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by Brent Kellogg
August 4, 2008
This is my dream. It is but a humble vision,
completely reasonable, also very, very Genoa City in
its blatant love of large amounts of affordable
education combined with a screaming disregard for
anything resembling reality.
I want to become a composer!
You know, as in music!
Think of the possibilities; I could score movies,
conduct the New York Philharmonic or write songs for
my cousin, Ana!
Not a vivid dream - where unborn children have
become little girls humming and shaking rattles
looking very much like the rattle I gave my BFF to
give to her baby - it was a dream nevertheless
conjured up subsequent to my one-time appearance
before a pack of rich people before whom I sang,
albeit badly, for all of three minutes and shared
the spotlight with my eleven-year-old cousin, Ana.
Sigh, I might have already become a composer if not
for my tin ear. Because of it, I couldn't get into
music school. No music degree for me, I had to
settle for a crappy, underrated Wisconsin university
where I'm working on a degree in business. Been at
it a good two years, now I want to throw those years
away. I know, it's crazy. But my adopted sister
keeps dropping in and out of college, she's doing
fine, so wouldn't I?
I want to tell my "dad", but there's a problem. He's
old-fashioned. He thinks you need an education to
get ahead in Genoa City. He fears I won't be able to
support myself, will have to move into a one-room
flophouse, and eat chili out of cans. Dad's silly
like that. I don't even like chili. I'm already
living in a flophouse rent-free, daddy's been paying
my way since he and his dead wife took me in, I've
never wanted for anything since then, so what is the
problem?
I don't have any balls!
I'm what you might call a pussy. Think of me as a
black Nick Newman. When it comes to standing up for
myself, going straight to dad and telling him I'm a
big boy and don't need to be under his shadow, I
don't have the balls. I must therefore summon dad's
woman to the local coffee shop and ask if she'll be
there when I lay my dream on dad. I know, it would
be nice if I could at least go to the woman's home,
or wait until I run into her again at dad's club,
but this is my dream we're talking about. It's all
about me, and besides, I don't know where the woman
lives.
I know what the woman will do it. She'll tell me
that everyone should follow their dreams. Ana told
me that too, I think. She mentioned something about
Oprah telling her viewers to follow their way.
Sorry, I didn't think to ask what Ana is doing
watching Oprah because I was too self-centered at
the time. School? Education? Who needs it? Beethoven
and Chopin didn't and they were both deaf. Chopin
was thirty when he became deaf so you see I've got a
good ten year head start.
Bitchy as I am about having a bad ear, I've plum
forgot how much money dad spent on it. I appreciate
that he's paying my tuition and that there are
plenty of kids out there who want to go to school
but can't afford it, I've got a fringing dream! Dad
will reject it at first, but he'll come around. If
he drags his feet, I might have his woman remind him
that his wife had a dream. She didn't have much of
an education and went on to become a famous model.
If that doesn't work, I could always summon the
Newman kids, or Daniel Romalotti. Daniel had a dream
of becoming a professional photographer and look at
him now! Like the frog who dreamed of becoming a
king, Daniel became one in less than a year! He's
got skills nobody heard of before including that of
an artist so great Sabrina Newman said she'd send
samples of his work to her artsy fartsy friend in
New York.
Too bad, Sabrina died.
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