God Is Not Your Homie and The Devil Never Gets His Due

You know who has it easy on the internet these days? God. Think about it, anytime something good or fortuitous (thank you, SpellCheck) happens, he’s the first to get credit. Nice days, strokes of luck, etc. But, goddamn (see what I did there) whenever an event of equal negative consequence happens, God ain’t around. You never see a losing fighter say, “Well, I guess God just liked the other guy better tonight.” Nope, God gets off scot-free for anything bad. You never hear anyone say, “Why did God let all those innocent people get killed?” or “Why did God let that guy crash that plane?” Nope, no one says it.

Look, God ain’t just a one deity business, there are many flavors of god. There’s the Jewish one, the Christian one, the chubby Buddha god, Clapton, whoever is repping the Hindus these days, and on. While I certainly think you should freely follow the god of your choosing, the problem I have is when all these high and mighty nudniks put off “god” as their own personal god.

Here’s the impetus (look it up) behind today’s post. Through the ever changing feed on my FB, I saw the following post. I will certainly protect the innocent and ignorant here, and the post is edited to keep things anonymous, but went along the lines of:

                I have some bittersweet news. My new job couldn’t have come at a better time. I just found out that the job I just gave notice to is letting 50 people in my dep’t go. I would have been included in this layoff but PRAISE BE TO GOD. He opened a door for me to avoid the layoff and lead me to a much better position making more money. GOD IS SO GOOD AND TRUE TO HIS WORD.

                Just like God provided for the Israelites during the plagues, He provides for His people even today. Despite our sins, He provides for our needs. Praise be to Jesus and glory to God.

                Please take a second to pray for my colleagues who don’t even know they will be losing their jobs in 2 weeks.

                I thank GOD for putting me in in places to get extra info so I could see we were being lied to.

Wow! Just ….wow!

There are just so many things out and out wrong about this statement, least of all the people actually liking it. When it comes to social media, I think you should be able to freely post whatever you want. My own personal stance is to not post anything about religion or politics because they are both deeply personal issues.  And quite frankly, while I agree with the sentiment that you can express your thoughts on religion, the fact of the matter is most of the time it offends me. I do my best to just let it go, but the above really fired me up. Fired me up so much, I arose from my couch, shaking off a blanket of empty beer cans, disappointment and Dorito dust, and marched up two whole flights of stairs to voice my dismay. And put on my “writing pants.”

So let’s explore the many flaws in statements like this.  Above all, the thing that angers me the most is this is not “our God.” This is not “my god” or “your god.” No, it’s “his God.” How fucking dare you push your concept of “god” on me. Know why this isn’t “our God?” Because just look at what this knucklehead is saying; ”the same God who just majorly disrupted 49 other suckers lives spared me!” How condescending. What do those other 49 people think about “god” now? The same flawed logic this guy uses (“God is good, look at what he has provided for me!”) simply doesn’t fit the bill of the exact same god who just willingly left the other 49 shitheads unemployed. That is most certainly not the “god” of the 49 others, so how can it be the same “god” to him? Because it’s his notion of “god” the one who provides for him at the cost of others. Now, tell me, just what kind of “god” is that? Definitely not my “god.”

Then what follows is the typical “pray for the others” rigmarole. Probably just as bad is to listen to this elitist moron. “I know so much more than them, God gave me extra info, those poor saps don’t even know they are losing their jobs! But look at what god did for me because we’re besties!!!” (I almost wrote ‘God’ to start this next sentence, but I am not sure that would help or hurt my case.)  The statement about him knowing others are losing their jobs is just so unwarranted, it really is totally unnecessary. Hope the Heathen 49 aren’t friends with him on FB or tomorrow could be aawwwwkward.

How does this dipshit go into work tomorrow with a straight face? I sincerely doubt he has the grape fruits to go to the Sinful 49 and say, “The same God that spared me is the same one that just smited…smoten…whatever the past tense of smite is-you. Tough break, but it’s OK, I’m praying for you. Chin up, sport.”

I see posts like this all the time. But, man, it doesn’t matter, because every time something good happens, God is there to take all the credit. Where’s “God” for the 49 others? Where does God go when tragedies happen? You never see people wailing, “Why did God do this to me?” Nope. No, God is always there to take the credit but never the blame. (Which is also how many of my previous bosses operated.)

And while we’re at it, can we PLEASE stop with all the “Share this post and God will bless you” nonsense? Can someone please point where in the Bible it says, “God will shine down many fortunes to those who forward his statuses?” It doesn’t. In fact, I am pretty sure God is busy with other

God-like duties such as continuing to curse the Cubs and Maple Leafs than to monitor social media for those “spreading the Good Word.”

To be fair, I don't remember this passage in the Bible, either.

You know what, how come people never even blame Satan for tragedies? You never hear reporters saying, “Well, Tom, I am on the scene of the tragic train full of deaf orphans and blind kittens that caught fire, and was knocked over a cliff by an avalanche. Eyewitnesses tell me they don’t know what kind of “god” could allow this, but are pretty sure it’s the work of Satan.” Think about it, even the devil doesn’t get his due. Man, he must be pissed. At least the devil can look forward to all the married gays he will be getting in soon.

While on the topic, can I interview Russell Wilson and ask him what “God” sounds like? Does he have a gravelly voice, a European accent, sound suspiciously like Pete Caroll, etc? Yep, Russ claims “God” talked to him. The reason this isn’t front page news everywhere (ATHLETE ACTUALLY SPEAKS TO GOD!) is proof that everyone thinks this is a goof. You don’t see the Pope lighting up Wilson’s Twitter to ask questions about the Guy Upstairs. Because we all know this is a load of baloney. And if “God” really did talk to Wilson, I am sure the first thing he would say is, “Why did you throw the ball, shithead?” I guess “God” must be a Patriots fan, right?

Look, believe whatever you want. Hell, there was a time I was convinced Mick Foley was god, until he confessed that he was merely just “good.” Just use your head, and be aware “god” shouldn’t be a personal concept that only works when you find it convenient. That doesn’t make you religious; it makes you an asshole.

Heal Thyself

So, as I’ve been doing a lot these days, I’ve been wondering just what the fuck my problem is. I mean, I have many problems like you do, but maybe it’s time I take control and figure some shit out. Now, I’m no doctor, but I do have Wifi access. And who needs doctors when we have WebMD? Take that, insurance plan I barely use because I am otherwise healthy. Who says insomnia is a symptom? Let’s see just what might be plaguing me.

While I am probably one of the most open and honest people you would ever have the pleasure of meeting, it’s in my best interest to not fully disclose all my “symptoms.” Suffice it to say, nothing is life threatening, very little of it is physical and most of my “symptoms” I would just generally attribute to being “a little fucked up in the head.” But the brain surgeons at WebMD don’t list that as a symptom, so I have to elaborate.

I have listed 6 –yes, just 6-symptoms. One is physical, the rest clearly are mental. Which is probably not a great sign anyway. Whatever. I occasionally watch General Hospital in the afternoon, so I can practically perform surgery on anybody. With my 6 listed symptoms come a whopping 38 possible conditions! Geez, hopefully overachieving is one of them. While 38 “possible conditions” is far too many to go over here, scanning the list does reveal a few interesting conditions that might be plaguing the Temple Kev. But, whatever, this is the internet, so I am sure they are all correct.

Depression I am pretty sure everybody gets this answer. Like who isn’t depressed these days? While I may not be the happiest clown in the circus (and, yes, I did just make that up, so no stealing it,

Literally, the first picture that came up when I googled "depression."

motards), I will confess to be bummed about a few things. Still not gainfully employed. Still not a lottery winner. Hallowmas is not a nationally recognized party. Avs didn’t win the Cup. OK, so I might be a little down.

Viral syndrome I don’t even know what that is, but I have been watching a lot of viral videos lately, so I guess that might be a possibility.

Caffeine withdrawal immediately followed by Excessive caffeine use Quacks. How can I have both ends of the caffeine spectrum as symptoms? Shouldn’t it just be one or the other? Who’s the doctor here, NickRiviera? For the record, I believe I don’t even take in that much caffeine. I’ve only had 4 cups of coffee in my life and generally limit the caff intake. Occasionally, I will pop a pill for an early morning workout, but that’s it. So maybe I need to take in more? Sounds like a great idea, excuse me as I bang a Red Bull with black coffee chaser.

Exercise or physical activity Umm, so is this a bad thing? No, no it isn’t. In fact, one of the few things I enjoy with the extra time is spending more time in the gym and getting some running in ahead of Warrior Dash. The gym has been levelling me out. So, WebMD, brah, I’m just gonna bang down some pre workout and go all BEAST MODE IN IRON CITY!

Schizophrenia Oh, good one, WebMD. None of the voices in my head agree with this notion. Nice try. Next!

Attention deficit hyperac Oh fuck, I can’t even spell that shit. WHAT IS MY DOG BARKING AT?? Next.

Cocaine abuse Are you fucking kidding me?! How do I have any money for cocaine? JC, next thing it’s gonna tell me is I’m on meth.

Methamphetamine use What?! Are you fucking kidding me?! How can I be unemployed and still have money for not only coke now, but meth, too? I haven’t even watched the last season of Breaking Bad yet! This is ridiculous.

Coxsackie virus infection 

Coxsackie.

Obsessive compulsive personality disorder Idonothaveit. Idonothaveit. Idonothaveit. Idonothave it. Idonothaveit.

Mad cow disease This is still a thing? Didn’t we cure this when we cured SARS? Whatever, you fucking leave my steak alone, bucko.

Cat scratch disease Nope, haven’t been around cats. But I might have the cat scratch fever, if ya know what I mean. ROWR!

Wang dang sweet poontang.

They say knowing is half the battle. But sometimes I don’t even know what I don’t even know. Like how to end this post.

Jobs I Made Up That I Would Totally Kick Ass At

Lately, I have been reading a lot of articles about “finding your dream job” and “making your work your passion” and “love what you do.” While being unemployed is certainly not the best of things to be these days, it's also kind of exciting in that I can now look at a bunch of options without being tied down; a true blank page. It got me to thinking, what if my “dream job” isn't out there just because it isn't a real job? What's to stop me from fulfilling a need that may not be clearly defined? I can create jobs, damn it!

After much internal soul searching, I have created a list of jobs that don't exist (yet, at least), but I would clearly kick ass at. Now, who's hiring?

Male View Audience Member Assassinator

Now that I go to the gym in the morning and do this thing called “cardio”, I have found myself forced to watch this abortion called The View. When the show opens, the camera pans overt the crowd. The crowd is made up of 90% overly enthusiastic women and 10% men. (and no, I didn't need a

Just shoot me.

calculator to figure that out.) Those poor guys. They are all dressed with a jacket. Over a sweater. Over a collared shirt. They are henpecked, broken men with black, dead eyes. I propose my job be to provide these poor guys with the Sweet Release instead of them living in fear of Whoopi Goldberg venturing out in the audience to eat them.

Rum Taster

Like, “duh?” right? Or as we call it around the house, “Sunday through Saturday morning.” But I would be a pro. Rate different rums on taste, mix-ability, some disgusting beer term called “mouth feel”, drink-ability, euphoric feelings and finally, a little something I like to call “blackout ability.” Rum; it's the quickest way to get to tomorrow.

Handicap Parking Enforcer/Enabler

I can't tell you how many times I have seen this disgusting practice. Car pulls right into a handicapped parking spot, and the driver effortlessly springs out of the car. They may have the HC plate, or they may have the HC tag they hang from the rearview mirror. And, yes, I know the plate/tag might not be for the driver as much as their passenger. Which almost makes it worse if it's a driver stealing a spot for a legit need. Why, just this week, I saw this girl with HC plate swerve right into a HC spot, spring out and go into the store where she works! It almost enrages me enough to hope there really is a heaven just because I want there to be a hell for these fucktards to go to. So, what I propose my job to be is to monitor these spots. If someone with the HC designation parks, and they clearly have no handicap when they emerge, then I am trusted by the State to beat them about the spine until their need for that precious HC spot is warranted.

Registration Snitch

"Why, yes, I Am an Orgasm Donor on the weekends!"

Much like above, when I drive around I see a ton of expired tags, some by over 5 years. How do these clowns get away with it for that long? Are they not getting their car inspected? Or insured? Again, I hate the idea that some people just don't care and they seem to get away with it. My job here is just to drive around and use a dash cam to take pictures of such scoff laws. Kinda like a bounty hunter, just not as cool as, say, Boba Fett.

Female Body Inspector

For as long as I've been going to the shore, I have seen this shirt in all those cheesy boardwalk t-shirt stores. So, that alone tells me this job has longevity. Plus every bro I see wearing one appears ugly and surly, which is also right up my alley. Line forms to the right, ladies.

D + (fence) Confiscator

OK, everyone who is sick of watching an NFL game when the camera flashes to the crowd and sees two chuckleheads holding the D plus “fence” signs, raise your hands. Hmm, that is everyone I see. Good job class, put your hands down and go back to staring at your phones. Like, seriously, this was

kind of creative 40 years ago. Now it just shows a total lack of originality. It would be my task to navigate the crowd to remove these signs, much like the WWE removing CM Punk signs. It would also be within my authority to remove the also just-as-annoying O + “fence” signs. Yes, some of you may argue these signs are the only source of joy for, say, Cleveland and Jacksonville fans. But this also allows some more hands to be freed up to hold $18 beers. NFL revenue would go up dramatically if they hire me.

Boston Creme Pie Evaluator

Actually, this would have to be a part time job.

Smoking Police.

How are people still smoking? Isn't this, like, 2014 or '15 now? Aren't all the risks well known? For the life of me, I don't get people who still smoke. It's not healthy, it costs a ton of money (both in the actual packs of cigs, and also the resultant medical costs) and it smells worse than my dog's farts. I swear, it feels like I am seeing more people smoking these days. I'll be honest here, I smoked for three months when I was a freshman in high school. I never got why it was cool, and stopped so I could concentrate more on my drinking habits.

And don't get me started on these fucking “vapers.” Don't give me that bullshit that it's far healthier than “actually smoking.” What, so you only get like 80% of the cancer? True story; just type 'dangers' into Google and the first thing that comes up is 'dangers of vaping.' God, I hate these self important assholes. Every one of them, with a smug look on their face like, “Look at me, I am such a bad ass, vaping in this bar where you other wise can't smoke. I am a rebel.” No, you're not. You're a fucktard

Ha! Get me now, cancer."

who can't get cancer and die quick enough. I have seen these vapers sucking their cancer dicks in Best Buys. Really? Are you really that fucking addicted that you can't even shop for like 45 minutes without smoking an electronic butt? You come across as starved for attention almost as much as your lungs are starved for clean air. You're fucking pathetic. Also, smokers are the biggest litterbugs on the planet. Don't believe me? Just go to any designated smoking areas, hold your breath, and see how many butts are on the ground.

My job here would be to confiscate their e/cigs and scare them straight via Saw like contraptions. To save them, of course.

Bed Tester

Little known fact about me; in my dreams, I am black.

I know, I know. You're all thinking, “He's really just looking for the laziest job possible.” While I certainly can't argue that point, what I can tell you is that I am uniquely qualified for such a (prone) position. Most of my life I have had some sort of sleep issue. While I have worked to make it better recently, I certainly don't have it figured out. I have tried every nonperscription pill/powder/liquid on the market, I have also tried a bunch of other options. White/nature noise machine, sleep monitors, even memory foam. I tried one of those alarm clock that projects the time in a soft blue light on the ceiling. What kind of torture device is this for insomniacs? “Gee, I can't fall asleep,

so let me just lie here, staring at a big, huge clock to slowly watch the night go by?”

Fucking 5:37

And forget it whenever I have to sleep in a hotel. All of marginal help.

So who better than me to try new beds, foams, TempurPedics, hammocks, cots, futons, etc?

Fantasy Football Team Name Originator

My knack for coming up with witty and offensive team names is far better than my knack at winning actual Championships. You'd be surprised how many times I've worked the word 'vagina' into team names. Go Vagina State!

The Boston Creme Pie Challenge

Suddenly finding yourself with a wealth of free time, yet lacking a wealth of money, one tends to look for new ways to pass the time. As I try to get the writing thing off the ground again, any new sort of inspiration or challenge is quite welcome fodder for KT. And, today, I have a very unique challenge. Something I have always thought about but never thought about doing until now. Because, let's face it, this is a perfect time to discover more about myself. Today, I have a real bull in a china shop challenge.

Today, I will eat an entire pie in one sitting.

Glutenous, glorious, guilt, shame, full-I am bracing myself to feel a wealth of emotion. I might need counseling when I am finished. First, a little back story.

I don't really consider myself as having a sweet tooth. Sure, I have the occasional cravings just like anybody else, and from time to time I scarf down anything chocolate. Growing up, whenever it was my birthday, I had the dinner and desert of my choosing. And it was always pepperoni pizza and the most glorious, decadent sweet on the face of the planet; Boston Creme Pie.

(And, OK, let's get the cream pie jokes out of the way here. Yes, probably ever male reader knows what I am talking about, but in case you're one of my surprisingly many readers in Ireland, in street lingo, a cream pie is this. NSFW, obviously. OK, we all got that out of our system now?)

In the past, I have been all responsible, and made the BCP last as long as possible. It might take me 3-4 days to finish it, and no, I don't share. But it hit me to see if I could wolf the whole thing down in one sitting. My initial guess is a clear, “FUCK YES!” After all, it has been a struggle to hold myself to just one piece, when I easily feel I could go for a few more.

In fact, I don't expect this to be a challenge at all. The only thing I see stopping me is just the massive overload of sugar and delicious yet empty calories. Which leads me to a decision; do I just choke it all down before I get that “full” sensation? Or do I slow down a little bit so I can truly enjoy every morsel of God's sweet ambrosia? Decisions, decisions. If only I could somehow put this on my resume.

Seek and destroy.

For the record, the BCP is approx 3” high and 6 ½ “ across. For some actual research, I decided to try to track down the nutritional “value” of an entire BCP. Shockingly, there is no easily available data on housing an entire BCP. Logic then tells me no one has ever eaten a whole pie, so a call into the Guinness people is in order. I do find that a 1/6 slice (please, who only takes a sixth of a slice?) is actually not overtly horrible. 232 calories, 8G saturated fat, 132 mg salt. The killer here is a whopping 33 g sugar. Wow, this might disrupt my daily 3-5PM nap routine.

My On Demand yoga instructor will NOT be happy about any of this.

My first instinct is to cut a slice out that is about a quarter of the BCP; aka my usual piece. I am saddened how excited I am about doing this experiment. There's a sticker that says its made with real whip cream. And that appears to be a real cherry on top, so no one can tell me this is totally not healthy.

For the discerning pie eater, we always prefer real ingredients.

I'm using a stop watch as well to just get a basic idea of how much of my life this is going to take me; for writing purposes, of course.

Upon first bite, it occurs to me this just might be my best idea ever. In case you are curious about downing a massive calorie bomb, I can tell you, some preparation was done for this historic event. Last night I played 2 ½ hours of street hockey which works out to about 3 1/2-4 miles of interval running. Then, this morning, I dragged my sore body to the gym to get yet another workout in, to at least proactively control the massive amount of calories I will take in. And I am wearing pajama pants, so there won't be any issues there.

Slice two is just about half of the pie left. Sugar sweats are starting to kick in, and it may be time to take off this hoodie.

SUGAR RUSH!!!

Halfway done. I'm starting to feel like my parents caught me smoking and are now forcing me to smoke the rest of the pack. Slice three, about 2/3rds of the way down. Body is starting to revolt and asking where all the NutriBullets and protein are.

Boston strong.

16 minutes in. I've heard the stomach starts to get that full sensation after about 20 minutes, so I am up against a wall. Literally-as my expanding belly has pushed my chair that far out from the dining room table. From my seat I can see about 3 months of unread Men's Fitness staring back at me from my mail. Fucking irony.

22 minutes, and fatigue has set in. So has shame, to be honest. My plate looks like a murder scene. 2/3rds of the pie is staring back at me, mocking me, calling me names. Or maybe it's just the sugar crash. This is harder than I thought. How do those chicken wing Mfers do it?

26 minutes in, and it's a staring contest. The BCP is clearly wounded, but standing (relatively) firm. My gut is a wreck, but my belches taste like BCP, so it's not a total loss. Sugar rush is quickly disappearing, as bloat takes it's place.

Well, this is turning into a bit of a pissah.

30 minutes and it's time. I have given up, thrown in the towel, which is about the most physical activity I can muster at this point. 2/3rds done in a half hour is the record. At this point the thought of eating anything is enough to make me want to barf.

I just walked down and up six steps to let the dog in, as I didn't want him to witness this mess. He immediately greets me with a look like, “what have you done?” To try to psychologically wash away the shame, I immediately brush my teeth and three fall out.

It was a valiant struggle, but, alas, it is over. All this time I thought I could easily house a BCP has been a lie, a life shattering lie. What's next, being unable to down a 40 in 20 minutes? No more six plates of crab legs at an all you can eat?

In order to try to start to burn off the approximately 700 empty calories I have consumed, I stand to grab the leash to walk the dog, but am immediately greeted by a headrush when standing. He looks back at me like, “It's OK, bro, we can let this go.”

The BCP goes back in the fridge, where it will serve to mock me in 10 hours, which will also be the exact amount of time I should get hungry again.

Know What You're Looking For

A key point in looking for another job is to ask yourself a question:

Am I wearing pants today?

Nope, nope, wrong question. But, truth be told, that is always a fair question to ask before venturing out. Anywhoo, the question you should be asking is:

What do I want to do?

Job interviews have never bothered me. In fact, they are easier to prepare for than ever these days. If you don't know how to do your homework, I am certainly not going to tell you here because what if we're up for the same job? Kinda awkward if we walk into the same room, amIright? I would not be above telling the interviewer a batch of heinous lies about you. But, I'm just a dickhead that way. Moving on...

Job interviews go both ways. Yes, they're there to interview me. But guess what? I'm also there to interview them. If I figure out the job isn't right for me, I'll tell 'em so. I've ended more than one interview with a firm handshake, a stern look in the eyes and a ,”Well, thank you for your time, but I feel I am not the one you are looking for. Also, the purple elephant dines in Paris tonight. TONIGHT!!” I'm not above fucking with their heads as I exit.

Great googily moogily!

Those of you who have the extreme privilege of knowing me know I am not a suit and tie kinda guy. I'm not a 9 to 5, sit in the same traffic only to go to the same place every day kinda guy. Many people excel in that atmosphere, I just don't. I've worked in offices before, and I still fear they are just about as functional and efficient as The Office, except without Rashida Jones running around.

I've conducted a thorough self evaluation as to what criteria would allow me to perform to the best of my ability. I don't know that this leads to that dream job, but at least it clears a few things up for me:

I hate meeting new people. In fact, I also hate meeting old people. I am not a people person at all. I like dogs more. Is there a well paying job I can do working with dogs?

I like to take midday naps. So I should probably avoid cube farms. Unless there's an office with a set nap time for everybody. Which actually is kinda creepy now that I think about it.

"Naptime everybody!"

I am not a team player. I am a lone wolf. I am also the God of Thunder, but that is for another day.

I get road rage easily, and consider traffic to be my mortal enemy. I should probably work from home.

I hate getting dressed up. I own less than 2 suits, and most of my ties have cartoon characters on them. I have one tie that is a functioning musical keyboard. I feel most comfortable in board shorts and flip flops in the summer. In the winter I favor pajama pants and my Homer J. Simpson slippers. Notice I didn't say anything about a shirt? YER GODDAMN RIGHT!

Place of employment would have to tolerate me looking at very NSFW material while I am working.

Would also have to tolerate my affinity to say the f-word a few times a day.

Has to be “hammock friendly.”

New place of employment has to believe in the silly notion of raises based on merit, not blindly meeting inefficient Key Performance Indicators.

Having clear start times and end times bother me. I know how to run my day best.

I don't perform well being micro managed. Anything more than 3 emails and 2 phone calls weekly is excessive, mmkay?

If you've heard the term “death by PowerPoint”, you're probably guilty of it. Don't do it to me.

I don't like working nights, weekends or holidays. Already paid my dues.

If need be, I am not opposed to taking a 'work wife', but only if she's cute.

Don't expect an answer after 2 PM on a Friday.

Well, I feel a lot more focused now, I think I made my life easier.

This Shit Again

It's funny how life goes in circles. Just about 5 years ago, I found a pretty decent job, that gave me some great stories, a good deal of frustration and hopefully a few key friendships to carry on. Before the above gig, I was (basically) unemployed for three years. Three long, dark, frustrating, disappointing, challenging years that I have since tried to forget. Well, it looks like another tough little stretch lies ahead of me.

One can never look forward to being unemployed. While I didn't “love” my last job, it was certainly something that I got to be (very) good at and make a reputation for myself. I worked at it to at least make it comfortable for me, and suffered all the bullshit that kept it being a good job as opposed to being a great job. And while this post isn't going to delve to much into that aspect of it, don't worry there will be plenty more on that topic.

During those unemployed years, I really fell back into writing. I got two pieces printed, and landed a great gig where I wrote my best stuff. (Excepting here, of course.) And, like the black cloud I apparently am, that gig abruptly ended. I mean, there's not even any webdirt or record of it existing? How does that happen? But try as I might, there's plenty pictures of me in various compromising positions floating around. Fucking internet.

So, now that I have ample “free” time, I find the urge coming back, much like Dexter's Dark Passenger. (Yes, I know Dexter references are dated in 2015, but through Netflix and this “free” time, I finally watched all 8 seasons. Now, no one ruin the last season of Breaking Bad, 'aight?) I have been struggling to write anything decent for my current writing gig, and as I see many of my friends making the same realization, writing is great therapy. I don't quite understand it myself, but my darkest moods are somehow alleviated by writing fart jokes. Which is also why I'm now eating chili twice a day and sleeping on the couch.

Now, I am not the biggest believer things like fate, signs, Christianity, etc, but just as I lose my job, a previous editor puts out a call looking for stories of being unemployed. Ah, karma, you move in mysterious ways. And I found as I started to just put ideas together, the urge came back. There's potential for this project to lead somewhere cool. Even if not, it's at least served as a spark.

"Did someone say spark?"

To anyone in my position, a few things. Know you're not alone; there are other people out there just like you. And they need someone to drink with on random Wednesday afternoons. But the absolute best thing I can tell you is this: do your best to find a job that doesn't deaden your soul. It's a job to find a decent job. But while you work your network and contacts and send out blind resumes, I also highly encourage you to find that one activity you enjoy; that gives you pleasure, release, outlet (and I know it sounds like I'm talking about jacking off here, but I swear I'm not) and do it. Be it writing, music, art, volunteering, exercise, reading, whatever. Just do it so you're balanced out.

For me, it's writing funny shit. Be it dirty, edgy, self-deprecating, un-PC, raw, just not the typical stuff you read in all those lame links everyone loves to pass around.

I'll be back here, and I hope you will, too.

Bonus Material

I'm listening to The New Basement Tapes while writing this. As first go through, I like it, and it's already my favorite Dylan record because I can actually understand all the words.