I arose this morning and hit the keyboard, to see an onslaught of new subscribers to this Substack, all deriving from a recommendation from Oliver Bateman, who I am pretty damned sure I don’t know…but I have, in gratitude, subscribed to his Substack.
It seems only fair, yes?
As frequently noted, I adamantly refuse payment for anything I do here. I don’t need the money, nor the inherent responsibility which inevitably accompanies the presence of paying customers, who, rightfully so, expect their money’s worth.
This, of course, means that subscribing to my Substack is not a financial consideration, thus eliminating monetary risk as a factor. I would assume that this was likely a draw for many of these new subscribers, to whom I offer a grateful welcome, as noted above.
This brief—very, very brief, by my standards, for fuck’s sake, as you new subscribers will soon learn—entry is a stop gap, an explanation, even, I think, an apology, for the weeks between posts here.
I am in the notes stage of a Substack piece about the synergistic and corrosive relationship between the personal, social, and political weaponizing of faux fragility and the popular entertainment industrial complex, but I have been stymied…
…Not by the material, nor the subject matter, certainly-This is a mother lode I have been ranting about since the 1970s-but by that pesky career of mine, which, to my shock and gratitude, refuses to die.
All this is to say, to those who’ve been with me from day one, and to the slew of newcomers swarming onboard as well, be patient, if you please, with a contrarian old man with a chip on his shoulder.
I promise that, sooner or later, I will get to this typically long winded, rambling piece, with a guaranteed buried lede, not to mention a guaranteed element of content or two that will alienate some of you, as soon as humanly possible.
This is, of course, whether you want it, or not.
In that regard, I do expect a number of these newcomers to tear ass away with their hair on fire, once their curiosity is satisfied by the catalogue of previous entries, well before the upcoming screed is even posted.
Trust me on this.
As ever, I remain,
Howard Victor Chaykin…a Prince, of course, and a grateful one, too, but a Prince who is neither easily flattered nor flatters others well.