Teach me, o enlightened one...

Unemployed Man Getting Really Good At Unemployment

"And don't burden others with your sad reality," Higby continued. "I used to complain to my friends that I was bored, but I quickly realized that, after busting their asses at work all week, they don't want to hear it. Now, I talk about 'working hard on my portfolio.'"
--The Onion

I have so much to learn.

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I'm also starting to wonder whether or not I just start lying on my CV and saying that my degree was in communications or cultural studies or just "the humanities." Since I'm applying for non-music-related jobs (out of necessity, not necessarily desire), I already feel untouchable because of some scarlet 'M' that musicology has branded on me.

Or maybe I should just go in the opposite direction and promote my esoteric knowledge. I could print business cards that say, "musicologist for every occasion."

Heiaha! Heiho! Hoiha heiho!

(I'm attempting to recreate the phonetic shoutings of some of Wagner's characters, but I don't think I can quite match their rancor.)

Quick updates:

-Anyway, after much delay, my musicological friends and I finished watching the Ring cycle. Götterdämmerung certainly had its powerful moments, and the Met's production was very well done, but good lord it was long. There's no reason for any spectacle to last four and a half hours. It took a lot of endurance just to sit and make it to the end. (A cadence! How novel!) At least now I can check one more thing off the list of Cultural Things That Are Probably Edifying but Demand An Awful Lot of Attention.

-My second go at "Where's the Beat?" was also a success. My co-host found these cheesy old ambient LPs of recorded nature sounds like thunderstorms and animal noises and heartbeats that we used underneath us when we came on mic.

-I finished Life of Pi a few days ago. It was highly recommended by a couple friends, so I was expecting a little more out of it, but it was only slightly above average. It must have been a lean year for Man Booker Prize nominees.

-R.I.P., Jean Baudrillard. May your soul be transported to the great Disneyland in the sky.

The Look usually starts in the eyes. Until she -- it's usually a 'she', though not always; most men don't ask so many questions -- has heard this particular answer of mine, she has had a social smile and a look of understanding. But then all of a sudden her eyes stop smiling; they recoil; they look distant. The brow starts to wrinkle. The lips stick together. The head cocks slightly to one side.

There's a slightly uncomfortable pause.

I brace for the inevitable follow-up question (or worse, an abrupt "Oh."). It's usually one or more of the following:

a) "What's that?"
b) "Do you play an instrument?"

Or, the most squirm-inducing and most tiresome:

c) "So what are you going to do with that?"

These queries, however well-intentioned, translate respectively to:

a) "I've never heard of that."
b) "There must be some practical part to it, right?"
c) "Seriously -- is there really a demand for that?"

Knowing that the first question will lead to others in which I'll have to justify my existence, I am tempted to lie. I want to say that I got my degree in engineering, business or law, but if there's any further questions, I know I'll crack.


I don't feel ashamed to having studied musicology, but sometimes I feel like I ought to. The world doesn't know how to respond to liberal arts majors.