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October 3, 2025

[Seth Says] The Commish

calamar.jpg

Q: What do you call the person in charge of potato pastry?
A: The Knishioner.

I'm feeling a little bit Tevye (could probably stand to lose some weight) because I've been singing, "Commissiooooon, commission... Commission!" (Not well, mind you. I can barely carry a tune in a bucket.) (I'd much rather have a tuna in a bucket)(and you can keep the bucket) As mentioned in my previous newsletter, I've had some more-fulfilling-than-usual work lately, and am delighted to announce that one of those commissions has now come to fruition ("Fruitioooooon, fruition... Fruition!") and excitingly I get to share it with you all.

My friend Katie wanted a song about how the current ceaseless parade of awful was all predicted by dystopian science fiction. Because she does music professionally, she had already worked out most of a tune, complete with opening and closing verses. But the middle remained to be filled in with lyrics, so I filled it fully (with arguably too many syllables), which I found full filling, and she's just this week recorded herself singing it in a bookshop, which I highly recommend you listen to if you like science fiction or dislike fascism or especially both:

  • Dear Ursula (The Science Fiction Song)

BETTER THAN BILLIONAIRES

At a time when all the major media conglomerates seem to be continually kowtowing to the regime, many people are doing things like canceling subscriptions (including us - recently canceled our Disney+ subscription in spite of loving Andor back when it was still a cautionary tale and not a corporate guidebook) because billionaires neither need nor deserve the money. But independent artists do and do, which is why it's always nice to buy something from them instead if they have something you like.

In a previous lifetime I ran holiday gift guides suggesting some artists I know that people could buy from. Today I'll just say to support your local artists because in more recent years my attempts to do a gift guide have met with resounding failure (does that resonate?), which I will attribute to the fickle nature of time rather than admitting that it might be my fault for largely failing to keep up with my many talented and creative friends. (A damning admission.)("Admissioooooooon, admission... Admission!")

Regardless, commissions are a whole other level (bonus level!) because you get to be a patron of the arts which is lovely not only for the artist but also for you because you get to feel like a wealthy renaissance noble (only without the cape)(unless you commission a cape)(which I totally recommend)(unless you're chicken)(and even a chicken wants a capon) who lists of a bunch of random things you want and then the artist does it and it's often different than what you expected in interesting ways and you get a cool piece of custom art that you requested.

This was certainly my experience a few years ago when I commissioned a rap song from an artist I admire, even though I am perfectly capable of writing my own rap songs. And I was commissioned for lyrics by someone perfectly capable of writing her own lyrics. And a lot of my artist friends are the ones most likely to purchase art. And if you take cranberries and stew them like applesauce they taste much more like prunes than rhubarb does.

“I need more nonsense in my life, please send me these newsletters every two weeks!”


A BRIEF INTERMISSION

An actual conversation I had with Debbie last weekend:

Me: (after almost burning myself on the oven) "Hey, did you know that ovens are hot?"
Debbie: "Yes I did, because I went to Oven School."
Me: "Very popular program, I'm led to believe. They have like 400 degrees."

YOU CAN COLUMN ME AL

In what I can only call "mostly not my parents' fault" (according to my lawyer), I did not have a particularly happy childhood. A large part of this was due to hating school (in spite of being pretty good at the school part), and consequently myself. Thankfully, as I grew up I got to find better communities for my needs, and realized that the problem to be solved was not my existence, but the people I surrounded myself with.

That's the topic of this week's column, which discusses childhood bullies and the current regime's anti-autistic stance:

  • Revenge on the Nerds

A brief excerpt:

Imagine my delight when I discovered life was not like middle school. Turns out, being a weird nerd doesn't cause misery, it's only being bullied for it that causes the problem. If you just let weird nerds revel in their weird nerditude without harassment, they will create wonderful works of art and accomplish great things and enjoy being themselves. (Especially at Comic Con, as a friend's recent podcast pointed out, where some of the costumes are preposterously good.)

Unfortunately, some of those middle-school bullies haven't changed in the past few decades, but they have found their way into government. In recent months, RFK Jr. has launched an all-out assault on science, which in some ways is an inspiring accomplishment for a bully. It used to be that you could only bully kids who were too good at science, but RFK Jr. has managed to actually attack science itself, which you have to admit is pretty impressive."

And if you missed last week's column, here it is in the Banner:

6 Possible Explanations of the Epstein Birthday Letter


PARTING IS SUCH SAD SWEETNESS

Sounds weird when you say it the other way, right? I guess that's what I get for reading these translated plays by Billy Spearshake. Anyway as always I thank you for reading, will be back in two weeks with another column, and if you're looking to do something nice for yourself, consider hiring a local and/or friendly artist or musician ("Musiciaaaaaaan, musician... Musician!")

Okay, I promise that's my second-to-last Fiddler reference for this week's newsletter.

Punrise,
Punseth

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