Season's Greetings. It's nearly 2018. Can we even believe it? Well, ready or not, here it comes and I hope you have loads of wonderful plans for the new year. As for me, I've already put 2018 projects in motion and I thought I'd drop into the old blog and fill you in on the latest creative developments.
The big news is...
I've joined Patreon!
(hooray, hooray, hooray)
What's Patreon? Patreon is an online art community where artists and craftspeople of all kinds share their work and exclusive content with supporters, enthusiasts. Patrons. Finding a landing pad like Patreon has been a long-time-coming goal. I needed a place where I could earn income by sharing three things: my writing, my art, and day-in-the-creative-life stuff. Now that I've found that place, I'm excited, but it's also true that joining Patreon is scary. I don't know if I'll be good at it, if I can keep up, and if I'll find an audience. But leaving the things I make to sit in piles, drawers, or boxes, waiting to be seen, is no longer an option.
I hope you'll stop by and take a look around my Patreon page. As I add content to the site, there'll be free reads and arty chat and pics for the general public, and if you'd like to see more exclusive, one-of-a-kind posts, I'm also offering subscription memberships at $2, $4, and $7. Everything on Patreon will be an expansion and extension of storm row studio blog, so if you like the stuff around here, you'll want to keep an eye on my Patreon project. Three good ways to do that are:
1. Follow me on Twitter. I've created a second, business-y handle: @storm_row
2. Follow me on Instagram. I've created a second, studio-centric handle:@stormrow
3. Sign up for storm row studio blogemail alerts so you'll get notice each time I post Patreon updates and news. To sign up, go to right-hand column, scroll down to the "FOLLOW BY EMAIL" section, enter you email address in the box, and click the "Submit" button.
But wait. There's more.
Free reading material. Up now. On Patreon.
That's right! This minute several made for the public (aka: everyone) posts are up on my Patreon page. The latest is fRead in under 15. If you've been around my blog awhile, you might recall me writing about book donations and giveaways. I called this act of giving Free Reads, or fReads. Now, as I develop a fast-fiction writing practice, my Patreon page seems the best place to offer free online short stories told in fifteen pages or less. The first fRead in under 15 is titled Outlook Road, a story about bikes and boards and doing the right thing, 80s style.
Well, I'm off to take a walk. Thank you, thank you, thank you to all you storm row studio blog readers. The past year or so has been tough, interesting, and I appreciate all of you who check in and support me in this way or that. I wish you the 2018 of your dreams. Remember, just. Keep. Rowing.
It was rad. So rad, we often talk about how rad it all was.
So you know, we edit, but never censor. Not language or ideas or emotion.
In this edition: gymsuits, self-esteem, survival
Zan: Okay, brace yourself. Look what I found. My junior high
gymsuit.
Max: Holy shit! The gym onesie. So humiliating. How in the
hell do you still have that?
Zan: I don’t know. It seemed liked something I should keep.
Maybe because it had my name in felt letters on the back.
Max: I was so self-conscious in that thing that I BEGGED to
wear a t-shirt over it. In fact, I insisted and Ms. Leonard came into the
locker room and watched me put my regular clothes back on. Remember her, with
hair bobbed into a perfect triangle. So awesome. Anyway, at the time, I thought
it was super creepy, but she was checking for signs of abuse.
Zan: I LOVED Ms. Leonard. Didn’t most girls think she was a
bitch, but she was actually really cool? And obviously, caring. It’s nice to
hear that a teacher cared at that level. But if they really cared they’d have realized
how ridiculous a gymsuit was as athletic wear.
Max: Our regular teacher was… Who? Not Mrs. Zenith?
Zan: No. Mrs. Zenith was a tough cookie. We had Mrs. Kimler.
Max: Mrs. Kimler, oh yeah! Huge muscly thighs. Too much of a
good thing.
Zan: Way too much. But she forgave me for being mostly
unathletic. And complaining endlessly about the guysuit.
Max: Meanwhile, on the other side of the gym, the boys wore
black shorts and a green shirt. School colors. I was so jealous. It was so
unfair.
Zan: Right. And there we were, in navy blue onsies, having
to almost fully undress just to pee. And the top—which was supposed to blouse over the
bottoms—would get twisted or snagged on equipment.
Max: Well, I had huge boobs. Not gymsuit compatible.
Zan: I had a tummy and I remember Mrs. Kimler poking middle
and calling me Pillsbury Dough Boy.
Max: WHAT? That’s horrible. You were skinny.
Zan: Skinny fat. At my middle. With lean appendages. I’m
pulling out the scrapbook.
Zan: Me. What a dumbass. She said fondly and lovingly.
Max: You were not. The thing is, it’s bad enough to go
through puberty looking like a zit-covered alien, but then to force us into
form-fitting shit left over from the 1950s?
Zan: Right. Thirty years later and no one figured out how
jacked that suit was? With that neckline—itchy and fake feminine—and that
piping—why? And why make fake fucking pockets? Give me some real pockets, at
least, so I have a place to tuck my hands while I’m bowing my head in shame.
Max: I was just so bothered by the tightness of it that I
didn’t care much how it looked. And, yes, the key word is shame. We were supposed to all look the same. No individuality,
no calling attention to any of those nasty girl parts that we weren’t to talk
about. Ever.
Zan: Exactly, but the fabric actually showed all the bits. Remember
how we’d raid the lost and found and wear neckties or vests or mismatched shoes
just to buck the system. I wanted to be unique and I wanted to distract from how oddly revealing the suit was.
Max: Because it was tight.
Zan: Made to fit a fictitious girl.
Max: Yes. I remember being sad when I first saw it. Thinking
of the girls who could wear anything and look beautiful or perfect. Even in
that horrible thing. For other kids, well, it was hard enough trying to fit in.
Zan: I dreaded it too. Felt scared to wear it because my
sisters complained how ugly it made a person. I had no boobs and crooked teeth
and didn’t need another reason to feel weird. So, did you care about being
“pretty” or “beautiful” or did you just want to look cool? I cared a lot about
looking cool, stylish. All the time. Anywhere. And I did not want my hiney to show.
Max: For me, I cared about being beautiful. It was just
something I knew I’d never be. I remember boys always talked to me like I was
another boy. Made me sad then. I get it now.
Zan: I knew I’d never be beautiful either. I could accept
that. I just wanted an identity. MY identity. I actually liked when boys
treated me like a boy. I felt respected. Equal. Still, they scared me. Their
judgment scared me. I didn’t want to be defined by a boy.
Max: I’ve pointed this out before, but you did okay. You fit
in.
Zan: Well, I didn’t have stand-out good looks or the
best clothes, but I had some confidence. Which was really defiance. I’ve always
been sensitive to the nuances in people’s behavior. And my own. Even back then I understood
that most kids didn’t feel awesome about themselves. At all. There were
probably only a few kids who truly felt attractive in all aspects. Some who got
deemed “popular” clung to that and tried to make the rest of us feel unworthy.
But they were fucking idiots with no good ideas. Those were kids I had to stand
up to—shaking in my boots—and let know they couldn’t define me. Learned to do
that in the family unit and sometimes that behavior made me uncool with the
“cool” kids. Truth is, I was nerdy, silly, immature, and unsure, but I could
see through the roles kids adopted or were given. Maybe it gave me a slight leg
up. But I never shared those feelings with you. We were kids. I didn’t know
how.
Max: There was a lot we didn’t say, I agree.
Zan: If I could go back in time, I’d tell you I saw your
charm, wit, and a cleverness. I saw how you were sweet and edgy.
Max: I’ve distracted you from the topic at hand. Gymsuits.
Go.
Zan: You’re gonna breeze over my friendly comments?
Max: I run from emotion. And speaking of running… What
sports did you like?
Zan: Okay. I’ll let you off the hook. So. I hated sports.
Except golf. And some track. ‘Cause spazzes love to run. But I didn’t really
hate sports. I hated gym class.
Max: What about swimming? In high school? I used to change in
the bathroom stall, but after class, after the shower, Coach Perkins made us
walk by her naked. We were actually graded on showering.
Zan: Like the gym suit, grading on hygiene was left over
from the old days. Some Don’t-Be-Mr.-Bungle bullshit. I remember thinking,
“Yeah, don’t worry Coach Perkins. I’ll wash my mosquito bite tits and hiney,
but at home.”
Max: If I could go back in time, I’d ask why. Why the
gymsuit? Why the deeply shaming locker room rules? I did love gym and sports,
so why ruin it?
It was rad. So rad, we often talk about
how rad it all was.
So you know, we edit, but never censor. Not language or ideas or emotion.
In this edition:
Prince: expression, equality, & censorship
Zan: Prince
dies…so sad.
Max: It’s
horrible.
prince, 19, robert whitman photography
Max: Only 57,
wonder what happened.
Zan: Four days
ago he had to land his plane to be treated for the flu. He performed the next
night and said he was okay. Then he went home to Minnesota. When they found
him, he was unresponsive in an elevator in his house. He couldn’t be revived
and died at home. Elevator equals interesting…ascending to the Great Perhaps?
Also, it’s raining in Minneapolis today. Purple rain?
Max: And if the
elevator tries to bring you down, go crazy, punch a higher floor.
Zan: Oh shit.
Max: You know
the song Darling Nikki is what made Tipper Gore start her movement to put
warning labels on tapes and CDs.
Zan: I remember.
I guess she was a square. Did you buy the Purple Rain album in ‘84?
Max: Of course!
Fucking loved it. Still do.
Zan: Me too.
purple rain, released july 1984, amazon
Max: Remember
how just looking at the cover, opening the tape, and reading the stuff inside
made us feel? The hours we spent listening to it, reading every word of the
insides. The way it smelled even. How awesome was it when they had the lyrics?
Zan: I fucking
loved having the lyrics. It was like a book. And with the Purple Rain cover, it
said so much about what we were about to find in the music. It was badass,
sexy, and I loved the feminine elements. Not just the flower border, but how he
was embracing his femininity. It blew me away.
Max: Yes! His
music wasn’t like anything at the time. Not for us, anyway. Girls in the
Midwest. My favorite song is DMSR. So good. On Purple Rain, I’d have to say
Computer Blue. Although, The Beautiful Ones is so intense.
Zan: All solid tunes. Hey, speaking of not being like anything we’d seen before… What
about Boy George? He’s touring with Culture Club again. He was a judge on Project
Runway. I love him. Love how he plays around with that gender-neutrality thing
too. The fashion of Prince and Boy George? I was a part time tomboy and needed
these artists. I mean, I didn’t know that then, but I felt it. It’s like they
were saying, “Forget gender, just be who you are.”
Max: I’m not
your woman. I’m not your man. I am something that you’ll never understand.
Zan: Exactly.
Max: Okay, since
we’re on the subject. Other greats. The Cure.
Zan: Duh.
Max: Howard
Jones.
Zan: Saw him
live in ninth grade. Awesome.
Max: Did you go
to Simple Minds back then? I swear I remember you telling me about it.
Zan: I wish I’d seen Simple Minds. I found Jim
Kerr so fascinating.
Max: And Prince?
In three words.
Zan: Inspiring,
sexy, smart.
Max:
Androgynous, eclectic, unique. But I prefer the definition of unique: unlike anything else.
Max: I like him
shirtless in the bathtub. Never thought I’d say that, but… I love his hair when
he was on American Bandstand.
Zan: I like the
black crop top and tight pants in the Kiss video.
Max: I’m
sticking with shirtless. Because even without all those shiny clothes and
ruffles, he’s still so cool.
Zan: Right?
Max: Google his American Bandstand appearance.
prince with dick clark, 1979, prince.org
Zan: Oh shit.
The feathered hair is amazing. I’d forgotten about it. How did you remember
this?
Max: I loved
American Bandstand. Until Solid Gold stole my heart.
Zan: He’s 19 in
this performance!
Max: Oh yeah. He
was still looking for representation then.
Zan: Your memory is amazing. PS: I LOVED SOLID GOLD. But… was it sexist?
Max: Of course. How
about this? Nasty Girl, Prince wrote it, and it was the first time I ever heard
a woman sing about sex. Not love or heartache, but straight up sex. Prince was
a feminist.
Zan: Right. Sex,
equality were spiritual things for him. So, here’s a question: Would you rather
be a Solid Gold dancer or the baggage handler on Prince’s tour bus?
Max: Easy.
Baggage handler. But I’d get fired for stealing.
Zan: What would
you steal? I’d steal a pair of pants. The man had awesome pants. I love pants.
Max: Slacks.
Zan: Right. Slacks.
Max: And I’d
steal whatever was sparklyist. Yes, sparklyist is a word.
