April 7, 2004
Good news will work its way to all them plans
First off, for some reason, the powers that be have decided to sell the new Modest Mouse album for an entirely reasonable eight dollars. Sixteen tracks of good late nineties indie for fifty cents a track… you can only beat that on Soulseek (or at a used record store). It might not be Building Nothing out of Something, but its not bad, either.
Yesterday I telemarketed a man named Vladmir, an attaché at the Russian embassy in Washington, DC. Suprisingly, he didn’t pick up the white courtesy phone. Neither did Mr. Buda Munk, who is a consultant for Monastery.
Every week, I sit down on Thursday evening and pick through the Oconee Enterprise classifieds in the hope that a local company has a serious need for philosophers, but (so far) I’ve been cruelly disappointed. I’m a little hopeful that I can get a job with this one company, Merial (whose website seems to be down, check it out at merial.com and let me know if its gone back up, would you?). I rather expect that this prospect will go the way of my beautiful opportunity at the State Botanical Gardens – taken by someone with qualifications and experience. Where are the jobs for people without experience? Without qualifications? (In Chattanooga, I think)
Jess and I have decided on an apartment, we think. Although its not as beautiful (or well-lit, which matters to me quite a bit – I think there’s a positive correlation between the amount of sunlight in a residence and the mood of the residents) as the duplex in the country that we looked at, it is in downtown Athens, in an unbeatable location, without leaky walls or ceilings or pipes or stoves. It even has a door in the kitchen for a grand total of two (2!) doors to the outside world… this door could, conceivably, be opened to let in the outside world! However, when I walk into the landlord’s office, I can smell the sulfur burning… Seriously, what kind of monster purchases one of those Plymouth “classic” (classless) PT Cruisers and then proceeds to plaster it with NASCAR stickers? I can’t even fathom living with that sort of mental imbalance. How would you go to the grocery store? What if one of the bagboys saw you? Wouldn’t people point and stare, hide their kids? Well, people probably would hide their kids anyways, if they found out you were a landlord.
I’m working on a piece about Woody Allen for Pulse. Its more specific than that, but I DON’T CARE TO SHARE! Ha.
I intend to start a revolt against internet etiquette. I’m starting WITH this ENTRY. Join now before the revolution turns on itself.