Of course, the blog wasn't the only thing going at the old website. There was all kinds of other crap that I can now mine for Ballad-filling material. I'll periodically throw up some movie reviews, musings on all kinds of stuff. I can't pretend to remember when those various things went up originally, so I'll just pretend I'm writing them in the present. Yeeha. In fact, what the hey, here's my innovative marketing for my art career. This offer still stands, btw:
The Posthumous Challenge
I am doomed to be painfully misunderstood during my lifetime, dragging my world-weary art into a sad chasm that could never dream to be understood in the present tense. I will lead a staggeringly fruitless artistic life, eventually winding up selling out and doing web design for ConglomoCorp wondering where it exactly all went wrong. My attic and basement will contain a bevy of pieces that will never bring a smile unto anyone's face until I leave this earth, at which point my treasure trove will be unearthed by a snooping relative and the world will have a cataclysmic bomb of artistic after-the-fact nirvana dropped on its lovely head. The name Nyet Jones will become synonymous with "beacon of genius in the darkening landscape of the soul-less, alienating and ultracorporate modern world," and people will say "Nyet Jones" in Post Modern Sociology classes across the country to save themselves syllables. "Nyet Jones" will be listed somewhere between Emily Dickinson and Kafka on the "Top 100 Role Models for Depressed Teenagers: There is Hope After Death" list now put out annually by USA Today. I will, without a doubt, become unfailingly posthumously famous.
You want great art for cheap.
This is just perfect. We are Bonnie & Clyde; Sid & Nancy; you're the drunken millionaire businessman and I'm the Las Vegas stripper who makes you forget to sign a prenup; I'm the used car salesman with a lemon Hummer and you're the rich kid from the burbs with the word "sucker" plastered on his forehead. Wait, scratch that last one.
I present to you The Posthumous Challenge: You can rent any piece of my art for the bargain basement one time fee of $50. In the event of my death, you can keep the piece of art. If you play your cards right, given the inevitability of my fame and the millions of dollars my works will someday fetch, you could turn your $50 investment into a gargantuan payoff. Just think: there will be that initial wave where the name Nyet Jones becomes famous, and then after all of the art from my house gets distributed to worldwide museums, things will die down a bit once everyone realizes that there is just no more exciting work by this artist to be had. But just as people are lamenting the drying up of the Jonesian well, you pop out of the woodwork and say "But wait, I have this Nyet Jones original that I bought over the internet in 2006!" And people will question you, but all kinds of DNA testing and various other scientific advancements that I couldn't hope to predict will validate your claim, and next thing you will be hearing "6.2 million, do I hear 6.3 million?" at an auction stocked with celebrities. You'll be rolling in it! How exciting! And all for 50 U.S. Dollars in 2006!
However, and there's always a however, that is the way the scene plays out if I die before you do. If you die before I do, I get my painting back AND you must will 1/3 of your estate to me (the other 2/3 can go to your spouse, mistress, pool boy, offspring, gold-digging playboy model, etc., however you see fit). I will, natch, have to get a notarized account of your estate and a guaranteed approximate dollar value of my payoff - no fair getting diagnosed with terminal cancer and then blowing all your money on cocaine, strippers, Crystal and life-sized edible models of the Jackson Five. That's not cool. I will also have to set some kind of minimum dollar amount that I am willing to take this gamble on, but if you're scouring the internet looking to buy art you're probably doing okay financially. Plus if you are ridiculous enough to take me up on this, you might as well have "Eccentric Millionaire" tattooed on your left thigh. But still, I don't want to give one of my fine pieces away only to later discover that I've inherited the Denver Broncos. Again, not cool.
There are a lot of aspects to this agreement that only enhance the intrigue. One, we will instantly have motive to kill one another, which adds a little flavor to the day to day. No more, "Hey, it's Nyet, I wonder what he's up to these days;" more like "Crap, there's Nyet, did I remember to pack the antivenom?" Two, even if we don't go around trying to kill one another, if our agreement were ever to become public and one of us were to die under strange circumstances, then blammo, instant prime suspect! Chances are you've never been a prime suspect in a murder investigation, so that would be a new experience, right? Also interesting is the subtle dynamic between us - I kinda need you to die quickly so I can pay off my med school loans, but I can't do anything too obvious or when I surprisingly inherit 1/3 of your estate I'll become the prime suspect. You, on the other hand, need me to die pretty quickly (I am, in all likelihood, younger and in better shape than you are) AND you need me to die in as dramatic and ridiculous and traumatic a way as possible, because that will only add to the hoopla of my posthumous fame. Seriously, which one gathers more notoriety: "died of natural causes" or "was crushed to death by 10,000 frozen parrots while composing a love song to his dog?" The answer is obvious. You also need to realize, though, that I'm not an idiot, and I'll probably leave something in my will like, "Hey, if there are frozen parrots involved in the circumstances of my death, you might want to check if Bob Smith has an alibi."
Everybody's life needs spice. Everybody needs great art. I would really appreciate the 50 bucks plus the potential inheritance thing will give me a solid reason to wake up each morning and read the obituaries. The Posthumous Challenge: for me, it's win-win - either I get cash or I become famous, which pretty much encapsulates the American Dream right there. For you, $50 for fine art in your home, and you'll never suffer a lull at a cocktail party again. Imagine, the laughter dies down into silence after some lame Republican in a bar joke, and you break the ice with "So, I hired a guy to kill an unknown artist." Your popularity will skyrocket, and maybe that cutie in accounting will reconsider both her stance on dating in the workplace and sex with people the age of her father. It could happen to you! So please, consider taking me up on the Posthumous Challenge. It's a deal you either won't or will regret.
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