I went to Jere’s birthday gathering last night at Marie’s Crisis. (It’s one of David’s favorite places in New York, but alas, he lives in Missouri.) I had the pleasure of finally meeting Tim, who moved to New York a year ago with his boyfriend and lives in a far-off land called Bushwick.

We all stood in a small clump near the bar and away from the piano, talking and listening to the piano player tinkle the out-of-tune ivories and the group around the piano sing along. One of Jere’s friends said it was his first time at Marie’s Crisis in 10 years and that as far as he could tell, nothing had changed at all, including the guy behind the piano.

It was good to get out and do something social. I’ve been feeling really bleah lately, but I was cheered up by being around a group of nice guys.

At one point, Tim remarked to me that my blog has been kind of angsty lately. I laughed and admitted that, yeah, that was probably the case, and I explained that I’ve been caught up lately (again) in trying to find my purpose in life. Of course, while I was (mercifully briefly) talking about this, I realized that the piano player was playing, and the people gathered around the piano were singing, “Purpose” from Avenue Q.

Digression: I can barely play the piano at all, so I shouldn’t talk, but can I just say how much I hate it when a piano player plays the wrong backup chords to a song being sung? Well, it’s not that I hate it, because I have sympathy for the accompanist as he tries to keep up, and again, I’m one to talk. It’s that my ears hate it. It drives me nuts.

Earlier this week, I’d decided that I’d hit on the solution to all my problems: I should become a freelance writer in my spare time, and eventually work my way up to things like the New Yorker and Harper’s and things like that. But after looking at various websites and books about how to be a freelance writer, I’ve come away with a nauseating impression of the whole thing. I get the impression that most freelance writing occurs for publications like Woman’s Day or Pet Fancy and so forth and consists of very practical-oriented and consumer-oriented articles. Numbered lists and so forth. And my admittedly unscientific perusal leads me to believe that most freelancers are women and that they love being able to write for Woman’s Day or women’s health magazines or parenting or pregnancy or cooking magazines.

Picture me sticking my finger down my throat and making a gagging sound. (If you could picture a sound.)

My impression of freelance writing might be completely wrong. But if it’s accurate, it’s totally not the kind of writing I want to do – completely disposable stuff. I’m interested in politics and culture and ideas, in which case I should try to write for publications that publish that kind of thing.

Instead of publications that publish Eighteen Practical Ways to Get Along Better With Your Pet!