My New Pattern of Bohemia

Like many others, my career has been effected by the weakened economy. Weeks have passed without paychecks and I've been left to devise other ways to sponsor my Cap'n Crunch addiction. This entry contains no sadness because my needs and wants have evolved into a minimum.

One new venture is freelance writing. A certain publication, whose validity I still question, approached me and asked if I could write a 500 word article for the entertainment section. "Sure" I respond. My skepticism is muted as a direct result of my hunger. For a writing career or for food? At this stage in my development, the definitions have blurred. The deadline was met on account of having nothing to lose.

Another has been painting. Eva, one of my biggest art cheerleaders, told me about the Gallery at the End of the World. She had a flyer that encouraged emerging artists (that's me!) to display art and hang out with the local art hippies alike. The gallery was a garden space that was decorated with rusty knicknacks and a disco ball. Vines shaded the bar and stage for inspired performers. This is how my Sunday afternoon was spent: Hung up some art. Had drinks with my stylish friends (who looked like fishes out of water) with slimly populated Altadena as the backdrop. Guess what? I even sold some stuff!

Eva asked me, "Aren't you glad that you're not working?" My immediate answer was "no, I hate it." This is evident in the fact that I spend near eight hours a day choosing the sexiest Helvetica resume font and politely e-mailing studios without even a piano break. But at least after the last few weeks, I can define "work" not only by my production jobs, but also by the things I love to do.