This issue seems to have unintentionally developed a mall theme. In the middle of putting this together, I saw a news story about a shooting at a mall where I grew up, a mall aptly named "Tacoma Mall" in (guess) Tacoma, Washington. I was surprised that it hadn't already happened -- after all, there were veritable gang wars in the parking lot of the place once upon a time, to the point where my mom was scared to go there for a few years. But instead of "urban youth" firing at each other, this time it was a light-skinned guy described as "very clean-cut" by witnesses, firing at Christmas consumers. An apt reflection of the changes that have taken place in Tacoma over my lifetime -- the place may be cleaner, more Starbucksized and yuppified, less K Street and more Martin Luther King Boulevard -- but the weirdness, and the violence, and the depression are still there, just under the surface. You can't eradicate a legacy of drive-by-shootings and arsenic contamination by pretending none of it ever happened and gentrifying into something more palpable. Cleveland is trying to get rid of its legacy the same way Tacoma has tried. Fortunately, it's not having a very easy time of it.

So what have I been spending my life doing since the last Rust n Brique, from way back in June? Well, I've had a taste of some drama-free relationship chaos. Things are still pretty chaotic, but I think I like them better that way. I've been trying to organize my life into something that makes more sense and has some more grounding financially -- in less elegant terms, I want to make enough money to survive without having to turn my life into a pile of crap. I've been "self-employed," for lack of a better phrase, for the last four years. For the last two years, my only income has been from making pins for bands. I like doing it. For the most part, I like interacting with the people I make pins for, I like doing the little bit of graphic design involved, and there's sort of a meditation-like trance that goes with using the pin machine. But, it doesn't pay the bills, and in order to make it do that, I'd probably have to morph the whole thing into some classy "print shop" and start dealing with corporate customers and turn everything into a nightmare. So, I'll stick to the small-scale.

I also managed to get a paid writing gig, at www.lakewoodbuzz.com, as sort of a music "scene reporter." It doesn't pay the bills either, but it does help, and it makes me feel a bit more useful as a human being. I'm keeping my eyes open for any other opportunities to make writing more than a hobby. At the same time, I don't want to kill the desire and ability to write for fun by turning into some kind of paid hack.

Like pretty much everyone else I know, I wish I could actually support myself through the artistic endeavors I enjoy the most: painting and music. But, I'm far too pragmatic to consider that seriously for more than about five seconds. I'd love a gallery showing, or to have my band be something more than a giant money-hole, but I don't expect either to happen, at least not without me suddenly developing incredibly spectacular luck or some smarmy "networking" superpowers.

I dread the things I'd be doing if I wasn't as lucky as I have been: either working some sub-living-wage job or going to college. I don't think I have to say much about the shittiness of the kinds of jobs available to someone with no education or skills. I don't have the huge aversion to college that I had in the past anymore, but I still don't really have any way to pay for it and no real desire to go right now. If there was something in mind that I knew I wanted to do, and getting a college degree was the way to do it, I would find a way to get it, but I'm not in that situation. I've been thinking that if I'm still living this financially ephemeral existence when I'm 25, I might throw in the towel and go get educated in something useful. But I can think about that when I'm 25.

I'm fortunate enough to be living with my best friend, bandmate, and now ex-boyfriend, and fortunate that he's generous enough to basically put me up, feed me, buy me beer, and understand that I'm not just some lazy goon that doesn't want a job because it'll interrupt my Cheeto-eating and TV-watching. He knows I try my best to be financially "with-it," but that the kinds of things I want to do with my life usually aren't found in a 8-5 job. A lot of people don't understand it, but we do, and that's what matters.

Next: Letters to the Editor: Those Kids and Their Darn Abandoned Buildings

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