THE Kewpies are giving a Christmas party, the best sort of party, to a whole neighborhoodful of poor children that the rich people forgot.
But while he jested thus, / A thought flashed through me, which I clothed in act. / Remembering how we three presented Maid, / Or Nymph, or Goddess, at high tide of feast, / In masque or pageant at my father's court.
Author of The Rise of the Creative Class and many other tomes along similar themes, since his self-described conversion in the late Nineties, he [Richard Florida] has preached to all who will listen his doctrine of creative progress, and the necessity to ‘creatify’ even our most lowly service jobs. […] “You can see it here in this great country in things like agriculture, with artisan production. Farming is turning into a creative industry. Now we have to creatify the jobs of the people who take care of our parents, of our kids, who serve us in hotels, in restaurants – that’s the next frontier. We’ve got to creatify those jobs.[…]”
M1: Mkay. Let me point us back to. This is related to um what we were talking about and how you’re going to um sort of report what happened here tonight.
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