Because Rich Frost dot com was already taken.
FEEDING THE STARVING ARTIST WITHOUT RESORTING TO CANNIBALISM
(BUT NOT COUNTING IT OUT ENTIRELY) [i]
By Rich Frost
A recent study suggests you are a special kind of moron if you peruse a career in the arts. Not only are you exposing yourself to emotional pain, but hunger pains, too. The term “starving artist” didn’t just make itself up, did it? How does the subway flugelhornist - who should be playing with the New York Philharmonic if they had just cleaned out the fucking spit valve – eat? With fiscal fortitude, of course!
There’s a great donut shop in NYC on 14th Street. They’re relatively inexpensive and very, very filling. Sometimes the line can be a little long. While you’re waiting, why not take in the sights? There’s a great view of the Pratt Institute a few blocks down. Wait, don’t they have an amazing architecture program [ii] there? That would have been a good choice. Not opera.
On the opposite side of the playbill, there’s Morimoto’s in Times Square. Don’t be scared off by the four dollar signs. Just ask for an outdoor table! It’s self-serve, kept warm in plastic bags and giant metal bins. It’s almost like interning with Shakespeare in the Park. It’s recommended you bring your own silverware. And plates. And rat poison. Don’t mistake it for the sea salt!
Lot’s of people love to eat at Joe’s — Mom’s house! Sure you only took one improv class with him, and his mom lives in Jersey City, but the spaghetti carbonara is to die for. And she doesn’t question your life choices! She’ll be so grateful when you thank her with one of your attempts at surrealist dichotomy painting. Un-framed, of course.
You can find several hidden gems in Hell’s Kitchen. Why not try hell’s ACTUAL kitchen? The portal can be hard to find, but once you’re in, there’s a chance you’ll meet that dastardly bastard Beelzebub himself! My mortal soul for the chance to understudy Victor Wallace in Mama Mia? Check please!
When things get a little lean for the struggling danseuse [iii], you can always eat the dreams of children! All those tikes and tots donning tutus and tiaras, wobbling around, looking ridiculous. I guess you can’t rumba before you jump, turn, travel, gesture and stand still, can you? Sneak into class and scream in their stupid faces: Talent? You don’t have any talent! Jesus Christ lemonade fills out a leotard better than you do! Who knew worthlessness would taste so good
As a next to last resort, take the fat content from your pity pie, mix in shame of stealing from that panhandler so you could get Carl’s Jr. To Go [iv], and boil in the salt water of your own tears.
Finally, you can always do finger sandwiches. Preferably your own. You kind of remember where they’ve been.
Num num num!
[i] Don’t dismiss this option so fast.
[ii] They do. I mean, really, really amazing.
[iii] Special thanks to Merriam-Webster for that one.
[iv] With apologies to Carl's Sr.