running in circles

The Man of Genius

2005-08-02T15:51:00.000-07:00

At great risk to myself, I am creating this post. Please do not contact the copywright owners of John Kennedy Toole's "A Confederacy of Dunces."

Jonathan swift once said:

When a true genius appears in this world, you may know him by this sign, that the dunces are all in confederacy against him.

The other day I discovered that I must indeed be a great genius since all of my disgruntled co-workers, whom I fight with frequently, are certifiably insane. I'm the only normal one in the bunch. So since they're in confederacy against me and they're dunces, therefore I must be a genius.

Take a look at this list of my co-workers (names have been changed to avoid a lawsuit) and their respective psychotic malfunctions.

Bob: 21 year old male. Severly medicated. Believes that he's dating some model that he found in a magazine. Carries her picture around with him in a plastic ziplock bag. Ostensibly has long conversations with her.

Susie. 67 year old woman. Volunteers at the health food store to avoid dying of boredom. Major drinking problem.

Mark. 19 year old male. Addicted to raw goat yogurt. Moves very slowly on account of the medication he's taking for a psychological problem whose name I still don't know. Frequently arrives late for work on account of his "condition."

Rosslyn. 53 year old female. Owns the store. Talks incessantly of various conspiracies involving President Bush and grocery cartels.

If the above weren't true, it wouldn't be funny. But trust me. This is gospel.

Sound Advice for the Small Business Owner

2005-08-01T07:15:00.000-07:00

Falls Church, VA - My life has taken an unexpected turn as I find myself toiling six (6) days a week at my new job. The only real advantage to all this labor is that I'm discovering more and more about the psychotic underworld. Take this little anecdote as an example:

The phone rang for the tenth time as I sat composedly preparing kiel salad. As always, the phone call was for my boss. After a few curses under her breath, my employer picked up the phone and began chatting away. Some minutes later, she hung up the receiver and approached me.

"That was my psychic." She said matter-of-factly. "She says that the Spanish woman who works here is milking the job."

A few days later, the "Spanish" woman was fired.

When you consider that I was hired because I had a "good energy", it's no small wonder that this business is doing so poorly.

It's worth a thousand words.

2005-07-20T18:43:00.000-07:00

I've been receiving numerous emails from young admirers asking for my photograph. I've chosen an image of me taking a break after a hard day of blogging. Rather than sending it out in a mass email, I've decided to post it to my blog. I would post it as part of my profile, but I have a mac.

The Virtue of the Man Without Convictions

2005-07-17T08:43:00.000-07:00

I wrote a movie review of the french masterpiece, "M. Ibrahim et les Fleurs du Koran" when I guest blogged on the infamous Joey McKeown website. Now that I have my own blog I thought I'd post it. (Note: For mature readers only).

This cinematographic masterpiece tells the heartwarming story of the friendship of an elderly Muslim shopkeeper named Ibrahim and Momo, a thirteen year old Jewish boy whose main obsession is visiting the adult female prostitutes in his neighborhood. This brought back strong memories of my childhood in the ghettos of London, Ontario.

Perhaps the most moving part of the film is M. Ibrahim’s paternal endorsement of Momo's interaction with the prostitutes. This comes as a breath of fresh air in a century in which sexuality is so rarely discussed between parents and children. The film also suggests a better way to introduce children to their first sexual experience--with professionals who know what the hell they're doing.

M. Ibrahim’s paternal love reaches its climax when he instructs his young friend in the delicate art of cheating his father out of grocery money. This is done with the intention of helping the boy save enough money so that he can spend some time with his "friends."

Some moral high grounders may object to Momo’s action saying something archaic such as, “Honor thy father and mother.” Momo’s father, however, is a selfish, demanding man whose constant depression prevents any bond with his son. According to the Koran, he is therefore not worthy of respect and deserves to be cheated.

There also may be some viewers who find it disturbing that the movie implicitly condones underage sex with prostitutes, stealing, lying, and cheating. These people miss its inspiring truth--namely, how it is possible for two people from different generations, backgrounds, and religions to find common ground and be friends. Our broken world needs this message of tolerance.

The Prophet Has Arrived.

2005-07-16T16:33:00.000-07:00

During a trip to visit my buddy Joey in NYC a few weeks ago, I was introduced to one of the greatest musicians of all time. This guy is the perfect package. He's a musician, a poet and a Hasidic Jew all rolled in to one. When you hear him for the first time it's hard to believe he's white. Check out this music video of Matisyahu (Be sure to watch it until he starts to dance and crowdsurf).

Another Raw Deal

2005-07-15T17:15:00.000-07:00

Falls Church, VA - I was at work today at the health food store of ill repute (Cf. my blog June 12th, 2005) when the phone suddenly rang. I put down the gingko that I was in the processing of pricing and sprinted for the receiver.

"[Name of my place of employment]." I gasped.

"Hi." said the voice on the other end. "Do you guys sell raw goat's milk?"

I knew I had to think quickly. This could be anyone. Perhaps it was just another hypochondriac looking for his fix or maybe another member of the Anti-Bush crowd trying to "stick to the man" by buying contraband dairy products. However, the most alarming possibility was that it was a representative of the corporation controlled United States Board of Health.

"Uh...you know I'm new here. What did you say you're name was again?"

"My name's Jerry." the man on the replied a bit perturbed.

"Jerry." I said suavely. "My boss isn't around right now. Why don't you give me your number and I'll have her call you right back." I'm sure my nose must have grown at least an inch after those remarks.

I took the gentleman's number and hung up. Next, I told my boss all that had happened. She looked at me a bit frazzled and then had another employee call the man back. The phone number was invalid. Very interesting. The real question is: With all her illegal doings, why was my boss so worried when I requested that I be paid "under the table" a few days ago?

Canada Rocks

2005-07-14T17:54:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine and I were talking about why Canada has failed to be a key player in any major international arena. His comments on the subject were extremely insightful. He said:

"What else can you expect from a country that has the cuisine of the British, the culture of the Americans, and the know-how of the French?"

Would somebody please email this to Paul Martin?

Amish Crime Ring

2005-07-12T18:24:00.000-07:00

Falls Church, VA - After living in a frivolous manner for two weeks, my financial situation persuaded me to join the ever diminishing work force. Not having a car narrowed my scope of potential places of employment and I quickly found work at a small, family run health food store. The clientele were much what you'd expect. They're an eclectic group to say the least. You've got the bitchy, middle aged professional women wondering why they don't look the same now as they did when they were 20. There's the hippie, Bush hater faction who moan about corporate power and global warming as they drink their 5 dollar glasses of carrot juice. Soccer moms bent on keeping their kids healthy are also regular clients. And, of course, there's the hypochondriac lunatic bunch who complain about extreme sensitivity to ginger or some other innocuous substance.

However, all of these observations fade into insignificance when you consider the horrible crime that is being committed every Tuesday in the basement (or should I say dungeon?) of this seemingly benign establishment. I first discovered these atrocious deeds when I was sent down to get some crates for my boss, [name withheld], a high strung Polish immigrant in her early fifties. The basement was damp and cool and one could barely see the lights which illuminated the site of the heinous offense. A bald man in faded black shorts and a loose fitting polo shirt walked through the underground crime cell shifting about cardboard boxes filled with some milk products.

"Hi." I said shyly.

"Uh...howdy." the man replied looking like a child who had been caught trying to steal sugar from the cupboard.

"My name's Max."

The man did not give his name. I got my crates and trudged up the creaking wooden staircase.

"What's going on down there?" I asked [name of my boss] when I got back to the kitchen area.

"It's the Amish." She replied squinting slightly for apparently no reason through her designer glasses. "Every Tuesday they bring raw milk to our basement and Ben helps organize it. He's a volunteer from around here."

I still didn't quite get it, but I decided to remain silent and go about my business since that usually makes a person talk more.

"We have to sell it underground, you know." [Name of my boss] said after a few seconds. "It's illegal to sell raw milk in Virginia."

I just hope this doesn't make me an accomplice. One thing's for sure though. Don't mess with the Amish, they may look meek and well mannered in those black suits, but they're criminals, man.