OWN IT, Werkheiser. I thought of your guidance while I had the last GREAT GUMBO Minneapolis will know since it doesn’t know and will shut that shit down as of tomorrow. The details are sketchy but the journo in me tried to break the ice. By eating and drinking.

Here’s the deets: No food at the closing bar, but the restaurant had the aforementioned gumbo. I sat next to a 67-year-old retired English teacher named Tim who’d moved to the North Shore with his wife (who wasn’t present) so he was having the place’s last jambalaya.

We chatted (he nursed a beer, me a veux carré) and turns out, we knew people and local musicians (Dylan and family with him, and me with Hüsker Dü and related), and had an hour’s worth of stories to share. We were laughing and listening and recalling a lot. He subscribed to StoryShed, I got his contact info.

In the end, back to Seth’s stuff: live in the world, but your Substack (and online life) is a part of it. They feed each other. You can’t be online all the time.

OPEN UP. Git yer ass outside.

End of story.

Cue end music: