Tuesday, February 10, 2009

What happens to a dream deferred?

If you're wondering, don't bother asking Chedda the Hustler. He's LIVING the dream!

I can't tell if this site is:

a) 100 % real
b) a parody site...a part of Wonderglen they didn't tell us about and only released after we left
c) a scam, or
d) yet another shell website that will ultimately lead to a white supremacist group

Don't ask James Fu, either

Saturday, February 7, 2009

Imagine a man's hairy legs. Thick, black strands stretching from ankle to belly button. Then imagine a 3 inch circle on the left leg that is completely bereft of hair.... What? Is this an odd crop circle ... Do you think it's a disease? 

I think buying Rogaine would be embarrassing. Even though it looks strange now, I have a nasty premonition that the hair would grow back thicker than it's surroundings. It would look like a toupee on a chimpanzee. 

How does this relate to the job search? It's a crisis of confidence. The only thing on my mind during the interview is whether or not my bald spot is showing. 

I'm glad that it doesn't itch or shed. That would heighten the importance of dealing with it. Right now, I just mock it. Come a year, it will have spread to my entire body and I will be the newest, hairless, Albino child. 

Tuesday, February 3, 2009


Sean, your post about Cutco-style scams reminds me of a similar story...

About a month ago, I was noodling around online. (i.e. searching for something, anything to occupy my time), and I found a posting for a bartending job. Not only were there job openings, but you could make something like 85 grand a year in tips, AND they would also TRAIN YOU before you start. I said, "Hey, how about that!", (out loud), because I don't drink much or know how to tend-bar.

The first clue I should have picked up on was that the posting was on the sort of website you find when you Google "jobs+New York+desperate-being a hooker". I forget what it was called, something like findnyjobsnow!.biz, you know, with the exclamation point in the url. But the posting had a number for you to call, and I'm not always observant, so I picked up the phone and gave them a ring.

(Also, this was at about seven at night).

After I set up an appointment, I hung up. "Great", I said, (out loud), "I have a job interview!"

A couple minutes went by. I went back to the website and read the posting again. Now, some more backstory, I thought originally the posting was created by, say, a bar, or a pub, or maybe a bier garten. It wasn't. From what I could surmise from the post, apparently this was some kind of bartending...placement company. I don't know. They didn't say their name in the post, and I couldn't find a company name when I googled the phone number or the address.

"Uhh", I said.

(out loud).

And I passed out. Eleven hours later I woke up, frantic, and tried to dial the number again to tell them I was on my way. But there was only an automated recording telling me the number had been disconnected. I hung up, and a stillness came over me. Then, out the window, a blue jay appeared. He flitted, just for a moment, and then he was gone. We don't get blue jays here around this time of year. Coincidence...?

(Actually, what happened was, shortly after double-checking the posting I decided not go. And I didn't call them back).

"See you later!"

I am very bad at leaving voicemails. I never know what to say and typically take three hours leaving every detail I can imagine, including what I'm eating or planning to eat, how my elbow is feeling, and barometer readings.

When I got suckered in to a job interview with one of those impossible Cutco-brand "sky's the limit" jobs earlier this week, I had to call back to cancel the interview. And how did I end the voicemail message? "See you later!"

YES, this is how you should end all your important business voicemails! "See you later!" Even if you don't intend on seeing them ever, make sure to use this valediction and you'll be headed for success!

I am famous.

My first joke for the Onion News Network has finally run.  No, not the Obama joke.  That one's kind of funny.  The fat joke.  At the bottom.  The one that didn't make you laugh.  I'm so proud.

Thursday, January 29, 2009

Raymond Unbound

Some background: I finally came up with a New Years Resolution a couple days ago. This year I will read 300 TV scripts. Because it's the right thing to do.

Yesterday I read an Everybody Loves Raymond called "The Neighbors". Usually when I read a script for a show I've watched a lot, like Seinfeld, I'm struck by how the show on the page feels a little flatter than it does on TV. The actors are so good they can take a simple line that isn't itself a joke and make it hilarious. But when I read "The Neighbors", I swear, it felt like the most depressing, Eugene O'Neill/Tennessee Williams tragedy you've ever read.

Here's what happens in the episode:

Raymond's parents are being overbearing inconsiderate assholes, as usual. (This time, his Dad set up a floodlight that's shining through Raymond's bedroom window). Raymond refuses to do anything about this, no matter that his wife and neighbors demand he take action OR that he's clearly miserable himself. And when his parents discover Raymond, his wife, and the neighbors talking about them, they accuse Raymond of BETRAYING THE FAMILY and shun him.

Raymond is a wreck. He goes to a priest to confess his "sin", and the priest, in disbelief, tells Raymond he's completely in the right and that his parents are nuts. Raymond decides to confront his parents once and for all, make them pay for the years of emotional abuse. And the moment he enters their house, he collapses in a heap of sad dependency, apologizing profusely. They accept. And that night, the floodlight still beaming through the window, Raymond is fast asleep. Debra is not.

I mean, I remember feeling Everybody Loves Raymond was fucked up when it was on, but come on, HOW DID MILLIONS OF PEOPLE LAUGH AT THIS?!

Now I want to stage "The Neighbors", completely dramatically. It would play just like Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf if you do it right. Its title will be Danger and Anger, which I have stolen from Don DeLillo.

Also, here's the episode's tag:

Brad Garrett visits the priest later and asks whether it's normal to have murder-fantasies about your parents, specifically ones involving cannibalism. Roll credits!


I didn't see that everyone used their real names before I signed up for this blog as Sour Lozenge. Name selection has cost me a lot of respect and happiness over the course of my life/mess.

During the college application process, I would lay on my floor and sweat whenever I had to tell the school my email address was "Fire Crutches". Not one person thought it was interesting or clever. I've only spoken to two people in my life that have red hair so I thought it would be cool and funny. Little did I know that it would be a massive failure. Shut up, I don't want to talk about it.

A funny trivia fact about me is that I attended college. Why? You very well might wonder that. If you come over to my ranch, we can wonder about that together. 

Let us continue sledding down the mountain of pain that is odd name choices. In my school days, I always was delighted whenever a teacher would tell us: let me know if you have a nickname you'd like to go by. How foolish of them. 

To this day I will still react if someone calls out these names:

Charlemagne   /  Moses   /   Afinogenov   /   Bouwmeester   /   Julie   /    Lenny   /  Antiikanen  

This desire to create a new persona in the presence of others is a disgusting, self-aggrandizing, and infectious exhibit of fear. Fear of what? Being complacent with reality. You mean fantasy is not good? It's ok in small doses.