your kid is not talented

Also, I don't fucking care what a beautiful singer your daughter is or where her headshots are or what kind of natural dancer she is. I don't fucking care so much that I want to make her smoke a million cigarettes, smash her face in with an ornate table leg, cut her feet off at the ankles and cauterize it with a blowtorch a la Misery.

Seriously, fuck your stupid daughter. One day, she's going to give a blowjob, alright? That's who your daughter really is, you closet homosexual. You can't be an 8-year old female voice student anymore sir, those days are long past. If you're not going to actually sign her up for anything or give me a credit card number, get off the fucking line cause I have to make a call.

http://suicidehotlines.com/illinois.html

Employment, un-

I quit Metropolis today. That one day a week was just too much for me. Really it's because of the now intolerable amount of unprofessional bullshit that is inherent in arts administration. I've encountered it every where I go, from Flower to Windy City, and thought that I would escape it in a fucking NPO school, but even though I am only putting in 6 hours a week, I still cannot get away from it. It's just an inherent facet in the arts industry. And of course, it's driven from the inability for these organizations to actually make a decent buck. So, whenever some program or some individual overly invested in their position reduces their professionalism to dressing relatively nicely every day but is not above debasing a "lower" employee, swearing or even crying, these even relatively meager cash cows (calves, really) are placated to any requested degree by the other individuals in the organization so they can protect their own interests. These companies are entirely run by some of the most selfish and individually-oriented people that this American world can manufacture: the failed actor/dancer/musician turned teacher turned administrator. It's every fucking man for himself and any considerate dedication or motivation for the betterment of the organization or just simple kindness from normal people is considered a weakness, and is thoroughly exploited.

I have, for a year now, made a 40 - 90 minute commute twice every day to put 40+ hours of hard and creative underpaid work without any health benefits at all only to never get a raise and then eventually get laid off. And then, when our fiscal farm animal discovers they really need that extra administrative help that was shouted out of the office, is this dedication rewarded? Is karma consciously realized? No. No matter how much rope I extend to this company, how much benefit of the doubt I suffer, how much fucking time and concentrated effort I shit into this flushing toilet, I receive nothing but a giant dick-covered middle finger in my face. Because entitlement is worn like skin in arts administration and the dollar gets whatever it wants. Because the inability of others to remain professional in an entirely business situation is something I have to pay for. And I'm supposed to still come in every fucking Saturday at nine in the morning to answer the phone four times in six hours. Remember this kids, in arts administration, working hard and caring about what you do and trying to make a difference means absolutely dick. Unless you bring the bling, you're just another douche bag kid with a BA and tattoos. Yeah man, good fucking luck.

Oh, but weren't all these well-connected and integral individuals supposed to get me a job elsewhere within this industry? Oh, does that just mean once a month you send me a link to an administrative assistant position that I already applied for three weeks ago? Oh, you don't know anyone who works anywhere else within the industry? You just have a computer? Cool. Me too.

I got a job at a dog kennel. Because I used to work with one of the guys who works there. This is my hook-up. Javier, who taught me to swear in Spanish and calls me "Yefferson Park". Who looks exactly like Cheech. Who saw me driving one day, pulled up next to me and said, of our old boss, "Maureen, (makes gun with forefinger and thumb and puts it to his temple) she blow her brains out." This is who is helping me. This hilarious, kind-hearted, dedicated individual who loves working with dogs. Fuck my education, my talent, my experience, my motivation, my dedication, and all the fucking hours that I wasted trying to contribute what I know I can to the industry of the one thing in the world that I can't live without: music. All because I'm not someones brother's cousin or take it in the ass. All because I'm a fucking professional. I'm just going to surround myself with a bunch of stinky-ass shed machines owned by those self-important assholes because they have better things to do that clean up dogshit. But those constantly-grinning tongue-faces wouldn't want anything else, so at this point, surrounding myself with unconditional love instead of self-righteous disrespect might be a welcome change.

Mom, I'm sorry that you put so much money into an education that means about as much as a second dick. I'll give this poetry bullshit a go, but chances are I'm going to be one of those really weird dog-people for the rest of my life. God dammit. Those are such gross, sad people. I definitely need to get married before that happens. To anyone. Just so I won't be so terrifyingly lonely.

So, who's up for it?

Happy Vain Ents Day Eve

We all know that nearly every single day of the year we can celebrate Vain Ents Day. We wish each other merry tidings and well being for your families, all while remembering Old Man Willow Boner and his countless contributions to human society and his giving spirit. Today, however, is the one day of the year that we give our Vain Ents a break and reflect on the 364 wonderful Vain Ents Days that we've had. It's also an opportunity for us to realize that even though Vain Ents Day misses that one trying day every year, we still get to bask in the warmth of anticipation and expectation that we feel every evening before bed, knowing that Vain Ents Day will be upon us again in just a few short, unconscious hours. Vain Ents Day Eve, though not the genuine holiday, should not go unrecognized as the event we can celebrate 365 days a year, every year. The day we start to take the rights and freedoms (that if not for OMWB, we would never know) for granted, is that day we no longer deserve them. So, I say to all of you, in good health and good bones, Happy Vain Ents Day Eve. Enjoy tomorrow, if not for yourself, then for all the vain ents out there.

I'd also like to recognize a bit of Valentine's Day. Tonight I will be spending it by myself with a pizza and a puppy and probably Kindergarten Cop and that's okay with me. But! I was thinking about some "Most Romantic Things Ever" stuff and I've decided to share some of my conclusions here.

Most Romantic Movie Scene:

I really don't see the point in arguing with me on this one. Every woman ever wants this. Period. And every guy ever wishes he was Han Solo and said that to Princess Leia. George Lucas originally had Harrison Ford saying, "I love you, too" but it never quite felt right. After a few takes he eventually told Harrison to just say whatever he felt was right and this is what came out. Pure fraking romance.

Most Romantic Song:

This is not as infallible as Han Solo and Leia, so I'll have to waiver from obvious fact to my own personal opinion. Lyrics:

If I put my hands to your stomach,
or put my lips to your hand.
Birmingham has gone to motors.
Take me home, keep your eyes on the road.
So don't forget to kiss me if you're really going to leave.
Couldn't you take the second bus home?
Couldn't you just take me with you?
I'm convinced that you're from mars.

And that's all you need.

And I've been looking for this one poem by Li-Young Lee as my idea of the most romantic poem, but I cannot find it online right now and don't remember the name. Maybe you'll get lucky later. I'm sure you're all really broken up about it. Anyway, that's all I have for now. Someday I'll tell you why Einstein indirectly defined hope as insanity. Happy Vain Ents Day Eve.

Grey Havens

I just posted all the good pictures from the trip on Facebook. There certainly were a lot. In all, I took over 1100, about 700 of them being blurry. It's so hard to look at these pictures and remember these things yet know that the photo itself does so little justice for what happened.

I've been trying to describe how I feel. What exactly are my reasons for running every day and doing sit ups and shit and buying pork and chicken and eating better and watching myself. It's a strange thing and as much as I've started doing these things before and stopped very soon, I don't think I'm going to this time.

The closest I can come to finding some relation is at the end of Return of the King when Frodo is going with Gandalf and Bilbo and the elves to the Grey Havens. He just has to go. The pain is to great. But even that is terribly overdramatic and too tangible an idea. I don't have to leave Chicago and I certainly don't plan on it any time soon. I just have to let some other things go, I think. Or embrace new things more openly. Really I just think I have to take better care of myself in every aspect of my life.

If I were to become a rapper, I think the first line of the first rap song I would write would be, "I make mistakes like a baker bakes cakes, my talent allows for so much more but it's all anyone seems to be calling for." Maybe more swearing and refernce to a ho-ma. Well then... Jeffinitely is born today.

Maybe I will use this silly thing to post some poems. I wrote probably over a dozen on this trip and I have notes for 5 more, and they all suck. It's kind of wonderful. You can all tell me where things blow and where things suck, and even where some things might not suck as hard as they blow, but they are kinda shitty. I swear, if I don't get into grad school, I'm moving back home and measuring carpet for the rest of my life. And no, that's not a sexual reference.

Job hunting is the worst thing ever. 588,000 was the latest number I heard as to Americans on unemployment benefits currently. And after that, even Steph got laid off. I also hear that the unemployment office, specifically Chicago, is incredibly understaffed. So, those of you who needs these benefits, get on the bus now. There's no time for people to be constantly checking up on you and making sure you abide by all the ridiculousness that is unemployment. This money is yours anyway, take advantage of it while you can.

AWP is next week. I'll be participating on Thursday, February 12th at 5pm for Bronze Man Books. It's at the Hilton downtown. I think a signing or something. Big celebrity type stuff. Maybe someone will love me so much they'll write me a huge check. Those things happen right?

Bruce is right though. About poets. He never said it was the right thing to do per se, but why put it in Jungleland if it isn't?

"The poets down here don't write nothing at all, they just stand back and let it all be."



Of course it's right. Stop writing, everyone. You can't write everything, nor should you.

An Ocean's Garbled Vomit On the Shore

Los Angeles, I'm yours.

Not exactly, but still:

Unfortunately, there is something about it.

But we made it. Arizona sucks, but desert and cactus were cool. Unless you love those things beyond everything else, never go to Arizona. It's like New Mexico puked and California was like, "Heyyyyy... nice puke. You weren't... I mean, did you want that? Cause I could... you know. Eat it. Yeah? Cool. Thanks." And then California shit its pants and that's Arizona. I got better things to do, nawsayn?

But, as soon as we got into California, we stopped for gas and I payed $8 for this shitty ham and cheese sandwich on Wonder Bread and a bag of Doritos. I was not happy. California man. Same exit though had a sweet Patton memorial museum. We didn't go in, but check him out, pants.


We made LA just in time for the sunset. Here is Christine Killian, manifest destiny incarnate, ocean to mother fucking ocean, making real her future:


Congrats lady. If anyone can "make it" here, it's certainly you.

So we got to C's place and it is cool. Nice and big and not shitty, with a dude of a roommate, probably two once I meet the other. We immediately went for sushi and it just so happened to be the most amazing sushi ever. It was ridiculous. I could not believe the thing in my mouth. I had to call Daniel and he couldn't hear me cause he was getting mugged by a snowman or some other crazy Chicago shit. Then today, I ate In N Out Burger. Equally mouth amazing. Stupid redeeming qualities about coastal shit factory.

I kind of can't wait to go home. It's been an absurd and wonderful trip, but I gotta take care of rent. I am the house mom. Maybe 'House Bunny' like that sweet movie. I can only imagine how many futons are left down and half full beer bottles are all over the place. Probably a million. Aw, but really, who am I kidding?

One more thing. It's something I don't want to really recognize or give the proper credit to, but it's... uncannily ridiculous. I wasn't able to get a picture as it was moving quickly in the opposite direction, but we saw it again... The Weinermobile. Seriously. As we reached LA. I don't know why it happened or what it could possibly mean, but for something of this magnitude to occur and it go unrecognized... well... I'm not a fatalist by any means, but let's be frank (pun intended) that's some fucked up shit. To honor said shit, here is the original sighting in video format:

And that's it. I have successfully completed a wonderful and enlightening road trip. Now I need another.

Anyone want to pick me up at O'Hare around 5 PM tomorrow? Thx.

<3,

Jeffinitely