First Off

The title: A tribute to one of my newest skills in life: fast speaking in phrases I tend to say all day, such as, "Would you like a fork for that?" or "Would you like a bag?" or "Would you like your receipt?" or "Sorry, we don't take American Express" -which doesn't relate to the title of this blog, except that I do tend to say it a lot.

I am happy to report that at this point in my life I am saying those phrases less often. I only say them on weekends, while during the week I remain in pursuit of things that matter to me. I dance, when I can. And I work for my dance school and a dance company, doing the necessary work that keeps art alive in capitalism. I've found that I know nothing about it but am pretty good at it. I am the database queen, and I wrote a damned good half sentence for a grant application the other day. I feel like the more I know about how art -specifically dance- survives, the more I'll be able to dream about my place in it. For that is about all I know, I am connected by umbilical cord to dancing.

God, the weekends. I LOATH the weekends, and I hate that I actually look forward to Mondays in contrast. In an attempt to enjoy Saturday and Sunday, I always make plans. Productive and fun things I will do that will make my weekends feel a little more like my time. It hasn't worked yet. In the pursuit of an artistic life, the daily grind is a weekend grind, and no matter how I plan around it, it consistently swallows my whole weekend.

Next time you are bored, reader, have a conversation with an hourly employee in retail or the food industry. It is my belief that we all have interesting stories to tell. Stories of lives outside, stories of bigger dreams, and sometimes tragic hidden stories of bigger dreams that got stuck behind the need and then addiction to the security of a good sized paycheck. (Dear xxx, you are a damned good barista, but please stop working so much and write a screenplay, like you've dreamed of. For your own good. Dear xxx, you know you don't want to sell soap forever. Pick up your camera. Dear xxx, you have more in you than Bloomingdales. Find something that lets you break your own beauty out of you.)