Artist of the Millennium? MTV says Jackson didn't receive award at VMAs

Hee.

And Today's Name of the Day is....

Money Green.

Hell, yeah.

You gotta give it up to the parents there for not messing around and just going for the straight Big Pimpin' Name. But think of all the pressure the poor kid's gotta be under with a name like that. If he doesn't get him some bitches and ho'es and flash the bling bling real soon, he ain't gonna be keepin' it real.

No strike: Players, MLB agree on deal through 2006

Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles

How long do you think it'll be before Bud starts whining again?

And did you see what happened in Anaheim last night? That was frickin beautiful....

Just saw current Rolling Stone cover boys and supposed rock saviors The Vines on the MTV Music Video Awards. Great Nirvana cover band. Suprised the Evil Shrew of a Wife hasn't sued them yet.

Speaking of which, also heard the new Rolling Stones song today (and U2 too, but that's another story). Yes, they have a new song out, for yet another Greatest Hits album. Not to mention to shil for even more money cause they haven't made enough. If I were a serious Stones fan, I mean a hardcore, serious one, I'd sue them for defaming a once great band. Pure shite. I guess, though, if you put out Let It Bleed and Sticky Fingers you can get away with anything.

My God, what was Michael Jackson wearing at the MTV Video Music Awards. It looked like he bought some catcher pads, glittered them up and added spangle to them. It would be like what Mike Piazza would wear if he really was gay.

Spent the night doing my bills. Besides the sickening feeling of saying goodbye to money I barely have, the amount of schmutz that gets included with all the bills drives me up a wall. It's just a pile of huge crap that has no importance whatsoever but get thrown all over the table and thrown away. As I was throwing them all away, I noticed that one of the ads that made up one of the bills was from Yahoo. It was basically an ad for some online bill paying service that Yahoo does. The tag line for it was "Wanna Save a Tree" with a picture of some guy hugging a tree.

Kind of ironic that they're playing up the whole save a tree thing on a piece of direct mail crap that's gonna do nothing but get immediately thrown in the trash. Don't you think?

She called out of the blue and whispered sweetly in my ear. "Trust me," she cooed, "trust me, I'll take care of you."

Defenseless, I did. I fell for her siren call. I was hers.

Was it the silky voice? The edge of confidence and trust when she spoke? Or was it because she knew what I wanted? What I desired. She was ready to give it to me. Everything. And I fell for her completely. I was hers.

I was skeptical at first. I had been there before, heard the same sweet voice promising me the same sweet rewards. I was offered the world. And all I had to do was one thing. But when I had did what she asked me to do, I was thrown away. I couldn't give her what she needed. I had failed. And in my hour of need, she left me. Abandoned and thrown away, with nothing left but the echoes of her promises.

Once again, I was hearing the voice. Once again, I was hearing the same promises, offered the world without a string. All I had to do was one thing, just one thing, and then it would be mine.

And I did it. The moment came, the situation arose, and I did what I could. I couldn't give her what she wanted, couldn't give her what she needed. I had tried to do what she wanted, but failed.

Once again, I was thrown away. Discarded. She left me too, all alone, again. Her promises swept away, like the wet tendrils of the fog blown into the Bay by the light of the sun.

Where, o where, did my recruiter go and why won't she return my calls?

I'm starting to get into the whole Salad Bar thing. How could you not love a set-up in which you get a whole smorgasborg of yummy schlop to choose from, get to put on a tasty sauce, throw it all together, and eat. Not only that, it's "healthy" and cheap.

I am, however, also learning that there's a dark side to Salad Bars. No matter how hard I try, as soon as I get there and see all of the yummmy things in front of me, I suddenly get all Homer-like and throw schlop on top of schlop on top of schlop. The place I go to even has Crab Meat. Crab Meat, fer crissakes! How can I not throw tons of Crab Meat into the mix?

So what I always end up with is this huge pile of food with dubious health value and a bill a bit much more than I wanted to spend. But, oh, it's soooooo good.

Anyways, was gonna write a snarky little bit about what a disaster the Olympics would be if it were to be held in SF, but SF Chronicle columnist Debra Saunders beat me to it. She says pretty much says everything I was about to say, so instead of writing it, I'll just give it to you.

Enjoy

Just checked my traffic for today. Some dude found me by doing a search for these words "illustrative slut wife stories."

Qui?

What the fuck is "illustrative slut wife stories" and why is somebody searching for it?

I guess, an even bigger question is how did I come up under that search?

And Jesus frickin' Christ, for the last time, I have no naked pictures of Anna Kournikovia. It's almost amazing how many hits I get from people searching for pictures of her.

Oh my God, it's Burning Man! Burning Man is here! Oh my God, I can't wait! Burning Man is here! Burning Man is here!

Whatever.

"So I jump ship in Hong Kong and make my way over to Tibet, and I get on as a looper at a course over in the Himalayas. A looper, you know, a caddy, a looper, a jock. So, I tell them I'm a pro jock, and who do you think they give me? The Dalai Lama, himself. Twelfth son of the Lama. The flowing robes, the grace, bald ... striking. So, I'm on the first tee with him. I give him the driver. He hauls off and whacks one -- big hitter, the Lama -- long, into a 10,000-foot crevasse, right at the base of this glacier. Do you know what the Lama says? Gunga galunga ... gunga, gunga-galunga. So we finish the 18th and he's gonna stiff me. And I say, "Hey, Lama, hey, how about a little something, you know, for the effort, you know." And he says, "Oh, uh, there won't be any money, but when you die, on your deathbed, you will receive total consciousness." So I got that goin' for me, which is nice."

Sometimes it's really hard to read the handwriting of a student's name when you enter their information. M's look like N's. S's look like Z's. And P's look like T's. So, when I see a name like that, it's up to me to guess what the right name is.

Which is why I really, really hope- for this girl's sake- that Tonya Pitts last name really is Pitts.

Right before the election, SNL had two skits goofing on what the possible Presidencies of Gore and Bush would be like. In the Bush skit, they had Bush sitting at a desk, with flames in the background and all over the office, on the phone telling people over and over again that he's sorry he screwed everything up and that his first month of the job was a lot harder than he thought it would be.

Why do I get the feeling that were kind of living that skit these days?

The only thing off with that skit, however, was that they should have had Bush giving that speech from his ranch in Texas because he's there more than in the White House.

Let's just take a look at this whole Iraq thing, shall we?

Our "allies" in the Middle East are saying "no-no-no, Saddam's not a problem, you need to take care of the whole Israel/Palestine mess first." Meanwhile, our allies in Europe are saying "no-no-no, Saddam's not a problem, you need to take care of the whole Israel/Palestine mess first"

Lately, the newspapers have been filled with Op/Ed pieces made up of almost every ex-Secretary of State that's still coherent. They all pretty much say the same thing- "it's not a bad idea, but get some proof first, make your case, make sure all the other countries are on board, get the U.N. to back us, and ask congress for permission." We're also hearing from almost the entire Smirkboy's Dad's cabinet and they're all saying this- "it's not a bad idea, but get some proof first, make your case, make sure all the other countries are on board, get the U.N. to back us, and ask congress for permission." Even the leading Republican leaders are going public and saying, in effect "it's not a bad idea, but get some proof first, make your case, make sure all the other countries are on board, get the U.N. to back us, and ask congress for permission." And the Democrats are…..are……are….hello? Has anyone heard from the Democratic Party lately?

(By the way, whenever someone says that "Bush needs to do a better job of making his case before the people" it's polite, D.C. spin for "they haven't got a case and don't know what the fuck they're talking about, but I don't have the balls to say it out loud.")

The Military, however, thinks it's such a bad idea that they're leaking every possible plan just in attempt to scare the living daylights out of the American Public. And our Secretary of State, Colin "Don't Worry about George Being President Because I'll Give Him Advice and Look, He Really Does Like Black People" Powell thinks it's such a bad idea that Rummy, Condi, Dickie and the whole gang had a huge pow-wow in Texas without him. Hell, apparently Bush's Envoy to the Middle East just gave a speech in which he said it was a bad idea.

To sum up:

Countries that think this is a good idea- nobody.
Ex-Secretary of States who think Bush is doing a good job handling this- none
Ex-members of Bush I's cabinet who think Bush Jr. is doing a good job handling this- none
Republicans who think this is a good idea- not many.
Democrats who are against the idea- Hey, whatever happened to the Democratic Party?

In other words, almost everybody is saying an attack on Iraq is either a dumb idea or a half-way decent idea that needs to be handled much, much better than the current President is doing. Yet, Rummy, Condi, and Dickie and the rest somehow have managed to convince the President in between his daily jogs that it's a good idea. They've even told him that despite what every other politician and government type in the country is telling him has to do, he doesn't need to ask Congress for permission. Hello? Bueller? Is there anyone out there?

Does anyone else get the feeling that Rummy and Dickie used to love playing soldier when they were kids and haven't let it go? Does anyone else think this country might be better off if we just get together and buy the Bush Administration "Risk" so they could get their rocks off that way instead of by invading countries?

You know, it's kind of a really, really nasty thing to say considering that my 34-year old, herniated disc, bad knee butt will never, ever see any military action, but part of me kind of wants Smirkboy to go ahead and do it. Because if ever there's an act that's gonna lead to some Greek-style Hubris payback (hopefully without the sleeping with the mother bit), it's this whole invading Iraq thing. "Oh, it'll be easy," they're telling us. Or "oh, all we have to do is win the warn, and Iraq will be a democracy and all the rest of the Arabs will love us!" Yeah, we'll see.

Go ahead, Smirkboy, drink the cool-aid.....

Why are there so many songs about rainbows
And what's on the other side?
Rainbows are visions, but only illusions,
And rainbows have nothing to hide.
So we've been told and some choose to believe it
I know they're wrong, wait and see.
Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection,
The lovers, the dreamers and me.

Sigh. I just heard that song on the radio. How can you not love that song? It would even make Dick Cheney stop what he was doing break into a big, huge grin and maybe, just maybe, not think about blowing somebody up for a day.

So I just made Chicken Noodle soup. I don't know whether this means anything, but the label was advertising a contest to win a free DVD. For Toy Story II. Which came out in 2000. And for a contest that was over in December of 2000.

Is that a problem?

Soup's supposed to last through anything, right? I mean, canned stuff is supposed to survive Nuclear Holocaust's, right?

Should I be worried that the corner store I always go to is selling soup that's advertising contests that happened two years ago?

I said a hip hop a hippie the hippie
to the hip hip hop, a you dont stop
a rock to the bang bang boogy say upchuck the boogy,
to the rhythm of the boogity beat.


Saw a whole new bad name today, a poor kid with the name Jihad Jamal.

Unlucky

First of all, unless Jihad has another, much nicer definition, the kid is basically named "Holy War Jamal." Not exactly a nice, tranquil sounding name. No Slayer Mendoza, but up there. Wonder what the parents were thinking when they decided to name their kid that. "Hey, Jihad is a great sounding name and the dumb Americans will never know we've named the kid after something that people use as an excuse to blow things up." It's like naming the kid "Holocaust Hans" or '"Slaughter of the Armenian's by Turkey During WWI Kassabian."

Throw in the whole 9/11 thing and you got one caught who'se gonna be changing his name to Joe Smith real fast.

Umm sorry. Very sun-fried and tired today......

One more thing before bed-time.

Dan Quayle is like some lame-ass band that had a minor hit way back when and now keeps on hitting you over and over and over with it. Apparently, after taking on Murphy Brown, Quayle has now moved onto Rachel on Friends.From Salon.

"I don't think that should be portrayed on television as a good thing," Quayle told Travel and Leisure Golf magazine, referring to Rachel's fatherless bambino. "It's tough on the mother and it's tough on the child -- the chance of that child ending up in poverty is quite high."

He is such a political loser that the only magazine that will cover his recent take on his one-note hit is Travel and Leisure Golf. And he is such a loser that he's in Travel and Leisure Golf.

Ah yes. Nothing like the long weekend of Getting Away From it All. Two days of nothing but lots of sun, bikes, beer and Uncle Ron, completely unplugged from whatever's going on in the world. When entering back into reality, there's always a twinge of curiosity and a bit of excitement wondering if anything's changed. If there's anything that you might have missed while CNN and ESPN wasn't easily accessible. As always, when you come back, nothing's happened. Bush is still saying he doesn't know what he's going to do about Iraq even though more plans are being leaked daily, there's freaks everywhere on Valencia St., and the Giants are still sucking.

And you know another thing about getting away like that? It means that one of the first things you have to do is check your e-mail. No, not because there might be anything important (nobody sends important e-mails over the weekend), but because you've been so bombarded with spam that you have to clear the in-box before the in-box becomes so over-spammed that you can't get in.

Gone two days, 73 messages, all but six or so relevant, and even those weren't really important. And just out of curiosity, if spammers are really concerned about getting good leads, they should check their mailing lists a bit better. Why, for instance, am I getting spam about both penis enlargement and breast enhancement? Certainly, they could just look at my first name, a name that is rather masculine (not in a Rock Hudson kind of way, but in a definitely not a woman kind of way) and figure out that I wouldn't be interested in breast enhancement?

I do, however, wonder if all the get out of debt e-mails are just random or whether they really do know something

Going away for the weekend up to Tahoe for some 24 hour bike-race thingy. No, I'm not gonna race in it (yeah, right), I'm just gonna hang, drink some beer and give "support" to my friends who are doing it. Which means no postings til I come back. Don't know why I'm saying that since pretty much the only people who read this are either on the trip or know I'm gone, but, here's some meaty piece of sappiness that'll tide you over til then. Hearing that people love when the bring the sap on…

On Saturday, it'll be the ten-year Anniversary of when I plopped my somewhat scared yet excited butt onto a plane to begin a two and a half-month odyssey through Europe. The ole backpacking thing through Europe thing, with my always trusty sidekick Stoner and not so trusty sidekick Butthead (okay, that's not nice. Let's call him Beavis) instead. I always like to mark the occasion in some way because it still means a lot to me. It involved some of the best times of my life. It was a time in which I had immeasurable amounts of fun in immeasurable ways. And it was the occasion in which EVERYTHING CHANGED.

There's a whole bunch of stuff that happens when you travel. There is, for instance, something about plopping yourself into some random foreign city armed only with your backpack, American Express Traveler's Checks, a copy of Let's Go Europe, and your travelling companions and have it all come out right that does wonderful things for the soul. And there's nothing like singing "Summer Loving" from Grease in Greece with a bunch of drunken Irish, Brits, Aussies, Israeli's and Belgians (Belgians?) that'll give you that Bob Marleyesque fuzzy one world feeling. And there's also nothing like seeing some mullet-headed Jersey guy strut around during a USA/Ireland Volleyball trampling to make you realize why most of the rest of the world reacts to Americans with a giant roll of the eyes.

But travelling like that gives you a sense of what life should be all about. What life can be all about. About adventure and learning and having your mind blown on a regular basis. Of meeting great and interesting people almost daily and being secure and happy enough that even if you've only known them for a few hours, you still feel like you're best friends. And knowing that when you wake up, you have nothing to worry about other than what amazing thing you were going to see and do and where the party will be.
Sadly, as we all know, life is often not like that at all.

Which is why whenever I come upon the Anniversary, or recount in my head where I was when x number of years ago, I can't help but feel bittersweet about it, almost veering into Mellon Collie and Infinite Sadness land. I have, for instance, an entire drawer full of photos from that trip, hundreds of them, which I once said I was going to go through and put in a photo album, but haven't done yet. Which isn't that amazing considering how lazy I am, but I haven't even really looked through the photos in years. I don't want to.

I'm not big into nostalgia. Don’t' get the warm fuzzies by looking back and constantly reminiscing about the past. Guess I haven't acquired those rose-colored glasses yet. And while this particular moment was all good, unlike other moments, that's the problem in looking back, the fact that it was so good. That's especially true know, in the middle of my "woe is me, I need a job" funk. It's particularly hard to look at photos of a smiling, happy me on a motor scooter somewhere on Naxos, or with Stoner and Beavis clinging together steins of beer at Oktoberfest, or looking oh so chic and full of je ne sais quis in Paris with the Eiffel Tower in the background. It's also particularly hard because during times like these, there are times that parts of that trip still come out in the middle of the night and whisper to me about roads not taken.

But enough with the depressing stuff. This shouldn't be all doomy gloomy. It was a great trip.
So let's put things this way because it'll put it all in perspective….

San Francisco has this new radio station, the technoy, danncey station that plays dance tunes (92.7). Now, I hate the very idea of Dance Music. I want to rock. But sometimes, as I'm flipping through the dial, I'll hear a song on that station and stop for a few moments.

It's not, for God's sake, because I like the music (fucking Raaaawkkkk dude), but what the music represents.
Because I don't like the music, I never really hear it. It's not the music I have in my CD collection, not the music I listen to on the radio, and not the music that I go to bars to listen to. As a result, the only time I really hear that kind of music is when I travel cause everyone else loves that music. So, when I hear that music on the radio, especially a certain song or certain sound, I'm no longer really right here, right now in San Francisco. I'm thousands of miles away.

I'm dancing in a club in Phuket with the only woman in the club who doesn't cost $100 bucks a night. I'm in a pub somewhere in London drinking a pint with a bunch of old dudes in leather with football (that's real football, not American football) on the Telly and techno tunes playing in between Motorhead songs.

And I'm always, always at the Pink Palace on Corfu, totally toasted on Ouzo after doing the Ouzo circle, so blisfully drunk that Stoner and I- two of the whitest, dorkiest, non dancingest guys ever- find outselves boogying our butts off til 4 in the morning, loving every moment of it. And everytime I think of that moment, no matter what the state of my burnt out haze, I can't help but get a big, huge smile on my face.

Turns out it wasn't a D.O.A interview. I talked to the Recruter, who is a sweatheart, and found out it was more of a Goldilocks type thing. Everyone she sends over is either over-qualified or under-qualified. Of course, it's hard for them to know for sure since each person only talked to me about five minutes, never asked any questions, or really explained what the job was. It was so bad I kept on wondering in my head "shouldn't you be asking me this question? This is the point when you're supposed to say…."

By the way, they were looking for somebody to help out with their sports games. Stuff like Madden 2002 or FIFA 2002. That's the job I just lost out on because the lame-asses don't know how to conduct an interview. Or think it should be a process out of Kafka.

Hmmm, maybe I should think about a career in HR. Like someone who goes in as a consultant-type and tell them how to conduct a job search, how to interview people, and how to treat them afterwards so the person they talk to doesn't wind up posting nasty things about them on some Web site or burn their business cards over a toilet. Not that I, your humble narrator has done anything like that, but I'm just saying.

When looking for a job, recruiters can be a wonderful thing. They want you to get a job almost as much as you do because that way, they get paid. This means that in looking for a job, you have an advocate working for you, someone who can beg and bug for you, someone who can pester and plead for you. That is all a good thing. Except, of course, when they do such a good job pestering that the only reason you get brought in is because that way they get the recruiter of their back. This is known as the D.O.A interview- when you have no chance going in and it doesn't matter what the hell you say or do. Or, it's known as the "I just took five hours off at work to schlep down for an interview for no fucking reason" interview.

And yes, this just happened to me.

Schlepped all the way down to Redwood shores, a close to two hour commute by pub trans, for an interview which I didn't have a chance in hell of getting. All with visions of a cool-ass, high-paying job dancing in my head. I should have known what was coming when it took the recruiter a couple of days to set-up the interview, meaning she had to talk them into it. But still thought I had a chance.

I really knew I was doomed in the middle of my first interview, my first of three. The person I talked to didn't say anything, didn't show any interest, didn't ask any questions. It was like being on a date with someone who pretty much has no interest and is only being polite and while you have no hope, you still have to try and still have to care. So, you pretty much through any trick out of the bag, short of juggling, in any hopes of having something work. And, if you have to juggle, you do it. That's what this interview was like. And yeah, I still was taken through the gauntlet and introduced to two more people, all for a couple of minutes and all who cared as much as the first person, before they showed me some mercy and led me out the door.

Yeah, it was nice they were straight with me, but still. If I could curse in Italian, that's all I'd be doing right now.

More Adventures in Interviewing!

Turns out someone who not only works at the place I interviewed at is someone who I once worked with at the Publishing Company that I gave my '20's too, but she would also be in the department I would work in. And who would have a say in the decision of who is going to be hired. Score, right? After all, she loved me. No, not in that way, but in the always plopping herself down in my cubicle when she was bored to relate party war-stories and Amsterdam adventures kind of way. So I got that going for me, right?

On the other hand, is it really such a good thing that the person who I need to vouch for me also knows what my favorite Coffee Shop in Amsterdam is and why I love their shakes?

Plus, there's always that paranoid feeling I get when I'm involved in something like this, that despite the fact I think I was well-thought of and well-liked there, I could be wrong. Who knows what the scuttlebutt about me was, especially in a place famous for being full of cranky eccentrics who spent half their time at work gossiping and bitching.

Just wondering, too, what kind of bribe I would need for her help? Free drinks? Free lunch? A Playstation? The kind of stuff that makes Amsterdam famous? And would mentioning to her in an e-mail that great she looks now (she lost a bit of weight- not that she looked that bad to begin with, but let's just say she looks much better) be a little over the line?

And the interview? First of all, it was to great relief that the person I interviewed with was not the blonde in the skirt and high-heels that I saw walking around. Instead, she was just normal looking. I gave her everything I got- new clothes, new hair-cut, new shoes. Even gave them my Aussie accent (don't ask- just goofing on former lame-ass bosses). We laughed, we cried, we shared a moment.

They're so gonna screw me……

Man, what's the point in making really obscure, surreal allusions if nobody's gonna take the bait and ask me what the hell I just wrote?

Had a kid today who accidentally put his symptoms up where his last name should be. Which means that according to the sheet I had, his name was Eric Running Nose.

Wasn't Chief Running Nose a notorious Sioux Warrior?

Thank you ver much, I'll be here all week……

Miles to go... Little Miss Muffet counting down from 7-3-0......

It has now officially been a year since I've been laid off. What a year it's been. When I started, I was a fresh-faced, naïve 33 year old excited by all the possibilities that were in front of me- the time off, the opportunity to work on my writing, a burning desire to get in shape and to try things like yoga. Many pounds heavier, a lot more grey in my hair, and hundreds of hours wasted on message boards later, I am now the burned out, bitter, shell of a 34 year old that brings you these wonderful writings day in and day out.

Basically, this past year has sucked-ass.

I want the year back.

But I need to look upon things in a better light. In order to see things with a better perspective, I need to reflect upon what I have learned over these past months. And I have learned quite a lot.

Here are some valuable things that I have learned over the past year:

-Sometimes doing nothing but playing video games can help you get a job.

-Often-times, Recruiters are actually too busy to recruit.

-Yoga is a really good way of learning how to focus, especially when strategically placed between two spandex-clad 24 year old women.

-If you're not able to get any sleep, it is possible to get by fueled only on coffee, beer and pizza.

-You can save a whole lot of money by not actually paying your bills

-Wasting a day online dissecting Buffy is quite easy to do and that people on message boards really do get upset about some throw away line and use it as proof that all the actors, writers, directors, gaffers, and caterers suck.

-Elka was actually married to Walter when she was on the RW/RR:Battle of Seasons but got divorced soon afterwards, that Cara got a hand-job from Todd of Big Head Todd of the Monsters , and that Sorority Life is entirely fake.

-Just because the Recruiter says you have the job and HR says you have a job, it doesn't necessarily mean you have it because it's quite possible the Manager of the Department you interviewed for could have hired somebody and just forgotten to tell anyone.

-Staying up late and watch Skinemax porn night after night does actually get boring after awhile.

And finally…..

-Do not make nasty remarks about the lameness of HR people when dating a VP of HR. In fact, under no circumstances, DO NOTSHOW YOUR BLOG PAGE TO SOMEONE YOU JUST START DATING.

See, I have learned a lot. It's all in how you look at it....

This might be totally mean, but if we do go to war with Iraq, can we use all the people who've appeared on MTV's Sorority Life as cannon fodder?

So I've added some new fangled gadget for me blog page, a "Comment" button. This basically allows you, my beloved readers, to post a comment about something I have written, that is if you came here looking things other than naked pictures of Anna Kournikovia, Ben Afleck, or Ashleigh Banfield. So, join in on the fun- discuss, debate, or just plain old register disgust. Now I have one more thing I have to maintain, one more thing to check on everyday, and one more thing to obsess about and wonder where all my peeps are and when can I expect the gig writing for the New Yorker.

And here's today's entry (for now)-

Everyday I'm entering names into the database at work. Occasionally, I come upon a name that just plain sticks out. Like today.

One kid whose name I kept on entering had the poor misfortune to be have the last name of Stephen and to be given the first name Stephan by his lazy, uncreative, unimaginative parents. Let's hope he doesn't wind up with a girl named Stephanie.

Another kid has the name of Antonio Fuhrer. I'm sure the kid's parents are recent émigré's and don't know much better, but that last name's not gonna help the kid get very far. Among other things, he can pretty much give up running for any sort of school government position.

My favorite name comes from someone whose parents were probably a little too much into head-banging. Yes, the kid with my favorite name is Slayer Mendoza. Which, actually, does have a ring to it. If you're given that name, though, you better be able to at least live up to it. Kind of a waste of a name if the kid turns into someone who winds up joining the Chess Club.

But at least his name is much, much better than the poor kid named Bon Jovi Thompson. That's just so wrong for so many reasons.

Anyways, look for tomorrow's Unemployed-Year in Review Craptacular.

Here's a shout-out today to Ross: Dress for Less as I just discovered it, or more like finally went there for my first time to buy clothes. An unemployed person's bestest clothes store.

I went there with the desire to buy myself new interview clothes. Kind of an out with the old, in with the new/whatever I've been doing hasn't worked so far kind of thing. Plus, when I first started this whole job-huting thing, whenever I looked in the mirror and checked-out me in my interview clothes, I always thought how sharp I looked. A year later, a bunch more heavier, and with all sorts of wear and tear caused by travels on bus, train, and long walks in 90 degree weather, whenever I look at myself in a mirror before an interview these days, I think to myself that how frumpy I look. Sharp good. Frumpy bad.

One thing about buying interview clothes, though- it's nothing something that should be done when extremely hung-over and tired (damn Grotsch beer). No matter how good the clothes looked, everytime I looked in the mirror, the only thing I could think of was how much I really needed a nap.

Oh, and I saw a whole thing in the pierced/tattooed tribal look, which is saying something here in SF. He was wearing a basketball jersey which exposed his spiraly, dark green tattooes that went up and down both arms. Which is kind of normal on the tattoo thing, but he managed to somehow pierce both the front and back part of the lobe so that each drooped down like a string and were then pierced together by these huge earings, one for each ear. He also had one of those spike things in between the bridge of his nose, right between the eyes, but as I stared at his profile, I couldn't help notice that there was this greenish kind of glow coming out of his nose. It looked like there was some sort of a green, plastic object in the middle part of his nose (the septum?) made out of the same kind of material that they make platic bottles. I don't know whether or not it was put in because it's some new sort of piercing that I hadn't seen before, he had blow his septum out by doing way too much coke, or had some sort of piercing accident that made them have to construct his septum using plastic, but either way, I can't think it's a good thing when you people can catch the reflection of the sun through somebody's nose.

The nicest part of the whole look was that he was definately in his early 20's (of course) and was shopping with his wifey (girlfriend?) and four year old kid. Nice.

So the players set a strike date.

Ugh.

And do I think there'll be a strike, I'm sure you're all asking yourself?

I don't think so but the only reason I say that is because it would be one of the dumbest things ever done in the history of dumbness. We're talking Van Halen kicking out David Lee Roth dumb. We're talking David Caruso leaving "NYPD Blue" dumb. We're talking opening up a second front in Russia dumb.

Of course, if there's a strike, it'll end the agony of caring about the Giants this season and that's not such a bad thing. What an excruciatingly painful year. Everytime it looks like they're about to get on a roll, they fall apart.

Speaking of which, this whole walking Bonds things is driving me crazy. Besides the fact it's a huge problem for baseball in that it's best player has been pretty much taken out the game, I'm beginning to think that all of this is actually a detriment to the team. And not for his personality or obvious hammy problem, it's just that nobody will fucking pitch to him. It's like my softball league where you have to have women bat after a man and if the man walks, the women automatically gets a base. If someone's on base or if the game's close, Bonds gets walked. Considering he's supposed to be the big bopper, batting fourth, his inability to anything to hit is killing the Giants.

Which brings up another thing that's pissing me off. Why is everyone scared of pitching to Bonds, but nobody's afraid of pitching to Sammy? Do you think anytime would even let Barry be in a position where he could hit three three-run home runs? It's like everyone knows the Cubs suck, so they might as well pitch to him because it doesn't matter, whereas people think the Giants are good and could win, so they shouldn't pitch to Barry.

Ugh indeed.

Yes, it's what you've all been waiting for, More Fun Looking for a Job…..


Got a call for a job interview yesterday. At 6:30 last night, I got a call from someone about coming in for an interview Tuesday morning. Since I didn't get home til late, I couldn't call her back. And, of course, since she didn't call me during the day, when I check my messages, I couldn't call her during the day.

No problem, I'll just call her first thing in the morning.

Which I did.

But she's out of the office today.

Basically, I got a call early Thursday night for an Interview on Tuesday of the next week, but the person who was setting it all up is gone for one of the two days between now and then. Good to see that the person who was setting this all up was so concerned about setting up interviews that they took care of it while frantically tying up every loose end trying to race out of the door for a three-day weekend.

Here's the other whacky thing about it. She says she received my resume, as opposed to finding it posted somewhere, but I don't recall sending that company a resume. In fact, I searched the job boards to look for it and couldn't find it. There are, however, several anonymous type postings- job postings that don't mention anything about the company- and it could be one of those. Unfortunately, there's been several over the past couple of weeks and considering I've sent out about 15 resumes over the past couple of weeks, I have no idea which one is for this particular position. Since I, say, bullshitted, different elements for each job posting, I have no idea what bullshit I have to bullshit about during the interview. Regardless, I have no idea of where I'm supposed to go and who I'm supposed to talk to and the one person who does know has only one day to give me all that information.

Got a bad feeling about all of this.

All of which reminds me of another interview, years ago, during those wacky, carefree dot.com boom days. Man, someday I'm gonna write a book about all of my bad job-hunting experiences, but this could very possibly be the worst job interview I've been on. Actually, it's a tie between this and one I had two days later, but I won't get into that one.

It was with iSyndicate, one of those long gone Web sites that went down in a fiery ball of wasted millions, foosball tables, and enough juicy gossip that Fucked Company was rocking for weeks. I got a call to go for an interview, but when I went back to see what job it was, I couldn't find the resume I sent them. Totally my fuck-up. When I went to the job board to see what job it was, I noticed that they were basically doing the whole "we need to hire a bunch of people" thing and that there was more than one job posting, two of which could be what I sent my resume in for- one for editorial, the other for production.

Okay, no problem, I said to myself, I'll just go in and see how it goes. If the interview gets all editorially, I'll give them my editor schpiel. If it gets all productiony, I'll go with my production schpiel. Easy, right?

First thing that goes wrong is that while I wait for my interview, I have to fill out one of those stupid employment applications. Stupid applications. I hate filling them out because I don't know if anybody ever reads them, yet you have to fill them out anyways. Just paper-work for HR, I guess. On the form, however, they ask what position I was applying for. Ooops. So I guessed and wrote one of the two. Nobody looks at them anyways, right?

Then the interview starts. It's with the manager of the department, a timorous, meek woman in her early thirties who reminded me way too much of one of my old timorous, meek bosses. She starts asking me about me being an editor and all sorts of editorial questions, so I go with my editorial schpiel. Which went really well until she said that it I was supposed to bei interviewing for a production position.

So I back up, and start in with my production schpiel, hoping to save myself Don't do such a bad job either, but things aren't looking good. It's not my fault she's conducting a lousy interview, or so I say to myself.

Then there's another problem. It was for a dot.com, as I said, one of those that didn't really do anything that could be explained. Which is probably why it's no longer around anymore. Don’t know how many of you have had to interview for jobs like this, but what it meant was that I had spend most of my interview trying to figure out just what exactly the job was and what the company did. Little did anyone know then that that's not a good sign, but back then, nobody thought that was a big deal. I spent a good half an hour saying things like "oh, I get it. It's like this" only to be told that I was close, but it's more like something else. Then I'd say "oh, now I get it" and on and on it went.

The person I've been talking to says she's done with me and wants me to meet up with the person who I'd be working with, nominally the person who would be my boss. Down comes this 24 year old girl (who, as I said would be my boss) and as she looks at my resume, notices that I work at a certain department at a certain company and asks me if I knew them. I do. Turns out she's roommates with someone in my department.

Now first off, this means I'm kind of busted. Since you're not supposed to let people who you're working at know you're interviewing elsewhere, the cat just got let out of the bag. Somebody's gonna know what I'm up to.

But that's not the big problem. Not even close. The big problem was that I had a huge crush on said roommate and asked them out not more than month prior, only to be turned down and given the "friends" speech. And now I'm interviewing with her roommate. Yeah, San Francisco is a really small town, sometimes too small. The first thing that went through my mind was the realization that this girl knew who I was without knowing who I was yet. The second thing that went through my mind was how humiliating it feels to be in the middle of this disastrous interview and that someone who just rejected me is going to find out all the nitty-gritty details of it.

Needless to say, it took a full bottle of wine to recover from the whole experience.

And in the darkness, a light. Faint and distant it shines, making it's way through the darkness to shine just a little light on a world that's grown so cold....

Yep, another possible job interview (two even). Ironically, with a video game company ("Yes, I love playing with video games. In fact, that's all I do with my life, play video games. I live for video games"). As excited as I am about a possible job, I'm almost as curious to see just what horrible, evil thing will happen this time. Considering that it involves schlepping down to Redwood City (is anyone in SF hiring?), I'm sure it'll be a doozy.

By this point, whenever I go into an interview, I'm half expecting to see an albino banjo player in a tree plucking up some "Dueling Banjo's" as I walk into the office.

Soooeey!

Wearing total Squeeky Shoes today. Just walked down the whole of the office on my way to the bathroom and every single
co-worker turned to see what was making that racket they were hearing.

I guess it could be worse. I once was wearing one of those new-fangled type sneakers that are all puffed up on air. Somehow, a little pin-prick of a hole was made on the bottom of them and everytime I walked around, you could hear this whistling sound. The entire office could hear me everytime I got up to walk around. They were brand new shoes too, but I had to get rid of them because they were too fucking noisy.

Saw this bumper sticker today coming back from the Temp job:
"Don't blame me, I voted for Kodos"

Get it? Get it?

It's funny, n'est pas?

Uh, nevermind. It’s a Simpsonsreference, a Homer quote from the Halloween Episode from way back in '96. Guess you had to be there. I thought it was funny.

Anyways, I stumbled upon the "Kevin Smith Character Personality Test" one day and took a crack at it. How could you not love Kevin Smith movies?

The first time I took it, I came out as Dante, the poor, hapless convenience store clerk in Clerks. According to the site, I'm "definitely the most uptight and anal-retentive of your friends. You get too jealous over little things."

That doesn't sound so hot. On the other hand, I can kind of see a similarity between the easily peeved clerk and easily peeved little ole me. And I can definately understand his famous lament- "I wasn't even supposed to be here….." How true, how true.

Still, looking for a better result, I took it a second time and got God, God from Dogma. Much, much better. I guess I was in a mellower mood that day. According to the site I'm "the quietest and most respected of the Kevin Smith Characters. Although many people wouldn't believe it, you are very silly and love practical jokes."

Picture me as Kevin Spacey in American Beauty walking around saying, "I am God." On the other hand, that also means I'm Alanis Morrisette.

I had hoped to come out as Banky from Chasing Amy because he was my favorite- cynical, nasty, and a great tracer. Guess I'm not enough of a comic fan-boy to get match personalities, though. My disapointment with the outcome didn't last long until I read the personality trait and discovered that as part of my personality, I'm supposed to be in love with Ben Afleck.

I am not Banky.

Speaking of which, in a strange turn, I'm now getting more hits for people searching for Ben Afleck info than Anna Kournikovia info. What is it with this guy? It's not just all the hits I'm getting about him, it's the whole Gwyneth followed by J-Lo thing. I just don't get it.

And to those people who are looking for naked pictures of Ashliegh Banfield, ick. I got two hits about her in one day.

What a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world it is when I find myself agreeing with Patrick Buchanan.

Dear God.

Okay, I think it's time to finally come out and admit the obvious- Pop-Up Ads fucking suck.

Anyways, took some time tonight from doing anything productive and added a new essay to my poor, neglected Web site. It's about how much I hate '80's nostalgia. They sucked the first time, so why do we have to relive them again?

Also tweaked the front page around a bit and added a much, much better photo than I had up there originally. Someday, I'll get my Web site up and running. Somewhere in that mythical future when I get a job, lose ten pounds, and figure out my fantasy football picks.

Someday....

Let's see, what to say about XXX…..

I think I know why it's getting mainly really good reviews. I think it's because most reviewers are either oldish or completely unhip (my brother told the Wall Street Journal loved it) and they think that this movie is so hip that they have to like it because if they didn't, they'd show how unhip they are. "Look, the guy's gut a shaved head and tatooes and snowboards, and the soundtrack is all metal tunes and techno, the kid's are gonna love it!"

Well, I may be oldish and not as hip as I used to be (that is if I was ever really that hip at all), but I’m secure enough in my oldishness and unhipness to think that it's still a pretty dumb movie. Even fairly bad at certain points. Oh, it's enjoyable and kind of fun to watch, but only for the same reasons that Point Break and are. And XXX is nowhere near up to their level. Not even close.

As for the kids? Well, at one point, a bunch of people cheered "yeah!" when XXX said something defiantly and with attitude. On the other hand, after an unbelievably over the top action sequence (way over the top), there was a couple of seconds of silence, and then a whole bunch of people started laughing. Not laughing with it, but laughing at it. As the coup de grace, some guy yelled "Way to go Vinnie!"

And yeah, I kind of like Vin. When he's not trying to hard to be cool, he is kind of cool. As for whether or not he's got himelf a Gen-Y James Bond, I thought the character was just maybe a tad bit too much more Poochie the Dog than 007.

Nicolas Cage marries Elvis' daughter Lisa Marie in Hawaii

This is just ick. Ickedy ick, ick ick. It's not just that he's marrying someone who was romantically attached to Michael Jackson, but married too. Even worse, someone who slept with Michael Jackson. He's doing things and sticking things into places that Michael Jackson has also been.

Sorry for that visual, but, ick!

This is like the Seinfeld episode where Jerry winds up breaking up with someone because he finds out she she dated Newman, only hundred times worse because it's MICHAEL JACKSON.

Do you think that Nic Cage has ever been in a situation with her where she's told him something like "You know, Michael liked me to dress up like a boy and sing "Ben" to him...."

ICK!!!!!!!

Something weird happened today on the Radio. The DJ at Live 105 must have gone nuts or something cause he actually stopped playing what he was supposed to play and put on what he wanted to play. And I know he wasn't faking it because after he played that song by the Hives (which I love), he played a few seconds of the new Chili Peppers song (which I like too), but then stopped it after a few seconds and announced that he wanted to hear more from the Hives and put on another song by them. He did the same thing later that night with the Offspring, where he started one song, stopped it, then put on another, less popular track.

I didn't even know you could do that on radio anymore. I thought it was all handled by a computer somewhere in Dallas or something like that. And is he even allowed too? You just can't do that on the radio anymore. Everything's so preprogrammed and market tested and locked in. Doesn't he know he has to play every popular song over and over again until we're all violently sick of them?

For some reason, I get this vision of the DJ sitting there, switching songs for the third time, when all of a sudden, the DJ booth gets overrun by the Radio Station Secret Police, coming into the booth all SWAT team like. Once in, they shoot him up with tranquilizers and drag him off to some kind of DJ re-programming booth to brainwash him back into playing only what they tell him to play. "Ve have vays of making you play that 'I Know You're Out There' song all day and you must pretend that you like that, yah'"

Anyways, for what it's worth, I love the new Elvis track, "A Little Less Conversation." Uh-huh.

To add to the fabulousity of last Tuesday, I had a run in the White Whale (see earlier blog entry). Got onto the 1 California on the way to see a doctor and as I stepped up and into the aisle, I saw her staring at me from the back of the bus. Caught like the proverbial deer-in-the-headlights, I stopped right where I was and sat down at the first seat I could find. Didn't have the balls to go where I usually go, the back of the bus.

Who is the White Whale? The White Whale is basically your arch-enemy, your nemesis, your foe. They're the one who you've vowed that when they die, you'll dance on they'll grave. Everyone has one. They're the person who whenever you bump into them, you'll either glare at each other or go way out of the way to pretend you don't see each other. You'll see them in a bar and you'll ignore each other. Or you run into them at a BART stop and once you see each other, you make damn sure that you go to completely different sides of the station.

And, by the way, it's SO not my doing.

See, San Francisco is a pretty small town, the kind of town where you always run into people, no matter how much you might not want to run into them. This is especially true if you live here long enough, like I have, and if you spend a majority of that time single. No matter how nice of a person you are and how hard you try not to acquire an enemy, you can bet your bottom dollar that you'll still have at least one or two. Some people even have more than one (I'm pretty sure my White Whale does). And it doesn't necessarily have to be someone of the opposite sex (or shall I say, the sex of which you are attracted to), but it's someone you hate beyond all reason, even if the thing happened years ago. And the feeling is usually mutual.

And I saw mine on Tuesday, at one of the worst possible moments. There I was, all pissy and angry because of the whole job/don't play video games debacle and as I hop on the bus I see her, the White Whale. What a perfect topper to it all, seeing the last person in the world you want to see on a day like that.

It's actually the second time I've run into her over the past couple of weeks. I usually run into her about four or five times a year, but I seem to be on a roll lately. Again, something that happens when you live in this city for a long time, frequent the same places and live a couple of blocks away from each other (or at least did cause I think she's moved somewhere else).

I'm so good at noticing her even that I can even spot her blocks away, usually by her hunched over walk and big blonde hair. Something that helps because I know when to get out of the way. Whether she does the same stuff with me, I don't know for sure, but I'm guessing it is because it's not like she's acknowledged my existence the past six years or so. She's done a pretty good job of running to the other side of the street too. The last time I saw her, though, I walked right past her, partly to make sure it was her, but partly to make sure she knew I was still here. Marking my territory, like. Letting her know I'm still here

I had heard once that she had moved to New York after almost losing her job, but I guess she's back. Lucky me. And yeah, It's definitely one of the sucky things about living in a city like SF, knowing that at any moment, the White Whale can be blowin on by.

Riddle me this, Batman-

When you interview for a job and are told that they won't hire you for that job, but want to bring you back for another job because they think that you'll be a perfect fit, and you then interview you for that job, but get dicked around for months upon months, get offered some free-lance work that never comes through, and contacted everytime they started hiring for that position again, then finally brought in for another interview (the third) when they're really really serious about hiring that position, at what point do you suddenly become a "bad fit"? And not for the whole job, per se, but just for the second round of interviews.

I should of known too the eternal truth about things like this- never, ever trust a hot chick.

Oh yeah, all this fun- the losing a job because I don't play video games and the losing of a job in which I've been dicked around for a year, all happened within one week.

Pretty good, eh?

Remember, folks, I'm a professional. Do not try this at home.

Random musings while watching TV this morning, lying in bed….

It looks like CNN is doing something called "Elvis Week" this week, in honor of the 25th Anniversary of the King's ignominious death on his throne. So, for the whole week, they're running stories about Elvis and his still enduring legacy. Maybe CNN should start doing week-long stories about things like "Iraq- do we really want to do this?" or "The President- why after the one of the worst years in America's History, is he even healthier than he was before?" Or how about this: "CNN- how much lower can we go?"

Then I saw George Will on ABC's "This Week" show giving tribute to Elvis. Riiiighhht. Like George Will listens or ever listened to Elvis. We're talking about one of the dorkiest, whitest, unhippest, people in the world. We're talking a man with absolutely no Elvis in him talking about how great Elvis was. I mean, could you imagine George Will ever, ever, ever getting down, let alone Taking Care of Business (in a flash). Shut up, George.

Finally, then I caught one of those Southern-fried, Redneck, Jeeeeesus praising preacher shows. Doing his part to help everyone get together and try to love one another right now, he was sermonizing about how the Koran proves that Islam is an evil, violent religion. He was basically taking quotes from the Koran, saying them out loud, and telling his flock "aha, this proves those Moslems are bad people," with the hinted suggestion underneath that there can't be peace until we turn them from their evil religion and Chrisitianize them. Because if you looked at every word in the Old and New Testament, there's absolutely no violent imagery or calls for violence. Nope, nosiree, Bob.

It seems to be contagious too as there's a big throw-down in North Carolina over the teaching of a book that tries to explain the Koran. Apparently, some Southern-fried, Redneck, Jeeeeesus praiser thinks it's not right to teach something about another religion teaching too what it's extremists believe in.

Anyways, the preacher was going on and on about how evil Islam' was and how it's history was proof of their evil ways. Again, with that underlying idea that their history shows how superior they, as Peace-loving Jeeeeeesssus lovers, are. As if throughout it's history, Christianity has been nothing but a modicum of non-violence, peace and goodwill towards mankind.

Let's play a game, shall we? Which religion is responsible for the Crusades, the Inquisition, the Programs, the Reformation and all the whackiness that came about as a result of it, the murder of millions indigenous peoples, the destruction of thousands of indigenous cultures, anti-semitism, segregation, and the Holocaust?

Aye Carumba.

Here's an interesting government edict-

FCC pushes digital TV adoption


Gosh, that's so nice of the U.S. Government, to mandate that in a few years, TV makers will have to sell us top of the line, super-improved TV's. It's good that they're taking care of the little things like that.

Question, though. Isn't the Republican Party supposed to be all anti-regulation and free market? Wouldn't they be, say, opposed to Government edicts saying that a certain industry has to make their products a certain way. Wouldn't that mean a lack of choice? And wouldn't that mean that the costs of TV's could go up, which, according to the usual Republican logic, mean that people would buy less TV's and jobs would be lost?

Strange how that works, the government passing some ruling like that. You wouldn't happen to think that campaign money and heavy lobbying would have anything to do that, now would you?

And isn't it nice to know that while our government refuses to pass a law saying that SUV's have to have higher gas mileage sometime in the next decade, our government is mandating that we all get nice, shiny TV's?

In what seems like a long, long time ago, Barry Bonds was stuck at 499 and I had tickets to an upcoming game. The night before I had tickets, Boom! #500.

A little after a year later, Bonds is stuck at 599 and once again I have tickets for an upcoming game. The night before I have tickets, Boom! #600.

D'oh!

And how typical too is that the night he does it, the Giants still lose. Frickin' Giants are killing me this season.

Don't you love when a friend of yours, a friend you haven't talked to in awhile and, in fact, have pretty much written off due to their flakiness, suddenly-out of the blue- sends you one of those forwarded e-mail jokes? Not only that, but one that's like two years old and you've seen at least twenty times?

It's like, "gee, thanks for not having enough time for calling me back, but I appreciate you taking the time to clog up my inbox like that."

Grrrr......

Graffiti spied while walking back from work- "Bush Depresses Me."

Speaking of which, here's some quick takes on the news before we get back to the doom and gloom….


Briefing Depicted Saudis as Enemies

Oh, screw it. Let's just cut right to the chase and send the entire army to Syria first and then have it work it's way round from Lebanon, down to Palestine, to Egypt and Saudi Arabia then up north to Iran and Iraq. There, that'll take care of all of our problems.

There's a lot of talk in Academic Circles and Think Tanks about how we're an Empire and how, gosh darnit, empires are kind of cool. Which is the kind of fun argument you get in Think Tanks and Republican cocktail parties. And you know what? The argument does have some merit. Certainly, both the English and Roman Empires had their good points in "apart from the sanitation, the medicine, education, wine, public order, irrigation, roads, a fresh water system, and public health, what have the Romans ever done for us?" kind of way. On the other hand, I don't think anyone would consider the Spanish Empire, Babylonian Empire or Aztec Empire as something that advanced the cause of humanity. They did, however, kill lots of people. Either way, if we are gonna play Empire, sweeping through an entire continent is something Empires do. That's how they become Empires.

By the way, have you noticed that the people who are the most gung-ho about going into Iraq are either not of age to fight or never was actually in the military?

Leaks probe: FBI wants polygraphs for lawmakers

While I think this is just lame and unconstitutional and all that, especially for such a whatever type thing, it's not a bad idea when, say, it's used during an election. Or on one of those shows like Hardball where everyone's screaming at each other. In fact, during an election or on a TV show, whenever a politician speaks, not only should they hook him up to a lie detector, they should hook them up to one of those Behavior Modification type thingies You know, the thing that shocks people whenever they do something they're not supposed to do. That way, whenever a politician lies, they'll get shocked.

Just imagine how much fun a debate would be then.



Pistol fires accidentally at reception for Georgia's Rep. Bob Barr; no one injured

Damnit.


Simon's business savvy missing from deposition
He shows little grasp of deal's details

At this point, Gray Davis could be caught having an affair with an underage male intern and he'd still win the election. Yay?


By the way, I've argued here and elsewhere that one of my problems with the left is that they're too busy protesting and having Lady Fest's to actually do anything that'll lead to any sort of change. In other words, as the right uses the system to affect change, the left thinks it's wrong to use the system and so doesn't affect anything other than keeping patchouli vendors in business. Anyways, here's a long article pretty kind of arguing my point:

Dems' Fightin' Words
Democrats debate policy quite nicely. But until they embrace politics, become proud partisans and figure out who they are, they will be continually clobbered.

Finally heard back from one of the places I interviewed with, the one where I spent half the interview talking about such important job-related things as Buffy and Manchester United. Didn't get the job

First of all, I'd like to give them a tip of the hat for actually calling me and leaving a message to let me know what's up. That's more than I can say for most places I've talked to, and we're talking huge places with good rep's like Oracle and Dolby (rat bastards).

They were even nice enough to give me an explanation about why I didn't get the job. See, the company that I interviewed for does gaming magazines, for things like the X-Box and PlayStation. Turns out that while I had "great experience" and "gave a really good interview," I'm unfortunately not a gamer. Guess they thought that sknowing about video games would be of importance for a job that's pretty much just making sure that all the ads for said magazine show up in time. In other words, something in which someone who wouldn't know what the fuck an X-Box is could do because it doesn't have any importance whatsoever on the job. And I should know because I spent like three years doing the exact same thing for a magazine called Printed Circuit Design.

So, basically three and a half years experience doing the exact same job and over eight years of Project Coordinating experience meant nothing because I don't go home everyday, do bong hits, and play Tomb Raider.

In other words, I lost out on a job because because I don't play video games.

Fuck me.

Don't know if I posted this yet, but if I did I'm sorry. It's Monday, what can I say?

Last week, the local Socialist Party (you'd be surprised how many of them there are) had a fund-raiser/keg party. They opened up their party headquarters, hired a couple of DJ's, grabbed a few Oppressed People Poets to read poetry about being oppressed, and threw themselves a fund-raiser. Total kegger, dude. Or, comrade. Whatever.

Kind of sorry I didn't stop by 'cause I'm kind of curious as to what a party for the Socialist Party would be like. You'd figure, of course, that because they are all Socialists and trying to raise money for the Cause, they'd throw a party that would be slightly Socialist in it's bent. Since it's a party and not a factory, the whole means of production doesn't really matter, but there are things that could still apply. Socialism is, after all, all about share and share alike and how everyone shouldn't have more than other people. Because people having more than other people is, of course, a bad (bad) thing.

So, I'm wondering, for instance, is if there's a rule about bringing alcohol. Like how you wouldn't be allowed to bring something unless you have enough for everyone. Say you bring a six-pack of Zima (although I don't think Zima would be very popular with the Socialist set, but you never know). If you only share it with your friends, it's unfair to all the people who didn't bring Zima. They aren't able to share what you brought. And if you only bring some for yourself and put it in a fridge for everyone, what happens when it runs out? If someone who wanted the Zima didn't get one, that would be wrong. Because why should they be penalized for, say, not being as fast a drinker as other people. Or having to wait in a long line for the bathroom. Or not being fast enough to drink it.

And what about if someone hooks up and gets together with someone after the party. Is that fair to all the people who didn't hook up and score with somebody? Maybe the person who hooked up is good looking or a good scammer? Is that fair to the not good looking or scamming challenged? What makes one a good scammer or good-looking, is, of course, a social construct so it's unfair for those who society deems as unhookupable to be put down by those who would reject them.

And could you imagine the debate about what type of keg to get? Subcommittees upon subcommittees. Somebody would want Sierra, but somebody would be opposed because Sierra has been bought out by Budweiser (I don't know if it has been, but just go with me here). So someone might suggest, oh, Guiness, but somebody would say that they couldn't because Guinness say gives money to companies that chop down trees in the Rain Forrest. And don't even get me started on who makes kegs…….

This conversation actually happened (or something like it) over the weekend-

Person #1 (said as beater car- "the Hoopty Hoop" was climbing up the hills on Highway 1):
Dude, you know someday I better get the brakes on this car fixed cause they're not working so great.
Person #2: Good thing you mentioned it as we're climbing up this hill.
Person #1: Well, I'm just warning you in case, you know, we die or something.
Person #2: Uhhh, no. There's no fucking way you're killing me now, dude, it's just a month til the Soprano's starts up again…

More Fear and Loathing on the Job-Hunting Trail…..

Yet another thing to look out for when interviewing- The Interview with the (Really) Really Hot Chick.

Be afraid. Very afraid.

It was at the place that's been dicking me around for at least a year now. I was out in their sort of lobby, waiting for the guy who I'm supposed to talk to come and get me cause he was late, as usual. I was stuck there doing the always fun sitting-in-the-lobby-while-half-the-office-walks-by-and-asks-me-if-I've-been helped. That's when I first saw her. Blonde hair and ruby-red lips, Jessica Rabbit body, high heels and colorfully tight clothing. One of the hottest women I've ever seen that didn't involve someone handing over a $20. From the very first moment I saw her, I knew she was trouble. I know what havoc a woman like that can cause in an office- guys stopping right in the middle of doing something to gaze, all the Alpha Males in the office competing for her attention with all the rapt attention they give to the Office NCAA Tourney Pool, and I'm not even gonna get into what could happen at an office party. Let's just say it could get ugly. Very ugly.

Either way, I'm pretty sure someone in HR could probably compute some statistic pointing out how much time had been lost by male's either staring at her, flirting with her, or outright hitting on her. In fact, I'm pretty sure the only reason she got hired was because her boss is gay and had no idea what a woman who looked like that could do to an office.

Anyways, the guy finally comes and we go an office room for the interview, or whatever it is considering the fact we've already done the whole interview spiel. He talks and talks and talks, I get a word in when I can just to get a word in, and then he announces that he wants me to meet with someone I'd have to be working with. And that's when he leaves the office and calls for the next person to interview me.

It was her.

Interviewing is hard enough, but now I have all sorts of new obstacles to deal with. Let's just say it's all about focusing and saying to myself over and over again things like "don't stare" and "for God sakes, don't drool." It's hard enough keeping my train of thought during an interview without also having a Skinemax movie running through my head. This can be awfully hard to do when she's right in front of me, talking to me and giving me all her attention. Not to mention when she, at one point, leans over to give me her business card. It's almost like they threw a test at me to see how well I can handle pressure while having all sorts of distractions thrown at me. Did I mention how tight her sleeveless camaflouge t-shirt was?

As tricky as this can be, there are certain good things about this situation. I don't care what state the male may be in, but when they're in a situation like I was, the guys' gonna try and do some sort of flirting. It's just a primal instinct thing, a natural reflex. Can't be helped. No guy wouldn't get a little flash when she says "let me give you my business card" or laughs at your jokes. So, even though I needed to get a job and she was way out of my league, not to mention recently married, that little voice in the back of my head was saying things to me like "flash that great charm of yours and in no time, you'll have yet another woman who'll love you as a friend and tell you how cool you are while they sleep with everyone else in the office." So after being all drippy and kind of pissy during the first interview, I was now, umm, up.

Anyways, I think I've passed the first round of the process and will probably make it to the next round. What can I say, she wanted me.

Man, is it me or does it seem like there's more and more ads on the TV for drugs? They all show people running around with their children, talking about their ailments and how the drug helped them with their ailments, followed by about fifteen seconds of all sorts of nasty things that the drugs may cause. Some of them actually seem useful (like the cholestoral stuff). Some of them might be useful (Propecia). Some of them I have no idea what they're for. And then there's this one, for Lamisil that I caught today.

What great ailment does Lamisil claim to solve? Toe nail fungus.

Yes, toe-nail fungus.

Apparently, there's this fungus that gets on your toe-nails and makes them look off-color. This is a bad thing.

So, we get the ad. In the ad, a bunch of normal, well-adjusted white people are shown being active and as we see them doing normal, well-adjusted white people type things, we get a voice-over of how they woke up one day and found out that their usually pearly white toe-nails were now no longer pearly white. After summoning up every ounce of courage that they had, they asked the doctor what was causing this problem and told to try Lamisil.

This is followed by all the people in the ads talking about what a difference Lamisil made and how happier and fulfilling their lives are. As we hear this, we get shots of all the people in the commercial running around barefoot- in their office, at home, out in the yard- with close-ups of their wonderfully fungi-free toe nails.

And, oh, by the way, it could cause liver damage, but what's a little liver damage when your toe-nails are perfect.

Once again, I'd like to thank the wonderful people out there who've come up with some new thing we're all supposed to worry about and then giving us something that miraculously cures these new ailments. Meanwhile, AIDS is ravaging most of the Third-World, but we here in America can get cheap anti toe-nail fungus pills.

Thank you Lamisil. Thank you.

Walking across Valencia today, a crazy-homeless guy stared at me while I was walking towards him at the crosswalk. As we passed, he cocked his arm up and bitch-slapped the air between him and I. I knew he wasn't taking a swipe at me, but whenever I see some dude looking a little crazy, giving me a stare and then cocking an arm in my general direction, I get a little jumpy. Excuse me.

Actually, that wasn't the worst scare I've had on the street. A couple of weeks ago, some crazy-homeless guy was working on his Tae Kwon Do moves in the reflection of a used book store and his foot missed my head by a couple of inches. Again, a foot coming out of nowhere that misses my head by a couple of inches is something that tends to give me a little jolt.

And lately, I've been seeing people walk up to the infamous public bathroom at 16th & Mission, knock on the door and either ask if someone's in there or ask to be let in. My guess too is that there not coming by to check on Jimmy because Jimmy ate some Mexican food that was a little too spicy.

I think I speak for everyone in this not so fair city, but Jesus Frickin' Christ people, can we do something about the homeless?

I'm so tired, I haven't slept a wink
I'm so tired, my mind is on the blink

How tired am I? I screwed up buying a BART ticket today because I spent about five minutes trying to put a dollar bill in the wrong slot. Luckily, someone nicely told me which slot I should put the money in (the one with the big huge "Put Here" sign and an image of a dollar bill next to it) and I was able to get my ticket. Which means that I was one of those stupid people who holds everyone up because I can't figure out how to work the BART ticket machine and considering what I say to myself when I find myself being held up in line by some bonehead, I can only imagine what they were saying about me. If anyone one of you is reading this, I'm sorry.

Speaking of BART, was on my way back from my big interview yesterday and saw a father/son combo. The son had to be between 2-3 and not only had a buzz-cut going, but a tail too. And not just any tail, the kind that starts at the center point of the back of the head and goes down the back of the neck, as if he grew his hair out and then just shaved everything around it.

Will someone please think of the children!

Suprisingly, the father was wearing a Raiders cap. Imagine that, a white-trash Raiders fan.

At work (which I'm not at today, but that's another story), everything I enter gets recorded and counted. At the end of the day, I post everything I've entered and somewhere the information gets recorded and reports are generated. Where it goes, I have no idea, but I'm pretty sure that it goes somewhere.

On a good day, I enter over 600 names. That's about one every 45 seconds. Which is pretty good, I guess, considering I have a habit of coming in late, taking long lunches and reading both ESPN.com and the NY Times online. I have no idea if their keeping track of who does what and how much we do and if they're looking for a specific number. Most data entry type places do. It is the only way they can tell if somebody's actually doing the work and if they're doing a good job. The whole data entry sweat-shop thing.

I have no idea what numbers they're looking for at work, or if they even care, but I'm kind of sure my numbers are pretty low. Or at least, a lot less than others. It's not that they can type faster than me- I kick fucking butt when I'm in a data entering groove- but I also have a habit of being all fidgety and getting up from my desk a lot (see comments about reading all of ESPN.com). I think I'm okay, though, because I have worked there before and they wanted me back. And my boss doesn't seem to care about much or notice.

But still, I wonder.

There are days, however, where my numbers are really low. Like in the 400's. And while it can be related to, say, longer lunches than usual, it's usually because what I have to enter is hard to enter. A lot of times the handwriting is really hard to read and I can't enter anything because I can't make anything out. Or they have a really anal-retentive nurse who uses ever code possible and so I have to switch in and out of different screens.

When it's really low, I get worried they might actually notice that my numbers aren't as great as the others and so I feel like I have to defend myself. It's not me, I want to say, I'm not really slacking off that much. It's the information. The information isn't good.

I'm Jack Lemmon in Glengary Glenn Ross complaining to Kevin Spacey about the leads.

It's not me, it's the leads…….