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Creative jobs can be dreamy. They may offer or seem to offer dreamy things; things that can surface only as dreams in other jobs: engaging your curiosity and knowledge, materializing contents of your imagination, making something to love with love. We have entire television shows that let us watch others pursue their creative dreams. In the United States, we’ve got American Idol, for example. Or Project Runway, or America’s Next Top Model. HGTV’s nearly erstwhile Design Star. Participants on such reality shows tend to arrive with experience under their belt, the pursuit already began, but the dominant narrative theme of such shows, predictably enough, places the crux of the pursuit within the domain of the show. The show is your ticket to Making It (if you Make It Work). Reality television participation becomes your job, and by law, only one person really survives, and even them, maybe only ephemerally. Despite the precariousness of success for entrepreneurs, artists and artisans, the Kauffman Index of Entrepreneurial Activity reported a burst in business start-ups in 2009, and Etsy stores just keep opening, as the un- and under-employed do what they can to try to make ends meet. But dreams are easier to live
Every now and again I take a bite of something and my food worlds come crashing in around me. My perception of what is good and bad get all confused and everything I thought I knew gets razed to the ground and I start all over again. In the past 6 months this has happened to me twice with the same food. Frankly it’s starting to make me a little uneasy. Who doesn’t love sushi? These days you don’t even have to like it raw, you can have twice fried shrimp with fried asparagus all wrapped up in rice and fried again. I don’t recommend it, I’m just saying if you want it’s out there. But then along comes omakase and I can’t believe I was led astray for so long. I had no idea and honestly it makes me sad. I have been mourning, mourning and boycotting. But it’s no use, I am ruined. I can no longer enjoy a regular piece of sushi, the gummy nori wrapped tightly around cold gummy rice. Kinda makes me want to… On the other hand, I have been rescued from bad sushi and possible food poisoning forever. Not to mention, I can
Welcome to Awkward Travel! A Limited Liability Corporation! Hope everyone is enjoying another great summer. Don’t let oil spills, recessions, and ass sweltering heat get in the way of your God given American right to vacation over summer. We’ve got some new gear in the shop. On a recent trip to Philadelphia, it was discovered that the Courtyard Marriott has improved the doorknob signage that indicates whether or not you would like to be disturbed. Getting creative with door tags beyond the standard “Privacy Please”, this Courtyard Marriot’s say “I need some ‘me’ time”. Whoa. This is pretty state of the art. Why the change? Do I need psychoanalysis? Were the unions of housekeepers somehow displeased about privacy? Did they need more explanation? I thought “Privacy Please” aptly suggested, “Listen. I am away from my wife and kids. While sitting bare assed on all of the furniture, I’ve also destroyed the room and may or may not have bought 24 hours of porn. You better stay clear so I can at least finish my travel size bottle of Jim Beam and make dirty calls to my wife.” Instead, these new signs suggest, “Sorry, housekeeper, it’s not you. It’s me. It is all my fault.” I should have snagged more of