Today I found an envelope from Strayer University in the mailbox. It was addressed to the Working Professional in Apt. 4 (yeah, that'd be me).
Strayer University. Like I need classes in straying.
After eleven weeks in D.C. I've finally found myself co-located with Donald Rumsfeld and Dick Cheney.
So I can come home now, right?
Last night I got a voice-mail featuring either someone making cat noises or an actual cat. Oddly, the phone didnít show an incoming call. Iíve followed up with the two most likely bipedal suspects, but both deny recent kitty imitations directed at my phone.
To you responsible, sir or madam, I say: mmmwwrrrrrrroooarrrrr.
So I was looking back on 2005, the Year of Many Dramatic Changes, thinking about all the adaptation required and wondering if I was close to exhausting my supply of roll-with-itiveness. And I thought, how do the great adventurers of fact and fiction do it? How do they bring some measure of stability to their unpredictable lives?
And the answer came to me: they wear the same outfit all the time. From Alexander the Great to Stanley Livingstone to Fonzie to pretty much every character played by Harrison Ford. You may not know what's going to happen next or where you'll be, but you know you'll be wearing that kicky chlamys / pith helmet / leather jacket / leather jacket.
Thus I come to my only resolution for 2006: commit to the pirate t-shirt. Sure, I'll need to order a few more for hygiene's sake, but once they arrive I'll toss all those destabilizing sweaters, blouses, and non-pirate t-shirts.
Arrrr. Business casual be damned.