Sunday, June 29, 2008

Asinine Employment

Job seaches.

At first, there is that electricity in the air. I can taste it. My ears are buzzing. I've got pins and needles in my sweaty palms. I am ready to commit myself to a career and the possibilities are endless. Work for the CIA? Maybe. How about on Wall Street? I can do it. Dream the impossible dream all you dreamers! My heart rate leaps as I set off upon my glorious and mysterious journey. I have the unexplainable urge to purchase a blue dress and red shoes. And a little dog too.

Google. Get ready for me.
"new york city jobs".
Silly Google. Do you even have to ask? Of course. I'm Feeling Lucky. Well, do you? Punk?

Ah shit.

There's millions of postings. I don't want to be a friggin' Policy Analyst. If the word "anal" is anywhere in my job title, count me out... unless it was Canal Gondolier. I've gotta say, that'd be awesome.

I scroll through the hundreds of pages of purgatorial descriptions: Marketing Consultant. Director of Sales. HVAC Technician. Message Therapist. Assistant to the Director of Public Relations...
I'm writing to my Senator. Forget the phonebooks, I've got some more creative ammunition Mrs. Clinton. Filibusters will never be the same.

I'm not in the mood to continue this fruitless search. This is about as enjoyable as typing "anal" into Google. NO. I'm not Feeling Lucky.

Why We Run

Those of you that know me are aware that I have been a tour guide in Europe for the majority of last year. Blah blah Paris blah beer blah. Here's something you might not know: I'm not going back. Why, you ask? Well, we can thank Mr. Hemingway for the answer (and I'm paraphrasing here):
"No matter how far you go, you can never run away from yourself."

When I read those lines in The Sun Also Rises, I felt as if His Beardedness was reaching out to me from the literary ether. It struck me like the left horn of a run-away at Pamplona. I literally had to put the book down momentarily. Yeah, perhaps it was a bit dramatic. But, hell, nobody was looking. Let me have my moment. Regardless, I felt like an old friend had clasped my shoulder and said in a gruff baritone voice, "Matt, it's been fun, but it's time to get a big boy job and help your parents pay off your college loans... you spoiled bastard." He'd spittle a little (whiskey soda) with the "s" in "spoiled".

And there's the rub.

Travelling is a wonderful opportunity. There's no doubt about that. Exploring narrow streets, meeting fascinating people, imbibing the unimbibable; these are what make the experience so magical. It's the chance to leave the mundane behind and see the world from a new perspective. Ideally, we can learn to appreciate and embrace the differences that make this world such a colorful place. But. There's a time and a place for all this.

If in order to travel you must mooch off your parents generosity, it is time to reconsider if this is the best idea. Going broke isn't helping anybody out. Sure, I have some killer stories about near death experiences in the darkest recesses of Western Europe... but I also have about $22 in my pocket because of it. And a hangover. Nobody needs that.

My point is to travel when you can. Spend your extra money on it. Live the stories. But don't make it your life... unless you can afford that. In which case, I'm jealous. And single. And willing to travel.

Thursday, June 26, 2008

Little Green Globule

What the hell is that feeling?


I hit my side with a well aimed kung-fu chop, only to frighteningly realize that a cool and somewhat slimy sensation was creeping into my bones. I just killed an inch worm. It was in my shirt. Now, all that's left is a green spot. They have green blood.

The poetry of the moment struck me. The only reminder of the existance of this unasuming insectoid is a small stain left on my Hanes undershirt. It's kind of sad when you think about it. This thing was a living, pseudo-breathing organism until moments ago. Soon it will be in my septic system, mixed with Tide with Color Safe Bleach.

On the Road Again...

"Every journey begins at home."

If you read that twice, you might think it is a deep and profound thought. What is he saying? Does he mean that no matter how far you travel, both physically and meta-physically, the journey must take you back to your roots; you're humunculous, pre-natal roots? There the answer lies. Maybe he means that before we explore both the world and ourselves, take a brief moment for contemplative meditation, find your beautiful inner-you, and reflect upon the road that stretches ahead?

Nah. I just mean that you have to pack before you leave your house.

That's where all travel begins. In your closet. In your dresser drawer. In your sibling's closet. Under the bed. Wherever your possessions may lurk. Might I offer some of my tried and tested advice to you?

Keep it simple! Mountains of stress can be avoided by simply packing lightly. When dealing with airports, adhere to the Buddhist creed: if you have no possessions, then you have none to lose. Fewer bags means fewer moments of waiting at the freakin conveyor belt that I so desperately wish to gleefully ride, and the less time you spend there, the better. True, there are friends to be made as you help the cute college backpacker with her cinder blocks packed in a steel reinforced trunk (she doesn't read this blog), but it's fleeting. She's just not into you. You might think she is, but hell, who wants to make friends at a time like this? When I am waiting for my luggage, I'm so angsty I could strangle a baby seal. That's not a quality the ladies are digging these days. I digress...

Simply, you won't lose your bags if you are carrying the only one you need.

Travelling forces you to assess what you value most.
That's deep.
I mean, do you really need six pairs of jeans? Truly, the stone-washed Guess ones look exactly like the Seven vintage ones. There's no need to bring both. Nobody will notice and your lower back will thank you. Do you need five pairs of shoes? Nope. Find those casual-yet-classy-yet-comfortable ones that can serve many purposes. So much easier. And tie them to the outside of your bag. They take up an unnecessarily large amount of interior bag-space. Especially if you are going to be moving from place to place, stopping for only a few days at a time, the less you pack the better.

Ugh. I am reliving those sweaty memories where I am trying to get my overloaded green suitcase into a youth hostel, but the fucking steel bump in the doorway is impeding my progress. I try and try, but fail. Repeatedly. More sweat. Get a running start and... it tips over. Some kind local tries to help but I just grunt and try to muscle it over. Sweating profusely. I get it over, only to have to wait in line to sign in. After thats done, I find out that my room is on another floor. A cheerful baby seal walks in the front door...

In the end, after you are done packing, chances are that you don't need 30% of the crap in your bag. Re-assess. Be ruthless. Pack plenty of socks.


Eh. I'm gettin bored writing this post. It sucks. I'll change it later. But hey, at least I have a new theme. AND I can incorporate my odd thoughts on the mundane INSIDE of the blog. Cool. I'll come back to this.

Are You Still Reading This?



Are you still reading my blog?

Dude, I haven't updated this thing in probably two or three months. It's defunct. It's kaput. It's nicht ser gut.

I'd like to change that. I want to restart the blog, but with a new purpose. At the moment, I don't know what that purpose should be. I mean, at this exact moment it's just therapy, as I am writing these lines with the full knowledge that nobody is reading this. "Then why post it?" asketh you. Answereth: Um, I'm not sure. I guess it is a bit like confession right now. Not that I ever went to confession, nor have much to confess (lie), but you get the idea.

Anyhow, I want to take the blog in a new direction. Enough of my random thoughts and rants about typical daily-grind bullshit. True, it was rather insightful, if I may be so bold to say. True, it was fleetingly entertaining and provides a nice outlet for my pent up frustrations... but... it ain't marketable. I'd like to do something that will make me some money, win me a following, make me famous. I have no delusions about that. Bills don't pay themselves. All I have to decide is what to write about:

Nah. I couldn't bear the inevitable deluge of hate mail. I'm very sensitive to those types of things.

Fuck no. I'm not contributing to the downfall of Western Civilization... or at least Western culture.

That's a bit more up my alley. However, I am grounded for the foreseeable future and would just be writing based on conjecture and imperfect memories. That's not so bad, I suppose. So far, this topic is in the lead.

Money and Finance?
Considering that my net worth is roughly $32.84, I don't think I should be the one giving advice.

Travel it is then. I'll make shit up. It's what I'm good at. I'll do a few test posts, and you, sun-drenched reader, can let me know what you think.