Life Plan #77

As an art critic, Dave evaluates art and interprets it for others. Dave takes form and content into consideration in order to get to the heart of the painting—or sculpture or performance, installation, film, video, text, embedded html code.

People come up to Dave on the street all the time and ask how he can tell what’s beautiful and what’s ugly. They want to know the difference between a urinal in a museum and one in the bathroom.

Dave says: excellent question. He swallows his coffee and opens his mouth. But then his bus comes. He rides away, thinking.

Life Plan #76

There are only 480 prosthodontists working in the United States today. Considering how many people need dental implants, this figure is astoundingly low. The American College of Prosthodontists is basically just a few dudes tossing a Frisbee on the quad and wondering if maybe they should grab a beer at the Oasis tonight. But after graduation, they are the Bono of the oral/maxillofacial world. Everyone needs them. Plus, the job reminds them of carefree childhood afternoons spent sculpting sets of teeth, until their mom yelled at them for getting Play-Doh on the kitchen table and made them scrape it up.

Life Plan #75

Let’s buy a boat. A magnificent sloop. Let’s polish this boat, strap on our seasickness bracelets, and set sail. Let’s not plan our destination. Let’s hold hands  and tell stories about ourselves. And then let’s kiss. Let’s fall in love on this boat, except  for you it won’t be love; you’ll just like the sound of your stories dancing in the ocean wind. I’ll text you about it from the other side of the boat, over and over. I’ll take off my seasickness bracelet and fling it into the sloppy waves,  lie on my back and let the spinning begin.

Life Plan #74

Apply.  Get rejected.  Apply again.  Get rejected again.  Re-draft personal statement and apply again.  Get rejected again.  Drink a beer and reflect.  Was it the GRE scores?  Take the GRE again.  Get rejected. Begin to see every moment in life as a potential catastrophe, an embryonic failure waiting to blossom into the weed of nonsuccess. Botch everything you attempt, including macaroni and cheese. Scorch the pot beyond recognition. Realize life was easier when you thought it was all about the GRE scores. Eat the macaroni anyway, and wash it down with root beer. Get a good night’s sleep. Apply again.

Life Plan #73

A good anchorwoman knows that being professional is key. She shows this by putting on a blue blazer and mauve lipstick.  A good anchorwoman wears concealer too, because lipstick tends to bring out the under-eye circles. A respected anchorwoman must never appear depressed about her golden retriever Misty getting get run over last Wednesday.  She brushes her hair until it is fluffy.  The viewers at home must not know she cried so hard she vomited on the porch. She takes a step back and smiles at the mirror.  A sophisticated anchorwoman knows that she is prettiest from several feet away.

Life Plan #72

Amy Poehler had her baby yesterday, which means they are looking for another quirky blonde-headed sass on Saturday Night Live. Yes, that means you! I didn’t see a posting for auditions on Craigslist or anything, but I would think all you have to do is knock on their door (30 Rockefeller Plaza; New York, NY 10112) and explain you are a quirky blonde who would be great on their show. I am sure they would be excited to see you. New Yorkers are really nice. Ask for Lorne–from the articles I’ve read, he seems to be the boss.

Life Plan #71

It’s like this—you’re a lifeguard. But you hate being a lifeguard! It was just something you had a knack for. Partly because of the ten years of private swimming lessons your aunt forced you to endure; partly because you look good in red bathing suits. But you hate smarmy round-bellied kids who shriek and run in slap-footed circles around the pool as their moms tiredly murmur for them to stop from their lawn chair perches. So you adopt a fake German accent and bark Sei vorsichtig! through your megaphone. It entertains you. It melts whole hours under the sun.

Life Plan #70

What’s your life path number?

To find out, get a piece of paper. Add the number that corresponds with your birth month (January=1, February=2, etc.) to the day and year you were born. Next, divide that sum by the number of times you accidentally peed your pants while you were waiting in a long line for the bathroom. (Nobody will see this number, but if you are shy, just write it really small and cover it with your hand).

What’s your final figure? That’s your birth number! It means you are special and able to understand all of life’s mysteries.

Life Plan #69

Secure yourself an office with a desk and chair. Put a wastebasket next to the desk. Frame a picture of the person/dog/rock star you love the most and set it on the front of your desk, so anyone who comes in will see what kind of loving person you are, the kind of guy who isn’t afraid to get his emotions wet. Also, make sure the chair can spin; if it cannot, or it seems stuck, call the operations department and see if they can send up a guy with a screwdriver or wrench to twist it loose. Then: spin.

Life Plan #68

Benefits of Celebrating Halloween Every Day:

Kick-ass costumes!
Buckets of candy!
Spooky cell phone ringtones 365 days a year!
Saying “Trick or treat!” instead of “Hello, Stanford Accounting, this is Dave” every time your office phone rings!

Disadvantages of Celebrating Halloween Every Day:

Wearing your Darth Vader mask to your performance evaluation begins to feel less kick-ass the more your boss talks about professionalism, collegiality and something that sounds like defloral–the heavy breathing noise emitted by the voice box mechanism drowns out some words—and your forehead sweat flings itself from the plastic edges, hurtles down your freshly ironed cape.