I Need a Job

I have a confession to make: I work only on weekends. To answer your first question, it's legitimate work, at least as legitimate as radio journalism gets. But it's certainly not enough to give me the lifestyle I feel I need. In my own mind I envision myself opening the door to a posh hotel suite, rushing to the minibar, carelessly gorging myself on the 12-dollars-a-bite snacks and washing them down with the 35-dollars-a-bottle Evian Water and wondering through the jet lag exactly where I am. In the real world, my lifestyle consists of opening the door to my townhome, rushing to the pantry, carelessly gorging myself on 25-cents-a-case Ramen and wondering why my electricity is still on.

So, this is a plea to anyone in the cyber-universe who might be reading this: I need work. As a professional writer, I can be of value to you. If you want to write a letter to your tree-trimming service asking why your dogs have contracted elm blight, I can pepper that letter with references to Moliere. If you want to write a letter to the patent office announcing that you have invented a wind-powered riding lawnmower, I can give your application wings, or at least befuddle the patent officer with enough technical jargon to send him permanently off the wagon. And if you want to write a feverish letter to your doctor noting that your body temperature mimics the frequency of your favorite classic rock station, I can make you sound plausible rather than paranoid.

So, get creative, folks, and hire me as a writer. Your body temperature, your invention and your elm-blighted pets are at stake. Call or email within the next 10 minutes and I'll throw in a case of Ramen absolutely tree.

I'd like to say, "Operators are standing by," but I had to lay them off to pay my condo fee.