Get ready, kids, it's the "if I could" meme!
Don't know what I'm talking about?
Click the link, you lazy kid.
the assignment: choose five or more of the following questions to answer on your blog. link back to my post or further so we can follow the chain.
If I could be a scientist...If I could be a farmer...If I could be a musician...If I could be a doctor...If I could be a painter...If I could be a gardener...If I could be a missionary...If I could be a chef...If I could be an architect...If I could be a linguist...If I could be a psychologist...If I could be a librarian...If I could be an athlete...If I could be a lawyer...If I could be an inn-keeper...If I could be a professor...If I could be a writer...If I could be a llama-rider...If I could be a bonnie pirate... If I could be a photographer... If I could be an astronaut...If I could be a world famous blogger...If I could be a justice on any one court in the world...If I could be married to any current famous political figure...
If I could be a musician: I would play the guitar and the piano. the reason I know this is that the times i wish most i could play an instrument are when listening to seth woods (guitar) and ben folds (piano). i would write clever slice-of-life songs full of humor and clever wordplay. and i would likely fade into oblivion, with a small but ardent cult following. and when i'm in my twilight years, i'd play some clubs to "keep my hand in", and every once in a while, i'd get some college kid who'd come up to me for an autograph, a kid who'd just discovered my third (and best, i think) album in the bargain bin of a local used music shop. the kid would say that i was a great musician, and i would invite him (or her) to have a seat with me during my break for a chat and a drink (a root beer, of course). and i'd put on my best "wizened veteran" look and say, "look, kiddo, i'll be straight with you: if you have any ambitions about being rich or famous as a songbird, you are in the wrong business. only do this if you can't get psychological help to keep from doing it." but my words wouldn't do any good, and the kid would undoubtedly end up being a clever, unknown musician with a small but devoted following, who'll end up in some club in his (or her, let's be fair) twilight years, giving some college kid the same advice.
If I could be a bonnie pirate: I would practice my "arrrr"s at home in front of the mirror, so that when the time came for scuttling ships and kidnapping governors' daughters, i'd be pitch-perfect. my pirate name would be, "Bloodbeard Dave," and i'd be famous for laughing like a madman during the fiercest of battles.
If I could be an inn-keeper: I'd let you in to warm your feet. then i'd serve you soup and fresh, warm bread.
If I could be married to any current famous political figure: I'd stay single.
If I could be a painter: I'd find a way to finally capture the images in my head. I'd try to make meaningful and emotive pieces, nothing too abstract, but nothing too realistic either. I'd be a rampant impressionist for a good long time, and then finally get my big break with a series of expressionist works about self-image and reflection. After some moderate successes, the critics will circle like vultures, and attack my work for being too derivative and not provocative enough. I will be criticized for using too many blues ("who is he trying to be, Picasso?"), even though it's my favorite color. In the end, I will stop showing and selling, taking up a job at a high school teaching fingerpainting to football players. I will then paint my greatest painting ever, a piece that will transcend all of the ones before it--and once it's complete, i will ceremonially burn it. That way, no one will criticize it, ever.
If I could be a writer: Funny. This is the question i've considered most. If I could be a writer, I'd stop being so terrified of failure that i can't type. I'd write honest books, books full of Truth and Beauty and Reality--but not books that try so hard to be about those things. I would write an accidental masterpiece, a book that tries to avoid being brilliant--and fails. A book that "means" so trifling little to me and so much to others. A book that I describe thus: "it's just about ___... that's all." And while I put on this silly show of being shocked that my book matters, on the inside I will soar on gryphons' wings, roaring and laughing in absolute elation, that something I did matters and will last--if not in print, then at least in someone's soul. That would be my legacy, and I would revel in it.
Tag. You're it: