mind-blowing conversations

Tim: "Why don't you teach dance?"
Katie: "... Yeah, why DON'T I teach dance?"

I was a dancer, in high school and a little after. A serious dancer. Performing-lead-roles-at-the-age-of-15 serious. Missing-prom serious. I wasn't going to take the SAT because I figured I wouldn't need to. (Then I won a National Merit Scholarship and figured maybe I should.) I quit at 20 to study architecture in New York City, a city with which I had fallen in love during my dance training.

In the spirit of using the whole caribou, so to speak, and forgive me for using the phrase "using the whole caribou," not to mention the phrase "so to speak," wouldn't it be nice to put some of that training to use? I mean crap, I trained for years and at some damned fine schools. And what am I doing with that? Nothing. Wasteful, really. And selfish.

Thanks, Tim, for pointing that out. No really. You're awesome.

(He is.)

this guy was pretty smart

When I heard the learn'd astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,
When I, sitting, heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wander'd off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars.

-- Walt Whitman
Leaves of Grass: By the Roadside (1855)

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I think I've been ranging columns. Goddammitt, Walt! Just ... goddammitt.

freelance vs. nolance

I've been lookin' for work lately, and it's been a long process. I'm doing a couple side projects while I search, and the more I do this, the more I wonder if I need (or even want) a long-term, full time gig. There's something awfully nice about being able to do what I want for a couple days, whether that "what I want" is drawing, writing, loading up on 1930s UFA films, traveling, or ... watching ... more 1930s UFA films.



And it's come to the attention of everyone who uses money that the economy's for shit at the moment. So employers are less likely to hire someone on as a salaried employee, anyway. Which means I might be in the perfect spot to freelance. I certainly amn't going to thank any stars that my 401(K) won't cover my credit card debt, but said shitty economy might help me get a freelance gig that otherwise wouldn't be freelance. So yay.

The other option, as proposed by some dude from Ohio, is to get a job, not necessarily in my previous career path, and spend my off time (which I will have, because I don't sleep, which worked out well for me in advertising) doing what it is that I do. Drawing, writing, drawing-and-writing, makin' stuff. Fearsome! This option has a very strong appeal, despite the fearsomeness, which is to say I just might do it. Wondering if I HAVE to do it, now that I've written it down and now that I've told you three about it. Now that I've climbed the ladder to the diving board.

In sum: No ad-job means some other job means doing what I really want until what I really want pays. I find myself chasing a dream I didn't realize I had. It's almost as though the universe is conspiring to get me to do what really makes me happy. And that's neat.

Thanks, universe. I owe you one.