Shall I, most excellent patron, leave room for cream?

No, I am not a practical man. Wait a second. Whew, it would appear that I remain a man, if the state of my externally located gonads are any measure (I'm not sure they are). But to shape the noun more carefully with the adjective "practical" the phrase has no bearing at all on my present reality. Until recently I've been struggling to struggle at learning how to struggle towards a life of purpose. And all this redundant struggle led me to a job which is one half of a hair's breadth above that of an entry-level MacDonald's employee. And this after six years in one of my country's better universities. What happened? I thought that getting an "education" was to lead to better opportunities, give me an advantage over those who do not mire themselves in student-loan debt and wasted years of unemployment. Let's look at the facts then decide how it is this dismal, embarrassing and dead-end state of affairs came to be.

What did I "study" you ask, just kidding, I know you already know friends and mom. I studied "philosophy" and history. "Philosophy" is sort of about thinking, not how to think exactly, but about what others have thought thinking is about. I must admit that I enjoyed it a little bit, though as I wrapped up my "studies" I did have a sense that the treadmill I was on had not been plugged in and so, were it not for someone who pushed me to emerge from my extended chrysalis phase, I was in real danger of breaking my nose, the velocity of my inertia was so great. A few years in a dream like state, sort of emerging from my pupae, sort of making a home out of it, and I was once again at the gate of higher learning. "I demand to be made privy to the facts of history!" I yelled. Yes, history, the stuff practical dreams are made of. Knowledge is power and "studying" history promised me, like, super powerful guns and bombs that I could use to like, display my power. Yikes! I'm a fool, buffoon and tit all at once it now seems. So once more I stood atop an unpowered, dilapidated treadmill, which I mean to represent all the books I read and crappy papers I wrote, all of which amounted to a degree in, wait for it, history.

So finally, emerging after long last, I, an educated man, set out to to unleash my hard-earned perspective and subtle though devastating skills. But what was this?! All of a sudden (many decades says the historian) there are these fucking guys pretending they can conjure money out of thin air, and the economists did look upon their respected GDPs with dismay and foreboding. A recession! My "hard-earned perspective" and "subtle though devastating skills" went from a milk producing bovine to a pile of lapsed feces. By lapsed I mean to suggest that not even for fertilizer could this turd be put to good use. And so I am now waking to my mistake and failures. It's not so bad though, lots of people don't even get the opportunity to make such mistakes and develop such failures as I have. I'm not being playful either. An article in The American Scholar speaks of the "process of disintegration" in the humanities, and their gradual nullification in our culture. It seems we haven't been giving a shit about such things as "philosophy" and history for some time now. Who knew?! And by "our" culture I mean the United States and, look way, way up at us simple folk. Us well-meaning northern North Americans to the north; America's chapstick, belly-button lint and sun block; the great sovereign nation of Canada. The article is long and will not be read by anyone who might have read this. Leave that and similar impractical time wasting to those learned in The Arts.