Mr. and Mrs. Slash

The industry can be a tough grind, sometimes depending less upon your creative artistic talent and far too heavily on your creative bulls**t talent to keep your bills properly paid and current.  Far too often the talents of an individual lay scorched upon the white hot coals of basic living, the person dropping back into a defensive position, letting off of that proverbial throttle to assume a more dependable and sustainable (which might mean permanent) money-making environment. I've seen it more times than I'd wish.

Yet, this is hardly the case for Mr. and Mrs. Slash -- those particular souls who have an undying knack for  fitting their creative talent within any job position they acquire.  Actors do this best, in my opinion, since their skill sets best match the needs of the greatest swath of potential employment opportunities which allow flexible hours.  After that come the technicians, followed most likely by the writers who, already well adapted to working all day and writing all night (or the opposite), are borderline slashers since they don't necessarily NEED to be anywhere in particular to be a slasher (coffee shops do not count as "somewhere").

But what about the directors?  Accustomed to the role of top dog, comfortable with bossing...er, "guiding" an army of talent to the creation of product, content with his or her salient nature -- where are THEIR fallback job opportunities in this tight economy?

Salesman? Nope. They'll most likely drop several F-bombs on their first "stupid" talentless hack of a customer and get canned before the closing tick.

Youth Sports Instructor? How many "takes" before the kid gets the kick juuuusssssttt right, hitting his blocking mark perfectly, with the correct body language and emotion, feeling the excitement of the fictitious stadium packed full of rabid fans hanging on this kick,  hungry for  championship which has eluded them for a generation, ready on an instant to herald you either as a worshipped hero to be celebrated or a hated poser to be unceremoniously run out of town?!

Barista? Hope you have a few hours to kill, because that "latte art" just ain't matching his vision.

Traffic Safety Officer?  Don the white gloves. Hit an intersection. Control traffic.... until Mr. Mosher in his leveraged Ferrari (with highly leveraged bimbo riding shotgun) who remembers our director from an interview begins to honk and laugh at our struggling artist.  Truth be told: Those white gloves won't stay white for long.

Directing porn flicks for cheap sex, drugs, and a few bucks on the side.

Ummmmmm....?.......!!!

Well how about that! A perfect match!