Generation Why

I am weary from working late this evening, however I feel the need to write something, and, not feeling coherent enough to revise script pages, I decided I could perhaps muster a blog entry. You be the judge.

Last week, I did a couple of things I haven't done in a while. I "helped" a friend look for apartments in a variety of Toronto neighbourhoods. I don't think I really helped all that much, but I did enjoy being permitted to look around other people's wacky abodes. The experience led me to ponder numerous questions, such as why do single guys like fridge-magnet poetry so much? Can a futon ever really look "made"? And, what percentage of twentysomethings with Nietzsche and Kerouac on their bookshelf have actually read both Nietzsche and Kerouac? (such book collections seem more like intellectual IKEA to me).

I also applied for a(nother)/new job, which involved taking the rather satisfying/traumatizing step of deleting the line "PhD. anticipated 2008" from my resume. Then came the much-loathed task of writing a cover letter. One of the few things I despise more than bullshit is formalized bullshit. And that's pretty much what a cover letter is. One can try (and God knows I have) to make cover letters original, heartfelt, inspiring or just plain honest, but in the end, the rigors of cover letter rhetoric (read: bullshit) demand that they all sound ickily ingratiating. Furthermore, have you ever noticed that it's a HELL of a lot harder to make yourself sound less overqualified than it is to make yourself sound less underqualified? Why is that?!

So many questions, so few answers. And after tomorrow, so much Coldplay. Let's end on a positive note, shall we? Three very cool things I have experienced in the past 24 hours: Mark Ronson's Version, raccoon language, and three pieces of chocolate cake.