he's the man of the hour

It is only natural, I suppose, when recovering from a prolonged physical ordeal that one's thoughts would take a pronounced turn toward the introspective. During my slow convalescence, I have frequently found myself pondering roads not taken. My meditations have centered on matters as small as my habitual negligence regarding flossing, as well as grander existential questions about my ultimate purpose in life.

It occurred to me that maybe my talents were not best served in my current dual occupation of paid techmonkey/unpaid internet commentator, and that I could obtain a greater sense of personal fulfillment through a career in the European supercriminal field. There is visceral sense of satisfaction to be obtained in wrecking the economies of several Continenal powers through an overly elaborate scheme involving disintegration rays and amphibious cars. It's certainly a superior experience than explaining to my coworkers (for the umpteenth time) why downloading spyware-laden clutterware onto the department server is a bad thing.

One of the problems for the aspiring Euro supercriminal is the shocking absence of any vocational training programs or graduate-level seminars from which to learn the tricks of the trade. Granted, there are MBA programs, but those skew toward the megalomaniacal world-destroyer career path, where I'm more interested in the anarcho-hedonist side of things. Not even the renowned University of Phoenix offers something as straightforward as an MFA in Creative Villainy. No wonder this country has lost its competitive edge.

Instead, I've had to content myself with reviewing the recorded careers of some of the past luminaries of the profession, and performing a comparative inventory of relevant assets to determine my potential prospects. Here's a brief annotated summary:

Vehicle: While a tan 1998 Chevy Lumina lacks the sex appeal of a 1962 Studebaker Avanti or 1970 Plymouth Barracuda, the sturdiness, the horsepower, and, most importantly, the aggressive unremarkableness of the mid-sized family sedan make it an ideal getaway car. A quick turn into a suburban subdivision during a frenetic chase would utterly perplex the local constabulary as they would be forced to deal with dozens of vehicular red herrings.

Nefarious Weapon: At hand.

Secret Lair: The house on the hill isn't so much "secret" as "relatively isolated," which gives it the benefit of "hiding in plain sight." Its interior is well stocked with electronic gadgets (including a Zune, a gaming PC, and an Xbox 360) and exotic pets (well, a couple of dogs, some cats, some rabbits, and a chinchilla). While there are no alligator pits or other sinister deathtraps per se, we do have a garage full of feral cats who can be quite peevish at times and there are some low pipes in the cellar capable of braining the unwary intruder.

Disguises: An essential skillset for a supercriminal to possess, and one that I have clearly mastered.

Female Assistant Partner: No problems there. Even better, she has a ruthlessness and facility for physical violence which I am altogether lacking.

Wardrobe: This one poses something of a problem. I lack the physique to properly fill out a skintight body suit. (Diabolik was able to carry off the look, but his svelte frame had definition and tone, while mine does not.) Masks, hoods, or dominoes are right out, too, as they wouldn't accessorize properly with my spectacles. (A monocle would be an ideal affectation -- especially if it incorporated integral sleep ray/x-ray vision functions -- but the need to constantly squint would play havoc with the depth perception.) Formal evening wear is classy, but too constricting, and lasting trauma from 70's childhood prevents me from ever donning another turtleneck pullover. The best option would be an all-black business casual ensemble with a collarless button-down shirt. It's stylish, breathable, and has enough flexibility should I need to leap from an overpass onto the top of a passing train.

Though it would appear that I am well-prepared for the switch in careers, there are still a few questions that I still need to resolve. For instance, how are the elaborate interconnected networks of victims, accomplices, foils, and dupes that every supercriminal needs to carry out his or her plan generated? Is it something expected to be in place prior to embarking on the career path? Does it organically emerge once one has begun? Or does it involve some pump priming on the part of the supercriminal to make sure that the rival mob bosses, spoiled countesses, and brilliant-yet-unlucky detectives assume their proper places within the grand scheme? (Not to mention the serendipitous extended relationships linking all the major players, like the countess's servant being the former girlfriend of the mob boss's son who is a colleague of the dedicated gendarme...)

Because, honestly, the whole high maintenance aspect seems suspiciously like work to me, and would dim the allure considerably should it be the case. Sleeping on a pile of ill-gotten banknotes doesn't feel the same if you're too knackered to properly enjoy it.

Finally, every sophisticated supercriminal worthy of the title needs to have some appropriate theme music. To this end, I have selected a ginchy double-bill of parochial punk and cosmopolitan cool to accompany my anticipated dastardly adventures.

Jerry's Kids - Spymaster (from Kill Kill Kill, 1989) - The best track on this late-in-the-decade offering by the local 80's hardcore legends, and it's a crunched-up cover of a La Peste song.

Georges Garvarentz - Le Temps Des Loups (from Shake Sauvage - French Soundtracks: 1968-1973, 2000) - The wolf is on the prowl, and he has brought a horn section and vibraphone to assist him in his predations.

Now if you'll excuse me, I must get back to attempting to shape my usual hissing chuckle into something better befitting my new vocation.