Cheese and sex and GapingVoid cartoons

One of my all-time favorite bloggers is Hugh MacLeod of www.gapingvoid.com -- not just because he is an intelligent former NY-based ad copywriter, or because of the sharp things he has to say about the ad business, the life business, and just business in general, but because of these devilishly witty cartoons drawn on the backs of business cards. These cartoons often, and eerily, parallel my life (and the things I might think to say if my brain were to grow about 300% and I were suddenly able to say something funny in 4 words or less).

This one, for example.

I have left my former job.

Formerly inspiring, formerly stimulating, formerly creative and strategic and MINE, but mostly just former. I left this job due to irreconcilable differences (actually I suspect my new idiot-boss resented the fact that some of his employees -- by which I mean me -- weren't impressed by his obsessive need to validate his masculinity by buying stuff and womanizing, and therefore didn't have any interest in sleeping or hanging out with him. That -- coupled with a few good ideas that challenged said boss' vague, unoriginal brand concept but might have propelled the company into actual success -- was my downfall.)

Do I sound bitter? I know I do. But honestly, it's just really funny now. Why?

Because it turns out that no matter how long you put up with the shit you swear you'll never put up with, you eventually come to your senses one way or another and realize that there's only so long you can hold your tongue and politely nod before you just about poison yourself with your own insincerity. And thank God for that awakening.

Next time, I just hope I spend less time settling and more time looking ahead to the next thing. Ever read that "Who Stole My Cheese?" book? Like that.

Next time, I want to have my eye on the new cheese prize far in advance of sitting around being terrified to go out and find the cheese because my crumbs of moldy, abusive cheese are somehow my safety blanket.

And I'm pretty sure I will. Because it turns out that, like there are many people with whom you can have good sex, there are many companies/products with whom you can have a collaborative and fruitful professional experience -- the cheese. And that is almost as good as sex -- because it happens every day and you simply can't fake it or stroke its ego. And in business, you get paid for your hard work. And when you seek out new cheese/sex/career moves before you actually have to, you can usually find some mouse/person/company willing to give you MORE cheese than the one before.


So now I have a new, better job. Downtown (which is obviously better than the head-in-hole suburbia of former job).

More responsibility, happiness, collaboration, vision, creativity, money. More cheese, more sincerity, more work, better results. Why didn't I think of that?

I tell questions to fuck themselves... answer something for once!

Is it just me who runs over things in vaccum cleaners, and when they don't get sucked up, bends over, picks the things up to closely examine them before putting them back down and giving the vaccum cleaner one more chance?

How do those dead bugs get in those enclosed light fixtures?

And why doesn't Tarzan have a beard?

Along the same lines, I've never been able to figure out how the characters on Gilligan's island could make a small metropolitan city out of a couple coconuts, some sand and a dead fish, but couldn't get off the damn island?



And why is it that everyone believes you when you say things like "there are 5 billion stars in the sky" but they insist on checking your accuracy when you say the paint is wet, or the plate is hot, or the food is delicious?

Crime and Punishment

Well, it's over.


And somehow I suspect no one involved feels much better.

Personality test shmursonality test

Today I fell for a cheesy website proclaiming it could tell me all about myself through a series of "on a scale from 1-5..." questions.

That's right. I took a personality test.

I've always been a little fascinated by the concept of a personality test, mostly because my impression of life is that the whole point is to slowly discover who we were all meant to be -- I suppose I feel like we are all destined to become this certain fated individual, and the excitment of life is that we spend most of our existance unwrapping this complicated gift like an anonymous Christmas present and figuring out how we fit into the "sweater" that is the best version of this inner self.

So personality tests seem both ridiculous (because how can a computer possibly "get" you if you don't even get you) and fascinating. (what if they can? and what if I can somehow give away the ending of my little pilgrammage to my core by answering a series of innocent, simple questions?)

At any rate, I took this particular test once, and then again later just to check its accuracy.

Both results follow. Something seems fishy to me...

Results of Test #1:

Results of Test #2:

I am now preoccupied by the concern that I may have more than one personality to discover here on this wild ride called life... thoughts anyone?

What Classic Movie Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

Instant Messaging: my drug of choice

Before I discovered instant messaging, I was a relatively good employee.

Aw hell, why bother with humility? I was a fantastic employee.

I would show up early, work late, wouldn't take a lunch break. I would actually anticipate problems, projects, and extra work I would eventually be asked to do and have it done in advance. I would do my job, and then clean up the messes of the people around me who couldn't successfully do their own. I was the posterchild of the overworked, underpaid college graduate who is clearly overqualified for their position but is just ignorantly, blissfully happy to have a job anyway. I would cite the downward-spiraling job market (in Seattle, anyway) and justify my superiors' assaults on good taste, manners, and general professionalism with ridiculous, humble remarks like "well, he's the boss", or "well, this is a wonderful learning experience for me".

Quite simply, I was a job snob, refusing to sink to the job performance mediocrity and petty complaints of my colleagues because I just didn't think it was right. I took no personal calls on the job, never checked my personal email, and generally strived for perfection in all aspects of my work.

Then, at the advice of a rebellious friend, I downloaded MSN instant messenger. And I think it was the combination of a general awakening to the crappiness of my job and exposure to the wonderful communications technology of IM that led me to this particularly pathetic point in my professional life (how's that for alliteration?):

In the last two days, I am quite embarrassed to admit, my sole motivation for going to work in the morning has been to see which of my "contacts" little blue torso icons indicate they are "online". Then, my day really begins in a way it never has before. I spend it "chatting" -- exchanging sarcastic stories and wry remarks with an assortment of my friends (who I have discovered also must be mediocre employees). I have actually caught myself typing a zinger about one person or another around me and then giggling out loud, which immediately brings on a fit of guilt and cover-up coughing.

The downside? I am in a constant state of panic that someone will discover I have fallen from my formerly comfortable moral high-horse and am now rolling gleefully around in mud-slinging conversation and comaraderie with my friends, who are mostly disgruntled employees or students, on "the clock".

I probably spend at least a total of 30 minutes per day on just frantically minimizing my IM screen as people walk past my desk. But the stress is all worth it -- IM is the perfect drug. Why?

1. Just try to randomly test me for it.
2. IM = instant gratification
3. Instant Messaging has only one mild, but proven, side-effect: extreme apathy about all things important (job, school, responsibilities, self-respect, personal values, one's work ethic and better things to do with one's time, in general).

Why are we still talking about legalizing marijuanna?

Sometimes, it's better just not to go there.

So, some time back, I took this conspiracy theories class.

And I was studying in a group for the final.

And I don't know if its the fact the MATRIX RELOADED was coming out, or maybe it was just all the wacked-out conspiracy shit from class that had me thinkin', but all of a sudden I wonder, out loud, if we really are all living in a dream world right inside our skulls, like Dr. Spence said.

And one of my study partners asks me what happens, then, when we die (since it's common knowledge you can't die in a dream, I guess).

And I say, "Maybe we wake up."

Silence. *(insert general feeling of creeped-out-ness in group and lots of "hmmmmm...." eye contact)*

Add that to the list of surefire ways to end a conversation.

We don't need no water...

...but we might have.

(*NOTE*: This is, admittedly, an old story. But, because this is my do-over (and my brainspace), I am re-posting it. Followed by one more old story from an old blog, mostly because I hate throwing things away. But I know when to quit. And two is enough.)

Last year, my friend Megan and I almost burned down the Administration Building.

Well, not on purpose.

It was just that we were there, in that big, old building (haunted? not? I'm not convinced either way) at 2 a.m. in the pitch-ass-black, trying to turn in a research paper. In short, we were terrified. Holding hands, actually (a momentary and unusual lapse of courage, I assure you).
Our solution? Set a wad of paper on fire, Indiana Jones-style. (OK, that was my bad idea. Megan was a skeptic from the start).

So I'm holding this wad of paper and Megan lights the 1 match we posess and holds it to the makeshift torch.

It singes...it crackles...it fizzles out.

OUT!

And so we're standing there in the dark, me with the charred evidence, Megan with the empty matchbook in the middle of this old, wooden hallway, surrounded by smoke (and smoke detectors, which thankfully but suspiciously failed).

So, logically,
we run.

Down two flights of stairs, me stamping out the remaining evidence and laughing hysterically while Megan thinks up imaginary headlines:

"Sorority girls say: 'the Admin burned my homework!' "
and
"Afraid of the dark, girls make a fire... of the Administration building".

Anyway, we eventually find creepy horror-flick janitors who unbelievably direct us, through the smoke, to the light switches.

*Aah, electricity.*