The Driving Dream Comes to a Close
News update the 4th:
Tonight marked the closing of the ‘me as delivery chick’ dream sequence. Short and interesting, but now it is onward to a better dream. I’m not taking that dispatch job either, even if I could attach ‘ninja’ to my title, because the pay is no good and working nights is no good. I’m in a band. I need my nights.
But do not fear for me! I found a better paying job (well, I have to apply yet), with perfect hours, doing basically what I used to do back in Alberta, only less evil (theoretically). Whereas I used to call people up and conduct surveys (of both evil market research and evil political varieties), this would involve calling people up for donations to charities. Not the most fun thing in the world, I imagine, but I’d be a supervisor before long anyway, since that’s where I left off at the call center I worked at before.
It’s just a shame I no longer have my Soldering Iron of Justice… Nobody fucked with me when I had the Soldering Iron of Justice.
Here’s a song I have stuck in my head.
[audio:Clash-Should-I-Stay-Or-Should-I-Go.mp3]
(The Soldering Iron of Justice)
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congrats on dispensing with the dispatch gig, B. you’ll be happy to know though that ‘ninja’ can actually prefix just about any profession you set your heart on…with i suppose the notable exception of ninja itself…but mainly because ninja ninja is just redundant (and sounds like the title of an ill-conceived broadway musical by Andrew lloyd webber).
but hey, if i ever doubted for a moment the degree to which you could kick booty, this photo clinches it. Any would-be banditos would be well-advised to keep their ten-foot poles securely sheathed upon encountering the likes of you, along the dusty road to durango. all you’re missing is your trusty burro, some clip-on tumbleweeds & the obligatory far off hawk screech.
hope the job lead pans out. despite it perhaps not even vaguely resembling any of your shiny childhood aspirations, it at least sounds like something that would definitely help facilitate your capacity to rock (*and* roll…should you prefer the full body workout).
brillo escendido, senora :)
brillo encendido, that is. my spanish makes my french look almost halfways presentable, except for the large grape juice stain just to the left of its crotch.
Cripes. Don’t mess with Brooke!
Looks like an ordinary dagger to me. Although I’m sure it’s a magic dagger that can be used to build electronic doo-dads.
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At my unemplyment orientation, I ran into the same Natalie that I ran into two years ago, who I’d worked with years before that (and played her a live acoustic mashup of The Little Drummer Boy and Hey Jude, which she never forgot) and told her “if I take the same type of job again, I’ll be seeing you in 2009, and much as I like you, we don’t want that to happen.” Point being, when you go into familiar territory, you already know the outcome.
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Boo mentions that he hopes the job will facilitate your labor(s) of love, but it might be more empowering to think the other way around and ask your labor(s) of love to facilitate a day job, since you’re on better terms with the former anyway. I tried to talk with my supervisor (bless her heart) about what the job was doing to my music, but I don’t think she got it — it made more sense to align with the music and let the job either adapt or take a hike.
Keith, I know what you’re saying. I’ve been struggling with this a lot, but I am at a loss for how to translate that theory into practice at the moment. I’m very anti-wage-slavery, which is why I haven’t been busy working my way up to a ‘better job’ as far as ‘jobs’ go. I haven’t and still don’t have the slightest intention of living out my days working for the ‘man’. But this is a risky road to take because of course, the system is built in such a way as you have to work for the man to support yourself while you work on ways to get out of working for the man. Mark my words, though, I’ll win.