· Yesterday I snuck out of work early to see Woody Allen’s new movie, Match Point, with my old friend Kelly. We both enjoyed it a whole lot but agreed that it’s just a little bit too long. Long movies aren’t bad unless they feel long, and there was a section in the middle that just dragged. Oh well.
· There’s a whole slew of new “contractors” (that’s a fancy word for “temp”) at work this week. I hope one of them will usurp the job of this guy I can’t stand. He’s obsessed with the idea that, at some point, his temporary work will blossom into a full-time position. While it’s true that it could happen, it most likely won’t because nobody can stand him. And I realized today why I, personally, dislike him (aside from all the other reasons): his voice and speech pattern are almost identical to my former blog-nemesis, Owen.
· Thanks to the new contractors, I…had no work to do today. They say they want to help everyone—especially me, as I’ve still been doing the job of three people, since the previous temp disappeared—but it seems a little shady. I don’t know about you, but I can see the writing on the wall, and it says, “YOU’RE FIRED BECAUSE EVEN OWEN JUNIOR IS MORE WELL-LIKED THAN YOU!” Time to step up the job search.
· I just posted this on a friend’s blog. Make of it what you will…
A few years ago, one of my friends gave me a big book, a compiled “best-of” from a magazine called Found. He said he thought it’d be good for me, to help me come up with story ideas. It contains zillions of letters, drawings, diary excerpts, notes (including stuff as mundane as shopping lists) that people have found all over the place and send to this magazine. It’s pretty awesome, and it really is kind of a nice writing tool—you can open to any random thing and get a dozen story ideas just one little note. And on top of this book and the magazine, I’ve kind of become obsessed with the whole concept. If I ever see something like that on the street—which is rare, actually—I’ll grab it and see what it says. I’m a strange person.
So in the same vein as what you’re saying, because I haven’t yet found a “real” job and I’m bored out of my mind at this one, I’ve started “losing” things—doing the opposite of the magazine, intentionally dropping or almost-throwing-into-the-garbage-can-but-missing or just tossing out into the wind whatever scraps I have lying around. You might consider this “littering,” but you’re wrong. Okay, you’re right, but this place would drive me nuts if not for the notion that somebody will pick up my scraps and, I dunno, think about life differently. I know there’s a 0.00001% chance of that actually happening, but it’s the wildest, craziest thing I can do within the confines of a terrible job.
· My obsession with the most fascinating band in the universe, the Beach Boys, reached critical mass a few nights ago. I had a dream that I was at a family Christmas party circa the late ’80s (I was as old as I am now, but everyone else was younger), where I was engaged in a pretty heated argument about the greatest album of all time. I was arguing with a time traveler (???), who one could strongly argue is an authority on the subject, that the Beach Boys’ seminal 1966 album, Pet Sounds is the greatest. Which is interesting, because while it’s definitely in the top five, I’d say Matthew Sweet’s 100% Fun has the top spot pretty well secure. (Then again, this was the late ’80s, so 100% Fun wasn’t out yet.)
As I argued, surprise party guest Mike Love heard the veracity and (typical) high quality of my reasoning and asked, “Are you a musician?” I told him that yes, I was, and he informed me that since Al Jardine had left to tour on his own, they were looking for a new guitarists, and would I be interested?
As I stammered like an idiot to answer him, I started to mentally ponder the ramifications of this deal. This could be great for my nonexistent music career (even in the late ’80s, which is well known for its terrible music!), but at the same time teaming up with the horrible, litigious Love would betray my idol, Brian Wilson, and I wasn’t sure I could do that, no matter how much it would further my career. As I considered all of this, I woke up. Pathetically, I was half-disappointed that it wasn’t true, but I was relieved that I wouldn’t have to make such a difficult decision.