Owe a blog or tuppence...

Has it been a month?

The important thing to remember about new big-kid work gigs is establishing a routine. For me, it meant learning how to get up before the ass crack of non-dawn. As a mildly insomniatic frasser, I figured this'd be no big deal. So I started my daily routine with stretching, push ups, and crunches to help "wake me up".

Doesn't work so well. I'm back on coffee faster than Bub's jumps on heroin...fans of "The Wire" will get that...

I'm not gonna lie. I'm not a fan of the new gig. I have limited interweb access. It's busy. 8 hours worth of busy from 1st log in. No down time. And I'm expected to churn out productivity like it was my jo...Okay. Shup. But 8 hours non-stop outside of my particular skill set hurts. And I'm new. And it's hard to formulate a response to my S.O. when asked: "how was your day?" when it starts so early and your faculties don't kick in until hour 2 that you really don't know how your day was until it's over. For real. (I sometimes forget cases I worked on a mere 6 hours prior because I'm not "with it" until 8 a.m. A co-worker will ask "Do you remember this case?" And I'll say "No" and really? It's no big surprise to anyone at the office. We easily work 250 orders a day.)

So I'll break this down, pro and con, and hope I don't get deuced in the interim. I may need to get some job counselling soon.




Pro- I started light railing. I had a practice jump a few weeks back when I forgot my cell phone at work and now I'm an old pro. Get up at 4:45. Stretch/Push Up/Sit Up. Hit the Hiawatha line by 5:25. Read for 20 minutes. I'm there. I'm saving over 20 miles a day in commute time. I can read the 20 minutes until I'm there. Unless early morning airflight travellers knock my head with their luggage. F#cks.

Con- I get home 30 minutes later than I normally would. I park in a conspicuously break-inable Park and Ride. I have to walk four blocks to my building in the morning, rain or shine. The LRT bells are pretty jarring when you haven't woken up yet. And my first trip to work I had a Shawshank style shakedown when I couldn't produce my paid-pass which was deep in my satchel that I'd tucked in after paying. (Note to self. Keep paid-pass close to your paid ass)

Pro- I'm done, off shift, ridiculously early. On the days I may commute? Traffic is nil. Esp. in the a.m. The only worries I have are when MNDoT chooses that day to arbitrarily close a lane to do Crosstown makeovers.

Con- When I was searching for work, I kinda was hoping for something closer to the metro. Sure it's on the LRT, but man...It's behind MOA. And no sensible MN'otan goes there unless necessary or has a crowd fix that can't wait until the State Fair. Beggars can't be choosers and all that...but still...

Pro- Such a laid back environment. It's almost lovey dovey. It's diverse. (Moreso than the Stag) Someone told me that I was called "McHottie" during training. (Don't people keep that to themselves?). I've seen people hug. They're fairly laid back. There is free water, coffee, overtime is encouraged with the threat of free catered food, plenty of fridge space...My yogurt hasn't disappeared yet.

Con- I hate it. I'm used to such a safe, structured corporate environment= even when I was in such a diverse place as the Bullseye= I still think it's weird. I'm not cool with words like "retard" being thrown around to describe people co-workers think are dumb. Or "Gay". It doesn't strike me as insensitive or deliberate...just ignorant. And a minor bitch, there isn't a stall in the men's room that has a partition. Which, okay, whatever. I've pissed at the Metrodome. But your junk is in plain view of ANYone standing in front of the mens room door when it opens. (Anyone) And I guess, well, I thought there'd be a little something to keep the lil' guy from public eyes.

Pro- I'm starting to "get" it now. I've gotten past the freshman hump, and I think I'm getting it now. I've been doing overtime. Asking fewer questions from my resources.

Con- I realize that this isn't a job for someone with 14 years of corporate quality/training experience...or corporate experience in general. If I was just out of college...heck..HIGH school...I could get this job in a few weeks. Move up. And hell, I find myself wishing I had...housing market being what it is.

But after the initial freshman shakes wore off, I figured out how the productivity cheaters cheat. Why the people who are perm. reps are jaded. And even after working 3 weeks and seeing 8 new "new hire" classes come through...realized I'm sort of disposable. It doesn't feel like home. My 22 co-worker b#tches up a storm daily. I used to wonder why they made such a fuss about being on time until my cube mate (I share a cube) frequently shows up 10-45 minutes late and takes 8...8 breaks a day...4 of which to smoke, and the first only 25 minutes after she's shown up.

In short...I feel old. Overqualified. And swimming in a pool of people who could give a f#ck when I'm in debt, have a house...roommate...car...cat...and really care about being employed. It's frustrating.

And I can't blog at work. Or check Yahoo. And I hear people b#tch about being bored at work?

(sighs) I go from being unhappy at my big kid job. To unhappily unemployed. To temp. To unhappy temp. I don't even have a theater gig to look forward too.

Double sigh.

Did I mention I have to get up at 4:45 am?

Did I mention I get "coaching tips" from my direct report...on s#it I never was trained on how to do in the first place?

Did I mention there was no training? We had 2 days of "This is the Company!" Then we sat with people who did their jobs...and didn't tell us how to do it.

8 New Hire classes have came in since I started. All with the same frightened look that the last one did. The same one I did.

I put my stuff away in a single drawer so that the p.m. person who shares my desk doesn't feel like I'm horning in. My disrespectful cubbie doesn't feel like that. She set up shop as soon as she set down with a box from her last job. 20 odd family pics. Beanie Babies. Coffee mugs full of pens. On the weekend, I ran into a buddy from my 1st training class asking what the f@ck was wrong with the person that sits there in the morning?!?!?


I don't know. I just tune her, and her s#itty IPOD music that I politely...and repeatedly...and repeatedly (she turns it up if I leave for break or lunch...or get an email from someone asking why she needs it so loud?) tell her to turn it down...

Anyway. I'm still on the hunt, folks. I'm feeling 3rd grade patronized, daily. And it chips at the soul.

Oops...I owe a job blog

It's been a whirlwind at the temp gig. I've been experiencing the ups and downs that anybody goes through when they are training- confusion, elation at remembering work details, frustration that I wasn't issued my parking pass which resulted in getting red-slip reminders (Thankfully, no boots or towing of my vehicle) and I'm settling in slightly. I haven't really seen much of my direct manager but it seems that there are batches upon batches of temps coming through after me which leads me to believe they may need to open another floor to accommodate us all.

And there's the commute.

It's been pretty easy, all told, in spite of the construction on 35. Except the last few days have been a little weird. I was stuck behind two F-150's who were pretty lost coming to the Crosstown and were puttering along at 30 mph which caused some wheel-clutching as I worried I'd be a little late (And believe me, they are death-death-death on even a smidgen of late-liness) Yesterday I realized that accidents don't cause MN'aton's to become lookiloo's, but construction turns folks in to an older version of a 8 year old with Tonka Trucks when the big back ho is being used to tear up concrete with a wrecking ball dangling precariously from a mega-chain. It caused traffic to snarl for 10 minutes while they watched road crews demolish 35 SB in an astonished fashion. Frustrating for yours truly. Fascinating for people who think that sort of thing is incredible. (This theory is backed up by the 5 people I have told, including my roommate, who said that they would have probably done the same thing and watched...even after the fact I was in disbelief)

One notable thing- I downsized my man-purse to accomodate a Trapper-Keeper folder I found to keep my temp paperwork/job aids seperate from the contents of my bag (including my lunch) in order to lighten my load as it was. It was an old thing, but still in tact and apparently was a throwback to my big bro's HS days. (Yes, I still have that s#it on hand. Bite me) I threw it in my manbag without realizing that someone scrawled the word "ASS" in block letters with a Sharpie on it before tossing it on the desk of my trainer before engaging in side-by-sides...I kept that side down before getting to work.

In other news, my SO is on her epic "Thelma and Louise" road trip and her texts are making me drool with wanderlust.

Beers in Moab indeed.

So yeah...new joerbed...

The first two days of jobhood are a bit of a whirlwind. The first thing you want to do is maintain the air of enthusiastic energy coupled with a forwarded minded sense of mobility. This, of course, is difficult when after having spending many weeks of bathrobed unemployed torment can cause a sense of internal tumult. You spend an inordinate amount of time in a training room with the lights off getting a wash of new-company information like business tiers, mission statements, internal structure, corporate goals, manager names, associate manager names, team lead names...not to mention the shadowing of individuals whose positions you will be emulating with the caveat that "It seems a LOT at first but in time you'll get it..."

And you know you will. And it still leaves you feeling like you've watched a 10 hour anime' festival. Headachey, boarderline epilleptic, and exhausted. Thank goodness you learn that coffee and water is free in the breakroom.

What tends to set my Spider Sense off if that there is such a large number of temps in the office. Almost 80% (if they aren't management) are temps. Certain key phrases that set me off are thrown out "turnover", "You aren't 'JUST' a temp'...", "Cultish atmosphere", and other bon mots that make me wary. Not to mention the fact that the pay cut, after I do some careful math, is considerable. This would be a great job if I was just out of college and upwardly mobile. (As one of my trainers pointed out they were.) But for a guy that has 14 years of corporate experience and after quietly (impressive for me, I know) observing certain behaviors is not quite sure this...again...is the right fit.

See, it made me realize you are at the discretion/peril of the agency you get work through- You are told the name of the company, the"possible" job title, a very-very generic description of responsibilties, and the pay range. The more desperate (read, Me) will gobble it up. You get sucked in by the agencies enthusiasm, their description that many temps have landed GREAT permanent positions and this is one of their FAVORITE companies to staff for! (Why so great? Because they fire and re-hire you to re-staff them? The current 80% temp staffing is what set me off to that)

So. I perservere. I will work this job. And in the mean time...

I troll my dad's place of employment. Not my calling, but for what they do it pays infinitely more than what I'd earn at the above.

I send a resume' to another place recommended by Bri-Bay. Again, not the same $ but it's downtown, better $, and not temp. (Read: Benefits)

I do the same thing I always do and send a resume to a job I am probably hugely underqualified for but liked the position nevertheless. (Maybe not hugely, but it was a leap. I hope my cover letter "professionally" made them smile)

And off to another week.

Oh Hai...Jobbed!

Yes, yes. It was a fast turnaround to be sure. And I'm glad of it.

So after checking my business on Monday and wondering where the hellacious stomach cramps and nausea were coming from, I received a call from the Temp agency with the question:

Can you come out today for a 3pm interview.


Wellllll...I was going in for a mani/pedi, and I've got to watch a repeat of the watered-down VHS taped TV version of "The Breakfast Club"...but I guess I'll make this onnnnnne exception HELLS YES!

So I pace. I frass. I try to go for a run but end up getting sick midway through and turning around. I wait. (It was still reasonably early, btw) Shower. Shave. And sweat. Wait, what? Sweat?

Yup. I have a sheen, at this point dear Martin, and I'm feeling re-grossed out.

I check and re-check the directions and head on out early. Annnnnnnd 35 W South is now down to TWO lanes? Furk.

I arrive and check myself in the rearview. (I drove with the "cold" blasting from my blower so I wouldn't sweat again) Turns out (A) I didn't shave well. At all. There's a dark soul-patch looking thing at the corner of my mouth in addition to a sideburn that has turned into a Triffid. Great. Also, a cut on my chin. Great. Also...dry skin? I have dry skin? And it's a lot. I get out and head in, noticing the car booted next to mine. (I saw the sign that says if you aren't here on company business you'd be booted. Great. I hope they were warned)

I join the group of 16 other hopefuls in the lobby with my contact who I'd only spoken to on the phone. (Tall drink of water, btw. She assures me my car will be fine) I head to the restroom to check my appearance in full light and...Gah. My hair is still wet a bit and slicked down. I look like an extra from "There Will Be Blood". I flumpf it up as best I can, brush off superfluous dust/dandruff/kitteh hairs from my blazer and use a wet napkin to blanche the dry skin off of my neck. Okay.

By the time I got back out to be let upstairs, I was sweating again. Nervous sweat. And as we were led to a conference room, I ended up sitting between a recruiter and a manager. (God, Oh God, please don't let me smell. Please) I nervously mop off my forehead with an extra paper towel I swiped and absentmindedly listen to the speaker speak. Before going, my recruiter told me that this company is cool, see? And she loved hiring for them but they were hard to break into but the guy leading this was a guy who was temp and is now managerial after a few months. Okay. I get called up, and wonder if it's sweat I can feel trickling down my arm or my imagination. If you've ever sweated in a suit, it sucks.

So we interview. It's cool in the office, which I'm grateful for. I realize my normally hip and frassless demeanor has been shaken a bit. I see my hands are a little shakey (No breakfast) and my answers are slightly stuttered. (What? Actor, rehearse, hello?) I glide through it, shake hands, and depart.

2 hours later, I find I'm one of a few candidates to land the position and they really liked me. Thank you, Sally Fields. And I pass out that night, only to stay awake until dawn.

So now, I'm setting out my clothes. I went and got a respectable (kinda) haircut. My car runs. And I turned in my background check info yesterday. (Who'da thunk remembering address for the last 8 years woulda been tough, right?)

And now, we will have a night in with Mexican food and hopefully all will be well. If I don't post as much, remember I'll fill you in later in the evening.

Yee-Haw

You need a "Hero"...

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

***SPOILERS- BE WARNED!!!***


Okay, last week was a good cliff hanger that set me up for the new writers who are (probably) still finding their sea-legs and figuring out what they could kibosh/clean up from the horrors of season 2/3. I held my expectations until the end and while I liked it overall I still had some fanboy/fan issues:

Teh Like-

Peter and Mrs. Petrelli figuring their s#it out. I hope this will eventually either solidify her as a strong goal-driven character or be the f#ck-all Judas of the series. I think past seasons would have spent 70% of the episode discussing feelings and how Peter didn't like Fruit Loops as a kid but because Nathan did they always bought Fruit Loops and "Goddammit, Ma...I LIKE FRUITY PEBBLES...BECAUSE...WELL...I LIKE GEOLOGY*, and NOT GEOMETRY!!!"

Nathan and Claire...I wasn't sure why they were in Mexico and it didn't bother me as much as I thought. (Like when you said "WTF is Hiro doing in 17th century Japan?") They're on the lam, and you probably (like me) were distracted because Claire has such CUTE new bangs that make her look slightly older so you don't feel guilty thinking she's a cutie-pie. His post-drunk confessional in the hotel room (only slightly spoiled because I was like "Whoa, folks...Biological Father here and she's undressing his drunk-ass")

I mean, it was kinda faulty ("I'm gonna bet frat boys that I can outDRINK them to get money! THAT'S my solution...by the way, my power is that I can fly...") but having her pick up the slack because she can regenerate. Okay, okay, fine...it might promote underage drinking, but she can f#cking regenerate and is nigh on immortal. It's cool if y'all are altruistic and shit, but if you can't attack the ol' liver with some fervor just to have it grow back, well...it's time to challenge yourself. Ask Wolverine. (So yeah...good job using a power for something kinda practical.) And their talk the next day was pretty earnest as well, and holy shit, Mr. Natalie Maines was finally ACTING instead of "Jaw-Acting" while looking serious...Good boy.

I'm glad the shape-shifter was a skivvy douche and not another "OH F#CK...I HAVE A POWER!!! Don't HURT MEEEE!!!") It's like the old "Would you choose flight over invisibility?" conundrum. They say folks who choose "invisibility" would totally pull a Kevin Bacon in "The Hollow Douche" and rape and pillage his invisible junk through the world. This guy could look like whoever he wanted, and did, and tried to score...prick. So when "Terminally Ill Looking agent" and Skylar went looking, you were like "Yeah. Fucking get that T-1000 having-Roofie-Popping Douche!!!"

They didn't try to shoehorn EVERY other character in just to say "Their still here! Don't forget them!" Oh we won't network. We may seem like forgetful frassers, but we wanna know what happens next okay? That's what a cliffhanger ending is called, and that is how people will come back and watch your show.

Sylar's eye change at the end. Nice touch. He (disguised as she) could have done a ghetto-ass effect and had him just shake his head five times going "budga-budga-budga-budga" and been MAGIC Sylar again.

"We Gotta Get Out of this Place" as a closing montage song? Nice touch.


The not-so-"HERO"-ic: (IMHO)

(Disclaimer- I'm not against allegory, just when it doesn't seem to need to be there)

So Peter and his Ma take refuge in a church and have a protracted dialogue regarding his and her upbringing, and eventually make amends. Great. But he puts her in dry clothes which "shawl" her and BOOM...we have the Virgin Mary in the pews staring at the statue of Jesus! It's practically a reverse pieta when Peter (And sorry. He still sounds like the guy at the High School party who brings their guitar and is like...all emo like..."Hey...I wanna play for you ladies this song I wrote called 'More Than Words'. It's from my soul and stuff". I want him to turn into hardcore "future" Peter where he's bitter and jaded and gets a scar from Sylar. ) But he gives this speech in the church that didn't seem to have the same impact as, say, this one from the "West Wing": (Back me up, Eva and Wiiman)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FScv89J6rro

Too. Forced.

Claire and Daddy are in Mexico. Why? Isn't Alejandro still alive? I didn't like him, but they could have done another throwback. Yeah?

Mr. "Doesn't Look Too Healthy" guy and his new friend Sylar: "Can you not do the head thing?" And Sylar DOESN'T?!?!? C'Mon. He shouldn't be doing it at all then. Yeah, he learned "not" to during season 2, but it's Sylar. Frack. A killer!

I want Peter to have different powers now. Again. Like season 1. There are still too many "I don't have the same powers" or "I've lost my powers" types running around. (Well, if Hiro still doesn't have his time-travel powers that'd be okay by me)

If you've read this, I'm amazed.

* On another site, I mistakenly wrote "Geography". My bad. I also caught my displeasure at Sylar's lengthy expository discourses when a strong/silent killer is cooler than a chatty one. "Ohhhhhh you caught me MONOLOGUING!!!"

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.

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.

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!!!)

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

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.

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)

• (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

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...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.

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)

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.

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.

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.

: (

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.

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.

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.

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.

• 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-

• 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.

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.

The end of week one...

To cap off a banner week, I get up at 7:30 and check my business only to find a text from Moda saying that her car was towed. Frack. My tummy is not too incredibly frassy which means that I'm calming down, some. I wait for the Bean to leave, check to see that my car is outside, start it, and get the remnants of the walkway cleared and salted.

Today is a tidying day. The mailbox full of bills/mortgages/utilities only serves as a reminder of how dire this s#it is. I shoot off a couple more emails asking for referrals, top the bills off in order of soonest due to next soonest due. I finish clearing out the kitchen table of the organized crap from emptying the boxes, throwing away dead pens and pens with the deer on it. I set up the command center to have a stack of bills to be paid immediately, unemployment paperwork that came today, pens, and a to-do list. Georgie teh kitteh is now sleeping on half.

Moda and some CB buddies are meeting for sushi and she offered to buy so I relish the opportunity to get out of the house on this gorgeous (albeit cold) and sunny day. Looking in the mirror, however...another story emerges.

Holy crap. I look like Nick Nolte's booking photo. I realize my costume for the last few days has been my bathrobe, the same jammie bottoms and same green shoddy tank top and even shoddier sweat shirt. And my five o'clock shadow threatens to overrun my face all the way up to my knappy hairdo.

Feeling a new man upon exiting the shower (checking business. No sign of referral request responses. New man is not happy to have been felt.) I head out.

After a grumpy sushi lunch- Moda b/c of her car and the fact that folks showed up late and DG b/c of work...wait, let's pump the brakes for some internal monologuing. Daddy isn't mad, but sitting next the the newly unemployed guy and complaining about how assignments are coming in too fast and how you'll need an assistant to finish it or they quit...I mean, I'm right here.

We all part, and I head home for more tidying/business checking/and oddly enough, a nap. The local MPR radio station dj is asking for money in spite of the economy and tells listeners to "Hang in there. Things will get better". Okay. I arrive home to here of a very temp acting type gig helping law students during mock trial sessions next week. Score. Every little cent helps. Also, the unemployment paperwork is f#ck all hard to understand, so I make a note to go over it with Mo this weekend.

Moda arrives and I start creating fajita's. We both think about getting tanked on this awful upon awful of weeks, but end up slowing down and eating dark dark chocolate on the couch while watching netflixed films.

Let's see what a "normal" weekend means.

Day Four- Anxiety, Purging, and beacon # 1

There is a weather advisory today. It's overcast, getting chilly, and I don't want to get out of bed. I wait a while until I hear the Bean leave for work, try to settle back in, and can't. I let Moda have more of a lie-in since she has the day off for a PWC gig, grab some coffee, and start to read. When she wakes and finds me in the command center she says I look sexy. True, I've let the facial hair go since Sunday...but my reasons are "if I'm gonna be jobless, I might as well look like a hobo".

She makes breakfast and as we act like good girlfriends and drink coffee while watching "The View". (Background noise, people. I've already checked my Yahoo account 4 times before 10am) I ask casually why there are so many school closings listed to which she responds that there is a snow emergency. Glancing outside at the melty backyard I snerk about how that's a good excuse.

I start to feel nauseous again, and also a little panicky. It's kind of ridiculous, but I'm gonna be alone in the house all day. She tells me that she'll grab me lunch and I can come watch if it's an open audience performance. I feel like my gratitude is glowing. I call dad thinking I'm gonna get a couple of options and instead get an earful on Unemployment and pursuing it through my old HR department. Some choice words are tossed, and 45 minutes later I feel greater waves of nausea and hopelessness. I go down stairs and start to clean out the two Fed Ex boxes (Again, I'm determined not to leave shit about the place and sulk. Move, buddy) When that's done, I try back AcctTemps. Success. They refer me to another number and we go through a get-to-know you interview. He tells me that it's tight, but he'll send me some info and online app stuff and let's have a live interview on Monday.

Sweet.

The sweetness is cut short when I go to throw anything from the old place that has a deer on it in the trash when I take a spill on an icy patch and nearly get bowled over by gale blowing snowy winds. I stand there for a moment, and once again create a maudlin scenario like "This weather reflects my sooooul..." Except I'm not that emo.

I think it's amazing that 3 minutes outside has coated my hair in snow and my sweatshirt is damp. Upon stripping down and toweling off was when finally the dry heaves pay off with the loss of my breakfast burrito. I spend the part of the afternoon curled fetal on my bed until I go down to get some water. I call Moda and cancel plans and stay curled up in the command center. Feeling really isolated. I make it outside to shovel and the Bean drives up asking for grocery requests. He doesn't budge until I give him one item, so I relent and ask for bananas.

I spend the early evening on the couch, vascillating between Return of the King (Still tear up at the end. Shup) Smallville, and some lame ass JLo movie on TBS. It's weird, but I'm waiting up for Moda and I'm not even sure if she's gonna arrive. So I call her to make sure she got home safely, and I call it a night.

And realize I hadn't eaten anything all day since breakfast. And I'm still not hungry.

Day three- Telling the Bean

Normally hump day is a cause for mild celebration to the cube jockey. The week is half over and the weekend is smiling in your face. After seeing Moda off to work like a good SO, I see the Bean is up and frassin. He asks if I'm still sick and I make maudlin gesture number 10. In my robe, I lean over the sink and plant my hands while taking a deep breath than looking up. He responds accordingly and very Bean-like: "Uh-Oh...I don't like the sound of that"

"I was let go on Monday"

Rather than turn into a worried Wonka, he mobilizes as well. He throws various ideas out there and we bounce them off one and other. He leaves, with the promise that he'll keep his eyes and ears open. I send off another resume, call back the temp firm, and head out for a jog on this glorious day. By mile 3, I'm throwing up. I have to walk the last 6 blocks and chalk it up to nerves. At home, I agree to meet and help run lines with a buddy who took the day off to work on their script. While brushing my teeth, I start dry-heaving. I start getting worried that I'm gonna get sick right after I lose my insurance.

I come downstairs to a couple of Fed Exed boxes on my porch. All my work gear. And a flush of anger rises in me again. And I start to get another lump in my throat. A cursory poke through them reveals they sent me back all my office supplies on my desk top. (Which negates my whole fantasy of winning the lottery and keeping them all anyway) My five year glass commemorative candy dish is in pieces at the bottom as well as a Spider-Man card/picture holder. I make a note to inventorize tomorrow, then notice that my hardboiled eggs that I usually bring for a snack are in there. Again, effectively rendering my hope they'd forget them and they'd go bad useless.

I check my business again and head over to be a line runner. I cathart to 'Lis, run lines, then we drink some beers. We're joined later by Moda and Tuggernuts before breaking for the night. I hunker down for "Two Towers" and fall asleep. I wake up when Moda breaks from rehearsal. We frass a bit, then call it a night.

Day two- Calm before the storm.

I have a resolve list I'm bound and determined to stick with. Get up at the same time daily, check my business by the minute, and not spend any $ unless absolutely neccessary. I'm emailing Portana with questions and her response is inspiring. I'm starting to get some personal messages and emails with thoughts and encouragement. Mom is sending Craigslist ads that I respond to with fervor. And, I get my first nibble from a temp agency who I promptly play phone tag with.

I'm a smidge quesey still, but make it to the gym/run and make the most of my new-found freedom with an offer of free pizza by Moda. We run into Ari who is concilitory regarding my situation. I jokingly ask if he needs an assistant and he says he does. He, in turn, jokes that he can remember this (Insert obscure 70's sitcom theme song) but not his next meeting.

I head back home for more business checking, and file for dreaded unemployment. It's an intimidating process for me. The questions seem invasive, and at this time I'm not sure I'm reading them correctly. A Yahoo feature speaks of unemployment, things getting worse, and a puddle of bile swirls in my belly. I continue my movie marathon from the night before. I've finished "40 Year Old Virgin", "300", and decide the "LotR" extended editions should follow. (I make it through all of these in record time due to my habit of fast forwarding past the boring bits. Which means all the walking and talking expository crap in "LotR" goes by at 8 x's FF)

Still scared, still attempting optimism, I get the 2nd email from the other co-worker. I start to cry again. I have a beer and call it a night. I notice that I skipped dinner, and realize that this is starting to resemble my "getting dumped" diet. No good. Hopefully my appetite will return.

Living in the slow lane

Hi. I was fired.

After over 7 years at the same place, I was let go Monday morning. When you work in the fidouchiary community and the econ is the way it is, you figure you are working on limited time. The funny thing is, I kinda saw it coming? About 2 months ago we re-structured and I was assigned manager #3, the third within 12 months. Departments were letting folks go, things were getting cut from the top down, bonuses were redacted company wide, and there seemed to be an ill wind in the air. I had a recent desk move which I figure may have prompted a smidgen security (they can be expensive inter-departmentally) but it caused me to start bringing personal stuff home bit by bit. I started frassin' with buddies as to how to get started on a job hunt, thinking it would be tough but not impossible. I re-created a resume' and got some contact info. And was gearing up of making a go of it.

Turns out, a little too late.

So mama-san thought it'd be best to start blogging about it to give a day by day account of what it's been like, create a cathartic outlet, create fodder for my one-person show, and hopefully kill some time before my (hopefully) speedy rehire. So as we say in the showbiz parlance, let's take it from the top. Per safety/security things may be discussed in generalities so please take my apologies in advance. Clarifications will be happily regurgitated in person. More on that, later:

Day one-

Boss is in the office on a non-boss-in the office day. I take this as a bad sign already. I take to working and keeping my head down, as I had been wont to do lately. I get a meeting invite via email with myself and two others and my spider sense starts tingling. I send a quick note to Moda with the header "I'm kinda scared right now" with the body "I think I'm gonna get fired today". Walking down to the first floor meeting room, by the entrance, I am flooded with a sense of calm. I know what's coming. I've kind of known for a while. If it's not what I think, all right. And if it is...well, I know.

It happens, and they go to collect a list of personal things I can think of off the top of my head. No easy feat since you accumulate a lot more than your jacket and man-bag in 7 years. I text Mo and head home. I notice traffic is light at that time of day. Weird.


At home, Moda asks to come over which I didn't think was a good idea but said okay(with a promise of booze) and I mobilize immediately. I start with anonymous and vague emails to my two closest work associates with personal forwarding info/#'s etc. Mo shows up and over a cocktail I get my first real maudlyn meltdown- I wasn't even able to say goodbye to my friends. They show you the door and that's that.

I finish my drink and emailing bro, posting resume's to 5+ headhunter sites, imploring actor types for any employment opps, and promptly take a nap. I get up to dinner being made and checked my email. Checking my email/voicemail every 10 minutes or so is going to be a habit these next few days. As I smell sauteeing veggies downstairs, I am reminded of the gratitude I have for my parental visit the other day where I walked out with 5 bags of groceries.

Moda rehearses. I talk to my family. Brother seems to understand the situation all too well. The 'rents place the fear of God in me which freaks me out and makes my tummy frassy. I watch a s#itty episode of "Heroes" and call it a night. One last email check I get from the aforementioned co-worker. I read it, and start to cry again. I attended his wedding. He helped me move. He's seen countless shows I've done. I feel optimistic. Free. Thankful that I have a lot of PTO owed me, recently filed my taxes, and have most bills paid.


And, I'm a little drunk. Good night.

And the Frasscar goes to!

I am a perennial collector of the VeeF "Hollywood" issue. Admittedly I'm hooked on stupid ass glam photo's by Annie Frassoweitz and Herb Fratts that I can't let that stupid March issue go. Since 1998, bitcas.

I like it, because the issue comes out right before the Frasscar's and for some reason always brings me back to when I bought my first issue (Road trip back from Nashville, 1997) and momentos from things like that usually only last the moment you do them. VeeF? Comes out with the issue every year, baby.

So I've had the pleasure this year of seeing almost every movie considered. This is...to be fair...huge. Since the last 6 years or so I'd maybe...MAYBE seen 2 or 4. But we got through a majority, and I'm proud like a kid after his first paper route. Although, and to tie our two themes together:


"The Frassler". Okay. We get it. He's redeemed. His life, his real life, it's all like...the camera is capturing it you know? This guy has needed a break for soooooo long. Where has he been, man?

Well. For starters, he's been in a couple of VeeF Hollywood issues as the "Bad Boy" or some such nonsense. Shirtless. Molesting a chihuahua, and trying to figure out how he was the bomb diggety from 1985-1990 before becoming a pariah.

Well dude. You've had some pretty cool indie films. See-Ann Peen believed in you. And the critics didn't miss it. It was just before indie-films had a chance to be Frasscar winners. Now it's like "Hey...you won an independent spirit award. Let's give you a Frasscar too!".

Wait. What? I thought one was to celebrate independent filmmaking. The other, to say drivel like "Titanic" (Which made a shhhhiteton of money for the academy) with gabillgion dollar budgets got the gold?

There was a movie called "Frass City" that was out two years ago. 'Member? And who played "Marv"? Oh, some guy. Not some guy needing a comeback. Or a film tailor made to his life story, albeit with tights. Nope. He's been there. And bless'em for trying, I just get tired of seeing the dumbed down version of his "rising from the ashes". Folks. He never left the building. They are leading you.

And don't kill me. RDjr is similar. (At this point, most celebrities probably need to build up there shell or don't believe the hype. But let me telllllll you)

Again. A frakkin' great actor. Really. But he's fallen and redeemed so much that he's practically a phoenix. Folks. Just. Ugh. (And "TThunder" is a great, great movie to see what he can do. Really. )

Rant Rant Rant...

Okay.

"Slumfrass" will win a lot. If you read Mpls/StPaul mag, there's an interesting line "It's what the academy loves". So yeah. Sorry, frassers. It is written.

The Ledge? I'd like to see him win. I think he was really good, outside my nerd sentiments, and I've watched the DVD now more times than I care to admit. (And really, I loved having such a visceral memory of a movie experience like I did with "TDK" and my roommate + SO)

The Frassler? Mmmmmno. It's gonna be a Burt Reynolds for him. ("Boogie Nights"? Anyone?)
He was good...as himself...but it isn't Olympic gold, baby.

I'm truncating the frack out of my predictions, but K'winslet is due. There, I said it. And two movies up in the running mean she's favored. And? Apparently she gets nakey in both. Academy, this is dedication. I'm serious.*


*Right, okay. So the MPAA has fracked up seriously in the past with their noms. Yoooou know. The lame ass argument that So-and-So got ROBBED for whatever, only to get an award a year or two later for "House Party 6- House PARTIER!"

I think she's a fine, believable, and enjoyable performer. And having seen neither the "Frasser" or the one her nepotisti..husband directed, I figure maybe this year is hers?


ps- Just finished "The Visitor". It will win no awards. And it is an incredibly affecting movie. For that, I hope you folks give it a rent.

First

Hey. Been a while. Quick public service announcement before the frass.

If you...yeah, you. If you are so frakkin lazy that you have to push your cart up to the- wait for it-

BACK OF THE CART CORRAL!!!

Not into it. Not...not even remotely far off like some poor destitute cart ready for the cart graveyard. I'm talking the acme of laziness. You leave it 12 feet from where it needs to go. Or set next to it in a parking space thinking "N'aaahhhh....someone will move it" (I picture this in a Bugs Bunny voice, so shup)

Gah. People. Just. Push. It's less of a courtesy than opening a door for someone. Why not honk at the person with the walk sign and curse. While you're stopped. GAH!!!





For the record, I had to actually get out of my car and move a cart so I could park next to the cart holder. Perverse, Paranoid thoughts of some ne'er do well running behind me to bogart my vehicle while I do this heroic and altruistic task notwithstanding, I cussed up a blue streak.

A little self control, pally

Once again, left to fend for myself for an evening I let my questionable bachelory dietary needs overcome my better sense of judgement. I had just returned for a run around the nabe in to take advantage of the gorgeous weather, and upon finishing my stretching I realized two things- I was absolutely ravenous and had absolutely zilch in terms of my normal throw things together staples.

I figured I'd make some simple pasta and when I checked out the stores I saw two packages of rotini that had both been used and both with only slightly less than a third of the contents remaining. Eyeballing them, I immediately figured it'd be enough for slightly more than one serving. Into the pot they went.

Upon completion, I dumped the contents into the strainer when lo and behold the expanded upon contact with oxygen. It more food than one person had any business, but less food than two people could enjoy as a meal. (And the 'Bean had already been to dinner with his daughter at the Sample Room) So I carried it upstairs like an infant and watched the early news with a beer. It was, in fact, more food than I could eat. And when I heard my roommate and his daughter crash through the front door I snuck into my bedroom, set the half-eaten bowl on my Chinese trunk, shut off the light, and pretended to-and eventually did fall- asleep. (Later he would tell me the had a few glasses of gewurtztraminer a piece and were tipsy mipsy.)

Upon waking 45 minutes later, I started picking at it again until it was gone. (This was after my groggy crashed and now ROYALLY sore self asked "Why is there a bowl of pasta by my feet?") Annnnnd started eating it again. All told, I must have consumed 6 cups of pasta over the course of the evening.

If you need me, I'll be the guy training for marathons to burn off the waaaay superfluous calories I consumed. It's called tupperware, buddy. And restraint. Durrrrr...Urp.

Never been. You?

I realized that I've been to almost all the contiguous continental United States and Canadian Provinces except that I've never been to New Hampshire or Rhode Island.

Am I missing anything?

It's MINE!!!

Any of you folks feel a weird sense of propriety regarding things that aren't yours? In case you think I'm referring to coveting, as one would maybe covet someones house/car/Carla Gugino. I'm referring to a specific habitual behavior which in turn causes your own perception to be one where you have ownership over said "thing". Perhaps examples are in order (And yes, some are gym specific. Deal. And respond with your own examples if you have any):

1) It's MY parking space.

So let's talk work. My early 6 a.m. commute affords me the luxury of getting to the office before most folks and secures my spot a little closer to the entrance of the building. (Which, as I've said before, is still a gazillion feet from the door. Which is no big deal except for below zero days like we've had) It's a four spot radius that is made up of the spots surrounding the tall frassin' parking lot lamp post and I always manage to secure these spots, save holidays when folks who have time off don't come to work and I can park closer to the handicap spot, read: Closer to the front of the building.

Now, it's important to note that I park here for another important reason- Parking in the same spot ensures that I'll remember where I parked every day. Lest I forget. See, when we were getting audited the bigwigs from out East stormed the building. They were there from the early morning to late at night, and they were many. The influx of folks, coupled with construction crews working on the lot I park in forced me to park in one of the other 4 lots.

Yeah. I "lost" my car at least 5 times. Even when I made a conscious effort to remember. You know why? When I park, I'm one of three or four other cars. Fill the lot with other salt-covered muddy cars and it's nigh on impossible.

2) It's MY handicap stall!

SHUT IT! I LIKE THE ROOM! You never know when you'll need to breakdance after your a.m. constitutional!!!

3) It's MY locker!

'Nuff said. At the FrassRoads, #35 is mine. When I see that the locker key is missing, I give an internal "harumph". Same goes for shower stall #1. I mean there are only three stalls, you know? 2 "normies" and the one for folks to sit down and use the hand held shower head. The first one, closest to the towel hooks and least visible to prying eyes, obviously- Mine.

4) It's MY treadmill!

That's right. The acme of frustration is just after the first of the year when the resolution-ists show up and pack my little neighborhood gym. Granted, they taper off toward month-end but it's like trying to navigate through a cluttered play room. MY treadmill, is expertly located in front of the TV that runs NBC. I've got my commute timed out so that if I haul a## from work I can get changed, stretch out, and be off and running by the time "Jeopardy!" starts. (A good distraction, to be sure. And have any of you ever realized how much of an a##hole Trebek can be? Wow.) So imagine my chagrin when there is someone pushing the buttons with a confused look on their face like their hoping one of them dispenses a granola bar and I'm forced to commandeer a treadmill in front of...CNN. Or ESPN 1-2-3-4-5...(Come on. Really? 5 TV's on ESPN?) Yeah. One day, this dude kept pausing his 'mill to step off, get a drink/re-tie his shoe/change songs on his Ipod/say hi to a buddy. I silently wished for schadenfreude in the form of a slip-off ala' America's Funniest Home Videos.

5) It's MY freeway

It just is. Don't mind me. I own the road.

6) It's MY parking space (Home edition)

Just South of my walk way. Parking in front of my house in general, if you aren't a guest, will result in my mental frass at your vehicle coupled with fist-shaking/damn kids-ing.

So what's yours?

Ow...my cold, cold soul

It's finally getting to me. Finally. I have momentary lapses of optimism...Sunshine will do that to you. This. Cold. I think I snapped this morning as I put on my super hero suit under my business casual work duds. I thought to myself, ever so wisely and ever so eloquently: "This s#it f#cking blows"

Negative double digits. Negative wind chill. Negative attitude. When it's so cold it hurts I reserve my MN-given right to b#tch. Yeah, Yeah... we had some milder, practically balmy weather last weekend. And we're promised some more this coming weekend. I don't care. Jack Frost can suck it. Once we get over the bitter hump that is February, we get to contend with our (historically) snowiest month= March. Which, thank GOODNESS, coincides with 4 solid weekends of High School winter sports tourney's. So we get crappy wet snow, crappy road conditions, and out-of-towners-new-to-the-big-city folks clogging the streets.

Then we get April. Which is like the cruel junior high friend who plays to your insecurities to validate themselves in the sense that you don't know if you'll be blessed with a sunny 80 degree hug or 8-10 inches of b#tch slap snowfall.

I guess the grumpdidlikins I'm feelings today are born from the fact that as I took the trash out the other day I was able to make out the faint outline of the garden borders, poking up like a serpent mound in Ohio. (Or a serpent ourobouros since it's techinically an unbroken line.) I got all wistful since I probably can't start thinking about seed catalogs, Farmer's Market visits, or those gorgeous German garlic cloves that are hiding a few inches beneath the soil on the East end.