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Now This Is a ‘Two for Tuesday’!

Three sheets to the wind, and seriously considering a fourth.

Okay, here’s the story so far. I’m looking for a job. I’ve had three interviews.

The first was about a week and a half ago, and went really well. I liked the people, and they seemed to like me. The office was really cool, and the work is exciting and cutting-edge. Everybody that I’ve talked to about my interviews gets jazzed about this one.

The second interview… well, if you’re interested in the second one, read this. It’ll tell you just about everything you need to know about that experience. But really, it went okay. I got along well with everybody, and I think the work would be pretty interesting, though this job does have some ‘maintenance’ and ‘jack of all trades’ responsibilities that don’t exactly grease my pole, if you know what I mean. But onto every pants crotch a little water must spill, as they say. So I’d be willing to take the boring with the good, if it comes down to that.

The third interview was just this past Friday, and it was dismal, at least towards the end. I was asked all sorts of technical questions, and I mumbled, grumbled, fumbled, stumbled my way through it, all the while eyeballing the window behind me and wondering whether I could survive a three-story drop. Really, it wasn’t cool. The first part went okay, and the work would be pretty interesting, but they probably weren’t convinced that I could speak English by the end of it, much less do the complicated sorts of things that are on my resume.

So, today one of these places called me back for a second interview. This is very exciting, of course, as it means that I may finally have been deemed ’employable’ again, after two-plus months of looking. And it’s nice to be wanted. Ask any porn star.

But the thirty-two thousand dollar question is: can you name the company that called me? Is it number one, number two, or number three? Let’s review, just once more:

Number one: Did well enough on the phone interview to warrant a face-to-face meeting the same day. Thought I did well, and everybody digs these guys.

Number two: Have an ‘inside person’ — a friend of my wife’s — who put in a good word for me, and felt like I aced all the hard questions the interviewers threw my way.

Number three: Got the interview more or less randomly (through a friend of a friend), and pretty much bombed the part where they tested my in-depth knowledge of the technology they use. Had to admit more than once that, ‘Sorry, I just don’t know.‘

So, again, who do you think called me back?

That’s right, number three. Sheesh. What a country.

So, I’m going tomorrow to meet with four more people. Until I get there and have a normal interview, I’m not going to be thoroughly convinced that they’re not just calling me back to laugh at my answers from Friday. Maybe they had me on Candid Camera or something. But, assuming it’s on the up-and-up, I’ll give it the old college try. Hell, if they’re still interested, then I suppose I am, too.

(This feels a little bit like getting hammered on your first date with someone, and them still calling you the next day. I mean, sure, they said they’d call, but you just knew they were only saying that. You were pretty drunk, after all, you dog, you. You even got a little frisky there on the ride home, didn’t you? Until you started feeling sick and had to lie down in the back seat, that is. Man, why did they call you back, anyway? You’re such a hoser!

Um, anyway, I guess it could have been worse. I’d say I was figuratively drunk and incoherent, but I don’t think I proverbially puked in their lap and then asked for tongue in the goodnight kiss. Proverbial tongue, of course. I even redeemed myself a bit right at the very end. But still — I didn’t really expect to be hearing from these folks anytime soon. So this is quite the surprise.)

Anyway, I’ll let you know how it goes. In the meantime, I sent a nudgy email to the number one company, fishing for some info, and got… nothing. Nada. Zilch. Crickets. Granted, I only sent the email this afternoon, so there are plenty of good reasons why I haven’t heard back yet, and oodles of opportunities for them to get back to me. Still, if they don’t, then I don’t know what the hell to think. Maybe I showed up drunk to that interview, and only thought it went well. Who knows? I’m just ridin’ the wave, kids — I’ll let you know where the fuck I am once I get there. I just hope the natives turn out to be friendly. Eep.

In other news, I’m happy to say that, surprisingly, a second interview is not the most exciting thing that’s going to happen to me tomorrow. Maybe it should be, given the lukewarm job prospects I’ve had lately, but frankly, it’s not. Normally, it would be, but tomorrow, it isn’t. That’s just the way the cookie bounces.

For you see, tomorrow is day one of the class I signed up for, namely ‘Standup Comedy 101‘. Or whatever the hell it’s called. ‘How to Be Funny in Twelve Easy Steps‘? ‘Hilarity for Dummies‘? ‘Learning from Ray Romano’s Rather Public Comedic Mistakes‘? Really, I’m not sure what the name is, just that I’m pretty psyched about it. (And you should be, too, people. If I learn anything, maybe this shit will magically get funny one day. Just don’t hold your breath, all right? I’m not makin’ any promises over here.)

So. we’ll see how that goes, too. Surely, the class will be good for some blogging hilarity, even if I’m just relaying how funny all the other people in class are.

(‘Not necessarily. And don’t call me Shirley.‘ See? Look — hilarity! I’m funnier already! Woo hoo!)

Anyway, I’ll report on both events tomorrow or the next day. Hey, maybe they’ll both be noteworthy, and I’ll have an idea backlog for the first time in forever. That’d be cool — this ‘making shit up as you go along’ crap is for the birds.

(Swallows, specifically, but I hate to mention them when I don’t need to. It gets the kids out there all giggly — ‘He said, swallows‘. You know who you are.)

So it looks like tomorrow’s going to be a full day.

(Well, if you can call any day that gets started around twelve-thirty in the afternoon ‘full’. I gots to have my beauty rest, you know.)

But it’ll certainly be interesting. To me, anyway. Maybe to you, too — who knows? You’ll most likely find out if you tune in over the next couple of days, because — since I’ve got nothing else lined up — I’m probably going to write all about it. It’s either that or the gunk that comes out of my navel, and I’m pretty sure you don’t want to hear about that.

(Man, if only this were a photoblog. Then we’d have a gunk display. Hell, I’d have a whole ‘Gallery o’ Gunk‘. I’d post up the navel shit, and the between-toe shit — maybe even some inside-the-ear shit, if I’ve got any of that handy.

(Or, more likely, Q-tippy.)

But I wouldn’t stop there. Oh, no — that’s just the beginning of the gunk funk I’d throw down. I’d find you some shower-wall gunk, and under-the-fridge gunk, and crusty toothpaste-lid gunk. I’d snap pictures of all sorts of kitchen gunk and bathroom gunk and body cavity gunk. I could classify them by location, and color, and consistency, and what kind of face the dog makes when I make her smell each kind.

(Hey, I’m not gonna do it myself. Damn, people, I’m an artist and all, but that’s just wrong. Smelling my own gunk… please! What kind of pervert do you take me for?))

So, I think I’m off to bed to get my snoozies and rest up for tomorrow’s big fun. Hopefully, I’ll end up with lots of good stuff to tell you about from my interview and my class, and we’ll all have a good chuckle together. A larf. A tickle, but not in an aggressive, sexual way. You know, unless you’re into that sort of thing.

(Where you put your mouse when you’re reading this stuff is really no business of mine, when you get right down to it.)

And so, good night, sweet readers. I’ll be back tomorrow, just like every day, to bring you a little sunshine.

(And piss and vinegar, and maybe even some bratwurst. But not all in the same bowl. That wouldn’t be tasty.)

Until then, sleep well and wish me luck in my two big adventures tomorrow. With any luck, they’ll both kick ass. How cool would that be, eh? Not only will I learn to be funny, but I’ll land a new job, so I’ll actually have real material to write about! Christ, I won’t even know how to act.

Yeah, I’d definitely better go to bed; I’m starting to get giddy just thinking about it. I’m gonna go lie down now. I’ll fill you in tomorrow. G’night!

A Tie By Any Other Name Would Still Be a Damned Stupid Idea

Baring my soul… because baring the good stuff would get me thrown in jail.

Have you ever stopped to think about some of the ridiculous shit that we do, without batting an eyelash, just because other people do it?

And I’m not talking about the really stupid, ‘go along with the herd’ mindless shit here, like buying a Ford Taurus (didn’t do it), or learning to like tofu (not going to do it), or watching that Chicago movie.

(Damn. Did it.)

I’m talking about more basic, general, everyday things. Conventions that we follow because we don’t know how not to, or because we’d feel stupid if we didn’t, or simply because we’re too lazy to stop following. These are things that don’t seem odd to us, because we and everyone around us has been doing them for so long. But when you take a long, deep breath and sit in a comfy chair to think about them for a bit — I mean, think really hard — many of them turn out to be a lot of foolish nonsense. ‘Horsefeathers!’, as my grandpa would say.

(Of course, we’re not really sure what he means when he says this, as it’s usually exclaimed at rather inappropriate times, and seemingly randomly. Otherwise, he’s relatively normal, but he’s got this Rain Man thing going on with ‘horsefeathers’. He’ll say it at dinner, while watching TV, when he’s carrying on a conversation… I think it’s his version of ‘shit’, to be honest. One of those all-purpose words that can be used to mean just about anything, if it’s inflected just the right way.

Except that he’s not bothering to inflect any more, so none of us know what the fuck he’s trying to get across when we run into yet another ‘horsefeathers’ in our dealings with him. Just imagine someone walking around, saying ‘shit’ to reflect all of the appropriate sentiments. For instance:

‘Aw, shit.‘ really means: ‘I’m disappointed.‘

‘Well, shit.‘ really means: ‘I really thought that was going to work. Back to the drawing board.‘

‘Oh, shit.‘ really means: ‘I just dropped something of high value or extreme breakability, or both.‘

‘Oh, shit!‘ really means: ‘I suddenly remembered something that’s going to make me look like a moron!‘

‘Oh, shit!!‘ really means: ‘That monster/tsunami/angry mob/bear/Celine Dion impersonator is heading right for us!!‘

‘Shii-iiit, man.‘ really means: ‘Wow, this is good! We should eat/drink/watch/smoke/steal more of this in future.‘

‘Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!‘ really means: ‘The table! On my foot! It really hurts! Get it off! Please!‘

‘Shit, fool!‘ really means: ‘You must be joking! (And I must be watching A-Team reruns again.)‘

Now, imagine someone in all of these situations, and more, just deadpanning:

‘Shit.‘

That’s my grandfather’s ‘Horsefeathers.‘ So we really have no frigging clue what he’s trying to tell us. Maybe it never means ‘hogwash’, as I indicated above. Who the hell knows? I just felt like telling you this story, so I found a way to sneak it in. Don’t you feel used now?)

All right, where was I going with all of this, anyway? Ah, the foolishness of our conventions. Okay, stick with me here.

So, an example. I’ve been interviewing for jobs lately, right?

(Yes, it’s right. You can trust me, or you can look it up. Really, it’s up to you. I won’t be mad if you don’t believe me. Nobody ever believes me.)

Anyway, I’ve been visiting prospective employers over the past couple of weeks. And I’ve decided, as most people in my situation do, to dress up for these little trips. I wear nice khaki pants, and a button-down shirt, and my nice, not-yet-broken-in loafers. And a tie, which is the ridiculous part that I want to aimlessly bitch about discuss.

Now, I know ties have been around since before I was born, and they’re a standard, well-accepted component of the business dress code. But hear me out, all right? Just think about ties for a moment. Take a fresh look at ties, as though you’d never seen one before. As a matter of fact, let’s do this. Let’s say, just for the sake of argument, that you’re from another planet. Your species is a bunch of spacefaring big ugly green Jell-o-mold-looking lumpy naked blobs. Let’s just say that.

(And no, I’m not trying to say that you’re really ugly, lumpy, or blobby. You’re almost certainly not green, and there’s a fair chance that you’re also not from outer space. So don’t take any of this personally. I just need you to be non-human and non-clothes-wearing for a few minutes, okay? I suppose you could have been a hyperintelligent bird, or some sentient cat or dog type of species, but I went with the Jell-o thing. Maybe it’s because I’m hungry; I don’t really know. Just work with me here — you can go back to your non-naked humanness soon.

On the other hand, if you really are a green gelatinous monster from outer space, then this next bit will make perfect sense to you. Funny coincidence that you should tune in just as I’m using you as an example. Nice timing, dude.

Oh, and as long as I’m at it — if you’re neither a walking, talking, spaceship-flying Jell-o mold nor a clothes-wearing human, then you’re probably not going to get much out of this. Either you’re some other species that wears clothes — quite possibly including ties — and so your view will be skewed, or you’re a non-clothes-wearing human. In which case, that’s kind of gross. You’re sitting there all naked, reading my blog. I’m a little disgusted, I have to admit. And yet — strangely excited. Is that wrong?)

All right. Let’s just say you’re the Jell-o thingamabob. And you wiggle and jiggle your way down to earth in your Puddingmobile or whatever the hell you fly around in, and you run into a bunch of people. And they’re wearing these things all over themselves, and it just makes no sense to you. So, being an inquisitive blobby bunch of green goo, you ask. What, pray tell, could be the purpose for these things called ‘clothes’?

And so, the people tell you. (Unless you had the misfortune to land in Manhattan, in which case, they’d probably just punch you and steal your space watch. So let’s assume that’s not where you landed.) They tell you that in a lot of cases, we wear clothes to keep ourselves warm, and to protect ourselves from the elements and cuts and scrapes and things like that. So, long pants and parkas and gloves and woolly socks start to make some sense to you. Fine.

The nice folks go on to tell you that there’s also a question of sanitation, and that we humans don’t have the option of gathering up all our waste products and budding them off in a big green quivering pile of poo. Plus, some of our more interesting (and unsanitary, as it turns out) bits need support, to make us more comfortable and keep us injury-free. And so boxers and panties and bras and jock straps and most of the other undergarments begin to have some meaning for you. You’re probably still scratching your Jell-o head over the whole notion of crotchless edible underwear, but eventually, someone will probably explain that to you, as well. That’s a whole ‘nother story.

But eventually, you get taken through pretty much the whole gamut of apparel and accessories. Shoes protect our feet. Hats keep us warm, or they protect us from sun or rain or wind. Pants give us pockets to carry things in, and thick flannel shirts allow us to easily identify the Canadians. Every garment has a purpose.

Except for one, of course. The tie. You ask about the tie, and people say that businesspeople wear ties when they meet each other, and when they do business with one another, and when they get together at fancy restaurants that the rest of us can’t get into. (Don’t wanna go there, anyway. Stupid poopy restaurants. Humph.) And so, you ask why they wear them. Do they exchange ties while doing business? Well, no, not normally. Are they used to display their company’s logos or information, like a flag or advertisement? Um, they can be, but that’s usually not the point.

Well, then, what the hell are they for, you ask. They seem to be uncomfortable, all squeezed up around your delicate necks like that. They’re a nuisance to put on, generally not very attractive, and they tend to flap around and attract bits of food or dirt that has to be washed off. Or they simply dip themselves into soups and drinks and plates of spaghetti, none of which seem to be desirable. So really, the green gooey ‘you’ would posit, what the hell is the point?

And that’s my question, as well. How the deuce did this little sham get started, and what the fuck was the guy thinking who got it off the ground? And frankly, how did it ever rise in popularity? Let’s play pretend again, just for a second.

(Don’t worry; I promise you’re done being green and sloppy. For the purposes of this blog, anyway. If you’re green and sloppy in real life, then I’m afraid there’s not a lot I can do for you. You may need professional help. Just try and keep that shit off the keyboard, okay?)

So this time, let’s pretend that you’re you, right now in the present day, but that ties have only just been invented. So you’ve been wearing whatever it is you wear up to this point, but no ties. They simply didn’t exist until right now. And the guy — oh, it must have been a guy that invented them; they’re just too fucking sinister for a woman to have dreamed up — who invented the tie is hanging out with you, telling you all about his new idea. Now, I don’t know about you, but if it were me, the conversation would probably go something like this:

Crackpot inventor: Hey, you wanna hear about my new idea? It’s gonna be huge.

Me: Sure!

Crackpot inventor: Okay, here’s the deal. You know how businesspeople — bankers and lawyers and all that — always dress up, right?

Me: Yeah.

Crackpot inventor: They put on nice shirts, and slacks, and nice shoes, right?

Me: Yep, that sounds about right.

Crackpot inventor: And we regular people do the same thing, when we’re going to a wedding or funeral, or even a big meeting or something, right?

Me: Yeah, that’s right.

Crackpot inventor: Okay, so here’s my idea. How about, when we dress up for these special occasions, we tie a big cloth loop around our necks?

Me: Um, like a noose?

Crackpot inventor: No, no, not a noose. It’s called a ‘tie‘.

Me: A tie?

Crackpot inventor: Yep.

Me: That you ‘tie’ around your neck?

Crackpot inventor: That’s right.

Me: So, a big hunk of fabric tied in a knot around your neck, when you want to look nice.

Crackpot inventor: That’s it.

Me: But it’s not a noose.

Crackpot inventor: Right.

Me: And it’s not a scarf.

Crackpot inventor: Right.

Me: It’s a ‘tie‘.

Crackpot inventor: You got it!

Me: Um… and what’s the reason for wearing this ‘tie’ thingy?

Crackpot inventor: Well, it’ll make you look better.

Me: I see. And will it be comfortable?

Crackpot inventor: Oh, no. It’ll fit tight around your neck, like a big choker chain. It’ll take some getting used to, definitely.

Me: Mmm-hmmm. And will it be easy to tie?

Crackpot inventor: Well… no. It’ll require a rather complicated knot. Something that fathers will have to teach their children over the course of a few years.

Me: Ah. But there’ll be just one way to tie the things, right?

Crackpot inventor: One? Oh, heavens, no. There will be dozens of ways to tie these ties. That’s part of the fun!

Me: The fun?

Crackpot inventor: Yep. Fun.

Me: So, let me make sure I’ve got this right. You’ve invented these things called ‘ties’.

Crackpot inventor: Yep.

Me: That we’re supposed to tie around our necks, whenever we want to look good.

Crackpot inventor: You got it.

Me: And we’ll feel like we’re being choked by the thing for as long as we have it on.

Crackpot inventor: Yeppers.

Me: And we’ll have to learn how to tie the thing, and then quite possibly re-learn some new way later on, or even know five or six ways of tying the things, just to be safe.

Crackpot inventor: That’s it.

Me: And everybody‘s going to do this?

Crackpot inventor: Sure. Everybody who’s anybody.

Me: For no practical reason whatsoever.

Crackpot inventor: That’s right.

Me: And people will buy these things at thirty, fifty, even a hundred dollars?

Crackpot inventor: Oh, yes. Some people will pay whatever it takes for a good tie.

Me: I see. And we regular Joes will end up wearing these things, too?

Crackpot inventor: Sure. Some people are gonna have them on every day.

Me: Every day.

Crackpot inventor: Yep.

Me: That’s the plan, is it?

Crackpot inventor: Sure is.

It’s at this point that I’d find something close by to use to bludgeon him to death. Seriously, no jury would convict me, if only they knew of his diabolical plan. I mean, it’s crazy, right? Walking around with nooses around our necks all day, and paying out the nose for the privilege to do so. It’s fucking ludicrous. But we put up with it — even accept it — because the idea’s been around forever, and everyone else is already on board. And so, we follow suit. What choice do we have?

Anyway, I just wanted to point out that we do these things all the time. We’re constantly doing things that make no rational sense, and in a lot of cases, there’s really no better option. We’d be shunned, or pointed and laughed at, if we tried to buck the system on some of these issues, including not wearing a tie when a tie is expected. And so, even though I know what I do to be irrational, I put one on myself for interviews, weddings, and the like. I just don’t see another way.

So at least be on the lookout for these quirks of modern-day society. Maybe you can’t change the world and make things right, but at least you can be a little bit smarter than the sheep around you. You can wear your tie ironically, for instance. Wear one with smiley faces, or tied backwards, or only six inches long. Sure, it might stand out a bit, but you’ll be jabbing at the convention while still following it — you can conquer from within the system, and that’s a beautiful thing. And maybe others will see your example, and begin to wonder themselves why we’re following such fucked-up rigid standards, and things will finally start to change.

Unfortunately, there’s not much I can do to help in this particular fight at the moment. When I strap on a tie these days, it’s usually to beg for a job. So I don’t really have a lot of leverage; I sort of have to go with the flow. That doesn’t mean I’m not fighting the good fight, though. I’ve just chosen to wage a different battle on unreasonable convention, that’s all. Thus, I’ve decided to wear my crotchless edible undies all day, every day. Who says they have to be ‘novelty wear’, anyway? They’re not just for breakfast and pornos any more! Sure, after a couple of hours, there’s a little melting that occurs, but I’m willing to put up with a little discomfort to make my stand. Join with me, brothers and sisters.

(But, um, really, mainly sisters, frankly? Sorry, guys.)

Vive la revolution!