Help
Wanted?!
I'm
not sure why I do it - maybe
it's because I periodically
feel guilty about the fact
that all my friends wake up
early and have to go to some
office all day while I sit
in my pajamas, play on the
computer and try to get in
touch with my muse. Maybe
it's because my friends all
drive really nice automobiles*
while, until recently, I drove
a 1987 Ford Bronco II closing
in on 200,000 miles with mismatched
body panels and a gas tank
that leaked.
Whatever
the reason, every year or
so I briefly consider the
option of finding some form
of more, um, traditional employment.
I start daydreaming about
the prospects of exotic things
like health insurance, stock
options and the mysterious
sounding 401k plan. I tell
my friends my grand plan and
all the women in my life seem
relieved. With optimism I
hit the internet employment
websites looking for the following
ad:
"Help
Wanted: General creative type
for variety of multimedia
projects. Need a singer/songwriter
to write, record and tour
in support of CDs. Eventually
will segue into screen writing
and producing feature films
as well as writing for television.
Will settle in to writing
novels by 50 while pursuing
a doctorate. Pay is in the
millions, you can work at
home and set your own hours."
Invariably
it's not there so I figure
I'll look again the following
week. In the meantime I should
update my resume.
Well,
okay, first I should FIND
a copy of my resume. So I
head to the filing cabinet
and sift through all the press
clippings, the CDRs of new
songs, the press kits and
bumper stickers, and the tour
schedule for 2001 until I
locate the one copy of a resume
that I still have. It's been
torn in half and song lyrics
have been unceremoniously
written across the back. The
only part that remains explains
how, when I was 16 and a sophomore
in high school, I worked at
Papa Ginos as a grill cook.
Assuming
that no one cares about this
anymore I set off to write
a new one. Hell, I've done
my share of creative writing
before. Yet my creativity
comes up dry when I struggle
to explain the last five years
of my life in a nice, concise
paragraph:
"1995
to present - Freelance musician.
Performed over 150 shows a
year nationwide and appeared
with acts such as Everclear,
Third Eye Blind, Barenaked
Ladies and Offsping. Released
two albums and gained regional
and internet success as The
Jager Guy."
I
can see it now at the job
interview:
"Um,
Mr. Totten, you gained success
as what?"
"The
Jager guy."
"The
JAGER guy? What does that
mean?"
"You
know - Jagermeister. The German
liquor."
"So,
um, could you explain HOW
exactly have you spent the
last five years of your life?"
"Well
my work day has been between
2-4 hours long. People bought
me beers and Jagermeister
shots while I worked and when
I was done they all told me
how much they liked me. Well,
except for the ones who were
throwing things at me."
I'm
enough of a realist to understand
that chances are I will not
get hired after that. And
if by some miracle I did,
I'd probably be fired a few
days later trying to deal
with the transition to an
office. I suspect you can't
just sneak off and take a
nap in the middle of the day.
I imagine you can't stagger
into the office with a beer
buzz and a plate of nachos
at 3am and do a little research
on the web. I bet they'd frown
on me knocking off for a few
hours to record a new song
idea. And I may be wrong,
but I'm pretty sure at the
end of the year that a tee
shirt will no longer be considered
a deductible business expense.
Discouraged
with my job search I sit down
and idly strum my guitar,
considering that maybe I already
have the job best suited for
my, er, unique talents. Maybe
I can be content without the
fancy cars, the office camaraderie
and the 401 k. Maybe I'm at
peace living the life of an
artist with the highs and
lows, the passion and the
unpredictability, the joy
that comes with creativity.
Well,
content at least until this
time next year.
*NOTE: The exception to
the friends in nice cars theory
is my friend Sean. He has
a good job and owns a house,
but drives cars that make
you think he's a musician
because he'd rather spend
the money on his Harley. That's
just Sean for you. Go figure.
This
column © 2000 Lee Totten
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