Every week, I promise myself that I am going to start being
more active in my blog, after all, I consider myself above all else, a
writer. Truthfully, I have many talents; for instance, I can stir a filthy martini that would make a nun
salivate and after drinking a couple, I can belt out a high note at any local karaoke bar until all the drunks
hand me a dollar while strumming a guitar effectively. (I don't really play the guitar while singing...I need one hand for the mike and the other to take the money. The guitar is intermittently strummed in between those other tasks.)
Alas, at the end of an exhausting list
of possessed talents and, dare I say, universally bestowed gifts, I am, above
all else, a humble writer…well, writer at least. To which, I am resolved to perch
upon my pedestal of public domain and pen down more of my thoughts.
Honestly though, I have had my plate pretty full recently
with the move to Philadelphia. I
graduated in May with a master’s degree and for the life of me, I cannot seem
to understand why my door hasn’t been beaten down with job offers. Statistics be damned, but only 10% of the
world has a post-secondary degree and I am one of them.
This makes me wonder, are there others too who
are out of work wondering if there are others
in the same jobless state. To them I
say, “Brothers, you are not worthless and alone while you meander aimlessly
though scams and crooked shams looking for opportunities to present themselves
on Career Builder. I am here and sit with
you in solidarity in front of my computer screen, and I too, am searching for
the next lead, phone interview and someone who believes that I am the right one
for the job!"
Looking for a job, especially when you spent so much time
and money on a degree in which seems sometimes is completely useless can be
maddening. On my way to the gym last
night to work off the bag of Butterfinger candy bars that I consumed while
perusing the webpage want ads, I drove past a Paul Mitchell Hair School and had
to pullover because I was sobbing so loudly that I couldn’t control the car.
I thought at the time, that learning to bang
out some hair would, at the very least, be a job that would never be at the
whim of an academic recession and would be a helluva lot cheaper than grad
school. After all, most people grow hair
and those folks always need their hair cut…and just to have job security, I
figured that I could also learn to style wigs and hair pieces. That way, hair or no hair, I’d have all my
bases (or scalps in this case) covered.
After a good long cry, I gained some composure and made my
way to the gym and hopped on the nearest treadmill where I drowned out my
troubles with Cher’s latest album. She
really has a way of putting things in perspective when I trudge along, getting
nowhere on a moving platform going 4.5 mph.
It may seem a bit ego-centric, but I change all the lyrics in her songs
to reflect me and my state of being and it somehow, makes everything all right,
at least for a little while.
I will now
address anyone within ear shot of “The Christian Sing-Along While Running on a
Treadmill Show at Planet Fitness:” Although your individual playlist may differ
from the one that I belt out during the show, hold up a buck next time. I take requests.
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