Formal interviews always make me feel like a sharp beak is forcing my neck down while a claw spreads my legs and wings pin my arms back in preparation for rear entry. So the sound of ravens fucking in the trees seemed appropriate as I walked down Church Street this morning to my second job interview of the week.

Typically the interview follows the same process:

Raven: "So tell us a time when you exhibited the following traits that actually have nothing at all to do with you getting us coffee and donuts, which is basically what all those big words in the job description actually mean."

Chick-a-dee: "Well, here's a completely made up example of just what you're looking for, but who cares since I'm only going to pretend to work while playing minesweeper for 8 hours a day and in the end I'll just download a report from the internet, change a few words then pass it in as my own work and you won't be any the wiser since you were just going to add it to the dusty pile of similar useless reports written by countless other zombie interns over the past two dozen years."

Raven: "I'd say thanks for your time but frankly I wasn't listening and will probably just end up tossing all the resumes up into the air and whichever one I pick up first gets the job."

Chick-a-dee: "I'm going to get so drunk this weekend that, frankly, I won't remember this come Monday."

Raven: "Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out. Oh, and nice suit."

Happy Birthday, Mom!

(that's not my mom)

Phew. If it wasn't for a thread on a local message board concerning today being the birthday of der Fuhrer I would never have remembered that it was also my mother's birthday. A dash to the phone and a quick call in which I leave a short birthday wish on their answering machine ("I hope I called before my brother did!") and all is well and good for another year.

Worst. Son. Ever.

The fact that my mother shares the birthday with perhaps the most hated man in history was not lost on me growing up. Plenty of teenage homemade Christmas cards featuring variations of the short, square moustache are surely gathering dust in some box somewhere alongside baby toys I'll probably never need and "What I want to be when I grow up" essays written in my adolescence that I'll never live up to.

I had a job interview this morning. When asked to explain what I felt the job was going to entail, I completely blanked. I forgot what the job I was in the middle of being interviewed for was. Which wouldn't be half as bad if I hadn't been pulling answers to their previous questions about a whole range of topics that I knew nothing about out of my ass. So answer me this...

Will you all come visit me while I'm flipping burgers at McDonalds all summer?

Hip to Be Square

Khyber Prom '06

Last night the Khyber Centre for the Arts held their annual fundraiser. This year's theme being Prom Night, I busted out the old suit (aka "my only suit") complete with ruffled shirt, suspenders and bow tie. Library Girl was to be my "date" for the evening, heavy emphasis on the quotation marks. There are certain perks to having an ex girlfriend who's now a friend but has yet to find a new boyfriend, and having them accompany you to a fake prom as your non-date is just the tip of the iceberg. Neither of us got lucky, though she got closer than I did.

Bishop not coming was pretty solid assurance that it would be the best night ever, and it worked like a charm. Best night ever! Huey Lewis and the News cover band was better than the real thing. I danced badly in my two tone spats, too drunk to care. Some old dude with his balding grey hair pulled back into a pony tail hugged me while we both were relieving ourselves in adjacent urinals.

This morning I lied in bed and watched Busby Berkeley musicals for hours with a coffee drip plugged directly into the jugular vein in my neck.

The one night I probably won't be the only person with ruffles and a bow tie.


(click image to see my photoshop skillz)

Pizza Corner Diaries Soundtrack

Track 5

The Tiger Lillies
"Judas"

Judas, he was framed. At least that's what a 1,700 year old translated copy of a gospel discovered in Egypt claims. Being an atheist, the whole point is rather moot, but it does give me reason enough to share with you the macabre beauty that is The Tiger Lillies. To put it simply, they're a three piece gypsy opera dance theatre troupe that release concept albums about zoophilia and sing songs about giving the virgin Mary a "poke." All that and an accordion, too. *swoon*

Pizza Corner Diaries Soundtrack

Track 4

Jandek
"Rifle in the Closet"

from Interstellar Discussion
There were rumors galore. He was retarded and living in a shack with only a guitar and a tape deck. That, or he was a self-made millionaire recluse. My favorite was that he was recording these songs as part of ongoing therapy sessions and his analyst was secretly releasing albums of them and pocketing the cash. Whatever the truth is, 46 albums in 28 years (and counting) is a lot of therapy and with not a single public performance in all that time, it's impressive to say the least. His fans include(d) Kurt Cobain, Simpson's creator Matt Groening, and Beck. Someone purporting to be him began performing publicly for the first time in 2004. Fans were skeptable, but after comparing live photos of his ear with album covers, confirmed that it was true. Jandek had come out of hiding.

Slap Fight

Buble Vs Morrissey

"Morrissey comes by his muse honestly, through a childhood in a bleak industrial English town. He sings of the hopes, shames, disappointments and cruelties endured (and dished out) all glazed with a rare form of touching irony... Buble, by way of contrast, is merely a stylist, a copyist in every sense. He's a marketing success borne of a culture where things come too easily, where authenticity is seen only in branding terms. He is careering. If only he had more regrets, he might be interesting. And maybe he does. And maybe he will. But I'm not holding my breath."

Pizza Corner Diaries Soundtrack

Track 3

Stiff Little Fingers
"Barbed Wire Love"

from Inflammable Material
I have a soft spot for punk rock anti-love songs and this one is my absolute favorite. God knows I've tossed my leg over barbed wire love one too many times (and have the scratched jeans to show for it). When I was 15 my cousin sent me this cassette in the mail, but when it arrived the envelope was torn apart and retaped. All that was inside was the sleeve and shards of plastic. To this day I still think she changed her mind at the last second. I can't blame her, though. The 50's doo-wop bridge kills me every time.

Pizza Corner Diaries Soundtrack

Track 1

Ink Spots - "Your Feet's Too Big"

from Swing High Swing Low
Inevitably ending up as the first track on any compilation album I give to a woman with the sole purpose of having her fall in love with me, this song reminds me of that Seinfeld episode about "man hands." Personally feet disgust me and when I'm forced to touch one it's usually quite a strain on the ol' gag reflex. But, as opposed to giving foot rubs, I could listen to this song ad nauseum.

Track 2

Cult Hero - "I Dig You"

from Seventeen Seconds

Tucked away amongst the home demos, live recordings and alternative mixes contained on disc two of The Cure's recently released and completely remastered Seventeen Seconds album are the only two tracks released by Cult Hero. A short lived side project featuring Robert Smith and his sister Janet, future Cure bandmate Simon Gallop and local postman Frank Bell on lyrics, they only ever released a 7" single containing two songs, this being the b-side. According to the NME at the time the single was nothing but "discofied studio nonsense... that should never have seen the light of day." Excuse me while I dance.

to be continued...

Instead of penis size it was all about the height of your chip pile and length of your cigar. Instead of the thumping of chests and bristling of back hair it was the slamming down of winning hands accompanied by crude comments about your mother. And the closest thing to a woman was some chick singing a duet with Waylon Jennings on the cd player.

Last night's men-only poker tournament was a real-life metaphor for the chapter on attaining alpha male status amongst chimpanzees in that book written by Jane Godall. 15 men packed into a small, poorly ventilated living room with copious amounts of alcohol and a seemingly endless stream of cigars makes my lunch date at McDonald's today the healthiest thing I've done in the last 24 hours.

I will say, though, that I handled myself fairly well. I wasn't the first to fold as I assumed I would be. I even got a bit too into things when, after beating two pairs with three of a kind, I was heard to remark, "Take that fuck face and shove it up your ass and go fuck your mother."

Of course then I felt terrible and apologized profusely. But still!

Guess who's got a blog?