It started for me with a post on an early Tuesday morning. It was 2am, and I was exhausted, physically and mentally, as my head occasionally fell to the carpet, and my eyes strained to read an entire sentence. I knew I should be sleeping, not sprawled out in front of a computer screen in the middle of the living room, but I didn't give a shit. I had to finish. Finally close to satisfied, I pressed the publish button around 3:30am, and the exhilaration of seeing my article appear washed away the fatigue and left me with a sense of relief.
In the months since that initial post I've added numerous more. Any time I go beyond a day without writing I can actually feel myself weighed down by all the frustrated thoughts demanding to be expressed. And now that I've discovered blog layouts, color schemes, templates, and the host of nifty buttons available, its become even worse, because when I'm not writing I can still spend five hours searching the web for how to set up an RSS feed (If anyone has an idea please let me know).
So looking at the evidence, my conclusion is that I'm addicted to blogging, which is an odd thing for me to say because I'm not sure I've ever been addicted to anything, and believe me, I've tried. I don't think its to the point where the mental hospital will tie me up in a straight jacket, place that Hannibal Lecter contraption over my face, and have two staff members throw me into a rubber room with a couple CCs of sedatives coursing through my bloodstream for good measure, however, if I were forced to spend a couple days without being able as to so much catch a glimpse of my blog, I might be severely agitated.
It would be great if there were a nicer way of phrasing my fondness for blogging. I could suggest that I have a blog fetish, but to me, the term fetish always conjures images of whips and paddles and tall Nordic women snapping on latex gloves so that they can best punish you for being naughty. Something along the lines of blog obsession doesn't seem awful at first glance, but then I think about those cheesy black and white perfume ads where shirtless models on horses just whisper obsession incessantly to one another as they gallop across the countryside en route to nowhere. Other possibilities also fall flat; blog mania sounds like I'm going to don spandex and wrestle my blog, while blog infatuation creates the impression that I might sheepishly ask my blog if it will accompany me to the springtime formal.
I guess that after further review, blog addict might be the best term of the lot, and thus I will answer to it proudly. All that I ask is somebody give me notice prior to any sort of intervention; if I'm going to be busy for a few hours, I'd like to be able to get in a little blogging first.
[Addict] [Fetish] [Hannibal Lecter] [Mental Hospital] [Obsession] [Intervention]
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Addicted to Blogging
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
New Kids on the Block Must be Stopped
According to the investigative journalists over at Yahoo Headlines, the groundbreaking boy band New Kids on the Block will be re-uniting for a world tour. This means that somewhere out there, five special guys are getting shot up with Botox and fitted for new sequin vests, while hundreds of thousands of women in their 30s and 40s will soon be Hanging Tough and abandoning their children for the night so that they can rekindle the magic of decades past.
I was thirteen when the New Kids phenomena first hit. The girls in my eighth grade class talked about them incessantly, and possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of each member’s personal information that extended from their favorite food to the color of their underwear. For those unaware of the phenomena, here is a breakdown of the group's members:
Jonathan Knight-The ring leader who ensures that everyone is focused on the gig at hand by shouting catchy phrases like “yeah” and “come on.”
Jordan Knight-The bland older brother kept around for supervision and in case anyone needs to serve jail time.
Danny Wood-The pseudo-ethnic complete with fake tan and gold chain. Often mistaken for limo driver/cook/housekeeping.
Donnie Wahlberg-The guy with premature facial hair who looks like he’s got a pot of meth and a fourteen year old backstage.
Joey McIntyre-The androgynous young heart throb. Took longer than a member of the girl’s Chinese gymnastics team to reach puberty.
The success of these five kids spawned not only lucrative albums and concerts, but dolls, lunch boxes, t-shirts, and anything else you could imagine affixing their image too and selling at a 2000% mark up. One girl actually trampled me, not out of malice, but because I was standing between her and her hot pink New Kids thermos that she had to show to her friends so that they could come in with one the next day. The fact that the thermos was empty, or that I was on the ground suffering from internal injuries, was irrelevant. More important than the merchandise, New Kids would create the blueprint for future acts like NSync, 98 Degrees, and Backstreet Boys, who carried the boy band mantle into the new millennium.
Looking back, my only regret is that no one stopped New Kids the first time around. I was merely a child, but where was everyone else? Where were the listeners of good music to combat the possessed pre-teen hordes? Where were the parents to tell their children that supporting certain musical acts was unacceptable and would result in grounding? Where were the Terminators? If the future could send them to fight over scruffy resistance leader John Connor, you would think that someone in 2050 would care enough to send them to stop New Kids and save the future from generations of shitty rip off acts.
But none of this happened. New Kids thrived, and if the reports are true, they’ll be back shortly. Although it seems as though it’s too late to put the breaks on NKOTB, perhaps their inherent suckiness can somehow be counter-balanced in the musical cosmos by the reunion of an amazing group. As far as I’m concerned, there is only band up to this challenge: Guns N’ Roses. 
The original Guns N’ Roses, the one with Slash instead of that guy wearing a KFC bucket, is the only antidote to the bubble gum scented, streamlined pop of New Kids. In case you’ve somehow forgotten, absorb an eye full of the pic above, and you'll be reminded how every song on Appetite for Destruction reeked of booze, cigarettes, and cheap perfume. Mix in thrashing guitars and Axle Rose’s catchy, misogynistic lyrics, and you have arguably the greatest album of all-time.
I know there are challenges to a G&R reunion; particularly that everybody in the band hates Axle, and the original drummer, Steven Adler, had a drug induced stroke that left one side of his body paralyzed. However, money, time, and more money are known to heal major rifts among bandmates, and as for Steven, if Def Leopard can play with a one armed drummer, then I’m sure Guns could rig something that would work for Steve (Maybe saw a drum set in half, let him play with his good side, and then crazy glue a couple tambourines to his bad side).
Whatever the answers, a plan for G&R is needed, and quickly, because a New Kids on the Block reunion show may be coming to your town sooner than you think. Without at least the promise of a G&R concert in the near future, there will be nothing to sustain you if you happen to find yourself standing between a much older, much bigger, yet no less passionate New Kids fan and her thermos, a position just as dangerous today as it was in 1988.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/eonline/20080128/en_music_eo/3740734d8c3a_43e3_9959_6a0ee4d6832a
[New Kids on the Block] [Slash] [Guns N' Roses] [Axle Rose] [Backstreet Boys] [Def Leopard]
Friday, January 25, 2008
Making Friends on the Internet
This a transcript from a brief online chat I had on Friday afternoon with a 34 year old Malaysian blogger inviting me to be his "friend" on Technorati.
START
Him: Hello
Me: Hey
Him: Do you have big peni?
Me: What?
Him: Do you hae big peni?
Me: Are you asking me if I have a big penis?
Him: Yeah.
Me: Dude, that is sick.
Him: No?
Me: Well, yes.
Him: So you have big peni.
Me: Listen, I'm not into that.
Him: We be friends.
Me: Uh, no.
Him: We be good friends no?
Me: No.
Him: Yes?
Me: No. I have to go.
Him: Chat later big peni?
Me: Never!
END
I think the best part of this conversation is that even though I was not down with this guy's indecent proposal, I still had to make sure he knew that my equipment is substantial. This will no doubt go a long way towards enhancing my rep in the notoriously fickle Malaysian gay community. And just in case there was any suspense, I ultimately declined his friend request. We haven't spoken since.
[Technorati] [Malaysia]
Subtle Racism in Sports
I'm sick. I probably have a cold, a flu, or pneumonia, but I'm not sure how to tell the difference. All I know is that I've got a wicked cough that makes my throat seize up, my whole body aches, and I can feel the fluid building in my nose. Not helping matters is that my project at work involves cutting and pasting thousands of zip codes into a spreadsheet, a task my boss has told me may or may not actually be needed.
Along with the shitty job, I blame my illness on the excitement from football last weekend. I watched the Giants game with "Irish" Patrick, who grew up on a cattle farm outside of Galway, and spent the entire contest with a glazed look on his face. His only moments of excitement came when he showed me the Blade Trilogy DVD Box Set he had recently purchased, which he then pressed to his chest, as though he wished that somehow the former vampire hunter and current tax evader Wesley Snipes could suckle from his bosom until he was strong enough to shoot Blade 4. When the final whistle blew, and a Giant's win was secure, I began raising my arms in victory, while Irish turned to me and asked, "Is the game over?" Obviously, my attempts at assimilating him into American culture have a long way to go.
Something else I noticed that has a long way to go is sportscaster's vocabularies, particularly when it comes to describing certain players. Obviously, there's the notorious Kelly Tilghman "lynching" comment in regards to Tiger Woods that has drawn so much well-deserved publicity, but the kind of language I'm talking about is often more subtle in nature. All one has to do is watch a regular football or basketball game, and they will find TV analysts use certain words exclusively to describe white players and other words only for black players. These are just a few examples likely to be heard on any given broadcast:
White Player/Black Player
1). Scrappy/Has a swagger
2). Shifty/Explosive
3). Moves well in the pocket/A threat to run
4). Needs to get more athletic/Needs to get more fundamentally sound
5). Reminds me of Ricky Proehl/Reminds me of Randy Moss
6). Stiff/Fluid
7). Typical Coach's son/A natural athlete
8). Heady/Emotional
9). Hard worker/Has so much God given ability
10). There's Mom and Dad in the stands/The whole family is here tonight
Look out for such descriptions next time you watch sports on TV and I guarantee you'll recognize at least a couple of these stereotypes. This overlooked form of discrimination does not appear to be malicious, and probably exists at a subconscious level, however, a little imagination and persistence could make such statements relics of the past. Not that it matters for Irish Patrick; he's got nine hours of movies to re-watch before I make him sit through the Super Bowl.
[Super Bowl] [Racism] [Sports] [New York Giants] [Blade] [Wesley Snipes] [Black Athletes] [White Athletes] [Randy Moss] [Ricky Proehl] [Tiger Woods] [Kelly Tilghman]
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Movie Review: Juno
Ratings (2 1/2 out of 4 ):
The other night I caught the flick Juno at the Georgetown AMC 14. I had heard positive reviews, so the bar was set pretty high. Expectations only grew when I learned the film's scribe was a former stripper and blogger by the name of Diablo Cody. I've already got the blog going, so maybe I need to dust off my thong and get a respectable Brazilian wax if I'm ever going to make it as a writer in Hollywood.
My company for the evening was Mandi, a 29 year old artist from Virginia who dreams of someday getting a large, green nose piercing. This being our third date, I was expecting some play, so I apologize for being occasionally distracted. I actually like Mandi, and she's the first girl I've dug in a while. I'm not sure how she feels about me, as her only comments on the subject thus far are that I "make her nervous." When I inquired as to whether this was "good nervous" or "bad nervous," she was unable to answer.
For my reviews, I'm not going to waste time regurgitating the plot; you can find that elsewhere. Instead, I will recount my thoughts exactly as I had them throughout the film.
7:55: We arrive during a preview for PS I Love You starring Hillary Swank and the guy who played Spartan King Leonidas in the fabulous movie 300. Only the power of Hillary Swank could transform the formerly mighty Leonidas into another whipped Scotsman delivering kisses and sage lessons on lost love from beyond the grave.
8:05: The actress Ellen Page, who plays the title character, is pretty cute, but I'm not sure I'd hit it if she were pregnant. She also talks a lot, dishing out snappy one liners chalked full of crunchy, retro slang at a somewhat irritating clip.
8:15: A cameo from Dwight of The Office, sans glasses and pocket protector.
8:25: I begin peering over at Mandi to my right, and I think she wants it. I'm going to put my hand on her knee. Sweet.
8:40: Actor Michael Cera is entirely unbelievable playing the love interest of anyone, much less Juno. He plays the same fucking character in every film. I'm sure it pays well, but my God, show a little range.
8:55: Jennifer Garner looks really serious. I prefer her work in the highly underrated Dude Where's My Car?
9:05: What deal did Jason Bateman make with the devil to be in all these movies after being MIA for over a decade? And how long can it be before we're inundated with a barrage of Justine Bateman flicks?
9:10: Jason Bateman has sexual tension and light petting with jail bait Juno. I'm waiting for a perturbed Chris Hansen from the To Catch A Predator series to barge into the room and ask Jason what exactly he was thinking.
9:20: Juno is very fat, and in labor, but I stand corrected, I'd still hit it. Speaking of that, Mandi is so turned on, she's practically going to attack me as we leave the theatre.
9:30: Surprise ending. Can't say I expected that. Lets get out of here.
Overall, I felt Juno was good, yet far from great. There were some really fine performances turned in, particularly by Page, as well as JK Simmons and Allison Janney, who play Juno's shell shocked Dad and supportive step Mom. I also enjoyed the mounting tension and awkwardness that envelopes the film and only grows with Juno's expanding belly. However, to call this movie great speaks more to the homogenous nature of today's cinema than to anything special about this film. A lot of the time I just felt like it was trying too hard to be witty, when being simple and genuine would have sufficed. But perhaps we're all guilty of that sometimes.
As for Mandi and I, it turns out my premonition that she wanted to jump my bones was slightly off base. In fact, we had a discussion where she explained that she really wanted to wait until a serious relationship before getting too sexual. I told her that I respect her decision, which I do, however, there is another part of me that feels deeply hurt and rejected by this. I guess in my mind the idea that she is so willing to wait suggests a serious lack of passion and creates an air of everything being almost contrived. Planning is great for work, or a home equity loan, but to me, if your really into someone you shouldn't be able to hold back, even if it goes against your better judgment.
So I guess I'll have to keep you updated on what happens with Mandi. As I reflect upon our relationship, and the relationships I've had over the years, I think Juno's Dad Mac sums it all up pretty well:
"In my opinion, the best thing you can do is to find a person who loves you for exactly what you are. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you, the right person will still think that the sun shines out your ass. That’s the kind of person that’s worth sticking with."
[Diablo Cody] [Juno] [Ellen Page] [Michael Cera] [Stripper] [JK Simmons] [Jason Bateman] [Justine Bateman] [Movie Review] [Hillary Swank] [Chris Hansen] [Allison Janney] [PS I Love You]
Friday, January 18, 2008
Taunting Tigers and Getting Drunk at the Zoo
There's an article in today's USA Today which says that the Christmas day victims of the tiger attack at the San Francisco Zoo had been drinking and smoking pot prior to the incident. The article also cites evidence that the three victims had been taunting the tiger, although there is disagreement as to the extent of the harassment. The Zoo spokesman, upon learning about these new facts, practically had an orgasm, saying "Those brothers painted a completely different picture to the public and the press," and "Now it's starting to come out that what they said is not true."
There are so many strange parts to this story, starting with the three victims. Call me conservative, but who gets drunk and high on Christmas? I understand that the chronic makes a great stocking stuffer, and I don't expect three dudes in their twenties to sip eggnog and sing carols all morning, yet taking a few hits just seems like an odd thing to do on Christmas. However, the weirdness doesn't end there, because where do you go after you've gotten all toasty from weed mixed with a few shots of holiday vodka? A friend's house? Maybe visit family? A restaurant? Of course not. You go to the Zoo, because there you can look at animals that are really cold and imagine them wearing Santa Claus hats.
Apparently, picturing exotic animals in festive Christmas attire wasn't all these guys did, as it is alleged they "yelled" and "waved" at the tiger from atop of her enclosure. According to Zoo Officials, this is most likely what prompted the tiger to escape from it's habitat and attack the men. Now, I'm not encouraging people to go out and taunt animals, I learned my lesson after a close encounter with a couple monkeys at the Great Adventure Drive Thru Safari in '89, but the idea that these guys taunting the tiger can be used as an excuse by the Zoo is ridiculous. I don't care if they waved, clapped, or flipped the tiger off with a diatribe full of the most foul, objectionable language, cursing everything from it's patented vertical stripes to it's limited fertility period that allows for reproduction only 3-4 days per year. The tiger doesn't understand. It isn't sitting on the grass saying to itself, "Hey, I think those guys just gave me the middle finger. Who the fuck do they think they are. Now, I've had it."
The bottom line is that it's the Zoo's job is to keep the people and animals separate, and this responsibility applies even when the people are drunk and acting like idiots. When you build an enclosure the tiger can leap out of, for any reason, you've failed at this task. I think the Zoo could learn a lot from legendary tiger handlers Siegfried & Roy, who not only taught us that German men have nipples, but also that while nature can become familiar, it will always be wild.
http://www.usatoday.com/news/nation/2008-01-18-tiger-attack_N.htm
[USA Today] [Tigers] [San Francisco Zoo]
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Tale of the Tape: Dr. Phil vs. Britney Spears
VS.
I admit it; I have been sucked in by the drama surrounding Britney Spears. For me, it all started with her performance at the MTV Awards, where she stumbled around the stage bloated and half-naked as backup dancers tried to look sexy while avoiding the aroma of her vodka scented lip syncing. Throw in the head shaving, parental neglect, and outright abandonment of panties, and it is easy to see why she has become like that giant overturned tractor trailer engulfed in flames on the side of the turnpike that is impossible to ignore. And just when you thought the situation had deteriorated so far that she was beyond help, here comes fifty gallons of pure, unfiltered Texas crude oil to be poured onto the fire, in the form of none other than TV's favorite crank doctor, Dr. Phil McGraw. You see, Oprah's most loyal whipping boy (sorry Steadman) couldn't bear to stand on the sidelines and watch Britney's demise from afar. No, Dr. Phil saw in her pain, confusion, and of course, ratings!
So naturally Dr. Phil did what any reasonable medical professional would, he decided to pay an unsolicited visit to Britney in person so that he could become part of her problem. It's almost as if he's saying, "You think things are bad now with the paparazzi chasing you, wait until you have a fat, bald TV psychologist following you to your car." The best part is that Dr. Phil then planned a television special highlighting Spears' mental illness, because what she so desperately needs at this critical time in her life is more media attention and scrutiny. Dr. Phil later decided to cancel the program out of concern that the situation was "too intense," as such a classy move clearly illustrates why his morals supersede those of other talk show luminaries like Maury Povich and Jerry Springer, who no doubt would've aired the special and basked in the controversy.
Since Britney wasn't thrilled with the intervention, it seems that the relationship between her and Dr. Phil is on hold for now, but this is probably subject to change since decision making has never been Britney's strength, regardless of whether the topic is husbands, child safety seats, or hair styles. However, in the interim, maybe the good doctor could swing by and start working with Britney's 16 year old sister and Nickelodeon star Jamie Lynn, who recently announced she was pregnant. Think about the possibilities of a Dr. Phil teenage baby love triangle. Yes, chaste Jamie Lynn claims the father is her 19 year old child molester boyfriend, but I'll reserve my doubts until we see if that baby comes out pedaling self help books in a Texas twang.
I think the moral of this whole Dr. Phil/Spears saga is that celebrities, no mater how messed up they are, are still real people with real problems, who should get help from real doctors. And if they can't get her a real doctor, getting her some real panties would be a good first step.
[Britney Spears] [Dr. Phil] [Jamie Lynn Spears] [MTV]
Read more!
Monday, January 14, 2008
Can a Real Man Cry?
The following constitutes situations where it is never acceptable for a man to cry: There you have it. The above situations provide today's man with the perfect guideline of where and when he is allowed to weep. If you're ever in doubt over a situation, just remember this quote by my good friend Nora Ephron: "Beware of men who cry. It's true that men who cry are sensitive to and in touch with feelings, but the only feelings they tend to be sensitive to and in touch with are their own." So with that, lets give props to Nora for her reverse discrimination and double standards, and to Terrell Owens, for showing that a guy can cry in public, as long as it's about football. 
Yesterday, Dallas Cowboys wide receiver Terrell Owens broke down in tears following his team's playoff loss to the New York Giants. Because of the publicity generated by this incident, I'd like to delve into the issue of whether it is ever acceptable for a man to cry. Due to the complex interplay between societal norms, feminism, gender confusion, and systematic role reversal, the answer to such questions are not always obvious. However, as the official arbiter of what constitutes manly behavior, allow me to say that it is perfectly okay for a man to cry after losing a football game, particularly a playoff game to a hated divisional rival. Here are some other situations where it is acceptable for a man to exercise his tear ducts:
[Terrell Owens] [Dallas Cowboys] [Alan Colmes] [Fox News] [Nora Ephron]
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Politics and the 2008 Election
When people talk about Bush's strengths, I hear about the War on Terror and the job he's done since 9/11. It's amazing how people spin the facts for their political agenda. Firstly, Bush can blame Clinton all he wants, the tragic events of 9/11 occurred while he was in office, or on vacation at his ranch. Secondly, we've spent billions of dollars, yet have not even come close to catching the person responsible for 9/11. If someone hurt my family member, one of my first questions would be, Have you caught the person responsible? We have not, as Bin Laden is still hiding out in a cave laughing at us, and the worst part is no one ever brings this up anymore. It is a slap in the face to the victims and families of those who perished that they have waited over 6 years and still not seen justice served. Thirdly, we have invaded Iraq, taking the lid off a powder keg, yet Saudi Arabia, where 15 of the 19 hijackers came from, has not gotten so much as a slap on the a wrist for their part in the Twin Towers Attack. In fact, their leaders get invited to the White House to catch up with their old friends the Bushes and hold hands. Fourthly, we've invested countless resources and troops in Iraq on the premise that this would make us safer, and protect our citizens. But when faced with a catastrophe on our soil, such as Hurricane Katrina, there is no relief to be had. We are trying harder to rebuild a devastated Iraq than one of our own American cities! Finally, we have immigration, which many people like to tie into the War on Terror because an unguarded Mexican border is a security issue. Never mind that the 9/11 hijackers came in through Canada, and thus far nobody is calling for a wall protecting us from Mounties. This is another area where Bush has failed to generate much enthusiasm for his vision, nor has he shown any leadership, as we still do not have a coherent or enforced immigration policy.
With a field like this following 8 years of George W., its easy to see why I am hoping that McCain's resurgence in the polls continues to propel him all the way to the White House.
[George Bush] [Barak Obama] [Rudy Giuliani] [Mike Huckabee] [Hillary Clinton] [Chuck Norris] [Mitt Romney] [John McCain] [Primary] [War On Terror]
Read more!
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Help Bradley Help You
But now friends, please bear with me as I channel my inner Sally Struthers, because I am asking for your help. For as little as a few pennies a day, you can grant me the financial freedom to devote my energies to Random Rants full-time. That's right, we are so close to a world of daily updates and improved content, and the one person who can make the most difference in turning this dream into a reality is you!
You'll see that I've added a bright yellow PayPal icon on the right side of the page. Just click on it to make a donation. It's that simple. While I don't believe your gift to be tax deductible, you can rest easy knowing that you've played a vital role in the lives of thousands of very confused people.
And that's not all. "Preferred" donors and giving societies will be treated to the following free gifts at NO extra charge:
$0-$499: My sincerest thanks.
$500-$1,000: Autographed picture of Bradley turkey hunting.
$1,000-$5,000: T-shirt emblazoned with official "Bradley Cavity Searched My Sister" iron on.
$5,000-$10,000: A pre-recorded message from Bradley that will change your life forever.
$10,000 and above: A chance to have lunch with Bradley at the Denny's of your choosing (Cost of lunch not included).
So give early and often, and remember, helping me quit my job is the first step to ensuring that Random Rants will be here not just for us, but for our children and our children's children and our children's children's children. You get the idea. The point is, together, we can make a difference. So give now.
(Disclaimer: Certain restrictions apply. All donations are non-refundable. Not available outside of the continental United States. To be eligible must be at least 18 years of age without a criminal record).
[Sally Struthers] [Donate]
Read more!
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
How to Get Fired with Dignity
It's hard to believe that someone could ever fire me, but thus far it’s happened twice in my life. The first instance was 1993, when I was 13 and employed by the local Red Roof Inn as a Handyman/Pool Boy. On my third day I was called into a room to unclog a toilet, but after two days, three bottles of Mr. Plumber, and a mild chemical burn, I was forced to turn in my tool belt. Sadly, I hadn't even gotten a chance to start my pool boy duties.
The second incident was slightly more devastating because I was 26 and a recent graduate from law school. My boss, Lola, was a bi-polar kleptomaniac who frequently gave me conflicting instructions, depending on which personality was in charge. The secretary, Clara, was an inept nymphomaniac who was in between giving birth to babies with anonymous fathers. Eventually, I decided it would be more productive for me to spend my days reading at the Barnes & Noble. This went on for about three months until I was invited to a meeting with HR one morning. Just a hint, when your boss invites you to a meeting with HR and doesn't give you a reason, it will probably not be good.
The year following my dismissal was easily the worst of my life to that point. I went on unemployment, moved back home with Mom, and attempted to deal with my mounting anxiety by taking walks around the neighborhood for up to three hours at a time. Yes, I was that dazed looking guy walking through the neighborhood in an undershirt at 3pm on a Tuesday. I also composed the following as a mini-tutorial for those who find themselves in a similar situation.
Once the shock wears off, one of the most difficult things you’ll face in losing your job will be telling your friends and family that you are no longer among the employed. I believe that some of the methods I utilized to explain the situation could be of assistance to you regardless of your audience. The first and most important lesson deals with terminology. Never, under any circumstances, use the term “fired” to describe what happened to your job. Sadly, this word is permeated with strong connotations of incompetence that will haunt you the rest of your life. Basically, if you screwed up, you shouldn’t want people to know about it, and even if you were let go for reasons that had nothing to do with your performance, nobody will believe that when you tell them you’ve been fired.
Luckily, there is a wide range of more appropriate language that you may rely upon when relating the harrowing tale of what happened to your position; words such as downsized, moved, laid off, outsourced, re-structured, and vaporized all relate that your job is gone, but also convey a sense that you are not the culprit, that you’re just another victim of those no good Wall Street billionaires selling out the country again. I chose to go with the term “laid off,” and for good measure added a profanity laden comment or two lambasting the unfairness of life and the pitfalls of free will.
One caveat is that it does help to go with a term appropriate to your field, as you should ask yourself whether you can expect anyone to truly believe your job at the Chuck E. Cheese was outsourced to India? Or merely vaporized? Even with this poor choice of words, most individuals would rather lie to themselves than accept the fact that someone they know and care about is unable to hold down a job at a restaurant with “Cheese” in the title. For those of you who don’t work at Chuck E. Cheese, the people who love you will usually still give you the benefit of the doubt.
In addition to how you phrase losing your job, another important detail is making sure that you have an “out” when telling certain people what happened. At the head of the groups you need an out when dealing with are those prone to emotional outbursts, as well as those you expect to be particularly hard hit by your dismissal. In times like these, being able to get away from them so that they have an opportunity to calm down can be of critical importance. Remember, losing your job is a draining process, and if you become forced to spend your valuable reserves crying and engaging in wild shouting matches, then you might not have the energy to lie on the couch and watch Dr. Phil fix a dysfunctional relationship by exposing its deficiencies to millions of television viewers.
Several options that I recommend to effectively and safely communicate the news that you’ve been ditched include calling from a safe distance, yelling from a moving bus, or simply cowering in the fetal position. Each option will supply you with the precious seconds necessary for a quick escape. However, I must add as a precautionary measure that if you do attempt to communicate through public transportation, you should try to focus on local buses and avoid those marked Cleveland.
I preferred the calling from a safe distance approach, and used it to relay to Mom my new status. I dialed her from Philadelphia, a solid two hours away from the family home in New Jersey, to explain that I had been “laid off.” Once she understood that “laid off” meant I would no longer be working at the firm, I braced myself for the torrent of crying that I was sure would ensue. I had my finger ready to set off the timer on the dryer when Mom, in a fairly calm manner, said, “I’m not surprised. I had a feeling the other day that this might happen.”
Remarkably, Mom was hardly alone in suspecting that my job might not last very long, as most people expressed similar sentiments. I wasn’t expecting family members and loved ones overcome by astonishment to fall to their knees and let out a resounding “Why Joel? Why sweet Joel?,” but a hint of surprise in their voice would’ve been a welcomed touch.
Apart from the questions raised about my mental state and suitability for permanent employment, my experience also illustrates that telling people you’ve lost your job does not have to be a stressful exercise. By carefully crafting the language you use in your story, as well as always having an out when dealing with difficult individuals, you can minimize the chances of having the majority of the blame placed at your doorstep. Keep in mind, that while it may appear at first glance that most people savvy enough too successfully carry out these steps wouldn’t have been let go in the first place, with enough preparation, you too can blanket the stench of your failure in the sweet smelling potpourri of half-truths and avoidance.
[Fired] [Laid Off] [Pool Boy] [India]
Friday, January 4, 2008
Breasts = Shoes
In retrospect, I think that all men can relate to the above situation. While I admit that such unambiguous gawking might take things a little too far, I do maintain that her contempt was uncalled for. In my opinion, when a woman decides to wear a provocative outfit and highlight her assets so blatantly, she should not be subject to unwanted harassment or ridicule, however, a little staring is understandable and should be expected by any reasonable person. For example, if I'm getting ready for a night out and decide to wear a special kind of underwear that gives me extra padding and lift, and then adorn my groin area with diamonds in a heart shaped pattern before sprinkling on some glitter, I shouldn't be surprised or upset when everyone's attention is fixated in that region. It's only natural, and when you add this kind of primping to a guy's Gollem-like fixation with breasts, it becomes obvious why I was in such a helpless situation.
For women out there who still can't relate, let me put it another way: Breasts to men are a lot like shoes. Think about it, they come in pairs, its one of the first things you notice about another person, and no matter how many you have you always want more. Not to mention all the different varieties of colors, styles, and sizes. If I could buy breasts at the mall I'd never leave. The scene in my apartment would be straight out of MTV Cribs, only instead of a celebrity showing off of a massive walk-in closet stocked with hundreds of pairs of shoes, my walk-in would feature an abundance of boobs all meticulously arranged. I would point out my favorite pair, maybe acknowledge a set I got a really good deal on, and then shut the doors and move on to the garage where I keep my Hyundai Sonata.
So I think I'm going to go back to that bar this weekend and hopefully I'll run into the well endowed woman who previously caught my attention. I'd like to think that I'm going to look her in the eye and explain to her that her prior behavior was uncalled for, as her outfit amounted to an entrapment so alluring that no reasonable man could have resisted. She will then apologize profusely, analogize the showcasing of her boobs to me colorfully decorating my pubic area, and then offer to make amends by inviting me home for a private viewing.
Okay, more likely, I'm going to walk up to her, look her in the eye, and then stare at her breasts some more until she recites a similar sermon equating me and my unconscious drooling to that of a particularly unrefined caveman. Did I mention there was glitter?
[Breasts] [Shoes] [Glitter] [Pam Anderson]
Read more!
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
5 Snippets of Wisdom from Bradley
1). Everybody has different takes on what's funny, however I believe that we all have the same standards for evaluating whether someone has a good sense of humor and it's pretty straightforward: If you think I'm funny, then you have a good sense of humor. Any questions?
2). I watched the movie 300 last night, which is the adaptation of Frank Miller's graphic novel about the Spartan's battle to defend ancient Greece from the armed hordes commanded by Xerxes. It was gory, but it did have a lot of flesh. Unfortunately, most of the skin belonged to dudes in this cinematic equivalent of a San Francisco bath house in the mid-80s. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
3). I went to a club on New Year's Eve and met a friendly young lady whom I escorted home around 1am. We were sitting on her couch making out when I heard her say "I feel like I'm going to die." She then ran into the bathroom, where she spent the next twenty minutes throwing up. According to her she's "allergic to wheat." According to me she's allergic to binge drinking for eight straight hours.
4). I recently spent some time in South Beach Miami. Whenever you tell people you went to South Beach they start to look at you differently, almost as if their picturing you smoking Cuban cigars in a hot tub with your arm draped around a Gloria Estefan look alike from her Miami Sound Machine days. Sadly, the trip couldn't live up to my co-worker's lurid imaginations, as I got sick and had my credit card stolen. On the positive side, I now know "El Diablo Blanco" means white devil in Spanish.
5). I have finally sold out to the man and accepted the AdSense program on my blog. For those of you who no longer have faith in my credibility, I wanted to let you know that I lost it a long time ago. As of this moment, I still have a little bit of pride left, but I am all out of integrity.
[Gloria Estefan] [Miami Sound Machine] [Miami] [Frank Miller] [300] [AdSense] [Spartan] [Xerxes] [Vomit] [New Year's Eve] [Humor]
