Well my friends, it appears as though my creative drought is officially over.
I was visited by an old friend the other night.
The “Middle Of The Night Idea For A Blog Post.”
You see, back when I was regularly writing my old blog, I would oftentimes lie in bed, unable to fall asleep. And what would happen when I was lying there with nothing else occupying my thoughts, was that my brain would go into overdrive. And before I knew it, I would start jotting down idea after idea for potential new posts. It became such a regular thing that I started keeping a notepad and pen on my bedside table, so I would have quick access to jot down whatever insanity happened to be occupying my thoughts at the time.
Naturally, once I stopped writing, those midnight ideas stopped popping in my head. Of course, it also didn’t hurt that I was getting older, had a couple kids and the stress of whatever job I was doing at the time, which subsequently made my late-night insomnia a thing of the past.
In other words, I was usually so friggin exhausted by the time I went to bed that I would be asleep within five minutes of my head hitting the pillow.
And, that is still the case now. However, I also don’t sleep peacefully throughout the night. And that is when my old friend took the opportunity to come say hello.
This is because as I’ve gotten older, I’ve developed this little issue that has basically given me the bladder of a 92-year old man. Therefore, I usually wake up at least once a night to empty the little guy out. Now normally, I’ll just get up, stumble my way into the bathroom, do what I need to do and head back to bed.
However, last night – as I was trying to avoid stepping on one of the cats on my way back to bed – I had a little creative light bulb go off in my head. I remembered putting a couple old notebooks over in the sitting room area of our bedroom, so I went over to get them. After tripping over something in the process – and thus, waking up the Mrs. – I found my notebook and pen and hurriedly scribbled my thoughts before they left my head as quickly as they got there. And, in my ADD-ravaged brain, that happens more than I care to think about.
I got back into bed, pleased in the knowledge that I would have a new topic to tackle, when all of a sudden; another great line came into my head. So, I turned over, grabbed the notebook and scribbled away. Another couple minutes later – another line. Now, I was wired. For the next 15 minutes, ideas flowed into my head like river of banality. And, somehow I managed to get them all down on paper. I briefly contemplated getting up and going into the spare bedroom with my laptop, but again – it was 2:30 in the morning on a work night – and daddy needs as much beauty rest as humanly possible.
Still, it was a major breakthrough in my almost five-year attempt to resurrect my creativity. And I was thrilled.
However, although I often get a lot of great story ideas while I’m in bed, there are a few drawbacks.
First of all – when this happens, the ideas seem to stream in one after the other. It will usually go down how it did last evening – I’ll write an idea down, try and go to sleep and get another idea about two minutes later. This will last for anywhere from 10 minutes to an hour. Not the worst thing in the world on a Friday or Saturday night, but at 2:00 AM on a Wednesday when you have to be up at 6:00 for work? Not as fun.
Then there’s the whole problem of trying to write without waking up the Mrs. Back in our old places in Boston, it wasn’t that big of a deal, because there was so much light outside, that even in the middle of the night, I could usually see well enough to write down whatever idea I had to write.
Now, it’s a lot darker around our house, and naturally – a lot tougher to try and write. Take for example, this passage on my notebook this morning:
“Constantly waking up in middle of night. Worry will eventually wojap sjh0aeu aujoaujs”
You get the point.
You would think that one way around that problem would be to type my ideas on my BlackBerry. However, that won’t work either. The internal light on my BlackBerry can be used in an emergency to guide in planes during thick fog or a blackout, so that really doesn’t work very well for discreet note taking.
However, these are only minor inconveniences in the never ending quest to keep my four dedicated readers entertained. And, let me assure you – Scott, Josh, Prince Abidjan of Nigeria and Penis Enlargement Guy – now that I am creatively free again, there is nothing to keep me from spewing out more of this inane drivel on a regular basis. Everything I do, I do it for you.
You’re welcome.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Thursday, August 13, 2009
End Of An Era...
Back in the fall of 2002, it was an interesting time in my life. I was a wayward young lad, a couple months shy of my 32nd birthday. The Mrs. and I moved up to Boston the previous fall and had just settled into a beautiful brownstone apartment in the heart of downtown Boston. I had just started a new job at a very nice, start-up mortgage company, after a hellish (and that is a HUGE understatement) year at another mortgage company.
However, as happy as I was to be free from the hellhole that was Mortgage Company #1, I wasn’t all that excited about this new job. Granted, I was glad to be there and really appreciated the opportunity for a new start with a brand new company and all that - its just that my heart wasn’t all that into it. I’m not really a finance/mortgage/banking person and I knew that, despite my new opportunity, I would only get so far in the position and that it would - like seemingly every one before and since - get stale.
It was with that thought firmly in mind, that I entered the “Find Our Next D.J.” contest, sponsored by iconic radio station WBCN.
Now, it should be known that I never had any major aspirations of becoming a radio D.J. However, of the few physical gifts I own - a good head of hair, straight teeth and a deep, clear speaking voice are the three most prominent. (Unless, of course, you include the ability to trivialize any significant event in my life into a smarmy, two-lined quip). Based on that, it was often suggested that I try to become either a TV sportscaster or radio D.J as a career path.
Unfortunately, there were just as many people from my small hometown with the small hometown mentality of “Oh, that’s such a hard career to get into, you shouldn’t waste your time with that. Try something easier instead.”
And thus, given that I had the self-confidence of the proverbial red-headed step-child, I never really bothered to pursue either career and eventually ended up toiling away in go-nowhere job after go-nowhere job. And, as is usually the case with regrets - I would, from time-to-time, think about what might have been had I decided to go that route after all.
The contest - I figured at the time - was fate’s way of giving me a chance to make up for a missed opportunity. So, I whipped up a moderately-clever letter, along with a copy of my voice over demo (yes, I have a voice over demo [end cheap plug]) and sent it off, not really expecting much of anything.
Well, lo and behold - about three weeks later I got a letter from one of the program directors at WBCN, saying that they got my letter and wanted me to come in for an on-air interview. In other words, this nobody from a small town in northeastern Ohio was getting a 3-hour shift on one of the most revered rock and roll stations in the country for a chance to get a job that might not actually drive him insane within a month. It was the chance of a lifetime.
Suffice it to say, this chance of a lifetime ended up going as well as the other two or three that I’ve had. Piss poor.
Actually, all things considered, it wasn’t that bad. I made it through the entire 3-hour shift being moderately charming, without accidentally dropping any F-bombs, slandering anyone or passing out while the mike was on. Unfortunately, the powers that be weren’t all that impressed (or, they already had someone in mind, but couldn’t get him to start until a certain date, so they used this contest as a cheap way to fill the air in between the Howard Stern and Opie & Anthony shows for a month). In either event - I didn’t get the job.
I tell this story, because WBCN recently went off the air after 40+ years as the premier rock and roll station in Boston. It will now become one of the myriad of pop music stations that litter the terrestrial radio landscape these days. And, I can’t help but think that their failure to recognize my genius and clear potential as a radio superstar played a significant part in their demise.
I take no joy in their destruction. There is no happiness in my heart over this - instead, just a serene feeling in knowing that those who fail to realize my supreme greatness will be eventually sentenced to an eternity wallowing in damnation - or being forced to play Britney Spears and Lady Ga-Ga CDs over and over and over again.
Consider yourselves warned...
However, as happy as I was to be free from the hellhole that was Mortgage Company #1, I wasn’t all that excited about this new job. Granted, I was glad to be there and really appreciated the opportunity for a new start with a brand new company and all that - its just that my heart wasn’t all that into it. I’m not really a finance/mortgage/banking person and I knew that, despite my new opportunity, I would only get so far in the position and that it would - like seemingly every one before and since - get stale.
It was with that thought firmly in mind, that I entered the “Find Our Next D.J.” contest, sponsored by iconic radio station WBCN.
Now, it should be known that I never had any major aspirations of becoming a radio D.J. However, of the few physical gifts I own - a good head of hair, straight teeth and a deep, clear speaking voice are the three most prominent. (Unless, of course, you include the ability to trivialize any significant event in my life into a smarmy, two-lined quip). Based on that, it was often suggested that I try to become either a TV sportscaster or radio D.J as a career path.
Unfortunately, there were just as many people from my small hometown with the small hometown mentality of “Oh, that’s such a hard career to get into, you shouldn’t waste your time with that. Try something easier instead.”
And thus, given that I had the self-confidence of the proverbial red-headed step-child, I never really bothered to pursue either career and eventually ended up toiling away in go-nowhere job after go-nowhere job. And, as is usually the case with regrets - I would, from time-to-time, think about what might have been had I decided to go that route after all.
The contest - I figured at the time - was fate’s way of giving me a chance to make up for a missed opportunity. So, I whipped up a moderately-clever letter, along with a copy of my voice over demo (yes, I have a voice over demo [end cheap plug]) and sent it off, not really expecting much of anything.
Well, lo and behold - about three weeks later I got a letter from one of the program directors at WBCN, saying that they got my letter and wanted me to come in for an on-air interview. In other words, this nobody from a small town in northeastern Ohio was getting a 3-hour shift on one of the most revered rock and roll stations in the country for a chance to get a job that might not actually drive him insane within a month. It was the chance of a lifetime.
Suffice it to say, this chance of a lifetime ended up going as well as the other two or three that I’ve had. Piss poor.
Actually, all things considered, it wasn’t that bad. I made it through the entire 3-hour shift being moderately charming, without accidentally dropping any F-bombs, slandering anyone or passing out while the mike was on. Unfortunately, the powers that be weren’t all that impressed (or, they already had someone in mind, but couldn’t get him to start until a certain date, so they used this contest as a cheap way to fill the air in between the Howard Stern and Opie & Anthony shows for a month). In either event - I didn’t get the job.
I tell this story, because WBCN recently went off the air after 40+ years as the premier rock and roll station in Boston. It will now become one of the myriad of pop music stations that litter the terrestrial radio landscape these days. And, I can’t help but think that their failure to recognize my genius and clear potential as a radio superstar played a significant part in their demise.
I take no joy in their destruction. There is no happiness in my heart over this - instead, just a serene feeling in knowing that those who fail to realize my supreme greatness will be eventually sentenced to an eternity wallowing in damnation - or being forced to play Britney Spears and Lady Ga-Ga CDs over and over and over again.
Consider yourselves warned...
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Let's Get Ready To Rumble...
So, the UFC held their most recent event this weekend, and much to my delight, a couple buddies called up and asked if I wanted to get together to watch it.
And then, much to my chagrin, they suggested heading out to the local watering hole to do so.
Now, usually, when we want to get our monthly dose of controlled violence – one of us will purchase the pay-per-view broadcast and we’ll all get together at the house of choice, have some drinks, watch the fights, get a little crazy and maybe have a circle jerk or two.
Okay, I made that up – we don’t drink.
Seriously, though – it is by far a much more enjoyable experience to watch the fights at someone’s house. There are no crowds, you don’t come home smelling like smoke – unless you want to, you’re not overpaying for watered-down drinks, someone usually supplies some food and you can actually hear what the announcers are saying.
And, most importantly, you don’t have to go out to a bar.
Back in the day, I used to enjoy heading out to a bar to watch a game or a big fight. The crowd usually provided a nice backdrop – especially if you were all rooting for the same team. You didn’t have to worry about cleaning up afterward and if you were lucky enough to meet up with a fine young lady, you could always head back to your place for a little “postgame discussion.”
Now, however, as I have gotten older, I have also gotten cheaper, more anti-social and less single. Thus, the draw of the bar scene has dwindled significantly for me. This is especially true on fight nights. Sure there’s some fantastic people watching to be had, but with that comes a much less desirable element to contend with.
For, example, there’s “Fight Guy.”
Fight guy is an interesting breed. You can normally find him in his natural habitat – which is either at a sports bar showing a UFC event or coming out of the Hot Topic or PacSun store in your local mall. He’s usually wearing a two-sizes too small Affliction or Tapout t-shirt, ripped jeans (regardless of the temperature outside), chain wallet, multiple tattoos and at least one random piercing. He also has a permanent scowl on his face that becomes increasingly more pronounced as the night goes on (and the drinks go down).
Subsequently, he’s also the guy who forgets that he’s just some random jerk off in a bar and not one of the guys fighting on the TV. Therefore, he’s looking for any reason whatsoever to get into a fight with someone. Be it an accidental bump, perceived glance at his date or just walking within arm’s reach – it doesn’t matter. If “Fight Guy” decides its time to go – its time to go, and you don’t want to be anywhere near him when that happens.
Unless, of course, you have a modicum of self-defense skill – or just know better and stand up to him – in which case he’ll turn tail and continue sipping on his Sex on the Beach. Unfortunately, Fight Guy casts just an imposing enough shadow that most men who cross his path will back down – which only empowers him. It’s fascinating to watch from afar – not at all unlike watching jackal pick at the remains of a zebra in the wild – but utterly terrifying if you happen to be unwitting recipient of Fight Guy’s wrath.
Thankfully, I’ve been lucky enough to avoid Fight Guy up to this point. Fortunately, Fight Guy sticks out like a sore thumb, so he’s easy enough to avoid if you’re paying attention. However, his mere presence makes every trip to the restroom a perilous one – as you never know what may set him off at any given moment.
And though most people with an I.Q. over 10 can easily outwit Fight Guy, you’re best off to be as far away as possible when it happens, just in case.
And then, much to my chagrin, they suggested heading out to the local watering hole to do so.
Now, usually, when we want to get our monthly dose of controlled violence – one of us will purchase the pay-per-view broadcast and we’ll all get together at the house of choice, have some drinks, watch the fights, get a little crazy and maybe have a circle jerk or two.
Okay, I made that up – we don’t drink.
Seriously, though – it is by far a much more enjoyable experience to watch the fights at someone’s house. There are no crowds, you don’t come home smelling like smoke – unless you want to, you’re not overpaying for watered-down drinks, someone usually supplies some food and you can actually hear what the announcers are saying.
And, most importantly, you don’t have to go out to a bar.
Back in the day, I used to enjoy heading out to a bar to watch a game or a big fight. The crowd usually provided a nice backdrop – especially if you were all rooting for the same team. You didn’t have to worry about cleaning up afterward and if you were lucky enough to meet up with a fine young lady, you could always head back to your place for a little “postgame discussion.”
Now, however, as I have gotten older, I have also gotten cheaper, more anti-social and less single. Thus, the draw of the bar scene has dwindled significantly for me. This is especially true on fight nights. Sure there’s some fantastic people watching to be had, but with that comes a much less desirable element to contend with.
For, example, there’s “Fight Guy.”
Fight guy is an interesting breed. You can normally find him in his natural habitat – which is either at a sports bar showing a UFC event or coming out of the Hot Topic or PacSun store in your local mall. He’s usually wearing a two-sizes too small Affliction or Tapout t-shirt, ripped jeans (regardless of the temperature outside), chain wallet, multiple tattoos and at least one random piercing. He also has a permanent scowl on his face that becomes increasingly more pronounced as the night goes on (and the drinks go down).
Subsequently, he’s also the guy who forgets that he’s just some random jerk off in a bar and not one of the guys fighting on the TV. Therefore, he’s looking for any reason whatsoever to get into a fight with someone. Be it an accidental bump, perceived glance at his date or just walking within arm’s reach – it doesn’t matter. If “Fight Guy” decides its time to go – its time to go, and you don’t want to be anywhere near him when that happens.
Unless, of course, you have a modicum of self-defense skill – or just know better and stand up to him – in which case he’ll turn tail and continue sipping on his Sex on the Beach. Unfortunately, Fight Guy casts just an imposing enough shadow that most men who cross his path will back down – which only empowers him. It’s fascinating to watch from afar – not at all unlike watching jackal pick at the remains of a zebra in the wild – but utterly terrifying if you happen to be unwitting recipient of Fight Guy’s wrath.
Thankfully, I’ve been lucky enough to avoid Fight Guy up to this point. Fortunately, Fight Guy sticks out like a sore thumb, so he’s easy enough to avoid if you’re paying attention. However, his mere presence makes every trip to the restroom a perilous one – as you never know what may set him off at any given moment.
And though most people with an I.Q. over 10 can easily outwit Fight Guy, you’re best off to be as far away as possible when it happens, just in case.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Mr. Sticky Fingers...?
So, as if I needed another reason to completely dislike my boss - and trust me, I have a myriad of them - I think I caught him trying to steal something from my desk the other day.
Okay, that’s a slight exaggeration. I didn’t catch him in the process of doing anything other than waddling to and from my cube, but I do think I thwarted his efforts. Allow me to explain.
My cube at work is - for the most part - fairly run of the mill. I don’t have a lot of garish decorations, save a few pictures of the family and some of my daughter’s artwork. However, I do have two little “conversations pieces” that sit atop my shelf: a picture of me taken with the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders (yes - plural and yes - the real ones) and a little plastic reindeer that “poops” out brown jelly beans. The former really needs no explanation - the latter was a small Christmas gift from my sister to celebrate my overly infantile sense of humor.
In any event, these two things have sat atop the shelf on my cube pretty much since I’ve been here. They’re just kind of out of the way and not really noticeable unless you’re back here and happen to be looking directly into my cubicle.
I mention this, because of what happened the other day - I was sitting back at my desk about 15 minutes or so from the end of the day, when all of a sudden, my boss comes down the aisle. The look on his face clearly indicated to me that he wasn’t expecting me to be here. Why, I have no idea. Perhaps he thought he laid me off already, I’m not really sure.
Anyhow, he makes a quick look towards my neighbor’s cube, which I found odd, since he knows she leaves at 4:00 every day. Then he looks over at my cube, and I happen to notice that in his hand is the exact same reindeer as is on my desk, only missing its head. And he looks at me with this sheepish grin and said, “Oh, you have one of these too. Heh. Mine broke. Great minds think alike, eh?” And then turned around and walked away.
Although it struck me as odd when it happened, I really didn’t think anything of it. Honestly, the strangest thing about it at the time was that he was even over there in the first place, since he never comes over to our aisle - and when he does, it’s not just to make small talk.
Then I was reminded of something that happened about a week or so earlier. I had walked into his office to have him sign something and gave him my pen. He signed the paper and then looked at the pen as though he had never seen one like it before.
“This is a really nice pen. It writes really well - where’d you get it?” he asked. I told him that I got them at Target or wherever and went back to my desk. When I got back to my desk, I knew I had an extra one of those pens, so I went back to his office and tossed the extra on his desk. (Hey - don’t judge me. When you’re looking at an uncertain job future - it doesn’t hurt to butter up the guy in charge of whether you stay or go. I make no apologies).
Anyhow, he takes the pen and thanks me for bringing it in. Then, just as I turn around to leave, I happen to catch a glimpse of the pen container by his phone and see - THE EXACT SAME PEN I JUST GAVE HIM AND HE ACTED LIKE HE’D NEVER SEEN BEFORE!
Then, I got back to my desk and made a second realization - I didn’t have an extra one of those pens - I should have had an extra TWO of those pens, since they came in a 3-pack. Sure enough, I looked around on my desk and the third pen was nowhere to be found. I chalked it up to an odd coincidence at the time, but looking back at it now - in conjunction with the pooping reindeer incident - and I have no choice but to believe one sad, indisputable fact.
The fat prick has been pilfering from my desk.
Of course, I can’t do anything about it. I don’t really have any concrete proof - though I think both of these “coincidences” definitely give me cause to think that’s probably the case. Besides, even if I did have proof, I’d still be in the same boat I’m in now, so there’s no point splitting hairs.
So now, not only do I have to go through the next month knowing that this a-hole is planning to lay us off at the end of the month, but refuses to admit it - I now have to do so with a fairly strong assumption that he’s been stealing things from my desk as well.
And people wonder why I don't like bankers...
Okay, that’s a slight exaggeration. I didn’t catch him in the process of doing anything other than waddling to and from my cube, but I do think I thwarted his efforts. Allow me to explain.
My cube at work is - for the most part - fairly run of the mill. I don’t have a lot of garish decorations, save a few pictures of the family and some of my daughter’s artwork. However, I do have two little “conversations pieces” that sit atop my shelf: a picture of me taken with the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders (yes - plural and yes - the real ones) and a little plastic reindeer that “poops” out brown jelly beans. The former really needs no explanation - the latter was a small Christmas gift from my sister to celebrate my overly infantile sense of humor.
In any event, these two things have sat atop the shelf on my cube pretty much since I’ve been here. They’re just kind of out of the way and not really noticeable unless you’re back here and happen to be looking directly into my cubicle.
I mention this, because of what happened the other day - I was sitting back at my desk about 15 minutes or so from the end of the day, when all of a sudden, my boss comes down the aisle. The look on his face clearly indicated to me that he wasn’t expecting me to be here. Why, I have no idea. Perhaps he thought he laid me off already, I’m not really sure.
Anyhow, he makes a quick look towards my neighbor’s cube, which I found odd, since he knows she leaves at 4:00 every day. Then he looks over at my cube, and I happen to notice that in his hand is the exact same reindeer as is on my desk, only missing its head. And he looks at me with this sheepish grin and said, “Oh, you have one of these too. Heh. Mine broke. Great minds think alike, eh?” And then turned around and walked away.
Although it struck me as odd when it happened, I really didn’t think anything of it. Honestly, the strangest thing about it at the time was that he was even over there in the first place, since he never comes over to our aisle - and when he does, it’s not just to make small talk.
Then I was reminded of something that happened about a week or so earlier. I had walked into his office to have him sign something and gave him my pen. He signed the paper and then looked at the pen as though he had never seen one like it before.
“This is a really nice pen. It writes really well - where’d you get it?” he asked. I told him that I got them at Target or wherever and went back to my desk. When I got back to my desk, I knew I had an extra one of those pens, so I went back to his office and tossed the extra on his desk. (Hey - don’t judge me. When you’re looking at an uncertain job future - it doesn’t hurt to butter up the guy in charge of whether you stay or go. I make no apologies).
Anyhow, he takes the pen and thanks me for bringing it in. Then, just as I turn around to leave, I happen to catch a glimpse of the pen container by his phone and see - THE EXACT SAME PEN I JUST GAVE HIM AND HE ACTED LIKE HE’D NEVER SEEN BEFORE!
Then, I got back to my desk and made a second realization - I didn’t have an extra one of those pens - I should have had an extra TWO of those pens, since they came in a 3-pack. Sure enough, I looked around on my desk and the third pen was nowhere to be found. I chalked it up to an odd coincidence at the time, but looking back at it now - in conjunction with the pooping reindeer incident - and I have no choice but to believe one sad, indisputable fact.
The fat prick has been pilfering from my desk.
Of course, I can’t do anything about it. I don’t really have any concrete proof - though I think both of these “coincidences” definitely give me cause to think that’s probably the case. Besides, even if I did have proof, I’d still be in the same boat I’m in now, so there’s no point splitting hairs.
So now, not only do I have to go through the next month knowing that this a-hole is planning to lay us off at the end of the month, but refuses to admit it - I now have to do so with a fairly strong assumption that he’s been stealing things from my desk as well.
And people wonder why I don't like bankers...
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Dead Man Walking...
So, I am officially on the job hunt.
This upsets me more than you can possibly imagine. I can not think of a more unenjoyable set of circumstances if I tried – at least, one that doesn’t involved the words “anally raped.”
It should be telling as to how much of a distaste I have for the job hunting process, that I have spent the last five years working a job that has completely drained me of any sort of creative, original thought I had left in my head. I knew this would be the case going in, yet instead of finding myself something a little more suited to my personality – I took the regularly scheduled paycheck and settled into professional ambiguity.
But, alas – all good things (or this job) must come to an end, and so I’m in the process of mentally preparing myself for what figures to be long (hopefully not) and uncomfortable (most definitely) trip through the job-hunting fantastic.
Now, I’m sure you’re reading this, thinking to yourself, “But why would you look down on the opportunity to better yourself, not only professionally, but quite possibly financially as well?” Well, I can answer that in one, simple word.
Interviewing.
I’ve often said that I could make the most successful reality series of all-time by just showing job interviews. While all job interviews are different, they share three very big similarities: they’re almost always awkward, uncomfortable and quite messy – not at all unlike sex with me. The only difference there is that one would make for great television and the other should not be viewed by anyone, under any circumstance whatsoever.
What makes the interviewing process so unnerving for me is that I am not a salesman under any circumstance – and an interview is the ultimate sales job. You have to convince some random stranger or strangers that you – above all of the other schmucks that they will talk to – are the greatest schmuck of them all, and thus, most deserving of this golden ticket that is the job opening they are dangling in front of you. It’s a daunting task for even those with the greatest of self-confidence – for someone who has the self-confidence of a 12-year old girl with acne, braces and Coke-bottle glasses like myself – it’s a nightmare.
Actually, that’s not entirely true – I do have a tremendous amount of confidence in my abilities – I’m relatively smart, am able to get along with most people and can adapt to just about any situation. It’s just that I absolutely abhor having to tell that to anyone. I don’t enjoy having to sell myself – and especially don’t like having to try and do it to some recruiter on a power-trip.
Take, for example, the man I spoke with the other morning. This was a man, with the personality of a DMV worker, who literally was scolding me for applying for a job that was going to be (admittedly) a decent drop in pay for me. However, it would also be permanent, have benefits, paid time off and – most importantly – room for growth, which are all things I am not the recipient of at my current job. When I mentioned this little fact to him, he growled to me in reply, “Well, you can’t put benefits in the bank.”
Now, I realize that not all experiences are like this and that most recruiters are probably nice enough people. It’s just that when you’re gun-shy about something already, having this sort of experience right out of the gate does not make one want to jump back in the waters. Its like I’m about jump into the ocean and I’m the chum in the middle of a bunch of sharks.
Be that as it may, I’ve known this time was coming for a while now, so there’s no point hiding from it any longer. Daddy gots to feed his family, so I guess its time to dust off the ol’ suit and practice my best car-salesman smile – because I’ve got a well-used, but still-reliable 1970 model that I need to move off the lot today.
This upsets me more than you can possibly imagine. I can not think of a more unenjoyable set of circumstances if I tried – at least, one that doesn’t involved the words “anally raped.”
It should be telling as to how much of a distaste I have for the job hunting process, that I have spent the last five years working a job that has completely drained me of any sort of creative, original thought I had left in my head. I knew this would be the case going in, yet instead of finding myself something a little more suited to my personality – I took the regularly scheduled paycheck and settled into professional ambiguity.
But, alas – all good things (or this job) must come to an end, and so I’m in the process of mentally preparing myself for what figures to be long (hopefully not) and uncomfortable (most definitely) trip through the job-hunting fantastic.
Now, I’m sure you’re reading this, thinking to yourself, “But why would you look down on the opportunity to better yourself, not only professionally, but quite possibly financially as well?” Well, I can answer that in one, simple word.
Interviewing.
I’ve often said that I could make the most successful reality series of all-time by just showing job interviews. While all job interviews are different, they share three very big similarities: they’re almost always awkward, uncomfortable and quite messy – not at all unlike sex with me. The only difference there is that one would make for great television and the other should not be viewed by anyone, under any circumstance whatsoever.
What makes the interviewing process so unnerving for me is that I am not a salesman under any circumstance – and an interview is the ultimate sales job. You have to convince some random stranger or strangers that you – above all of the other schmucks that they will talk to – are the greatest schmuck of them all, and thus, most deserving of this golden ticket that is the job opening they are dangling in front of you. It’s a daunting task for even those with the greatest of self-confidence – for someone who has the self-confidence of a 12-year old girl with acne, braces and Coke-bottle glasses like myself – it’s a nightmare.
Actually, that’s not entirely true – I do have a tremendous amount of confidence in my abilities – I’m relatively smart, am able to get along with most people and can adapt to just about any situation. It’s just that I absolutely abhor having to tell that to anyone. I don’t enjoy having to sell myself – and especially don’t like having to try and do it to some recruiter on a power-trip.
Take, for example, the man I spoke with the other morning. This was a man, with the personality of a DMV worker, who literally was scolding me for applying for a job that was going to be (admittedly) a decent drop in pay for me. However, it would also be permanent, have benefits, paid time off and – most importantly – room for growth, which are all things I am not the recipient of at my current job. When I mentioned this little fact to him, he growled to me in reply, “Well, you can’t put benefits in the bank.”
Now, I realize that not all experiences are like this and that most recruiters are probably nice enough people. It’s just that when you’re gun-shy about something already, having this sort of experience right out of the gate does not make one want to jump back in the waters. Its like I’m about jump into the ocean and I’m the chum in the middle of a bunch of sharks.
Be that as it may, I’ve known this time was coming for a while now, so there’s no point hiding from it any longer. Daddy gots to feed his family, so I guess its time to dust off the ol’ suit and practice my best car-salesman smile – because I’ve got a well-used, but still-reliable 1970 model that I need to move off the lot today.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Wah!!!
I’m feeling like I really need to do something to get over this non-writing hump. Every couple months or so, I feel like I’m ready to start writing again, then something happens – maybe I’ll throw an old post up or something – and then I go back into hibernation.
It’s quite frustrating to say the least. Personally, I blame the douche bags that fired me from NASCAR, because I’m sure whatever blockage this is, it’s directly related to some sort of unresolved issues I have, due to those humorless assholes firing me after writing on my old blog.
You’d think that after almost five years, I’d be over this whole episode already. Of course, you have no idea about the myriad of psychoses I’m suffering from that are preventing me from doing so, either. Granted, the fact that I work in such close proximity to the old office doesn’t help. Nor does the fact that I still see a lot of the people I used to work with there – and I every time I see them, they still give me the same look that says, “Hey, didn’t that loser used to work with me?” and it makes me want to punch them in the face. Hard. The fact that I can now actually do so without fear of getting my ass handed to me in the process doesn’t diminish the feeling any in the slightest.
Granted, the logical move here would be to find myself a job somewhere far away from uptown, and – subsequently – the NASCAR offices. Of course, with the current job market being what it is, combined with my lackluster pedigree, that’s not going to happen anytime soon, either.
And, just to add one more obstacle to deal with – I’m always putting extra pressure on myself to come up with something really clever and/or witty to put up here. My old blog was a good mixture of stuff that was primarily funny (or so I was told), some random observations and a little self-pity induced whining – not unlike what I’m doing right here. For some reason, with this new site – I’ve felt as though if it’s not funny, it’s not worth posting and subsequently don’t bother.
What I need to do is just what I’m doing now – just start writing down whatever thoughts come into my head, get them out there – stream-of-conscious style and post them. At least get the practice, get myself warmed up to the idea of posting regularly again and go from there. Besides, it’s not like I’m not the only one reading this shit anyhow, right?
It’s quite frustrating to say the least. Personally, I blame the douche bags that fired me from NASCAR, because I’m sure whatever blockage this is, it’s directly related to some sort of unresolved issues I have, due to those humorless assholes firing me after writing on my old blog.
You’d think that after almost five years, I’d be over this whole episode already. Of course, you have no idea about the myriad of psychoses I’m suffering from that are preventing me from doing so, either. Granted, the fact that I work in such close proximity to the old office doesn’t help. Nor does the fact that I still see a lot of the people I used to work with there – and I every time I see them, they still give me the same look that says, “Hey, didn’t that loser used to work with me?” and it makes me want to punch them in the face. Hard. The fact that I can now actually do so without fear of getting my ass handed to me in the process doesn’t diminish the feeling any in the slightest.
Granted, the logical move here would be to find myself a job somewhere far away from uptown, and – subsequently – the NASCAR offices. Of course, with the current job market being what it is, combined with my lackluster pedigree, that’s not going to happen anytime soon, either.
And, just to add one more obstacle to deal with – I’m always putting extra pressure on myself to come up with something really clever and/or witty to put up here. My old blog was a good mixture of stuff that was primarily funny (or so I was told), some random observations and a little self-pity induced whining – not unlike what I’m doing right here. For some reason, with this new site – I’ve felt as though if it’s not funny, it’s not worth posting and subsequently don’t bother.
What I need to do is just what I’m doing now – just start writing down whatever thoughts come into my head, get them out there – stream-of-conscious style and post them. At least get the practice, get myself warmed up to the idea of posting regularly again and go from there. Besides, it’s not like I’m not the only one reading this shit anyhow, right?
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Ho, Ho, Ho...
Given that it’s the holiday season, what better way to celebrate than to post one of my favorite “celebrity” interviews of all-time. Although the Michael Jackson one will always be my Opus, this one comes in a close second. So enjoy and hopefully I’ll start writing again sometime before I die – which, considering the way I feel at the moment – may be any minute now…
******************************************
Well, it may be Christmas Eve, but don’t think that will stop your favorite internet moron (um . . . me) from working hard to bring you the highest quality of entertainment when the chance presents itself.
I have done the impossible and secured an interview with quite possibly the hardest working man in the world – especially tonight. He has turned down all the major networks, CNN, Fox and everyone else – although he did almost relent to the WB, when they offered him his own sitcom alongside Steve Harvey.
Regardless, I was able to get him – albeit briefly – for a quick one-on-one chat, and suffice it to say – I was not disappointed. I don’t believe you will be, either.
Therefore, without any further ado, The New Empire Lounge presents to you, our exclusive one-on-one interview with the man of the hour, jolly old St. Nicholas himself . . . Santa Claus.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
NEW EMPIRE LOUNGE: This is truly an honor – especially given your limited time schedule tonight. Thank you so much for taking the time to speak with us, Santa.
SANTA CLAUS (groggy): Wh . . . what the . . . where . . . where am I?
NEL: You’re at my house, Santa.
SC (still groggy): Um . . . what . . . what happened?
NEL: Oh, I found some old roofies from back when I was still single, so I spiked your milk and cookies. Hope you don’t mind – but you’re so quick, I wanted to make sure I got the chance to speak with you.
SC: Um . . . well that’s not very nice, you know. I have a lot of deliveries to make tonight.
NEL: Look, Santa – cut me some slack. This is the most prestigious interview a reporter could hope for – and this is coming from someone that has had exclusive interviews with Michael Jackson and Saddam Hussein in successive weeks. Did you read those, by the way?
SC: Um . . . not really. I’ve been somewhat busy lately.
NEL: Oh, well you should really check those out. Regardless, listen – I’m a little nobody working on a fledgling website, just trying to make a name for myself. Certainly, you wouldn’t begrudge me a few moments of your time to help a fella out in the spirit of the holidays, now would you?
SC: I don’t know . . . I really am on a tight timeframe.
NEL: Come on! Besides, don’t think Brokaw or that goofy looking guy from Telemundo won’t try the same thing. In fact, I have it on pretty good authority that Wolf Blitzer put some horse tranquilizers in the carrots he left for the reindeer. So, either way you probably want to watch yourself.
SC (getting less jolly): Okay, okay – fine! You can have your interview. Just make it fast.
NEL: Wow, thanks Santa. You’re the best.
SC: Yeah, whatever. Like I said, just make it quick.
NEL: Okay, so first question – exactly how DO you know who’s been naughty and who’s been nice? I mean, that’s a whole lot of people to check up on. You have to have some sort of help, right? What is it, spies? In-house surveillance? Are you a warlock?
SC: Oh no, it’s nothing like that. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you exactly how it’s done – there’s an upstart group on the other side of the North Pole that is trying to move in on my operations and for them to find out how I keep track of these things would ruin me. Suffice it to say, our method works great – in fact, it’s nearly fool proof.
NEL: Okay, but what about the kids in some of the more impoverished neighborhoods – not all those kids are bad, but still they’re left without presents. Your response to this, sir?
SC: Are you kidding? What kind of question is that? Look – have you seen some of these neighborhoods? Like I need to worry about getting hit by a stray bullet from some drug deal gone bad down on the street. I try and get to as many of those houses as I can, but man – those dealers are using armor piercing bullets these days – you can’t do anything to protect yourself.
NEL: But, aren’t you magical or immune to stuff like that or something?
SC: Nope. I’m just a normal man like you.
NEL: Normal? Pardon me, Santa – but I’ve never ridden around on a sleigh pulled by flying reindeer, going to every house in the world in the span of one night. Though, now that I think about it, there was that one time, after a Dead concert – I think I got the brown acid or something . . . but, um . . . that’s a story for another time. You know what I’m saying, right Santa?
SC (nervously): Um . . . ha, ha – right.
NEL: Okay – so, what’s the deal with these reindeer, anyhow? How in the heck to you get them to fly so quick – or, at all for that matter? Are there cattle-prods involved?
SC: Oh, no – nothing like that! My goodness, where would you ever get such an idea? I would never do something so inhumane.
NEL: I don’t know – I’ve never seen a deer fly before, so I figured there must be some sort of trickery or electro-shocking involved.
SC: My heavens, I would never treat another living creature so cruelly.
NEL: Come on, now – don’t pull that crap on me. You’ve got them harnessed to a sleigh, pulling your tubby ass and enough toys for all the kids in the world – I can’t imagine that’s really a major improvement from prancing around in the forest. Not to mention, it looks like you had to whack a cow or two to get those nice, shiny boots, eh? I’d also bet that that’s not all milk and cookies floating around in that belly of yours . . . I’m sure there’s a steak or a burger mixed in somewhere, no?
SC (more nervously): Um . . . well, perhaps . . . um . . . regardless, I treat the reindeer very well. As for the flying, this is another of my secrets that I’d rather not divulge. Aside from the previously mentioned corporation, I’ve heard that Sony is now working on throwing a plant up my way as well. If that happens, forget it – there’s just no way I can keep up with the Japanese in terms of pure productivity. The elves are good – but they’re not that good.
NEL: Come on, man – work with me here. You’re not giving me anything good – just a bunch of fluff. I’m not Diane Sawyer, you know. Give me something to work with.
SC: Well, okay – I’ve actually been dying to tell this to someone anyhow: you know, Mrs. Claus really likes it when I put my finger in her...
NEL: Whoa! Whoa! Whoa there, big fella! Take it easy now. That’s one vision I don’t think any of us need to have to try to erase from our memory banks, thank you. I guess that falls under the category of “Be careful what you wish for” eh?
SC: Hey – you asked. NEL: Point taken.
SC (looking at his watch and becoming even less jolly): Look, um . . . are we about done here? I really need to get on with this thing.
NEL: Hold your horses, round boy, just a couple more questions. Okay – what’s the deal with Rudolph? I mean, so the poor thing had a red nose – you really think it was fair to ostracize him for it?
SC: Hey now, I’ve admitted that I messed up that one. I mean, look at it from my perspective: I have to keep these reindeer happy – this night isn’t easy on any of us. A couple of them – I won’t mention any names – were a little uncomfortable with the idea of a red-nosed reindeer on the squad. I had to look at the big picture: hurt the feelings of one reindeer, or risk losing several other reindeer from the team and potentially ruin Christmas for millions of children everywhere. At the time, it seemed like the obvious thing to do.
NEL: And now?
SC: Now, it’s quite obvious that I – that we all – made a mistake. Rudolph really came through for us that foggy Christmas Eve. He ignored the slights that the other reindeer made towards him – and believe me, there were some really bad, ugly things happening there – and proved that he was the bigger man, er . . . reindeer. Plus, the other reindeer realized we were in a pinch and put their prejudices aside for the betterment of the team. I think it was a growing experience for all involved.
NEL: Wow, that’s touching.
SC: Trust me – you don’t know the half of it . . . nor do you want to.
NEL: Fair enough. Final question – where in the hell are my presents, fat man?
SC: Well, I did receive your list, and unfortunately it left me with quite the conundrum. The elves haven’t quite gotten down the art of mass producing those little blow-up dolls, so we may need to contract out for that. By the way – exactly why do you need so many, anyhow?
NEL: Uh . . . um . . . research.
SC: Sure – whatever you say.
NEL: Great. Well, thanks for stopping by to visit with us tonight, Santa. Any messages you would like to send to the boys and girls eagerly awaiting your arrival tonight?
SC: Yes – get your butts to bed. It’s far too late for you to be up reading this. Besides, don’t bother waiting – this little fiasco here is going to have me horribly behind schedule, so I don’t know when I’ll be there anyhow. Best you all get some sleep and prepare for the big day tomorrow.
For the rest of you, please continue to visit this very fine website. I now have access to his referrer sheet and will know if you’ve been naughty and not read it. If that’s the case, rest assured you’ll be dealt with accordingly. These reindeer leave a lot of nasty stuff behind and I can make sure it ends up in your stockings – so keep reading.
Um . . . oh yeah, Merry Christmas, too!
******************************************
Well, it may be Christmas Eve, but don’t think that will stop your favorite internet moron (um . . . me) from working hard to bring you the highest quality of entertainment when the chance presents itself.
I have done the impossible and secured an interview with quite possibly the hardest working man in the world – especially tonight. He has turned down all the major networks, CNN, Fox and everyone else – although he did almost relent to the WB, when they offered him his own sitcom alongside Steve Harvey.
Regardless, I was able to get him – albeit briefly – for a quick one-on-one chat, and suffice it to say – I was not disappointed. I don’t believe you will be, either.
Therefore, without any further ado, The New Empire Lounge presents to you, our exclusive one-on-one interview with the man of the hour, jolly old St. Nicholas himself . . . Santa Claus.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
NEW EMPIRE LOUNGE: This is truly an honor – especially given your limited time schedule tonight. Thank you so much for taking the time to speak with us, Santa.
SANTA CLAUS (groggy): Wh . . . what the . . . where . . . where am I?
NEL: You’re at my house, Santa.
SC (still groggy): Um . . . what . . . what happened?
NEL: Oh, I found some old roofies from back when I was still single, so I spiked your milk and cookies. Hope you don’t mind – but you’re so quick, I wanted to make sure I got the chance to speak with you.
SC: Um . . . well that’s not very nice, you know. I have a lot of deliveries to make tonight.
NEL: Look, Santa – cut me some slack. This is the most prestigious interview a reporter could hope for – and this is coming from someone that has had exclusive interviews with Michael Jackson and Saddam Hussein in successive weeks. Did you read those, by the way?
SC: Um . . . not really. I’ve been somewhat busy lately.
NEL: Oh, well you should really check those out. Regardless, listen – I’m a little nobody working on a fledgling website, just trying to make a name for myself. Certainly, you wouldn’t begrudge me a few moments of your time to help a fella out in the spirit of the holidays, now would you?
SC: I don’t know . . . I really am on a tight timeframe.
NEL: Come on! Besides, don’t think Brokaw or that goofy looking guy from Telemundo won’t try the same thing. In fact, I have it on pretty good authority that Wolf Blitzer put some horse tranquilizers in the carrots he left for the reindeer. So, either way you probably want to watch yourself.
SC (getting less jolly): Okay, okay – fine! You can have your interview. Just make it fast.
NEL: Wow, thanks Santa. You’re the best.
SC: Yeah, whatever. Like I said, just make it quick.
NEL: Okay, so first question – exactly how DO you know who’s been naughty and who’s been nice? I mean, that’s a whole lot of people to check up on. You have to have some sort of help, right? What is it, spies? In-house surveillance? Are you a warlock?
SC: Oh no, it’s nothing like that. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you exactly how it’s done – there’s an upstart group on the other side of the North Pole that is trying to move in on my operations and for them to find out how I keep track of these things would ruin me. Suffice it to say, our method works great – in fact, it’s nearly fool proof.
NEL: Okay, but what about the kids in some of the more impoverished neighborhoods – not all those kids are bad, but still they’re left without presents. Your response to this, sir?
SC: Are you kidding? What kind of question is that? Look – have you seen some of these neighborhoods? Like I need to worry about getting hit by a stray bullet from some drug deal gone bad down on the street. I try and get to as many of those houses as I can, but man – those dealers are using armor piercing bullets these days – you can’t do anything to protect yourself.
NEL: But, aren’t you magical or immune to stuff like that or something?
SC: Nope. I’m just a normal man like you.
NEL: Normal? Pardon me, Santa – but I’ve never ridden around on a sleigh pulled by flying reindeer, going to every house in the world in the span of one night. Though, now that I think about it, there was that one time, after a Dead concert – I think I got the brown acid or something . . . but, um . . . that’s a story for another time. You know what I’m saying, right Santa?
SC (nervously): Um . . . ha, ha – right.
NEL: Okay – so, what’s the deal with these reindeer, anyhow? How in the heck to you get them to fly so quick – or, at all for that matter? Are there cattle-prods involved?
SC: Oh, no – nothing like that! My goodness, where would you ever get such an idea? I would never do something so inhumane.
NEL: I don’t know – I’ve never seen a deer fly before, so I figured there must be some sort of trickery or electro-shocking involved.
SC: My heavens, I would never treat another living creature so cruelly.
NEL: Come on, now – don’t pull that crap on me. You’ve got them harnessed to a sleigh, pulling your tubby ass and enough toys for all the kids in the world – I can’t imagine that’s really a major improvement from prancing around in the forest. Not to mention, it looks like you had to whack a cow or two to get those nice, shiny boots, eh? I’d also bet that that’s not all milk and cookies floating around in that belly of yours . . . I’m sure there’s a steak or a burger mixed in somewhere, no?
SC (more nervously): Um . . . well, perhaps . . . um . . . regardless, I treat the reindeer very well. As for the flying, this is another of my secrets that I’d rather not divulge. Aside from the previously mentioned corporation, I’ve heard that Sony is now working on throwing a plant up my way as well. If that happens, forget it – there’s just no way I can keep up with the Japanese in terms of pure productivity. The elves are good – but they’re not that good.
NEL: Come on, man – work with me here. You’re not giving me anything good – just a bunch of fluff. I’m not Diane Sawyer, you know. Give me something to work with.
SC: Well, okay – I’ve actually been dying to tell this to someone anyhow: you know, Mrs. Claus really likes it when I put my finger in her...
NEL: Whoa! Whoa! Whoa there, big fella! Take it easy now. That’s one vision I don’t think any of us need to have to try to erase from our memory banks, thank you. I guess that falls under the category of “Be careful what you wish for” eh?
SC: Hey – you asked. NEL: Point taken.
SC (looking at his watch and becoming even less jolly): Look, um . . . are we about done here? I really need to get on with this thing.
NEL: Hold your horses, round boy, just a couple more questions. Okay – what’s the deal with Rudolph? I mean, so the poor thing had a red nose – you really think it was fair to ostracize him for it?
SC: Hey now, I’ve admitted that I messed up that one. I mean, look at it from my perspective: I have to keep these reindeer happy – this night isn’t easy on any of us. A couple of them – I won’t mention any names – were a little uncomfortable with the idea of a red-nosed reindeer on the squad. I had to look at the big picture: hurt the feelings of one reindeer, or risk losing several other reindeer from the team and potentially ruin Christmas for millions of children everywhere. At the time, it seemed like the obvious thing to do.
NEL: And now?
SC: Now, it’s quite obvious that I – that we all – made a mistake. Rudolph really came through for us that foggy Christmas Eve. He ignored the slights that the other reindeer made towards him – and believe me, there were some really bad, ugly things happening there – and proved that he was the bigger man, er . . . reindeer. Plus, the other reindeer realized we were in a pinch and put their prejudices aside for the betterment of the team. I think it was a growing experience for all involved.
NEL: Wow, that’s touching.
SC: Trust me – you don’t know the half of it . . . nor do you want to.
NEL: Fair enough. Final question – where in the hell are my presents, fat man?
SC: Well, I did receive your list, and unfortunately it left me with quite the conundrum. The elves haven’t quite gotten down the art of mass producing those little blow-up dolls, so we may need to contract out for that. By the way – exactly why do you need so many, anyhow?
NEL: Uh . . . um . . . research.
SC: Sure – whatever you say.
NEL: Great. Well, thanks for stopping by to visit with us tonight, Santa. Any messages you would like to send to the boys and girls eagerly awaiting your arrival tonight?
SC: Yes – get your butts to bed. It’s far too late for you to be up reading this. Besides, don’t bother waiting – this little fiasco here is going to have me horribly behind schedule, so I don’t know when I’ll be there anyhow. Best you all get some sleep and prepare for the big day tomorrow.
For the rest of you, please continue to visit this very fine website. I now have access to his referrer sheet and will know if you’ve been naughty and not read it. If that’s the case, rest assured you’ll be dealt with accordingly. These reindeer leave a lot of nasty stuff behind and I can make sure it ends up in your stockings – so keep reading.
Um . . . oh yeah, Merry Christmas, too!
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