Nihilist Job Resume...

...by Eric Feezdell

David, Candice, whatever
EndlessMurk512@aol.com
This Abject World(555) 555-5555

Objective:
I have no objective. What's the point when cold death is the final destination for us all? Can you explain that to me? I know I'm supposed to put something here, though, so here goes: Your objective is to hire me into a challenging position in a computer-applications-based field within which you feel I can "make a difference" and "contribute" in a team environment...
Imbecile.

Education:
Bachelor of "Science" in Computer Applications, University of Washington.
B.S., all right. It tickles me greatly that vapid, hornswoggled employers place so much emphasis on scholastic aptitude and higher education, as if knowing the Pythagorean theorem could shield me from the stygian pointlessness of mortality or the lurid abyss of imminent nonexistence. Of course, I use the word "tickles" figuratively, since I feel absolutely nothing.

Skills:
Skills are valueless and only serve temporarily to bolster the trembling egos of the sheeple of this wretched world. I eschew all so-called personal development, instead dying under the premise that, when I'm a biodegrading mess of worm feed hopelessly buried beneath a fathom of dark earth, being able to type 70 words a minute really won't do me a modicum of what you so ignorantly refer to as "good."
Microsoft Excel, PowerPoint, Access; UNIX; Lotus 1, 2, 3.

Work Experience:
Lead Sales Representative, Howard Brothers Trucking Co. (June 2003 to present)
As the leading sales representative at Howard Brothers, I implemented a new invoicing database lauded by my maudlin, foolhardy management team as "wonderfully efficient and surprisingly self-explanatory." Why any of this mattered, I don't know or care.
As far as being a "leader" goes, I wasn't leading anyone or anything. Death is the great leveler, leading us all. Or not. Again, who cares, really?
Sales Clerk, Hot Topic (January 2001 to June 2003)
Employee of the month 29 consecutive times.

Interests:
It pains me (again, being loose with the language here) to think that one could be so ridiculous as to maintain any sort of attachment to this-worldly tangibles, concepts, or other such contemptible ephemera. I'll admit I play tennis, although I don't keep score and insist that when my deluded partner does he use the terms "zero" or "nothingness" instead of "love," a superfluous notion.
I also read a bit of Baudelaire, for what it's worth, which is nothing.

Honors/Awards:
Mankind, in its self-congratulatory revelry, will finally come to realize that all forms of kudos simply blind us from the solitary incontrovertible truth: life is a hollow shell of nil.
Once, during my younger days, in an ultimately nugatory proclamation (is there any other kind?) of my desensitized attitude toward accolades and gifts, I coined the phrase "He who dies with the most toys ... still dies." A bumper-sticker company then offered me a large sum of money for the rights to this phrase. I told them to keep it and give it to someone or something that mattered, which I guess was my way of making a joke (back before I realized how asinine and fruitless such a thing was).

References:
This section seems a bit silly. But not like ha-ha silly. I mean ineffectual, obviously.

The Most Horrible of Segues...

...with local anchorman, Clive Rutledge

"... Authorities are investigating if the alleged beating constitutes a hate crime. I don't know about that, but earlier this evening I was ready to pull a hate crime of my own on the heavy traffic out there. Let's go to Julie in the Action News chopper to see if it's thinned out. How 'bout it, Julie?"

"... Well, folks, that last story proves yet again how emotionally damaging incest can be. Thankfully, Mr. Food is here with an artichoke-dip recipe that proves yet again how emotionally satisfying a tasty appetizer can be."

"... Thanks, Liz, for that poignant profile of that sweet little orphan boy. As always, viewers, if you'd like to find out more about our Wednesday's Child, you can visit the Action News website. And if you'd like to find out more about Thursday's Survivor: Exile Island event, which I host every week at the Applebee's on Route 38, just visit my brand-new page on MySpace. I have 57 friends already!"

"... Speaking of date rape, the 23rd Annual Cat Show is under way and it's as popular as ever."

"... The fire left 19 people homeless and took over seven hours to burn out. If only my gonorrhea burned as long. Ouch! It keeps going and going! Just kidding. It's pretty much all cleared up. Mostly. Regardless, Dr. Tim is here with a report about the best new prescription drugs for sexually transmitted diseases. Take it away, Dr. Tim. Please!"

"... Last night a tractor-trailer jackknifed across the median near the junction of Route 38 and Interstate 95. Nobody was seriously injured. Too bad it didn't happen on a Thursday, because then they could have walked over to the Route 38 Applebee's where I host the weekly Survivor: Exile Island viewing party. Last week was crazy. I totally outplayed, outwitted, and out-body-shotted everybody!"

"... Experts say speed dating's popularity continues to rise. After seeing that clip featuring the hottie in the halter-top, something else is rising, too, heh-heh, if you catch my drift—that's right: interest rates. Today the Federal Reserve recommended they be upped by half a percent."

"... The teachers' strike shows no sign of ending. Neither does my drinking problem. Hey, since we're on the subject of problems, check out this footage of a German baby born with two heads. Yeesh!"

"... Studies show that one in every seven women will suffer from breast cancer during her lifetime. Phew. Thank God I'm not a woman. But if I were, I'd be a lesbian, 'cause I am all about the ladies. That brings us to our next headline: Four Maimed at Ani DiFranco Concert."

"... Rescuers admit they hold little hope of finding the missing mountain climbers. It's been over a month since they disappeared somewhere in the Andes. That means they've missed five—count them, five—Survivor: Exile Island events at the Applebee's on Route 38. Remember: girls dressed in Survivor buffs get their first drink on the house, so be there or be square! The Clive has spoken!"

Obsessive personality disorder #1

The very strangest thing has happened recently. I couldn’t tell you why, but almost overnight, I have become the world’s newest Morrissey fan. I’ll try and explain, but I can’t promise anything…

Part of my survival technique of getting through my day at work is listening to music. I am very fortunate that my department have no problem with us listening to music through the computer or generic MP3 player. And since I do occasionally tire of the vast selection available to me via CD or 20 gig MP3 player, I have started downloading music from the internet. Not only that, I have started buying CDs that I wouldn’t have considered for a millisecond a year ago. For instance, at Christmas, I bought 3 CDs: Beastie Boys – To the 5 Boroughs, The Best of the Clash and Neil Young's Greatest Hits. This spending spree was fuelled by the fact that I was feeling a bit trapped in terms of my own musical tastes. While they seem to stretch far – from Aerosmith to Nick Cave to Portishead – I was eager to start learning about historically important musical figures. First on my list was Neil Young. I knew Heart of Gold, doesn’t everyone – and what a fine, fine song that is. But his greatest hits are quite astounding. Ignoring the interesting fact that Neil Young actually sings the way he speaks (it works) his guitar music is moving and instantly attention grabbing in the way that (deep breath) Bob Dylan never really was to me (sorry Dave!). Like a Hurricane becomes a hurricane of guitars and vocals, Southern Man has harmonising like you wouldn’t believe and Cowgirl in the sand takes you on a journey to the deep south via lazy guitar solos that go on for several minutes, often leaving you to fill in the gaps yourself.

So Neil Young became a very important musical step. Real music. The Clash left me a bit cold and the Beastie Boys, while as great as ever, failed to really surprise me, as they are are a band you want blasting out of your stereo while you turn the skewers on a BBQ, not while you correct someone’s grammar for the 67th time in an office.

So moving onto The Smiths – or Morrissey. I can’t actually recall which came first or why. The Smiths seemed a logical progression in my journey of discovery across the undulating sands of British pop music of the 20th century. Here’s a fact: I only knew This charming man and How soon is now. After those 2 songs, my familiarity with this particular musical movement jumps to Irish Blood, English Heart. So I started there. Three songs with just one thing in common. Morrissey. This is a man with a voice who for whatever reason stops you in your tracks. I can’t explain it (nor can the millions of fans I have read about) but there is something about this man, as I found out soon after…

About a week after this, I was channel surfing on the radio on my way home and came across a song whose lyrics and title I mistakenly thought were You half killed me. It was absolutely magnificent (and that was before I picked up on the references to Italian film directors – who does that in a pop song??!) There was something vaguely familiar about the song, and I couldn’t put my finger on it - until the end of the song when the DJ enlightened me. It was Morrissey and the song was You have killed me. It stayed in my head for days and I was absolutely determined to get the album, which I did - on the day of its release. I listened to the whole thing, uninterrupted, at work, on a Friday afternoon. I can’t remember the last time I was so moved by music. The album Ringleader of the Tormentors is a masterpiece. I was practically in tears by the end of Dear God, please help me, which is so intensely personal it almost feels like an intrusion to listen to it. Over the last week or so I have listened to the album about 20 times, with particular emphasis on the first 4 songs.

And so I joined the strange world of Morrissey reverie. I would really like to be able to explain to non-Morrissey fans (there’s no in between, you either are or you aren’t) what exactly it is about his music that is so attractive, intriguing, beautiful, moving… As my co-blogger (and co-incidentally, boyfriend) will tell you, I have something of an obsessive personality. Once I get into something, whether it be music, musician, film, actor, actress, TV series, I have to find out everything about it. Step forward Mr Google... What I read about Morrissey just intrigued me even more, and I have been working my way through his back catalogue, watching old music videos and interviews. He is fiercely intelligent, takes no prisoners in interviews and liberally takes the piss out of anyone who tries to get a straight answer out of him regarding his sexuality. Edith Bowman interviewed him recently on the television (I can’t think of a DJ less suited to interviewing him) and he ended up coaxing her through the interview, rather like a professor does a student. As an (not so) elder statesman of music, he guided her around her many slips and insipid questions, which I found rather moving and gentle.

So I can safely say that I am addicted, and loving every moment. Someone pointed out that The Smiths (I’m working on them – doing the whole thing backwards!!) are a marmite band – you love them or you hate them, and the same can be said about Morrissey. I hope his new album converts those who dismissed him, because a journey through his music is one of the most gratifying and enlightening I have ever been on.

Bugbear #2

My, my… It has been a long time, hasn’t it? I could blame work, I suppose… but I’m not going to. Fact is, I’m lazy at heart, and lose interest in things soon after the initial novelty has worn off. My girlfriend has already had to take over all my Nintendog duties, for example, for fear that Flo and CJ (our two puppies) might die of neglect and malnutrition.

I’m focusing on Animal Crossing: Wild World at the minute instead– a game so vast in scope and so detailed in its intricacies that I’ll save it for a separate posting… except to say that it might just be the most addictive, compelling and fascinating game ever conceived!

Onwards, however… and out of the world of video games (which harbour many of their own bugbears – not least the RPG, which never managed to float my boat). I want to talk to you today about the English language.

No, this isn’t going to be an essay, or a preachy tract. I simply want to make it known that I am worried. I fear for the future of the language that I have studied and the language that I love. In my applicant interview for my PGCE in English and Drama, I was asked what made me apply to be a teacher of English. My response was something along the lines of the following:

“I believe in the sanctity of the English language. I believe in the rules of grammar. I believe that language can be, and ought to be, more than a mere tool for communication. I look ahead, and I see a terrible future where language is less an art and more a communicative device – where it is stripped of its beauty and grace and replaced by a constantly devolving style of ‘text-speak’ - where letters and syllables come together, not in polished onomatopoeic union, but to form words that are torn apart and truncated in order to convey simple and uncomplicated meaning from one user to the next. I want to do nothing less than help to prevent the gradual demise of one of the most beautiful forms of communication and expression ever conceived.”

OK, so it was something along these lines… I could never hope to speak this way in an interview – who could?! And anyway, it was a long time ago…

The point is, I was then, and still am, deeply concerned about the way the language we use is gradually deteriorating. I’ve been browsing internet forums recently and marvelling at the way people – adult people – are writing! It’s not even a matter of bad grammar or spelling; these people are creating a whole new language of their own! Short, clipped words, acronyms galore, vowels discarded to increase typing speed. It's messy and uncontrolled, with no rules of use or syntax.

As a teacher, I found myself constantly marking work that read like expanded text messages. "Your" became "ur", "sorry" became "soz" and capitalisation became an antique grammatical contrivance from a bygone era.

Bored of this topic now, though... See what I mean? I just lose interest and wander away... It's like I always tell my mate, Dave...........