I feel like I should be doing something, preparing myself for the veritable tidal wave of rancid shit that's scheduled to hit me in May, two years from now. It sounds like a long time, but when you sleep all day, it really isn't as long as you want it to be. I'm faced with the reality that I might have to get a real job, the sort of thing that "other people" do for their money. I don't like it.

I keep thinking about all of those dreams I had as a kid, when I wanted to be a rock star -- I never really took learning an instrument into consideration though. I probably should have. Not that I would have made a good rock star, what with my short hair and pocket-protector. When I was younger, you could have slapped a "Hello, My Name Is: White Steve Urkel" sticker on me, and nobody would've complained. I might have tried to complain, but all the agitation would have given me a nosebleed.

So, right now I am thinking about what the hell I could do with my life. I am studying communications, so, based on the career paths of the other COM majors at my school, it seems that the most straightforward path for this 5'9" (if I'm wearing my "tall" shoes) white boy from NJ is to join the NBA.

I don't even know why I got into this major in the first place. I think it was my dream of hosting the Tonight Show, but that dream died when I found out what it takes to get that job. What it amounts to is an extraordinary amount of work at a wage that an illegal Mexican gardener would laugh at -- all with no guarantee of success, and a whole-hearted refusal to make any good use of my exceedingly expensive college degree. I could have just skipped college and used the money to provide myself with a lifetime supply of newspaper-blankets.

Ah, well. If you know anyone at NBC, tell them I want a job in about two years. I'll even take Carson Daly's spot, God knows he sucks. My Mormon neighbor would probably put on a more entertaining show that that guy.

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