I think on my resumè, which I have never finished nor submitted anywhere, it still says that I can juggle while driving my ex-wives mad; am working on a cure for mental halitosis and teenagers; am totally politically-incorrect and a computer-idiot-savant; am not a vegetarian but eat animals that are; got injured crashing my third McCain fighter jet just before I was to play Serena Williams at Wimbledon, and like 99% of my ‘bilingual’ friends in France and Russia — who claim on their resumès they can speak fluent English – I can barely count to three or balance my checkbook in any language.
Like I once said one too many times (or was it Voltaire? Aw, who cares? I am just borrowing stuff like Ben Franklin did when he ‘over-borrowed’ many of his best, unattributed axioms from old Chinese proverbs…) when you get people to believe your absurdities, you can get them to overpay for your atrocities.
Just ask that over-pensioned Donnybrook Rumsfeld about Bush’s Weapons of Mass Destruction.
But of course… Ain’t it the truth? That is, until you put it on your resumè. And then it becomes a game of ‘truth or dare.’
A resumè is supposedly an autobiography. An autobiography is probably the most respectable form of lying invented even before The History Channel. I mean no one ever writes the truth about himself. It is a self-indulgent story about how a man thinks he lived.
An autobiography usually reveals nothing bad about its writer except his memory. It’s a written exaggeration of only the good stuff a person has done in duh past, as well as a wish list of the qualities a person would like to have.
Which is pretty funny, when you think about it. After all, humor does, indeed, thrive between our aspirations and limitations.
Just like our resumès. Which brings me to my cogent game-question-de-jour:
Why in heaven’s name do we continue with this bloody farce?
Most of all, why would anyone who isn’t running for public office, or applying for a Stanford adjunct professorship, or ordering you to drink the Kool-Aid for eternal life, ever humiliate himself in professing in a signed, sealed and delivered bunch of bodacious embellishments? Lies that no one — except maybe the mentally incarcerated and piously genuflected — really believe anyhow.
I swanny. These spurious, specious uniform tales are such stale standdown comedy that no one even bothers to read them anymore. And not just because there ain’t no jobs…
It’s perverse, ain’t it?
I mean, in America we live to have bullshit to put on our resumès, instead of having resumès because we have actually lived through all the bullshit. It’s called real experiences versus virtual reality.
It’s like most of my virtually sexless reality when the recalcitrant future ex-wife, Miss Stephanie, would really bleat: “Let’s just say we did…and don’t!”
Hmm… No wonder I actually forgot so much about foreplay. I mean, after so long without the real experience, I can’t remember who’s supposed to get tied up.
Alas, in this country, like much of Western Civilization, where folks are less apt to put their credit cards where their mouths are, we brag too much over too little done. As my dear ol’ bourbon sippin’ Pappy used to belch between those omnipotent puffs on his omniscient corn cob pipe: “When your work speaks for itself, don’t interrupt, kid! For nothing recedes like a big-mouth spouting success…”
Meanwhile, the absolute irrationality of resumès came walking into my favorite Twin Smoke Shoppe the other day with the South Philly cigar-store owner’s beautiful, black-haired, vixen daughter. Out of the mouth of that babe formed the shapely words that her young son, Andrew, needed a little help putting together his ‘autobiography.’ It’s for an acting try-out for an organization that places your future Mickey Rooney in commercials and other advertising.
But of course…
Now, remember, the kid isn’t even five-years-old yet. I’ve got constipation more fermented than that.
Which seems an apropos metaphor.
So Andrew and I bumped our innovative noggins together over glasses of un-spilt milk. And here is what we crayola-ed, finger painted and texted on his IPad. I mean: It’s his story and he’s sticking to it like Spiderman on the girl next door.
At 4 years and 10 months I guess I should introduce myself by telling you some of the things I thought I would have accomplished by now:
Like World Hunger: I thought it could be solved if everyone ate my Grandmom’s great Italian food. But the trouble with eating her Italian cooking is that after 7 days you are hungry again.
Like the world $ woes: I don’t think I am the only person who spends all my allowance by Monday. Mostly on toy cars. Then I have to borrow money from Grandpop. Maybe if people in America and Italy and Greece and all those old countries wouldn’t buy so many new toys we all wouldn’t have to borrow from Grandpop.
Like crime: It seems like bad things are mostly done by big people who don’t hear us little people telling them not to do those things. Maybe they are deaf. So I am learning sign language. Real stuff. It seems easy for me. Somebody said it’s an Italian thing. Perhaps everybody would hear better if we all talked like Italians. Or at least spoke the same language.
Like lots of other stuff, too. But up to now I have also been very busy and serious about
Training to Master:
Violin @ Music On The Move
Hip Hop/Acrobatics/Theater @ Dancedelphia
Baseball @ Delaware Valley Youth Athletic Association
Soccer @ Capitola Recreation Sports
I am also practicing other good things, including
Art, bicycling, boxing, breakdancing, cooking, drums, golf, guitar, hiking, Italian, karate, photography, skateboarding and some more stuff.
I still find time to go to school and get a good
Education @ St. Anthony of Padua.
I study hard. I am on the fast-track. I have already advanced to Pre-Kindergarten .
My Future Plans include that by the age of 6 I want to solve the problem with girls. I think I’ll ask my Mom. The boys in Grandpop’s cigar shop seem to like her. They all smile big and goofy a lot when she’s around. She makes me smile, too. I like her, even if she is a girl. I think she must know stuff that I don’t know.
Hmm… But of course…
Like me and Andrew, most people work best while sitting… Indeed. I know that’s where I absolutely shine. And now, so does Andrew.
And dats yDrewIS on DIS penal colony….