By Sean Patrick
As is common in the Chicagoland area, the winter and early spring of 2006 was extremely cold. For citizens of the Windy City, it’s like every year we’re sentenced to a two and a half month prison term, where going outside for more than a minute at a time is just not an option. The end of January and the early part of February are the worst, and I’m guessing that it’s around this time that most people find themselves watching more television than usual. Me and my girlfriend Jackie are no different…
At the time, Jackie and I didn’t have a particular show that we found ourselves routinely watching. We were like television orphans. Then one night we decided to watch American Idol during one of their audition episodes. The decision to watch the show wasn’t anything outrageous for either of us. Although neither of us were very big fans of American Idol, the audition portion always offers up some quality entertainment. No one proves that better than this guy…
But once the audition portion of the show was over, we would typically stop tuning in. This year however, Jackie had declared that not only was she a fan of the gray haired gentlemen who auditioned in Vegas, but he was also going to win.
The more I watched this guy, the more I became a fan as well. Since no one else on the show struck our interest, we decided that we would watch American Idol every week until he was eliminated. Because I’m a Cubs fan I have no faith in anything that I root for, so I was sure he wouldn’t make it into the top twenty. But he did.
Even though he made it to the top twenty, I was sure he wouldn’t make it to the top ten. But he did.
Even though he made it to the top ten, I knew there was no way he’d get to the finals. But he did. I was shocked. All the disappointment training that I’ve gone through over the years was not being put to good use.
Because we had invested so much of our time rooting for this guy, we became very passionate about him winning the glorified karaoke contest… so passionate that I would vote for him multiple times via text message, even though I didn’t have an unlimited texting plan. I was slowly but surely turning into a fourteen year old girl.
The night of the finals we had our own little party. I actually had butterflies in my stomach, which is when I knew this obsession was going a little too far. At the end of the American Idol Season 5 finale, the winner was announced… and to our delight, the founder of the Soul Patrol was declared the winner. The man I’m referring to is none other than Taylor Hicks.
One Night In Taylor: Our Meeting With an American Idol
Two and a half years later I found myself in front of my computer at work. Jackie and I were still together and neither of us has tuned in to an episode of American Idol since. Our entertainment preferences had matured immensely, and the shows that we now favored watching were much more geared towards adults, i.e. The Hills and Laguna Beach.
Christmas was soon approaching, and I was struggling to come up with a gift idea for her. After going down many dead ends, I decided to check the Ticketmaster website. Nothing they had on their homepage really struck my interest… I knew Jackie wouldn’t want to go see The Chicago Bulls play the Toronto Raptors, or attend the DePaul Gymnastics Expo. But before I left the website, I decided I would toss a Hail Mary and see if by chance Taylor Hicks was coming to town anytime soon. I don’t know where the idea came from, but I rolled with it. Low and behold, the former American Idol was putting on a small concert in Chicago on January 17th.
He was going to be performing at a bar called Martyrs. Martyrs is a good sized bar, but it’s not too big where it would be difficult to see the stage. I knew that if we got there early enough we could get a pretty good spot. So I bought the tickets, and a month later we were off to see our American Idol.
When we got to the venue, we positioned ourselves very close to the stage. We also positioned ourselves very close to the bar. That night in particular there was a $2.50 special on MGD cans, which is an unheard of price at a concert in the city, especially on a Saturday. Needless to say we took advantage of the deal, and when we cashed out four hours later we had racked up a $55 bill. When you do the math, that is way too much beer to be consuming in a four hour period, especially since we had already been drinking heavily beforehand. However, if it wasn’t for that beer special, we would have never met The Man.
At around 11pm, Taylor hit the stage. He was about eight feet away from us during the show, and we were having a blast. After two hours of singin, dancin, and playing cowbell, him and his band said goodnight and exited stage right. Jackie and I thought the show was over. After we had already gotten our coats on, someone informed us that he would be coming back for an encore, a thought that MGD prevented us from having. So we went to put our coats back and return to the performance area.
When we were hanging up our coats, a member of the band walked out of the bathroom and through a swinging door located right next to the coat hangers. That’s when MGD made the first of many bold choices for us that night: we would follow him.
We walked through the swinging door and found ourselves in an empty kitchen. Confusion spread through our brains. How did this guy disappear? Were we in a labyrinth? After a few moments of investigation, we noticed a stairwell that went up. MGD gave us another great idea: we should go up these stairs.
As we ventured towards the upstairs area, we couldn’t stop giggling. We knew this was getting ridiculous… but we had yet to be stopped by any sort of security, so we ventured on. That’s when MGD helped my brain come up with a flawless alibi. If anyone were to ask me why we were backstage, I would tell them that my father was the president of the Maxwell House Coffee Corporation. That way, I would sound distinguished and worthy of being in the backstage area. I loved the excuse so much that I wanted to get caught so I could use it.
When we got to the top of the stairs, there he was. Taylor Hicks and his entire band stood before us, and they were getting ready to go back downstairs for the encore. As they descended towards the staircase, me and Jackie wished them all luck. Taylor was the last to pass us, and as he walked by I wished him luck as well. “Thanks man!” he said, and then gave me a masculine fist bump, a gesture brought to us by the Obamas.
We couldn’t believe it! Because of MGD, we had mustered up the courage to sneak back stage and meet Taylor Hicks. It was amazing! But at that point we found ourselves in an awkward position… we were alone in Taylor Hicks’ dressing room.
All of his entourage had followed him, and we were all by ourselves. So we did the one thing that any star crazed fan would do in a celebrities dressing room: we started eating the free food. We snacked on humus, carrots and celery, and washed it down with bottles of water. I must say, I was a little disappointed in the spread, but I was in no position to complain. At this point I should have been arrested.
As we chowed down on the free grub, we could hear the encore below. It sounded great, but we didn’t care. We were VIP’s courtesy of the Maxwell House Corporation and loving every second of it. After about ten minutes the music below us stopped. We realized the show must be over, but before we could plan our next move our favorite American Idol walked back into the dressing room and sat right next to me.
We were both in a state of shock. In all of my years of drinking MGD, nothing productive has ever come out it. Yet here I was, sitting next to Taylor Hicks while an assistant fanned him down. It was like sitting next to Cleopatra.
As he sat there catching his breath, I decided to make a move. I said to him, “Great show!”
He replied, “Thanks man! What’s your name?”
“I’m Sean.”
“Hi Sean, I’m Taylor.” Then he shook my hand. He went through the same routine with Jackie.
So here we were… hanging out illegally in Taylor Hicks’ dressing room with him sitting next to me, stealing his food and beverages, and struggling to think of something to talk about. After a few moments of silence, I said the first thing that came to my mind.
“You know, I spent about seven dollars and eighty cents in text messages voting for you on American Idol.”
That was the only thing I could think of saying. Fucking MGD.
After making this comment, Taylor looked at me for a moment. Then he asked, “Was it worth it?”
I looked him in the eyes, and in a more serious tone than I’ve ever taken with anyone in my life, I replied…
“Absolutely.”
I believe it was me telling the winner of the most popular show in America how much in text messages I spent on him that made his assistant realize we weren’t supposed to be there. I also ruined my alibi, for if I was a real Maxwell I would probably have an unlimited texting plan. Either way, that’s when his assistant said that we should probably leave. We were in no position to but up a fuss about his request, so we complied. We said goodbye to Mr. Hicks and he told Jackie and I that it was nice meeting us.
Walking out of the backstage area made me feel like a genuine groupie. Tons of women were by the door as we walked out, all asking if we knew Taylor… to which we replied, “Of course.” I’m sure they thought to themselves, “They must be associated with the Maxwell House fortune!”
We gathered our coats and left the bar, stopping only so Jackie could buy a Taylor Hicks t-shirt.
Thank you MGD. For everything.
By Sean Patrick
In less than a month, I will be turning twenty-eight years old. And like every person in their late twenty-sevens, over the years I’ve watched a ton of My Super Sweet Sixteen episodes on MTV.
The parties these kids have for their sixteenth birthdays are insane. I remember getting a cake that had my face on it for my sixteenth birthday and thinking that my parents spent way too much money on my party. But the kids on this show… their parents spend well over $100,000 to throw them a birthday celebration. It’s outrageous!
It seems like every party has the same formula: give out great invitations, reserve a huge venue, have a glorious entrance, stage an unforgettable performance, get a famous musical entertainer to attend, and receive a new car.
This got me to thinking: what kind of party I would want this year if I had an unlimited budget? After giving it much thought, I would like to cordially invite you all to…
MY SUPER SWEET TWENTY-EIGHT!
Invitations – To have a successful super sweet twenty-eight birthday bash, it is necessary to give out awesome invitations. This is the first thing you do where you get to display how wealthy and accomplished your family is. If I had tons of money, I wouldn’t give out paper invites… I would have the invite list announced by our president during the State of the Union Address.
This is the most important speech made by the president… so it would be more than fitting that during it he would announce the guest list to the most important party of my life! To further it’s status of importance, I would want the announcement to interrupt the updates on the War in Afganistan.
Speaking of interrupting, I would purposely include the name of someone who is actually not invited to my shin-dig. After his name was called, I would have Republican Joe Wilson yell out, “YOU LIE!”
Then Obama would confess that he was lying, and that the person he just called out wasn’t actually on the invite list. This would be followed by laughter at the expense of whomever the joke was on.
Venue – Location location location! This can make or break a great party. The kids on the show always want to rent out a venue that is extremely large, expensive, and hard to get. Since I want to one up all these bastards, I would rent out a place that would be nearly impossible to land: A Prison.
What’s bigger and harder to rent out than a prison? And I’m not talking about an empty prison… I want a full functioning jail overpopulated with psychotics and delinquents. But what do we do with all these prisoners? Well, we invite them!
I realize that this is a truly selfish act on my part, for I will be putting all my guests into mortal danger… but me giving prisoners the chance to take a break from their typical day to day routine and attend a party with a bunch of defenseless twenty-somethings would make me so popular with them that I would be our generations Johnny Cash!
Entrance – This is where I’m very similar to sixteen year old girls. I totally want buff shirtless dudes carrying me in on some sort of elegant sofa chair. I can’t think of a better way to enter a room. If I could go into the DMV like that, I’d be there everyday.
Performance – This is very important if you want all of your friends to respect you. Getting up in front of all your peers and performing a dance, magic, song, etc., lets them know that you have a talent that they lack, and on your birthday you want everyone to feel inferior.
Although I feel my dancing skills are slightly better than most pudgy caucasian males my age, I really want to bring my audience to tears. That is why I would perform a skit. And for my skit I will reenact the scene from My Girl, where Vada Sultenfuss is forced to say goodbye to her dead friend Thomas Jay.
I, playing the role of Vada, will walk on stage crying. After asking the actor who is portraying Thomas Jay to climb trees with me, I will inform my audience that “his face hurts” and ask, “where are his glasses?!? He can’t see without his glasses!” This will make even the prisoners weep.
I realize that my performance piece may put my guests into a very somber mood. That is why immediately after it is when they’ll get to see my new car!
Car - At the end of every show, there is an announcement made that everyone has to go outside to see the birthday girl’s surprise gift. Even though the guests pretend not to know what the surprise outside will be, they are all aware that the rich bitchy girl is about to be unjustly rewarded for her shitty attitude with a brand new automobile.
I want this moment too. However, I’m not really much of a car guy. I drove a mini-van for the first eight years of my driving career, and to this day I miss the extra space that came with the 1993 Ford Aerostar. But since I’ve been driving a regular sized car for the last three years, I’ve grown fond of not being so high off the ground when I’m cruising around.
To get the best of both worlds, the car that would be waiting for me outside would be…
A Hearse!
Look at all that space! It’s the perfect automobile! I can drive all of my friends around in that thing and never have to worry about getting pulled over… cause what sort of cop is going to pull over a hearse? How insensitive! Plus if this screenwriting thing doesn’t work out , I’ll have another job waiting for me in my driveway!
Now I know what you loyal Super Sweet Sixteen fans are thinking: what about the musical act?
Musical Entertainer – This is the part of the show where I truly feel old. I never know who the rap artists is or who the bands are that perform at these birthday parties. That’s why for my party, I would want to make sure that people from all generations know who my performer is.
Well, guess who’s in the back of my brand new hearse! ……..
Michael Jackson!
The King of Pop, at my party! That would guarantee that my guests would “Remember The Time” they went to Sean Milnamow’s birthday bash!
If Michael were alive I’d be a legend, but having his corpse arrive at my prison party five months after his death… I’d be the most talked about person in the world! Well, maybe not the most talked about…
Obviously Michael isn’t going to be able to get up and perform any songs, but we could still open up the casket and look at him while we play the Thriller album. That should be just as good and probably even scarier than watching the Thriller video.
We would have to take special precaution with him around the prisoners though: they’ve been locked for a while, and Michael may be the closest resemblance they’ve seen to an unconscious woman in quite some time.
Thank you all for attending my Super Sweet Twenty-Eight!
By Sean Patrick
I’m not a fighter. I never have been. I wouldn’t say it’s because I’m a coward or anything. I think it’s more that I’m just scared to death of getting my ass kicked…
OK, so maybe I’m a coward. I don’t mind. My nose is already weird looking enough, the last thing I need is for it to get broken during a fight. It’s because of my cowardly ways that until the age of 22, I never found myself in a physical confrontation. That all changed one rainy night in the land that God forgot about.
I was in DeKalb, Il visiting a friend/student at Northern Illinois University. Me and my cousin Scott, whose identity I will hide by calling him Not-Scott, had come down on a Saturday evening to enjoy the celebrated DeKalb night life.
The night started out great. We were having some drinks and sharing some laughs at our friend Not-Jamie’s (whose identity I am hiding) apartment. After a while, she suggested that we go to a party that was taking place in her building. We went there for an hour or two, and after being all partied out, Not-Scott and I decided to go back to Not-Jamie’s apartment.This is where things got interesting.
For reasons unknown, at this point of the evening I was carrying a Magic 8 Ball around with me…
I’m not sure how I got it: either I had it the whole night and originally took it from Not-Jamie’s apartment, or I took it from the party thinking it was a goodie bag gift. Regardless, I found myself intoxicated at 1 am in DeKalb with a Magic 8 Ball in my hand.
As Not-Scott and I were walking towards the apartment door, we passed by a group of three guys and two girls that were outside smoking. One of the guys was wearing a Kobra Kai T-shirt…
The Kobra Kai Dojo was the villainous karate school in the Karate Kid movies “that taught an unethical, vicious form of martial arts” -wikipedia. Since me and Not-Scott watched The Karate Kid together numerous times when we were growing up, we were impressed with the T-shirt choice. So Not-Scott said, “Kobra Kai’s! Hell yeah!”
Typically when you offer someone a compliment or comment on how much you admire their vintage 80’s T-shirt, the response is something along the lines of, “Hell yeah!” “Thanks man!” or “You know it!” Not in DeKalb. Instead, the guy said, “What the fuck did you say?”
A little taken aback by the hostility, Not-Scott innocently said, “I like you Kobra Kai T-shirt.”
It’s possible that the first time he was complimented, the Kobra Kai thought Not-Scott was being sarcastic. But this time the innocence in Not-Scott’s voice nearly brought me to tears. There was no doubt that his T-shirt was a big hit to this stranger who was complimenting it, and his initial response to the homage must have been a mistake. But to the surprise of both of us, he responded with a “Fuck you!”
We both stood and stared in awe for a couple seconds. We were so used to compliments leading to friendships, but at Northern Illinois University compliments were fighting words. I would hate to see the riots that take place at their etiquette classes.
“Why are you mad?” is what I asked, to which he replied, “Fuck off.” His friends started getting into it too, cussing at us and acting macho. It felt like we were in West Side Story, only with tougher language.
“You guys are weird,” I said, and Not-Scott and I walked away towards the apartment. As we were walking they continued to yell at us, and because we thought this was kind of fun we yelled back at them as well. I wish to this day I could remember what I yelled at them. I’m so bad at smack talk that I’m sure it was something like, “I bet you’ve never even seen the third Karate Kid!”
As we got to the door of Not-Jamie’s apartment, I conjured up a plan (keep in mind, it was late and I was intoxicated). My drunken brain had figured out the perfect way to resolve this conflict. With Not-Scott already inside, I took my Magic 8 Ball… well, I guess it wasn’t mine… but I lifted it up, cocked my arm, and threw it in their direction. Then I walked into the apartment and closed the door behind me. Problem solved.
Actually, chucking 5 pound toys (brought to you by Mattel) at total strangers resolves nothing. In fact, it kind of makes things much worse. Within a minute they were pounding at the front door. Feeling that the conflict was over, I had no problem opening it and pleasantly greeting them. But in front of me stood three Kobra Kai’s, all in their fighting positions.
“Why did you throw a beer at my girl?!?” the leader demanded.
This confused me. I didn’t remember throwing a beer at anyone. In fact, I don’t think I would have just carelessly throw a beer away, especially at the age of 22.
“I didn’t throw a beer at your girl.”
“One of you guys threw a beer at my girl!”
I thought to myself, “Did Not-Scott throw a beer at his girl?” Then I remembered what had just happened a minute earlier.
“Ooooooh! I see! I didn’t throw a beer at your girl, I threw a Magic 8 Ball at your girl!” Mystery solved!
But this was a terrible answer. All three Kobra Kai’s looked furious. But because I was intoxicated, I didn’t know what the problem was. That’s when it happened. Out of the blue, the least vocal of the three, who was standing in the middle of the trio, stepped up and slapped me in the face.
I’ve never been slapped in the face. I didn’t think guys got slapped in the face by other guys. I stood there in shock for a moment, and then did the only thing I could think of: I leaned forward, extended my arm, and slapped him back. It was like we were declaring a duel, only our slap fight was the actual duel.
After I slapped him, I immediately burst out into laughter. Even drunk I realized how ridiculous this whole scenario was. It was then that Not-Scott, acting as my Mr. Miyagi, moved me out of the way, shut the front door, and locked it.
I was on the floor laughing at the fact that my first fight was a slap-off. But the guys outside wanted my blood, so they kept pounding on the door. Not-Scott became as protective as a mother bear, and he quickly picked up a butcher knife and got into a crouch position in case these karate experts got inside. “They’re not coming in here!” he declared.
At this moment I laughed almost to the point of unconsciousness.
The guys kept pounding and pounding, and eventually went to the windows and started pounding on those as well, nearly breaking them. It was like the end of the Thriller video.
The pounding went on for over an hour, but after ten minutes of it we got bored of the spectacle and started watching television. When they would pound louder, we would just turn up the volume to drain them out. They pounded for so long that eventually we fell asleep to it.
The next morning Not-Jamie’s roommate told us how she got home late and the guys were still pounding on the door. They were people she knew, so they apparently ended their witch hunt when she got there and went on their way.
Around 9 am we said our good-byes, thank yous, and sorrys to the girls and left the apartment. Right before we got to our car, I noticed on that the ground was my Magic 8 Ball, completely covered in mud. I laughed to myself and thought about taking it home with me. However, since it was so filthy I decided not to pick it up…
…but I like to think that if I did, my fortune would have said, “Slap Fight.”
By Sean Patrick
It may be the best show you’re not watching on Sunday’s at 6pm. Maybe you miss it because you have forgotten about it. Maybe you don’t catch it because it’s on ABC, one of the dullest television networks in the world, second only to the local cable channel devoted to posting updates and activities taking place at the nearest community college. Either way, the country has ignored this show more than it has ignored Hurricane Katrina victims… yet it’s still on the air year after year. The show I’m talking about is…
This show is delightful. They are celebrating their twentieth year on the air this year, and we’ve been loyal fans for two of them.
After Danny Tanner stopped hosting, I, and all the other dedicated Full House fans of my generation, turned our backs to this magnum opus. But time heels all wounds, and because of reruns and maturity, I have found myself frequently watching this show again.
America’s Funniest Home Videos, hiply referred to now as AFV, is not only a compilation of hilarious home videos, but is also a very interesting look into the American psyche. More specifically it shows what us as American’s think is funny. And when you watch enough episodes, it becomes obvious that our sense of humor is disgusting and perverse. Brace yourself fellow countrymen… below I have listed the shockingly disturbing things that American’s, including myself, think is funny.
Confusing Animals – We cannot get enough of animals not knowing what the hell is going on. As if being a dog wasn’t already confusing enough, we find it hilarious when a laser pointer is jumping around the room and Shadow is doing his best to try and catch it. “How stupid!” we think you ourselves. “Doesn’t a species that has been around for ages know what a laser pointer is?!?”
Lets label this what it really is: animal cruelty. We are taking human dependent mammals and exposing their intellectual shortcomings, all for the sake of a good laugh. It’s torture for the benefit of humor. But as recent history has proved, torture can be pretty funny.
LOL!
People Falling Down – This is my favorite part of the show. But what is shocking is how much the age range of the person doing the falling affects the humor of the clip. AFV has proven that the preferred age range for a comical fall is from 1 -6 years old and anyone over 60… anything in between loses its comedic value. And why is this? Because those ages have the most risk of not surviving their stumble. It’s sick, but it’s true.
Grandma falling down at the bowling alley gets the biggest laughs on the show, yet grandma is fragile. Grandma’s body wasn’t built to fall at the bowling alley. Grandma shouldn’t even be at the the bowling alley. But damn it’s a funny sight when her old bones stumble on the slick bowling lane.
And kids? When their tiny bodies do a flip after a sled accident, the crowd collectively pees their pants. But what are we laughing about? A child who barely avoided a lifetime of paralyzation? Exactly.
You’ll notice that with most videos of people falling, they cut away right after the person goes down. That’s because 47% of the accidents we see on the show result in death. True fact.
Weddings Gone Wrong – It’s the biggest day of your life. You plan for months, sometimes years for this occasion. Tens of thousands of dollars are spent on this special event where you vow to spend the rest of your life with someone else… and we LOVE to watch it go wrong.
The groom pukes, the bride trips, the best man faints, the cake is dropped, the ring girl picks her nose, the horse attached to the buggy goes bizerk and runs away with the bride and groom towards dead mans cliff… we eat that shit up!
American’s love it when something that means so much to someone goes terribly wrong. It’s cruel! It’s like going to the hospital and laughing at the husband whose wife just died during breast implant surgery. But what can we say? As American’s, we love it when things go awry. That’s why we give so much attention to Lindsay Lohan.
A Man’s Genitals Getting Abused – Being a man (sort of), I know first hand how painful it is to be struck in that special area. You can’t breathe, you can’t move, your heart stops, your brain bleeds… it’s the worst. But when I see a kid hit his dad in the crotch with a wiffle ball bat, I laugh so hard that I’m brought to tears.
Seeing an adult male experience the worse pain possible is a delight to all of us, male or female. To add to the humor, after the impact the host will make the obvious, “he won’t be able to have any more kids” comment. This makes us laugh harder. Why? Because it’s true! We just watched a man lose his ability to reproduce! The dreams him and his wife shared of having another child is now shattered… and that’s funny! A hit to the crotch that causes the inability for a man to generate useful sperm is funnier than any Tyler Perry movie.
Unfortunately, there is a flaw to this great eye-opening show…
It is my belief that early on in the development of AFV, producers, government officials, and clergy members started noticing a trend in what we as American’s thought was funny… and they didn’t like it. In the digital age, everyone from around the world has the ability to see what video American’s thought deserved the $100,000 season finale grand prize. And what do American’s find funniest? Torturing animals, people hurting themselves, ruined weddings, and accidental vasectomies.
This show came out in 1989, a year before Operation Desert Storm. In order to get worldwide support for this war, we had to improve our image… and what better way to do that than to fix the voting results on America’s most watched television show of the 1989/90 season? Which is why the video that wins every show is…
Babies and Kids Being Cute! – What a crock! We watch great grandpa trip and fall into a kiddie pool and we laugh til we bleed. We watch a three year old eating ice cream and getting it all over their face, and we think to ourselves, “This is boring. I hope they replay that old guy falling into the kiddie pool again!” Yet at the end of the show, that great grandpa clip is nowhere to be found… but that damn kid eating ice cream is one of the top three finalists for funniest video.
Although this is frustrating to the viewer, there is typically a mildly funny video in the top three where someone gets a little hurt or a wedding kind of gets ruined, so we’re satisfied knowing that this will win. But when the winner is announced, all of our fears come true: the worst video of the show wins the money… and it’s a kid being cute. Kids are cute all the time. They say stuff like “where’s my bubby?” and “Uncle Sean scares me,” and it’s delightful. But it’s not funny. A dog going into an epileptic seizure is funny. A groom puking on his future mother in law is funny. An old man falling off a roof is funny.
What’s not funny is the twisted sense of humor in this country, which is why week after week AFV rigs the results and assures the American reputation isn’t tarnished any more than it already is.
AFV, do the right thing. Let America’s votes count, no mater how sadistic they may be. In your theme song you state, “America, this is you!” It’s time for the unfortunate truth of that statement to be displayed in the weekly prize winners.
By Sean Patrick
A lot of people ask me how it is be unemployed. Although I try to treat my writing as a career, it is obvious that what I’m doing is nothing like having the desk job I recently left. Take today for example. My plan was to wake up at 9, I woke up at 10:15. My plan was to be writing by 10, but because the Real World/ Road Rules Challenge was being replayed I started at noon. Right now I’m not even dressed: I’m wearing a robe I bought seven years ago that looks like wallpaper at a retirement facility.
Some may think that this lifestyle is awesome, and some may label it as disgusting and unproductive. I like to think of myself as being an unpunctual dynamo: I accomplish my goals, I just do so much later than I had planned… just like when a divorcee decides to go back to community college. Regardless, it is obvious that my life is different than it was when I was gainfully employed. And although I’m happy with my decision to leave my job while the economy is being raped, there are many things I miss about having a desk job, some of which I wanted to share.
Fire Alarms – Fire alarms were amazing! It meant you could drop what you were doing, no matter how important it was, and go outside! It’s comparable to getting interrupted during a test in grade school for a surprise recess.
The best part is, when you go outside, there is always that white smoke that is coming from the roof. You think to yourself, “This son of a bitch might actually be on fire!” You get flashes in your head of all the things you could do in the next month or two while your workplace is being rebuilt. ”Maybe I’ll visit Denmark!” “Maybe I’ll learn about exotic fish!” “Maybe I’ll get divorced and go back to community college!” Unfortunately, white smoke doesn’t mean fire, and within a few minutes people start filing back into the building. I no longer experience excitement during fire alarms. If the smoke detector goes off in my apartment, it means something is on fire and I may not survive. It sucks.
Moving Desk Day – Holy cow. I loooooooved moving desk day. For reasons unknown, moving from one desk to another took at least 5-6 hours. The task of changing desks seems simple enough: get your stuff, put it in a box, and transport it to another desk. But it never works that way. Hanging all your stuff back up, adjusting to the new temperature, meeting your new neighbors… it takes a ridiculous amount of time. It’s like moving in real life, only it takes longer. I recently moved, and it took me less time to transport my belongings 15 miles away than it did when I had to move my pens and wall decorations two cubicles over.
Three Day Weekends – The thrill of these is lost when you don’t even know what day of the week it is. I didn’t even realize it was Labor Day this year. That would have been unheard of a year ago, when I was making Labor Day plans in February.
But three day weekends were great. You come in on Friday, and immediately it’s like the weekend has already started, typically for one of two reasons. One, you are too excited for the weekend to focus on your job, so you just walk around and talk to friends; or two, you are so hung over from the night before, when you were celebrating the anticipation for your three day weekend, that you can’t get any work done. You spend most of the day in the bathroom, at the coffee machine, or under your desk napping.
The best part is when you only have an hour left of work before a three day weekend. It’s like a St. Patty’s Day parade. Forget about getting any sort of work done. You’re already putting on your bathing suit, sipping a margarita, and checking your bank account to make sure that you can afford the three day drinking binge you plan on going on. It’s an exciting time that I miss.
Snow Day – This is very rare. In grade school, if it snows a quarter of an inch the school may be cancelled depending on what time the snow fell. With work, there could be the equivalent of seven blizzards outside, yet you are still expected to be there. However, sometimes it’s even worse than seven blizzards, and the weather service alert says that if you don’t get home soon, you will be dead before tomorrow morning. So employers have no other choice than to send you home.
And then what? Do you go home to ensure your safety? Do you spend the night shoveling the driveway? No way. You go to the bar to celebrate your half day! Half days are rare, and getting a surprise half day is the equivalent to having a white lion wander into your backyard. No matter how dangerous mother nature may be making the road conditions, you go out and party because you know you may never get another surprise half day for the rest of your life. In my three and a half years at my last job, I got one surprise half day… and it was splendid.
Power Outages – Power outages turn any professional environment into the L.A. riots. There is chaos, screaming, and fear when all the lights go out at your job. I experienced two power outages at my last job, both of which lasted about five seconds each… but that didn’t stop me from stabbing a fellow coworker, flipping a cop car, and starting a desk chair on fire. It’s like there’s no rules. Then when the lights go back on, you carry on with your daily tasks.
God I miss the rush of a good power outage.
By Sean Patrick
Everyone has their own fantasy of what they would do if they won the lottery, and I’m no different. However, I don’t play the lottery. I don’t even think I know how to play the lottery. So when I fantasize about receiving large amounts of money, it rarely includes winning the lotto. My fantasies are much more realistic: they involve an extremely wealthy businessman that wants nothing more than to give away his money to the next guy that walks through the front doors of the Dutch Inn West Bar and Grill. Luckily, that person would be me.
With a large sum of money, there’s one thing I would want to do: blow it all. I love the stories of people who win the lotto and then go bankrupt. I recently read about a girl who won three million dollars two years ago, and since then she has spent nearly one million of it on designer clothes alone. Now she’s down to a couple thousand dollars and wishing she never won the lottery. That’s awesome! I want that kind of story, only when I’m broke I won’t say, “I wish I never got all that money.” I’ll say “I hope I get that much money again! That was rad! Now lets go look at all the cool shit I bought before I have to give it back!”
Because I’ve thought about this so much, I wanted to share some of the things I’d do if I received a ridiculous amount of cash.
If I Received $910,000,000.
I would make an unknown, terrible book into a best seller. Something like the novelization of the movie Air Bud 2 – Golden Retriever. Since I’m sure this has never been published, I would spend $200 million on getting an enormous amount of copies made. Then I would make sure that each copy was sold for $1, and I would purchase 700 million copies. The remaining $10 million I would spend on hiring Steven Spielberg to film John Grisham, Beverly Clearly, and J.K. Rowling’s faces when they hear that the novelization of the film Air Bud 2 – Golden Retriever has sold more copies than all of their books combined.
If I Received $17,900,000,000
I’d buy NASA, which is reported to be worth around 17.6 billion dollars. First order of business would be getting Lance Bass into space, so he could live his/our lifelong dream of having a member of N’Sync experience space travel. I’d also change the name of NASA to N’NASA in honor of the revolutionary band Lance helped create. With all the hate mail I’d get from space geeks, scientists, and Backstreet Boys fans, I’d throw a big honarary bon fire for Lance when he got back from his journey. The next day I’d shut down NASA… sorry… N’NASA, and spend the rest of the money on turning the headquaters into a big Showbiz Pizza, since I haven’t seen one of those places in years.
If I Received $9,000,000
I would get all the plastic surgery necessary to look like Devon Sawa, circa 1995. This is the year he was in Casper. Ladies, don’t even pretend to not know what I’m talking about.
No matter what age the women from my generation are, they still melt at the thought of this 15 year old coming down the stairs after turning from ghost to human. So I would get enough plastic surgery to look completely identical to him. Then I would go out on the town every night and flirt with women in my age range until all of them realize how creepy it is that at their age they still think a 15 year old is sexy.
Sorry if I sound bitter, I’ve just had way too many relationships destroyed because of the end of Casper.
If I Received $1,368,983
I would hire the worlds greatest private investigator to track down Carmen Sandiego ($600,000). Once found, I would hire a group of locals in whatever exotic country she has been located in to capture her ($38). Then I would have a private jet transport her to O’Hare airport ($66,000), and from there an armored car would drive her to my basement ($1,500). In the basement I will have a state of the art cage ($30,000), equipped with a bed($600), shower($200) ,toilet($225) and clothes from T.J. Maxx ($110). Then I will rehire the private investigator that found her to track down her mom and dad ($600,000). Meanwhile, while waiting for her parents to be located, I will keep Carmen fed ($800) and entertained with a high definition television ($1600) and every Gilmore Girls Complete Season DVD that is on the market ($250). Once her parents are found, I will have them flown to O’Hare on a private jet ($66,000) and have a limo transport them from the airport to my house ($160). Once they get there, I will take out my brand new video camera ($1500), and record the dramatic and emotional reunion that has been in the making since I was in grade school (priceless).
Carmen and Family!
If I Received $500,000,000
I would spend $499,000,000 on the fattiest foods you can think of: milkshakes, whoppers, pizzas, hot dogs… anything loaded with an inhumane amount of calories. Then with the remaining $1,000,000, I would ship all of this food over to the smallest famine stricken country I could find. That way I could feed the hungry, and at the same time ensure that the U.S. would no longer have the highest obesity ratio in the world! It would solve two problems at once!
The next time the department of health releases a survey of the fattest countries in the world, we won’t have to be embarrassed: Mozambique will! Furthermore, I can’t think of anything better for our countries image than an American single handedly spreading heart disease throughout a third world country.
USA!
