Hugh Hefner is a pig/Hire me, Mr. Hefner

While I understand my current occupation in food service (as so deftly pointed out by Pete McCommons here) will end in two weeks, it is so difficult for me to break away from the title of "student" and into the limbo levitating hell that is "unemployed" or "between jobs."

Yet unlike the field of law, where a prospect is considered by his LSAT score and high marks, or in fishery management, where internships and bravado are deemed desirable, the vast and schizophrenic playing field of journalism looks for clips. And in an article I am currently writing, I held my tongue as not to offend that man in his jammies, Hugh Hefner.

I won't get too in depth to the background of my article, but I compare a nudist to Hugh Hefner, physically and in behaviour (oh so British) and mannerism. However, I pepper the comparison with the fact that this man is not a self-designated elitist like Mr. Hefner. (As you may recall, the Hef decided after writing the manifesto that is the Playboy Philosophy to live the life--sure he could have fallen on his face with it, but he elevated himself to actually become his magazine and the smartest and most visible marketing tool I have ever seen.)

Mr. Hefner (now I show respect) will almost assuredly never see this article. I may not even use the comparison. But it made me wince; the idea of having to look into the eyes of an elderly man who had bedded countless beauties, broke through an addiction to speed and created one of the most lasting pieces of journalism and social commentaries of the 20th century. It made me wonder if I could even muster the words, "yo, Hef...no offense."

I'm sure I won't have to. Tuesday toast to not knowing if I ever will.

Good Morning, Mountain Boy

Got back at or around 9:00 pm last night after spending a much-needed weekend with the ladyfriend in Western North Carolina. Time was spent here, here and here.

While up there we relaxed, drank wine, became obsessed with Lance Armstrong, battled the world's most gregarious mallard and basked in each other's glory. It was productive and fleeting and everything I could ever want. Expect pics of the two days soon.

Today and tomorrow is entirely devoted to article time. Here's to ending the dependence of heavy-eyed truckers on I-85 nudie bars.

In an Army of Writers, Everyone's a Turncoat (Slate)

or

Writers Should be Born With Knives in Their Backs

I'll admit that David Brooks initially cast a spell on me. There was just something about his writing (pre-New York Times) that had a flow to it, a certain eloquence, a rambling quality that all meshed in the end. His pieces for The Atlantic, most notably this one, were on point. "Bobos in Paradise," on first read, was an excellent book, although in hindsight my take on it is clouded by his exposed generalizations.

But he has fizzled. Slate's David Plotz has it right when he says that Brooks doesn't have enough material to do two columns a week, especially for a widely viewed behemoth like the Times. I think he is overworked and out of his element.

So right now everyone--including the people who praised him little over a year ago--are lambasting him, saying everything short of "resign." It seems when you make it to one of the many pinnacles in life's endeavors, any effort declared unworthy or insufficient is immediately followed by that six letter word. Be it the presidency, columnist, birthday clown, whatever.

For his sake, this whole situation may die down, at which point he may step down and head back to The Weekly Standard. Or he can just say "damn the [critical] torpedoes, full speed ahead!" After all, it is there, in his own little world, wearing blinders to his critics, where Brooks shines.

You archie bastards, pass that spliff befo' it gits lingering!!! (The Sun-UK)

The Portuguese police must have a soft, mellow side to allow Brits (and I'm guessing other nationalities) to smoke pot during a soccer game against rival France. Hoping to curb outbreaks of hooliganism, more time will be spent cleaning up nacho trays than teeth, and chants will be somewhat unenthusiastic.

Hasn't the fever pitch been one of soccer's (I'm sorry, football's) biggest draws? The bonfires, the confetti, the roman candles? Will such activities still go on?

I'm sure they will. Not everyone in the crowd will be blowing ganja, and there most likely will still be some pockets of disturbance. But you have to hand it to the Portuguese; if you can't beat them with discipline, please them with tolerance.

And pray to God that methheads don't sneak in among the potheads. Then all hell will break loose. Happy Sunday.

Okay, Kit, rocket boosters to the keg party! (CNN)

As reported in the news, although oddly not receiving as much as talk as Pres. Reagan's passing, the upcoming G-8 Summit or D-Day, David Hasselhoff was arrested over the weekend on suspicion of driving under the influence of alcohol.

This is mildly entertaining because he is "one of those" celebrities, the likes of which include John Stamos, Bob Saget --well, okay the whole cast of Full House-- Jaleel White, Pee Wee Herman, Rip Taylor (see yesterday's entry) and so on. These are entertainers and personalities who had the misfortune of having a memorable role they could not escape. While they may have been extremely nice and good hearted people, they struck a chord with the general public as just being weird. Therefore when they are discovered doing something human (DUIs, shoplifting, hell, pleasuring one's self in a porn theater), they seem incredibly tragic.

And here I am adding fuel to the fire. Hang in there, David. Hang in there.

Couldn't Kit stop him? 

This is a test, using a photo of someone with a lot of luck and a quick ejector seat hand.  

Celebrities are sending me e-mail, the strangest of which comes from still-budding star Hugh Jackman. I never open his messages; he's changed. His subject line usually informs me that "she pays rent with puzzzzzyy/81625" or that he has spyware he wants me to try out. Again, he's changed. It used to be about the stage and screen.

Someone out there creates spam. I hardly think a computer is possible of producing sentences that are (for the most part) legible and clear. And if so, what do these people look like. Are they really hackers in Indonesia or Hong Kong, who smoke cigarettes and only get the most random names of actors whose identities they feel safe to assume? How on Earth am I going to know Hugh Jackman. I might as well know Rip Taylor.

Tomorrow I head back to Athens, or perhaps tonight. My dear O! sweet dear has finished Maymester and is in Charleston/back to Raleigh. Thank God for cars. And planes. And phones. And hearts that beat hard for a person you love.

There be many a rude bastard in them there hills, or more specifically, them there streets of Athens. Be they customer or stranger, hobo or lollygagger, they find a way into your life somehow or another.

Case in point: I shan't say where I work, as that would not be kosher in this realm. For myself or my employer. There's one guy who comes in and insists on odd combos of paper money and coins, because he uses a moneyclip and one of those plastic coin purses. He likes to keep the girth to a minimum: big bills and as few ones as possible.

Moneyclip Flip Spiceland starts tossing me random coins, coins that have nothing to do with the purchase (total: $4.32; he hands me $5.47). His backwards bartering baffles me--and he snaps at me for it. Doublestitch your pockets or get a debit card.

Sorry for the simple rant. Useless, yes. Unnecessary, yes. Will it ever happen again? Yes.

Went to Helen over this Memorial Day Weekend with AW, who day after day continues to fascinate me and make me ever more thankful. How she puts up with me I have no idea. Perhaps it's the incredibly thin wallet I carry. Or the fact that I know how to live life with change!!! Anyhoo...it's rare when a person can make my heart sour with just a glance.

In attempts to stay sane while planning not only a trip to Europe (and finding a deal at that), writing articles, looking for a job and plan of attack for dreams and goals and starting a part-time moneymaking gig, I have put full and total faith in caffeine and Welch's fruit snacks.

The effects show on my frame, which has gone from a Chik-Fil-A and Flying Dog tubby to a skinny puppy. Slowing down will bring about serenity.

Yet it's hard to slow down, because I have embarked on a strange period where my mind and body are both on different schedules. Allow me to explain as quickly as possible, since it's been proven that people don't like reading long web entries:

Body got to go to work. Mind got to figure stuff out. Mind can't work at 100% on non-work issues when body got to work. Got to work.

This is stress talking, making me a robot, and deserves no attention. Peace be with you.

Last night I attended the wedding of a high school friend, Ms. Anna Beth Allen, and her college beau, Tommy Tidwell. Much fun was had by all, and it turns out that "how you doin'" conversations can be quite enjoyable in the wake of mimosas and bellinis. And wine. And stiff stiff drinks.

I actually didn't need to retreat into a cave of alcohol to encounter faces from my past, and I had a good time. We'll avoid the usual dive into how surreal the actual ceremony was, because that's too much opining even for a blog. The truth of the matter: marriage is ready for you when you are ready for it.

My dad, in usual fiesta philosopher form, made a good point. Marriage doesn't matter one bit. It's a finalization, a contract, a word. Life doesn't change after marriage if the bride and groom were living together, existing together, attacking life together, etc. What does change a couple's life? Children. That's something in itself.

And on Sunday we rest.

Totally, entirely through, but I hit the ground running and have continued working on articles, thoughts, plans, ideas and pep talks to start up fiction again.

Various gifts were handed to me over the course of two days back home: a suit, which looked and felt classy even during the stressful suit-buying process; a DVD/video player, which will come in handy for those rare times when I have a videotape to play (see: porn, bootlegs, hobgoblin snuff films, old home movies); a digital camera, which will come in extremely handy during Europe. Ahhh, Europe. That place where I intend to go and that I have yet to plan. Will come in time.

Got a great call from an editor today, and he's interested in me writing each and every week, and paying me a modest stipend. Thank God for this guy, whose name shall be revealed when all is said and done.

I've been in the biblio all day, and now it is time to feed my face and rest my lids. This should be the first of many posts this summer. Things feel good. Sorry, that sounded like a guy who bought a convertible.

Peace out from the dug out.

More than two weeks since my last post, but give me a break. I graduated, you nimrods!

On Friday, I was part of a ceremony that I will remember, as opposed to the one that I will participate in on Saturday. The Grady College had a little awards banquet, followed by our convocation at The Classic Center. I was given a certificate for my Hearst Award and a paperweight, respectively, and it was just right.

In the audience I could see my parents and girlfriend, and I could see pride and relief. Not only could I see it, but feel it and embrace it. Like a plant feels sun, like a baby feels a blanket.

I have to admit, in the weeks leading up to the event, I wasn't too thrilled about the whole experience. I felt like I had still something to achieve. Now I realize that is not the case. I've done a lot. I have so much more to do.

I think horoscopes are huge wastes of resources -- time, ink, paper, salary (for the writers), emotion, thought. I read one the other day that made sense, though, and maybe that is the case only because it touched me. "Life is not about finding yourself, but creating yourself." It added something.

In the coming weeks, expect more posts. It's time to work on freelance articles and finding how I'm going to bite life in the neck and draw blood. Good night.

As stated earlier, Air America is a floppity-flop flop flop. First, checks to the station owners in Chicago and Los Angeles, MRBI, bounced. Then, their programming got yanked and replaced with Spanish-speaking filler. They got a judge involved, who said programming should resume in Chicago. Alas, still no Air America.

Liberal radio will not make it in this country. Or in this world. At first I thought it was only because of the ideals and arguments. Now I realize that the business people in charge cannot run it. Lugheads I tell you.

More later...

Today is Monday, April 4, and in the United States of America, we are discussing Condoleeza Rice's upcoming testimony, the acquittal of a stone-throwing babykiller mom and steroids in baseball. In North Korea, here is one of the day's headlines:

***************
http://www.kcna.co.jp/index-e.htm

Kim Jong Il Inspects Cattle Ranch of KPA Unit
Pyongyang, April 4 (KCNA) -- Supreme Commander of the Korean People's Army Kim Jong Il, general secretary of the Workers' Party of Korea and chairman of the National Defence Commission of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea, inspected the July 18 Cattle Ranch of KPA Unit 580. Going round the exterior and interior of the ranch including cattle sheds, an ensilage processing ground, an epizootic prevention centre and a technical study room, he acquainted himself in detail with the construction of the ranch and breeding.
The cattle ranch has been built in favor of the management and anti-epizootic work and the quality of the construction been ensured on a high level, he said, highly praising the soldier-builders for devoting all their wisdom and enthusiasm to creating one more precious asset conducive to the prosperity of the country.
This ranch can rapidly increase live-stock products as it is located in a good place and its grass field is wide, he said, adding that it should be developed into a large-scale stockbreeding base by making an effective use of its favorable conditions.
In order to build up the ranch prospectively, it is imperative to finish within a few months ahead of schedule the projects which are envisaged at the second stage including the construction of the cultural and welfare facilities and the pavement of roads of the grass fields, he noted.
Saying that what is most important in producing more cattle meat is to choose good stock, he stressed the need to carry through the Party's policy of effecting a radical turn in raising animal breeds.
In order to increase live-stock products, he said, it is necessary to be fully equipped with facilities for scientific research and deepen research and, at the same time, steadily improve the technical level and skill to put breeding on a scientific and technological basis.
He put forward the task of building up a fodder base.
Then he chose the site of a duck farm to be built by servicepersons.
To increase the production of meat, eggs, fish and other subsidiary food is a heavy yet honorable revolutionary task to realize the centuries-old desire of the people, he said, expressing great expectation and conviction that they will perform feats in the struggle to boost the stockbreeding industry of the country at a new higher stage and bring about a decisive turn in improving the standard of the people's living.
He was accompanied by KPA Generals Ri Myong Su, Hyon Chol Hae and Pak Jae Gyong and First Vice Department Director of the WPK Central Committee Ri Yong Chol.
***************

Let the record show that North Koreans are in need of a better news service. And a better country. But first things first, I suppose. Like the location of their duck farms.

All kidding aside, this excerpt is textbook state-run media. You can only think how many of its citizens are angered at this heaping slice of the propaganda pie on the buffet of injustice. If the War on Terror is indeed against all terrorists, then the IRA, hypothetically, should not be too far behind al Qaeda. If the war against brutal dictators and human rights violators is indeed that as well, North Korea will be the next country we shall "liberate."

However, the nation does have a few things going for it. The CIA World Factbook states that the country boasts a 99 percent literacy rate, meaning that all but one percent of the population over the age of 15 can read. If what I have pasted for you is normal reading, then that one percent needs to get on the ball.

My article, a rough draft about small-town professional wrestling, beckons me. However, read all about North Korea's ills at:

www.cia.gov/cia/publications/factbook/geos/kn.html

You'll have to cut and paste that, as blogger is incredibly uncooperative as of late. Good night to all.