You’ve got to learn how to dance and speak lots of languages and pull ideas out of your hat. You’ve got to have a way of conducting yourself that’s nonconformist and nuts. You’ve got to radicalize the programs over the years. You’ve got to want two kids. You’ve got to pass the world through the sieve of a clear vision or, when the chips are down, be an optimist. Got to laugh at yourself as well as the other guy. You’ve got to arrive on time anyoldwhere. You’ve got to concentrate on the aim with a prime-time audience in mind. You’ve got to stay put in spots where the sun blazes and expose yourself to a blast of hot air and a heavy, unbreathable stench of asphalt, sticky pollution and grease, until your skin and bones are steeped in the heat that sears the deserted streets and glues your summer clothes to your body. After months of draining work, you’ve got to take that vacation. Presto.
by Ernest Farrés (translated from the Catalan by Lawrence Venuti)