Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Wed-Lockup
A woman in Michigan was arrested on her wedding day. The vows must have read, “in sickness, in health, and incarcerated.”
Palin the ass
In contrast to the blockbuster that is Harry Potter, almost no one showed up to view the debut of the Sarah Palin documentary, The Undefeated. Maybe they should call it The Undetected. In one theater, a couple was spotted making out in the balcony. They must have thought the film was about Bristol Palin.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Let Me Call You Sweetheart
Sears mistakenly priced iPads at $69. Finally, a “Shop Your Way” offering I can relate to.
A woman in Atlanta has 26-inch-long fingernails. Her manicurists have their own union local.
In China, they’re handing out prison sentences to drunk drivers. Now, that’s Carmageddon.
A woman groped a female TSA agent in Phoenix. Look, I know that all of the new airline rules are difficult to understand, but, please, read the signs, people!
Now that the U.S. women’s soccer team is kicking World Cup butt, men want to wear the team’s jerseys. I’m just not sure they can carry off a sweetheart neckline.
A woman in Atlanta has 26-inch-long fingernails. Her manicurists have their own union local.
In China, they’re handing out prison sentences to drunk drivers. Now, that’s Carmageddon.
A woman groped a female TSA agent in Phoenix. Look, I know that all of the new airline rules are difficult to understand, but, please, read the signs, people!
Now that the U.S. women’s soccer team is kicking World Cup butt, men want to wear the team’s jerseys. I’m just not sure they can carry off a sweetheart neckline.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Forget Bette Davis
Have you seen Chicks with Buscemeyes, in which actor Steve Buscemi’s careworn eyes are superimposed over those of otherwise hot women? What’s next?: Chicks with Gandolfinis? Chicks with Kinnears? Or, worse, Dudes with Deschanelbows?
How distressing: Hugh Hefner thinks his former fiancé might have had another lover. Didn’t she know he owns the patent on that shtick?
News Corp. execs are dropping like flies. Note to all high-school yearbook editors: GET BUSY!
I think that Rupert Murdoch should lay low for a while. Maybe he and the Mrs. can rent Whitey Bulger’s apartment, as it appears Whitey won’t be needing it for the next 150 years.
I just read that Jennifer Lopez and Marc Anthony are kaput. Who’s going to cut the holes in her dresses now?
How distressing: Hugh Hefner thinks his former fiancé might have had another lover. Didn’t she know he owns the patent on that shtick?
News Corp. execs are dropping like flies. Note to all high-school yearbook editors: GET BUSY!
I think that Rupert Murdoch should lay low for a while. Maybe he and the Mrs. can rent Whitey Bulger’s apartment, as it appears Whitey won’t be needing it for the next 150 years.
I just read that Jennifer Lopez and Marc Anthony are kaput. Who’s going to cut the holes in her dresses now?
Thursday, July 14, 2011
I Remember Mama, Kinda
A new study indicates that access to Google, IMDB, and other search engines means we no longer have to commit information to memory. I must remember to tell that to – oh, what’s that word for the woman who gave me life?
Potter's Field
I don’t know about you, but when it comes to Harry Potter movies, I think that eight is enough. I want the dynamic trio to remain kids forever. I never want to see Ron with a soul patch or Hermione with a tramp stamp, or any of the following:
Harry Potter and the Goddess Quest
Harry Potter and the Bottle of Glenfiddich
Harry Potter and the Egregious Comb-over
Harry Potter and the Adjustable Rate Mortgage
Harry Potter and the Enlarged Prostate
Harry Potter and the Goddess Quest
Harry Potter and the Bottle of Glenfiddich
Harry Potter and the Egregious Comb-over
Harry Potter and the Adjustable Rate Mortgage
Harry Potter and the Enlarged Prostate
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Up Yours!
Do you believe what Netflix is doing? Bloody hell, what? I don’t know about you, but I feel gored. I’ve certainly soured on Netflix. If I’ve watched one streaming movie, I’ve watched a hundred, but I tell you, I’m done. I admired their business model, but no more. Netflix, you’re cashiered.
A real-life version of the house from Pixar’s movie Up has been built in Utah and is selling for $399,000. I guess it comes with a balloon mortgage.
In Chicago, there’s a public installation of a giant pair of legs and a windblown skirt, reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe’s gams in The Seven-Year Itch. When they install the top half, Sun Ming Ming is going to ask her out.
A real-life version of the house from Pixar’s movie Up has been built in Utah and is selling for $399,000. I guess it comes with a balloon mortgage.
In Chicago, there’s a public installation of a giant pair of legs and a windblown skirt, reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe’s gams in The Seven-Year Itch. When they install the top half, Sun Ming Ming is going to ask her out.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Worldwide Pants
Did you see that Internet video where a python swallowed an alligator? (Warning: Ick!) http://www.bing.com/videos/watch/video/alligator-vs-python/px6l0lq Reminds me of the BSkyB – Murdoch deal.
Malaysian police released 1,697 people detained at a gathering to demand fair elections. Seems they ran out of those cool orange uniforms.
There’s a rumor floating that former Chinese president Jiang Zemin has died. Paging Saturday Night Live (see Wikipedia: Francisco_Franco_is_still_dead) Fun fact: Jiang liked to pull his pants all the way up to his chest. Might death have been caused by that Milhouse-killer, a calamitous wedgie?
Congratulations to Derek Jeter on hitting number 3,000. He told the YES Network, “Hitting a home run is the last thing I ever thought about.” Yeah; the last thing, the first thing and everything in between.
Here’s some not-really-news: it costs more to raise a child now than it did 50 years ago. And that doesn’t include the cost of eating out a parent’s kishkes.
Wedding bells: two
Monday, September 28, 2009
Looking for a Something in a '69 Tenderloin?
I don't know if this strikes you funny, but today I noticed the following ad on the MSN.com home page: "Omaha Steaks clearance sale." What might that entail? A '69 Tenderloin; only one owner? A six-pack of burgers, gently used? I'm beginning to wonder what the term "aged beef" really means.
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A man is suing Bank of America for $1.7 Billion Trillion. Gosh, that's almost their entire TARP allotment.
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In New York, a Mexican food cart won the coveted Vendy award for the best street food. "Schnitzel and Things" was named Rookie of the Year. Next year, I'm pulling for "Truckin' with Turducken."
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A man is suing Bank of America for $1.7 Billion Trillion. Gosh, that's almost their entire TARP allotment.
*
In New York, a Mexican food cart won the coveted Vendy award for the best street food. "Schnitzel and Things" was named Rookie of the Year. Next year, I'm pulling for "Truckin' with Turducken."
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Blown Job: an Unemployment Odyssey
Originally posted October 24, 2004
Two years and seven months ago, I was fired from my job; a casualty of the post-9/11 economic downturn. After 18 months of looking for work without success, I sat down to write a book, entitled, "Blown Job: an unemployment odyssey," my comic, sardonic take on a desperate situation. Turns out I had as much success tantalizing editorial agents as I did Human Resources directors. Rather than consign it to obscurity, I've decided to share my book with you, dear reader, in a series of excerpts, the first of which you will find below.
INTRODUCTION
On January 31, 2002, I was let go from a job I hated and probably would have died in, so I guess the bastards did me a favor. But it really doesn’t seem like that now, because I’ve been out of work for 18 months and my unemployment insurance is but a distant memory, and my savings have been vastly depleted and my COBRA health insurance is about to terminate and I haven’t had an interview in I can’t remember when and lately I’ve been thinking of doing myself in, though I need to do it cheaply because I’m on a budget.
But enough about me. I’ve written this book for you, one of the 9 million (and counting) unemployed Americans who share my pain. We’re a mighty big club without a clubhouse. We don’t have the clout of AARP, the aura of PETA, or the chutzpah of ACTUP. We’re men and women without a country, cast adrift in a world that used to make sense, with skills and experience that now lie dormant. We spend our days chasing a dream that used to be a right; the right to work in the land of opportunity. We’ve been forced to do things that humiliate us and set us back ten years in our careers and cause us to fight with our loved ones and embarrass our friends. We take what crumbs we can get and we feel grateful. Is this what we sat through Accounting 101 and read “What Color is Your Parachute” and watched “The Graduate” for? I don’t think so.
Are you as pissed off as I am about the way things have turned out? Of course you are. Well then, come with me, as I recount for you the odyssey of one unemployed woman in America in the 21st century. This story has all the elements of the Great American Novel – the flawed protagonist, the journey fraught with perils, the angst and pathos and bathos and quite a few other words that I don’t know the meaning of – without the happy ending. I invite you to laugh at the absurdity of my situation to ease the pain and bitterness and frustration of your own. And, if you’re reading this introduction, it means that I’m actually making some money now and all I have to worry about is that I can sell enough books to make back my fabulously generous advance. [ed. note: that's back when I thought this would be a trade paperback.] (Remember, though, as I’m writing these words, I’ve been unemployed for 18 months and my COBRA insurance is running out and my savings are vastly depleted, and you know the rest.)
Come along as I recount the embarrassment of working for two months at a job from which I’ve already been fired. Share with me the experience of going back into the classroom after decades away from attendance-taking and hand-raising. Chuckle at the humiliation of being interviewed by someone who wasn’t born until after “Rhoda” went off the air. Learn how looking for work can be your whole new career. And – this is really important – at the end of the last chapter, if you find that you like this book, I want you to do something for me. Write one of your own. Everybody who is unemployed in America should write a book and everyone else who is unemployed should buy it and read it. Look, we nine million have to support each other; we who are the charter members of the newest mega-association in the country.
Let’s get organized, people. I’ll start us out by giving our group a name: FEDUP, for Forced to Entertain DUmb Employment Possibilities. Okay, not so great, but we can work on it. Hey, it will give us something to do.
We’ll meet on Thursdays. You bring the Krispy Kremes.
(See Archives from October 2004 through January 2005 for Chapters 1 - 11.)
Two years and seven months ago, I was fired from my job; a casualty of the post-9/11 economic downturn. After 18 months of looking for work without success, I sat down to write a book, entitled, "Blown Job: an unemployment odyssey," my comic, sardonic take on a desperate situation. Turns out I had as much success tantalizing editorial agents as I did Human Resources directors. Rather than consign it to obscurity, I've decided to share my book with you, dear reader, in a series of excerpts, the first of which you will find below.
INTRODUCTION
On January 31, 2002, I was let go from a job I hated and probably would have died in, so I guess the bastards did me a favor. But it really doesn’t seem like that now, because I’ve been out of work for 18 months and my unemployment insurance is but a distant memory, and my savings have been vastly depleted and my COBRA health insurance is about to terminate and I haven’t had an interview in I can’t remember when and lately I’ve been thinking of doing myself in, though I need to do it cheaply because I’m on a budget.
But enough about me. I’ve written this book for you, one of the 9 million (and counting) unemployed Americans who share my pain. We’re a mighty big club without a clubhouse. We don’t have the clout of AARP, the aura of PETA, or the chutzpah of ACTUP. We’re men and women without a country, cast adrift in a world that used to make sense, with skills and experience that now lie dormant. We spend our days chasing a dream that used to be a right; the right to work in the land of opportunity. We’ve been forced to do things that humiliate us and set us back ten years in our careers and cause us to fight with our loved ones and embarrass our friends. We take what crumbs we can get and we feel grateful. Is this what we sat through Accounting 101 and read “What Color is Your Parachute” and watched “The Graduate” for? I don’t think so.
Are you as pissed off as I am about the way things have turned out? Of course you are. Well then, come with me, as I recount for you the odyssey of one unemployed woman in America in the 21st century. This story has all the elements of the Great American Novel – the flawed protagonist, the journey fraught with perils, the angst and pathos and bathos and quite a few other words that I don’t know the meaning of – without the happy ending. I invite you to laugh at the absurdity of my situation to ease the pain and bitterness and frustration of your own. And, if you’re reading this introduction, it means that I’m actually making some money now and all I have to worry about is that I can sell enough books to make back my fabulously generous advance. [ed. note: that's back when I thought this would be a trade paperback.] (Remember, though, as I’m writing these words, I’ve been unemployed for 18 months and my COBRA insurance is running out and my savings are vastly depleted, and you know the rest.)
Come along as I recount the embarrassment of working for two months at a job from which I’ve already been fired. Share with me the experience of going back into the classroom after decades away from attendance-taking and hand-raising. Chuckle at the humiliation of being interviewed by someone who wasn’t born until after “Rhoda” went off the air. Learn how looking for work can be your whole new career. And – this is really important – at the end of the last chapter, if you find that you like this book, I want you to do something for me. Write one of your own. Everybody who is unemployed in America should write a book and everyone else who is unemployed should buy it and read it. Look, we nine million have to support each other; we who are the charter members of the newest mega-association in the country.
Let’s get organized, people. I’ll start us out by giving our group a name: FEDUP, for Forced to Entertain DUmb Employment Possibilities. Okay, not so great, but we can work on it. Hey, it will give us something to do.
We’ll meet on Thursdays. You bring the Krispy Kremes.
(See Archives from October 2004 through January 2005 for Chapters 1 - 11.)
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