day for so fucking long that a bunch of shitheads at the Round House (and even some hype-driven national media - the same ones who forgot, mind you, that Al Gore somehow *forgot* to look at the data and voted with the President on THE GODDAMN FUCKING WAR - from Salon.com on down - how gosh darn "alternative" you turned out to be) actually believe that Governor Walrus could somehow run the national press gauntlet to Be President.

Sad thing is? They're probably right. After all, everything is about a race to the bottom right about now, ain't it? ('scuse me while I lick my fork - belch.)