Donuts
Find your donuts.
I’m a working stiff these days — my focus has been on scripting interactive exhibits for a major telecom’s HQ. While I wish the subject matter was less commerical, I’m learning how to do new things, how to deliver information in new-to-me formats. The puzzle of it keeps my brain happy, which is great for someone who is cursed to be disatisfied with anything that comes easily.
I am pleased to be working because it turns out that major institutions can unravel around you, yet you still have to pay for auto insurance, you still need to pay taxes, you still need to get donuts from that place on Delridge that makes them to order. Well, maybe you don’t need them, but as long as the slo-mo apocalypse has donuts this good, you should get donuts.
CANNED is still cooking along and as always, I have a favor to ask. It’s the same favor — send me your fired friends. I’m down to the last of my scheduled interviews. I’m looking to talk with a recruiter — do you have one you love? — and anyone who can speak about the jobs massacre in the federal government. Producer Amy and I are doing some guest spots where we’ll talk about CANNED on other podcasts — if you know folks who might host us, let me know that, too.
Look, the US is a fucking mess and it’s terrifying. I’ve pulled way back from social platforms because it feels like every time I crack open a network, there’s news that makes me want to cry in between the kitten pictures and your post about that amazing new place for dinner. It’s exhausting, so I’m just not looking. If you know how to manage this, well, drop me a line. Hell, drop me a line anyway.
My strategy these days is to walk my dog, work on CANNED, swim laps, cook good food, make mediocre watercolor paintings, and oh, pester the hell out of Congress. I hope the interns put down the phone and say “Oh, she was so MEAN, what the hell?!” You, friends, know exactly what the hell and we shall continue to make art and eat donuts in the face of this as best we can. Right? Right.
Find your donuts.
//Pam