I recently went from being an
hobo unemployed income-challenged recent college graduate to having an unpaid monetarily-liberating internship with Point of View, a nonprofit that works with PBS.
Now, I know I may be starting at the bottom rung of the ladder, but I think we both know where this is going. After all, ladders are for climbing, and yoga has given me very strong thighs. But don’t worry, I assure you: I won’t forget you.
No, when I’m running the free world as the first gay nerd president (excluding Abraham Lincoln), I’ll remember the little people. Because I am a gentleman.
When I’m looking down on you from the penthouse suite in the Bloomberg building, I’ll remember all you have done for me. And when I’m bathing in a pool of money and gold from my coffers, I will think, “This dollar bill was thanks to that one bearded guy! And I couldn’t have earned this one without the help of that girl with 3 eyebrow piercings!”
I’ll be living the life of luxury, eating matzoh ball soup in Jerusalem with Shimon Peres for lunch before going to meet Queen Elizabeth and having some Cornish game hen with her for dinner. Yes, my existence is on the verge of being more fantastic than I could ever hope, but I won’t — I won’t… Wait, what were we talking about?
Oh well, I’m sure it wasn’t important. Would you be a dear and go fetch me my vintage bourbon?
PrS (that means prescript, here): This isn’t a late post on 4th of July that I was too lazy to make yesterday, this is actually a story-ish thing! Rejoice!
Now, I used to be a big fan of the 4th of July. Not because I had any national pride; no, when I was a kid the only things I cared about were dinosaurs, cookies, and explosives. The thing you may not glean from my current high strung, hippy attitude is that I used to be quite fond of watching things burst into flames. My fondest memories of Independence Day were trying to talk my dad into buying $500+ in fireworks so that we could have a display that was the envy of all our neighbors, setting off a few artillery shells every night prior to the actual day. It was Pyromaniac Heaven.
Then I grew up and became lame. Kidding! I’m still (sort of) awesome. But the effervescent joy that radiated from my skin when I had witnessed a rocket dissipated as I grew older was replaced by yawns. Been there, done that.
Enter in Fruit -Blow-Up Day. Continue reading
One of my secrets that’s not actually a secret is that I’ve had insomnia for a good long while (about 32 months). Now, insomnia is pretty bad, if I do say so myself, and during my travels to get better I have taken a lot of medication. Fun fact: did you know many anti-anxiety pills are also used as anti-seizure medication?