Hey all. I got a job. But before I frass about that tomorrow (I wanted to shore up things with the UNEMP website...which is about as easy as translating Sanskrit...and verify employment before I frassed about it.)
So today's post is about "Heroes". I have the same frassin' issues that most folks have had with the series. Moda and I Netflixed it, got into it, then promptly got disgusted post-strike. She's slowly weaned herself off of trying to stay involved whereas the true geek that I am will be attempting to ride it out. This post is particularly regarding tonights episode. If you'd like some re-caps on other episodes to discuss please feel free to leave comments or email me if you have it. But my butt is sore from simultaneously watching it on Hulu/checking emails/reading the UNEMP website to so if you do, I'm grateful- Enjoy
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
UE week 2 redux...a call would be nice.
Those happy folks at the temp agency haven't called with a status etc. I've called them, emailed. Nada. And this, my friends, is getting re-dick. So rather than post more nonsensical "Woe is me I'm feeling disheartened and f#cked" I may try and get back in to the swing of more hot-hoppin topical frass including garden updates etc.
For example- Our garlic bulbs are sprouting. After this long frassy winter, we are finally seeing the fruits (which, in my mind, is funnier when you pronounce "Frew-Wits") of our fall plantings. I saw a squirrel digging around there yesterday and want to keep small rocks here and there to peg at the little bastiges if they try and uproot anything before I have time to put the fence back up.
"Hedda" closed yesterday which means I get my SO back. I mean this both mentally and physically (without sounding too theatre widow-y) I got to do something I actually like doing with theatre which is watching runs from the early days to closing weekend and seeing if I can see the growth which invariably happens during the course of a production. Really, if you missed this one you missed a really amazing production (bias aside, b#tches) with not only Moda shining but a group of actors who worked very well together as an ensemble. (And the tech, direction, sound, set, and of course translation) Anyway, for some reason it felt really good to be at the theatre yesterday. Not just b/c I saw a bunch of peeps in one setting that I normally can only say "hi" to at parties but the Larry was there in addition to the Bean bringing his cousin and her talking group of sassy seniors...clearly I was in my demographic. And loved it. Especially when that cute blue hair with the walker kept holding my hands because I was "warm"...rrrowr.
I tried a new restaurant! (Thanks ma and pa) An intial "epic fail" on my part by way of recommendation (Note to TC restaurants...STOP BEING CLOSED ON FRICKING SUNDAYS!!! It's bad enough that Moda and my Thai jones always seems to fall on the day of our lord but c'mon?!?!?! My folks occasionally rely on their mildy cosmopoliton and not-so-mildly douchey kid to make said recommendations and I'm all like "Blah Blah really-good-restaurant right next to the theatre blah blah plenty of time." Only to see that it was closed Sundays. Folks, seeing late matinee shows is kind of the way theatre was originally intended to be. On one hand, as a performer it can lend weird energy to a production since a show will fall on the final day of a weekend run which tend to be tiring. (Not so with "Hedda"...if anything it was probably one of the best I'd seen of the run. Yeah, nice kid, "Cause you saw soooooo many of the shows." Douche)
On teh other hand, I think that it gives you the chance to see a show and have time to go out for dinner and drinks afterward to discuss what you saw...without exiting a theatre late a night and giving your kiss-good-byes and going to bed. It's early enough where dinner isn't eaten before hand you're full and need to get up- You can go and have a built in conversation afterwards. And theatre can do that for you. Yee-haw.
I digress.
So I wrote a review of the place (Im working on submitting writing samples, see? So rather than repeat my crap here I'm hoping eventually it gets published so I can say "Hey! Go here! You can get more of baby P's crap at www.please hire the f#ck out of me.com!") and lets just say the drama getting us there was worth it. I have a thing these days where I kinda don't like drinking before shows since I want to give coherent non-boozy comments to any and all friends afterwards but dad, D, and M all pouring over the beer/wine menu coupled with an enthusiastic server frassing about happy hour coupled with his later "whoops...accidentally poured this extra Belgian and you mentioned you like Belgian ales so here it is for free kid" sorta kinda made me have to 86 the rule. Whoops.
Anyway- "Ngon" on University in Saint Paul- Almost to Dale st. on the North side of Univ. I got what I thought was a simple chicken (free range and pulled, tanks!) and noodle dish and ended up with a mixing bowl sized portion of brothy goodness for under $8. Fair warning- I was given a side dish of mung beans and jalapenos and after inquiring as to what I was to do with them ("Toss them in the dish!" Our cute server who was still wearing her sunglasses on her head enthused) ended up being a too-hot mistake. Instead of being able to savor it and because we were in a hurry I dumped it all in and tried wolfing it down toward the end which only resulted in that oh-so-f#cking uncomfortable burning sensation in my mouth/throat/stomach for the rest of the afternoon/evening. Frass. All told, still a tasty tasty treat.
Lastly...I hate the ending of the remastered version of "Return Of the Yedi"...hate. I want the stupid tribal ending with that...what's that song the fuzzy midgies sing again? "Chump Dump"? Anyway, the Enya-esque ending sucks...and I for one am glad I still own my original 1997 VHS re-releases that are unspoiled.
And have Han shooting Greedo first. Yeeeeah.
For example- Our garlic bulbs are sprouting. After this long frassy winter, we are finally seeing the fruits (which, in my mind, is funnier when you pronounce "Frew-Wits") of our fall plantings. I saw a squirrel digging around there yesterday and want to keep small rocks here and there to peg at the little bastiges if they try and uproot anything before I have time to put the fence back up.
"Hedda" closed yesterday which means I get my SO back. I mean this both mentally and physically (without sounding too theatre widow-y) I got to do something I actually like doing with theatre which is watching runs from the early days to closing weekend and seeing if I can see the growth which invariably happens during the course of a production. Really, if you missed this one you missed a really amazing production (bias aside, b#tches) with not only Moda shining but a group of actors who worked very well together as an ensemble. (And the tech, direction, sound, set, and of course translation) Anyway, for some reason it felt really good to be at the theatre yesterday. Not just b/c I saw a bunch of peeps in one setting that I normally can only say "hi" to at parties but the Larry was there in addition to the Bean bringing his cousin and her talking group of sassy seniors...clearly I was in my demographic. And loved it. Especially when that cute blue hair with the walker kept holding my hands because I was "warm"...rrrowr.
I tried a new restaurant! (Thanks ma and pa) An intial "epic fail" on my part by way of recommendation (Note to TC restaurants...STOP BEING CLOSED ON FRICKING SUNDAYS!!! It's bad enough that Moda and my Thai jones always seems to fall on the day of our lord but c'mon?!?!?! My folks occasionally rely on their mildy cosmopoliton and not-so-mildly douchey kid to make said recommendations and I'm all like "Blah Blah really-good-restaurant right next to the theatre blah blah plenty of time." Only to see that it was closed Sundays. Folks, seeing late matinee shows is kind of the way theatre was originally intended to be. On one hand, as a performer it can lend weird energy to a production since a show will fall on the final day of a weekend run which tend to be tiring. (Not so with "Hedda"...if anything it was probably one of the best I'd seen of the run. Yeah, nice kid, "Cause you saw soooooo many of the shows." Douche)
On teh other hand, I think that it gives you the chance to see a show and have time to go out for dinner and drinks afterward to discuss what you saw...without exiting a theatre late a night and giving your kiss-good-byes and going to bed. It's early enough where dinner isn't eaten before hand you're full and need to get up- You can go and have a built in conversation afterwards. And theatre can do that for you. Yee-haw.
I digress.
So I wrote a review of the place (Im working on submitting writing samples, see? So rather than repeat my crap here I'm hoping eventually it gets published so I can say "Hey! Go here! You can get more of baby P's crap at www.please hire the f#ck out of me.com!") and lets just say the drama getting us there was worth it. I have a thing these days where I kinda don't like drinking before shows since I want to give coherent non-boozy comments to any and all friends afterwards but dad, D, and M all pouring over the beer/wine menu coupled with an enthusiastic server frassing about happy hour coupled with his later "whoops...accidentally poured this extra Belgian and you mentioned you like Belgian ales so here it is for free kid" sorta kinda made me have to 86 the rule. Whoops.
Anyway- "Ngon" on University in Saint Paul- Almost to Dale st. on the North side of Univ. I got what I thought was a simple chicken (free range and pulled, tanks!) and noodle dish and ended up with a mixing bowl sized portion of brothy goodness for under $8. Fair warning- I was given a side dish of mung beans and jalapenos and after inquiring as to what I was to do with them ("Toss them in the dish!" Our cute server who was still wearing her sunglasses on her head enthused) ended up being a too-hot mistake. Instead of being able to savor it and because we were in a hurry I dumped it all in and tried wolfing it down toward the end which only resulted in that oh-so-f#cking uncomfortable burning sensation in my mouth/throat/stomach for the rest of the afternoon/evening. Frass. All told, still a tasty tasty treat.
Lastly...I hate the ending of the remastered version of "Return Of the Yedi"...hate. I want the stupid tribal ending with that...what's that song the fuzzy midgies sing again? "Chump Dump"? Anyway, the Enya-esque ending sucks...and I for one am glad I still own my original 1997 VHS re-releases that are unspoiled.
And have Han shooting Greedo first. Yeeeeah.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Unemp...aw this is too depressing to keep typing.
I type this after coming home from helping my folks with manual labor for cash. Normally, I'd do it for free but they offered $ and I can't turn it down. So I hauled brush, rolled on the ground with their dog, swept the garage, listened to how piss poor the economy was but is getting better, and headed home.
Clearly, I need to re-think my strategy.
I received a "Thanks but no-thanks" email from one of the places I had applied while I was out, re-applied for a few Craigslist places including ones looking for a writer...and took a nap.
I just re-watched "Star Wars" and remembered why I'm doing what I love to do. I am a Jedi. Don't forget.
Clearly, I need to re-think my strategy.
I received a "Thanks but no-thanks" email from one of the places I had applied while I was out, re-applied for a few Craigslist places including ones looking for a writer...and took a nap.
I just re-watched "Star Wars" and remembered why I'm doing what I love to do. I am a Jedi. Don't forget.
Unemployment wk 1 redux...This is getting old.
So I have failed miserably in my previously posted list. (I ran on Tuesday, but Wednesday and Thursday provided not a singular gym visit) And so, I atrophy and sloth.
Moda hooked me up with frassin' through Craigslist for employment which has had a few more leads I was able to capitalize on, but they're still fairly thin. I worry.
I worry more because my house-arrest is becoming comforting. Get up, check business, look out doors, check business, clean. At least I was able to fix my frassy toilet. And by fix, I did what Dad and I did a few months back and hit the thing with my fist and it stopped doing the gurgle thing after you flush. Home Improvement...I has it.
I worry still because the temp agency hasn't called to say they wanted me to come back to the Barn. I figured I would have heard back by now, but nothing still. Back to checking unemployment.
I made dinner for Moda and I on our one night off together. (We watched "Pineapple Express" which was funny up until the last 15-20 minutes and more of "The Wire") In the interest of being budget conscious I made garlic mashed potatoes with the taters Ma and Da got me from the place with the deals. I won't lie. The smell...the way it makes me feel like I smell...has been a pre-occupation of mine since Wednesday night. I can't stand to get rid of it since it'd seem wasteful, and yet I can only afford myself a forkful or two here and there. It pervades my head when a chunk of garlic "pops" between my teeth. Seriously. This is no joke. I smell. I'm certain of it. Give me a cardboard backing and a plastic covering, hang me next to Skeletor and call me "Stinkor!" and you'll have some idea. Soux chef-ery is not in my immediate future.
I think today, I will go to the Como park conservatory. I have a buck I can donate, and I think the heat and foliage will do me good. This "nice" to "bulls#it" weather has got me down a bit. (58 degrees a week ago and 17 degrees today? I cry BULLS#IT!!!)
Moda hooked me up with frassin' through Craigslist for employment which has had a few more leads I was able to capitalize on, but they're still fairly thin. I worry.
I worry more because my house-arrest is becoming comforting. Get up, check business, look out doors, check business, clean. At least I was able to fix my frassy toilet. And by fix, I did what Dad and I did a few months back and hit the thing with my fist and it stopped doing the gurgle thing after you flush. Home Improvement...I has it.
I worry still because the temp agency hasn't called to say they wanted me to come back to the Barn. I figured I would have heard back by now, but nothing still. Back to checking unemployment.
I made dinner for Moda and I on our one night off together. (We watched "Pineapple Express" which was funny up until the last 15-20 minutes and more of "The Wire") In the interest of being budget conscious I made garlic mashed potatoes with the taters Ma and Da got me from the place with the deals. I won't lie. The smell...the way it makes me feel like I smell...has been a pre-occupation of mine since Wednesday night. I can't stand to get rid of it since it'd seem wasteful, and yet I can only afford myself a forkful or two here and there. It pervades my head when a chunk of garlic "pops" between my teeth. Seriously. This is no joke. I smell. I'm certain of it. Give me a cardboard backing and a plastic covering, hang me next to Skeletor and call me "Stinkor!" and you'll have some idea. Soux chef-ery is not in my immediate future.
I think today, I will go to the Como park conservatory. I have a buck I can donate, and I think the heat and foliage will do me good. This "nice" to "bulls#it" weather has got me down a bit. (58 degrees a week ago and 17 degrees today? I cry BULLS#IT!!!)
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Unemployment Redux wk. 1 day...aw screw it...
So here we are again. I'm hoping that Wednesday proves fortuitous like my Wednesday 2 weeks ago. (When the offers were out and hopes were high) Despair set in early as opposed to the first time I was let go, and I found myself unable to sleep a wink going into Monday. Full blown insomnia from 10:30 on. It was revolting.
Monday I was able to be semi-human and set myself up on a unemployment routine which goes something like this-
Every day, attempt to find/apply for a job
Every day, check status of contested unemployment
Work out every day. Jog. Lift. Keep your heart and mind strong.
Every day, read something
Every day, do something for the house. Laundry, dusting, polishing, whatever.
If you have to go somewhere, ask if you can walk there.
Do I have to go anywhere anyway?
Write 50-100 words...every day. (This is in line with my desire to either be a freelance journalist or write my one-man show)
And I've been pretty good about that. Except for Monday when I hung out with the Grumpy Jazz man watching movies and eating Jimmy John's take-out which, despite my station, he made me pay for because I lost a bet while watching "The Ten". (F#cked up film, btw. Check it out if you liked "The State") So Monday was a wash for 60% of that list. ( I sent the temp agency my notice of availability and called back that potential lead, which was another bust. Seriously? Going door to door checking with teamsters if their insurance is okay? Whoa)
Yesterday was re-checking my unemp website, searching Careerbuilder, and vacuuming. All with a 4 mile run and scrubbing the bathroom top to bottom. It needed it. And ish. Also, I was able to play the hero for a change when I received a phone call from a soggy Moda regarding a towed vehicle. Ish again.
So yeah. Wednesday...great...yeah...let's keep our fingers crossed that this day yields something positive.
In other news- No Refunds rules...thanks fellas:
http://www.norefundstheatre.com/?p=274
Monday I was able to be semi-human and set myself up on a unemployment routine which goes something like this-
Every day, attempt to find/apply for a job
Every day, check status of contested unemployment
Work out every day. Jog. Lift. Keep your heart and mind strong.
Every day, read something
Every day, do something for the house. Laundry, dusting, polishing, whatever.
If you have to go somewhere, ask if you can walk there.
Do I have to go anywhere anyway?
Write 50-100 words...every day. (This is in line with my desire to either be a freelance journalist or write my one-man show)
And I've been pretty good about that. Except for Monday when I hung out with the Grumpy Jazz man watching movies and eating Jimmy John's take-out which, despite my station, he made me pay for because I lost a bet while watching "The Ten". (F#cked up film, btw. Check it out if you liked "The State") So Monday was a wash for 60% of that list. ( I sent the temp agency my notice of availability and called back that potential lead, which was another bust. Seriously? Going door to door checking with teamsters if their insurance is okay? Whoa)
Yesterday was re-checking my unemp website, searching Careerbuilder, and vacuuming. All with a 4 mile run and scrubbing the bathroom top to bottom. It needed it. And ish. Also, I was able to play the hero for a change when I received a phone call from a soggy Moda regarding a towed vehicle. Ish again.
So yeah. Wednesday...great...yeah...let's keep our fingers crossed that this day yields something positive.
In other news- No Refunds rules...thanks fellas:
http://www.norefundstheatre.com/?p=274
Friday, March 20, 2009
End of employment week one, begin Unemployment redux
"Can I see you in my office before you leave?"
And I was just getting used to this. The young conservative was done as of the end of next week, and he was fine enough to deal with. (And easily distracted. You think my ADHD is bad? His makes a conversation between Ry-Gonn and myself seem like quiet discourse between two mutes) I like the other temp well enough, and she was pleasant to BS with during the quiet times. Heck, I was even starting to figure out "thickness" and how to navigate a conversation with him without his making a gross comment.
But after a conference call that made my night go 15 minutes over while I waited, I was called in to the bosses office. The normal pleasant questions were raised- "How do you like it here?", "What do you think?", "How are you handling the workload" before the bombshell: "The agency said I should tell you this up front. I overstaffed and can't afford to pay you for next week. We had two people work for two days and quit for perm positions, one I had to let go for productivity, and I had to pay both of them. I just can't afford to pay you independently for the last week of the month."
Double f#ck.
He did say he didn't want to because I could find a perm position in the interim and he stands to lose someone who had already been training which means hiring another "cold" employee but he understood if it happened. We chatted for another few minutes (I wish that I had asked if it was me) before he said that was all he had. I felt like crap. I had even gone so far to tell people I'd see them on Monday.
So. So, so, so, so....Any leads you all have, I'd be glad to hear them.
F#ck. Back to the search.
And I was just getting used to this. The young conservative was done as of the end of next week, and he was fine enough to deal with. (And easily distracted. You think my ADHD is bad? His makes a conversation between Ry-Gonn and myself seem like quiet discourse between two mutes) I like the other temp well enough, and she was pleasant to BS with during the quiet times. Heck, I was even starting to figure out "thickness" and how to navigate a conversation with him without his making a gross comment.
But after a conference call that made my night go 15 minutes over while I waited, I was called in to the bosses office. The normal pleasant questions were raised- "How do you like it here?", "What do you think?", "How are you handling the workload" before the bombshell: "The agency said I should tell you this up front. I overstaffed and can't afford to pay you for next week. We had two people work for two days and quit for perm positions, one I had to let go for productivity, and I had to pay both of them. I just can't afford to pay you independently for the last week of the month."
Double f#ck.
He did say he didn't want to because I could find a perm position in the interim and he stands to lose someone who had already been training which means hiring another "cold" employee but he understood if it happened. We chatted for another few minutes (I wish that I had asked if it was me) before he said that was all he had. I felt like crap. I had even gone so far to tell people I'd see them on Monday.
So. So, so, so, so....Any leads you all have, I'd be glad to hear them.
F#ck. Back to the search.
Oh...the other guy. Employment, mid-week.
So this guy, this other...guy. He sells the nasty 'surance products we all need. And he. Is. Crass.
Now, again, 13 years in corporate environs makes you very aware of Political Correctness. Definitions vary, sure, but you get what P's and Q's one should mind are they to work for a major corporation or have to scan a badge to enter their building. The big ones are typically identifying forms of harrassment, creating hostile work environments, and cursing/acting crazy. (The latter of the last two can be debated. I've known some crazy motherf#ckers in my various tenures.)
He's early 40's, "husky", and according to my trainer- doesn't have a girlfriend. So he's at the office almost 50+ hours a week. Drives a big ol' F150 with the back window obfuscated with a NYC skyline before all the frass happened 8 years ago. And door handles in the shapes of US Flags. God Bless 'Merica, indeed. My bleeding heart sympathizes, and I maintain my stance of openmindedness. Seems like a nice enough fella. Until, he starts talking.
It's not that I'm afraid of blue language. Or that I can identify words/statements that some people may deign offensive. On the contrary, I like to think I have a pretty high bullshit meter. And outside of expulsing any real vehemence towards race/lifestyle etc...there's precious little that could rile me. Until he says to my trainer (clearly used to this treatment) "This spec is f#cking retarded, could you look at it gaylord?"
Yup. Oh, other bon mots? (Stop me if you get the vibe that there may be a closet case floating around)
Sigh part two.
Trainer update- Today, I was informed global warming isn't real. Hybrid cars are for suckers. We won't run out of fossil fuels and they aren't technically pollutants. And our President actually said that he plans on bankrupting the coal industry. ("He wouldn't say that, dude." /"Yes he did. I'll bring the recorded quote in on Monday") My tongue is swollen from biting it. And for not being too political a guy, I really feel that I'm doing a good job of not biting his rhetoric in the interest of keeping my job.
*The day he commented on my lunch, the morning started with his coming into my trainers office with a paper bag that had a bottom soaked shiny with grease. He takes out the wax paper wrapped contents and shows what...may have been in a past life a bagel sandwich. I say "may have" because it was covered with congealed cheese which had two greenish-black, jalapeno peppers I think? And something that may have been eggs and bacon pushing out the edges. The actually both ooohed and ahhhed over it saying how good it looked. I didn't say anything. Just smiled and nodded. For real, ain't my place to judge.
When he came back into the office around an hour after consuming it (This would be question number three of the day) He stopped mid-sentence, made a face, hit himself in the chest just below his collarbone and made a comment about how it felt like it was coming back up. We both made sympathetic comments back. (Myself, doing a little sing-song "Told you so" in the deep recesses of my brain) And then he followed up with "It'll be worse on the way out, you know?"...then proceeds to lift a leg, pull his arm downwards like he's sending off a foghorn, cross his eyes, and make a raspberry noise.
My life, folks. Yours in entertainment.
Baby P
Now, again, 13 years in corporate environs makes you very aware of Political Correctness. Definitions vary, sure, but you get what P's and Q's one should mind are they to work for a major corporation or have to scan a badge to enter their building. The big ones are typically identifying forms of harrassment, creating hostile work environments, and cursing/acting crazy. (The latter of the last two can be debated. I've known some crazy motherf#ckers in my various tenures.)
He's early 40's, "husky", and according to my trainer- doesn't have a girlfriend. So he's at the office almost 50+ hours a week. Drives a big ol' F150 with the back window obfuscated with a NYC skyline before all the frass happened 8 years ago. And door handles in the shapes of US Flags. God Bless 'Merica, indeed. My bleeding heart sympathizes, and I maintain my stance of openmindedness. Seems like a nice enough fella. Until, he starts talking.
It's not that I'm afraid of blue language. Or that I can identify words/statements that some people may deign offensive. On the contrary, I like to think I have a pretty high bullshit meter. And outside of expulsing any real vehemence towards race/lifestyle etc...there's precious little that could rile me. Until he says to my trainer (clearly used to this treatment) "This spec is f#cking retarded, could you look at it gaylord?"
Yup. Oh, other bon mots? (Stop me if you get the vibe that there may be a closet case floating around)
- (Before work, waiting to unlock the door, to my trainer) "Holy s#it_______...I can see your dick and balls through your pants!"
- (About my trainer possibly having to skip town, avoiding the fantasy baseball session, to go with his wife to visit a possible friends newborn in Chicago) "Whoa...are you gay or something?"
- (About the nice glass repair lady who dropped off strawberries and business cards) "She a hottie? Whoa...Noooooo. Woof".
- (About my trainers mom. Apparently a MILF) "Hey_______...Does your mom still ask you about what we did a few weeks ago? I kinda miss her"
- (About my heating up Boca Burgers for lunch the other day) "What are those?" (I explain) "Nooooo...are you? Noooo. Those aren't any good. Those can't be any good. You don't really like those, do you? Does your girlfriend make you eat those? Nooooo"*
- The whining. For real, out of the last 8 hour days I've had he's interrupted no less than 1/3rd to ask questions- Which I'm fine with...but when the shout (small office) "HEY! WHAT'S OUR CITY CODE?" (He was sent the link on Monday to the site that lists them)/"I SENT IT TO YOU ALREADY, OPEN THE LINK!" (Pause) "COULD YOU SHOW ME?"...I stared at my trainer with as little disbelief as I could muster. In case you're curious, Wednesday was kind of a wasted day.
- He doesn't shut his PC down at night, doesn't get his updates, and couldn't take an online licensing exam...so he bullied my trainer out of his room to use his PC to take it. 2 hours, where I did nothing. At this point, I'm worried that I'm going to look unproductive.
Sigh part two.
Trainer update- Today, I was informed global warming isn't real. Hybrid cars are for suckers. We won't run out of fossil fuels and they aren't technically pollutants. And our President actually said that he plans on bankrupting the coal industry. ("He wouldn't say that, dude." /"Yes he did. I'll bring the recorded quote in on Monday") My tongue is swollen from biting it. And for not being too political a guy, I really feel that I'm doing a good job of not biting his rhetoric in the interest of keeping my job.
*The day he commented on my lunch, the morning started with his coming into my trainers office with a paper bag that had a bottom soaked shiny with grease. He takes out the wax paper wrapped contents and shows what...may have been in a past life a bagel sandwich. I say "may have" because it was covered with congealed cheese which had two greenish-black, jalapeno peppers I think? And something that may have been eggs and bacon pushing out the edges. The actually both ooohed and ahhhed over it saying how good it looked. I didn't say anything. Just smiled and nodded. For real, ain't my place to judge.
When he came back into the office around an hour after consuming it (This would be question number three of the day) He stopped mid-sentence, made a face, hit himself in the chest just below his collarbone and made a comment about how it felt like it was coming back up. We both made sympathetic comments back. (Myself, doing a little sing-song "Told you so" in the deep recesses of my brain) And then he followed up with "It'll be worse on the way out, you know?"...then proceeds to lift a leg, pull his arm downwards like he's sending off a foghorn, cross his eyes, and make a raspberry noise.
My life, folks. Yours in entertainment.
Baby P
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Employment, officially, week one.
"Where...to begin?" (Sorry for "TDK" enthusiasts...it's just kind of appropriate since I started this gig on a Friday of all days.)
Shirking insuraNce...
Now, when I started papering teh interwebs after my initial unemployment, I figured it'd be a slow and arduous journey to get work. I fretted and fumed. And when I got the first nibble I jumped at it, confident my business was out there enough to see if I would get "perm" employment when it arose.
So I do the shaky startnig job "thing "last Friday- I'm getting out and feeling over my head. I'm ready. I'm jazzed. I'll take anything. The following weekend was bliss, but my cautious optimism is tempered by my feeling of dread over the position along with a resolve to maintain what I have. Except for the pre-blogged things I've spoke of ("You have a position to sell insurance? Really?" I deleted those emails) Well then I re-meet my trainer and he's verbal. Ultra verbal. And has worse ADHD than I do. ("Okay, when logging in here...do you like pancakes?") It may be best to describe them...via bullets. First off, this office is very, lax. Like, they curse. Hurl insults at each other. Make (albeit, harmless) comments that a policy was hard to land between two folks because of the language barrier. And the worst? (Help me if I'm being too sensitive.) They call things "retarded" or "gay". (My trainer said "So, if they are 'partners' do they prefer 'gay partners'? 'We're gay'? 'Homosexual relationship'? What?" I said "Domestic partnership is safest and PC")
Okay. Trainer first:
Yeah. Don't get me started on the other co-worker in the joint. That'll be another blog.
Point is, I don't feel like I "fit" in with the culture there. They're still grooming sales and that is a business I don't feel really comfortable in. Again, it'll do in a pinch (meaning now) but I'm starting to feel the pinch. And it's kind of hurting. And I've even put on my happy face the last two days.
Sighs.
Shirking insuraNce...
Now, when I started papering teh interwebs after my initial unemployment, I figured it'd be a slow and arduous journey to get work. I fretted and fumed. And when I got the first nibble I jumped at it, confident my business was out there enough to see if I would get "perm" employment when it arose.
So I do the shaky startnig job "thing "last Friday- I'm getting out and feeling over my head. I'm ready. I'm jazzed. I'll take anything. The following weekend was bliss, but my cautious optimism is tempered by my feeling of dread over the position along with a resolve to maintain what I have. Except for the pre-blogged things I've spoke of ("You have a position to sell insurance? Really?" I deleted those emails) Well then I re-meet my trainer and he's verbal. Ultra verbal. And has worse ADHD than I do. ("Okay, when logging in here...do you like pancakes?") It may be best to describe them...via bullets. First off, this office is very, lax. Like, they curse. Hurl insults at each other. Make (albeit, harmless) comments that a policy was hard to land between two folks because of the language barrier. And the worst? (Help me if I'm being too sensitive.) They call things "retarded" or "gay". (My trainer said "So, if they are 'partners' do they prefer 'gay partners'? 'We're gay'? 'Homosexual relationship'? What?" I said "Domestic partnership is safest and PC")
Okay. Trainer first:
- Yeah...10+ years younger than I am ("Wow? I thought you were, like, 28 at the most?" when I only told him I was over 30. I'm not super comfortable mentioning my age in the workplace, deeming it a little damning in the long-run)
- He's young, ultra-conservative, and heavily influenced (Meaning, when he rants...he quotes them) by Limbaugh/Hannity/Lewis et.al. Baaasically a "homeless can help themselves" guy, where I corrected him saying "What if they have a diagnosed mental illness?" He didn't have an answer.
- Told me he "hates" the gov't and taxes. (No explanation to me on that one. He just gets really fired up.)
- Thinks the AIG bailout is hypocrisy ("If the execs worked their way to that position, who are we to decide whether they get it or not?"/"What about the peons that help support the overall bottom line?" I caution. Again..."I see your point")
- Hates his in-laws. (He's 24, you see. And one of them is on SS and disability. They, apparently, are sucking off the system)
- My fave- Students loans are stupid. And shouldn't be given. Or aid. If you can afford to go to school, or have a scholarship in, say, baseball it's okay. (I pointed out that when-in an earlier conversation- he thinks that people should be able to pursue happiness no matter what their station and if they hate their job to do something about it...find another job that fits..that it just doesn't make sense.) Let me clarify, that without judgement I learned he had his college paid for by his folks. Full ride. And he was okay with that. Just not others. He thought that it was important to realize that some parents worked THEIR butts off to send their kids to school. I failed to respond.
- Besides quitting at such a young age, he has nothing lined up outside of helping his dad to fix condemned property. He doesn't care. He has enough saved up. No debt. He's excited. Ambitious. Annnnd (no judgement folks. Nice if you can get it) lives in his folks basement. ("Well, it is a nice basement. They're never home. And it's 1,800 square feet. It's like we own the place." He was quiet when I asked if they bought groceries for everyone. Apparently, they do)
- He wriggles his nose at everything/place I mention for food. He thinks the world revolves around meat and potatoes...or hamburger helper. ("Whaddya do last night?"/ "Moda and I made veggie tacos and watched 'Vicky Cristina Barce-"/"That. Sounds. Awful")
Yeah. Don't get me started on the other co-worker in the joint. That'll be another blog.
Point is, I don't feel like I "fit" in with the culture there. They're still grooming sales and that is a business I don't feel really comfortable in. Again, it'll do in a pinch (meaning now) but I'm starting to feel the pinch. And it's kind of hurting. And I've even put on my happy face the last two days.
Sighs.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Hi...sorry about that
Especially if you were following my sitch. As you know, things took a turn for the interesting after Wednesday of last week. Namely, a job.
So I jogged on Thursday, shaved, and took it easy. (The tummy was not so happy. More on that in a second) Friday, I hustled out in the world of the gainfully employed!
Here's the thing. I'm not sure it's my bag. Like, I felt really not cool with it. Like, everything the temp agent told me was contrary to the actually responsibilities I'd be doing. (Selling product, changing to 2nd shift to perform cold-calls in the evening when needed, travelling to clients homes to assist with appraisals/take pictures of things 4-7 times per month) It wasn't the exhaustion of being overwhelmed and excited for the first day, it was exhaustion at registering that I had been placed in a place I wasn't prepared for.
Sighs. Talk about gift horse, buddy.
So I stick with it and keep searching. The way I figure, maybe one of the positions I applied for late last week will call for interviews this week. Who knows. I just need to keep the cash flow in, you know? In other news, the unemployment office sent a letter denying my claim. I have until April 2nd to file an appeal, but that just sent my stomach into greater fits. I realize that in two days I've managed to hold down bananas and the occasional Boca burger. (Note- The last two days I've had a big breakfast, first at Triple Rock where Moda and I shared a Big-Ass Breakfast Burrito and today when I made a giant feast and got her sick off of the sheer volume of food I made. Heck, I even held down a celebratory cup of coffee. Score)
So I jogged on Thursday, shaved, and took it easy. (The tummy was not so happy. More on that in a second) Friday, I hustled out in the world of the gainfully employed!
Here's the thing. I'm not sure it's my bag. Like, I felt really not cool with it. Like, everything the temp agent told me was contrary to the actually responsibilities I'd be doing. (Selling product, changing to 2nd shift to perform cold-calls in the evening when needed, travelling to clients homes to assist with appraisals/take pictures of things 4-7 times per month) It wasn't the exhaustion of being overwhelmed and excited for the first day, it was exhaustion at registering that I had been placed in a place I wasn't prepared for.
Sighs. Talk about gift horse, buddy.
So I stick with it and keep searching. The way I figure, maybe one of the positions I applied for late last week will call for interviews this week. Who knows. I just need to keep the cash flow in, you know? In other news, the unemployment office sent a letter denying my claim. I have until April 2nd to file an appeal, but that just sent my stomach into greater fits. I realize that in two days I've managed to hold down bananas and the occasional Boca burger. (Note- The last two days I've had a big breakfast, first at Triple Rock where Moda and I shared a Big-Ass Breakfast Burrito and today when I made a giant feast and got her sick off of the sheer volume of food I made. Heck, I even held down a celebratory cup of coffee. Score)
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Unemployment wk 3...Chance of rain.
So...
I figure that I wouldn't post all gloom and doom. Yesterday was more house arrest as you know, culminating in a Tarantino film fest ("Reservoir Dogs" followed by "Pulp Fiction" and "Kill Bill Vol. 1". I'm starting to feel like I should make this my movie marathon blog rather than my current state of unemployment blog) My worry is now stemming from the fact that I feel my MS knowledge may be waning and that frightens me that the atrophy is going to affect my marketability. And makes me want to drink. Frass.
I have a lengthy convo with big bro regarding unemployment benefits which ends with my needing to call them to confirm my eligibilty. I end the conversation 15 minutes past the office hours, so I know I have til today to call and make sure I have the benefits in tact. I do a heavy, at home lifting session (arms, shoulders) to keep fit and my roommate tells me it is a good thing to stay physically active as well as mentally positive. I wonder if that's true.
Today was a different story. Mid-week. Time to be more, more proactive.
I find a link to a health care company in my neighborhood that is offering a few positions. I apply on line and keep my fingers crossed. Then, it's a call to the Unemployment office to get my status. They tell me that my former employer hasn't contested my eligibilty and twice confirms that I am " most likely" going to receive benefits. Good. While on hold with them, I receive a message on my phone from the temp agency saying that they have a potential Insurance gig with the Farm to start immediately. Good for me, bad for Kaiser who I had promised to help do home repair chores tomorrow for cash. Okay. I'm ok with this. I call them, hem and haw over the position and money ("I won't sell, okay? I am not going to sell the stuff." Which is dumb, since I should take what I can get but I really believe I need standards too. I. Won't. Sell. Insurance.) They're fine with that, and promise a call back with details. They also say the magic words to me: "We will go to bat for you". Strange that I find that comforting. Who says that, these days. A guy who really appreciates and believes in loyalty really likes this. More, cautious, hope.
Then I get a personal message from a buddy who has a potential opportunity to shill wine for an independent winery down in Southern MN. I read the details, hem and haw over them, and figure "What the hell". I send in my stuff with a cover letter to them as well. It's an hour commute with 30% of my time working from home but like someone on Frassbook pointed out- They know folks with longer commutes with s#ittier jobs. If this works out, again, another potential opportunity in the works. And I can sell wine to an Eskimo. I'm positive.
So besides it being ridiculously cold in the world for the month of March. Besides the fact that I treated myself to Chinese takeout in my one foray into the world. Besides the fact that I've practically lived in front of my computer the last 2.5 weeks trying to get gainful employment I have a small, possibly obtainable ray of light to grasp. And other opportunities to perhaps capitalize on. As a treat, I skipped the gym and have finished "Kill Bill vol. 2" and am slowly working my way through the Swayziest masterpiece of the late 80's/early 90's- "Road House".
Fingers crossed, frassers.
I figure that I wouldn't post all gloom and doom. Yesterday was more house arrest as you know, culminating in a Tarantino film fest ("Reservoir Dogs" followed by "Pulp Fiction" and "Kill Bill Vol. 1". I'm starting to feel like I should make this my movie marathon blog rather than my current state of unemployment blog) My worry is now stemming from the fact that I feel my MS knowledge may be waning and that frightens me that the atrophy is going to affect my marketability. And makes me want to drink. Frass.
I have a lengthy convo with big bro regarding unemployment benefits which ends with my needing to call them to confirm my eligibilty. I end the conversation 15 minutes past the office hours, so I know I have til today to call and make sure I have the benefits in tact. I do a heavy, at home lifting session (arms, shoulders) to keep fit and my roommate tells me it is a good thing to stay physically active as well as mentally positive. I wonder if that's true.
Today was a different story. Mid-week. Time to be more, more proactive.
I find a link to a health care company in my neighborhood that is offering a few positions. I apply on line and keep my fingers crossed. Then, it's a call to the Unemployment office to get my status. They tell me that my former employer hasn't contested my eligibilty and twice confirms that I am " most likely" going to receive benefits. Good. While on hold with them, I receive a message on my phone from the temp agency saying that they have a potential Insurance gig with the Farm to start immediately. Good for me, bad for Kaiser who I had promised to help do home repair chores tomorrow for cash. Okay. I'm ok with this. I call them, hem and haw over the position and money ("I won't sell, okay? I am not going to sell the stuff." Which is dumb, since I should take what I can get but I really believe I need standards too. I. Won't. Sell. Insurance.) They're fine with that, and promise a call back with details. They also say the magic words to me: "We will go to bat for you". Strange that I find that comforting. Who says that, these days. A guy who really appreciates and believes in loyalty really likes this. More, cautious, hope.
Then I get a personal message from a buddy who has a potential opportunity to shill wine for an independent winery down in Southern MN. I read the details, hem and haw over them, and figure "What the hell". I send in my stuff with a cover letter to them as well. It's an hour commute with 30% of my time working from home but like someone on Frassbook pointed out- They know folks with longer commutes with s#ittier jobs. If this works out, again, another potential opportunity in the works. And I can sell wine to an Eskimo. I'm positive.
So besides it being ridiculously cold in the world for the month of March. Besides the fact that I treated myself to Chinese takeout in my one foray into the world. Besides the fact that I've practically lived in front of my computer the last 2.5 weeks trying to get gainful employment I have a small, possibly obtainable ray of light to grasp. And other opportunities to perhaps capitalize on. As a treat, I skipped the gym and have finished "Kill Bill vol. 2" and am slowly working my way through the Swayziest masterpiece of the late 80's/early 90's- "Road House".
Fingers crossed, frassers.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Unemployment Wk 3...Starting...now
Week three? Really? Gah...Gahhhhh...Gaaahhhhhhhh...! (I wanted you all to picture Dr. Peter Venkman right before he gets slimed. See it? Good)
So it will have been over two weeks to the minute as I type this that I received the "one-on-one meeting" email. And I am so. Pissed. Off.
I'm really, really trying not to lose steam. I wake every morning to check my business. I look in at the phone every time I step out or am downstairs to see if I missed a message. I get discouraged when, after reviewing the job requirements of all jobs applied for at the gubmint, find out that they are all post dated. Most of them are already closed postings. Moreover, some of them require "signing up" for the Guard. And the website wouldn't let me apply online. On the plus side, the health care company has received all 10 of my applications. Only 6 of which are accepted and reviewed. The rest, closed.
I stare at the unemployment paperwork daily and it all reads like Sanskrit. The windshield wiper blades on my car stopped working entirely (which will cause a hasty call to the auto repair shop I took it into last year to have them fixed) some dumbass must have backed into me because my front license plate mount was knocked off and now rests on the passenger side floor with the bolts shorn off. I was driving back from the gym and realized I hadn't bothered to fasten my seat belt. I. Am a walking moving violation.
Moreover, after a weekend of much needed beeb-time where we gymmed/watched movies/finally slept in the same bed- The urps got the best of me. I worried going in that I'd be fixing for a nice heave-ho. The nausea would come and go, along with the feeling that something was lodged just on top of my esophagus. After 45 minutes on the treadmill on Sunday, I walked over to Moda and retched. For the rest of the day, nothing "bad" happened but after getting treated (again) to breakfast at "The Hot Plate" (kitschy, with nice big portions. Endoresed'd!!!) I spent the rest of the day feeling crummy.
After a banana and yogurt, I hit the gym and I barely make it. I wonder if they notice my eyes watering after retching between every set. I give up, mid-workout, and head home where the meager contents of my tummy give way. I start worrying about stomach cancer, nerves...everything. I talk to my folks where I get an initial gloom and doom talking to regarding my mortgage and unemployment, after which my tummy goes again. Like a smart man, I go for a 4 mile jog.
Moda pops over and we create stinky wraps and I make a few mental concessions: 1) No more wine. For a while. I can only think that the meager stores supplied to me are causing an acidic reflux. And the damage done to the bottle of chard on Saturday while we tried to plunge through "Man on a Wire" accompanied by the subsequent retching make me think that it isn't the best thing to put in an already worrisome stomach. 2) Kibosh coffee. Again, the mornings I feel the most quesy are the ones I head down for my daily cuppa. I figure it'll save me a couple of bucks and it will make for an interesting experiment for the foreseeable future.
So here I type this, no coffee, and so far- No retching. I may be on to something.
So it will have been over two weeks to the minute as I type this that I received the "one-on-one meeting" email. And I am so. Pissed. Off.
I'm really, really trying not to lose steam. I wake every morning to check my business. I look in at the phone every time I step out or am downstairs to see if I missed a message. I get discouraged when, after reviewing the job requirements of all jobs applied for at the gubmint, find out that they are all post dated. Most of them are already closed postings. Moreover, some of them require "signing up" for the Guard. And the website wouldn't let me apply online. On the plus side, the health care company has received all 10 of my applications. Only 6 of which are accepted and reviewed. The rest, closed.
I stare at the unemployment paperwork daily and it all reads like Sanskrit. The windshield wiper blades on my car stopped working entirely (which will cause a hasty call to the auto repair shop I took it into last year to have them fixed) some dumbass must have backed into me because my front license plate mount was knocked off and now rests on the passenger side floor with the bolts shorn off. I was driving back from the gym and realized I hadn't bothered to fasten my seat belt. I. Am a walking moving violation.
Moreover, after a weekend of much needed beeb-time where we gymmed/watched movies/finally slept in the same bed- The urps got the best of me. I worried going in that I'd be fixing for a nice heave-ho. The nausea would come and go, along with the feeling that something was lodged just on top of my esophagus. After 45 minutes on the treadmill on Sunday, I walked over to Moda and retched. For the rest of the day, nothing "bad" happened but after getting treated (again) to breakfast at "The Hot Plate" (kitschy, with nice big portions. Endoresed'd!!!) I spent the rest of the day feeling crummy.
After a banana and yogurt, I hit the gym and I barely make it. I wonder if they notice my eyes watering after retching between every set. I give up, mid-workout, and head home where the meager contents of my tummy give way. I start worrying about stomach cancer, nerves...everything. I talk to my folks where I get an initial gloom and doom talking to regarding my mortgage and unemployment, after which my tummy goes again. Like a smart man, I go for a 4 mile jog.
Moda pops over and we create stinky wraps and I make a few mental concessions: 1) No more wine. For a while. I can only think that the meager stores supplied to me are causing an acidic reflux. And the damage done to the bottle of chard on Saturday while we tried to plunge through "Man on a Wire" accompanied by the subsequent retching make me think that it isn't the best thing to put in an already worrisome stomach. 2) Kibosh coffee. Again, the mornings I feel the most quesy are the ones I head down for my daily cuppa. I figure it'll save me a couple of bucks and it will make for an interesting experiment for the foreseeable future.
So here I type this, no coffee, and so far- No retching. I may be on to something.
Saturday, March 07, 2009
Unemployment Wk. 2 Ending...Frack.
It was gawdamn spam.
I had another email from the same HR assistant position. I was slightly confused before realizing that in my eagerness to apply to what I saw was a direct request for application, I failed to notice one glaaaaaring thing.
There was no company attached to it for the position.
F#ck. F#ck, F#ck, F#ck, Festery F#ck.
So, should you or any of your friends get an email from "Manifest_Careers" go tell them to f#ck themselves up their stupid fake out a$$es.
Back to the grind.
So I realize that the health care company I am applying for doesn't let you create a template for multiple apps. Meaning I have to re-fill out my personal past employment history/education/skills/ AND attach my resume with all of that s#it on it anyway- Every time I apply. I received 12 emails.
Doing one app takes 45 minutes. No lie.
I start despairing again. A lot. It's the end of a two week forced vacay and I still haven't had so much as a nibble, one part time freelance gig, several free meals, three vomiting sessions, several encouraging emails, a few discouraging phone calls, and an overall miasma of fear. Sighs...
The weekend was capped off by good time with FeeJ and Portana. We had Thai take-out, drank wine, talked smack, and watched "Kung Fu Hustle" and "Willow" (the latter, I'm fairly certain, they both despised.)
And now the weekend...which should be a time of celebrations, again...is just another two days where other folks who have jobs get them off and I am left to worry some more.
sighs...It's also great when the first thing you see when you log in to Yahoo is another terrible headline of gloom and doom regarding the record number of lay offs in February and unemployment levels reaching record lows.
: (
I had another email from the same HR assistant position. I was slightly confused before realizing that in my eagerness to apply to what I saw was a direct request for application, I failed to notice one glaaaaaring thing.
There was no company attached to it for the position.
F#ck. F#ck, F#ck, F#ck, Festery F#ck.
So, should you or any of your friends get an email from "Manifest_Careers" go tell them to f#ck themselves up their stupid fake out a$$es.
Back to the grind.
So I realize that the health care company I am applying for doesn't let you create a template for multiple apps. Meaning I have to re-fill out my personal past employment history/education/skills/ AND attach my resume with all of that s#it on it anyway- Every time I apply. I received 12 emails.
Doing one app takes 45 minutes. No lie.
I start despairing again. A lot. It's the end of a two week forced vacay and I still haven't had so much as a nibble, one part time freelance gig, several free meals, three vomiting sessions, several encouraging emails, a few discouraging phone calls, and an overall miasma of fear. Sighs...
The weekend was capped off by good time with FeeJ and Portana. We had Thai take-out, drank wine, talked smack, and watched "Kung Fu Hustle" and "Willow" (the latter, I'm fairly certain, they both despised.)
And now the weekend...which should be a time of celebrations, again...is just another two days where other folks who have jobs get them off and I am left to worry some more.
sighs...It's also great when the first thing you see when you log in to Yahoo is another terrible headline of gloom and doom regarding the record number of lay offs in February and unemployment levels reaching record lows.
: (
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Unemployment Wk 2: Time to go a-courtin'!
"We'll need you to take off your belt as well, please".
That was how it was when I walked into the Fed Courthouse for my one day mock-trial gig. Good old Porkchop hooked me up with a gig through her employer where I was to play a defendant for 5th year law students working on direct/cross examinations in the court room. I actually get up, shower, make breakfast, and dress myself like I have a day job. I feel slightly human. Purposeful.
After fretting about what I was going to say to the guards regarding why I'm there. (I mean, how many people go to court and say "Hi! I'm the 'Talent'! I need to go up to the top floor for a gig!" without them looking at you funny and the one behind the counter making a covert call on his walkie talkie pinned to his lapel) Fortunately for me, they just scan me and wave me through. The cavity search was a little weird.
Upon heading to the court room, I'm actually pretty amazed at the view. The top floor of the Fed/Courthouse faces directly in line with the old Courthouse clock face. From there, you can see Portland Ave stretching to Bloomington, the Midtown Market, Twins stadium construction...it's actually pretty cool. And then the enormity of the fact that this guy, this...judge...gets his own courtroom. Top floor. And this courtroom, I mean, I frass about dad working across the street all those years for the Sheriff's Dept but it occurs to me that I'd never actually been "in" a real live courtroom. (Well, I disputed a misdemeanor and had it tossed out back in '96 but that was more like an executive office with chairs. ) This place was stately. Vaulted ceilings. Computer monitors to view evidence for the judge/jury/witness/defense/prosecution. (I was confused by the additional tables. The lay out was like you see on TV, but perpindicular to the attorney's desks there was an additional pair of desks that didn't seem to have a point whatsoever) Then there is the pulpit, a desk with a scanner for evidence, and it isn't so much a judges desk as it is two long-assed rows for potential multi-judge review. (Dad told me about this later)
The last thing you notice is the portraiture on the back wall. These folks get painted. That has to mean importance. This place is like a church. Except, like, instead of wafers and wine you get a sentence.
I get introduced and situated, and end up drawing the short straw which meant I couldn't "play" jury duty and was to follow the plaintiff to the stand. Did I mention we aren't given a lot of prep for this? Like, it's "here is the case, here is your name...go." All I knew was what I scanned, and was given the tip of "When in doubt, say 'I have no recollection of those events'..." Greeeeeat. Annnnd here come the nerves.
I did my best not to seem snarky or act the goof. (Epic labor on my part, thanks. The opportunity to riff and frass while getting questioned was great, but I tamped it down) I did have one moment of weakness when the prosecution was asking "Sooooo...did you in fact receive a 15% salary increase in year 4?" ("I have no recollection of those ev..." Folks, it was in the prep statement I was given. I just should have read the dumb thing) "Really? It says here that in lieu of securing the deal with Cranbrooke PLC that you were assured a 15% increase in your current salary?" (Pause..."Well I'm not often privvy to the forms that our bonuses can take") "How so? How is that?" (Pause..."Well once I received a fruitbasket. Sometimes we time share a cabin. There were jams once...Preserves....")
For my lame assed attempt at humor, I was given the title of a "difficult witness". Next time I was up there, I was gonna shoot for "hostile witness". Smack my hand on the desk. Tell people the whole court was out of order. Knock over my desk. It would be completely out of context of the case, but that'd learn'em. ("I'd like the court to note that the defendant should be treated as 'dipshit'.")
We broke for a few hours for lunch where I was again able to meet RSVP for lunch. Then it was back where after a frassy coin-toss (Seriously? It was like asking monkey's to call it. "Wait, sooooo 'heads' mean I'm on the stand, or does 'tails' mean jury?" It literally took the four of us 10 minutes to organize a coin toss.) I lost. I was on the stand.
And I was hammered. My defender was all like "Slow down" and "Stop there, we'll get back to that" and "Market share in the EC" and I was like..."blink...blink, blink". And the prosecutor...hooooo..."So what you're saying is" (Like I'm gonna remember what I just made up on the spot. I can't even remember what I had for breakfast) and "You feared for you job?" and "That's not what this email drafted in year 6 says" (We didn't get a copy of these, btw. It was intended to trip us up and to give them leverage during their cross) It was actually kind of tiring.
We ended up staying close to an hour afterwards while they received feedback. Eventually, the head adjudicator (playing "The Judge") says to us "So, what did you guys think of the process" (directing this ditty to me, on the stand)
"Really?"
"Sure. You've seen these all day. What are your thoughts"
"Truthfully??"
"Sure. Candid comments will be their best feedba-"
"YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!!!"
Walked right the f#ck into that one, didn't ya mister smarty pants lawyer?
In other news, I was nauseous for the remainder of the day. The dry heaves started on the way back and didn't finish until something was produced. (I'm blaming the sandwich, which was too much for one person to eat.) Dinner w/Moda was skipped. I made it through 1/3rd of "Saving Ryan's Privates" before going to bed at 8pm. 8. And no job offers yet, btw. Frack.
By way of post-script, I talked to my dad for an hour afterwards (Big surprise there. Call home to see where Mom was and get dad for an hour) I told him I made an egregious error on my part by not pursuing law as a career. They way I see it, beside the research/buttload of course work and debt, it takes an actor to really sell this shit. You need to listen, improvise, and get a rapport established with the jury. In fact, every one of the practioners were given that feedback. And I told him that above all, the experience was really kind of cool.
That was how it was when I walked into the Fed Courthouse for my one day mock-trial gig. Good old Porkchop hooked me up with a gig through her employer where I was to play a defendant for 5th year law students working on direct/cross examinations in the court room. I actually get up, shower, make breakfast, and dress myself like I have a day job. I feel slightly human. Purposeful.
After fretting about what I was going to say to the guards regarding why I'm there. (I mean, how many people go to court and say "Hi! I'm the 'Talent'! I need to go up to the top floor for a gig!" without them looking at you funny and the one behind the counter making a covert call on his walkie talkie pinned to his lapel) Fortunately for me, they just scan me and wave me through. The cavity search was a little weird.
Upon heading to the court room, I'm actually pretty amazed at the view. The top floor of the Fed/Courthouse faces directly in line with the old Courthouse clock face. From there, you can see Portland Ave stretching to Bloomington, the Midtown Market, Twins stadium construction...it's actually pretty cool. And then the enormity of the fact that this guy, this...judge...gets his own courtroom. Top floor. And this courtroom, I mean, I frass about dad working across the street all those years for the Sheriff's Dept but it occurs to me that I'd never actually been "in" a real live courtroom. (Well, I disputed a misdemeanor and had it tossed out back in '96 but that was more like an executive office with chairs. ) This place was stately. Vaulted ceilings. Computer monitors to view evidence for the judge/jury/witness/defense/prosecution. (I was confused by the additional tables. The lay out was like you see on TV, but perpindicular to the attorney's desks there was an additional pair of desks that didn't seem to have a point whatsoever) Then there is the pulpit, a desk with a scanner for evidence, and it isn't so much a judges desk as it is two long-assed rows for potential multi-judge review. (Dad told me about this later)
The last thing you notice is the portraiture on the back wall. These folks get painted. That has to mean importance. This place is like a church. Except, like, instead of wafers and wine you get a sentence.
I get introduced and situated, and end up drawing the short straw which meant I couldn't "play" jury duty and was to follow the plaintiff to the stand. Did I mention we aren't given a lot of prep for this? Like, it's "here is the case, here is your name...go." All I knew was what I scanned, and was given the tip of "When in doubt, say 'I have no recollection of those events'..." Greeeeeat. Annnnd here come the nerves.
I did my best not to seem snarky or act the goof. (Epic labor on my part, thanks. The opportunity to riff and frass while getting questioned was great, but I tamped it down) I did have one moment of weakness when the prosecution was asking "Sooooo...did you in fact receive a 15% salary increase in year 4?" ("I have no recollection of those ev..." Folks, it was in the prep statement I was given. I just should have read the dumb thing) "Really? It says here that in lieu of securing the deal with Cranbrooke PLC that you were assured a 15% increase in your current salary?" (Pause..."Well I'm not often privvy to the forms that our bonuses can take") "How so? How is that?" (Pause..."Well once I received a fruitbasket. Sometimes we time share a cabin. There were jams once...Preserves....")
For my lame assed attempt at humor, I was given the title of a "difficult witness". Next time I was up there, I was gonna shoot for "hostile witness". Smack my hand on the desk. Tell people the whole court was out of order. Knock over my desk. It would be completely out of context of the case, but that'd learn'em. ("I'd like the court to note that the defendant should be treated as 'dipshit'.")
We broke for a few hours for lunch where I was again able to meet RSVP for lunch. Then it was back where after a frassy coin-toss (Seriously? It was like asking monkey's to call it. "Wait, sooooo 'heads' mean I'm on the stand, or does 'tails' mean jury?" It literally took the four of us 10 minutes to organize a coin toss.) I lost. I was on the stand.
And I was hammered. My defender was all like "Slow down" and "Stop there, we'll get back to that" and "Market share in the EC" and I was like..."blink...blink, blink". And the prosecutor...hooooo..."So what you're saying is" (Like I'm gonna remember what I just made up on the spot. I can't even remember what I had for breakfast) and "You feared for you job?" and "That's not what this email drafted in year 6 says" (We didn't get a copy of these, btw. It was intended to trip us up and to give them leverage during their cross) It was actually kind of tiring.
We ended up staying close to an hour afterwards while they received feedback. Eventually, the head adjudicator (playing "The Judge") says to us "So, what did you guys think of the process" (directing this ditty to me, on the stand)
"Really?"
"Sure. You've seen these all day. What are your thoughts"
"Truthfully??"
"Sure. Candid comments will be their best feedba-"
"YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!!!"
Walked right the f#ck into that one, didn't ya mister smarty pants lawyer?
In other news, I was nauseous for the remainder of the day. The dry heaves started on the way back and didn't finish until something was produced. (I'm blaming the sandwich, which was too much for one person to eat.) Dinner w/Moda was skipped. I made it through 1/3rd of "Saving Ryan's Privates" before going to bed at 8pm. 8. And no job offers yet, btw. Frack.
By way of post-script, I talked to my dad for an hour afterwards (Big surprise there. Call home to see where Mom was and get dad for an hour) I told him I made an egregious error on my part by not pursuing law as a career. They way I see it, beside the research/buttload of course work and debt, it takes an actor to really sell this shit. You need to listen, improvise, and get a rapport established with the jury. In fact, every one of the practioners were given that feedback. And I told him that above all, the experience was really kind of cool.
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
Unemployment Wk 2: A glimmer, faint and sparkly
6 New Messages! Says my Yahoo account. When I turn on my PC in the a.m. I'm generally positive that those messages will contain one or all of the following:
Best Western Inn Deals
CareerBuilder/Monster Searches
Northwest Air Frequent Flyer
Friendster (How many women have the time to photograph their thonged buttocks is beyond me)
Mom, sending when she gets home
But...
There is one that comes from one of the buddy-referred places stating that "they are only offering an interview to limited individuals and how my resume' caught there attention would I please email information today..."
Yup. Nibble #1.
I keep my hopes and cajoling to a minimum but usher them an email ASAP. After reviewing my business, I get back to the grind. Family referral from yesterday responds and gives another half a dozen links. I've barely even scratched the surface of the ones from yesterday, but make a note to try and finish them by today. I finish laundry, pet kitty, and head out to meet Moda for lunch (On her. Again. Sighs) before heading back to check business (again) and nap. I don't know why it is, but occasionally I'm convinced that I have tsetse flies in my house. It feels like I walk in the front door and an invisible yolk with heavy weights is on my shoulders. And it takes all of me just to plod upstairs, pet kitty, get undressed, and plop down.
I'm gonna blame the shoulder and arm workout on that one. And want you all to know that the only reason I know what tsetse flies are and how they affect a person is due to the "Raiders of the Lost Ark" console game for the Atari 2600. Avoid the Tsetse. That is all.
More business checking, dinner at Moda's, then back home. I fold more laundry, watch the rest of the Godfather part deux, and call it a night. These are the bad days.
Best Western Inn Deals
CareerBuilder/Monster Searches
Northwest Air Frequent Flyer
Friendster (How many women have the time to photograph their thonged buttocks is beyond me)
Mom, sending when she gets home
But...
There is one that comes from one of the buddy-referred places stating that "they are only offering an interview to limited individuals and how my resume' caught there attention would I please email information today..."
Yup. Nibble #1.
I keep my hopes and cajoling to a minimum but usher them an email ASAP. After reviewing my business, I get back to the grind. Family referral from yesterday responds and gives another half a dozen links. I've barely even scratched the surface of the ones from yesterday, but make a note to try and finish them by today. I finish laundry, pet kitty, and head out to meet Moda for lunch (On her. Again. Sighs) before heading back to check business (again) and nap. I don't know why it is, but occasionally I'm convinced that I have tsetse flies in my house. It feels like I walk in the front door and an invisible yolk with heavy weights is on my shoulders. And it takes all of me just to plod upstairs, pet kitty, get undressed, and plop down.
I'm gonna blame the shoulder and arm workout on that one. And want you all to know that the only reason I know what tsetse flies are and how they affect a person is due to the "Raiders of the Lost Ark" console game for the Atari 2600. Avoid the Tsetse. That is all.
More business checking, dinner at Moda's, then back home. I fold more laundry, watch the rest of the Godfather part deux, and call it a night. These are the bad days.
Unemployment Wk 2: Restaurant Week and Groovy Tuesday
I slowly arise to the roommate again and realize that, were I to gain employment we would need to have a talk regarding the a.m. bathroom situation. Sleep o'ertakes me again. The cat is with me, and I fall back thinking it's funny that he's been my stalwart companion through all this frass. (Normally he gets up to check on what the Bean is doing as soon as the Bean is up.)
I check my business to see if there are any nibbles. I create a new folder for potential leads and clean out my inbox of superfluous careerbuilder/Monster type stuff and begin chatting with the buddies. In order to begin some semblance of a routine, I hit the gym and do a 45 minute 4 mile run. Two things occur: One- There ain't s#it on tv in the a.m. I don't own an Ipod or headphones so I can't listen, and Al Roker being his animated self isn't enough for me. So I...TWO- Decide on meditating. Right there on the treadmill. I try and clear my head every 5 minutes, for two minutes while running. Empty the pot. Float into infinity. Anything to clear my noggin. It's hard. Harder than you'd think. And I realize that I'm a buffoon. An ADHD addled buffoon that can't "not" think of crap. Cars. Lottery. Upset at losing his job. What I'm doing in 2 hours. Maddening. I think I'll try this every time I get on the treadmill.
Moda changes our lunch plans, I pick her up and we decide to "support local" and hit Palomino for Restaurant Week. (For the uninitiated, it's where Twin Cities high-end restaurants serve lunch/dinner at fixed and reduced prices for the week. Drums up business and all that) We meet her sis and order. While bitching about bosses and workloads, I try to not think about the fact that a heavy work load means work, pure and simple. And am again peeved that I was let go when there was so much to do. Oh yeah, lunch? $10 for two courses. Suck it. The second peeve is that my SO has again grabbed the tab for me. I feel a little demasculated again. Can't help it. Hate it. Moving on.
Champagne was part of this deal for restaurant week, and half off bottles of veeno and bubbly meant we all shared a community bottle. This also meant my motivation was nigh on eradicated by the time I rolled home. Sleep took over.
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Annnnnnd we wake. Business checking. And...holy f#ck. My inbox has 24 new messages? Outside of a dinner date with two hot ladies, regular buddy frass, and spam- There are several from yesterdays buddies referral. Wow. I make a mental note to review them individually for placement tomorrow. There were just...too many! I call the satellite temp companies in Bloomington and Stipples to let them know of my availability. I turn on what fading charm I have (producing, hopefully, giggles that weren't born of my stupid hammy wit) and get in touch with another potential contact w/in the family. Seems gubmint jobs are opening and who am I to turn down working for them.
Dinner is simple, and I finally crack open the box O' Pinot in the fridge. Over the course of the evening, I demolish a few glasses, check my business 5 times, watch half of "The Godfrasser part 2" (Which, folks, if you haven't? You need to see it. Wow.) I let Moda Know-da that I'm fading and call it a night...cat firmly tucked under my arm.
I check my business to see if there are any nibbles. I create a new folder for potential leads and clean out my inbox of superfluous careerbuilder/Monster type stuff and begin chatting with the buddies. In order to begin some semblance of a routine, I hit the gym and do a 45 minute 4 mile run. Two things occur: One- There ain't s#it on tv in the a.m. I don't own an Ipod or headphones so I can't listen, and Al Roker being his animated self isn't enough for me. So I...TWO- Decide on meditating. Right there on the treadmill. I try and clear my head every 5 minutes, for two minutes while running. Empty the pot. Float into infinity. Anything to clear my noggin. It's hard. Harder than you'd think. And I realize that I'm a buffoon. An ADHD addled buffoon that can't "not" think of crap. Cars. Lottery. Upset at losing his job. What I'm doing in 2 hours. Maddening. I think I'll try this every time I get on the treadmill.
Moda changes our lunch plans, I pick her up and we decide to "support local" and hit Palomino for Restaurant Week. (For the uninitiated, it's where Twin Cities high-end restaurants serve lunch/dinner at fixed and reduced prices for the week. Drums up business and all that) We meet her sis and order. While bitching about bosses and workloads, I try to not think about the fact that a heavy work load means work, pure and simple. And am again peeved that I was let go when there was so much to do. Oh yeah, lunch? $10 for two courses. Suck it. The second peeve is that my SO has again grabbed the tab for me. I feel a little demasculated again. Can't help it. Hate it. Moving on.
Champagne was part of this deal for restaurant week, and half off bottles of veeno and bubbly meant we all shared a community bottle. This also meant my motivation was nigh on eradicated by the time I rolled home. Sleep took over.
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Annnnnnd we wake. Business checking. And...holy f#ck. My inbox has 24 new messages? Outside of a dinner date with two hot ladies, regular buddy frass, and spam- There are several from yesterdays buddies referral. Wow. I make a mental note to review them individually for placement tomorrow. There were just...too many! I call the satellite temp companies in Bloomington and Stipples to let them know of my availability. I turn on what fading charm I have (producing, hopefully, giggles that weren't born of my stupid hammy wit) and get in touch with another potential contact w/in the family. Seems gubmint jobs are opening and who am I to turn down working for them.
Dinner is simple, and I finally crack open the box O' Pinot in the fridge. Over the course of the evening, I demolish a few glasses, check my business 5 times, watch half of "The Godfrasser part 2" (Which, folks, if you haven't? You need to see it. Wow.) I let Moda Know-da that I'm fading and call it a night...cat firmly tucked under my arm.
Monday, March 02, 2009
Unemployment, Wk2: The actual first interview
I had this played out all wrong in my mind. I was going to find the place, show up early, fill out my s#it, charm the pants of the interviewer, shake hands, and go. Your email says to allow up to two hours? I humbly beg to differ, thanks.
So that's that Jack Sprat. I can also follow up with their other local branches since they have specific contracts with specific companies so a more immediate placement may occur. (They didn't seem to want that, but they said they will share this info with all of their other branches if I contact them for placement as well)
Hm. I need a nap.
- Arrive and park in proscribed ramp. Make a mental note to memorize location. Blog followers may remember the 15 year high school reunion debacle from last fall. Na. Gonna. Happen. Twice.
- Promptly get lost. Try navigating on the outside to no avail. Ask for directions and wonder why they have to stand and face the direction I should go instead of "Just go right when you exit". I must look stupid and lost.
- FINALLY find the place. Just in time. Check in, give my ID's and ask for a restroom. By this point I know I'm sweating. And need to pee. Mop my brow and thankfully don't think I stink.
- Wait and fill out a homeowners closing amount of paperwork. I9's, W4's, Criminal Background checks, consent forms, the works. Wait another 15 and read "Savage Love". Wonder if other reception area attendee's are looking over my should assuming I'm looking for either "Mr. Right" or "Mr. Tonight" based on the ads on the opposite page.
- Led into the testing center. I fly through the core competencies (Readin'/Writin'/'Rithmatic) and Customer Care (Doi, I could have wrote it) and get a moment of self consciousness. Should I re-check my work? It isn't a race. Say "Eff it" and move on to MS applications.
- Excel and Word aren't as forgiving. They tell you what you answered wrong, and it feels like I am not going to pass. Thankfully, they let you go back and correct answers at the end. At my old employers, I only worked with specific areas of both programs so I was really rusty. Frack.
- 10 key exercises. Grateful I don't own a laptop, again, I finish these fairly quickly. Done. Check my phone, and it is 1:35. 1:35!?!?!
- 1:42, check in again and am asked to wait. I ask for potty break number two and they say "fine". In the bathroom, I notice my fly has been down since probably the first potty break. Whoops. Text RSVP and say I'll be late for lunch.
- 1:55pm, an interview. Finally. After we've sat down, I'm told we'll be reviewing my test scores first. Oh F#ck. In my mind, this means they're calling me on some BS they found. They should be asking me about my past jobs, hobbies, and what I'd like to do at which job. But no. Scores first. I'm doomed.
- (Click away if you don't like back-patting hubris) "Your scores are the highest I've seen here. '100%' in core competencies, '98%' customer care, '99%' 10 key, and '86%' and '72%' in Word and Excel respectively...". Um. What? My first thought after seeing the "Expected Customer Care average-'61%' is "Who is accepting that? That isn't 'good' customer service?"
- Chat away- We go over where I'd like to be, my last choices in departments in which to work, benefits, employee referrals, and if I have any questions.
- 2:10pm. I'm so hungry I could eat my own arm. I meet RSVP 15-20 minutes later and we do lunch.
So that's that Jack Sprat. I can also follow up with their other local branches since they have specific contracts with specific companies so a more immediate placement may occur. (They didn't seem to want that, but they said they will share this info with all of their other branches if I contact them for placement as well)
Hm. I need a nap.
Unemployment, Wk 2: 1st interview pt 1. The set up.
"I always call softball practice 'rehearsal' by accident..."- Twink
Me? I have a habit of calling interviews "auditions". Same thing.
Interesting developments, kids. So I spent last night getting my business together- Resume' hard copy, mental note as to what to wear, checking the address and materials needed. Instead of hitting the gym at 6, I opted to sleep in a smidge to look and feel rested. (No sense having luggage under the old eyes) I email my ressie out some more to another promising lead by a buddy that just learned my sitch, and began my day. Starting with coffee, yogurt (soothes frassy tummies) and a 'Nana (firms the stool, just in case) And-
End of part one.
Me? I have a habit of calling interviews "auditions". Same thing.
Interesting developments, kids. So I spent last night getting my business together- Resume' hard copy, mental note as to what to wear, checking the address and materials needed. Instead of hitting the gym at 6, I opted to sleep in a smidge to look and feel rested. (No sense having luggage under the old eyes) I email my ressie out some more to another promising lead by a buddy that just learned my sitch, and began my day. Starting with coffee, yogurt (soothes frassy tummies) and a 'Nana (firms the stool, just in case) And-
- Sets out undies and brand new dress socks he received for X-mas. I'm opting for the blue blazer, white shirt, khakies, and brown lace up Oxfords. (Potential employers can frown on loafers, and may prefer the architecture of tied shoes) Remembers that Moda doesn't dig the look, shrugs because he doesn't wanna do the all-black hitman suit until a second interview is assured.
- Shower. Check that the 'burns and newly shorn face don't have a lick of stubble. My grooming has made sure I'm amply deodorized, and I 86 any cologne lest I offend.
- Grabs blazer. Oh f#ck. There is dust on the shoulders. Thick. Dush. Work on it with a lint brush.
- Grabs white shirt. Oh f#ck. The sleeves are still rolled up from the last time I wore it. There is a make-up smudge on the shoulder from a post-show hug. and the sunlight reveals some wrinkles. Fudge. Here's to hoping I won't need to take off my jacket.
- Run down to grab my khaki's from the base. Oh F#ck. There is white streaky laundry goo down the ass and leg. Runs back upstairs to check for back-up pair. Find them, and throw then in the dryer with a wet towel to floompf them up.
- Check the address again. Write it down.
- Grabs shoes. Oh f#ck. THEY are even covered with dust and a little snow salt. Rues the day he didn't buff them before. Uses a dust mitt on them, and a wet washcloth which evens out the scuffs etc.
- Dresses carefully, combs hair, lotions dry hands and face, grabs tie.
- Oh F#ck. Notices that the tasteful tie he chose to compliment his ensemble doesn't have a unique print, rather it is interconnected red wine glasses. Let's not send that message yet, shall we. Goes with solid dark red power tie.
- Starts my car. Checks business again. Checks to see that he isn't sweating.
- Puts on jacket. Thanks goodness that it fits because he told the guy he was bigger than he was when he first bought it (43R) and isn't like his other fitted coats from later years (42R). This keeps me from looking like a man in an ill-fitting suit.
- Tucks ressie in a nice leather folder, tucks that in his man-purse, heads out 45 minutes early...just to be safe. One last look in the mirror. Can't notice any stains on the white shirt. The tie knot looks...decent. Off to downtown.
End of part one.
Sunday, March 01, 2009
Unemployment, week two, in advance.
Before and after. One, a mix of Nolte/Phoenix (Late Show interview) The other, shorn and filled with product. Wish me luck on my interview. As of this post, I have had another buddy send me HR contact info from their employer. So another rezzie goes off in the world. Fingers crossed, friend.
A lil' more topical
Unemployment does cause to spring forth catching up with some movies that normally would be relegated to the DVD selection marked "Things I watch when Moda's netflix queue isn't available and I need to put something on to help me sleep", such as barrelling through trilogies and whatnot. But we had a blessed Friday night/Saturday to catch up on things gathering dust on my bookshelf that rehearsal and time hadn't allowed us a chance to view.
And here is where I say "WTF, Werner Herzog".
So, we decide on the Oscar Nominated Herzogian documentary "Encounter's at the End of the World", a little ditty about his time filming Antarctica. The last great outpost. Moda thinks I hate documentaries. To be fair, they aren't my first choice when trolling new releases. But it doesn't mean I favor blow-em-up celluloid flicks. I tend to lean toward nature docs with celebrity VO's like Morgan Freeman. The guy could read sides for a documentary on the processing of Ritz Cracker's and you'd dig it. ("Monosodium triglyciride...Sodium...Partially Hydrogentated cornseed oil...all make for a tasty and popular cracker." Go on. Re-read it like it was Morgan doing the V.O. You would want. His. Cracker.)
I was a little apprehensive, but man...this was the guy that led that nut Klaus Kinski in such lauded performances as "Aguirre:The Wrath of God". I will give this a chance. Moreover, the opening filming with the undersea footage of divers caressing a frozen stalactite gripping the icy sea bed...well it was gorgeous. When the narration began, Moda's first words were "You're gonna make fun of his accent." (No. For some reason, as funny as German lilted English accents are I didn't think I'd rise to the occasion. Fast forward 30 mintues to Moda saying "Eef you think dat da frossen vasteland is barren...you haf not seen my fridGeraTor. Eet dossent haff any chondimundts"... or something like that)
No, we were given a documentary of sorts. It's just that his interview questions were borderline Borat ridiculous. In the interest of keeping this short, I'll paraphrase his questions to a shy scientest who has made it his career of studying a particular brand of penguin for over 20 years:
(VO: "Ve tried to mek dis qvuiet man answer some qvuestions.")
WH: "Zo. Haf you effer herd uf der gay penguins?"
Dr: (Uncomfortable silence. Wait, in movies, any movie, silence is death. This got uncomfortable for the viewer) "Um. No. We...uh, have viewed some situations of two men vying for one female"
WH: "Zo. Haf you seen any formz uf der prostitution?"
Dr: (More...reeeeally uncomfortable silence) "Um. Sometimes they, uh no...sometimes the go off by themselves for no reason"
WH: (V.O) "He vas qvuiet...and fer good reeason. He showed vun penguin by itself, valking avay from ze others. Gay. Alone"
(Source: I paraphrased the frack out of this. Get used to it. Rent it, if you really want to see what I mean.)
And it was funny when they would show the job titles of the interviewee's: "Forklift Driver/Philospher" or "Deep sea Marine Biologist/Rock Musician"...it was like freakin Buckaroo Bonzai. And the disdain he had when he found out this lone Antarctic outpost had a Yoga studio...A YOGA STUDIO!!! That is NOT pristine.
Wart. The. Fork.
In other news, we also watched "W". My take? No political bent meant? It was like a Will Ferrell sketch on SNL with a budget, with the script taken from those Bushy malapropism calendars that were so popular at Urban Outfitters. Uncomfortable. Weird. Funny. Sad. And now, dated. Rent if you want, otherwise...meh. You know this d-bag. Or rather...knew. Snark.
And here is where I say "WTF, Werner Herzog".
So, we decide on the Oscar Nominated Herzogian documentary "Encounter's at the End of the World", a little ditty about his time filming Antarctica. The last great outpost. Moda thinks I hate documentaries. To be fair, they aren't my first choice when trolling new releases. But it doesn't mean I favor blow-em-up celluloid flicks. I tend to lean toward nature docs with celebrity VO's like Morgan Freeman. The guy could read sides for a documentary on the processing of Ritz Cracker's and you'd dig it. ("Monosodium triglyciride...Sodium...Partially Hydrogentated cornseed oil...all make for a tasty and popular cracker." Go on. Re-read it like it was Morgan doing the V.O. You would want. His. Cracker.)
I was a little apprehensive, but man...this was the guy that led that nut Klaus Kinski in such lauded performances as "Aguirre:The Wrath of God". I will give this a chance. Moreover, the opening filming with the undersea footage of divers caressing a frozen stalactite gripping the icy sea bed...well it was gorgeous. When the narration began, Moda's first words were "You're gonna make fun of his accent." (No. For some reason, as funny as German lilted English accents are I didn't think I'd rise to the occasion. Fast forward 30 mintues to Moda saying "Eef you think dat da frossen vasteland is barren...you haf not seen my fridGeraTor. Eet dossent haff any chondimundts"... or something like that)
No, we were given a documentary of sorts. It's just that his interview questions were borderline Borat ridiculous. In the interest of keeping this short, I'll paraphrase his questions to a shy scientest who has made it his career of studying a particular brand of penguin for over 20 years:
(VO: "Ve tried to mek dis qvuiet man answer some qvuestions.")
WH: "Zo. Haf you effer herd uf der gay penguins?"
Dr: (Uncomfortable silence. Wait, in movies, any movie, silence is death. This got uncomfortable for the viewer) "Um. No. We...uh, have viewed some situations of two men vying for one female"
WH: "Zo. Haf you seen any formz uf der prostitution?"
Dr: (More...reeeeally uncomfortable silence) "Um. Sometimes they, uh no...sometimes the go off by themselves for no reason"
WH: (V.O) "He vas qvuiet...and fer good reeason. He showed vun penguin by itself, valking avay from ze others. Gay. Alone"
(Source: I paraphrased the frack out of this. Get used to it. Rent it, if you really want to see what I mean.)
And it was funny when they would show the job titles of the interviewee's: "Forklift Driver/Philospher" or "Deep sea Marine Biologist/Rock Musician"...it was like freakin Buckaroo Bonzai. And the disdain he had when he found out this lone Antarctic outpost had a Yoga studio...A YOGA STUDIO!!! That is NOT pristine.
Wart. The. Fork.
In other news, we also watched "W". My take? No political bent meant? It was like a Will Ferrell sketch on SNL with a budget, with the script taken from those Bushy malapropism calendars that were so popular at Urban Outfitters. Uncomfortable. Weird. Funny. Sad. And now, dated. Rent if you want, otherwise...meh. You know this d-bag. Or rather...knew. Snark.
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