It’s a cool night in San Diego as I’m writing this and maybe I’ve had some wine. Outside, I can hear emergency vehicles, their sirens wailing up and down Home Avenue. Despite the chilly breeze, I don’t close the windows. I like the way the sirens sound. I’m trying to do homework and write a newsletter simultaneously because I want to get good grades and I also want to produce writing that has value.
I have about a week of school left. I feel like I’ve been stuck in a McDonald’s ball pit for the past seven months, and I’m very tired.
Everyone’s tired, I know. We’re all swamped. I’m not special.
But also, can’t we all agree that, um...fuck Elon Musk?
I keep trying to think of clever, insightful critiques of a mega billionaire who can buy an entire social media platform on a whim, but all of it has been said already by people smarter and more articulate. I’m sure there are thousands of angles with which to cover Musk’s purchase of Twitter—all salient and informative while remaining critical—but on the most basic level, human level, someone just has to cry foul. Someone has to say “not fair.”
To work through two years of a world-decimating virus, to see loved ones suffer, to endure the near-collapse of democracy and never-ending war, to watch gas and rent and food prices soar, only to witness the single-most egregious public display of avarice...
Or, on a more personal level: To jump from job to job to unpaid student teaching while going to school, never fully rested, always low-key stressed, collecting little bumps of money so I can at least feel some worth in a capitalist society, only to watch some guy hand over more money than most countries’ GDPs...
It’s a gut-punch. It’s not fair.
Johnny Rotten’s parting words at the final Sex Pistol’s show: “You ever feel like you’ve been cheated?”
I’m feeling that.
Or, as Robert Frost said: “Nothing Gold Can Stay.” I think he wrote that about the internet.
It’s not like Twitter is even that fun anymore. Let Musk buy it. Let him let Trump back on, and all the other Nazis. Let Twitter become another Parler, I don’t care. That's not the point.
The point is, it was so easy for him. And when was the last time anything felt easy?
It’s so easy for Musk to buy his way into our discourse. It’s not enough to be the world’s richest man, but he has to be in our faces about it. Every little joke, every argument, every accomplishment we want to share on Twitter will have his stank on it. Now, when you share a Gofundme link raising money for life-saving surgery, Musk will be there, too.
Do you think Musk ever has to close a window when he gets cold, or does he have butlers for that? Do you think he’s ever heard the siren of an emergency vehicle driving past his house? Or are those just parts of life you can buy away with money? Has he ever been stressed or tired or busy in his life? I mean, not in a billionaire way?
I guess this is all to say that I’m thankful that I—nay we—have this newsletter. I know every site on the internet is owned by some rich asshole—and Substack is no different—but Elon Musk doesn’t own it (yet) and it still feels like we have a special thing going on here. I like hanging out with you all on AWKSD. Thanks for sticking around, and reading, and supporting me.
Let’s keep this place gold as long as we can.
AWKSD GUEST LIST
The Guest List gives AWKSD subscribers the opportunity to see live music for free. Just reply to this email and let me know which show you want to see, and I’ll hook you and a friend up. First come, first served.
Wednesday, April 27
Bewitcher, Nite, Tzimani @ Til-Two Club: Damn. Somebody should bring a radar to tonight’s Bewitcher show to read how fast they play. I’m sure they’re breaking at least a few laws (speed radars can measure bands, right?)
Thursday, April 28
Jon Spencer and the HITmakers @ The Casbah: I’m pretty certain Jon Spencer is a werewolf. Only a lycanthrope could build a career on music so scuzzy and scary yet compelling in a primordial, animalistic way. If you’re a of fan Pussy Galore or Blues Explosion, you know what to expect from the HITmakers. Awooo!
Slow Crush, Deserta, The Passengers @ Soda Bar: This is a night for moody brooding. Slow Crush plays heavy shoegaze that serves as a perfect soundtrack to thinking about the size of the universe and your insignificance within it. And if you haven’t seen San Diego’s excellent gothy post-punk band The Passengers yet, here’s your chance.
Saturday, April 30
The Great Sadness, Stuntdriver, Spacewizardinspace @ Til-Two Club: Imagine The White Stripes, but more stoner-y, more metal, and more evil, and you’ll get an idea of what The Great Sadness sounds like.
Got a tip or wanna say hi? Email me at ryancraigbradford@gmail.com, or follow me on Twitter @theryanbradford. And if you like what you’ve just read, please hit that little heart icon at the end of the post.
Julia Dixon Evans edited this post. Thanks, Julia. Go follow her on Instagram.
I'm tired too
yeah, I felt all of this. thanks for writing it.