Oxymoron
October 15, 2008
They are asking me to write a brief intellectual autobiography.
Then, could you quickly roast a turkey? We’d also like you to grow a forest by next week. And while you’re at it, just go ahead and figure out the meaning of life.
Who am I kidding. Who spends over $20,000 a year to go learn how to be a pretentious, whiny, no-name word-peddler who can only be considered talented while existing in a terrarium of equally under-skilled “writers.”
I can do that here. For free.
But no. Not only do I choose this career path, if you can call it that, but I choose to go into extreme debt for it. I am determined to end up in the poor house. One way or another.
So I sit, racking my brain for the most unique, yet professional, exciting, yet acceptable way to say that I have little to show for my academic endeavors and I want to continue riding that fine line know as mediocrity at your esteemed institution.
Hmm. I may be on to something.
