There are times in one's life where the meaning is blurry. Where the point of the whole darn thing seems to have waned and an eternal night has descended upon your very being.
Then, you have a moment of clarity, usually brought about by the state of building-jumping depression, and remember who you truly are. Who the little heart of gold hero who lives within your soul really is -- and what he can really do...not just for you, but for the world. And for me, it's this dandy gentleman.
Basically, my inner hero is a ball of pink sugar, a jazzy hepcat with a Liberace streak. A man who lives life hard and fast with his brilliant band of junkie musicians. A man who will be the first to call himself "cool as a cucumber" while obviously being wonked out of his brain on gin during a performance for children that frankly wreaks of wanton sexuality.
Amen.
UPDATE: Sadly, youtube has disabled embedding on the video, but here is the link. Cotton Candy Culprit
It occurs to me that selling things is difficult. A friend was offered the chance to sell tickets for something and upon further mulling, I realized you could probably rake in lots of skrill (see: Cheese, Cream).
However, fat skrill-wad-making is usually contingent upon ones ability to actually sell what they are selling efficiently. And I would just suck at that. Let me break it down for you.
Some people have the gift of Sell. They can completely not care about the ability, the quality, the point of their product and still make it sound like a magic ice cream cone tree.
Me...not so much. If I know this seed will not an ice cream cone tree make, I can't sell it. Here's an impression.
Ding Dong Kindly Citizen: Oh, good morning. Can I help you?
Me: Good morning! Let me ask you a question that I can probably guess the answer to...Are you interested in seeds?
KC: What?
Me: Seeds! And ice cream, too? Wait, I shouldn't tell you that part yet. Let's start over. brief moment of silence as i compose myself mentally Good morning! I have seeds for you!
DOOR CLOSING.
That's just a worst-case scenario for something that i'm not sold on myself. However, if I do believe in the product, well you better believe the gift of Sell is suddenly alive in me as some enzymes after I drink a little watermelon lemonade (trademark: King of Drinks).
Here are a few things I think I could sell the crap out of and make you and your company a fat wad of skrill.
1). John Williams. And I'm not talking about the spanish guitar stylings of some dude with extra long strummin' nails. I'm talking about the man who has provided sound to color our imaginations since the 1960s, and specifically who gave Steven Spielberg that extra goodness that has made him an icon.
Sells itself.
2). Pumpkin lattes. Not only do they scream deliciousness of fall. They also are hot as lava and can be used as a weapon against hobos trying to rob you for change (which you don't have anyway, because you just generously tipped the barista). I love pumpkin lattes (after they're cooled down enough to drink of course. those tongue burns last for a week!) so much, I'm not even going to pick a company here to court me into becoming their spokeswoman. I'm just going to show ALL of them right here and now how they could make millions this season from this drink alone and then may the highest bidder win.
So apparently it didn't rain for the first month after tires were invented. Because wet asphalt and round slippery rubber things do not a sufficient stop make. I believe Shakespeare said that.
What is with bringing germs into a stressful, bustling, highly interactive environment like work and then being all like, "oh cough cough I'm sick, I guess I better go home" ? Well great. Thanks. No, sure, just leave your plague rats here for me to take care of, that'll be fine.
I never forget when someone ruins my Thursday.
NEVER.
However, thanks to the magical and mighty powers of juicing, I only had a few days of teetering on the brink of boils and sores, and was luckily able to fend off whatever was trying to body snatch me. But most of the hoi polloi I interact with on a daily basis are now shuffling sacks of dirty kleenexes.
