Artisan Bread Baker
Who doesn’t like bread? Most people in Brooklyn, sure, because of the gluten thing. But, if you tell them it’s “artisan” suddenly the gluten isn’t an issue. Make something with your own hands besides that stack of books on post-postmodernist thinking that you’ll never read, something edible, preferably.
Imagine being an apprentice tailor on London’s legendary Savile Row, creating bespoke garments for England’s aristocracy. Yes, they are arguably some of the worst people on the planet, but crafting a cummerbund that costs more than a months rent is still more gratifying than writing a 400-page dissertation only four people will read, and none of whom will enjoy. Nigel, however, will enjoy that cummerbund.
Ever watch American Pickers? Those guys are always having fun, and honestly, getting tetanus digging through some yokel’s barn looking for Texaco advertisements sounds a whole lot better than grading 50 essays on symbolism in Paleolithic cave paintings written by people who don’t remember 9/11.
This one needs no explanation.
Nice clothes? Fancy house? What’s not to like? Sure, the power dynamic would be weird, but it can’t be weirder than watching your thesis advisor get drunk on boxed wine and hit on your classmates. Think you’re too good to be a butler? Think again. What do you think being a TA really is?
Yes, war on the open ocean sounds terrifying, but so does spending upwards of six years in the library looking at Facebook photos of your old college roommate’s vacation in The Hamptons because they chose a BA in Business Management Econ and not Anthropology. Besides, drones basically do everything now anyway. You’ll be fine.
Is your Mom Jewish? Did you have a Bar Mitzvah? If either of these describe you, congratulations, you are Jewish and well on your way to becoming a cool, young Rabbi. If not, become Jewish. It’s a lot of work, and for some, more of a sacrifice than others (you know what I mean) but you’re already doing lot of work in school as it is, and how much of it has got you a blind date with Ellen Goodman’s granddaughter and a steaming bowl of matzo ball soup? That’s right, none of it. Something to think about.