In honor of the Ox, we here at Hooray for Anything are wearing our rockingest clothes (well, actually shorts and a fleece, but we're wearing it with plenty of rock n' roll attitude) and listening to live Who all day. Because there will never ever, ever, ever be a better live band. Ever.

But while we rock out and honour the man who gave us Boris the Spider, we still have some time to look at the news, cause there's some crazy shit happening.

First, there's Smirkboy's response to all the corporate flim-flammery going on. His proposal? The main part is this- if an executive of a company that pulls something gets busted, he (I would say he or she to make it more PC, but we all know that when it comes down it, it's men who run all the major companies) "would be forced to forfeit their bonuses and other compensation. In extreme cases, they could be barred from serving as officers or directors for other publicly held corporations."

You can see CEO's quaking in their boots at the sound of this. What a punishment, having to give up half of their vacation homes. How about this? How about they GO TO JAIL.

Why is it if some cranked out kid holds up a 7-11 and takes off with 40 or 50 bucks, they wind up getting thrown into the slammer for a long, long time, but if some CEO in charge of a corporation bilks everyone for several billion dollars, they just have to give up all the money they earned? Maybe we should change the law so that the person who holds up a 7-11 just has to return the money they stole. Or maybe we should actually THROW WHITE COLLAR CRIMINALS IN JAIL. And not a very nice one too. The kind where some guy named Bubba or Skull makes him their bitch.

And then there's this, the whole Supreme Court allowing mandatory drug-testing for students. I propose that any person who makes it a rule that somebody (a completely random, innocent somebody) has to submit to mandatory drug testing also has to be drug tested. Because it's so easy to be all high and mighty about drug testing when it's not you whose being forced into having to go piss in some cup.

And like Clarence Thomas never smoked a little reefer while hanging out and watching porn...

Finally, there's this, some good news to leave y'all for the weekend- the Bush twins are at it again, as my girlfriend Jenna and her sister, were spotted whooping it up in some Western bar in DC.

Rock on, Jenna, rock on.

Man, this sucks....

The Quiet One

Everybody calls me the quiet one
But you just don't understand
You can't listen you won't hear me
With your head stuck in the sand
I ain't never had time for words that don't rhyme
My head is in a cloud
I ain't quiet - everybody else is too loud

Still waters run deep so be careful I don't drown you
You've got nothing to hear I've got nothing to say
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But names can never down you
It only takes two words to blow you away.

John Entwistle (1944-2002)

Got a telemarketing call from MCI yesterday. Just wanted to laugh and laugh and laugh. I worked for those bastards too, way back when as a Temp. Laid everyone off. So in honor of WorldCom, this is something I whipped up a couple of days ago. It's not actually about WorldCom, but more about a certain high-level politician who seems to have avoided being linked with all the corporate hanky-panky despite the fact he was involved in some major corporate hanky-panky-

Oh, that Martha Stewart, accused of insider-trading and making a bundle of money on stocks. A thing, of course, in which nobody, but nobody, has ever done. Especially heads of major corporations. Yet, despite the fact every day there's another story about this corporation or that corporation going under and being investigated for all sorts of funny accounting flim-flammery, it's Martha's whose getting all the heat.


Why, it's almost enough to make you think, especially if you were of the paranoid conspiracy bent- that the Powers That Be saw that they were suddenly underneath the microscope and somehow figured out a way to frame Stewart so she'd be accused of the same things. And so, like that, she was thrown out to the wolves. Because we all know the press would go after the Martha Stewart story like a bunch of drunken frat boys at a Tequilla Sorority mixer. Especially when the alternative is yet another story about some boring white guy cooking the companies books and screwing over thousands and thousands of stock-holders, employers and tax payers while they fly back and forth between their Aspen estate to their Bermuda estate. Not to mention all the leg-work the press would have to do to follow the obvious money trail and have to explain to everyone how half of the corporate scams are the result of policy loopholes created by the buying off of every politician in Washington. Or how every attempt to close said loopholes are being stymied by lobbyists carrying buckets worth of change. That would just take too much actual reporting and writing to do and what self-respecting journalist would want to do that when they can go over, in minute detail, what Martha Stewart has done with her stock portfolio.

Of course, there is another celebrity involved in several funny (funny as in "yer all getting screwed by this funny" as opposed to "ha-ha" funny) corporate games. Well, not exactly a celebrity, but someone who has been made fun of on SNL. Of course, it was because he's the Vice-President and not because anything he did is being investigated by the SEC.

You, of course, have heard all about this, haven't you?

Basically, the company Cheney was running before he became VP, Halibutron is now being investigated for hiding millions and millions of dollars from it's shareholders. The Accounting firm that helped set this up, by the way, is Arthur Anderson. Strange how Arthur Anderson seems to be getting around these days.

And, oh the irony. Like how Cheney told people during the campaign that unlike all those slackers in Washington, he was creating jobs as a CEO when in fact, due to his brilliant work as said CEO, he actually laid off thousands of employers. And there's just so much more good stuff like that out there .

The best description of what's been going on comes from one of my fave columnists, Frank Rich from the NY Times. In his column, Sacrifice Is for Losers, Rich writes:


"And then there's Dick Cheney, who has achieved a trifecta through his official dealings with Enron, his stewardship of Halliburton during alleged accounting irregularities and his on-camera appearance in a 1997 Andersen promotional video touting the firm's "good advice." (It's too late to find a Rosemary Woods who might erase it.)"


Yeah, yeah, I know, we're in a war right now and it is bad form to do all these kind of sneaky political type things during a War, especially when Cheney is the ventriliquist to Smirkboy's dummy. But still, it makes you wonder what would of happened if, for instance, Al Gore was running some company that possibly pulled some sort of accounting scam that defrauded everyone? Whitewater was about what, exactly?

Sigh.

At 5:08 this afternoon, after I had long given up in a huff and gone out, I got the call. Interview tomorrow morning at 10:30. Couldn't help notice too that the person left a message saying she was calling to confirm the time, as if I had known beforehand what exactly that time would be.

I was livid. Upset. Pissed off. How dare they? The nerve. I was gonna make my stand, I was gonna change the rules, I was gonna take the power back. Thankfully, a friend talked me off the ledge, reminded me that when you tried to stick to the Man, the Man usually wins. Or at least doesn't hire you. Once again, I'm a potential employers bitch.

Called them back and gave in. Told them I'd be there, bright and early and ready and raring to go. Person I talked to, my new best friend and somebody who doesn't give me a lot of confidence, told me where to go. Then double checked just to make sure and told me, oops, she was wrong and I had to go to another buillding completely- a building that a friend's husband who works there later told me he never heard of. When I asked for more details about the job, the person asked me whether I got the e-mail she sent me a couple of days ago with the job description. I didn't. She said she'd send it out a little later. Still haven't got it. Want to call her back and make sure she's got the right person.

Tomorrow's gonna be a long day.

And yeah, what can I say, once again, the whole job thing got to me. Got my snark on. On days like this, I kind of wish I could go all Dark Willow- vengency and big bad like, making everyone feel my pain and wrecking havoc throughout the world.

That would be kind of fun.

4 o'clock. Still no word. Lamedy lame, lame, lame. Looks like I'll be finding something else to do tomorrow and if they tell me it doesn't work, they can fucking kiss my ass.

Speaking of kissing my ass, here's what's gonna be the big story of the next few days:

Yep, as if we don't have enough things to worry about, some Federal Judge here in SF ruled that reciting the Pledge of Allegiance is unconstitutional. That whole "under God" thing (did you know that the "under god" thing didn't even exist in the pledge until the 1950's when it was added to help fight the godless Commies?).

And just as expected, fireworks are exploding everywhere. Heard that in protest, Congress took time out from whatever the fuck they do these days (not reforming the financial system, not finding out what happened to cause 9/11, not fixing healthcare, etc) to stand up and recite the Pledge. You go! And you can be sure Smirkboy will have something to weigh in on the subject, although if we're lucky, he'll try and say "indivisible."

What it means is that I won't be able to watch any news channel for the next week or so as it'll be full of all the usual blowhards and windbags getting all huffy puffy about something that every school kid in the country has to recite simply because they're told to. I know whenever I recited it, I thought of the importance and deeper meaning of each word- each phrase- and would never even dare to use that time to do something frivolous like stare at Katie Noble's breasts or ways to cheat on my math homework. And we'll get all those wonderful man in the street interviews with people who'll say how outrageous it is, and how it's another sign of the decline of the country and how it'll make our country that much closer to being nothing more than a country full of exploitative reality TV shows, dope smoking teenagers, and profanity spewing musicians (whoops). Maybe we'll get really lucky and get William Bennett to go on TV and tell everyone how it shows once again that everything wrong with the country is all the fault of a bunch of dope-smoking hippie liberals. Not only that, if we could make a drinking game out of how many times a politician, in reference to the decision, will mention 9/11, we'll all be spewing our guts out like a Freshman in high school after her second wine cooler because if 9/11 taught us anything, it's how important it is to recite pledges every morning before history class. After all, if we don't recite the Pledge of Allegiance every morning, the terrorists will have won.

To all the people who are about to go ballistic about it. And even to the people who first issued the law-suit (because, really, when our civil liberties are slowly getting chewed up and spit out more and more, day by day, what really does saying "under God" have to do with anything?), I say this.

Whatever.

Repeat after me:

"It just doesn't matter! It just doesn’t matter! It just doesn't matter! It just doesn't matter!"

I will vote for any politician who, when asked about the thing on like "the Larry King Show" or "Crossfire" just turns to the camera and says "you know, who really cares."

I can dream, can't I?

Been three hours since the last post. Still no word from Supermonstorous Corp. about my supposed interview that's supposed to take place in less than 24-hours.

How long does it take for someone to call someone back and say "we can meet with that person at such and such a time?" Why is that such a difficult thing to do? Why do I have this feeling they have the time set, but they just haven't gotten around to telling me? And that I'll get some trite apology about it all as if it's no big deal I've been sitting around all day trying to find out when I'm supposed to go in. And why do I have to take it as oppososed to me telling them "you know, it's not enough time for me to prepare for my interview and I don't like how you've been putzing around about this, so how 'bout this, I'll come in on Friday at 11. If you don't like it, well, go piss off."

Think I'll call them back around three, right after Pardon the Interruption

Stay tuned, especially as some juicy news story just hit the wires.

I know you're all waiting for it, because I know y'all love it, but, here it comes....

More Fear and Loathing on the Unemployment Trail

Got a message from Supermonstorous Corp. on Tuesday. Wanted me to come in for an interview on Thursday. As in this Thursday. This is the very same Supermonstorous Corp that two weeks ago called me for a phone interview on a sunday afternoon right in the middle of my nap time.

Since I was in the shower, I didn't answer the phone. So I called the lady back and left a message. No call back. At all. Starting at four, I called the lady every ten minutes hoping to get her. You have to do these things you know, because you can never trust anyone in HR at any company that has more than say, oh, ten employees to actually return a phone call. Finally, at 4:50, I reached her. She said she got my message, that Thursday would be fine, but that she hadn't called me back because she hadn't reached the Managers of the Department I'm supposed to talk with to set up a time. She then said she'll call me back as soon as she gets word.

Now, if you call someone saying you want to interview someone on a specific day, shouldn't you figure out what time of that day would work first? Shouldn't she know this already? Especially considering said interview is only two days from the point you called to set up the interview?

And considering it's 11 o'clock and I still haven't heard back from them, I have to wonder this: whaaaaa? Now, once again, I have to spend all day waiting by the phone, waiting to find out what time I can come in.

Got a bad feeling about this.......

Flipping through the channels, I finally caught snippets of Bush's big speech about the Middle East. It's Pale-stine. Not Pale-stein.

Just sat there and I could think about was seeing every Palestinian watching it yelling "Palestine, it's Palestine!" like Gene Wilder in Young Frankenstein.

Jesus-frickin'-Christ.


Anyways, Made the mistake of buying Fast Food Nation today and I can't put it down. For those who don't know about it, it's basically an expose on the Fast Food industry- how they operate and how they've fundamentally changed America and the World. And not for the best.

I knew I shouldn't have gotten it because I've been warned, but I got it anyways. Just as I thought, it's pretty scary.

Among other fun little facts that I've read so far, I found this-

-In 1947 GM and a few other car manufacturers bought up most of the major trolley companies then completely demolished them so as to pave the way for more roads to be built. Which, besides more cars, also meant more busses were needed (made by GM, of course). They were all indicted for anit-trust measures, but the judge fined all the CEO's of the companies a whopping $1.

-Due to lobbying pressure from the meat industry lobby, government can recall any number of defective products, but can't any sort of contaminated meat. Which is how we get e-coli outbreaks.

-Due to a lack of school funding, many textbooks are written by major corporations. Suprisingly, a study guide sponsored by the American Coal Foundation dismisses Global Warming and another one sponsored by Proctor & Gamble teaches kids that clear-cut logging is a good thing. Oh yeah, all these textbooks are, of course, tax deductibles for the corporations.

-In an attempt to hook kids at an ever younger age to drink soft drinks, several major soft drink companies, licensed their logos to baby bottle manufacturers.

-And finally, that in 1998, more fast-food workers were murdered on their job than cops. And that most of the fast-food hold-ups are done by ex or current employees (which is what happens when you pay only 5.75 an hour and make 16 year old kids work til 1 in the morning). In 1998, a government attempt to make the fast-food places safer for their employers (by doing things like making the parking lot well lit) was foiled by intense lobbying in congress. Didn't want to have to spend money making sure their employees weren't shot by other employees. Naturally, one of the major lobbying groups against the workforce rules was everyone's favorite group, the NRA.

And I'm only on page 90.

Besides the fact I might never eat at a MickeyD's again, the book is almost enough to make me grow dreadlocks, stop showering, and start attending those anti-globalization protests.

Problem with watching Giants games, besides the fact this season is starting to have that things-about-to-get-really-ugly-feeling, is that half the time Bonds comes up in the later innings, the same thing always happens. Manager comes out and makes a brilliant strategic move of pulling the pitcher to bring in a lefty (because Bonds supposedly doesn't hit lefty's as well, which doesn't seem true cause he seems to hit everyone). Pitching change always means a break, so we go to commercial. Then the lefty comes in, faces Bonds, and.....walks him. Manager goes back out, thinks the pitcher's done what he's supposed to do, and brings in another righty. Another pitching change and we go to commercial.

All that manuevering, strategizing and time wasting just so some lefty can go in and do the same thing a righty could of done. Yawn.

So I'm walking past this movie theater today. On the wall of the theater is a poster for some movie called "Last Wedding" or "Late Wedding" or something like that. It looks like your typical boring arty, foreign romance- too foreign to be a chick flick yet not arty enough to be an art flick. Just a foreign romance that'll probably be only of interest to those who are into foreign romance movies just because.

On the poster for the movie, a poster that looks almost like every other movie poster you've seen- featuring the main characters kind of looking at you and a bunch of not quite so important characters in the background, is a little blurb about the movie. One of those "Ten Stars, I Love It" type blurb. Squib, I think they're called, but I'm not quite sure.

The big review, the one up top and with the biggest font-size says something like this: "This movie reveals a completely new voice in film…" then some blah, blah, blah, and then ends with this interesting little nugget of information "ifeaturing maybe the most realistic sex scene ever filmed!" So I'm thinking, that's interesting, that's an unusual thing to hype about a movie. They could have just left it at "completely new voice in film, great movie, makes Citizen Kane look like Glitter," but it didn't. It had to just add that little part about the sex scene. Since nothing is done unintentionally and not pre-tested, pre-marketed, and pre-committeed, I'm guessing that quote was left in on purpose. I guess because they thought they needed some sort of hook to get people in to see an otherwise typical arty, foreign romance flick, they might as well hype up the sex scene. As if that's the only reason why people will see the movie.

Think I'll check it out on Wednesday.

And no, I didn't actually stoop to watching Sorority Life, even if half the women in it were not just nubile, young co-eds, but nubile young Jewish co-eds. Turned it on for a few minutes and then had that voice come to me, telling me that, once again, maybe I need to get a life.

Is it me, or is Clarence Thomas SO Antonin Scalia's bitch?

Looks Like MTV is debuting a new reality show tonight- Sorority Life. Watch as college co-ed's try and pledge to a sorority at UC Davis and see what happens when people stop being polite and start getting real.

Can we stoop any lower? Is there anymore trash out there left to put created as a tv show? Just the sheer, lower common denominator of it all- the explotation, the vouyerism, the titilliation. Is there any reason for this show other than having guys tune in to watch young, nubile coed sorority girls? Is there any point to it other than the potential of showing scantily clad women having cat-fights?

And yeah, I'll probably watch it. MTV reality shows are TV crack and I'm a TV crack-ho.

Speaking of which, is it a sign of maturity that in catching part of Road Rules, I sat there kind of thinking that maybe we should borrow one of those Palestinian bus terrorists and use them to blow up the Road Rules winnebago?
What a bunch of loathesome idgits.

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.

And then there are days when I fall back in love with this city-

Some dilapidated theater around the corner from me was showing a World Premiere of a film by some local filmmakers. The filmmakers, friends since High School, had spent most of their lives writing movie scripts together, never finding any success. Finally, after years and years of frustration, they decided to D.I.Y it and made a film by their lonesomes. After two years and only three thousand bucks, their life-long dream had come true. They filmed the movie they had spent years wishing they could make.

That movie? Monsturd- an epic horror flick about a shit monster that lives in the sewers and comes out of toilets to kill it's unsuspecting victims. Heartwarming story isn't it?

Everytime I watch one of those crappy movies, either rented or seen late night on cable, I always wonder what the hell were the people thinking. I They all probably should of known that the movie was crap, so why do they always try to make it like it's not crap? How much better would those movies be if everyone just kind of said "you know, this movie is gonna suck, so let's just go with it." Those movies would be so much better. In fact, I've always loved the idea of intentionally making the worst movie ever made (have the idea already and part of a script already). Because there's a fine-line between clever and stupid. And this movie was pretty much that.

It was a definite Grade Z horror-flick, the kind shown all the time on Mystery Science Theater, except that they knew that it was nothing more than a Grade-Z horror flick. So they just went with it, up til it's explosive climax at the Butte County Chili cook-off involving a thousand flies and squirt guns loaded with Pepto Bismo.

Genius.

And you just got to love the idea of two guys spending all that time and effort in making a movie about a shit monster. A movie that'll probably only be seen by the people who acted in it, their friends and families, and a few other people who might accidentally stumble upon it. Like me.

Dreams can come true.

Followed that up by ducking into a divy Mexican bar down the street from me and watching Mexico vs. Ecuador. One of only a few gringo's in the place, but at least I didn't stick out as much as the khaki clad Yupsters who stumbled in looking like they wanted to slum it as a way of proving to their girlfriends how non khaki-clad Yupster they really were. Everytime Mexico scored, the entire place would jump and down cheering, chanting "Mexico! Mexico!"

All of which is why I'm back in love with the city. Random, indy flick followed by soccer watching in a Mexican dive bar. And people ask me why I wouldn't consider moving back to Philly.

Yeah, it's 2 in the morning.

Just got back from watching the US-South Korea game at the Mad Dog. Stupid me thought that if I got there at least an hour early, I'd have my pick of seats. Even brought a book with me so I'd have something to do while waiting. Cause nobody's gonna be watching a US soccer match at 11:30 at night on a Sunday night. Right?

I was way wrong. It was jam packed. What the hell was everyone doing at a Pub on a Sunday night? Doesn't anybody work? Oh yeah.

Found a nice little corner spot in the corner of the bar where I could have some back support for the entire game and still get a good view of the big-screen TV the Mad Dog brings in for big soccer matches. Wasn't a bad spot, either as I got a pretty good view of most of the match. That was until the start of the second-half when the cute little soccer lesbians standing in front of me got pissed at the six foot tall guy who moved in front of them and told him to move somewhere else so that those in the back could see. He did. Right behind them and in front of me. Everytime something exciting happened, he'd start jumping up and down, blocking my view so I couldn't see a thing. Completely missed South Korea's goal. Well, I wanted the full-on soccer watching experience and I got it- smushed in a packed, hot pub with a semi-visible view of the game and surrounded by a lot of loud drunks.

Hate to say it too, but the US got damn lucky to get the tie. We played like, like, well, like you'd expect a soccer team from America to play. Sloppy and slow. If it weren't for some brilliant goaltending,a lot of luck (brought on in huge part by a South Korea team probably choking a bit from the pressure and the fucking loud as hell crowd noise) and a brilliant goal, we should of gotten our butts kicked. Didn't help that FIFA hired a bunch of refs from the NBA to officiate the game ("yeah, I know that guy's lying flat on the ground, but he fouled the other guy").

Still, it was actually fun to be loudly rooting for your own country in a World Cup match, instead of your adopted World Cup team. Like England or any team playing France.

Going to bed now. I'm exhausted. Good thing that if I have an interview tomorrow, it'll be in the afternoon.

Tired, tired, tired and exhausted, there was nothing more than I wanted to do last night than go to bed early and get some sleep. I know, my Friday's are pretty exciting. Could have done it too, but damn kids across the courtyard threw a party last night. Not sure which neighbors, but I'm guessing they weren't the cool, hipster one's as the musical selection was pretty much your generic, run-of-the-mill party mix tape favored by every white, twentysomething Yupster- a little ABBA, some old skool Madonna, and lots of '80's tunes. Yawn, yawn, and yawn. Not that I'm into the whole party with a DJ "spinning" rare Bulgarian dance tunes, but does "Come on Eileen" really get the party started?

So yeah, I woke up this morning with my full snark on. Even after finding out that Italy was beaten by Croatia.

Little did I know how much my mood was justified when I went to get the paper and saw this as the big, huge headline:

Senate cuts boost in global AIDS relief White House persuades GOP to await new plan


Whaaa? What, then was the whole point of the Paul O'Neill/Bono Africa 2002 tour? Was it just so Paul could tell his grandkids he hung out with Bono? Is it because the government's not gonna be able to afford it when they get rid of the "Death Tax" and helps the oppressed trust-fund babies have bigger trust funds?

Maybe Bush's new plan will be like his Global Warming Plan- diss any current proposals, make a big deal about not doing something until his government issues a new report, have the report published and have it accidentally agree with all current science and beliefs, then dismiss it just something done by a bunch of "bureaucrats" and ignore it forever and ever until the melting ice caps starts flooding the Bush compound in Kennebunkport?

Oh, and then there's this- Walnut Creek passed a law banning public urination, but once again, the Board of Supervisor's in SF refused to pass a similar law. Because banning people from taking shits on city streets is anti-poor. The plan, apparently, was detoured by Supervisor Chris Daly who apparently had enough time to shelve the proposal in between being arrested at a protest and telling all the cops who arrested him that they can't arrest him because he's a Supervisor.

Here's a quote- "If you are not clean and well-dressed, it is very difficult to gain access to toilets in the city." Well, yeah. Because if you are not clean, you have a habit of making a mess and ruining toilets for those who are clean and well-dressed. Or, in other words, is there anyone out there who willingly goes into the toilet on 16th and Mission and would they do it without loading up on dissenfectants?

But that's not even the worst news that there is. There is, of course, this:

J.Lo Goes Solo, Splits with Hubby

So, so sad...

Oh my God, Oh my God, oh my God, the Belmont Stakes is in a couple of hours. Oh my God! The excitement is killing me. Because when there's interleague play, the Stanley Cup finals, the NBA finals and the World Cup all going on at the same time, there's nothing- nothing- that excites me more than the atheletic endeavours of a horse.

From my window, I can see Twin Peaks. Behind it, the sun sets, painting the sky behind the hills. As I sit here, typing away on my beloved iMac, I watch it. I watch as the light pastel blue of the beginning stages evolves into the multicolor hue of it's peak and then it's climax into nighttime.

With the job sitch making itself clear, I smoke a joint and listen to some Zeppelin becoming the rapt audience to the sun's performance. Everything's alright.

So I'm not a big fan of Interleague Baseball, tradition and all that. I do have to say this, however:

Yankees vs. Giants at Yankee Stadium, very cool.

Oh, and yay England!

So barring a last minute reprieve from Ms. Flaky McFlake at the Flakey Recruting Company, who dangled such a kick-ass dream job in front of but disappeared soon afterwards, it looks like I got a job. Got a job-offer yesterday. For a real job. Not a temp job, but a real job. Yeah, it's Temp to Perm, but the whole Temp to Perm thing is all the rage these days (stupid recession).

But by accepting it, it means everything, everything changes. It's in San Mateo. Which means I'll have to commute- the whole BART to MUNI to CalTrains thing. And I will be a commuter. I will be one of those people with those metallic coffee holders so they can drink on the train without spilling any of it. I will be one of those people who read the paper in the morning commute, then a book or some sort of magazine on the way back. I will be one of those people who can no longer meet people at a bar in SF at 6 to watch the basketball game because I will be somewhere commuting. I will be a full, official worker drone, spending a large part of my life doing nothing but going from work to home and home to work.

See, since I've lived in SF, I have always worked downtown. The longest commute I've had to deal with was never more than an hour, that is if MUNI didn't break down. I have always been a bus ride, a BART ride, or an N Judah ride from work. Or a quick, twenty minute bike ride. I have been able to meet friends for work downtown, go to the Y for a really long lunch, or leave early to sneak off and get drinks or doctor's appointments or what have you. I could get up really close to when I had to be at work, change really quickly and still make it to work on time because it was easy too. No more.

And like most commuters, I have a choice to make. I could either get up early to get to work early and get home at a reasonable hour or I could get some more sleep, but not get back until 7 or so. I do not like getting up early. I am not good at getting up early. I should not be allowed to get up early. It makes me do bad things, and should not be allowed anywhere near heavy machinery. But it's either that or be one of those people who can't actually make it to anything during a work week because I don't get back from work in enough time. No going to the gym. No yoga classes or after-work sports. No meeting friends for drinks.

To break it down another way, it's like I have a choice to make- get up early to get home early, but be so tired I don't have much energy to do much of anything else and have to go to bed early. Or get more rest so I can have energy to do things, but never have the time to do it.

Do commuters have lives outside of work?

But wait, there's another thing to think about, another way to add up the equation. I can get a car. I can be a car-driver. A friend is even willing to sell his beat up, but still cool sporty convertible car. No more bus to train and back again and I can cut down my commute from more than an hour to half an hour. So I can get some sleep and make it back into the City in time for things. But now I have to worry about things like traffic. Not to mention parking in the Mission. And all the expenses of owning a car. And my life will get that much more complicated and expensive. But still, a car! I've never owned a car. Hell, I drive a car maybe once or twice a year and that's if I'm lucky.

And why stop there. Since I'll have a car and be a commuter I will get a cell phone. Because if I have a car, a real job, and a commute, I need a cell-phone. That's how it is these days.

So just like that, with the acceptance of one job, everything changes. It's like Jiminy Cricket or the Fairy Godmother or Tinkerbell or whoever did what in Pinnochio, came down and, inches away from my 34th birthday, heard me wish upon a star, waved their little wand and made me an adult. A real-live 34 year old.

Do I really want to do this?

Remember awhile ago, I put up a job posting I found that was so ridiculous, that I had to skewer it? The one about the "Bowne Quality Journey" and "aligning service output" and what such nonesense?

I, of course, interviewed with them. Had a serious connection there. And if I'm interpreting all the HR'ese correctly, it's the kind of stuff I do.

Funny thing about the job posting, though. Through all the discussion about the "Bowne Quality Journey" and "Bowne Balanced Planning Support", they forgot to mention something somewhat important about the job. Like it's hours.

Turns out the job is from 4-12. That's four in the afternoon to Midnight. That's kind of a big deal. Something that, oh, I don't know, should be kind of mentioned on the fucking job posting?

Found all of this out an hour into the interview. An hour. And all of this after having to take a cab because I left my address book at home and had to turn around to get it (you need an address book, of course, to fill out those stupid application forms they always give you when you interview, despite the fact nobody ever reads them or despite the fact they already have your fucking resume right in front of them. Oh, and turns out I didn't need it because they didn't give me the form). And having to wait fifteen minutes to get one because I thought it would be kind of easy to hail a cab where I live, what with living in the fucking heart of the Mission and all. And having to stress out because I was late for the interview, traffic sucked, and the cab driver is telling me everything I need to know about Greyhound and SuperShuttle in a monotone voice. And that I'm wearing a suit and it's 80 degrees in the City and I'm sweating all over the place. Not to mention the fact I pulled a huge connection to get this interview so now this snafu brings with it repercussions of which I could only guess at.

Oh yeah, total cost of the whole thing- $5 for breakfast so I'd have energy for a 11 o'clock interview and didn't know how long it would last and $12 bucks for the cab ride. Which means, $17 bucks for nothing. On top of the $20 I spent yesterday.

All of this for an interview I would never of gone near if I would of known it was at the hours it was. I mean, the idea of never having to wake up to an alarm and having the day off and seeing movies all afternoon is kind of appealing, but I do have a life, you know. Well, sometimes I do. Not to mention I'd have to miss all that TV by working those hours. Next season is the last season of Buffy and there's no way I'm missing that.

Sounds like I'm probably, might be getting a job I'm really not that excited about, one which would involve a bitchy commute and joining the Dark Side, but I'm thinking more and more about accepting it just so I don't have to fucking put up with this kind of crap again for a long, long time.

Oh, and here's One More Thing You Don't Want to see on the Way to an Interview-
Some tweaker sitting atop the BART station shaking and moaning while holding up porn magazines.

Woke up early this morning and stumbled onto this-

We beat Portugal, 3-2 in the world Cup.

How about that?

U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!

PS- if we beat S. Korea on Monday, not only do we win the group, but we'll get a bye in the 2nd round. Which means avoiding the Azure (that's Italy for you non-soccer folks).

U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!

Caught this on the always timely and informativeAccess Hollywood.

This is a true story-

Today, there was a big exclusive with Corey Feldman. Yes, that Corey Feldman. So you know this is gonna be good. Corey was on the show, going public about his huge fight with his ex-dear, beloved, best friend Michael Jackson. Apparently, Corey was in NY with Michael, helping Michael do all those celebration/ego-love-fests that he did way back when, to help him sell his last album (remember that? Any of that? Michael Jackson's last album? Anyone?)Anyways, I think I'll let Access Hollywood tell it because I can't possibly do it justice.

The last show was on Sept. 10. The next day, the world changed. Corey, eager to leave New York, turned to Michael for help. And, according to Corey, Michael said no. "He denied me the opportunity of freedom, which was essentially, you know, revoking my privilege to live at that point. When we were supposed to go on a bus with him home, he pretty much gave the order that it was the family's bus, and the order was, if Corey's on the bus, it doesn't leave New York.

Corey, pissed off at his dear friend for abandoning him in the midst of all the horrible chaos, ended his friendship and hasn't talked to Michael since. Still seething, Corey went on Access Hollywood to tell the world where their love went. Oh, and to also shill an album he just put out in which he disses his former friend.

The story adds that in a song called "Megalo Man", Corey sings-

"I believed in your words, believed in your lies, but in September in New York, you left me to die. I love you, Megalo Man."

Your gonna have to supply your own punchline here 'cause I don't even know where to begin.

Things You Don't Want to See on Your Way Into a McDonald's on the Way to a Job Interview-
Some Tweaker on the ground right in front of MickeyD's having seizures.

Things You Don't Want to See on Your Way Out of a McDonald's on the Way to a Job Interview-
The very same Tweaker, up but still having seizures, bumping into everyone at the corner where your waiting for the light to turn and then proceeding to walk right into the middle of traffic.

Things You Don't Want to Do When Getting off CalTrains on the Way to a Job Interview-
Don't think about which is the right side of the station your supposed to get off on and wind up walking in the complete wrong direction. Especially when it's like 90 degrees outside and your all dressed up in a business jacket and good shirt and sweating to death.

Oops.

Actually, the interview didn't go too badly. And the McDonald's Ham, Cheese and Egg Bagel Breakfast sandwhich might break every known rule mentioned in the Talmud, but it was damn yummy.

As we now find ourselves celebrating the Queen's Jubilee (yes, I know she's not technically our Queen as we fought a revolution for the very right to not have her as our Queen, but we still get the Royal Family shoved down our throats enough times that it sometimes feels like she's ours), it's now time to ponder something that's always made me ponder-

What the fuck is a "Royal Watcher?"

What is a Royal Watcher? They're the one's who get trotted out everytime something happens to the Royal Family, deemed experts on the Royal Family, and interviewed. Their the one's supposedly in the know of the inner workings of the family- of who Wills is boinking and whether Camilla can ever come out in public, of the latest in Diana dirt and the size of the Queen Mum's hat. In short, they are experts in everything dealing with the Royal Family. They're like Peter Gammons on ESPN or famous Constitutional Scholar Lawrence Tribe, except substitute really important things with something really dumb and useless (and don't even tell me Gammons isn't important because it's SO not true).

How does one become a Royal Watcher. Do people grow up and dream of someday being an expert in the Queen's diet? Are there courses you have to take to become one? Like "High Tea with Royalty" or "The Windsor Family Tree?" Can you major in it?

Or do people just become Royal Watchers. Like they're such incredible suck-ups and hangers-on, they've made a career out of it. They're like overgrown high school girls- the one's who weren't really that cool but spent all their time trying to be cool that they somehow managed to hang out with all the cool kids just out of sheer force of will. And they worked so hard at it that they're still clinging onto whose cool and who isn't and still endlessly gossiping about all the people who are much cooler than.

And finally, what do they do? I guess some of them write columns in British Tabloids but other than one Wills & Harry fucking up in school or the latest Charles & Camilla rumour, what is there to really write about unless one of the dies? It's not like the Royal Family, especially Elizabeth, ever really do anything other than attend funerals and wave. It seems like all they do is just hang out, find out all the latest Royal gossip, and then sit by the phone for Larry King to call. Can you really make a career out of being a Royal Watcher.

Either way, just where would we be without them? Thank God for the Royal Watcher.

My day doing the laundry:

The washing machine place I go to could be the worst one in San Francisco. If your lucky, half the machines are working. At best. Today wasn't one of those days.

I bring in three loads- one thing of white, one thing of coloreds (excuse me, clothes of color) and some sheets. Have just enough quarters to get most of it done. Get there on a Monday morning around 11:30 and find that it's unusually busy. Most of the machine's are in use. Find two that I know work and I can use, so put two loads in them, but still have another one to go. Open up at least three or four machines, all are full of water. Finally find one that looks like it works. Put the clothes in, throw in $1.50, hit start, and nothing. Machine doesn't work. $1.50 down the drain. Now I have to wait for one of my loads to finish up so I can have a machine to put my next load in. More importantly, I now need enough quarters to do another wash, plus the dryers, so I'll have to get more money. Naturally, I'm out of cash, so have to go the ATM and break a twenty.

Go home for lunch, then go out to the ATM machine to get money. Now I have to go break the twenty, so I go to the store and buy just enough food to get plenty of one's back but also enough to make it worth my breaking the twenty. Then I head back to the laundry place. This should be easy enough, especially since the place has a change machine. Change machine isn't working.

Go looking to find another change machine. Since I live near a BART station, which has change machines, I head down to the station and try and get three dollars worth of quarters. Get two dollars worth of quarters but a dollar worth of dimes and nickles. Head back to the laundry place, put the sheets in one dryer, grab the other finished load and look for an unused dryer and throw it in. Just as I'm about to put in the money, someone whose washing his clothes dry tells me that the machine's broken. Considering how sucky the laundry place is and how much money I've already thrown away at this place, I believe him.

Look for another dryer. All of the one's that aren't in use look broken except for two. Start putting them one. Guy says that's broken too. Ask him about the other one. Broken. He tells me to wait for him to finish and I can use his.

Couple minutes go by. The guy finishes his laundry, tells me it's all mine and then I start putting my clothes in. The one I thought he had his clothes in looks like it's broken. The coin slot is not only not there, but completely torn out. There's one for the dryer up above, but I swear the guy was using the bottom one. Ask the guy which one to use and he, very nicely, drops what he is doing and tries to figure it out with me. Even though it says "Above Dryer" it's really the bottom one he tells me. Put in a quarter to see what happens and he's right. The bottom machine starts up. Put my clothes in and drop in more money. Then I take the clothes that were sitting in the washer that didn’t work, and put them in a new washer. I'm golden. For now.

Go home, watch some TV, then go pick up the clothes. Realize I'm out of quarters and still have one more dryer run so I go to a corner store and get two dollars with of quarters. Need only a dollar, but you never know. Since we all know, once dollars have been changed into coins, it virtually ceases to be money and is instead just something that sits in your pocket in case you need it, it adds to my total. So far, including items that I bought just so I could make change for a $20, a laundry run that should cost around $5, is now costing me $15.

Get to the laundry place, check the stuff in the dryer. Take out my sheets and put in my clothes of color. Put in 75 cents (twenty minutes) and go get my white clothes. My white stuff is still a little wet, but I'm way past the point of wanting to deal with it, so I start to take it out. As I start to take it out, the dryer that holds my clothes of color stops. Just stops. Like that. Fizzles out as it were. So I quickly throw my white clothes out of the dryer and throw in the rest of my clothes.

Half an hour later, I go to pick up the rest of my clothes. Four hours later, I'm finally done.

So need a job just so I can go back to doing Wash & Fold again and never, ever have to deal with this crap again.

PS- I also learned today that kicking washing machines does not necessarily make them work. Neither does slamming the door closed.

Cranberry vodka
Like oh my God Spinsters Ball
Drinks spilled everywhere