 |
|||
|
December 10, 2002 Seven Feet Dreams It seems I beat my livelihood's clock to the punch: At 21, I'm having a mid-life crisis. Who am I? Where am I going? Does my HMO cover accidental career choices? Ah, the questions we ponder. Listen: I'm going to grow up and be a rapper. Really, seriously. Why not? It has to be better than accounting. And think of all the fly women off the rap videos. Yeah, rock the joint like that. Infantile aspirations of mansions in Palm Beach and women in Ibiza; somewhere along the way, everyone forgets there are multiple paths in life. We become so infatuated with sticking to a specific career path that we forget life can take miraculous turns any time, any day. Here's hoping (and I know I say that a lot now, but bear with me while keeping your hearts clear and your minds wide open) that Santa Claus exists, the Easter Bunny hasn't been shot, the Tooth Fairy is taking a sabbatical and Yao Ming is for real. It's Final Jeopady, and the ball is in your court. « BCS: Bowl Corporate Series? | The Billy Ocean Sputterings » | |||