The Demographic-Naming Contest
It's now past 5 in the morning and I have undoubtedly ruined myself for work, or anything else productive, tomorrow.
The main reason for this is because I discovered, to my chagrin, that the grandissimo-sized "value" meal at McDonald's now comes with a beverage the size of an oil drum. I celebrated my safe return home -- noteworthy because this involved operating the foot-pedals of my Honda with this monstrous soda wedged between my legs like some malevolent arctic behemoth threatening icy revenge on my defenseless groin -- by immediately consuming the caffeinated contents of this obscene vessel. In short order, I became so agitated I could barely sit still, let alone engage in anything worthwhile.
So, I turned to the Internet, my stalwart friend in this age of dire procrastination; and came upon Transom.org, which would be the second, and more pertinent, reason why I am still burning the midnight oil. I have decided that the only reasonable course of action for a person of my ever-so-remarkable abilities (and, let's not forget, a most Pleasant Masculine Voice) is to scrap my literature degrees and become ... a radio reporter.
What I'd like to know is why a sudden transition into broadcast journalism seems like a completely reasonable goal, when comparatively simple tasks -- say, stocking the refrigerator with non-rancid food -- are too difficult and time-consuming to be bothered with. Even now that the time I actually manage to spend doing "work" (that's "work" expansively defined as including necessary non-remunerative duties, such as eating) has dwindled to an embarrassingly unprofessional two hours in the late afternoon, it still seems to me that an ambitious and self-motivated career is not only desirable, but is actually a reasonable self-expectation.
I ought to lower my sights a bit, you know, practice the art of the possible. If I really put my mind to it, I think I could find time to break into an exciting career in Unemployment, which seems to be a booming industry among people like me. Our demographic -- we who have failed to immediately translate postsecondary education into anything more occupationally satisfying than data entry -- really ought to have a catchy name. I'm convinced that there must be a lot of people out there like us who have slipped under the marketing radars because we don't dress fashionably enough to be hipsters, are too devoted to our favorite hair care products to be hippies, don't own enough furniture to be yuppies, and are too confused and frightened by prime-time television to fit in with everyone else.
This week's contest is to see who can come up with the best name for our little demographic. The person with the best suggestion gets an nice 8X10 photograph of me, posing in a majestically windblown fashion.
The main reason for this is because I discovered, to my chagrin, that the grandissimo-sized "value" meal at McDonald's now comes with a beverage the size of an oil drum. I celebrated my safe return home -- noteworthy because this involved operating the foot-pedals of my Honda with this monstrous soda wedged between my legs like some malevolent arctic behemoth threatening icy revenge on my defenseless groin -- by immediately consuming the caffeinated contents of this obscene vessel. In short order, I became so agitated I could barely sit still, let alone engage in anything worthwhile.
So, I turned to the Internet, my stalwart friend in this age of dire procrastination; and came upon Transom.org, which would be the second, and more pertinent, reason why I am still burning the midnight oil. I have decided that the only reasonable course of action for a person of my ever-so-remarkable abilities (and, let's not forget, a most Pleasant Masculine Voice) is to scrap my literature degrees and become ... a radio reporter.
What I'd like to know is why a sudden transition into broadcast journalism seems like a completely reasonable goal, when comparatively simple tasks -- say, stocking the refrigerator with non-rancid food -- are too difficult and time-consuming to be bothered with. Even now that the time I actually manage to spend doing "work" (that's "work" expansively defined as including necessary non-remunerative duties, such as eating) has dwindled to an embarrassingly unprofessional two hours in the late afternoon, it still seems to me that an ambitious and self-motivated career is not only desirable, but is actually a reasonable self-expectation.
I ought to lower my sights a bit, you know, practice the art of the possible. If I really put my mind to it, I think I could find time to break into an exciting career in Unemployment, which seems to be a booming industry among people like me. Our demographic -- we who have failed to immediately translate postsecondary education into anything more occupationally satisfying than data entry -- really ought to have a catchy name. I'm convinced that there must be a lot of people out there like us who have slipped under the marketing radars because we don't dress fashionably enough to be hipsters, are too devoted to our favorite hair care products to be hippies, don't own enough furniture to be yuppies, and are too confused and frightened by prime-time television to fit in with everyone else.
This week's contest is to see who can come up with the best name for our little demographic. The person with the best suggestion gets an nice 8X10 photograph of me, posing in a majestically windblown fashion.