Never have a job you have to explain. Just like you should never have a Halloween costume you have to explain. Your whole life just becomes the same fucking conversation over and over.
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Diary: Steve Jobs Sucks Cocks in Hell
19 MarUgh, thinking about work. Thinking about work on a Sunday. Not only that, but I better get off this journal and go do some actual fucking work. On a Sunday. Because I am a white collar professional in the United States of America in 2012. Typically, in the past, a job with these sorts of demands would have a least paid you handsomely. But now, everything is in decline. Every industry. So we all gotta work harder, we gotta work longer, we gotta do more with less. We gotta hustle. So many people want your job that you are constantly auditioning for your job. And yes, I know it’s better than getting your hands chopped off in some Sierra Leonian diamond mine at age ten. My point is, only marginally. Continue reading
Hollywood
8 MarI might lose my job. As a weenie Hollywood “development executive.” Which, fine, I fucking hate my job. Work work work all goddamn day and then come home and read scripts, garbage scripts that will never amount to anything, but I need to read them to preserve relationships. Relationships that will never amount to anything. My job completely eats my life, leaves me a wrecked, miserable shell of a man each day, destroys any chance of my spending time with women and friends, and it doesn’t even fucking pay anything, so fuck my job.
The problem is, after 7 years of doing this– answering phones, learning names, mastering the bizarre mandarin etiquette and arcane structure of Hollywood– I am now only equipped to do this one thing that I hate. I have no choice but to pursue another, similar job. Which, there are two reasons you would want this: to make movies, and to impress girls. Making movies is impossible, and if you have one of these gigs you’re not even around girls enough to impress them. That’s why guys like (REDACTED) have to stock their reception pool with hot young USC pieces of ass– it’s the only exposure they will have to a woman. Most of their life is spent hobnobbing in rooms full of jowelly old William Morris agents. Continue reading
To My Future Son: Don’t Have a Career
10 FebThey tell you, and I don’t know who “they” is because frankly nobody ever told me this but I somehow got the impression anyway—they tell you to get a job and have a career and make money and women will be attracted to you. “Men like looks,” they say. “Women like success.” It’s a common countercomplaint when feminists accuse men of objectifying women; the guy will say back “well, you women better stop objectifying my wallet, amirite?” The “take my wife, please!” of antifeminist arguments.
So you go out and get a job. You try to get into a good college and you study and you intern and you get a toe in the water of some status-y “career” field and you get up early and you stay late and you read work-related material after work and you network with work-related work jerkoffs and you suffer under some cruel old work prick who believes himself better than other human beings because of his work in some lofty status-y career field and you work and you work and you work and you work. And part of what drives this is the dread instilled in you when you read that in 2020 to put a kid through college will cost sixteen billion dollars and Social Security will have dried up and you better be sitting on a cash hoard of ten million billion trillion dollars conservatively invested because health care costs will have reached the level where only a class of feudal overlords can afford a tongue depressor. And there will be no “safety net;” there is literally nobody who believes programs like Social Security and Medicare will still exist in our financially post-apocalyptic future. We all know we are headed toward a Randian thunderdome where our old age will be spent guarding a 55 gallon drum of drinking water with a shotgun and removing our own tumors with steak knives. If you don’t want this to happen, you better sink a bunch of borrowed money into school, and then work. And you better not spend whatever pittance is left of the 22 grand your post-college job earns you on fun; you better save and invest, according to the 401k presentation the commissioned salesperson who gets a small piece of what they withhold from your meager check tells you, because if you don’t, at age 23, begin taking advantage of logarithmic growth to accrue a massive privately-invested nest egg, you will be cannibalized by gangs of cyborg Hottentots, and your bones picked clean. And your children. And your children’s children. Continue reading
New Book
delicioustacos 