The Hose

Too Punk Rock for This
 

I might be too punk rock for this. I’m not sure yet and I’m somewhat scared that I will figure it out too late to be able to do anything about it, that somehow I will come to the conclusion just before I am on the verge of a major success. Right there as papers are about to get signed and plans are about to be made for what to do with all the money I could make, I will realize that I don’t give two shits about the Escalade and I’ll do what everyone who’s ever been self defeating has ever done…you know…defeat myself. Pee on someone, maybe share a racial epithet or two…whatever gets the job done.
 
It’s really odd. On paper I got all the tools to make for someone who can do well in corporate America. It’s like I’m Mike Mamula or Tony Mandarich to large corporations - a big tool with lots of upside. Instead of having a vertical, or impressive bench strength (actually I have that) or great wing span (wait, that’s a check too…I’m practically proportioned like a monkey) Instead of these things I have the “combine” credibility corporate America values, I have good height, solid (borderline great) academic credentials, a full head of hair that promises to continue stay black well into my fifties before settling in a mellow salt/pepper blend, all topped off with a scary blend of wit and charm. At the end of the day I got all the things that matter except I guess for membership in the illuminati.
 
But like I pointed out earlier I just might be too punk rock for all of it. You’d figure somewhere over the course of business school someone would have stopped me and pointed this out to me. Shit, how did I get into B School in the first place?  There are a couple of tell-tale signs:
(1)   The way I wear my hair – Inspired by Ewan MaGregor’s Catcher Block in Down with Love, I recently started coifing my hair with a part and a half comb back. Except my part is not a straight line drawn with a comb its sort of zig-zaggy much like a road allowed given over to overgrowth? The end result is that instead of inspiring a early sixties hipster I end up mocking the convention with small rebellion.
(2)   I don’t button my cuffs. Buttoning cuffs are for the un-inspired. People who button their cuffs are basically just giving in to the Mullahs of corporate convention. What, will I get flogged if I don’t cuff my buttons, so what if I wear a French cuffs shirt but disregard the cuff links? What then, what will your fashionista gestapo do then? Nothing that’s what? Nothing
(3)   My Chipped tooth – There’s nothing more ghetto than a guy missing an eight of his front tooth. I’m keeping it street yo!
 
I didn’t even get into the fact that my wristwatch looks like I took it off a dead midget gimp with a crystal meth addiction that I saw/touched/smelled  in a dark alley…and maybe it is best if we don’t revisit that topic again. Even the punk in me don’t need no jail time.