I haven’t written much lately, and it’s not because I’ve been out hiking the Appalachian Trail. Nor have I been out “hiking the Appalachian Trail,” thank you very much. What has taken me away from my writing lately is packing, thanks to a family move to a new state. This move, unfortunately, is going to leave me without a job for the time being, so I’ve been contemplating what my next career move is going to be. And the other night, in the midst of carefully packing up glass goblets that I never use, an idea about what I can do with my life finally hit me.
I’m going to be a governor.
Governor of what, exactly, I’m not certain. I suppose I could maybe get the Federal Government to buy up Aimsterville and then lobby for Congress to declare Aimsterville a state so I could mount a gubernatorial campaign, but I’m not at all sure what the rules are about the government acquiring a place that’s mostly metaphorical. And as the state I’m moving to already has a governor at present, my options are limited there as well. So my plan is a tad flawed and it may be a while before I can fully put it into action (which should leave me some time, however, to raise money for my campaign and print up signs and learn how to use a teleprompter and liven up my wardrobe for debate appearances).
But my current bad timing aside, I definitely have the executive experience to govern something. And I like jobs that are fun and laid-back, so governing a state would seem to be just about perfect for me. I mean, what other job could you walk away from for a week, not tell anyone where you are, then lie about where you are and what you’re doing, and then when you get back, you just cry, say you’re sorry and only get a slight reprimand? Plus, you get to fly first class and stay in nice hotels on the state dime. How totally freakin’ awesome is that? Or better yet, apparently if you’re a governor and you feel you’ve accomplished everything you want to accomplish, you can just quit and go fishing or something. The hell with all that “the voters elected me to a four-year term” nonsense. When you’re done, you’re done, and it’s “Smell ya later, constituents.” And if you do choose to stick around, it’s not like you actually have to govern from the pitiful old state house. With today’s modern technology, you can govern from anywhere–have Blackberry, will campaign for higher office…er, travel, I mean.
In addition, being a governor isn’t just a four or eight-year job–it’s a career path, and I’m not even talking about running for Congress or the Presidency once you’re done (in four years or less). If you’re high-profile enough, after wrangling with state legislatures, you can look forward to a future of book deals, speaking engagements, and–if you do run a failed campaign for higher office–your own TV show. So my choosing to be a governor isn’t just setting me up for a few years, it’s setting me up for life.
So let’s see: the ability to go AWOL (and not get in trouble and still get paid), the ability to mGovern (that’s “mobile govern” for you luddites),the ability to just walk away whenever I want, and the certain ability of a lucrative future. Man–who wouldn’t want to be a governor? Where do I sign?
