I was recently informed that I have a "very direct voice" when it comes to the things that I say and write. I prefer to consider it a very singular voice, in amongst a crowd of people shouting, and a quiet voice at that. I suppose it all goes back to wanting to be heard, recognized and adored. I feel like TV Guide's "The Best Show You're Not Watching," except even the cool kids I know won't give me a simple link from their page. I suspect it's because I don't have my own domain name. But, I'd rather be able to afford to access the internet, than be everyone's multimedia darling.
Okay, that's a lie. I'd rather be both, but despite what you have heard about the cosmetological profession, it's not all hand over fist glorious earnings of phat cash and glory that Jose Eber and Frederic Fekkai make it all out to be. I lack two very important yet remarkably basic features: 1) I am not a man. Men make the most money in this profession. I'm not sure why, but it is sadly true. Yes, Virginia, even the hair salon has a glass ceiling. And, 2) I don't have some distinctive thing about me like a snotty French accent or a gimmicky, feather-encrusted cowboy hat. Honestly, I could be making more as management at Taco Bell, but then I'd be management at Taco Bell, and I would have to kill myself in shame, which would also be at counter purpose to my goals. I don't think martyring myself as The Man at a fast food taco chain will get me the adulation I desire.
So, Pinky, it's back to the laboratory. We'll have to wait to tomorrow to take over the world.
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