No one wants to be a bartender anymore or worse yet, a “barback.” The latter sounds like the ripe reward after years of painstaking mechanical bull riding. Why should they when being a mixologist allows you to wear suspenders, a puny jazz chapeau, and carry around tufts of fresh rosemary? During “March Madness,” when Gamblers Anonymous rooms swell with sudden acolytes of college basketball, there’s hardly any space for real fans. The honor should go to the diligent bracketologist, poring over his bracket, eyeing the many permutations as the whole project busts in real time.
It's why I’m officially retiring as a writer, effective immediately. From the ashes of looseleaf paper and half-chewed number 2 pencils, I will be reborn as a wordologist. I know there are plenty of writers who would say there are many writers, but that’s what makes me different. I see a sentence and rush to the thesaurus seeking unnecessary complications. Communication is not my goal, confusion is. I want brows furrowed, audible sighs, and involuntary convulsions.
I casually examined LinkedIn for similarly worthy titles. But after seeing rock stars, creative ninjas, chief storytellers, wordmongers, wordsmiths, wordbrewers, word distilleries, word cookers, bard boys, scribbling scriveners, statement savers, phrase placers, style spacers, useless utterers, and “poets,” I knew I chose the right moniker. Wordologist just felt more scientific, and thus, legitimate.
No comments:
Post a Comment