We are in recession. Some say that everything will rebound soon while others say that we're in an economic crisis that rivals the one of the 30's. The specter of the Great Depression fuels fear and panic. “We're going into the worst global recession for sure that that we've ever seen”, Obama told the press today.
It’s almost impossible to carry on with this kind of drama almost everyday. No wonder the Kremlin sent an order to all newspapers and broadcasters banning the words "collapse" and "crisis." In search for positive news, I found out that the global economic meltdown will not impact motor sport in India (The India Times) and will not have a major impact on the NBA (NewsDaily Entertainment Headlines). Also, McDonald's sales rise during economic crisis. Chief Executive Jim Skinner commented: "McDonald's strong 
October sales show that we are delivering what customers count on from McDonald's —choice, variety and high-quality food and beverages at affordable prices". I would have rather said “we are delivering what customers count on from McDonald's — affordable prices with a side order of burger and fries”. Well, I’m not a big fan of McDonald’s but at least Mcemployees won’t get Mcfired.
Thus far, our life hasn't really changed much. Thanks God we have not had to resort to living on Ramen noodles. But maybe unconsciously, somehow we adjusted to the general mood of doom and gloom. Our life in the new Great Depression includes:
The New Yorker. My husband received a gift subscription to the New Yorker for his birthday. A typical article is 15 pages long, a real challenge given the increasingly short attention span of the average web user. Reading the New Yorker is a full time job. Indeed I was offered a job a couple of weeks ago and I had to refuse: “Sorry, I just subscribed to the New Yorker.” And more, it’s a zen exercise. The first few times you read one of those neverending stories that any other journalist would have told in two columns you get an urge to yell out "get on with it already!" at least a dozen times. This side effect disappears with daily practice. Once you attain enlightment you’re all set. (Reader, you may have noticed that this post is longer than usual; that’s because I’m trying to do to you what the New Yorker is doing to me.)
The Philoctetes Center is our new preferred destination for lectures. It’s a club of psys whose declared mission is to “promote an integrated approach to the understanding of creativity and the imaginative process.” Emotionally appealing words like creativity and imagination have been used here in order not to scare the shit out of potential members and attendees. Truth is, one of their last roundtable was aimed to “consider theoretical questions in relation to Franco-Algerian politics, the cinema of cruelty, the use of off-screen space, and the Freudian scenario of the bourgeois family”. Last Sunday we went to the Philoctetes for an 
afternoon roundtable and film screening devoted to Samuel Beckett. Our motivation for attending the event was because of John Turturro taking part as a panelist. Seeing Jesus Quintana from the Big Lebowski discussing Beckett is priceless.
The Big Lebowski Fest was supposed to be the highlight of the year, if only it weren’t sold out when we got to the place. While my husband first tried to argue with security and then to sneak in, I stopped to think about this annual celebration of a massive cult movie that holds sold-out events all across the United States. Dedicated to those who have no clue where they are in life right now.
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