Amateur Night

Sometimes, when I don’t have any real problems, I like to focus on the big questions, namely: “What am I doing with my life?”
It’s a great question because a) it’s incredibly vague and b) it will never get answered; this means I can percolate on it until I get a headache or fall asleep—whichever happens first. It’s not a race, though, and on occasion I’ll get a headache and then fall asleep, head throbbing. Fabulous.
The question is also great because it’s utterly unoriginal. This means there is a lot of information out there, all of it wishing me a happy journey. Myriad films have been made about this stuff, perhaps most famously “The Graduate.” I found this film interesting, but ultimately uninformative as I don’t have a pool in which to float, looking cool. That was the point of that movie, right?
Last year, when I really got to the end of my tether, I decided to take action. And by action, I mean a quiz. And by a quiz, I mean the Victoria University Aptitude Test. That’s right: I went to the careers center so I could start kicking ass and taking names. But mostly I just went there to take the quiz.
After fifteen minutes of soul searching questions and multiple choice answers, I finally got my result. My destiny. My Raison d'etre. I glanced/stared at the results: singer. What the fuck? SINGER. I’m supposed to be a motherfucking J-Lo Joni Mitchell Alanis Morrisette singster songstress diva.
“Oh no you di’int, aptitude test!” I said, snapping my fingers wildly in the air.
(that part may or may not have happened)
But c’mon, couldn’t the quiz have given me something attainable? And how can answering questions result in my aptitude as a singer? There was no singing portion of the quiz for goodness’ sakes! Does it mean that I have the disposition of a singer? That I’m a bitch? I’m a lover? I’m a child? A mother?

To be honest, I still don’t know what it means. I think it means that the aptitude test is a piece of shit, but that has yet to be confirmed – I suppose my inner songstress could be crouching in wait, filing her nails and pouting until one day I open my mouth and gorgeous peals of song come flowing out. Until that day, I will continue attending late night Fringe Bar (nee Blue Note) practice sessions, waiting to be discovered.

“What am I doing with my life?”

Dunno. You?