If you have read my column for very long you are bound to have noticed that I tend to think a bit apart from the rest of the world. This column will be no different other than the fact that it ranges a little farther from the beaten path than normal. And if that doesn’t worry you – you’re my kind of people.
I like the classics and Lon Chaney is my favorite lycanthrope. A nice guy, even if he is slightly on the nervous side, becomes a horrible monster during the full moon. This is the same transformation college students undergo during spring break; shredding clothes, stalking along the bars and beaches, and culminating in a flurry of barks and howls at the end of their rampage.
Travel to Scandinavia and you run into their local variety of changing beast, the were-bear. Deep in the jungles of South America you might run into a were-cat of the jaguar persuasion. And should you find yourself in Beverly Hills, stay off the streets at night lest you come face to face with the devilish were-Chihuahua.
While it might be amusing to consider all of the region specific changelings and their peculiar habits, I am wondering why this phenomenon is limited only to animals. Why couldn’t there be were-machines, were-stories, were-moods, and most importantly (because that’s what my column is about) were-professions?
You heard me right. Were-professions. A person could be walking along, minding their own business when suddenly a new profession suddenly breaks out of them. Hopefully, not in a messy way.



