East Dallas Times

by Bruce Felps

I think most of us would love to be paid for doing the things we really like to do.

A fortunate few — athletes, entertainers, artists — make money, a whole lot of money in some cases, from plying and playing their passions. At least they do until the grind of it all finally wears them down.

Most people, though, probably work at jobs for which they show aptitude if not love. For that, they volunteer or take up an unpaid hobby. My dad, for example, is an accountant, and a damn good one — keeps me outta jail on IRS charges, so he must be good — but I doubt he’s ever really loved crunching numbers. He loves making birdhouses and he loves serving as a deacon at his church, but there’s just not much of an income to make from those things, unless, of course, he scammed on the offering plate he passes down pew to pew each Sunday.

I know. I’m the son of a number-crunching church deacon. Where did he go wrong?

Anyway, it kind of plays to a philosophical question I’ve asked myself over the years. Are we good at something because we like it or do we like something because we’re good at it?

Applying for unattainable jobs

Really, though, how cool would it be to paid for those things we do anyway? I mean,  I’d love to paid for sleeping, drinking beer, or sex, but I just don’t see drawing a paycheck for any of those things.

In fact, it’s mostly the opposite — wait for it, and don’t let your mind head for the gutter — because I have to pay to do those things.

Sleep, you’d think, is free, or so you’d think … right, I said that. First you have buy the headboard, footboard, and frame. Then you have to pay for a mattress and box springs to put on that stuff. Then come the pillows and linens, followed by a mortgage or rent for a place to put the bed, and the utilities to keep it cool enough or warm enough to sleep comfortably. So no, sleep does not come cheap, although that line did.

I always have to pay for beer unless, on that semi-rare occasion, someone else treats — hi Marti — and there’s probably not a job other than professional taste-tester at some brewery that would pay for that talent, but they probably have to spit it out as part of the job description, so drag.

And let’s face it, men typically pay for sex. It might be cash for dinner and a movie in the case of a date. It might be freedom of thought, will, choice, and actions in the case of a marriage, but pay for it you will.

Jaded much?

Speaking of, um, cocottes

It’s a good thing I like to write. It’s about the only thing I’m qualified to do, and it’s certainly the only thing related to the three items listed above for which anyone would trade money.

I guess I’ve always been a courtesan with a keyboard because I produced words and employers traded money for those words, but it’s really sunk in since launching this little venture.

But since I started working for myself — and lord, I am such a lenient boss with me — I realize just how much I yield to the prospect of payment. I’ve sold my equivalent of naming rights a couple of times over, I bend and sway to prospective advertisers, something my old-school editorial background rails against, and — and let’s be honest here — I work two other gigs just to make ends … well, not so much meet but at least get into the same vicinity.

One’s a pretty sweet gig. I write commentary — read: my take — on topical events of the local day for the KXAS-TV (NBCDFW Channel 5) website. I do it two times a weekday, and they pay me $30 bucks a day, $15 per column, which is not much but it adds up over the course of a month. Plus, it’s kind of cool to get paid by the same outfit that pays Tina Fey and Alec Baldwin.

I’m hoping HR screws up one month and sends me Baldwin’s check and sends mine to him.

For the other, I had to inch back into the Black Arts of PR, and I have to do a cleansing ceremony of fire each night after concluding an assignment. On the positive side, though, that Rosemary’s baby pays well, so I can continue to sleep in air-conditioned comfort, drink beer, and, ah, that’s about it.

The courtesan thing crashed down yesterday both here and with NBCDFW when I had to suspend new content for both to produce a rush job for the PR client.

Y’all didn’t say much, and thanks for understanding — or, what the hell; you didn’t care? — but the managing editor at Channel 5 asked me about my loyalty. I know Frank, he’s a good guy and he was joking … mostly … but I responded with, “Hey, $15 vs. $450. I’m taking the hooker route.”

And there it was.   

Bruce Felps owns and operates East Dallas Times. He’s open to other and all offers at this point. Just flash the cash.