Did you ever think, when you were younger and the creaks of closing
doors hadn’t yet become thunderous, that you and all of your friends
were going to do great things? Because now it seems like circumstance
has threatened, in the friendships it didn’t destroy altogether, that
idea of mutually assured success. Three years removed from the rapidly
fading end of college, the majority of my peers sport psychic bruises
gotten at the hands of a world we’ve learned isn’t vested in our
personal triumph. The few people who know what they want to do have
discovered their chosen professions aren’t guided by the principles of
meritocracy. It’s ostensible chaos, and, after fifteen years of
structured, teleological environments, it breeds doubt—doubt that like
a giant black maw eats away at the confidence of those glowing
assessments you made back in the ninth grade. When the maw isn’t
satisfied—its appetite is only whetted by the feast on your friends—the
jaws of uncertainty turn inward and you begin questioning whether that
secret self-conviction you’ve always harbored, the belief you would add
to the world in a distinct and remarkable way, was ever really
justified.
But there are methods for sating such an ugly beast. I’ve discovered one is you feed it at the restaurant where my friend pulls from the oven pizzas that, prior to glorious consumable conception, spent thousands of hours parbaking in his head.
I spend a great deal of my life working functions that exceptionally wealthy people go to. My official jobs have ranged from handing out escort cards to rangling opera singers, to making emergency Staples runs, to standing and looking pretty. I’m especially good at that last one.
Everyone wants to move to Maine these days...It wasn't like that when we were growing up. In fact, very few people that lived here wanted to stay here, but they couldn't afford to move. No one knew where Maine was, they would stare blankly at you like it was a foreign country.
It’s officially less than one week until a global earthquake causes the entire world to shatter into pieces. I thought we had another year and a half, but subway signs—and sign holders have informed me that the true end of the world is not in December of 2012, but is creeping up on us quickly. According to subway posters and people raising awareness outside of City Hall earlier this week, the end of the world is really May 21, 2011! So now it’s time to grab your parachute and your bungee chords and try something you’ve never done before! Or, in my case, eat all types of food that I’d like to smother my taste buds with before this global earthquake officially hits. Because while some people like to live like they will be dying—I’d much rather eat like I am dying.