RoadsideOnline

I don't know who Kim Kardashian is. I don't know who Rihanna is, either. I've heard of Carrie Underwood and Tricia Yearwood. I know they both sing. One of them came from American Idol. I think. Couldn't tell you which one.

Did one of them do that song "My Life Would Suck Without You"? The song's what sucks. The melody sounds like it was thought up by a middle school student for the big summer-camp variety show. Which, I suppose, is perfectly apropos. The song's primary contribution to art is the opportunity it gives pubescent girls to say the word suck - and to fight with their moms about whether they can play the song in the house. But hey - I remember it.

That's better than Lady Gaga. I know what Lady Gaga is. Chalk that up as a triumph for her. But while fame has its appeal, I don't think I'd want to be famous for looking like an idiot. What's important here is that beyond knowing she's a singer, I couldn't name one song she's sung - even under pain of death. And yet I realize there is no way on this earth I haven't heard her. Yet the only impression she's made on me is that she looks like an idiot.

Some businesses make no business sense at all. Thank goodness for that.

Why anyone would try to make a go of a restaurant out in the middle of the farmland-nowhere of Charlton, Mass., is beyond some. The way business-experts see it, there are no new trails to blaze. Folks who want some cheap eating, they figure, will head to the same road where they buy their cheap groceries, and their cheap lumber, and their cheap electronics, and their - well, you get the picture.

The truth is, a new business today would never be placed so far from where folks typically congregate. But the Clam Box has been out of the way for years, across the street from and yet part of Dresser Farms, which explains its existence at all. You, see, the Clam Box is lauded for its ice cream as much as its out-of-place seafood. Both features make it a destination all by its lonesome self.

When I recently wrote the "Help NOT Wanted blog", I was inspired by my very own avocation.

The fact that I forgot to include "writer" among the crafts disappearing as real vocations is a further indication that my memory also appears to be disappearing. No matter. Let's consider it now, because it's one I believe is particularly sad, and not just because its disappearance affects me personally.

Many people will claim that the internet has created more opportunities for writers than there ever has been. But that's like saying there are more opportunities for chefs than ever and use as an example that more people are cooking for themselves. Yes, I agree that blogs and forums provide wonderful opportunities for people to express themselves, opportunities that once didn't exist. But the craft of writing, as practiced by those who tried to understand and employ its subtleties and use them carefully to maximum affect, no longer is rewarded at anywhere close to a degree that any writers can earn even a meager living doing it.

It's sobering to consider in a time of high unemployment that not only jobs but entire occupations disappear every day. We can hope that the jobs come back, but many occupations never will.

I guess that's the nature of progress, and they (the ubiquitous "they") tell us that new jobs are being created to replace the old ones. But what is worrisome here, in this land of Mom 'N Pop Culture, is the quality and meaning of these new occupations as compared to the disappearing ones. Particularly sad from the standpoint of the quality of our lives are the artisans who must face how progress - to use that term, if not sarcastically, at least loosely - has negated the value of their arts. Consider the following occupations. I mourn the loss of these honorable and sometimes ancient crafts.

Musician: I commented on the state of the music industry in my recent blog, "Worth Listening," but it's worse than the fact that everybody inside and outside the music industry seems preoccupied with the next big thing at the expense and so many perfectly wonderful little things. Yes, this is the phenomenon that gives us Lady Gaga and the idea that how wildly performers dress becomes more important than whether they have anything to actually say - not to mention any talent for saying it.

East Ferry Deli, Jamestown, Rhode Island.

It's al fresco time in New England.

This past Memorial Day weekend begged us all to get outdoors. Perfect was the perfect word to describe the weather, save for a quick thunderstorm that raced through my hometown Saturday evening. My wife Jan and I had no holiday obligations, so Sunday we decided to just head south for the Rhode Island shore and wind up anywhere. Indeed, about the closest thing to a plan we had was our intention to dine outdoors as close to the water as possible.

Anyone can appreciate the pleasures of dining outside on a perfect day, even if we can't imagine who Al Fresco is. That would be why there are so many terraces, gardens and patios devoted to dining in the open air. Yet so often al fresco dining smacks me more as a marketing strategy planned in a windowless boardroom and less as the recognition of a perfect setting by some restauranteur. There's a Chipotle Grille near where I work (I don't know if I spelled that word correctly. I still haven't decided how to pronounce it. It's one of those words that seemed to come out of an ad so I don't worry about it). It's on the edge of a parking lot on a rise above Bald Hill Road, one of those highway strips surrounded by commerce. The view is spectacular -  if you like to gaze out at parked Toyotas and traffic jams.