Before we made the move from Cincinnati, Margaret-Ellen (my roommate) assured me that if I couldn’t find a full-time job right away, she could easily set me up with some promotional work. For the uninitiated, or more specifically, for the non-actor, promo jobs turn you into a second-rate “Barker Beauty” from The Price is Right. You show up to a supermarket, or a street corner, and promote a product, whether it’s a new bottle of wine, a slab of ribs, or a mafia-run comedy club. It’s a quick way to make money, and I certainly don’t blame anyone for doing it. You work short shifts, like four hours or less, and they cut you a check. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.
But if you are aware of who I am, you know the idea of selling something to a stranger on the street, or even just handing out coupons in a busy area, makes the bile rise up from my stomach. I’m getting acid reflux just thinking about it. What made me extra uncomfortable is most companies require a headshot. I certainly don’t blame them — I wouldn’t want an uggie on my payroll either. But only those in the entertainment business have headshots; I have camera phone shots of me mean-mugging at karaoke bars. I’m not about to get turned down for a job standing in front of a strip club divvying out VIP passes because my sunny disposition doesn’t burst forth in a picture. So while I certainly appreciated the offer for work, I chose to remain poor and keep whatever shred of self-worth I had left.
Cut to late October and I’m still without work. My self-worth had been demoted from “hangin’ in there” to “the plug should have been pulled weeks ago.” When I received a call from Margaret-Ellen about a possible job one weekday afternoon, I was willing to accept practically anything. You want me to wear Victoria’s Secret angel wings in Chelsea? No problem. Promote partial birth abortion at a Catholic picnic? Let’s get this party started. Luckily, or more specifically because Margaret-Ellen knew I was more likely to accept this exact job, this one entailed driving a van and driving a van only. There was to be no mingling with the populace. Just pick up the staff and materials, take them to the spot, and wait. This I could do. I can sit in a van and play thumb war with myself for $25 an hour. I have a Ph.D. in Loafing About.
My only remaining apprehension involved my minuscule ego, which would not shut up about our “qualifications.”
“You didn’t go to 20 years of college to drive a van,” said myself.
“But you have rent to pay, and there’s only so much time you can waste browsing the Ikea website. You already have three Liatorps.”
“But they’re economical and they really tie the room together!”
All this inane inner dialogue immediately became moot when I began working the jobs. No matter how overqualified you think you are, nothing beats actual work experience. Humility, it’s nice to make your acquaintance.
On the first day, I managed to get a parking ticket within the first 20 minutes, loaded thirty more boxes into the van than necessary, and arrived to the event nearly a half hour late (thanks to the extraneous boxes). However, I did get to spend several hours watching a failed actor do push-ups in the middle of Times Square.
On the second day, I couldn’t find a parking spot close to the event (near Madison Square Garden), so I had to park it in a garage (added expense). This led to my having to go back and forth several blocks for three hours carrying forty boxes of bagged popcorn. The union that represents my body had a meeting that night, and, thank god, they decided not to go on strike. But I did receive a written warning.
On the third day, I dropped a box full of drug store coupons (about 500) into a puddle about six inches deep, and immediately exclaimed, “Oopsie daisies,” in front of a bodybuilder in a fireman costume, to which he replied, “Need a little help with that, Miss?” A little while after this fantastic conversation, I failed to properly secure a hose on a contraption used for pouring out coffee, and when it burst and sprayed hot coffee all over the ground, nearly scalding the guy in the fireman suit, I shut my eyes tight and waited for the punches to lull me into the waiting arms of a sweet, sweet coma.
On the fourth day, everything was going swimmingly — I found a place to park, NPR was playing decent music, nobody called me a woman, etc. But with about an hour left, I got the urge to drive a few blocks over to a McDonald’s. No big deal, right? What I failed to realize is that most drive-thrus are not designed to support large vans, so when I tried to turn right out of the parking lot, I scraped the entire side of the van against a concrete pillar. What went through my head? Mostly obscenities, but also thoughts of endless debt thanks to endless repair shop bills. There was no talking my way out of this one. No chance the rental company wanted a red racing stripe on the side of their van, even though it did look pretty rad. To top it off, by leaving my cushy parking spot, I had immersed myself in stopped traffic, just in time to be unavailable to drive the staff home. This led to several not-so-happy texts from women named Destiny and Brittnee. I assumed I was fired, so I didn’t even bother to drive back to the office. I went straight to the rental company, showed off my handiwork, and was told there would be a $500 deductible. This was a little comforting, even if it was still a little more than I could handle. Eventually, after a few hours of softly sobbing into a pillow, I emailed my boss and explained the situation (not The Situation). He replied shortly thereafter with a terse sounding, “Don’t worry about it. We’ll take care of the damage. Talk to you soon.” I was grateful to be off the financial hook, but it is safe to say that the job offers went from “daily” to “every other winter solstice” with this company.
So what’s the moral of the story here?
Put on the stupid fireman’s costume and leave the heavy lifting to the professionals.
As I began to review all of the movies I enjoyed in 2009, it become immediately clear that this year stood out in one particular way: It was a great time for animated films. This is not typically the case. On a good year, I might genuinely enjoy one, sometimes two, and almost always it’s because Pixar or Aardman put something out. I listed ten films that might make the cut in this year’s self-indulgent Top 5, and it contained three animated movies. Thirty percent? That’s an absurd occurrence for a 29-year old man that doesn’t enjoy LARP-ing or Furry Fetish conventions. This began to get in my head a little. No way I was going to list that many cartoons, no matter how much I enjoyed them. Over time (yes, I put that much thought into it) things worked themselves out, in a sense, when I came to terms with a final five. The one that didn’t make the cut, please accept my apology. I’m sure you’ll have a hard time getting out of bed once this devastating news reaches your earholes.
Another not-as-positive theme this year? Me not ever going to the movies. The list of films I should have seen but didn’t is staggering. My deepest regrets to the following: Moon, Crazy Heart, The Road, Big Fan, Zombieland, A Serious Man, Bruno, A Single Man, Precious, The Messenger, Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans, and this year’s winner for Best Trailer, Black Dynamite.
All of these will surely get their due in the coming year, thanks to my trusty Netflix addiction. I know, too little, too late, nancy boy. BUT I’M TRYING, FILM INDUSTRY THAT DOESN’T REALLY NEED MY MONEY OR MY OPINION!
Anyway, let’s start off with my specialty: Hate.
THE WORST OF 2009; OR, THE YEAR OF OVERBLOWN GARBAGE THAT TRIED TO RUIN MY CHILDHOOD
5. Where the Wild Things Are
Putting a new generation of children on Zoloft since 2009
It kind of upsets me to have to put this one here, but it produced such strong feelings within me that I couldn’t really ignore it. I couldn’t name the last movie that confused me as much as this one. I went from near tears with happiness to near tears with rage at least five separate times in 90 minutes. This movie is an anti-depressant come to life. if bipolar disorder could be diagnosed in celluloid, this would be the first known case. And now I’ll never be able to watch The Sopranos again, because Carol the Monster IS Tony Soprano, friggin’ voice and all: He loves his family, but his mood swings come with violence and destruction. Although, with Carol they come from out of nowhere and serve no general purpose other than to depress the audience. This film is joyless and makes me wish Max had never run away to the wild rumpus.
4. Watchmen
Behold: The most boring superheroes in the known universe
Disclaimer: Before seeing this movie, I knew very little about the graphic novel. I had read a little over a third of it in high school, and tried to read a little more a week or so before it came out, so keep that in mind if you feel like I’m “missing the point” with this one. I understand that it’s faithful to the novel; that doesn’t change the fact that it doesn’t adapt well to film. Plot holes become more glaring, the story drags for what seems like centuries, and only a handful of characters aren’t incredibly dull and underdeveloped (Rorschach, The Comedian). This isn’t a terrible movie, just a below average one, and when expectations are high, the backlash factor is just as high.
3. Avatar
Dances with Hypothermia Victims
In the same vein as Watchmen in the hype category, but different in the sense that it’s actually a terrible movie. You’ve probably heard the typical complaints: cliche story, cliche characters, cliche action sequences, cliche, cliche, cliche. And these are all not without merit, believe me. But what makes Avatar truly awful is how unapologetic it is in its ineptitude. James Cameron believed people would ignore the lack of story and creativity if he devoted all of his effort in creating the world of Pandora. I do applaud him here — Pandora is a beautiful place to visit, but so is Vietnam and I’m not about to book my honeymoon there. It’s like Cameron placed a bunch of plot devices in a bag, shook it up right good, and had a gibbon pull them out one at a time. “Okay, we have ‘Giant robot with person inside that I already put in Aliens,’ and ‘Knife fight.’ Brilliant!” James Cameron thinks you’re dumber than a gibbon. How does that make you feel?
2. Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen
Not in this movie, but would it have made it any different?
Complete no-brainer, this one here, in more ways than one. It truly belongs on this list and it truly is incompetent. As someone that didn’t dislike the first installment, I had wavering hopes for this effort. In the back of my mind, I couldn’t shake the Michael Bay factor, but it was a big movie with big robots and big explosions…..how could it go completely wrong? The reanimated corpse of the original Lassie could have directed this movie and it still would have been a functional summer blockbuster. Here’s what Bay did: Took the greatest thing going for the movie (Optimus Prime), had him disappear for 80% of the running time, and added farting robots with robot testicles. I won’t even mention the “hip-hop” robots with gold teeth that didn’t know how to read. Wait, I guess I just did. Jesus wept.
1. G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra
Body Armor Abs and Nips: Knowing is half the battle.
This one isn’t even close. As much as I hated Transformers, it’s practically a walk in the park on a sunny day, ending with a rub and tug, compared to this abomination’s afternoon of waterboarding and paper-cuts, ending with a sledgehammer to the groin. At least with the fighting robots, it was somewhat genuine to the source material. Here, the filmmakers took a story about a special forces unit pitted against a terrorist organization, entrenched in gritty realism (kind of, not really, but sorta), and turned it into science fiction mumbo jumbo starring fashion models that only know one look — constipated. This could have been a modern day war movie, I mean, nothing too serious, but on par with something like Black Hawk Down. Instead, we were handed laser guns and Channing Tatum (currently the worst actor getting work) looking like the star of a Colon Blow commercial. You’re all fired. All of you.
THE BEST OF 2009; OR, THE MOVIES I LIKED BETTER THAN UP, INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS, AND UP IN THE AIR (SUCK IT)
Honorable Mentions:
I Love You, Man
My favorite comedy of the year. I appreciated Paul Rudd and Jason Segal reversing character types they usually get pigeonholed in.
I loved Maya Rudolph in this. She showed a vulnerability I never imagined was in her range. Sure, this was the second cousin to (500) Days of Summer in the canon of hipster twee cinema, but this one had more substance. Plus, there weren’t any dance sequences with animated birds.
Funny People
I don’t agree with the argument that the third act took a turn for the weird/worse. This was never a comedy. It was entrenched in drama from the very beginning, so I’m not sure why people thought the tone changed in a drastic way. Adam Sandler’s best work since Punch Drunk Love and Judd Apatow’s best movie.
UP
The animated movie that barely missed the cut. I can hear you bitching already. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed it at a high level — just not as much as the five you’re about to see. The first 10 minutes probably contain the best montage, well, maybe ever. If you don’t weep, then you’re incapable of feeling. My only complaints involved the antagonist. I didn’t buy the reasoning for his change of heart, OR that he’d actually still be alive. What is he, 110?
Winner, Winners, Chicken Dinners
5. Coraline
I learned how to do this watching Beetlejuice...or was it Pan's Labyrinth?
Stop-motion made a comeback this year, although I hesitate to say that it ever really went away. Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit was a success not too long ago, so there’s no question that stop-motion is alive and well. The only thing is that feature length stop-motion films are few in far between when compared to the oodles of computer animated films released every year. But it is a comeback in my eyes, when you couple it with the other movie you’ll find a few spots down on this list. Henry Selick, the director, seems to take his time in between projects. You may know his work on a little thing called THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE FUGGIN’ CHRISTMAS. (Side note: I just found a possible explanation for his long absence……Monkeybone. He made that pile? That’s a career killer.) But this is certainly a return to form — Coraline is a strange mash-up of the beautiful and the bizarre that will certainly scare anyone under the age of 11 into a coma. I’ve had nightmares about waking up with buttons for eyes. And about Teri Hatcher turning into a spider. A spider with anorexia. “Ohhhh, maybe just one more fly. Five of my legs are looking cellulite-y.” (The last one might be a lie.)
4. Adventureland
Resolution for 2010: Wear the vest/t-shirt combo at least once a week
The studio promoted this movie all wrong. I blame my hesitation to see it in the theater not on my own stupidity, but on the marketing campaign. I didn’t want to see a Superbad re-hash starring the guy that wasn’t the guy smearing semen on school lockers in The Squid and the Whale. It just screamed subpar teen comedy, and I was having none of it, y’all. (Because I’m wicked ahead of the curve, you see?) So I waited until Netflix did all the work for me and sent it to my mailbox. 107 minutes later and, boy oh boy, do I owe Greg Mottola (dir.) an apology. I loved this movie. Here is the first genuine coming-of-age comedy to come around in years, and I discarded it immediately as another “let’s put our penises in things” American Pie prequel. I even hesitate to call it a comedy, because it deals with the pains of growing up in mature fashion. It’s no Fast Times at Ridgemont High, but it sure is close.
3. The Fantastic Mr. Fox
Awwwwwwwww!
This is going to sound like an insult, but I do not mean it as such: The Fantastic Mr. Fox is the best movie Wes Anderson has made since The Royal Tenenbaums. Yes, the stop-motion kid’s movie about fuzzy animals is his best work in eight years. Honestly, though, I doubt he would be offended by this notion. This movie is certainly something he should proudly stand behind. He managed to include all of his signature tricks (title cards, scorned father figures, Rolling Stones songs, etc.) into a stop-motion film starring a family of foxes, and not only that, he made the family relatable and sincere. Somehow, all the hipster quirks that draw people away from Anderson’s films work in reverse when puppets are involved. Everyone should love this movie. No excuses.
2. Drag Me to Hell
Fun for the whole family!
My face hurt after seeing this movie. I smiled for so long, and at such a high level, that I felt like I had gone to mouth muscle pilates (There’s a joke here that I’m not going to make. Out of respect for my mother). This is Sam Raimi returning to his roots, finally, and delivering the best horror-comedy in years. This shouldn’t come as a shock — he practically invited the genre. And poor Alison Lohman. She really earned her paycheck in this one. In every other scene she was either being thrown around a room or having things thrown up on her. You name it: blood, maggots, embalming fluid, old gypsy lady spit, it all ended up in her mouth at one point. So, am I successfully selling this one yet? Well, if you aren’t a horror fan, then you’re surely not going to enjoy this. But if you’re like me, you’ll embrace it wholeheartedly and watch it twice a week.
1. The Hurt Locker
My head throbs just thinking about this movie
I typically don’t go to films involving war, or the military in general. It’s just not my cup of liberal pansy tea, that’s all. But I had an off day and a new neighborhood to explore, so I ambled over to the closest theater to see what was playing, and lo and behold, this was the best option. And Siddhartha H. Christ, was I not disappointed. From minute one, you are simply not allowed to relax. That whole “it’ll have you on the edge of your seat” cliche? It’s real. Embarrassingly, it’s real. I usually have a problem suspending my disbelief in action/horror films, and this never allows me to feel any real danger for the characters. But, I don’t know, I felt involved when the bomb unit inched closer and closer to their probable demise. This is a level of filmmaking success that’s so rare these days. I can watch Will Smith ALMOST get eatin’ up while welcoming an alien to Earff, and of course, I’m not going to feel intimately involved. But I can also watch Jarhead or Black Hawk Down and never feel a thing. These films should be steeped in reality, but they still feel like studio backlot action sequences. Kathryn Bigelow (dir.)successfully made me feel entrenched in war. Tip of the hat to you, madam. Also, so far Jeremy Renner has received some recognition for his work, but not nearly enough. The Golden Globes looked him over completely, and if the Oscars follow suit, then that would be a tremendous shame.
Honorable (death before dishonor!) Mentions (in alphabetical order!!):
Andrew Bird – Nobel Beast
Antony and the Johnsons – The Crying Light
Bat for Lashes – Two Suns
Elvis Perkins – Elvis Perkins in Dearland
Florence and the Machine – Lungs
Grand Archives – Keep in Mind Frankenstein
jj – jj n° 2
M. Ward – Hold Time
Passion Pit – Manners
Richard Swift – The Atlantic Ocean
The Swell Season – Strict Joy
Volcano Choir – Unmap
Wild Beasts – Two Dancers
Yeah Yeah Yeahs – It’s Blitz
10. Sea Wolf – White Water, White Bloom
Here is the annual winner of the Why the Hell Do I Like This? award. With lyrics full of imagery seemingly composed in a high school’s AP English class, vocals straight out of your least favorite Bright Eyes tune, and musical compositions thieved from the likes of Arcade Fire, this should be receiving my scorn, if anything at all. I suppose once you mash all of this together, it brings out the Team Edward in me (they’re even on the New Moon soundtrack!). I’ve fallen for this indie pop stew, even if it needs a little more of a kick.
9. Thao with The Get Down Stay Down – Know Better Learn Faster
“Have I been just a body in your bed? Won’t you reach for the body in your bed?”
“Bring your hips to me.”
“Everybody put your clothes back on.”
“We have sad sex, we move steady to forget.”
This is a more mature Thao Nguyen than we found on We Brave Bee Stings and All, which mostly brought us back to the days of running around as a kid. But now? Ms. Nguyen knows better and learns faster when it comes to sex and loss. The album concludes wonderfully with the track “Easy,” a bouncy song that begins with the spoken line, “Sad people dance, too.” Perfect.
This album, guaranteed, is responsible for hundreds of pregnant hipsters. This nonsense is straight up sex on vinyl. Hushed vocals, sung by a pair of 20-year old kids from London, set to driving bass lines, slow-strummed guitar, and subtle drum machines, that make the listener feel like they’re eavesdropping on an intimate moment not intended for them. Example: “I’ve been down on my knees, so don’t think that I’m pushing you away.” More like The xxx.
Some have complained that this Rick Rubin produced effort was a little TOO polished and put together, totally rejecting the natural aesthetic that the boys from North Carolina had crafted over the years. I’m not one of these people. This is a fantastic record, one that has really struck a nerve in me. From the instant classic title track, which I listened to on mega-repeat my first month in Brooklyn, to the closer “Incomplete and Insecure,” whose opening line “I haven’t finished a thing since I started my life, don’t feel much like starting now,” reminds me of an inner dialogue I’ve had with myself for close to a decade. The earnestness is still there (see: “Kick Drum Heart”), so take a pill, naysayers.
Here we have possibly the most well-known man in Christian indie rock (Pedro the Lion) openly questioning his faith, sometimes in the most blunt manner: “Wait just a minute, you expect me to believe that all this misbehaving grew from one enchanted tree?” This is an important record, simply because it shows how one man can struggle so deeply within himself. Alcoholism, wavering faith, depression, this is as personal as it gets. “When all this lethal drinking is to hopefully forget about you. I might as well admit it, like I even have a choice. The crew have killed the captain, but they still can hear his voice.” This shit is heartbreaking.
Girls is a band with the same old back story you’ve heard over and over: Lead singer grows up in a cult, mother becomes a prostitute, homeless and drug addicted until he’s adopted by a millionaire, and then…..rock fame! You know, THAT rags to riches typical American success story. You would think, with that backdrop, that this debut album would be a lot more jacked up than it is. In actuality, it’s a sun-soaked throwback to summer, with jangly guitars and harmonies. Sure, there’s a few “why’d you rip out my heart and throw it into a vat of acid” downers (“Lauren Marie”), but what doesn’t have those these days?
Lyrically my favorite album of the year. Every song contains at least one line that makes me laugh, not because they’re flat-out hysterical, but because they’re just so smart that it confounds me.
“I see the rain does not respect state lines, why should you?”
“A gift from the Maccabees to mom to me.”
Musically, Eskimo Snow is no slouch, either. Within you’ll find some rich compositions reminiscent of Sufjan Stevens’ intermingling pianos and bells. This is a layered album, one to be listened to with headphones and a strong grasp of irony.
Yeah, yeah, I know, everyone likes this record. But can you blame them? It’s the best dance pop album in years. These are nine perfectly crafted pop songs, nary a miss or mistake among them. This was my summer album. Every memory of my first summer in New York will always be set to Phoenix.
All apologies to Ms. Case, for I wanted this album to be number one for the longest time. I’m quite torn up about lowering it down a spot, actually. I love this one. It’s full of pretty songs sung by a pretty lady with pretty words, like “It will end again in bullets” and “The next time you say forever, I will punch you in your face.” Ahhh, she’s such a sweetheart. Although, “This Tornado Loves You” is actually the sweetest song ever written about murderous twirling winds: “I miss how you’d sigh yourself to sleep.” I’m playing that ish at my wedding.
My love for this lady and her latest album has already been documented here. I called it the best album back in June and I’m going maintain that thinking in December. Nothing came along to take its place. Annie Clark is an incredible guitar player with a beautiful voice that happens to like destructive sounds and piano ballads. I also am confident that she is walking Enzyte.
Let’s begin this latest entry by quoting the great Romantic poet Robert Burns:
The best laid plans of mice and men usually end up getting tossed aside for a quick nap or a few hours googling the names of middle school enemies.
Of course, I’m paraphrasing, but I think his words still hold water. What the fine Scotsman was trying to say is no matter how dedicated you are to an idea, or how hard you prepare, you’re probably going to say “Screw it,” and go watch Hard Rain on Netflix. The man was a revolutionary, ahead of his time.
So, logically, it follows that I am just like Robert Burns: An exceptionally gifted person that just can’t get it together. What’s that you say? Robert Burns was wildly successful and you’re just lazy? Oh, well color me embarrassed.
Almost four months into the New York experiment and things are not quite following my best laid plans. I am not entirely sure what those plans were, but they certainly didn’t involve sitting in a Starbucks all day binge drinking espresso. I could do that in Kentucky, and at least then I wouldn’t have a random 13 year old kid calling me a faggot on the street. Well, that could happen in the Bluegrass, but that’s just heresy at this point.
I spend most of my days job searching, still. What I somehow forgot to remember is that ten percent of this city is also looking for work. No matter how much education I have, or how over-qualified I am for the job, there’s always twenty recently laid off stock brokers applying for the same position. Thankfully, it’s only twenty. It would have been much worse if the other Wall Streeters hadn’t plunged off the Williamsburg Bridge.
I feel like I’m starting this with too much negativity, which is not my intention. I do not regret moving to this city. In fact, it is still the best decision I have ever made. What has happened here is simply further proof that real life hardly ever matches up to the future you’ve mapped out in your head. For me, I envisioned a city that handed out careers once you stepped foot off the tarmac. Call it Midwestern gullibility, call it flat-out stupidity, but my optimism was genuine. If Kenneth Parcell has taught me anything, it’s not to vote Republican or Democrat, because choosing is a sin. Always just write in the Lord’s name. And if he taught me something else, it’s that even country boys can make it in the big city.
And I’m going to leave my complaining at that. The job will come when it comes. No need to expound any further. That’s the last you’ll hear of this. Instead, I’m going to try and tell a story every couple of days. To begin, here’s an interesting tidbit about my first month here:
My one month stay in Brooklyn was an experience. I am not entirely sure how to explain how odd it was without sounding like a liar. It felt like I was living in an Orwell novel — a character being carefully watched, studied, toyed with, by some unseen figurehead. I rented out a room in Prospect Heights from a teacher headed off for a European adventure. When I first visited the apartment, his two roommates were not around, so when they finally came home, I was going to be the strange man eating Pringles on their couch. There was to be no formal “How do you do’s,” no “Nice to meet ya’s” – just a handing over of keys and a “Have a good month” from the one person I wasn’t going to live with. I was informed that the two other residents were hardly home due to work, and I took this to mean they would eventually come home in the late afternoon. After a few days in the place, not once did I see another person. There was no commotion from their rooms, no clatter in the kitchen, nothing. This wasn’t incredibly disconcerting, because I was gone most of the time as well. Just several days of bad timing for proper introductions.
To settle their possibly troubled minds about the random guy sleeping in the next room, I left a note in the kitchen saying who I was, and that it will be nice to finally meet. One morning, I found the note with fresh ink at the bottom. It read, “Nice to meet you.” That’s it. The man/woman/child/thing with proper penmanship had met me through kitchen table correspondence. Was this to be the extent of our communication? Every night, I’d write down the trials and tribulations of my day on scrap paper, and in the morning I’d find their response, something like, “You and me both, brother!”
Days turned into weeks, and even with my staying at home more often, not one time did I stumble upon a roommate. I started to draft conspiracy theories, the next more absurd than the last. The most unrealistic one involved my taking part in a scientific study. I was now involved in some PhD student’s thesis entitled, “The Phantom Roommate: Are We Ever Truly Alone?” There were cameras in that room, hidden in the futon and record collection. I found myself staring at the ceiling, listening for any sounds of movement that weren’t the screams of the mother of eight next door. At times, I heard rustling about in the bedrooms, and I’d make a habit of making loud noises in the kitchen, as to make them scatter out into the world. But nothing. These people were a myth, or they were simply uninterested in an awkward introduction.
This had to be just as unnerving for them as it was for me. I was there for five weeks. FIVE WEEKS! They played a game of hide and seek in the comfort of their own home for 35 days. You read that right — I lived in a smallish apartment for an entire month and not once did I meet the two other people living there. On my last day, I packed up all my stuff, left the keys on the mantle, and concluded their scientific study by leaving one last note. It read:
Thanks for letting me use your shower.
Love, Matthew
I never heard from the guy after that. I imagine two possible scenarios for the day he returned. His roommates told him a bold-faced lie; that we had a great month bonding over our mutual appreciations. But what’s more likely is they told him I was the weird guy that did weird things in his room. “I’m telling you, bro. We heard weird things coming from the room, inhuman noises, like death rattles muffled by bubble wrap.” I suppose I’m lucky he sent me my deposit. I mean, I did wash his sheets.
If there was ever a movie about a guy who plays guitar with a dildo that deserves an Oscar, it’s this one. Watch it with your bruhs, but be prepared to hug, cry, and profess your undying devotion to each other.
DUBLIN — Sources are now saying that U2 lead singer Bono, apparently dejected over his latest snub, has not left the bathtub since Barack Obama was announced as this year’s Nobel Peace Prize recipient. Fears are increasing within his compound that severe pruning has more than likely already set in. Said one of several live-in maids/concubines, who wished to remain anonymous, “If Mr. Bono does not soon remove his dwarf-ish frame from the water filled with his own mess, we are worried he may become permanently adhered to the porcelain.” Many believed this was to be the year he was finally awarded the prestigious award. For years, Bono has battled for world peace, fought hunger, disease, and famine, but not once has Mr. Nobel’s grand prize bared his name. “What’s a dirty mick gotta do to win some (redacted) awards around here,” he was once misquoted as saying. Year after year, his name was near of the top of the list of nominees, giving him hope, but this year’s backbreaking loss may finally be the year to officially kill Bono’s spirit. Through the bathroom door, he could be heard mumbling, “I’m going to Africa with a truck full of food, and I’m going to eat all of it in front of a village of starving toddlers, I swear to God…….With or without youuuuuuuuuu, I can’t liiiiiiiiiive, WITH OR WITHOUT YOU, OHHHHH!” Let’s hope this is one promise that he does not fulfill. The SWAT team has been called to the home, and if they cannot remove his pale fanny from the deep, dark waters of his troubled soul, then there may be no saving the troubled troubadour. Keep your fingers crossed on what was supposed to be a day for celebrating peace and compassion.
I was gullible a large portion of my life. I’ve become much more aware over the years that sometimes, perhaps, just maybe, people may not be telling the complete truth. It was astonishingly bad in my early years. Example: When I was in grade school, someone convinced me that Hulk Hogan had been literally squashed to death by Andre the Giant. I cried all day, lamenting the loss of one of my heroes, just knowing that his casket would be no more than 6 inches tall. He had been flattened like a pancake; my friend Ryan saw it happen. So when the Hulkster showed up on television the next week — standing tall, 24-inch pythons and everything — I knew that I had been duped. Fool me once…..
Things definitely improved as the years went by — years of playing “Hey, Look” definitely helped. You know that game, right? It’s where you make a circle with your fingers below your waist, and if you can get your friends to look directly at it, that somehow gave you the right to punch them. “You looked where I requested you to look. You gave me your trust and I threw it in the garbage. Sucker.” *punch, high five, giddy laughter*
After years of recovering from bruised upper arms, I became more cynical, more aware of how the real world works. People, no matter how wonderful they usually are, can be deceitful. If it seems unreasonable, or too good to be true, then perhaps it is. Take a timeout, let the facts sink in for a moment. Does the 350 lb. guy hitting on you work for the Navy Seals? Did Jessica Alba really respond to your “Missed Connections” ad? Can our black president really be a member of the Nazi Party? Nope, no chance, and definitely not.
There are moments when this outlook doesn’t work out. You can miss out on fantastic opportunities if you aren’t on your game. In high school, an older girl in my art class told me that I was cute, I responded by laughing in her face. I was only protecting myself, or so I thought. This just led to being called, pardon the language, “that fag that giggles like a girl” all semester. That’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, but I also could have fired the first shots of the Sexual Revolution much sooner than I did. C’est la vie.
So what is the purpose of this essay, you may have asked yourself three paragraphs ago?
It seems that New York City, or more specifically, it’s various con artists, think I’m an idiot. Not once, but twice in the last week, I’ve had to go, “Heeeeeeeey, now, that can’t possibly be true.” What’s especially upsetting here is both of them pertained to possible jobs, something of high importance at the moment. These jackaloons are getting my hopes up, and it’s leaving me a smidge more cynical than before. I might, just might, feel better about this if they weren’t so glaringly obvious in their attempts at duping me. Give me some credit. I mean, I sent you my resume, you know that I’ve been to school. Come on.
To properly highlight what level of criminals I’m dealing with here, let me show what has been sent to me.
First, I applied to a Craiglist ad (note: I’m VERY particular about which jobs I apply for on this website. If it seems too good to be true, it probably is. But this one actually looked legit. That’s on me.) for a sales job at a “publishing company” in Queens. The very next day (which is a bad sign on it’s own, it should be weeks before you hear back) I received a phone call AND an email from someone at this company. The voicemail they left gave me hope. In retrospect, this makes me the angriest. The woman sounded professional, left a phone number with an extension, and sounded optimistic about meeting me. Awesome. But then the same woman sent me an email five minutes later, basically saying verbatim what she said in the voicemail. Why was she so adamant about meeting me if they were “interviewing several people today?” This was my cue to look into this company. I typed in the company name, leading me to an official website. Again, looked legitimate. It was a fully functional site with tons of news links and places to go. I breathed a sigh of relief, and was about to pick up the phone to call her back. But then I saw the second link on the Google search. It went to Ripoff Report, a site where scorned consumers can warn others of fraudulent companies. Fantastic. Here was one posting on the site:
“They run credit cards illegally all day w/o consent. They will lie to you and say they record conversations and that you agreed and run your credit card. If your CC is expired they will run the #’s and guess the expiration date, since CC companies do not give you a new number when your card expires. The owners are rich as hell and brag about everything they have and buy. They will hold employees paychecks, cheat you on taxes, and make you pay $50 a week for their crappy medical insurance.
P.S. If you do not sell at least $2,000 a week, you get $0 salary!”
Wait, they’re is medical insurance? Where do I sign up?!? Getting my yearly colonoscopy would totally be worth getting arrested for fraud. No doubt.
This wasn’t the only entry complaining of these practices. There were dozens, all saying the exact same thing. This sales job entailed calling people everyday, typically senior citizens, verbally berating them until they agreed to sign up, and then charging them ten times more than they agreed to. I’m still not sure what it is they actually sell. I think it’s a Who’s Who of the business world type thing, but it’s full of nothing but retired people. Confounding stuff. So, yeah, I didn’t get back to them. Of course, she called again this morning. My guess is people don’t last long at this job, which is why she’s so desperate to get me on the phone. No dice, dollface. I certainly need a job, but I also need to not hate myself. Hit me up in a few months, I may have changed my perspective by then.
The final chapter on our journey to the center of stupidity involves Hotjobs, which I assumed was more legitimate than an open forum like Craigslist. Boy, was I wrong. The email I received in response to a clerical position was top-notch LOL stuff. I can’t do it justice, so here you go:
“Dear Candidate,
Our managers went through your resume and you have been picked for an alternative Job which is the Accounts receivable. This position is also a Business Management position only that you work from home till October 2009 when the new office in your state is open for business then you would be the Administrative Assistant there. Once orders are received and sorted we deliver the product to a customer. After this has been done the customer has to pay for the products but in most cases we make our clients prepay for orders or items they ordered for. About 90 percent of our customers prefer to pay through, Certified Checks or Money Orders drawn from the United State based on the amount involved why Only few decide on other forms of payment.
WHAT YOUR NEED TO DO FOR US
1. Receive payment from our Customers or Clients.
2. Cash Payment at your Bank or Deposit payment and let us know how long its going to take before it clears at the Bank.
3. Deduct 10% which will be your percentage/pay on Payments processed, also you will be earning $1,000.00 for a Monthly payment at the end of every Month.
4. Forward balance after deduction of your 10% pay to any of the offices you will be instructed to send payment to.
You’ will have a lot of free time doing another job, because this is a part time job, you will get a really good income. But this job is very challenging and you should understand it. We are considering your application because you satisfy our requirements and we are sure you will be an earnest assistant till we start running our branch office in your state. For example if you recieve 4000.00 USD, your 10% should be 400.00 USD.
Thanks for your anticipated action. And we hope to hear back from you.
HR Director
***********
Note: This is also a medium of challenging the possibilities inherent on the online technology according to my research work titled “Staff development for online delivery: A collaborative, team based action learning model” you can check the website below for a more comprehensive reading of the article.
Please cite as: Ellis, A. and Phelps, R. (2000). Staff development for online delivery: A collaborative, team based action learning model. Australian Journal of Educational Technology, 16(1), 26-44.”
So, this is the Russian mafia, correct? It has to be. The broken English, randomly capitalized words, the fact that I would be laundering money, etc. My favorite part is the very end. Having someone cash a check, take out ten percent, and then send it back is a “learning model?” Last I checked, that was third grade math and a possible felony.
This one was spotted as malarkey instantly. You lost me at “The job you applied to is taken, but hey, you sound like a second rate thug, how about you risk your freedom for us?” Shockingly, though, they did not ask for my bank account information. They’re leaving the criminal activity strictly up to me, which I appreciate. I mean, I’m wicked good at thievin’. Just ask the sheriff of Nottingham.
In the end, this is all very disheartening. The only responses I get from possible employers are not real. Well, not real in the “don’t want to go to jail” sense. I’ve come a long way from those days of sobbing over dead men in spandex, and it’s keeping my criminal record clean. But is it hurting my employment record? Screw it, I’ve always wanted to gain fifty pounds of muscle. Let’s go to jail and pound some iron!
So I’ve been without a job since the end of June. The fantastic idea to quit a steady job and move to the big city has not yet turned into an awful idea. It could over time, but so far it’s gained me the opportunity to catch up on my Brendan Fraser movies, something I’ve been wanting to do for what feels like an eternity. I’ve missed you, B. Frazzles. Never leave me again.
As always, I let the Netflix community know how I felt about each one I saw. For non-members, here’s a quick smattering of what I’ve been watching. Judge for yourself if my tastes are on par with an 8 year old girl.
Knowing: “Netflix users are rating this a 3.9? Really? Granted, it’s not Cage’s worst movie. In fact, his performance wasn’t the worst in it (Rose Byrne). But is it goofy, pseudo-philosophical nonsense? Completely. Shame, Netflix community.”
Hitman: “I decided to give this movie 50 minutes, a decent shot. At the 49th minute, the female lead walked around topless for a while. I said, ‘Danka,” and went to bed. It could only go downhill from there.”
X-Men Origins: Wolverine: “Was nothing more than a predictable action/romance with Hugh Jackman in muttonchops. Too “Fantastic Four” hokey w/ 1993 special effects. How can a movie made for 150 million look worse than Ben Hur?”
The Day the Earth Stood Still: “Jaden Smith needs a punch to the face. Yeah, he’s only nine, but someone needs to do it. Jada obviously ain’t doing it, and God knows that sissy Will won’t. Sign me up for that job.”
Get Smart: “Not awful. Couldn’t believe it. I watched the whole thing. I know, right? Is Anne Hathaway perfect, not because she’s typically beautiful but because she’s not typically beautiful? Or is it the boobs? So many questions.”
Kung Fu Panda: “Who do animation studios not named Pixar or Aardman even bother trying? Had potential but eventually the story was just dumb as a puppy the fell down a well. Even dumber than a panda that knows kung-fu. Somehow.”
The Condemned: “Actually moderately tense & compelling for chunks, but anything it earned went to hell by the last 20 minutes. Just watch The Running Man instead. I love The Running Man. Opera singing assassins, for crying out loud!”
Terminator Salvation: “I caught the last 25 minutes of Charlie’s Angels today, one week after seeing this movie, and now I know one thing to be uncontested gospel: McG is a piece of shit.”
Street Kings: “Played like a sequel to Training Day, with its corrupt cops and da crips und da bloods. Definitely not as good as that movie, but, meh, not terrible. Mostly I’m just gay for Keanu.”
The Brothers Bloom: “OMG, A ONE LEGGED KITTEN IN A ROLLER SKATE!! That’s all I needed to see. I’m sold. I hope Kittenz gets a bigger role in the sequel. Or maybe a bigger “roll.” LOL!”
Jumper: “From the director of Swingers (seriously) comes a 90 minute reel of action sequences set to your favorite hits by The Fray! Don’t delay, order now!! *No C.O.D’s excepted*”
Yes Man: “I still love you, Jim Carrey. And I think I always will. Not a return to form, but still worth a watch. And you, Zooey. Ohhhhhhh, you. You, you, you, you. Little ol’ you. Yoooooouuuuuuuu.”
The House Bunny: “Get off of my back, I enjoyed it. Anna Faris has genuine comic timing. Also impressed by Emma Stone. Still freaked out by Colin Hanks. It’s like Tom merged with Gumby. He’s a golum Tom Hanks.”
Dan in Real Life: “Show me an extended family that actually gets along and holds talent shows and other elaborate festivities, and I’ll show you a triple homicide waiting to happen. That shit’s not real, ya’ll.”
Coraline: “As you all know, I’m a HUGE Dakota Fanning fan, so this was a no-brainer. Her voice work is beyond compare!!!! But serialsly, I enjoyed this a great deal. Stop animation is my favsssss.”
Push: “DAKOTA FANNING WEEKEND CONTINUES!!!!!!! So, D-Fan can totally predict the future in this movie. I hope it involves me and a Sex and the City marathon LOL!!!!”
Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist: “I think both Nick and Norah need to deal with their still-open failed relationships before jumping into something new. If not, theirs will end in a Hindenburg like explosion. Just saying.”
Let the Right One In: “Quick shot of tween crotch aside, this was awesome. Makes Twilight look like a Judy Blume coming of age tale — Are You There, Edward? It’s Me, Abstinence. And who knew Swedes were so cruel? I thought they were happy go lucky. Bork Bork Bork!!!”
Mad Max/The Road Warrior: “I wish I loved these more. I feel like I’m letting Mel down. Sorry, sugar tits. I’ll just pop in the Lethal Weapon tetralogy as penance.”
Fido: “A great idea that made me chuckle more than a few times. May have been a better 5 minute skit. But I just like any movie where boy scouts get shot in the chest.”
The Game Plan: “Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson has won my heart. Who am I kidding, I could smell what he was cooking years ago, and it’s delicious. By the by, this movie is terrible.”
Choke: “Not nearly as depraved as I’d hoped. What’s that say about me? Nothing, other than I see nothing strange about a man having an anal bead lodged inside him for weeks. I call that the Holiday Season.”
The Air I Breathe: “My boy Brendan Fraser can still pull off drama. School Ties ain’t no joke! But can he singlehandedly save a movie seemingly made by a severely depressed ten year old? Nopers.”
Space Chimps: “My roommates went to Blockbuster last night. “They’re both actors,” I thought, “They’ll pick something good.” So when they walked in with this, I became convinced that even Sir Laurence Olivier would appreciate a good fart joke.”
I wanted to love this movie, but great characters left too soon, shitty ones stayed too long, and storylines seemed too simple. Plus, Eli Roth was too busy planning Hostel 3: Let’s Cut Up Some Bitches to take this seriously.
