Job Hunting!

I figure that it’s time I honed my interview skills and updated my resume since I’m now job hunting.  Ideally, I would prefer to remain unemployed, because I find that my naps help me with my rare medical condition (technical term: “sleepiness”).    Plus, I’ll really miss daytime television which comes in the form of easy to follow talk shows that always have really disappointed men finding out that they are “THE FATHER” and soap operas where people who “die” can either come back as ghosts or secretly linger in comas for years until they are needed again.   It will be a change in my lifestyle but I feel ready… I’m getting my poop in a group and hitting the bricks!  Employment here I come! 

As you know, having an attention grabbing resume is the first step in getting hired.   That’s why my resume isn’t on paper.   I silk screened it onto t-shirts.   That way the employer gets a free gift right off the bat.   Employers like that kind of stuff… in the parlance of the business world, they call that “graft”.   If I know an employer is a bit on the heavy side (fat) then I will spell out my resume on a cake using icing sugar.   Employers on the heavy side appreciate that as well, because hiring can be a strenuous process and a nice piece of cake can really help them get through the day.

But what to put on a resume?   For starters… not the truth.   Some experts say that a little bit of embellishment is OK but not outright lies.   I disagree.    For starters, my name doesn’t “pop”. It’s too boring.  So right up at the top I put Frank “The Original Ghost Face Killa” Kress.   That’s the kind of name that jumps right out at you and it creates a talking point during the interview.   I always say, “Yeah, I thought up the name Ghost Face Killa but then I decided to let that other guy use it.  You know, that rapper, Ghost Face Killa.”   Since many employers don’t know many rappers, I will use that as an opportunity to educate them on that subject by busting out some rhymes for them like, “Fuck tha PO-lice, Fuck tha PO-lice, Fuck ‘em!”  Generally I stand up and rap really loudly and use aggressive gang signs.  That usually loosens them up for the rest of the interview.

The next item on the resume is work experience.   I always say that I was a doctor.  But you can’t go overboard with this one, because if you put down that you were a medical doctor, they might ask you to prove it by supplying a diploma of some kind or ask you medical questions like, “Is the funny bone really a bone, or is your elbow just happy to see me?”   That’s why I always say that my doctorate was honorary because I was really good at solving the Rubik’s cube.   (I have never solved the Rubik’s cube though one time, when I was a kid, I took it apart and then put it back together so it looked like I solved it.   That was the time that my parents were really proud of me.)  Also, I always put down that I worked for famous dead people (so they can’t check).   Like “Personal assistant to Nelson Mandela”.  

Which of course leads to the education portion of the resume.   Many people will be tempted to fudge their credentials a tiny bit, but I go all out Ivy League Style.   I say that I went to Harvard.  Not the one in Massachusetts, the other one, in Botswana.   Or I put the Sorbonne, because no one will bother calling France to check.   As a last resort, I will use Oxford but under that, I put, “Degree received under the pseudonym Miranda Sayer.”  (Someone who actually went to Oxford).

It’s important to have other interests listed.   I like putting “yachting”, “conquering Everest” and “super sexy modelling”.  Then I say, “You wouldn’t know it to look at me now, but I was once arrested for being too good looking.   True Story.”   This serves a dual purpose in that it looks great on a resume but also explains away my criminal record. 

During the interview, when they ask me what my strengths are, I always say, “Being virile and knowing what to do with “it”.”   Then I wink at them after using air quotes around the word “it”.  When they ask for weaknesses, I say, “I care too much”.   Then I’ll burst into tears and run out of the room.   It’s easy for me to cry on command because all I have to do is think back to the last time I had a “boo boo”.   And because I’m really sensitive and shit.

When the interviewer asks, “Where do you see yourself in 5 years?”  I always sit up straight and say, “King of Estonia… because it’s my birthright.”  That usually nails it for me.  

Anyway, I think I’m pretty much set for success and to all you little people out there that think I’ll forget them when I make it big, all I say is, “You’re wrong… I will always need servants.”

The final word on... same sex marriage

There has been a lot of noise about the issue of same sex marriage and it’s time for the voice of reason (that’s would be me) to finally put the matter to rest once and for all.  The verdict that I've given is this:  Same sex marriage is OK. 

Consider the current divorce rate.   I think it’s like 92% or something.  I could check, but I’m pretty sure (99%) that the number I made up is accurate.  Gays and Lesbians have been fighting for a long time for equality and actually want to get married so those marriages will probably last.  When the divorce rate goes down, then people who put a lot of stock in statistics (78% of you) will be very happy over those improved numbers.   This will have a domino effect and help the economy by creating more jobs in the marriage industry (also known as “Big Marriage”, a subsidiary of “Big Oil and Big Pharma”).   The economic ripple effect will be like a floral scented tsunami: Increased honeymoon travel to overpriced locales, more toasters and bread makers sold (and other wedding gift items), I could go on and on and on but that would mean thinking of other stuff to write so I’ll stop here.

Another benefit of same sex coupling is that these newlyweds will not produce children.   If they want kids, they’re going to have to work their butts off to get them. Adoption or going through medical processes and procedures all cost a ton of time and money.   Those kids would actually be WANTED.   Yes, I’m pointing an accusatory finger at you people who let your kids run amok in Walmart and annoy decent voices of reason (me).   That same finger is pointed at all the people who (whoopsie) get pregnant in an era where there is no shortage of contraception or education on birth control and act like making an unplanned baby is akin to slipping on a patch of ice (hence the “whoopsie” comment) because they think they won’t get pregnant by doing the only damned thing in the world that can get them pregnant.  Sorry, I digress.   Back to the point… don’t worry, gays and lesbians will raise your unwanted children for you.   And not to press the point too far, but I’m sure they’ll do a much better job of it. 

Those opposed to same sex marriage often say that this would create a moral slippery slope.  Like if gays and lesbians are allowed to pledge their love and commitment to each other in a legally binding ceremony, then what’s to stop a man marrying his dog?   Well, that’s just ridiculous because a man would never marry a dog; the real danger here is a woman marrying her cat.  We all know that is far more likely because the term “lunatic dog man” is never heard, but we’re all familiar with the designation, “crazy cat lady”.  This is a very real threat because I’ve witnessed (first hand!!) framed photographs of departed cats hanging on the wall, urns containing cat ashes sitting on mantelpieces and lit by soft lighting, “Mr. Fuzzypaws” being cuddled and canoodled in a far from appropriate manner… and that, at least to me, is a hell of a lot scarier than two gay guys in tuxedos attending Church.   And let’s be honest, those cat marriages wouldn’t last because crazy cat ladies who are so desperately in love with their cat (we all know the cat doesn’t really give a shit about them, not in *that* way, anyway.  I mean, they like them and all, and they probably think they’re cool to hang out with, but marriage…whoa, back up man!) probably has multiple felines running around her smelly house or apartment and that would lead to feline polygamy, which is a whole different problem.  

Speaking of which, why are we so worked up over same sex marriage when right on our televisions is a show called “Sister Wives” starring a douche bag and his 4 homely wives (and their emotionally scarred troupe of children running amok).  Why are we celebrating this creep’s lifestyle and possibly encouraging other unattractive men and women to form polygamous bonds with each other?   Why are we allowing them to get married and cohabitate, increasing the risk of creating more weird children, thus giving a rubber stamp approval to that lifestyle?   

Oh yeah, because what other consenting adults do in the bedroom has no effect on us at all.   Let’s just bomb another village and call it a day.

Dead Body Etiquette

Warning:  This article contains references to dead bodies.  If you are squeamish or easily offended, I suggest you keep reading.   It will be like, therapeutic.

With Christmas only a couple days away, many people are experiencing a great deal of stress and anxiety, wondering what to do if they find a dead body.   Not to worry, I've compiled a list of do’s and don’ts which are conveniently interchangeable depending on your point of view, moral turpitude and sense of humor.

Please note however, that this only applies to FINDING a dead body, not CREATING one (murder).  Also, the following is only applicable to finding a stranger’s dead body… finding a dead relative or friend is just traumatic so let’s not even go there.

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So we've all been through it… it’s a sunny afternoon and your phone rings.   It’s your friend and before you even have a chance to say hello, they blurt out, “Hey, do you want to go see a dead body?”   Of course you do, because you’re only human and that means that you exhibit a natural curiosity when it comes to life, death and the beautiful and mysterious cycle of life.   Plus, you may be a bit of a creep and doing morbid shit like that is right up your alley because you’re so desensitized from watching “The Walking Dead” and all those George Romero zombie movies (Day of the Dead, Dawn of the Dead, Morning Coffee Break of the Dead, Afternoon Tea Time of the Dead, etc.)  So you’re all set for the adventure of going to look at a body.  But what if you’re the one that finds the body in the first place?  What are you going to do?  

1.       Even if you’re 100% sure that the body is in fact dead, you should always poke it with a stick, just to make sure. 

2.      If there isn’t a stick around, you should nudge the body with your foot a couple times.  After making certain it’s really a dead body and not just some passed out drunk…

3.      Call you friends and before they even say hello, blurt out, “Hey, you want to go see a dead body?” 

4.      Do not take a selfie with the body.  

5.      Take a moment before your creepy friends arrive to ponder the beautiful and mysterious cycle of life.  Chase away any raccoons that may be in a scavenging mood.

6.      Do not move the body, even to arrange it in comical looking poses.   Life isn't like “Weekend at Bernie’s.”

7.      Contact the authorities

8.      When the authorities arrive, put all your time watching Crime Dramas like CSI, NCIS, Criminal Minds, Friends, etc. to work by immediately telling the cop, “Based on lividity, I estimate the time of death at 12 pm yesterday.”  When the cop questions how you would know that, say, “I poked it with a stick.” 

9.      Before the reporters arrive, get presentable for the camera.   If you are female:  Wear a bathrobe and have a lit cigarette in your hand, messily applied makeup and messy hair.  Try to use phrases like “Lawd” and “It was just lyin’ there!  All dead!”
If you are a male:  Take off your shirt.   Speak quickly and use the word “uh” in place of commas. 

      When strangers ask you if you are OK (adjusting to the trauma of finding a dead body) just nod your head a lot and mumble, “Lawd” and “uh”.   Chances are they will drape a blanket over your shoulders.   Hey, free blanket.

No matter what happens, once the experience is over you’ll no doubt experience regret, some form of PTSD or “Shit, I should have checked to see if there was any money in his pockets!”    No matter what, when you tell this story (and you will tell this story to everyone you meet for the rest of your life) always try to make yourself out to be a hero.   Don’t forget to mention how you poked it with a stick.   The response you will receive will invariably be, “Awwwww, no way!!!  That is so gross!!!!”  Followed by, “Cool.”

Merry Christmas

Dealing with Unemployment - Part 2

Many people harbor serious misconceptions about what it’s like to be unemployed.   They assume that I sleep most of the day and during my rare waking hours I am wearing sweat pants, eating Cheetos and watching daytime television.   Because of these ludicrous suppositions, I intend to set the record straight and share my daily schedule:

10:30 am: Get up at the crack of dawn-ish and stare out the window while having a good scratch (scalp, belly, crotch and finally buttocks).

10:45am: Eat a bowl of cereal (with or without milk, depending on availability) on the couch, watching “The View.”

11:30am:  Quick Nap.

1:00pm:  Take the dog for a walk (allow the dog to follow me to the refrigerator while I stare at available lunch options).

1:00pm:  Lunch.  (Cheetos and “Young and the Restless”)

2:00pm:  Exercise (Surfing the net, eating candies and laughing at YouTube videos of cats)

3:00pm:  Quick Nap until bedtime.

HA HA, just kidding.   Those who know me have all expressed their concerns vis a vis, me going crazy without a job.   For starters, the first couple months were just fine because I was doing a lot of writing and work around the house.  I was enjoying myself so much and thought, “Gee, I could get used to retirement!” but then I suffered what they call a “Heart Event” which is the same as a “Heart Attack” but the word “event” makes it sounds a lot less serious, like my heart had a concert or held a fundraiser.    

So after my “Heart Event – a black tie affair with musical guests, Black Sabbath!”  I started devoting my days to “rehabilitation”.   The rehab began with a serious of don’ts: No Smoking, no carbohydrates, no caffeine, no fat, no sugar, no fun and one big Do:  Exercise all the fucking time.  So 5 times a week, I spend a few hours running on the treadmill, riding the stationary bike and lifting weights so if I don’t have another “Heart Event – free admission with a donation to the food bank!” I should be sufficiently in shape to participate in the next Iron Man, Spartan Challenge, Bierkebeiner or just plain drop dead from exhaustion.  My goal is for people to peer into the casket and say, “Sure he’s dead, but he looks GREAT!” 

Anyway, since it’s been 5 months since my “Heart Event – BYOB”, I will admit that I am going a little bit stir crazy and am starting to think about going back to work.   In order to mentally prepare myself for the rigors of corporate life, I have started working on “projects”.   What I do is, I write up a long report about the inefficiencies of… something… and then I do up a Power Point Presentation and a spreadsheet complete with graphs and pie charts.   Then I email that to people I know and then they reply with “WTF?  Stop sending me this crap!”  This entire process exactly replicates my former work life. 

When I’m not wasting my time, working on reports, I will gather up all my old stuffed animals and arrange them around the dining room table for “meetings”.   I prop them all up in positions that make it look like they are “really serious”, “getting to the bottom of things” and “making positive changes” while I sit at the far end of the table and text people with my iPhone on my lap.   After the meeting, I walk away feeling scolded, overwhelmed, confused and fed up and go back to my desk to play solitaire and grumble under my breath.

So basically, I’m ready for action!   I can start anytime and I require minimal training, except by minimal, I mean “extensive” and by training, I mean “shown 12 times”.  You can reach me through this blog, by email or through one of my colleagues, either Mr. Fuzzy Pants the stuffed cow vice president of cud chewing or Mrs. Teddy Bear, CEO.

Frank L Kress in 2014 - Hope and Change and Stuff you can really believe in!!!

There were moments where I used to daydream at work and being in middle management, sometimes I used to wonder what would happen if every hourly worker in the company just stood up and walked out.   I imagined the chaos, the complete shutdown of productivity, the customers suddenly left hanging and ignored, the gears in the great cogs coming to a shuddering halt and I imagined a great silent void, as if all the air had been sucked out of a great cathedral, only to be replaced by a rising tide of cacophonous thunder: the panicked wailings and moanings of upper management as they tried to figure out how to work a cash register or drive a forklift or even place a want ad to replace their vanished workers.   During those blissful daydreams, I would have a smile on my face because I would then imagine the complete opposite.  What if one day all the executives in the company were to suddenly get up and walk out? 

Let’s be realistic, no company could survive without their top leaders… but what if one company tried, just for a year, to go executive free?   That would mean that every person who held a position above that of department manager (directors, senior directors, vice presidents, senior vice presidents, etc.) would take 12 months off.   I used to work at a pretty big company so for that year, we would start off with some salary and bonus savings.  I’m taking a guess here, but I would say the overall savings would be somewhere around 20 million dollars (conservatively).  That’s a pretty good way to start things off… the Board may approve of that idea.   

Further savings would be found in no travel allowances for important meetings.   So flights, hotels, meals, corporate accommodations (for those who live someone other than the city where they work) would also reduce a big chunk of change.  Apparently things like Skype, Webex, email and the telephone are completely insufficient for executive types, so once again Board of Directors, you’re very welcome, I just made the company wide P&L look a lot slimmer.

But enough about money, what other changes would their absence cause?   Employee morale would shoot through the roof, but never mind that, that one’s a given.   Here’s the gritty truth: the company would not grow or implement new strategies or adopt any improvements for one calendar year.   The I.T department, under their manager, would just be directed to maintain the current systems… just keep the lights on, make sure the systems don’t crash, no new projects to work on, just make sure that everything is working smoothly.  No outside contractors would be needed to develop software, no training programs to implement, nothing like that.  I know that outside contractors cost quite a bit, so that would maybe make up some of the short term savings that all those new programs were supposed to generate.  So, in short, no growth, no sweeping changes, just employees doing their jobs, managers managing them, customers buying stuff… Boring!   

I know, too ridiculous to even imagine…

But this article isn’t about work or corporations or high plaid executives… it’s about politics, or, to be more precise, politicians.   It was spawned by the local municipal candidate who plonked a sign down on the front lawn because he wants to be a city counselor.   My question for him (and for every other politician in the world) is why do you want to be a politician?    For the most part, it’s the same reason why people want to be vice presidents of big companies… they want money and power and generally, they want to boss other people around.  They will all claim that they want to serve their fellow man, make the world a better place, etc.   They all say it so much that they honestly believe it themselves, but the truth is, they just want to be important.  Do you remember that nerd from high school that ran in the student election… that twerp wants to rule over you.   Oh sure, he may have good intentions too… he really does believe that he can make the world a better place, but in the process of doing that, he gets to be your boss, to make the decisions, to be… well, a Somebody instead of just a normal guy.   The delusion that they are somehow better equipped and smarter than regular people is a bit of a farce really…

Before you take the first four paragraphs out of context and think I’m some kind of communist, I’m not. Remember, socialism isn’t about removing all those high paid executives; it’s about creating a whole lot more of them and just calling them a different name, rebranding them as government bureaucrats.  Before you think I hate Socialism or Liberalism, well, I guess I do… but I also hate Conservatives.   I suppose I hate any so-called distinctions between political parties, because fundamentally, they are so much alike.  I’m a political atheist after all.  Has Obama (a Democrat) been any different from Bush (a Republican)?   I mean fundamentally, what has changed?   

So the daydream I spoke about in the first four paragraphs expanded from company executives to the government.    What would happen if they just took a year off?   I’m not talking about the police or the fire departments; I mean politicians… what would happen if they just took a yearlong (unpaid) vacation?   No new laws, no lobbying, no wars being declared, no bombs dropped… would it really be so bad to go a year without any of that?  

Anyway, the point of all this is to let you know that next year, I’m running for office and I appreciate your support. (insert evil laugh here).

 

 

Winter is coming you wussies...

I don’t want to cause any undue alarm, but everyone north of the 49^th parallel should be aware that summer is over.   Any moment now, it will officially be autumn and a few days after that, winter will be upon us.      Of  course this really only applies to Alberta, since according to people in Southern Ontario, it will be hot and sunny until sometime in February, when they will get a day or two of rain, then it will be Springtime again.

I for one am kind of relieved that summer is over.   The main reason is that I’m tired of not wearing a jacket and I need a place to keep my stuff when I venture away from my house.   Women, you will have no idea what I’m talking about because you get to carry a purse and guys, if you don’t agree with me, you’re obviously a douche bag that carries a briefcase or one of those awful man purses.  I won’t argue and I certainly don’t wish you any harm aside from someone giving you a violent beating with your own douche luggage.   

Wallet, keys, phone… those are the big three items and you can’t jam them into your pant pockets unless your wish is to appear abnormally lumpy around the hips and buttocks.  But aside from the big three, there’s also gum or mints… those get squishy in pant pockets.   For people who smoke, they have to contend with cigarette packs and a lighter.   In my case, I have to carry pepper spray because I have “girlish good looks” and as a result I am in constant danger of being kidnapped and sold to wealthy men from oil producing countries.  

Most of you will think that not having a jacket to carry stuff is a minor inconvenience and the choice between carrying your stuff around and suffering through minus 8 million degree winters is a no brainer.  Maybe evolution will someday give males much larger hands to carry their wallets, keys, phones and anti-kidnapping mace devices.   Perhaps.

The alternative is to become a “Snowbird”, which, as far as I can tell, is a type of bird that is made out of snow.  I’m not sure how that would solve anything but another way to escape winter is to travel down to Arizona, California, New Mexico or some other desert wasteland to avoid having to deal with a little chilly weather.   If you detect more than a hint of disdain in my tone for those people who spent their winters in warmer climes, then I applaud your astuteness.   First of all, it displays a lack of character to abandon hearth and home here in the north to spend a few months relaxing in the sun, playing golf, fishing and drinking margaritas.    Plus, it’s not fair; because that means you have more money than me.  Boo on you.

Also keep in mind that while we have to deal with cold and snow, those warm southern states have poisonous snakes, earthquakes, tornados, wildfires, hurricanes and people with alarmingly deep tans.   Scientists explain these phenomena as “Karma.”  

So instead of bitching and moaning (or travelling to the U.S), just suck it up, wear a scarf and a jacket with pockets big enough to carry your stuff.   Besides, in 9 short months, it will be spring again.

An Open Letter to My Lawn

Dear Lawn,

I know that we’ve had some issues in the past and I realize that an open letter may not be the best way to reach out to you.  You may be upset that I’m airing our grievances to the world as opposed to how we’ve traditionally dealt with things (you lying there silently, me cursing at you from behind the lawnmower.)  Obviously we can’t continue on like this, our relationship simply won’t last if things don’t change.

Maybe I’ve upset you by not paying enough attention to you or by allowing my dog to consistently poop on you.   But let’s be fair here, you haven’t exactly been holding up your end either.   You’re patchy, weedy and brown.   There, I said it.  It’s out in the open now. 

I’ve tried all the things that I’m supposed to do: water, fertilizer, seeding, regular mowing and yet you lay there, not putting any effort in.   In fact, whenever I try to make things work, your response as of late is to burst out in dandelions, like a pubescent14 year old sprouting new zits every day.

You aren’t lush, you aren’t green or verdant or bursting with health or vitality.  You accept the gift of new grass seed and burp back weeds.   You take all the water and respond with brown patches.  You don’t deserve me. I didn’t want it to come to this, but yes, my eyes have strayed.   Instead of gazing at you with love and adoration, I find myself leering at gravel or wood chips or concrete.   You simply aren’t the lawn that I fell in love with.

I know I shouldn’t compare us with other couples, but when I see my neighbors happily mowing, leaving fresh lawn clippings in their wake (instead of clouds of dust and bits of dandelion leaves) I feel ashamed of you and don’t want to be seen with you anymore.  I’m tired of people thinking that I’m with you only because of your great personality.

There is a movement going on that suggests that we do away with lawns altogether and replace them with vegetable gardens.   “Grow food, not lawns” is their motto.  I think this is a laudable idea but unfortunately for me, if I can’t grow a simple stem of grass, I’m not going to have much luck growing something that people can actually eat.   My potatoes would probably come out looking and tasting like a lump of coal.     My carrots would probably resemble straw and as for cucumbers and zucchini, I’m not confident enough as a man to grow unfavorable vegetable comparisons.

So lawn, you browning, dandelion spewing harlot, this is your last chance.  Either you start to grow properly or I will be forced (and believe me, I hate to do this) to write yet another firm letter, stamp my feet in futility and look longingly at the neighbor’s patch of perfect green and spin murderous fantasies borne of jealousy.  It doesn’t help things when my neighbor frowns in mock sympathy and says things like, “Got a few weeds there huh?”  Gentleman that I am, I never say anything against your honor and it’s for your sake that I fling the stray cat poop over onto his lawn.  I do that for you.   In fact, I do it all for you.   I can’t keep ignoring those flirty looks from the gravel.