Listening to: Talk Talk, Spirit of Eden
Happy Birthday, my country! Unfortunately, for many, this is a day for elbowing other Americans out of the way for a spot in line at the port-a-potty, blowing off fingers with an errant M-80, getting drunk and beating the crap out of someone, or stumbling over a small child in a rush to grab a free t-shirt and falling face-first into the turf - then screaming "Watch where you're going, you stupid little bastard!" at the child.
I actually saw that last little bit happen at a baseball game a couple of years back. At the Seventh-inning stretch, a cart came along and shot team shirts from a cannon into the crowd. The poor kid (about 4-years old) was just sitting there when Mr. 300 pounds of transfat and stupidity stumbled over the tot and then put his fat, ugly face about a foot from the kid's and screamed like the pathetic little puke he was. I say "was" because I assume (and hope) the worthless girth he'd been condemned to haul around eventually put the squeeze on his tiny heart and shut down the entire repulsive mass of half-assed humanity. Either that or he choked to death on his Taco Bell steak fajita.
Buzzkill aside, I wish you all a happy, civilized, and safe Fourth.
Considering X has the kids today, I'm staying in and away from the great unwashed, getting caught up on some housework and writing. Mixing another disk (my fourth - how appropriate!) for Vicki's brother-in-law in Iraq because it's easier for me to express myself through music than it is through this blog. Today, at least.
It seems redundant to state here what I think of the diseased and dimwitted cur in the White House who is busy shitting all over my country. Instead of going into a rant today, I submit a "Greatest Hit" (requested by a faithful reader):
(Originally posted Friday, January 14, 2005)
X took my little loves late yesterday leaving me with the entire day to sit at home and watch Judge Judy.
Just kidding. Actually I had four interviews today, none of which had anything to do with my bailiwick but what the hell, I have to do something. So, I put on my off-the-rack suit and cheap out-of-style tie and went hat-in-hand to grovel for income. What a life.
One of the interviews was for a Human Resources position with a major corporation. My Psych degree qualified me to test the company's prospective employees (to make sure no one would go postal, I guess) and my Philosophy degree qualified me to know I was too qualified for the job.
The process was a hoot. At first, I was run through a battery of tests. Damned Psych degree, I knew what the exams were about - they wanted to know if I was going to do something insane on the premises like organize a union or demand to be treated with dignity - and I knew just what to say. Another half hour of sitting in a waiting room painted institutional green (likewise, I knew what THAT was all about), scanning the "Salon Guide to Modern Literature", something to read, I've dealt with too many big corporations, enough to know their vetting is an all-afternoon ordeal.
Finally called into "The Big Room With The Big Desk" to talk to the little person with The Big Title. I wasn't nervous; I was hungry, literally hungry, if the guy had a sandwich on his desk I'd have snatched it from him and devoured it, right there. No such luck. All he had on his desk was my file, some pictures of his family (it was difficult to imagine that he was capable of breeding), and one of those crappy fish bowls with a plant sticking out of the top.
The interview was a slam-dunk. However, I won't tell you what was said. I'll tell you what I wanted to say.
Drone (D): What do you know about our company?
Me (M): Well, I know your CEO makes $18 Million a year. I also happen to know this company lost almost $150 Million last year for which your CEO took a $500 Thousand bonus. So you have an overpaid shithead running your company who awards himself a half million dollars for losing money. What's not to like? If I raid the goddamn soda machine for quarters, I'll get a promotion.
D: I see you're the primary custodian of your children. What do you intend to do with them while you're at work?
--- STOP --- Is this a question a woman would be asked? Anyway....
M: I figured I'd have your CEO pony up with his bogus bonus since you shitheads don't offer childcare.
D: Why are you the primary custodian?
M: Why do you think it's any of your fucking business? Considering you probably make over a Hundred Grand a year, why do you have such a crappy haircut?
D: I see you've been out of work for a year; why is that?
M: Well, I was hoping a second Bush term would mean I'd be unemployed indefintely; considering Bush has done about as good with the US economy as your fuckwit CEO has done with this company, you might want to consider unemployment as your next status in life.
D: What makes you believe you're qualified for this job?
M: Obviously, judging by whom I'm talking to, any idiot can do this shit.
D: What would you bring with you to this position?
M: A brain. Brains can be useful things. It might be a radical addition to this organization but I assure you, a couple of thoughts here and there and this company might actually see a profit.
D: What future do you see with out company?
M: As long as your CEO continues to lose $150 Million a year, not much. However, if you give me his yearly bonus, I'll change his diaper.
...and so forth. If I wasn't so desperate for a Jay Oh Be I would have punched that idiot in the Solar Plexus and pissed on his desk. As it was, I shook his hand (and wiped my hand off after I left his office...), walked to the parking lot and looked for a spent cigarette butt to smoke. Eff You See Kay I En Gee hell. Life shouldn't be like this. It's a damn Kafka short story.