cellini's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Sunlight for the Child This fucking swine responded to me asking about the calendaring of the Ch1nch1lla Cafe story by saying that SPIN M@gazine is in a transitional state and that he will look into what is happening and get back to me. No, motherfucker. You are the Fe@tures Editor of SP1n Magazine. And you told me, over the phone, that you will pay me $500 for a feature about the Ch1nCh1lla Cafe. So I undertook a massive effort to deliver that feature. I made four visits to that venue, of several hours each. I did three interviews for that story, transcribing all of them. I got a horde of people psyched up to do stuff for a story for SP1N Magazine, wherein they scheduled a show explicitly to record exactly what was needed to promote this band via an international forum. And then I wrote a piece for SP1N that was exactly what they needed. And now this fucking piece of shit is trying to act like maybe they might want a story about that and he will do what he can. This fucking asshole gave me the assignment. Who the fuck does he think that he is? You don't come back from that. You don't give the fucking assignment with a dollar amount and then act like you have to find out what is happening. You're the fucking features editor. If your word doesn't mean something,then why would anyone write for your shitty fucking magazine? I am going to pull exactly that tomorrow. If this shitbag doesn't have a "yes" waiting for me. You ordered this fucking story, I spent a month making it happen. Pay me my fucking $500 or I will get back on Facebook and report you out to Upod, which was a great sort of union of freelancers until it went bullshit and existed only on Facebook. I would literally go back on Facebook just to report these fucking shitbags at SPIN for this fucking theft that they are trying to perpetrate. I did three interviews for this fucking story. I encountered so many different people on the Rivanna Trail. Today it was a black woman with kids who were at home with her boyfriend. She had an ok rod and a pack of nightcrawlers. There is nothing wrong with worms. Everything eats worms. She fell, and then caught a fish. A bluegill. I came over with my landing net and taught her how to filet a fish. She remembered her grandmother had showed her something. I showed her how to find the top of the filet by putting the blade through the top of the back and going down and back, close to the bone. While I was fishing there a couple came by and the male half of the couple thanked me for advice that I had forgotten about how to catch small stuff below the rapids. I came back to the outside edge of the bend in the river to remove the nice lady's hook from a log on which it was stuck and she was pulling on it when all it needed was pushing. A lady I'd talked to in the parking lot wanted to talk to about rare birds. My friend Jim, who I've seen dozens of times along the trail, showed me pictures of the ducks and raptors he'd seen in the last few days. There's a kid, about 11 years old, whom I've been told is a loner and is trying to catch fish himself. He sits along the trail, line in the water. He lives with his grandparents. I'm waiting to meet him. I have the hooks that he needs to catch catfish, and the lures for sunfish and smallmouth bass. I walk the trail and I prune every branch that intrudes on the trail. I cut every branch of thorn that reaches out into the sunlight. I want to be the the sunlight. I want to be the sunlight for the child that comes to the river. 4:12 a.m. - 2023-05-11 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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