Tag Archives: work

And now you know… the REST of the story

Here I am in lovely California, San Francisco. Home of rice, as I understand. Monster.com tells me that job opportunities abound from Pixar to Lucasarts and a lot of other places that don’t make you wear a tie either. But most importantly; I’m finally in a place that I can understand, finally in a place where I feel at home, finally in a place where the toilet paper isn’t hung in the improper underhand fashion. YOU PHILISTINES! YOU PHYLLIS DILLERS!

I am finally rid of that irksome Radioshack manager once and for all! Rather than train me the way a manager is supposed to do, she weighted me with inaccurate information, ignored most of her employees questions most of the time (I suspect she was either too lazy or too ignorant to find answers in her melon-head), exhibited an inappropriate disdain for an honestly likable customer base, shifted her responsibilities while resting her underworked ass at the back computer looking up WWE videos of her flame Batista, had no sense of sportsmanship, workmanship, duty, or ethics, but had replaced them with empty company lines, excuse-making, blank stares, unnerving stories about her WeightWatchers meetings (that didn’t seem to be working), and a relentless use of a baby voice in almost any situation. As for the poor customers and humble employees I left behind to face that rolling Tiananmen Square tank, ‘For those about to die, I salute you!’

Aside: I can’t believe I spelled Tiananmen right the first time. Groovy.

Yippy-kay-yay mother-fuckers.


The job search leaves much to be perspired. Apparently, you need one of these… internets to be gainfully employed. Once I find out what that is, how to use it, and where I can access thems, then believe you me its the mayor’s office with me!

I just read that they assassinate baby seals for their pelts. I did not know that they actually did this. I think that that is awesome. But the only bad part is that you or I could not afford this expensive babysealpelt. CLASS WARFARE! GENTRIFICATION! STRATIFICATION! OSSIFICATION! IONIZATION!

We shall overcome. A’salam A’lakum.

Full-on kosher?

So today, I’m like, prepping Ranch dressings or some menial shit, and LB (who has, so I’m told, solar energy) insinuated that I may be moving up in the company. Like, he’s asking me to stay with Olde Tyme Sandwiches and not a much BETTER job, so I can painstakingly move up the ladder. He’s going to have to offer me a pretty good raise though. I told him I’d be game for it if it was worth my time. If I’m going to be training to be a manager or something, that’s all well and good, but I really think there’s something better out there than, ‘guy who supervises the guy who fills Ranch dressings.’ But to be fair, that’s still better than being to the guy who fills the Ranch dressings himself. A pay increase wouldn’t hurt either.

My house is falling apart. And I think the landlord is trying to fleece us. She said something to the effect of the work not getting done because we hadn’t sent our rent in. But I didn’t send rent in because the work wasn’t done. I’m going to be the bigger man here, and let her have her little way, but if our house isn’t fixed completely to our satisfaction by the first of next month, then I’m not paying! It’s not like we’re getting a discount for having rooms we can’t use (which I assume we’re paying for in that rent). They tore out our upstairs bathroom which fucked up our downstairs bathroom. We can’t cook in our house because ever day that there’s construction there’s new rubble in the kitchen. And incidentally, we never had a fully working second kitchen as was promised us when we first signed the lease. Additionally, I’ve got clothes backed up because nobody has attached the dryer that they FINALLY brought us. This morning I got the number of the building inspector, which will be my ace to throw if I need it.

Otherwise, I’m wondering how I can put my money in escrow, so that I have it there when she’s bitching about rent for next month.


Demo Reel


the Demo Reel that made me the multi-billionaire you all know, despise and envy today.

*with special thanks to DJ Izzum for helping to create the sick jams

Thinking Time

So sometimes I wake up and I find that I do not want to get out of bed because I have been thinking about the universe and the miniscule random possibility that any intelligent lifeforms might have evolved, let alone two, let alone two close enough or intelligent enough to meet each other. And I bury my head deep into the softness of my pillow as I think about this and how lucky it must have been for a semi-highly evolved ape to move into the direction of manhood, and how technology and art and civilization emerged and logical thought allowed for such thoughts as these, and how it all would have been a moot point if apes never turned into man, or conversely, if God had never deigned to create life on this planet, or if I were born a single-celled organism or perhaps somebody without the ability for abstract thought or somebody in a third world country who has to worry about where their next meal comes from, not philosophical nonsense at seven in the morning. It bothers me that I CAN be thinking such nonsense, because it only reinforces that I am a member of that group of individuals, a small portion of life on this planet alone, let alone anywhere else in the universe, or compared to God, who have that ability to reason and read. To learn and process cognitive thoughts concerning cause and effect. I shudder as rain pounds on the window outside, myself snuggled deeply in my bed, that it is all a moot point, or else, it would and probably should have been if I had been born an Arctic Fox, or an albatross, or perhaps just an idiot. The randomness that I was born, not only on a planet with a habitable lifesphere, but also into a middle class white suburban family in America, with ninja turtle toys and a VCR player back when that was something laudable, and also male, which give me a bit of an edge on the competition. Perhaps not particularly at the peak of physical prowess, or even intellectually, but no lightweight either to be scoffed or scorned. I think about how lonely it must be for us to never ever ever reach alien life in all of our years on this planet until it or God or both decide to sweep us away, and how equally frustrating it must be for alien life elsewhere.

And I think about, since we were so lucky and privileged, every one of us, to live in this life on this planet, better to have lived and lost than never to have lived at all, why we waste it bickering like children with thermonuclear weaponry, shrapnel grenades and fully automatic weapons. Why we bomb country after country full of brown people and why here, even in your own backyard, teenagers can buy a glock and take down another for not paying his drug money on time or how homelessness is rampant and most of us look the other way or how religious zealots loudly advocate the destruction of one race or sexual-orientation against another? How an innocent man can sit in prison after a farce of a court trial? How far does it go? From the little white lies to the abuse of children and animals and other so-called dependents that we’ve surprisingly taken under our wing when we can’t seem to be responsible for ourselves financially or medically. How do we dare to police the world as the fathers of all nations, telling who can have what an which trade goes where and who gets bombed for why WHEN WE DON’T EVEN GET ALONG THAT WELL IN THE SENATE! This is what we’re doing with our evolutionary process! This is what we CALL civilization! This is how far we’ve gotten in the two-hundred years as a nation, industrialized, civilized! After the age of Jesus Christ, Martin Luther King, Jr., and in the age of Montel! After Teddy Roosevelt, so called policeman of the world, and Harry S Truman, the buck stopped and nobody knew what to do with it! The Code of Hammurabi out the window. To hell with the Torah, screw the 95 Thesis, nobody even remembers the Hypocratic oath! This is a day and age when the Golden Rule is synonymous with Golden Showers!

And I’m as bad as all the rest! I’m impatient! I’m impolite! I’m ineffective! I have no backbone and if I perceive that somebody is fucking me I’ll fuck right back and use all the racial slurs I know! I’m a miserable bastard! I remember a time when Carson Street was closed (the only viable street in South Side) and the buses had to go around, because somebody had threatened to bomb a local bank. The only thing I was thinking was, “Jesus Christ, I’m late for class,” when there were women and children about to be infected with deadly anthrax! The news later told me that this wasn’t even a bank ROBBERY, it was JUST a bomb threat, and THAT pissed me off, because I had at least wanted all the trouble to be for something productive! I at least wanted ONE person, just ONE, in all that mass hysteria, to be happy. Even if it were by illegal means. Why? Because I can’t stand the idea that somebody could be so miserable as to threaten to bomb a bank for NO GODDAMNED REASON, other than that they are more miserable than the rest of us, and they want a little company! That makes ME miserable, and I am a selfish narcissist whose constructed little invisible box of a universe doesn’t allow for outside thinking of other people, because for all I know, NONE OF THEM EXIST! God, I’m a miserable bastard!

The Gods looked down and laughed. And I think it was Bill Watterson who once said, “Sometimes I think the surest sign that there is intelligent life elsewhere in the universe is that nobody has tried to contact us.”

I think all of these things and I think of what a poor excuse they’d make if I called into work and asked for the day off.

This is where I come in

Well, I may be getting a job here today. It’s not much, but it relates to my major of Video Production and yay for me, doesn’t require me to work with food. Not that I don’t like food, I love food. I’m sort of a New orleanSpanishItalian food nerd. I just don’t like making food for customers who aren’t friends or even aquaintences or even appreciative and then smelling like onions every time you want to go out on a date. I’ll make food in the privacy of my own home or for friends or for a picnic or for a gumbo or chili cookoff, let’s say.

I like food.

But this job will be to transcribe episodes for air on GATV. I just sit and parrot into a word document what the people on the screen are saying because, lucky for me, most people don’t submit scripts for their video assignments. S’cool. That’s where I come in.

So I get to hone my writing, or at least typing skills, while at the same time having something that looks good on a Video major’s resume, and on top of that I actually get paid. Sign me up for that. Oh, I guess they did. (smirks real condescending and bragartly) Sorry. I don’t get to do that very often, sucking at life as I do.

New Art

Yeah, so make sure and check that out. And don’t neglect the scraps section just because the word ‘scraps’ has a negative stigma attached to it.