mockable.org

There's a new store in town.
They sell clothing and that's kind of nice. We haven't had a clothing store in our town for a while now and I've been forced to travel if I've needed to buy something.
While it's true that I hate shopping, I do, on occasion, get the urge to buy something pretty. I want to have something to wear if I ever win the Publisher's Clearing House Sweepstakes.  Shut up! It could happen!

I keep my pretty outfit hanging by the door so if they come to my house and I see it's them,I have time to change into my pretty outfit. Imagine how disappointed my stalkers would be if they saw me on TV looking like a hag in a feed sack? Anyway, I had the urge to go look in the new store and see if there was anything pretty that I could buy.

I walked into the store and browsed for a few minutes, trying to shake off that whole creeped out feeling I get in clothing stores. I know those stick figure girls that work there are not pale because they're vampires but I still wonder if they're going to attack me while I'm trapped in the dressing room and feed on me. Maybe that's just me but it COULD happen...

I spotted a clearance rack and made a beeline to it,finding a cute little summer dress to try on within seconds. That's the kind of shopping I like. Fast, quick and easy. So I headed to the dressing room and smeared garlic paste on the door,(I'm paranoid, so what?)Then I put on the dress. I turned to look at myself in the mirror and almost screamed out loud. I looked like a sumo wrestler wearing a Hefty garbage bag. That's no shit either. It was just plain old scary.
I took the dress off, put my clothes back on and left the store as quickly as possible.

As I stood outside on the sidewalk, feeling disgusted and annoyed, I noticed some ladies. They were all wearing spandex, walking quickly past me toward a place called "Curves". Out of curiosity I followed them, mainly because they could wear spandex and get away with it. There had to be some secret to this miracle and I was going to discover it.

I walked into this "Curves" place and there were roughly five or six old ladies swaying back and forth to loud latino music. One of the spandex women walked over to me and told me it was the senior citizen Zumba class, but the next regular class would begin in ten minutes. I decided to watch, mainly out of curiosity, and because I'd tried this Zumba stuff before. Let's just say it didn't work out for me. I'm not coordinated and Zumba might as well stand for "Zealously Undulating My Big Ass" because that's about all I can do with it. So I figured that if the senior citizen class wasn't terribly complicated maybe I could just take that class. I mean, all I'd seen them do so far was sway back and forth to the music. Even I could manage to do that.
Oddly enough, they were all dressed alike, in white stretch pants with elastic waistbands. They all had the same kind of hair style too. As they swayed and stretched their arms, moving like they were riding invisible ponies, all I could picture was a group of Oompa Loompas doing Zumba. Substitute the green hair for blue hair and it was pretty damn close. Then I began singing the Oompa Loompa song in my head while watching them and I burst out laughing. I just couldn't help myself. It was hilarious and I was powerless to stop.
Everyone in the building was staring at me but I didn't care! I was waiting for Gene Wilder to step out of the back room and clap his hands, telling the Oompa Loompas it was time to get back to work, but it didn't happen. Instead, several of the spandex women asked me to leave.  So I left, still laughing.

I suppose this means I will not be welcomed to this "Curves" place anytime soon. Meh...I'm ok with that. I can't do any of those moves anyway. Besides, Swedish dancing is way more fun and I know how to do that.  Maracas?
Maracas,schmaracas. They got nothing on an accordion. As I'm concerned Zumba can suck it!
You haven't really lived until you've danced the polka to an Abba song played on the accordion, complete with the accompanying fiddles and guitars.

I'd rather be a dancing queen than an Oompa Loompa any day.

As for the pretty dress? I said to hell with it. Instead I'm thinking a Viking look might work or maybe a set of bunny footed pajamas, like the kind in the movie "The Christmas Story". Both are a much better representation of my personality than a pretty dress.

Dontcha think???

Okay kids, stand here and face the wall. I'm gonna go post stuff on the internet telling everyone how hard it is to deal with you.

Here’s the same disclaimer I always provide when I say something like this – This is not a political argument and I don’t care about your politics. Take them to some other site.  I can support what I say here (except for things that are clearly my opinion) as a verifiable fact and I have no opinion at all on specific politicians and no public opinion on any particular political philosophy. So there. (disclaimer #1)

There are almost no real (i.e scholarly, peer-reviewed, respected) supply-side economists left.  In fact, if I hadn’t painted myself into a corner by putting that disclaimer in the previous paragraph, I would be comfortable saying that there are none.  I believe that the reason for this is that their theories don’t work from an academic perspective.  That and the fact that they have also been debunked over and over and over again throughout the course of several generations from a literal perspective.

Supply-side economics, cold fusion and that sixteen foot bong I tried to make one summer belong in the same category – good ideas when you’re stoned and bullshitting with your buddies…or hosting a cable news channel…but generally ineffective in practice nonetheless.  I only told you this because I wanted you to know that I know exactly how full of shit I am as I make this supply-side argument about teachers. (disclaimer #2)

I am fully prepared for the teacher contingent to descend upon me with great force and furious anger after I say this, but I really think it needs to be said. Before I do, let me say that I love teachers.  Some of my best friends are teachers (maybe not after this)…there’s even a small percentage of my best friends that are black teachers.  So I obviously can’t be a racist because some of my best friends are black.  I also can’t be a pedagogist (probably not the most accurate word, but it’s the best I could do other than “teacher-hater”) because some of my best friends are teachers (disclaimer #3).  And since I have best friends who are black teachers, I am getting mainlined to heaven…I am pretty sure I won’t even have to stop at St. Peter – I’ll just get whisked to the front of the line like the Make a Wish kids at Disney World.

Having said that, teachers are one of the groups that annoy the shit out of me on facebook and google+ and in my email box on a regular basis.  There is a veritable stock ticker of pro-teacher quotes running through my life:

• If a doctor, lawyer, or dentist had 40 people in his office at one time, all of whom had different needs, and some of whom didn’t want to be there and were causing trouble, and the doctor, lawyer, or dentist, without assistance, had to treat them all with professional excellence for nine months, then he might have some conception of the classroom teacher’s job.  ~Donald D. Quinn
• Modern cynics and skeptics… see no harm in paying those to whom they entrust the minds of their children a smaller wage than is paid to those to whom they entrust the care of their plumbing.  ~John F. Kennedy
• A good teacher is like a candle – it consumes itself to light the way for others.  ~Author Unknown
  

Okay, we get it…you are selfless and dedicated to your craft, you work hundreds of hours unpaid every year, you buy school supplies with your own money, you are woefully underpaid, you are forced to endure politicians who hate you and apathetic parents who expect you to raise their kids. Despite all the hardships, you somehow soldier on because you are selfless heroes and teaching is your passion.  You are so selfless and dedicated that you would starve to death while teaching for free – you love being an educator that much. I promise, I really, really get it…because you won’t shut up about it.

Just for a simple comparison, let’s look at coal miners.  Now, maybe it’s because I don’t live in a coal-rich territory, or maybe it’s because I am not friends with enough coal miners on facebook – but coal miners have been getting screwed for over a century.  Miserably low pay or getting paid in company store credit rather than money, child labor,  hearing loss, black lung and extremely painful death that might manifest itself in a hundred different ways has always been part of a coal miner’s life.  Despite this, other than a relatively small public outcry after 25 miners died in the 2010 Massey Energy mine explosion, I have not seen one single piece of propaganda telling me that I should thank a coal miner for making my life what it is today – and frankly, the technological advances that American society have seen over the past 100 years were made possible in large part because science had access to cheap energy.  I understand that there are no scientists without teachers – but Joe the Coal Miner did way more to advance my knowledge and available skill sets than Larry Ireland (my high school government teacher) ever did.

Again I promise, I really am especially grateful for every teacher’s contribution to society and I genuinely believe that they are underpaid and deserve much more than they get (disclaimer #4) – but to quote Mr. Pink – “It would seem to me that waitresses [or teachers in this case] are one of the many groups the government fucks in the ass on a regular basis. Look, if you ask me to sign something that says the government shouldn’t do that, I’ll sign it, put it to a vote, I’ll vote for it, but what I won’t do is play ball.”

Seriously, what do you want me to do?  Why are you quoting some guy I have never heard of named Louis A. Berman at me?  How should I interpret this stuff? Do you want me to pay more property taxes in the hope that it trickles down to the teachers (don’t forget that we’ve established that the supply-side thing doesn’t work)?  Do you want me to donate money to the teacher’s unions?  Do you want me to write to a governor in a state that I am not registered to vote in and call him a dick? I seriously want to know.  Maybe I should email you and tell you that I appreciate you more often? Maybe this one of these “awareness” things?  Okay, I am aware already.

The truth is that teachers are paid a living wage. Most teachers would, in fact, quit teaching and find work in another industry before they starved or defaulted on their mortgages.  Nearly all of them would do something else before they starved to death trying to get my kid to understand the difference between effect and affect.  I believe that they deserve a lot more and I believe that our values as a society are misaligned (disclaimer #5).  I simply can’t control the fact that some jagoff will pay thousands every year to watch Tom Brady throw a football while there is no television channel to watch great teachers teach.  There is no such channel because watching great teachers teach does not sell beer.  So there you go.  Teachers are heroes that are abused by American society, but they are annoying self-aggrandizing heroes and I wish they would knock it off.

The truth is, just like in Higglytown, this world is lousy with heroes – defined here as people who have dedicated their lives to get as proficient as they can at something in order to advance society (at least as a secondary or tertiary goal).  I honestly believe that I am capable of teaching my children what they need to know in order to succeed in this world.  I also believe that I know how to build my own retaining wall or cook my own steak to the proper temperature.  Despite this, I prefer the way that the system currently works – I want a professional teacher to teach my children because they are better at it than me.  I want a licensed and insured contractor to build my retaining wall for the same reason…and if I am going to spend a substantial chunk of change on a steak, I want it cooked by a professional who has total control over every possible variable that might present itself while preparing said steak.  That’s right folks…I did all that yammering about teachers and coal miners and supply-side economists so I could tell you about steak…tomorrow.  In the meantime, feel free to take as many swings at my nuts as you feel are appropriate.

Hey everybody.  This isn’t going to be an attempt at comedy so much as a general update on the existence of metten.  I hope I’ll get an hour or so to write tonight because I have a mock half done, but I’ve been busy and shit.

I put in notice at my job at the beginning of this month and it felt really good.  It is not hyperbole when I say that the place was killing me.  I am fatter than I’ve ever been and I am relying too much on the old crutches that I use when the stress is turned up to 11. I always get the job done without complaint, but the stress takes its toll in other ways.  Someone close to me sneered when I told him this and he responded that if I wasn’t able to separate the job from the person, I probably didn’t deserve to have the job in the first place. Man up, grow a set, etc…

While the way that it was said was designed to bust my balls, it is most decidedly true.  I took an extremely high stress job extremely seriously…and personally…and it was going to give me a heart attack at age 35. So I quit.  The problem is that I was making close to six figures…and in two weeks and two days that will be gone.  At least the economy is in good shape…I’m sure the job market is pretty strong too.

Last year I filled out the paperwork and started a small business. Then bought a little restaurant in a small town that’s about 100 miles east of Kansas City.  I spent my youth working in restaurants and I know what I am doing, but I haven’t had any time to invest in it.  The place has tremendous income potential, but it has a slow money leak at the moment due to neglect.  Hopefully leaving my job will give me some time to devote to turning the place around.  Unfortunately, that will take some investment (see the second to last sentence in the previous paragraph).

I am also in the process of buying a second commercial property and setting up a new restaurant and convenience store.  I also have one additional project in the works that I am too scared to talk about…but if it gets funded things are going to be pretty cool for my little business.  It’s not going to replace the lost income, but it will cross a few things of my lifelong to-do list.

Speaking of the lifelong to-do list – I am proud to tell you guys that the creative endeavors that I was forced to abandon in order to do my soul-sucking job have started to see new life. First, my old band is slowly beginning to rehearse together every once in a while.  We’ll never win a Grammy, but it feels good to play music again.  I’d give you the link to the album we released ten years ago, but I don’t think it’s for sale any more.

Further, I have recently gotten a little bit of voice work (that I am sure you will hear about in the coming months) and I have pulled my “novel” off the shelf and am working on it again. The current version of the book took me several years to write and I am fiercely proud of it.  Most people that have read it have returned with positive reviews and minor suggestions here and there, but there are at least three people who never finished it…or it was so bad they couldn’t bring themselves to comment on it.  If you are one of those people – fuck you.  Especially if you are one of the people that asked me if you could read it.  I mean aggressively and angrily, fuck you – all joking aside, I am seriously pissed at these people.  Honestly, can you think of a bigger insult than to have someone agree to be an early reader of a guy’s first novel (or worse to beg to read it) and then not bother to ever speak about it again…or even give an explanation why?  I’d rather be hit in the face with a shovel. I mean, if it sucks, or I suck, I need to know about it…that’s the bad side about being an early reader, you shitheads.

If an author chooses you as an early reader, there are all sorts of positives:  first, you get to see the book before anyone else.  Also, the author clearly feels that you would be a good judge as to the quality or marketability of the work.  If you’re picked as an early reader, you should be proud.  The downside is that if the book is no good, it is your responsibility to let the author know in some gentle way.  If you never even finish it, you are an asshole of the highest order.  I am seething just thinking about these people.  Fuckers.  I want to fight them…and I might if I ever see them.

Anyway, Smoking Fish read it (most of it anyway), liked it and agreed to publish it.  All I have to do is get off my fat ass and finish the last two rewrites.  It was supposed to come out in time for the holiday season, but I am not entirely sure if I’ll make it. Maybe it would be a better Martin Luther King, Jr. Day present.

Finally, now that I am no longer a public servant, I am going to take another crack at standup.  I have done it, and I have never bombed or died or anything – but no one has ever pulled me aside and offered me a sitcom or anything either.  I have studied the craft and know what I am doing, but it has always been a matter of taking the time to make the bits great.  Hopefully my new found unemployment will act as a catalyst to action.

To sum up, I am at a crossroads in life.  A very cliche-ey crossroads, in fact.  I have officially left my relatively high-paying job that made me miserable in order to pursue the things that make me less miserable.   If I wish to succeed, I am going to need your help.  I know you don’t owe me or anything, but I sure could use a hand.  If I have something out and you have money – please buy it.  If you have a venue, please book me.  If you need copy written, please hire me.  If you need voice work done – please hire me.  If you are or you know a literary agent or publisher who works in the stuff I write, please sign me. If you are one of the people that agreed (or begged) to read an early copy of my book and then didn’t respond with comments, please blow me.