Friday Five: Things I'd be terrible at.

I am thinking today about what I could do with the rest of my life.

Did some writing this morning. Were it not for the total dismissal of shape or format, I'd be a pretty good writer.

Played a little music. I'd be pretty good at that.

Fondled my tomato plants. I'd be a reasonably decent farmer if I could get up that early, work that late, or look reasonably good in overalls. Not a big fan of hats though. That might be a problem.

Did some desktop publishing for my promotional CD case. I actually did that for a living once. Once. And I wasn't very good at it then, I'd be better at it now. Mostly cause now the computers can move faster than I can think. Back in the day it took forever to move a picture from the top of the page to the bottom. For Ever! So most of the time I was just being paid to yell at the monitor and go for coffee.

I fixed a flat tire on my bike in less than ten minutes. I could totally be a mechanic. Cause I know how to use tools and I look smashing all covered in grease. The overalls might still be a problem.

Got a phone call from a woman asking me if I was interested in selling my house. I told her no thank-you and that I didn't have any friends or family who is interested either. But I insisted she have a nice day cause she sounded as though she could use the encouragement. Made me think that earlier this year she made a similar list to mine and came up with cold calling home owners as a viable option for what she should do with the rest of her time on planet earth in this particular body.

I would be terrible at that.


Just terrible.

Which, of course, makes me think of other things I'd be terrible at. Things that no matter how hard I tried, I would never do well. Or at all.

It's good practice to check things off your life possibilities, like how you're never going to get a tattoo and you're never gonna bungie jump, and how no matter how much she complains you're never gonna let your wife replace the carpet in your studio.

Actually, we may have to revisit that last one. My wife nods yes.

So here it is for our Freedom Loving, God Fearing, American Patriots who love their Life, Liberty, and Pursuit of Happiness;

Five Things I would be terrible at:

Number One: 
Cold calling home owners to see if they want to sell their homes. In fact, lets just about bundle every kind of work that requires the use of a phone. I am terrible over the phone. My voice gets high pitched, I speak too loud, I can't form normal sentences, I pace furiously and I sweat tiny little droplets at the top of my butt crack. I do not know why this is, but I have learned to accept it and the fairy god mother that washes my underwear is grateful that my chosen profession requires eye contact.

Number Two:
Any job that involves children. I don't like them very much. Not really much at all. Especially my own.

Number Three:
Athlete. Now I know I'm not in the best of shape at this exact moment, but I'm no slouch. I can run, jump, shoot (hoops and arrows), after three months of little league I can throw a ball again, I can swim, I can ride, I can even bend a golf ball the way Beckham bends a f├╝tball. But I've never been able to get the hang of competition. If I'm not winning handily, like lets say a foot race between me and a seven year old in the grocery store parking lot, I seize up like a yugoslavian rental car. I hate loosing. I hate it so much. I hate it more than I hate cleaning out the  U-Joint underneath the kitchen sink.

Number Four:
Plummer. There is just a certain smell from cleaning out the decay of clogged pipes. No amount of bleach seems to cover it up. And if I start to think about what that slimy stuff actually is, I have to stand outside for a few minutes and breathe and possibly fondle my tomatoes. And of course, there's the problem with the overalls again. And I'd prefer to minimize butt crack sweat to phone calls with my tax adviser.

Number Five:
Dental worker. I couldn't possibly go to work if everyone hated me as much as everyone hates their dentist. Of course we still go, cause you have to, but you hate it and you hate them, and they're so nice and accommodating and reasonable and they seem to only want what's best for your teeth, and yet they poke at you with sharp pokey things and they never use enough Novocain the first time through and their walls are covered with pictures of decayed gums as if Edgar Allen Poe was their interior decorator. And I would have a terrible time convincing people to brush three times a day. 

Here's a great Mitch Hedburg line:

"I know how difficult it must be for people to quit smoking, cause I know how difficult it is to start flossing."

He was a funny dude.

He too would have made a terrible dentist.

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