Monday, March 31, 2008

How 'bout that March?!

Sorry readers but it's been a bit of a hectic month for your favorite antagonist. I've been fired, mugged, and aged since our paths last crossed. Let's begin at the beginning, eh?

I was fired for allowing a co-worker to fool around on my server number (the code an employee used to sign into the server to tally up orders) and as a result I was shit-canned. Could have been worse, they coulda beat me up. Wait, they left that to four kids from my neighborhood!

The following Monday I had stopped back in at my now-former job to grovel for my shitty, mediocre-paying serving job from the queen who had been all-too-happy to give me the ax that prior Saturday. After being told to return the following day I exited my bygone diner of dreams and shuffled into the C train back to Brooklyn. The only problem was that some young'ins wanted to slow my trip home a bit by tackling me and taking whatever belongings they could snatch out of my pockets: not much.

Somehow, the police were able to retrieve my iPod and capture one of my attackers; alas the same couldn't be said for my beloved teal Banana Republic wallet that I fear I will never be able to replace.

Theft robs you of more than the physical people!*

The annoying fallout of this debacle wasn't so much the loss of property (don't get me wrong, it sucked) was the dealings with police and the District Attorney's Office. I had the police (initially unbeknownst to me and subsequently unwillingly) parading me around my neighborhood where these cats roam and I'm typically averse to making myself known as being in bed with the police. I never outgrew my punk records, I suppose.

These dipshits were driving me around in what was an obvious unmarked car in broad daylight to try to make a positive ID on the kids that jumped me FROM BEHIND. The only positive identification that was transpiring was of me as not only the Token White in the area but also as the incandescent neighbor who's in bed with police. That goes over swimmingly in a "strong heroin and crack presence with frequent robberies"-type neighborhood as the police who drove me home the night of the incident described my street.

But wait, THERE'S MORE!!!

The youngster they captured was repeatedly shown my face in close proximity, occasionally without my knowledge and at the police precinct. How about you guys give them a copy of my house key next time? Can I count that as a tax write-off if "hoodlums" use my laptop to make shitty Flo-Rida-derivative beats on my stolen laptop? What about royalties? Fuck it.

The most abhorrent behavior I encountered occurred at the court room, however. I was coaxed into spending an entire day waiting to give five minutes of slanted and misleading Grand Jury testimony. It was disgusting the way this Assistant D.A. was maneuvering in an attempt to get the best testimony out of me. Vile creature he was, even after admitting earlier in the day he thought there wasn't a case to be made. We all have to swallow our pride and our ethics to a certain degree at times to put food on the table; I'm a realist and I will concede that to myself and others, but this was egregious. Pulling out all the stops on a 15-year-old** first-time offender makes you a despicable person and it makes me glad I made jokes during my testimony to undermine the entire affair.

But it hasn't been all misery and loss...

I also got to ride a bull! Fun night for sure filled with surprise visitors, copious amounts of whiskey, new friends, and ridiculously drunken karaoke...even by drunken karaoke standards of inebriation.

So, now I've been kicked out of the 18-24 party and thrust into the immediately lamer and inferior in the eyes of advertisers 25-30/35 demographic which hurts a little to be honest. The 18-24 group has ALL the cool birthdays unless you're a girl*** stuck in the Eisenhower years or you're a Jew and, well, we disregard them here.

  • Fuck, I can't wait until I'm able to rent a car!
  • The wisdom gleaned from navigating through my twenties is invaluable. I'm glad that time is done and I can now enjoy adulthood.
  • Every birthday is another year closer to attaining my goal APR!
No one says these things honestly. These are statements made by folks in denial. No one sits at home when they're grounded and 15 thinking to themselves, "I can't wait until my late twenties so I can be expected to make sound decisions all the time while being burdened with these same expectations (as well as my own) every day!" Fuck that! When you're fifteen, all you want is to be 21 so you can be getting drunk, fucking chicks (or dudes), ad partying with no one (at least in your adolescent mind) telling you different.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not some douche on my way to finance a Camaro I can't afford and a blond I can't satisfy.**** But for whatever silly reason, be it self-imagined or inflicted on me by popular culture and the media that mirrors, creates, and magnetizes it, I feel like the jump from 24 to 25 has been a much longer motion than my last step forward. But that's all I have for you at the moment, but it's probably more than you needed. I'll try to douse you in posts this upcoming month. Then again, it is the first of the month.

*I'm just fucking with you, only pussies say that. You're not pussy, arrreee youuuu?
**Shut up, they had an aggregate age of sixty. Wait, fuck! Let me rephrase that, it was like a four hundred pound 15-year-old with freakish athleticism attacked me.
***To spoil any eurocentric accusations I will mention Quinceanera and in the interest of mutual inclusion I will proclaim them lame too.
****The latter is impossible, anyway.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

I am now a member of the homosexual community!!!

An honorary member, at least. The wonderful part is that I didn't have to sacrifice my anal virginity, penetrate a twink, or become a post-op thus making my flannel apparel even more appropriate. I do have nice cheeks bones though, so the latter isn't an impossible idea.

Nope, I'm the new Art Intern (capitalization for emphasizing my deluded sense of importance) at Out Magazine and with that new position in life as a passenger in the Out vehicle, otherwise known as "The Great Gay Hope," I can make a difference for "culture"-obsessed members of the global LGBT community.

The silver lining is that I can now make any gay joke with impunity; it's fab-u-lous! I feel like the character on Seinfeld who converted to Judaism for the Jewish jokes. Speaking of which, is there an interview process when you want to be a Jew? There really should be.

I've only been at my post for two days now, which have been spent primarily acclimating myself and doing small odd jobs (NOT blow jobs) related to design and research. There have been a few highlights, however:

-A research session in which I was assigned to find concubine-related photos, only to end up drooling over photos of nude Czech prostitutes in a shower (No, really! Follow the link, but it is NOT work safe* Titties!).

-One of my bosses appearing on the verge of climaxing in his pants as a group of us viewed some photos for the May issue. Truth be told, the gentlemen modeling for the shoot were quite good-looking** but c'mon, dude--they weren't that hot. Now I get horny--a lot, but I can at least contain myself in a group setting, especially one that takes place at work and even more so on an occasion in which there's a new-hire. Cool your jets, bro.

-I suppose that's really all the humor I've witnessed or been a part of other than the occasional cattiness between some co-workers (none directed at me--yet) I've observed and the seldom flirting heaved in my direction which I've been told is customary of their tribe.

It's pretty interesting, I must say, to be in such a pronounced and unapologetically homosexual environment. I don't really notice many differences from a "normal office" in interaction between colleagues other than the total dearth of sports conversation, but that's not necessarily relegated solely to "gay offices" I would assume. I'll have to be diligent with my morning cup of coffee so I can continue satisfying my bosses (no homo***) all while keeping an eye and an ear to the interactions I am a captive audience to.

I like the place, I really do. That might change, however, seeing as I'm only two days into my Out tour of duty, but I don't foresee my opinion souring. At this juncture, while it's an office, staffed with roughly 95% homosexuals workers, it's certainly not a gay, gay office.

Oh, here's a list of some blogs I've been enjoying lately. Some are recent discoveries, others are old favorites I hope to encourage my readership
to check out:

Basketbawful...this guy is hilarious and quite an acerbic writer on all things hoops. Be sure to check out the basketball dictionary if for nothing else. Very creative.

Free Darko...Bethlehelm Shoals is probably the best of the troop, but they're all at the very least solid and entertaining. Very humorous, insightful, dare I say cerebral, writing with the umbrella of basketball but frequently focusing on the effects of basketball on pop culture and vice-versa.

True Hoop...Henry Abbott's True Hoop column is considered the benchmark, the apex, and the granddaddy to all basketball (and perhaps all sports for that matter) blogs. That being said all praise and accolades bestowed upon Abbott are well-deserved and quite frankly, the man should get more praise for his tireless coverage of all things basketball. His ongoing coverage and analysis of topics like William "Uncle Wes" Wesley's seemingly ubiquitous presence within the world of basketball and his serial piece on NBA referee Bennett Salvatore are fine examples of how the man is not simply a comber of the internet, but an incredibly versatile journalist with a great head on his shoulders and the ability to see angles I can only dream to recognize.

White Whine...heed the second "h" in that title. I'm not transforming into some urbane asshole attempting to steer my friends into an epicure's realm of bourgeois-iniquity. This is a segment for the sea of people (I don't see color) like myself who, like myself, find themselves tickled pink when they can laugh at white folk. It should be noted, most of the "whines" are submitted by the very same self-aware pricks**** whom feel that through participation they're no longer members of this repugnant group under the derisive magnifying glass. Even so, I still like to pretend these are overheard mutterings from a spoiled and obnoxious segment of society.

Speaking of white guilt...Stuff White People Like...The same idea basically as "White Whine" only with more breadth and the appearance of pseudo-scientific (think National Geographic's exploratory team going to Crate and Barrel instead of Sudan) research.

To bring it full-circle I will link you to a blog I've (along with you, that is, if you exist) heard about for some time but finally got around to checking out today. The Assimilated Negro. Don't worry, you're/we're not that white person.

*Didn't say it wasn't Out safe.
*That's straight speak, not straight talk; for if I was a chick, a gay dude, or if I was really, really drunk and no one would/could find out and he was nice and we were the last people on Earth, I'd do him.
***C'mon, HAD to get at least one in there.
****Full disclosure: I flipped out while creating this entry because I was running too many programs on my laptop (iTunes, Quicktime, Azureus, Firefox, DLing files, Photobooth, iChat, and Word to be exact) and the god damn thing froze.