I hate rain too. I say “too” because I know I hate something else but I’m too lazy to think of something specific. There were two shows I really wanted to see tonight, but after walking a mile in the upper east side to tutor a privileged little fuck who kept on trying to distract me from teaching her how to find volumes by asking my opinions on indy bands that I don’t know and making me feel self conscious about my lack of knowledge about bands I was wet and sad and that ruined my night.
Wet and sad I had to listen to this girl who could at best describe herself as precocious and at worst describe herself a a piece of shit that no one will love because she can’t stop obsessing over the sound of her voice. This girl told me that she wanted to be a “Music Photographer.” There is absolutely nothing wrong with that profession. Nobody should have those specific of desires at her age.
I wanted to be an NBA statistician from the age of 10 to the age of 13.
My newest story that I’ve been crafting starts with me explaining that I hate myself, but I hate the previous incarnations of myself even more. I was such a fucking idiot. You should be constantly attempting to get more specific in your desires. When you are 5 you should want to be an astronaut, a fireman, a princess, and (like me) a tap dancer. Maybe when you are in high school you can narrow to a broad field: The arts, teaching, or prostitution/investment banking. Once you have a job, you should only maybe be seeking three other jobs. By the time you retire you should know what you want to do – then you can do that because you don’t have to work for money anymore.
The more I think about it, music photographer is a stupid job. And she’s a stupid kid. At least after I’m done with her she’ll be able to do math. Hopefully she won’t be able to google my name.