Sunday, August 7, 2011

Don't bring around the cloud to rain on my parade

People just don't appreciate starving artists like they used to. It truly is a darn shame too, because we are a sensational bunch.
Okay, let me explain, for those of you who are not up-to-date on my shiftless drifting and artful pursuits.
I chose to sidle on home this summer to curb expenses for my impending move to NYC. I chose to give up a perfectly respectable job with benefits, the whole bit, to get a move on my moving parade. No shame in that right? Artists do it all the time. Madonna moved to NY with $35 buckeroos in her pocket and a whole lotta gumption.
So why I get so much grief for, oh golly shucks wanting to kickstart my everlasting dream of being a writer in the big city is a mystery the likes of which I'd like to challenge any gumshoe worth his salt to get to the bottom of.
There have been a few instances of aforementioned grief-giving taking place this summer, of which I will not elaborate on, except the most recent, which took place tonight.
I was partaking of some lovely fresh air, live music, and photographing of classic cars when I was stopped by an old acquaintance. This particular person is someone who every time I run into her, which is every time I'm home, somehow manages to insult me. But in that pleasantly backwards way. You know the way I'm talking about. Anyway, she asks me what I've been up to. I sum up. Wisconsin. Home. New York City. Soon. Real soon.
She questions what I am going to do in NY. I explain. Hopefully, get an internship. Work three jobs to pay rent. And oh, pursue that silly little thing involving my degree in English... A.K.A Fulfill Lifelong Dream. Exciting, no? No. Apparently not.
She proceeds to laugh with her mouth, not with her eyes and tells me that should I ever decide to... get ready for it, direct quote headed your way... "settle down and get a real job," I could work where she works. Which is in the medical field. This is all I will say.
Because I am not sinister, or a biter, I control my throbbing rage and calmly reply that she can look for my book in Barnes and Noble one day and attend one of book signings, should I ever be in this area again. She laughs gaily, like she's entertaining the idea of a child becoming Superman.
"I hope so!" she says with a complete lack of sincerity. I resist the urge to scream. And instead coo that it was soo nice running into her, but I must get going and fiddle with my little photography hobby.
To say she ruined my night would be outlandish. You can't ruin live music mixed with a camera as my mom said. And besides, a perfectly gorgeous stranger called me beautiful as my mother photographed me trying not to be photographed.
Anyway, to quote the song, because the song says it best:

Don't tell me not to fly, I simply got to
If someone takes a spill, it's me and not you
Who told you you're allowed to rain on my parade

Sung with much gusto if I might add.

1 comment:

Bert's Mind said...

what a cock juggling thunder cunt, excusez mon fran├žais