||[Dec. 11th, 2012|07:44 pm]
A blogger had posted this quote from Moss Hart: Writers, actors, and prostitutes all face the same fundamental economic problem: they are competing with amateurs who are pretty good and will work for nothing.|
I’d add musicians and chefs to that…and give prostitutes the advantage since it’s considerably easier to read amateur writing, go to community theater and convince a friend to cook for you than it can be to convince a friend to have sex with you. But following the quote got me to the blog below and I loved this guy’s take on it. I used to get asked to cook for free all of the time – think of the exposure you’ll get; it’s for a charity; this is better than advertising, yeah, yeah. And I was always amazed at people who thought my price was negotiable. “But I’m only asking you to cook for about two hours” they’d say. “Yes, but once I’ve booked your gig, the odds of me being able to also book another short-time gig the same day are slim to none, so I’m passing up on a full day’s work to do your two hour luncheon.” I finally set a bottom rate: “Look, it costs $250 to get me out of pajamas and into real clothes. What happens after that may be negotiable, but that’s where we start talking.”
But I love this guy’s take on it – and promise me you’ll click on his “update” at the end, because some of you need the icon he’s made.
I still haven’t made it all the way through this slide show. I just start crying. (I am a burnt S’More, all soft and gooey in the middle, if you can brave the charcoal and razor-like graham cracker edges, watch out for the hot molten chocolate, that’ll leave a scar.) Go ahead, tell me how these people are endangering the sanctity (phshpt, got something in my mouth there) of marriage. How they’re going to damage the concept of Family. Look at how long some of those couples have been together. I don’t see myself ever getting married again. I don’t know that the ceremony means that much to me, personally, although I take it very seriously if I go to someone else’s. (You just asked me to be the community that stands behind your marriage. Careful what you wish for.) There are a million reasons why same sex couples should be allowed to marry…but they’re all swept away by this: how dare you deny another human being the chance at the happiness you see in these pictures?
Oh, please let me wave a magic wand and be the judge if this ever goes to court. Do they have a right to be a little cheesed that they were labeled on the receipt? Yeah, okay. Devastated, though? Seriously, I don’t know if you guys have looked in the mirror, but…you’re fat. And you’re girls. It’s not like you’re carrying a little bit of a muffin top, and this is him being all judgmental. I don’t need to see your BMI to know you’re obese. I’m sorry. But you are. If I’m in a bar full of twenty somethings, the identifier on my tab is going to be old lady. Old Broad, and I’m going to call the bartender on his expletive, but make a big deal about it? Seriously, call him a D-bag and get on with your life. If you’re the only white guy in a club, calling you the “white guy” is helpful. If you’re the only black guy in the club, calling you the “black guy” makes sense. If you’re at my bar and you only have one arm, your receipt is going to read One Arm. I am not going to go with brown hair, red shirt, okay, when you've got something that makes you stand out from other people? It's not reducing you to your disability, or your skin color or your adipose tissue...I'm picking you out of a crowd, not developing a relationship with you. If you're a regular, I may learn your name. Or you might be Q-Tip Head Man for the rest of our professional relationship because your name is utterly forgettable, but that dab of soft white cottony hair at the very top of your head is not. Although I’m smart enough to erase your description before I print out your final receipt. That’s what takes so long sometimes to get your check, especially if you asked for separate checks per table. We’re erasing your descriptor.
I’m extremely traumatized. The place where I’ve bought my tree for like the last twelve years is not in business this year. I’m bereft. Mind you, it’s not because it’s some big tradition or something, or I’m all tristesse because there was a certain feeling I got from going there year after year. It’s just that – it’s close by. The trees are reasonably priced. They’re usually pretty fresh and seem to last a long time. But most importantly, the Fraser Firs are always right THERE, in that corner. So, I get out of the car, go to my corner, pick one, ask to have the bottom trimmed, have them tie it to the car, tip the guy and am home 15 minutes later. But now…now I have to start fresh, in a season where every minute is precious to me. This season, more than any other time of the year, I’m keenly aware that whatever I’m doing, there’s probably something I’d rather be doing, or should be doing. Watching my pictures upload at Snail on Valium pace, I think “screw vacation pictures, you should be finishing up your Christmas shopping”. Standing uncomfortably at a supplier or client Holiday Happy Hour, I think “I could be home baking cookies. Or pulling out the Christmas decorations. Or basking in Christmas tree joy.” I resent anything that cuts into my personal holiday joy. And having to THINK about where to get a tree….grrrr. Oh, I know, you’re thinking, just stop off at the local….PSSSHHHT. Stop. I have to have a Fraser or Balsam. My tree has to last most of the way into January, so it’s got to be from a place that gets more than a single delivery. And I don’t have time to investigate, ask neighbors for recommendations. I WANT THE THINGS I BUY TO ALWAYS BE AVAILABLE IN THE SAME PLACE SO I DON’T HAVE TO THINK ABOUT IT.
Oh, I do get stressed out this time of year, don’t I?