Here's the start of a brand new, occasional feature

Ten things I Don't Get in Music

These are things that I don't necessarily dislike, nor necessarily hate, just thing of which popularity or appeal I absolutely completely don't get.

1)Nickleback
2)the Red Hot Chili Pepper's "Give It Away"
3)80's music nostalgia
4)Steely Dan
5)Why the same 5 or 6 Pink Floyd songs get played over and over again and people still want to here them
6)Why, out all the good Alice in Chains songs', the only that gets played is "Man in a Box"
7)That David Gray tune ("Avalon")
8)Why people care about Aerosmith
9)Why DJ's think it's more important that they talk over the music than actually playing the music. Like anything a DJ could say is infinitely more engaging than say the intro to Baby O'Reilly
10)Why the Bone thinks it's really cool that bands they play on their station are about to play at Konocti Harbor or a county fair. Shouldn't that tell them something?

There are mysteries in the universe. Deep, unfathomable, unknowing mysteries that neither science nor religion can explain. Things that defy all the known laws of physics and nature, of theology and philosophy.

After seeing a preview for Daredevil the latest comic-book turned cinematic epic starring Ben Afleck, I'm pretty sure that one of those mysteries has to be the idea that Ben Afleck is an action hero. The fact that he's a star is pretty unfathomable, but action hero?

I haven't seen Good Will Hunting, but I'm pretty sure the only good movie Ben's been in have been Kevin Smith flicks and in those movies, he's playing a smug, arrogant jerks. I'm pretty sure that's all he's good for.

Luis Castillo?

Did have this long entry about something planned, but…..

Woke up in a really blah mood. One of those can't get out of bed, no way you're making it to the gym, you're gonna be lucky if you even have the motivation to take a shower kind of moods. Not to mention one of those "you know, moving back home isn't such a bad idea" kind of moods.

After finally dragging myself out of bed, getting coffee and the paper, I decided what I needed to do most was to get back in touch with the good-side of being unemployed. The fun, I don't have anything to do and I can do whatever the hell I want to do part. Which yeah, means trying to stay up all night to watch some World Cup (something which wasn't gonna be as easy as I thought it would be, not that staying up watching soccer would be that easy anyways). And it means doing something fun during the day. And what could possibly be more fun to do during the day? Seeing Star Wars again. This time on the Digital Screen. And since I needed some exercise and felt guilty for bailing on the gym, not to mention feeling that the ole buddah belly was getting more buddhaish, I decided I was going to ride my bike to the Metreon. That'll cheer me up.

Ever since my back became aichey, I haven't been riding nearly as much as I used to or should be and I wanted to get back into the biking thang. Get back to where I used to be, when I'd fly everywhere in the city on my wheels. And yeah, riding back and forth to the Metreon isn't really that much of a work out, but it's a start and hopefully, I'd enjoy it so much I'd start getting back into the groove of it all.

So 2:00 rolls around and I grab my bike, drag it down three flights of stairs and bike away, only stopping to go to the gas station because it had been such a long time that I had ridden it that my tires were totally out of air. Locked up my bike safe and secure (something I was SO good at doing because I've already had two bikes stolen), then went off to watch me some Star Wars, Digital style.

Was gonna write about what I thought about it the second time around, about how Lucas is right about digital film and how that much more impressive it looked, and about how the plot really sucks and how much better it could and should have been, but no. Because that's not what the point of this whole thing is.

See, when the movie ended, I strolled outside and headed towards the Metreon garage. The wind was kicking up and blowing right in my face and I thought about how it always seemed in this city that the wind was always blowing in your face. No matter what direction you were travelling, the wind was always in the way, especially when it's late, and the ride home would be a huge slog of a ride. It was looking like one of those slogs of a ride home.

But I didn't have to worry about it. No sirrreee. Didn't have to worry about the wind at all. Why? Because MY BIKE GOT FUCKING STOLEN. AGAIN.

While the previous times my bike was stolen it was partially my fault, or at least badly handled a bad card dealt, this one wasn't my fault. I was so careful, so good. I knew what I had to do. I even stayed awhile longer after locking it to make sure it was good and locked. The lock was fine. No problem there. It was just that the fuckers who stole it just basically CUT RIGHT THROUGH THE LOCK.

Kind of bloody ironic too, what with it being the first times in months I had taken it out and how it was gonna be the day I was gonna get my biking groove on. Too fucking ironic if you ask me.

So now I'm down three bikes in this city. Pitching an ohfer. All of this wouldn't be such a problem, of course, if it wasn't for the fact that I'm also FUCKING UNEMPLOYED. I can barely afford to pay my bills let alone buy another fucking bike. Not to mention had just had a hellacious past week where I lost two jobs bang bang. Or had a fucking miserable year and a half and just when I thought that the clouds were clearing, the sun was about to shine, and I was having things to sing about, the Man put me down again.

AAAAAAACCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!

Somewhere in hell, right below where the spammers and telemarketers are, but right above the plane filled with suicide bombers and lobbyists, is a special place reserved just for bike thieves. And oh, it's an awful place. With Celine Dion's version of "You Shook Me All Night Long" played on endless 24-hour loop. And with all sorts of nasty beasties and hell-flames flaming away. Like something out of a Boesch painting. That's where bike thieves go. And spend eternity being stretched out on a huge bike wheel while being endlessly whipped by the souls of those whose bikes they have stolen. And…..and….and…

Well I wish I could come up with a funnier thing to say about what happens to bike thieves but I'm too fucking pissed right now.

At least I don't have to worry about the bike continually scuffing up my white walls or taking up too much space in my tiny studio.


Goddamnfuckingsonofabitch, JesusfuckingChrist.

This just happened.....

I was online, wading into the great Cara debate (Ho or not a ho? Pathetic little snot or a sadly screwed up nice girl whose keeping it real) when I get disconnected. It was a phone call. Sometimes when I get a phone call, I get disconnected and sometimes I don't. This time I got disconnected.

When my phone-line is completely clear, I check my message. The message goes almost exactly like this:

"Hi my name is (static) and I'm trying to (static, followed by my name) and I'm calling about (static, static and more static). Please give me a call back at (static)888 (static and more static)35. That number is again (More and more static) 935."

So I'm thinking it could be about a job. Sounds like it's a job related call. Who else would it be? I didn't recognize the voice and it had the feeling of a job related phone call. Except instead of calling from say an office phone, it sounds like she called me from her cell phone while fucking going through the Caldecott Tunnel. And unless she realized that the entire gist of the phone conversation was lost due to static, I'm probably not going to hear from her again. Most HR people don't call people back a second time if it's about a job, figuring that if they don't call back once, they're probably not interested and they shouldn't waste their time.

Aaaaaaaaack.......................................

Why do the gods mock me so?

It happened. My dream moment arrived. Just as I had I wanted it to.

As I was sitting there in The Worst Laundrymat in San Francisco, reading how every columnist in the SF Bay Guardian somehow managed to mention that they got laid last week (I'm so happy for them), the owner walked in. It was go time.

Here was the moment I was waiting for. The moment I could ask for all the money back that I've spent because the machine's were either not working or barely working, the kvetching I could do about all the time I had lost having to constantly put money in the dryers because they barely dried anything, and the pointing of my recently ruined cool-ass, totally blue, Skeecher sneaks. I had even consulted with a laywerly type about the possibility of going to small claims court to get my quarters back and about whether I should sue the Laundrymat owner, the washing machine makers or the Bleach makers over my cool-ass, totally blue, Skeecher sneaks.

But I, of course, didn't do anything.

He walked in, jovially said hi to me, asked me how I was doing, and all I could say was "fine" and left it at that.

Yes, I'm a puss. What can I say? The owner's actually a really nice guy and when he's in there, always tries to help out. He's an immigrant too, and a small business owner, trying to carve out his piece of the American Dream and I'm sure that running a laundrymat on 16th & Valencia is not the easiest thing in the world to do.

Still not going back.

Because Blogging is supposed to be the wave of the future in news reporting and render old media completely useless (like the Web was supposed to have done), I'm gonna do my best to join in on the revolution.

In that vein of helping start the revolution, here's two articles I read today while not doing something important like looking for work for work that I'm gonna pass along

Maureen Dowd's column in the NY Times today is about how Bush's handlers are getting cocky again and once again trying to let it be known to reporters just how intellectually with it Smirkboy really is. Apparently, besides staying up til bedtime discussing Cicero, Tocqueville, Adam Smith (among others) with his staff, Condi Rice recently told reporters that she had just given Smirkboy Doestevsky's Crime and Punishment to read. No comment on whether or not he read it. Or was upset to find that it wasn't an engaging read discussing all the great and fun ways of executing people.

Again, when your handlers have to bend over backwards to try and make people believe someone's not an idiot, you're probably dealing with an idiot.

From 'Cats' to Cicero


And from Slate, here's an article in an Australian paper discussing how Bush's recent foreign policy fuck-ups (and they have been fucking up a lot lately) are making our already scared shitless allies that much more scared shitless. None of this, of course, is being discussed in great detail in the U.S. Press, who have been far too busy detailing the abduction of some little white girl in Utah or breathlessly repeating the latest terrorist warning just pulled out the Administration's ass to actually say anything. Remember too how foreign policy was supposed to be W.'s strength because of the all-star team of over the hill retreads he had brought into his cabinet.

Axis of Error Has America's Friends Bushed

To paraphrase Darrel (SNL) Hammond on Howard Stern this morning, you know your in trouble when Tony Blair constantly calls up and says "hi George, is Dick there?"

So a couple of weekends ago- back in the sunny, happy days when I thought I was about to have money rolling in- I stumbled upon the Skeechers outlet store and bought myself some cool-ass, totally blue, Skeecher sneaks (yo). They're oh so hip.

Today's big event is laundry day, which means I'm back at the Worst Laundrymat in San Francisco. My first mistake. But since I had so much frickin' stuff to do, as it's the closest place, it's the easiest place to go to.

As usual, all the washers are broken, except for these one's where you have to load your clothes sideways and then drop the bleach/detergent in through a small, narrow tray up top. As I'm putting in my whites, all huffy because it's looking more and more like my typical laundry experience there, I somehow spill drops of bleach onto my brand new, just getting cozy, totally blue, and oh so hip Skeecher shoes. So now my brand new, just getting cozy, totally blue, and oh so hip Skeecher shoes have maroon splotches all over them.

Repeat after me:
"I will no longer go to the Worst Laundrymat in San Francisco."
"I will no longer go to the Worst Laundrymat in San Francisco."
"I will no longer go to the Worst Laundrymat in San Francisco."

The place is not only just completely broken and run down, but malevolently evil. It is a Laundry Mat right out of a Stephen King novel, taunting me and harassing me, pushing me, and striking it's revenge for my dissing it.

Bastard. This time, it's personal.

One more thing about the whole unemployment mess and then I'll bring back the funny. I swear.

Just have to get this off my chest….

As I've been searching and looking, looking and searching, wishing and hoping, I keep on hearing the same refrain from people whenever I get upset about how things are going. "Don't take it personally," they'd tell me, "they don't know who you are and they don't know anything about you. There's no way they can know what your situation is like."

Which is true. They don't know and it's not really their jobs too.

For every job that gets posted, hundreds of resumes are sent in. From there, they all somehow get waded through (or played eenie-meenie-miney-moe with) and someone makes the decision to bring in maybe ten to interview, then a little later, a bit less for a follow-up interview. Before a final decision is made, personal choices are weighed, departmental needs figured out, business decisions are decided and then, after all of that, somebody gets the Golden Ticket.

All of this is done without them knowing that much about each individual person's situation. To them, you're just another resume- another person brought in for an interview, another possible person to fill a position. The people who do the hiring have other things to do, their own jobs to work, and their own lives to live. Who you are doesn't really mean much to them. Which is how it is and how it will always be. And which is perfectly reasonable.

Yet for every decision being made, every resume being tossed, people rejected, there is a story behind them and their resume. It could be that the person is about to sell their car because of unemployment. Or riddled with anxiety attacks and insomnia. Or having problems with their Significant Other because of stress, anxiety and money. Or contemplating giving up and going home. Or, in some cases, there's absolutely nothing that bad going on with them other than trying to pay off their credit car bills from travelling for three months in Thailand. I know that's true of a lot of people out there looking for work because I'm one of them. I'm one of the one's riddled with anxiety plagued insomnia. I'm one of the one's facing difficult decisions ahead. I'm one of the one's who desperately needs a job. And I know I'm not the only one out there. Just look at how many more apartments are available, or how many things are for sale on Craig's List, or how many people have taken lesser positions in jobs they don't even really want just to earn some money.

If you've been reading this thing (all five of you) or even talked to me about things over the past year or so, you know I've been ranting and raving about things gone wrong. I've dissed places, I've made nasty comments, I've burned business cards, and I've even signed up someone to receive a whole bunch of spam mail. And while I know I shouldn't take it personally, I do.

But not all the time. I have been turned down from jobs and not said a thing. Had nary a bad word to say about the whole thing. Even after the whole thing with Spam Co. and how they brought in another even after giving me a job offer, I don't have anything bad to say about them.

The reason why? Because they treated me with respect.

All those places told me what happened and were honest about it. They let me know I didn't get the job and wished me luck. Some did it by e-mail, some by phone, but at least they told me. And when I interviewed with them, they treated me decently and gave me a chance. Afterwards, all I could say was thanks for letting me know and leave it at that. As I was treated fairly and courteously, I have nothing bad to say about them.

But, as you know, it's not something that's true with a lot of places I've talked to. Which is why when it all comes down, I go here and rant about it. And rant about it. And rant some more. And then rant some more to friends on the phone and then rant some more will drinking away my sorrows. Because while they don't know my situation or should care that much about it, they didn't treat me fairly. They didn't treat me with respect. Instead they dithered around, interviewing me and then telling me for months they were about to make a decision yet never able to actually make a decision or tell me what was up. And are still doing it. Or being too busy answering the phone and checking e-mail to give me a decent interview. Or letting me go after a week on the job for unknown reasons. Or burning me because a bunch of departments were all busy miscommunicating with each other (ooops, sorry about that).

And that's when I get pissed. Because while it's not part of their jobs to consider or even care about everyone's situation, it is part of their jobs to treat people honestly and fairly. Or at least should be.

In other words…

"I am not a resume, I am a human being!"

From yesterday's Chron:

Christian right allies with Muslims in U.N.
Bloc against abortion, expansion of gay and women's protections

"United Nations -- Conservative U.S. Christian organizations have joined forces with Islamic governments to halt the expansion of sexual and political protections and rights for gays and women at United Nations conferences.

The new alliance, which coalesced during the past year, has received a major boost from the Bush administration, which appointed anti-abortion activists to several key positions on U.S. delegations to U.N. conferences on global economic and social policy.

But it has been largely galvanized by conservative Christians who have set aside their own doctrinal differences, cemented ties with the Vatican and cultivated fresh links with a powerful bloc of more than 50 moderate and hard- line Islamic governments, including Sudan, Libya, Iraq and Iran."

Amazing how nobody involved quite makes the oh so obvious conclusion. Otherwise known as the "If A=C and B=C, then A must equal B" Dipthagorean Principle (or whatever Greek Philosopher probably wrote about it) with B, of course being pursed-lip, uptight, anti-everything, oppressive, religious facists. Amazing too how some people don't quite get the fact that we're actually fighting a war (both figuratively and literaly) with some of them. Aren't some of those countires part of the Axis of Evil? Shouldn't that be a tip-off to some people that maybe they should be reconsidering their beliefs?

So today's my birthday. Duh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-duh-duh. Yippee.

I am not a big lover of birthday's. Nope, nott a big fan at all. It's not really the whole "one year older thing," although it does kind of suck that I can no longer consider myself as being in my early 30's but am now fully in my mid-30's, it's more like other things.

Like the whole "what should I do for my birthday thing?" Since it's your birthday, you're supposed to do something special for it. But what? All that figuring out what to do is stressful. Do you do a dinner? Throw a party? Go out for drinks? Who do you invite? When do you do it? And so on and so on. And isn't the point of a birthday to not do something that'll be stressful?

When I was younger, I was one of those people who believed that it shouldn't be up to me to figure out what to do on my birthday. The hope, of course, would be that people remember and do something for you. Unfortunately, it was one of those things that was better on theory than in practice. Lots of birthdays came and went without people remembering it.

So, I was faced with having to put things together myself, but I always hated the idea. Think it's kind of awkward, actually. Why I think it's that way, apart from modesty, is because of that damn Brady Bunch episode where Peter throws a party for himself. He makes a big deal out of it, invites the entire school, and then nobody shows up. That episode's left such an imprint on me that everytime I think about throwing something for myself, I'd just picture Peter's face as he came to the top of the staircase to look down upon his party- that sad pathetic look- and get scared. I do not want to be Peter Brady.

Then there's the fact that birthday's just complicate things. What if you remember somebody's birthday and they don't? Instant conflict and tension. Or vice versa. What happens when people say happy birthday to me, but I forget. Now I feel like an idiot. And yes, it happens more than I'd like to admit and it's something I always add to my list of New Year's Resolutions but never actually accomplish. Then, take that to the next level, the level where you're exchanging gifts or cards. Again, what happens when one gives a gift when another one forgets too. Or even forgets that it's your birthday. Once again, conflict and tension. I do not like conflict and tension. I am conflict and tension averse.

The main reason why I don't like birthdays , however, is this- that ever since you're little, everyone tells you that your birthday is a special day. It's your day. And because everyone always tells you that when you’re a kid, you always wake up on your birthday and think "doggoneit, it's my birthday, so it's gonna be a great day." And so you expect to wake up and walk into a Disney cartoon- full of rainbows, tweeting birds, and animals that come up to. But that's not what happens. Instead, a birthday is really just like any other day.

And that's why I always kind of hate birthdays. Because I still believe that when I wake up, rainbows will be rainbowing, the sun will be shining, and Mr. Bluebird will be on my shoulder. But it never is. It's just another plain, old day.

It's all just so, so, anti-climatic, like the Superbowl or a movie that's been hyped to the Bejesus. And, in some ways, it's always kind of a let down.

That's why my birthday means to me.

So today's my birthday. Yeah?

We beat Mexico? Now how'd that happen.

We might be the luckiest sumsofabitches in the World Cup, but at least our guys can finish. We're so new to this whole winning bit soccer matches that one of the British guys in the Pub tried to make up songs for everyone to sing because we just don't really have any American football songs, other than just chanting "U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!U-S-A!" over and over again, a chant more arrogant than sporting. And just typical of soccer's luck in the U.S., the team might be about to pull a Miracle on Ice here, but since it's in the middle, hardly anyone's watching. Still didn't stop some car to go screaming by at 2 in the morning with people cheering and honking horns.

Great, another reason for the world is gonna resent us.

Getting Jorge Campos
Dio rockin', Dave spillin
Dreaming roomball dreams

We made it to the 2nd round. Yay?

God, that's embarassing. All we had to do was either win or tie and we'd go in with some respect. Instead, we somehow both set the sport back another four years in the country and progressed it. And thanks to another patented bout of "oh my God, what the fuck am I going to do?" convienantly timed at 4:30, I wound up watching the whole ugly thing. We sucked.

How lucky are we?

While losing to one of the worst teams in the Cup, a team that had yet to score a goal, we somehow made it to the next round because:

Despite starting the game trying to just get a draw, South Korea won anyways. Because Portugal were two players down thanks to Red Cards. And because still down two players, Portugal somehow managed to have two shots bounce off the post and another sure goal missed because the player somehow slipped up while trying to kick it.

It took all of that for the U.S. to progress. That's how lucky we were. The last ten minutes of both games, actually, were pretty darn exciting because while the U.S. was sucking more and more, Portugal kept on fighting on and missing. I don't know who on that team has acquired all the good karma, but someone's got some halo around them.

And Mexico looks goooood.

So I was trying to put together more pieces of what happened. Cause I Spy for the FBI. Or whatever. And I was thinking a bunch of things. Like how when an employer has an interview with more than one person, they usually say that. They say something like "well, we're talking to a few other people and we'll get back to you." They do not say "Great, excellent, we'll bring you in on Monday to meet with my boss."

And my interview was on Friday at 2:30 and over around 3:45. If they interviewed somebody else, they would of have to have done it at 4:00 and I don't see 4:00 on a Friday being a really good time to bring someone in for an interview. Usually, people are too busy getting ready for the weekend and finishing up whatever they need to do. The last thing they want to do is interview someone. Not to mention the fact that my interview was moved up from this week to last Friday because I told them I had to come in soon because I got another job offer.

In other words, I'm thinking more and more that something else went down and that what I heard was some big, elaborate lie. And once again, some company went all-Deliverance on my ass. Soo-eee! Soo-eee!

My favorite inside source
I'll kiss your open sores
Appreciate your concern
You'll always stink and burn

More Fear and Loathing on the Job Trail. Otherwise known as how I managed to lose two jobs at the same time.

So many of you have been wondering, what's up with the job thing? Vague allusions have been made, angsty essays posted, bile spewn. All of this done allthewhile thinking that by the end of this week, just in time for me birthday, I'd have a job. And maybe, even the bestest dreamiest job of them all.

But no.

So we pick up the story with the Fairy Godmother, Tinkerbell, Jiminy Cricket and whomever else is in all those Disney flicks banging at my door, offering to make me a Man, a car-owning, hour long commuting, compromising the last of my principles Working Man. Had a job offer with a company in San Mateo that would involve sending out spam-mail (good spam, not penis related spam, but on the other hand, is there anything good about spam-mail?). Wasn't sure bout it cause I wasn't sure I wanted to work at SpamCo., riddled with ambivalence upon ambivalence.

So, I told them I'd think it over. Partly to mull over whether or not I could be Commuting Working Man (CWM), but mainly because out there, in the far distance, a dream job hailed to me. Like a siren calling from the shores, like pre-boob job Jennifer Connelly rising out of a half-shell and beckoning, there was a possibility that I could get Dream Job.

And what is Dream Job? A job that I really wanted. A job I know I could do because I've fucking done it and know I could do it in my sleep. A job with a super-cool company that gives you every other Friday off and has a screening room where they occasionally give the employees an afternoon off so they could watch movies. A job that was about a ten minute walk from my apartment. It was out there. It could be mine. Getting it was, as the recruiter told me, would be easy.

So I stalled the other company, even going so far as to not answer the phone so I wouldn't have to give them a decision of non-decision and waited for the machinery to work on getting me Dream Job. After much back and forth and endless amounts of nervous pacing waiting for the damn phone to ring, an interview with Dream Job was finally set up.

With a plan in hand, I called SpamCo. and asked for the weekend to mull it over some more. Had a whole speech prepared, written down and gone over by someone who claims to know. Didn't get a chance to give it. SpamCo. needed someone in so fast that while I was twiddling my thumbs, waiting for Dream Job to call back, brought someone else in. Something which, according to all the experts I had talked to, fit into the "huh, I never heard that one before" category.

Oh well. Whatever. Truth be told, I didn't want to commute to San Mateo every fucking morning just to clog everyone's e-mails that much more with e-mail they don't really want.

And besides, I had Dream Job awaiting me.

So I went to the interview at Dream Job. Rocked the house (or so I thought). Left the interview being told how great it was to meet me, how great the whole thing was, and how they'd get right back to me and how I'd be brought in on Monday to meet with the person's boss. Since HR had called my recruiter to fill the position and since the recruiter sent only over me, I was feeling pretty good. Even started spending some of the money I hadn't heard yet. Even did something I knew I shouldn't of done and told people I think I had a job.

Silly, silly me. Should have known better. As my dad told me, "the evil eye hears all."

It was all too easy, all too perfect. The job was way too good. Good enough that I was thinking that everything had indeed worked out for the best. Naturally, it was just too good. Because some people just don't ever get that lucky.

Monday came and no phone call. Panicked phone call to the recruiter came on Tuesday with a reminder that I had a job offer on the table and that I needed some sort of answer soon. Yeah, it wasn't true, but I thought I should play some hardball for once. I had had enough of being jerked around by companies and by HR people. Gonna play by my rules this time.

Hours later, I got the call. An interview on Thursday, with the Head of the Department. The recruiter told me that they should be able to make a decision right afterwards too. It was what someone called a "check off" interview, an interview conducted because it was procedure to conduct it and even if it was fait accompli, it had to happen anyways. Bust out the chablis.

This morning, lying in bed, half-asleep, the phone rang. Didn't answer it because usually when the phone rings in the morning and I'm in bed, it's telemarketers, so I lied in bed a bit longer, then checked my voice mail. It was from the recruiter. The interview was cancelled. They had hired somebody else.

Stunned and dazed, I took a shower and got some coffee. Too tired to deal with any of this. Needed time to digest it all. Half an hour and half a cup of coffee later, I called the recruiter. She told me that right after my supposedly fabulous interview, the person I had met with interviewed someone else, someone not brought in by the recruiter. She liked the other person, brought them in on Monday for the final interview, made them an offer, then left home early sick and didn't tell anyone anything.

Trying to put the pieces together, to make sense of it all, it sounds like the Department brought in someone else, someone HR didn't know about and hired them. Then didn't tell HR about it, which is why I was pencilled in for my "check off" interview. And so someone's already working the position, Dream Job's HR department is sitting around going "duh," and yet another person is apologizing profusely to me for my getting shafted. And me? Jobless once again and with a father refusing to take my birthday gift because he doesn't think I can afford it.

Don't know what happened, other than that. As usual, there's mystery's wrapped around riddles. Was it because of the whole resume snafu? Was it because I was first told my resume wasn't good enough, then too good. Was it because while I was being forced to rework my resume, the Department panicked and set up their own interview? And why if they already had someone in the pipe-line did they keep on setting up interviews with me way in the future, dates which I had to tell them wouldn't work because I needed to get in their sooner? Or was it something else, something completely even more fucked up than what I know already and nobody will tell me the truth. Remember, when it comes to jobs, trust no one.

Sick of it all…..

Yesterday I woke up, turned on CNN and got blasted with a Breaking News Story about the arrest of a purported Al Queda terrorist. Turned to a bunch of other TV stations and got the same Breaking News Story about the arrest. All of the stories were these breathless accounts detailing what a big deal it was and how thorough the cunning and daring do of the FBI, CIA and Bush Administration was and how we had very nearly avoided a major disaster. After those stories, came even more stories detailing the horrific tales of just what a "dirty bomb" was and how thousands, neigh millions had just been saved.

Wow, pretty exciting, right?

Except for a couple of things, things that got lost in the fine print of the story. One, the arrest actually took place in May, a month ago. And not only that, instead of all the accounts that made it seem like it was something right out of a spy movie in which he was inches away from detonating the sucker before the FBI came crashing in and the bomb squad turned the bomb off seconds away from it exploding, they picked him up in Chicago when he was on a "reconnaissance mission." Which means he was a long ways away from actually using the dirty bomb, a bomb, by the way that's not exactly the easiest thing in the world to lug around and release.

Still, there was John Ashcroft, announcing the arrest via special TV hook-up from Moscow. And all the big news stations broke into their regularly scheduled sob stories about the missing girl in Utah with a Breaking News Story about the arrest. Sounds like a lot of people bought it all and that people are walking around thinking that it happened a day or two ago. Even heard someone on the radio saying it (okay, it was the Howard Stern Show, but considering how many people listen to him, it's a big deal). I didn't even realize the arrest got made a month ago until about the fifth or six time the story ran. I also couldn't notice that the only news program to make mention of the strange timing of the anouncement was the always right-on Daily Show.

Hmmm, do you think the media could have been played on this one? That the Bush Administration, still stung by all the bad reports having been leaked over the past couple of months, threw out this big, huge juicy tale at this particular moment to make people think they're not incompetant and that the press bought it hook, line and sinker? That if we were living in a cartoon world right now, the press would all be looking like big, huge lolipops right about now?

And is there any chance the timing of the story has something to do with Smirkboy's big proposal to shuffle a bunch of departments and agencies into more departments and agencies?

You don't think the Administration would be so low to constantly pull scare stories out there everytime they need political Big Mo? Anyone think there'll be a major scare story coming out just in time for the big Novemeber elections?

No. The Bushies would never do anything like that.

And what's up with the kid who they arrested? Another American. Now that's kind of scary. Years ago, all we had to just worry about was disaffected Americans shooting up school buildings or going postal on all their coworkers. Now they can go to Afghanistan or wherever, join Al-Queda, and get trained in terrorism.

Makes you feel almost nostalgic for the days of Dylan & Kliebold doesn't it?

PS- aus revoirs les blues.

More Fear and Loathing Job Hunting-

You are an employer. One of your staff leaves, filling a hole in one of your departments. The boss of the person who has left is now doing both her job and the job of the person who left, so is working 60-70 hours a week and obviously overworked. You call a recruiter who sends someone in who is a perfect fit for the job. This person has one interview, rocks the house and gets along with the potential new boss, so much so the boss says "great, this was fantastic" after the interview. Problem- the person they brought in, the same one who is a perfect fit for the job and has readily acknowledged the fact that he'd be willing to sell little Hans, Franz, Leisel or any other members of his imaginary family of the future (all named after members of the Von Trapp family, of course) to work there- has a job offer at another company, one that he has been stalling, stalling and more stalling all in an effort to find out the deal about the job.

Do you:

A) Get right on it, speed up the process, bring him in immediately for the second round of interviews and make a really quick decision, thus helping fill an important position and relieving another employer of having to work 60-70 hours a week. Not to mention relieving the potential new employee a lot of stress for having to sweat out a process for over a week, partially by trying to hold off the other job, and who has pretty much started spending money he hasn't made yet on the job he's pretty sure he's gonna get.

B) Putz around some more, not return phone calls, be in meetings all day, and pretty much give the general impression that there's far more important things to deal with. Thus ensuring that the person working 60-70 hours a week has to continue doing so and that the person who they interviewed- the one who is perfect for the job and really wants it- gets even more stressed out because they haven't heard back and have another employer they've been using every trick in the book to hold off giving an answer to.

B is, of course, the correct answer. Because it's a recession and people looking for jobs are a dime a dozen. And because everyone's too busy at big companies to worry about other people, like the poor suffering overworked employee or the stressed out, insomnia riddled, wanna be employee-to-be.

And yes, the job offer doesn't really exist anymore, mainly because I stalled for too long and lost it, but it doesn't mean I'm still not as stressed out about it. Or that if something goes wrong with this job, it'll suck on so many levels that it'll need a whole other word to describe the suckiness of the suck.

Ladies and Gentleman, the leader of the Free World-

AP- Rice helped Bush from the leave in the lurch

Washington - It was Condoleezza Rice, national security advisor, who helped her boss out of the embarassing situation. During a conversation between the two presidents, George W. Bush, 55, (USA) and Fernando Henrique Cardoso, 71, (Brazil), Bush bewildered his colleague with the question "Do you have blacks, too?"

Rice, 47, noticing how astonished the Brazilian was, saved the day by telling Bush "Mr. President, Brazil probably has more blacks than the USA. Some say it's the Country with the most blacks outside Africa." Later, the Brazilian president Cardoso said: regarding Latin America, Bush was still in his "learning phase".

Makes you feel all safe and secure, doesn't it?

Onto something I'm a little late too (it's been a really busy past couple of weeks), the Britney Spears/Austin Powers commercial. There's also a lot of rumors out there that Britney will be a special guest star during next season's Buffy, rumours that have been surrounding the show for the past couple of years.

Motherfucker.

It's one thing for Brit-Brit to be all over MTV and TRL. That's what MTV and TRL are all about- overkilling pre-fabricated corporate flavors of the month. But what's good about is that if you don't want to overdose on everyone's favorite dirty old man's wet dream, you don't have to watch TRL. Which is why they should stay should stay out there in TRL Land, away from all of us people out there who are perfectly okay with living in a non-Britney world. But she's so big now, or at least Britney Inc. has made her have the appearance of being so huge, that she's seeping into the rest of the world. That all of us Austin Powers fans have to deal with her shilling it up with the Shag-Man. And even though the rumors are being vigorously denied by the Buffy powers-that-be, the very idea of something so cool being infiltrated by something so, well, not cool (cool in the true sense of the world) is almost a sign of the Apocalypse.

As someone who would prefer to live in a Britney-free world, stop it, please. I don't want her in my world.

And then there's the whole Lance Bass in outer-space thing. Lance Bass is, of course, one of the guys in N'Sync. Nobody's quite sure exactly what he does in N'Sync except be the dopey one and look like he'd be the least likely to wind up rehab (not to mention the one whose been most rumored to be gay, or at least until all of the Justin stories started coming out). And what has N'Sync really done for the world other than milk allowance money from 15 year old girls before they discover bad boys, tattoos, and better music? Yet, they've been so successful at it that Lance might get the chance to buy his way into outer space.

Is that fair? Is that right?

Think of all of those who have been in outer space. All the heroic astronauts, test pilots and scientists. All those with the Right Stuff. Now Lance Bass will be one of them. He'll be able to go up to John Glenn and compare experiences. We, as the center of civilization, should not, nay cannot, allow this.

And if celebrities/civilians are suddenly capable of going into outer space, is it fair that Bass is the first? The test chimp of celebrities? Shouldn't someone cool do it first? Someone more worthy? Like Jack Nicholson. He deserves it. Michael Jordan? He deserves it too. Hell, if your going with musicians, how about Angus Young? He so much more deserves it than Lance. And just think how much fun it would be to send William Shatner out into space. Now that would rock.

More importantly, do we want celebrities to go into outer space? Do we want them to have it be just another perk of celebrity? Is this a line we want to cross? Will space shots be covered by the E! Channel now and covered by Mary Hart and Carson Daly? Will Puffy be hosting parties on the space station? Will Madonna go up into outer space just so she can go around claiming to be asinger/actress and astronaut? Will Brad buy Jen a trip on the Space Shuttle for her birthday? Will going into outer space be the next career move of every has-been bimbo actress, right before appearing in Playboy?

No siree. To paraphrase the mighty Jean-Luc Picard, the line must stop here. Stop us before we even have to live through the Pamela Anderson and Kid Rock space shot.