nepotabulous!

It's an interesting conundrum one finds one's self in while looking for a job in New York. This may be obvious to anyone not living in a cave with a bag over their head, but of late I have seen the truth in the ugly aphorism: "it's not what you know, but who you know that really matters when you want to boat that slippery, big-mouth employment bass." I also realized that through virtue of being born in a lovely upstate town of snobissimo jerks, I may have access to the influence that said jerks might wield. And therein lies the dilemma.

Do I ask for help from people I know only from cock- and coattail parties, and who know me as mmm, oh yes, the (grand)son of a Lucy in their rolodex. Though such a system might thoroughly suck and be anti-you sleeping at night, should you buy into it? They also say you've got to take advantage of all you are lucky enough to have upon your platter, and unapologetically so, as to apologize for what one does or does not have seems sort of senseless.

And even if for breakfast you made a delectable egg dish, which ingeniously integrated the respective magics of cream cheese and dill, and you had the huevos mas grandes to add fresh jalapenos: you still have to wash your hands afterward because no matter the hours that pass, each and every time you rub your eyes with those peppery fingahs it's going to burn you to tears just as bad as it did the first time. And you still won't have a job. Sucka.