You know, even as big-time as I have become, I am still paying off my student loans. Getting sick of cutting a check to fat abusive corporations every month. This economy stinks.
Yeah—the little people definitely get the shaft. Love what a broad thinker you are, Judy. I get cranky just lining up for a no foam latte and a gluten-free scone at my local haunt. The place has been over-run with hipsters.
You mean the men performing the lumberjack-inspired hypermasculinity with their flannel shirts and ironic beards? Those "men" wouldn't know a hammer if they got hit on the head with one.
I just want to know why my coffee place is packed in the middle of the day. Doesn't any one work?
The middle class is shrinking, Isabell.
You got that right. I want to know what this new so-called "creative class" is. Sounds like a bunch of romantic twaddle. Are people afraid to be seen as members of the middle class anymore?
I'm all for people redefining themselves, being fluid about how they live their lives. Why should everyone work for the man?
I'm down with that. But here's the problem: people on their own have no job security. Seems like everyone is working on a "project," doing contract labor, freelancing, and the like. Phrases like "in the works," "in the pipeline" even "home office" all reveal our collective loss of job security and health insurance. Boo to capitalism. Where's the good life?
Open your eyes, Isabel. The good life is a scam. People are angry about the American Dream because they have realized it's a bunch fantastical hogwash. Always has been.
Amen to that. Why do you think we have flare-ups like stampedes at Wal-Mart, Tea Parties, the Arab Spring, and Occupy Burbank? People feel seriously at sea. There's no work.
Back when I was young and there was no work, people would just go to graduate school and hide out for eight years.
I know—I'm not one to talk. But people need to get vocal about their anger—hiding away in the ivory tower is no way to go. Let's get some gnarly performance art going. The world doesn't need another dissertation.
And now artists and creative writers are getting PhDs. When will the madness end?
We need boots on the ground. Bodies in the street. Let's perform rebel acts!