Holy
crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of
amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be
clever, I
have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and I’m an
Ugly American living
on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And I’m here to
serve, baby.
The
State of My Fat Ass A journal of
sorts, updated every once in a while.
--
I've been spending considerable time in Allentown, at the office of an
outplacement firm my former employer hooked me up with. They offer
seminars and classes, and help with your resume, etc. When I first
learned of this, I rolled my eyes and dismissed the whole thing. It
sounded suspiciously like counseling, and I had visions of grown men
sitting in small rooms blubbering into tissues, and possibly even
hugging each other. And that's not the way I roll.
But Toney convinced me to give it a look, and I'm glad she did. To my
surprise, the information they're providing seems to have actual value.
It's good solid advice, and not all about emotions and feelings.
Well... there's a little of that, but not much.
Plus, I just enjoy going there. I always come away feeling hopeful and
positive, which is a welcome departure from the norm these days. There's
a group of guys who seem to hang out at the place, all of whom are going
through exactly the same thing I am. So, in addition to all the stuff in
their formal mission statement, the joint also serves as a social club for
middle-aged overweight unemployed professionals of eastern Pennsylvania.
And, for reasons I can't quite put my finger on, I like it. All that's
missing is the cocktails and cigars.
Of course, when all those guys start getting jobs it'll be a different
story.... That's the downside, I fear. If I'm one of the last to go, I
can see myself working up a good head of bitterness, and walking around
with a powerful urge to start kneeing balls. Just random balls, and lots
of 'em.
But I'm enjoying it while I can.
-- Last night we were having dinner and four fully-grown deer casually
walked past our front window. We live in an established neighborhood
here, not a thatched hut in the middle of the forest, and aren't really
accustomed to seeing, you know, fucking caribou. It was one of
those moments when you're not fully convinced your brain is processing
things correctly, and sit there silent for a few seconds waiting for it
to correct itself.
But it really was deer, four big 'uns, and they didn't seem to have a
care in the world. Until Andy saw them, anyway. And man, he went wild. I
was afraid he might actually crash through the front window. He'd never seen
dogs that large.
The big-ass things heard the ruckus coming
from inside our house, and all four bounced across Half-Shirt's yard,
and disappeared somewhere down the street.
And last night when I was outside with Andy, letting him sling a little
urine before bedtime, I had a small but nagging concern that one of
those beasts would suddenly burst out of the bushes, and start doing
that thing where they stand on their hind legs and pummel you into
submission with a wild flurry of flying hooves.
Is that unreasonable?
-- My friend Bill told me that a guy he knows recently had a boil on his
ass "the size of a can of tuna." He went bowling with the
thing, and everybody could see it through his sweatpants. Finally it
exploded, while the dude was sitting on the toilet, and it took
considerable time to clean up. But, he told Bill, it's nice to be able
to sit level again. Just thought you should know....
-- I watched Borat last night. I believe I might've been the only
person left in the world who didn't know anything about any of that
stuff. I wasn't familiar with Sacha Baron Cohen, or Ali G, or the
Borat character, or anything. Oh, I knew it was supposed to be popular
and hip, and there was some controversy, but it was all very vague and
murky to me.
Good God, I laughed my ass off. That has got to be one of the funniest
movies ever made. So many great scenes.... All morning little
snippets of the flick have been popping into my head, and I start
laughing all over again. I think I'm going to have to watch it again,
before Netflix gets it back. The shit is Hendrie-level genius.
-- Here's an interesting email I received from Surf Reporter Lucie
earlier in the week:
So you got me hooked on Bentley Little & I have been requesting 3
of his books at a time from the library. So I go in yesterday & pick
up 3, one of which is “The Return” and as I was removing the slip of
paper with my name on it a frigging razor blade fell out of the book!
First off he totally creeps me out with his books & then one of his
readers almost cuts me up with a RAZOR BLADE!!!!!!! WTF???
I don't really know what to say to that, except it feels somehow
appropriate that a Bentley Little fan would use a super-sharp sliver of
steel as a bookmark. Disturbing yes, but not all that surprising. Next
time it might very well be a ring finger.
-- I spoke with a guy yesterday about possibly redesigning the site. The
dude didn't hear a thing I said, and just went on and on with his own
ideas. He apparently thinks it would be a fabulous idea to turn TheWVSR
into some sort of storefront(?!), with shopping carts and that sort of
thing. I told him that wasn't at all what I had in mind, and it
was is if I hadn't even spoken those words. He said he'd be glad to
build me a fully-functioning e-commerce site for $3000.
Perhaps there
was a bad connection? I don't know. And $3000?! All I can say to that
is: Ha!
-- I've got a few more half-assed little things, but I've suddenly run
out of enthusiasm. But I do have a rare treat to share with you folks
today -- a new update from Metten. That's right, Metten. Check it out,
right here.
--
I've been spending considerable time in Allentown, at the office of an
outplacement firm my former employer hooked me up with. They offer
seminars and classes, and help with your resume, etc. When I first
learned of this, I rolled my eyes and dismissed the whole thing. It
sounded suspiciously like counseling, and I had visions of grown men
sitting in small rooms blubbering into tissues, and possibly even
hugging each other. And that's not the way I roll.