A few of Willy Pogany’s illustrations for Paidric Colum’s The Children of Odin. My favorite artist of all time.
Ok so it was wine and chick-flicks but now it’s homemade blueberry cobbler and X-men. I’ve said it before and ill say it again: I’m going to make someone an excellent housewife someday.
I may or may not be drinking wine and watching You’ve Got Mail. Don’t worry, there’s a pint of ice cream on the freezer for later.
Anonymous asked: Why does your hair glisten in the sun and pretty blue birds perch on your shoulders? Are you a Disney princess disguised as a well dressed hipster?
Are you trying to flirt with me, Anon? Because it ain’t workin’.
This one reads like a sitcom plot. Meet Mike and Zelda from Crown Heights. Mike was working as a stay-at-home Dad when he decided to open up a coffee shop on Franklin Ave. He named the coffee shop Little Zelda, after his daughter. Mike and Zelda still spend a lot of time together at the shop. There’s even a growth chart for Zelda on the wall.
I’ve been doodling a lot recently.
On this fantastic app called Paper.
(Sorry its sideways. Still learning.)
embarrassingbravery asked: What's your life plan right now? Give me the deets.
It’s a cold cold world out there for a recent college graduate.
Noah Bambauch’s Kicking and Screaming has a lot to say on this subject. This hilarious scene is still one of my favorite scenes ever.
The only job that anyone seems to be getting is “Social Media Specialist,” which is really just old people paying young people to run their Twitter accounts. Unfortunately, simply having a Twitter account does not qualify you as a Social Media Specialist. That requires a degree I do not have. The degree I do have is very useful, I am told. But so far, these are the only uses for my degree that I have found:
- Use it to solicit tax advice in exchange for room and board on my pilgrimage to the World’s Largest Hockey Stick and Puck in Duncan, BC. I haven’t quite worked out what happens when I actually cross the border into Canada, because I don’t think my tax class covered taxation in countries that don’t play real sports. (Actually, the jury is still out on Canada. My money is riding on “it doesn’t exist.”)
- Make photocopies (do we still say photocopy? I don’t know, I just have a college degree) of the degree and hand it out to everyone I meet. Say things like, “That’s right, pal. That is my name. In calligraphy.” and “No, its spelled ‘b-a-c-c-a-l-a-u-r-e-a-t-e.’”
- Fold it into a paper airplane. The high-quality paper it’s printed on would make for an optimal weight-to-wingspan ratio.
- Start a blog entitled “Things to do with a Bachelor’s Degree.” It would feature pictures of me using my diploma to accomplish various household chores, complete arts and crafts, and run drinks to table 27. It would be hilarious and a poignant social commentary! And let’s face it, the highest goal of my generation is the creation of vaguely funny and thinly veiled social criticism.
- Attend graduate school. This option was more viable about 10 months ago, when my GPA still stood somewhere between ‘passable’ and ‘easily overlooked.’ But senior year always does terrible things to both your waistline and your motivation to participate in mundane activities like going to class. But if I did go to graduate school, I would seriously consider this program or this program.
- Stick my neck out and hope that potential employers will ignore my degree as well as all the past experiences on my resume (Shift Manager, Fast Food Joint, 2007-2012. Duties: “Do you want sighs with that?”) and offer me a job in an industry in which I possess neither experience nor education. “Great hair” and “Montgomery Clift-esque charm” being my only qualifications, the odds are generally not in my favor. I do have those qualifications nailed down, though.
But I have sent out several resumes despite all this, with the subject line “SWM, Desperately Seeking Signing Bonus”, or “Hail Mary met Salary.” They were sent to several arts organizations seeking interns in special events and fundraising/development, as well as one to those people who find the facts they print on the bottom of Snapple lids. These emails were not well-received, apparently, because I never heard back. Of course, I didn’t include a headshot, which may have been my one mistake. I mean, c’mon. Look at me.
So for now, I’ll be content to make a meager living as a bank teller or a prostitute (I haven’t landed on one or the other yet) and eat mac and cheese out of the pot every day. Which, if you ask me, sounds like the ever-elusive ‘good life.’ And those, my friends, are the “deets.”
P.S. Are you an employer, and find my witty reparte both insightful and fun? Contact me!
