Should toothpaste made in India necessarily have a weird aftertaste? I found out that the annual refund I've grown so accustomed to in late spring shall not be entering my bank account this year. I actually owe money on my taxes. My father the accountant says I made more money last year and had less money withheld and thus: no refund for me.

I had a plan for that money. I was going to pay off half a credit card, get a haircut and treat myself to a new pair of pants. You know, your basic stuff that you have to budget for when you live in New York and you're, in a word, ass-broke.

Consequently, with my new-found knowledge, I made my way to the 99 cent store on 23rd street, something I often did when I was studying acting on 16th street. A man was talking to a pair of socks. I sincerely hoped he was on one of those scary new phones that clip onto your ear. Alas, he was not. He was very angry with these socks.

"Did me wrong, last time, you did," he said gruffly, shaking one shriveled fist in the air.

I bought Choice toothpaste. It looked much like Crest, about 15 years ago. Came with a free toothbrush. But now my mouth tastes like the inside of a 99 cent store.

For a recent article in a European music magazine, I was asked what drives me to compose music.

It's a great question. What drives any of us to explore and develop our gifts. Have you ever wondered where this urge to express yourself comes from?

My answer to the question was "I am just compelled to compose music. I feel that the true voice of God in us is the compulsion to create. The mysteries of life are revealed in those quiet moments."

What I realize now is that this compulsion to create extends far beyond the artist's domain. This ability and compulsion is present in all of us at any moment.

I am creating my life Right Now by the thoughts I am putting down in this article. I am creating my life by deciding what I want to do at any given moment.

So, my drive to compose music reflects my urge to express the mystery of life as best I can at any given moment. Same goes for which book I choose to read, what activities I do with my family, which foods I choose to eat, what time I good to bed at night, and so on.

How I choose to do these things matters as much as what I do. For example, gratitude for my meals is shown by allowing the experience of eating to be slow and quiet. This means, no reading, watching, listening to music or news.

Really, what it all comes down to, is seeing your life as sacred. It's easy for us to see certain things outside of ourselves as being sacred, but few of us treat our own life as the miracle that it is.

What treasures await those of you who continuously, fearlessly step into the unknown.

You find more inner resources than you'd ever imagined. You discover treasure after treasure of creative reserves. Too innumerable because they are infinite. Each discovery opens the gateway to the next. There is no end to this treasure hunt.

These gifts of creativity are more precious than anything in the world. Because their exploration and activation brings you the peace and prosperity you were looking for since you were a child.

Embark on your treasure hunt every day. No matter what you are doing at any moment, access your creative mind. Give it a reason to churn out its magic. Honor the creator that you are. Give your mind the wise sustenance it craves.

How lucky we all are. How blessed I am to have the ability to create each and every day. How grateful I am for the opportunity to create the life of my dreams.

Here's to your creativity and wealth.

Tania Gabrielle French is a composer who has enjoyed performances and radio broadcasts of her music worldwide. Her new CD "Renewal" (released January, 2006) will feature a rejuvenating fusion of new age, classical, and world songs. Subscribe to her popular newsletter at http://www.prosperousartist.com

c 2006 Tania Gabrielle French. All Rights Reserved. Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/?expert=Tania_French

I found myself trapped in a dark New York City basement recently where a sticky layer of alcohol coated walls decorated with the faces of Rodney Dangerfield, George Burns, Cheech Marin and other comedic has-beens -- also known as the New York Comedy Club.

It was there that these eyes witnessed more disrespect and mockery of working artists that I could have ever imagined possible.

Envision a gladiator match where the audience behaves as if the performers step up on stage to be mutilated for entertainment and that witnessing them crumble in public is the ultimate prize. That prize was presented to a couple of the comedians that night -- their entire routines completely shattered by some of the most ignorant and self-centered people I have seen in this town in quite some time.

Maybe it's shocking to me because most art performances I attend typically have an audience of people who have a general respect for artists and are sensitive to their fragile self esteem. Even in a town where hundreds of no-name bands play their hearts out in the beat up clubs weekly, you rarely hear any negative comments (out loud) from the audience. People seem to have a soft spot for the artists that perform music or display visual art when they are face-to-face. The back lashing and criticism are typically found outside the club in the smoker's circle.

Comedians however, seem to attract an audience that is willing to pay top dollar for a type of entertainment where no respect is required. Here are some of the unbelievable scenes that took place during my night at the comedy club:

COMEDIAN 1: Guy sitting front and center (the closest audience member to the comedian -- about 12 inches from him) decides to make a phone call to see what his buddy is up to during the middle of the bit. Comedian stops bit and tries to play off the guy making the phone call. Guy on phone doesn't give a shit. Thug across the room decides to waltz on over to the guy on the phone to say hello. Thug is now standing in front of comedian who is now completely thrown off guard and again attempts to work off this scene for some one-liners. The rest of the audience is a little too shocked to laugh. Guy and thug finally part ways and time is up for comedian 1.

COMEDIAN 2: Irish comedian from Boston takes on intoxicated ex-marine celebrating his 55th birthday wearing a hideous white sweater. We, the audience knew from an outburst earlier in the evening that a man in the front row was celebrating his birthday, but we didn't know that a half an hour later a comedian was going to start making fun of his sweater, his wife and his alcoholism resulting in him walking out on the show kicking and screaming. You see, the man with the sweater took offense to a joke by the Irishman about the brutality in the streets for which NYC is famous. Apparently the man was having a bad flashback to something he witnessed in the line of duty and did not find any humor in the topic at all. He felt inclined to verbalize his thoughts in a drunken slur to the comedian during the middle of his bit and the comedian acknowledged him by making fun of his sweater. By the time the man got irritated enough to leave the building, the Irishman finished his set by offering the wife straight up cash to leave her loser husband.

COMEDIAN 3: Table of 18 year old wanna-be lesbians refuse to shut up. I won't justify this annoyance with too much of a recap. Picture a table of 8 of them talking on their cell phones, peeing every 5 minutes and primping every two...

Looking back, I wonder when this type of entertainment became an underground torture chamber for artists. Where were the bouncers that tell people to sit down during the set or escort the drunken sailors out of the club? What is it about comedians that make them less than artists for this type of audience and what gives comedians the strength to keep facing the crowds every night? I am sure they have lost all hope for humanity.