I’ve noticed a disconcerting trend lately. And by ‘disconcerting’, I mean annoying. To me. Honestly, this isn’t normally a difficult thing to accomplish, but this particular situation has gotten so out of control in the past year that it warrants both comment and mocking.

Lately, when it comes time for one to write one’s bio, say, on their Twitter profile, or break down their ‘experience’ on their blog’s ‘About Me’ page, people are increasingly turning to ridiculous superlatives and unverifiable labels to jazz things up. Now inserting a little hyperbole into one’s resume has been going on since Pope Pius II put out his 13 volume autobiography, but this new wave of blatant, dizzying exaggeration and unaccountability is starting to reach ridiculous heights. What’s more demoralizing, this transparent embellishing appears to be somewhat effective.

Probably my biggest pet peeve is when people bestow the title ‘guru’ upon themselves, meaning, by definition, “a leader in a particular field”. Really? Are you a leader in your field? And if so, does that mean the other 10,000 people claiming to be gurus in your field are also leaders? Well, that’s simply not possible. ‘Guru’ is just a nebulous, evocative designation that anyone can claim at any time without having to complete any study, training or testing. I could call myself a break dancing guru and no one could (or has the inclination to) prove me wrong. Hell, while I’m at it, let’s tack on ‘brunch guru’ too.

Another rage trigger is when people crown themselves with three or four improbable job titles simultaneously, like social media advisor, financial consultant, interior designer and sommelier. All by the age of 26. Firstly, in the unlikely event that someone is really being paid to perform all of the jobs they’re claiming, there’s no way they could be humanly doing any of them well. Secondly, when did people start getting the delusions of grandeur that allow them to believe they’re experts at anything after so little genuine experience? Albert Einstein, though he made several remarkable breakthroughs in his 20s, didn’t really hit his stride until his 40s. That was Albert “Greatest Fucking Mind of the 20th Century” Einstein. So, I can’t help but be skeptical when someone three years out of college announces that they’re writing a book about how to get rich, orchestrate the perfect marriage or find everlasting happiness.

Unfortunately, much like the heart-breaking popularity of lists, I can’t help but acknowledge that this is probably how things are going to be from here on out and if I want to continue to compete in this arena, I’d better adapt. As such, I’ve started to retool my resume, which I present now for public indulgence, demonstrating how extraordinarily talented I am without citing any supporting evidence.

Leif “It Boy” Pettersen

________________________________________

HIGHLIGHTS OF QUALIFICATIONS

* Super-genius-level communication skills (except when dealing with idiots).
* Internationally acclaimed writer, with expertise in a broad spectrum of topics, including travel, tech, wine, relationships, food, germs, bros, hos, basketball, TV, radio, juggling, acting, walking, talking, peeing standing up, skim-reading, long division, your mom, parallel parking, annoying things, omelets and boobs.
* Life-long travel badass – visited 428 countries on 11 continents and can drink the water anywhere he damn well feels like it.
* Pointing and grunting fluency in 83 languages.
* Web page design authority/guru/innovator/collaborator/masticator.
* Inventor of blogging.
* World renowned photographer, with over 100 photos posted on the “internet”.
* Adapts quickly to change and new experiences (in bed).
* Highly dependable, punctual, and efficient judge of stupid stuff.

RELEVANT EXPERIENCE

- Best-selling author of guidebooks on more than two European countries.
- Work has appeared in dozens of high profile, internationally renowned, award-winning, religion-changing magazines, anthologies, books, web sites and retweets.
- Countless stirring, swoon-inducing appearances on radio, TV and online videos.
- Domestic and international electronic payments wizard, who, if he really wanted to, could have caused a global financial crisis with a touch of a button during his years working for the Federal Reserve System. But he didn’t, because he’s infallibly awesome and loves puppies.
- Consumed over 500 bottles of wine and 2,000 pints of cider, and has never puked up any of it, making him both a consummate journalist and an ideal house guest.

It’s still a work in progress, but you get the idea. If I play my cards right, 2010 will be the year I achieve previously unthinkable riches and fame while performing the bare minimum of actual skilled work, kinda like Megan Fox, except with manners.

Agonizing over travel insurance? Maybe I can help…

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In the US, in order to qualify for a home mortgage loan, you need to have “four concurrent open lines of credit” for the previous two years. That means credit cards, car/student loans, another mortgage…

So, to sum up, you need to have copious existing debt in order to qualify for more debt.

Also, if you have the inexcusable impudence to have lived and spent your money abroad for four years, your credit rating comes back saying “no credit”, effectively erasing your previous sterling credit rating and rewinding you back to the financial standing you had when you were 18 years old.

I’ve been a very, very bad consumer and now I’m being duly punished. On the plus side, during those four years abroad, I learned how to curse extravagantly in multiple foreign languages, which has been super handy skill to have lately.

[See the full "What I've Learned" list here. Start at the bottom and read up.]

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Folks, I’m just a few hours away from wrapping up my four and five star trip through Chile. But am I sitting back and letting these final hours wind down unproductively? Perish the thought. I’m a professional. When I’m on the road, I work like a miserable dog right down to the final buzzer. That’s what makes an outstanding travel writer people.

As such I am writing to you now with only my left hand. My right hand is holding a generous pour of Carménère, a French wine grape thought to be lost forever until it was re-discovered in Chile in 1994. The rest of me, from the tits on down, is immersed in a Ritz Carlton Hotel signature wine bath. Don’t talk to me about dedication. I am Mr. Dedication. Where’s my goddamn Nobel Peace Prize?

I caved to the wine bath idea after repeated insistence by the hotel’s public relations manager. Strangely, I thought it was just a bit over the top after the one hour relaxation massage, swanky lunch, repeated trips to the whirlpool and three indulgent nights in one of his Club Level Rooms. But I am nothing if not cooperative, so I relented.

Though I secretly hoped they’d wheel an oak barrel of wine into my room and upend it into my bathtub, in fact, two very nervous maids – nervous probably because I was observing their actions intently, taking notes and wearing a lazily fastened hotel robe – poured two tiny bottles of bath foam oil and an entire jar of what appeared to be dried flower parts into my tub, then filled it to 3/4 full with water. They then carefully emptied about 500cl (2/3 of a bottle) of red wine into the mix, lit a candle, placed the aforementioned glass of Carménère on the edge of the tub and hastily took their leave.

I quickly submerged myself in the mixture and that pretty much brings us up to date.

The scent is glorious. How bad would it be if I took a little sip of the bath water? Is bath oil poisonous? And why didn’t they leave a three foot long bendy straw so I could sip wine without having to reach for the glass? I’m full of brilliant hospitality ideas like that.

The water is surprisingly red considering the modest wine content. Can you get drunk by absorbing alcohol through the pores? If so, how much alcohol would you need?

I reek of wine now. I’ve decided to not wash it off. I’m flying home like this. If I had enough time to let them dry, I’d probably dunk my plane clothes in here too. Why not? It smells divine, though my neighbor on the plane may not agree.

In truth, with the sheer volume of wine I’ve consumed in the past week, I doubt this bath is going to make much of a difference in my general odor. All I need to do is eat a clove of raw garlic and I’d smell exactly like my downstairs neighbor at Lake Trasimeno in Italy last spring.

Alas, the time has come to extract myself. I have to find food. A car is taking me to the airport in just over an hour.

Oh here’s a bonus What I’ve Learned for you:

Never get on an airplane hungry.

I have 16 hours of flying ahead of me and then serious work to do for the next few days, but regular posting will resume shortly with a full account of the surprisingly strenuous, seven night Patagonia adventure cruise I just concluded.

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Check to make sure that your very expensive digital camera with numerous delicate moving parts is not in your day-bag before you go to the beach.

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Even if you have a co-conspirator, even if you spill some, even if you’re celebrating something really awesome, three bottles of wine on a Tuesday night is too much wine.

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In clothing optional areas, inevitably it is the people that you would least like to see naked that go the distance. Double goes for Germany.

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In Italy “five minutes” means an hour.

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Take care in Romania when you try to use your Spanish language skills to compensate for your lack of Romanian. The very common word “muy” means “very” in Spanish. In Romanian, “mui” is the infinitive of “to give a blowjob.”

[See the full "What I've Learned" list here. Start at the bottom and read up.]

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Amsterdam prostitutes do not like to have their pictures taken.

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