I guess it speaks well of the Wild Goose, the bar on the corner and site of last week's big Nitrous Foxide gig, that they've got a tasty enough menu to attract various city workers. Namely, garbage truck drivers. One of whom now parks right outside me window almost every day around lunchtime. See, you workaday folk think this whole unemployment is nothing but fun and frivolity and stunning lack of income, but I have my own crosses to bear.

In the meantime, everything else is about value. Another bar, further down the street, offers a pretty mean cheeseburger and fries for under $3 (takeout) on Mondays. Last night, in addition to making eyes at E!'s Cindy Taylor across a crowded Elbo Room as "Wild On" did a bit about local rockers Ivory Wire, I parlayed knowing the bartender and meeting some friends into three beers for $5. Not bad.

Money spent is still money spent, however, and I need to get my butt in gear in order to find some income to balance with the outgo. Plan A is back on the table, as a Tuesday job interview showed some promise. As the voiceover stuff progresses, I'm realizing that maybe I didn't have the leg up I thought I did there, so it may take the requisite six months to a year to make that happen. Maybe. While that percolates, a real 9-to-5 day job may be necessary, although there's also the ramping up of Foxide and the huge upsdie potential of playing with Lindsie. The annoying thing is that I know I could be doing more to get these other things happening, but I still don't. Or, rather, I do, but not necessarily at the pace that would make my life much less stressful.

Still not panicking, though. Really.