I decided to start writing thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to sunglasses.
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Dear Sunglasses,
You may find it a bit odd that I acquired you during the season when the sun shows itself approximately 23 minutes per day. I too find this odd, but do admit that you have become quite useful during this horrendous period of my life in which I have become employment…challenged. I still remember where we met, that being the most authentic Chinese place on earth: New York City. After battling the horrors of the Q train, I emerged with one goal in mind: get a bánh mì. My God, the Chinese make fantastic Vietnamese sandwiches! Of course, this emergence happened during one of the 23 minutes of January daylight, and I squinted just long enough to be harassed into buying a pair of poorly made Chinese sunglasses. Thus, our partnership was born.
Now Sunglasses, as I have become employment…challenged, I have taken to affirming my self-worth in arbitrary ways. For instance, after acquiring said Chinese bánh mì, I poured half a bottle of Sriracha on top. Clearly, if I can eat a sandwich with 26 tablespoons of hot sauce, this spell of unemployment is not my fault. Clearly, I still have some value. Clearly, I am crying. Clearly, I am crying because that is really fucking hot. But if someone sees me crying, my self-validation is gone. So I wear you, Sunglasses, to prove to the world how my awesomeness is directly related to how much Sriracha I can consume without looking like a crybaby. With my capacity at such straightforward logic, I am continually amazed at how my cover letter keeps getting overlooked.
You know, Sunglasses, a funny thing happens to everyone else when you become unemployed. All of a sudden, everyone is a huge expert on the economy! At least they think they are! And when everyone thinks they are experts on the economy, I have to listen to everyone babble on and on about some story they heard a guy on whatever cable news network shout about for ten minutes. In times like these, I am sooo happy to have you, Sunglasses. Why, you ask? Because with you, I can pretend to listen while falling asleep! This ensures I won’t ask rebuttal questions like, “If you’re such as expert, why didn’t you see the economy collapsing 30 months ago?” and “Why are talking to me if you aren’t hiring?” and “Are you going to eat that cookie?”
So you see, Sunglasses, though we had an awkward start, I am finding you increasingly useful when I am employment…challenged. Comcast just forced a digital cable upgrade on its users, so I predict a 36% increase in my clandestine sleeping habits, followed by two quarters of steady crying. It’s going to be a long season of 23-minute daylight days, Sunglasses.
With Sriracha,
Mala
1.06.2011
Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Boarding Pass
I decided to start writing thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to boarding pass.
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Dear Boarding Pass,
Sometime around noon on December 23, 2010, I went upstairs in my parents’ house to take a nap. 36 hours ago, I was roughly shaken by my mother, who informed me it is 2011, and that I indeed have been asleep for twelve days. I tried to pass this nap off on my terrible affliction of unemployment I contracted in May, as it has caused an addiction to watching documentaries about hibernation on the interwebs. But being the unsupportive parental units they are, my parents were upset that I slept through Christmas, New Years, a four-day vacation to the Dominican Republic, and my birthday.
Anyway, boarding pass, my family apparently failed to notice my lack of presence until my mother asked me to get a picture of her at a Dominican beach. Sadly, even the Delta check-in attendant imagined my body long enough to print you. On the upside, my parents saved you and promptly handed you over to me when they woke me up five days later! True, this vacation was my sole opportunity to travel in the foreseeable future. True, it was supposed to knock me out of my semi-comatose unemployed state. True, it was entirely paid for. But also true, I can just as easily live the Dominican experience through you, boarding pass, right? FALSE.
Listening to you talk about all the great Dominican things you saw inspired me, boarding pass. You see, even though the US government invested in those giant, expensive scanners that can see if you’re made out of explosives or if you’re an Arab, they failed to invest in salaries that attract TSA officials that aren’t either semi-retarded or just don’t give a shit. After talking it over with scissors, crayon, and glue, we hatched a plan! Now I know you hate cosmetic surgery, boarding pass, but think of our manipulation of you as a makeover.
Before leaving, I had told my mom that I was going upstairs to take a nap, so that bought us at least 5-6 days. When we got to the airport, you were so calm, boarding pass! Even though I misspelled the word “Dominican” on you, you never missed a beat! We made it through the Arab detector and to the gate without any problems. All we needed to do was have you scanned! I found a seat at the gate, and together, we started imaging the sun, the beach, the abundance of cheap food, the napzzzZZZZZZZZZ....
::12 hours later::
Well, brilliant, boarding pass! Your damn Dominican description made me fall asleep, and we missed the flight! I am not a person of fate, but I am a person of laziness, so there is no way in hell I am trying this again. All in all, that was a miserable failure. However, I am willing to forgive you, boarding pass, if you lie to the world and tell them I made it down to the DR. I may not have a job, but I still have integrity, albeit false. Just remember the lesson from this misadventure, boarding pass: it NEVER pays to try.
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Dear Boarding Pass,
Sometime around noon on December 23, 2010, I went upstairs in my parents’ house to take a nap. 36 hours ago, I was roughly shaken by my mother, who informed me it is 2011, and that I indeed have been asleep for twelve days. I tried to pass this nap off on my terrible affliction of unemployment I contracted in May, as it has caused an addiction to watching documentaries about hibernation on the interwebs. But being the unsupportive parental units they are, my parents were upset that I slept through Christmas, New Years, a four-day vacation to the Dominican Republic, and my birthday.
Anyway, boarding pass, my family apparently failed to notice my lack of presence until my mother asked me to get a picture of her at a Dominican beach. Sadly, even the Delta check-in attendant imagined my body long enough to print you. On the upside, my parents saved you and promptly handed you over to me when they woke me up five days later! True, this vacation was my sole opportunity to travel in the foreseeable future. True, it was supposed to knock me out of my semi-comatose unemployed state. True, it was entirely paid for. But also true, I can just as easily live the Dominican experience through you, boarding pass, right? FALSE.
Listening to you talk about all the great Dominican things you saw inspired me, boarding pass. You see, even though the US government invested in those giant, expensive scanners that can see if you’re made out of explosives or if you’re an Arab, they failed to invest in salaries that attract TSA officials that aren’t either semi-retarded or just don’t give a shit. After talking it over with scissors, crayon, and glue, we hatched a plan! Now I know you hate cosmetic surgery, boarding pass, but think of our manipulation of you as a makeover.
Before leaving, I had told my mom that I was going upstairs to take a nap, so that bought us at least 5-6 days. When we got to the airport, you were so calm, boarding pass! Even though I misspelled the word “Dominican” on you, you never missed a beat! We made it through the Arab detector and to the gate without any problems. All we needed to do was have you scanned! I found a seat at the gate, and together, we started imaging the sun, the beach, the abundance of cheap food, the napzzzZZZZZZZZZ....
::12 hours later::
Well, brilliant, boarding pass! Your damn Dominican description made me fall asleep, and we missed the flight! I am not a person of fate, but I am a person of laziness, so there is no way in hell I am trying this again. All in all, that was a miserable failure. However, I am willing to forgive you, boarding pass, if you lie to the world and tell them I made it down to the DR. I may not have a job, but I still have integrity, albeit false. Just remember the lesson from this misadventure, boarding pass: it NEVER pays to try.
12.15.2010
Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Wrench
I decided to start writing thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to wrench.
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Dear Wrench,
I remembered this morning that I had left my resume in microwave to marinate in red wine and basil. For some reason, after 2 weeks, resume was completely soaked and couldn’t be saved! So, I decided that perhaps marinating resume was not the best course of treatment for unemployment, and hit the interwebs to hatch my next plan.
As you may know, my latest goal is to go abroad to Argenbabwebodialand or somewhere in Afrasia, and I stumbled on this little known institution called the “United Nations.” It seems as though two things are always needed in Argenbabwebodialand: security guards and people who know how to use water pumps. I could totally be a security guard! Unfortunately, I don’t have any outdated Men-in-Black style sunglasses, and I spent all but 45 cents of my money on ginger snaps, so that didn’t work. Imagine how embarrassing it would be to show up to my interview without my sunglasses!
Since my masters degree appears to be nothing more than a $65,000 piece of paper, I figured it was time to learn how to become a master…wait for it…plumber. Remember when my dad bought you from the hardware store and attempted to show me how to use you? He didn’t mean to throw you under the bed that day. It was my fault. Whenever he said the word “bolt,” I would take off running, so he got mad and gave up. But I found you, wrench, no need to worry no more. Wrench, together I figured we could master the art of water pumps in 15-20 minutes, so I took my 45 cents to buy two dozen donuts and a pair of jeans from K-Mart that sit below my butt crack.
Wrench, I am so impressed with you! On our first try to change a pipe, we only flooded three rooms! And when we tried to put the water heater on max, it only took us three attempts to figure out which way to turn the knob! Those things are confusing. Pretty soon wrench, we will rule the streets with our mad plumbing skillz. That’s another qualification to check off on my UN application, right along with “French” and “Doesn’t cry a lot!” Watch out Argenbabwebodialand! Wrench and I are coming!
Now wrench, supposing I get accepted for this job in Argenbabwebodialand, there is a chance I will not be able to take you along. It appears airport security has new regulations that classify you as a weapon of mass destruction. If perchance you could crawl into a bottle that holds three ounces or less, you stand a much better chance. If not, I completely understand, and have even secured you a job if I leave!
It appears this “United Nations” joins many other organizations in establishing a new branch of human resources titled “The Department of Wrenching Hearts Out.” They have arbitrarily rejected SO many qualified people, that they need a separate office just properly wrench and dispose of these people’s hopes, dreams, and desires! I spoke to the office in mid-town, and they said you are more than welcome to join anytime! So you see wrench, even if I go to Argenbabwebodialand, you will be well taken care of.
With bolts,
Mala
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Dear Wrench,
I remembered this morning that I had left my resume in microwave to marinate in red wine and basil. For some reason, after 2 weeks, resume was completely soaked and couldn’t be saved! So, I decided that perhaps marinating resume was not the best course of treatment for unemployment, and hit the interwebs to hatch my next plan.
As you may know, my latest goal is to go abroad to Argenbabwebodialand or somewhere in Afrasia, and I stumbled on this little known institution called the “United Nations.” It seems as though two things are always needed in Argenbabwebodialand: security guards and people who know how to use water pumps. I could totally be a security guard! Unfortunately, I don’t have any outdated Men-in-Black style sunglasses, and I spent all but 45 cents of my money on ginger snaps, so that didn’t work. Imagine how embarrassing it would be to show up to my interview without my sunglasses!
Since my masters degree appears to be nothing more than a $65,000 piece of paper, I figured it was time to learn how to become a master…wait for it…plumber. Remember when my dad bought you from the hardware store and attempted to show me how to use you? He didn’t mean to throw you under the bed that day. It was my fault. Whenever he said the word “bolt,” I would take off running, so he got mad and gave up. But I found you, wrench, no need to worry no more. Wrench, together I figured we could master the art of water pumps in 15-20 minutes, so I took my 45 cents to buy two dozen donuts and a pair of jeans from K-Mart that sit below my butt crack.
Wrench, I am so impressed with you! On our first try to change a pipe, we only flooded three rooms! And when we tried to put the water heater on max, it only took us three attempts to figure out which way to turn the knob! Those things are confusing. Pretty soon wrench, we will rule the streets with our mad plumbing skillz. That’s another qualification to check off on my UN application, right along with “French” and “Doesn’t cry a lot!” Watch out Argenbabwebodialand! Wrench and I are coming!
Now wrench, supposing I get accepted for this job in Argenbabwebodialand, there is a chance I will not be able to take you along. It appears airport security has new regulations that classify you as a weapon of mass destruction. If perchance you could crawl into a bottle that holds three ounces or less, you stand a much better chance. If not, I completely understand, and have even secured you a job if I leave!
It appears this “United Nations” joins many other organizations in establishing a new branch of human resources titled “The Department of Wrenching Hearts Out.” They have arbitrarily rejected SO many qualified people, that they need a separate office just properly wrench and dispose of these people’s hopes, dreams, and desires! I spoke to the office in mid-town, and they said you are more than welcome to join anytime! So you see wrench, even if I go to Argenbabwebodialand, you will be well taken care of.
With bolts,
Mala
12.13.2010
Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Tin Can
I decided to start writing thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to Tin Can.
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Dear Tin Can,
Around 3 AM a few nights ago, it struck me that I hadn’t eaten anything in 28 hours, so I stumbled my way to the kitchen. I would have turned on the light, but that seemed like so much effort. I made it four steps, when I tripped on something. Naturally, I thought it was a hippo, but it turned out to be you, tin can. I saw on the discovery channel that one can calculate a tree’s age by counting the rings in the center. Sadly, you do not have rings, tin can, but judging from the abundance of plaid, leg warmers, and skinny jeans the people painted on you are wearing, you are either 26 or a hipster infant. Or Canadian.
Tin can, you have already proven yourself quite useful. After the painful process of crawling out of bed, I made it to the store. Only having $20.83 to my name, I decided to use my money pragmatically and buy 500 ginger snaps. Like some bizarre, incredibly boring fate, they all fit in you! This is really not that exciting, but these exclamation marks are not going to use themselves!!!!! Anyway, I decided to start a new game. The only time I eat a ginger snap is when I meet an incompetent worker or hear a tale of some idiot one of my three employed friends works with. That way, I remind myself that THEY have a job, and I am still heavily infected with unemployment. Yesterday, I ate 319 ginger snaps. Now why do I do this, you ask, tin can? Well first, it’s kind of weird that my tin can doubles as my psychiatrist. But if you must know, it’s out of the purest form of emotion: self-loathing.
You might have noticed, tin can, that the weather is getting colder. As such, I have invested three dollars into buying appropriate winter clothes. Actually, since I ate all my ginger snaps, I bought duct tape to turn you into a hat. I will be sooo cool with my hipster tin can hat! Sure, it won’t serve any function, and sure, it won’t be appropriate in any setting. BUT! According to all the expensive shit I see through the windows of the stores the people in SOHO don’t let me enter, these two things are what make great fashion! Tin can (hat), imagine all of the publicity I will garner when I break into fashion week with you! If we get lucky, I will get two feet taller, halve my weight, and be able to support five pounds of makeup. Then, I walk you down the catwalk! Down the catwalk, baby, yeaah! In your face, Tyra and Tim Gunn! I don’t need your whiny little shows to become successful! I invented theinternet tin can hat!
With irony, suffering, and other misused hipster words,
Mala
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Dear Tin Can,
Around 3 AM a few nights ago, it struck me that I hadn’t eaten anything in 28 hours, so I stumbled my way to the kitchen. I would have turned on the light, but that seemed like so much effort. I made it four steps, when I tripped on something. Naturally, I thought it was a hippo, but it turned out to be you, tin can. I saw on the discovery channel that one can calculate a tree’s age by counting the rings in the center. Sadly, you do not have rings, tin can, but judging from the abundance of plaid, leg warmers, and skinny jeans the people painted on you are wearing, you are either 26 or a hipster infant. Or Canadian.
Tin can, you have already proven yourself quite useful. After the painful process of crawling out of bed, I made it to the store. Only having $20.83 to my name, I decided to use my money pragmatically and buy 500 ginger snaps. Like some bizarre, incredibly boring fate, they all fit in you! This is really not that exciting, but these exclamation marks are not going to use themselves!!!!! Anyway, I decided to start a new game. The only time I eat a ginger snap is when I meet an incompetent worker or hear a tale of some idiot one of my three employed friends works with. That way, I remind myself that THEY have a job, and I am still heavily infected with unemployment. Yesterday, I ate 319 ginger snaps. Now why do I do this, you ask, tin can? Well first, it’s kind of weird that my tin can doubles as my psychiatrist. But if you must know, it’s out of the purest form of emotion: self-loathing.
You might have noticed, tin can, that the weather is getting colder. As such, I have invested three dollars into buying appropriate winter clothes. Actually, since I ate all my ginger snaps, I bought duct tape to turn you into a hat. I will be sooo cool with my hipster tin can hat! Sure, it won’t serve any function, and sure, it won’t be appropriate in any setting. BUT! According to all the expensive shit I see through the windows of the stores the people in SOHO don’t let me enter, these two things are what make great fashion! Tin can (hat), imagine all of the publicity I will garner when I break into fashion week with you! If we get lucky, I will get two feet taller, halve my weight, and be able to support five pounds of makeup. Then, I walk you down the catwalk! Down the catwalk, baby, yeaah! In your face, Tyra and Tim Gunn! I don’t need your whiny little shows to become successful! I invented the
With irony, suffering, and other misused hipster words,
Mala
12.10.2010
Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to World Map
I decided to start writing thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to World Map.
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Dear World Map,
After once again meeting this strange box called “television” for a third time this month, I made the pleasant discovery that BBC News has beamed itself down and delivers actual world events on a DAILY basis! Naturally, I have no attention span since this chronic case of unemployment has effectively shut down my brain, but I did catch the words “asylum” and “Sweden” before I fell asleep. World Map, no one has heard anything about Sweden…well, ever, so after I woke up three hours later, I went straight to you to find this tall white and occasionally brown people oasis. There it was, sitting on top of everything else in a beautiful shade of purple. Imagine what it must be like to live in a purple country!
Apparently, the Swedish are known for more than just making reasonably priced modern furniture. They are also known for being perfect at everything ever! So I decided to apply to Sweden as an asylum seeker! After eating a candy cane for brain food (the “Candy Cane Equality” movement died – corrupt leadership), I carefully thought out my asylum reason. Thinking is hard! After 30 seconds, I settled on this: Possession of a brain and persecution due to unemployment status.
It’s perfect, World Map! They can’t possibly deny me! I mean, every time I try to tell people in the south that health care and education are good things, they throw paper balls at me and shout about gay people marrying sheep and painting their guns pink! And then when I go to the north and try to sign a lease on an apartment, they tell me I need a job, but the job people tell me I need to live in the city before I can be hired! I took a human rights class, World Map, and this is against my right to leuqwojdlasd. It’s never-ending, World Map, and Sweden must do something! Yeah, justice!
I submitted my asylum application three days ago. But since it’s a common online application, it only took 15 minutes to apply to five countries! Since I had 23.75 hours of free time, I decided to throw my dad a surprise party for his birthday. I sat down at computer and starting searching on the interwebs. Five minutes later, I was watching “Glee.” Netflix tells me this is because I have a strong affinity for shows in which in real life, the kids are 25 years old, and the adults are 35 years old. “Glee” is also important for other reasons. Actually, it is just one reason: Vitamin D! World Map, I know you really liked that episode where the 25-year-old kids got hopped up on Vitamin D to make it through a particularly hard day, right? So I decided to take Vitamin D pills too!
Within minutes, I was saying ridiculous things like, “I think I will go outside today.” And, “My socks match!” Or, “Unemployment has made me a better person.” Then I hit my head and passed out. When I came to, there you were, standing over me with that look of concern. I think I even saw a tear or two in Spain and Turkey’s eyes. World Map, I hit rock bottom in those two hours, and I am so thankful you were there to remind me of what is most important: cake. I didn’t order a damn cake for the party. Thanks for the reminder, that would have been embarrassing!
See you in Sweden,
Mala
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Dear World Map,
After once again meeting this strange box called “television” for a third time this month, I made the pleasant discovery that BBC News has beamed itself down and delivers actual world events on a DAILY basis! Naturally, I have no attention span since this chronic case of unemployment has effectively shut down my brain, but I did catch the words “asylum” and “Sweden” before I fell asleep. World Map, no one has heard anything about Sweden…well, ever, so after I woke up three hours later, I went straight to you to find this tall white and occasionally brown people oasis. There it was, sitting on top of everything else in a beautiful shade of purple. Imagine what it must be like to live in a purple country!
Apparently, the Swedish are known for more than just making reasonably priced modern furniture. They are also known for being perfect at everything ever! So I decided to apply to Sweden as an asylum seeker! After eating a candy cane for brain food (the “Candy Cane Equality” movement died – corrupt leadership), I carefully thought out my asylum reason. Thinking is hard! After 30 seconds, I settled on this: Possession of a brain and persecution due to unemployment status.
It’s perfect, World Map! They can’t possibly deny me! I mean, every time I try to tell people in the south that health care and education are good things, they throw paper balls at me and shout about gay people marrying sheep and painting their guns pink! And then when I go to the north and try to sign a lease on an apartment, they tell me I need a job, but the job people tell me I need to live in the city before I can be hired! I took a human rights class, World Map, and this is against my right to leuqwojdlasd. It’s never-ending, World Map, and Sweden must do something! Yeah, justice!
I submitted my asylum application three days ago. But since it’s a common online application, it only took 15 minutes to apply to five countries! Since I had 23.75 hours of free time, I decided to throw my dad a surprise party for his birthday. I sat down at computer and starting searching on the interwebs. Five minutes later, I was watching “Glee.” Netflix tells me this is because I have a strong affinity for shows in which in real life, the kids are 25 years old, and the adults are 35 years old. “Glee” is also important for other reasons. Actually, it is just one reason: Vitamin D! World Map, I know you really liked that episode where the 25-year-old kids got hopped up on Vitamin D to make it through a particularly hard day, right? So I decided to take Vitamin D pills too!
Within minutes, I was saying ridiculous things like, “I think I will go outside today.” And, “My socks match!” Or, “Unemployment has made me a better person.” Then I hit my head and passed out. When I came to, there you were, standing over me with that look of concern. I think I even saw a tear or two in Spain and Turkey’s eyes. World Map, I hit rock bottom in those two hours, and I am so thankful you were there to remind me of what is most important: cake. I didn’t order a damn cake for the party. Thanks for the reminder, that would have been embarrassing!
See you in Sweden,
Mala
12.07.2010
Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Pad of Paper
I decided to start writing thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to Pad of Paper.
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Dear Pad of Paper,
We have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we? Before yesterday, the last time I had seen one of you was in 1998, before I got my first laptop. You are deceptively simple, Pad of Paper. I spent 14 minutes yesterday just trying to figure out where you keep all of your information. Then I realized you don’t have any! It’s me who needs to fill that in! I suppose that’s what got me hooked initially. Computer has created so much data about me that if it ever went rogue, I’m pretty sure it could it could predict my movements before I do! It has gotten a bit overwhelming, Pad of Paper. I knew it was time to take a break when I used the interwebs to sign into my Netflix account a few days ago, and it told me I really enjoying watching movies from the “Mind-Bending Foreign Pantomime with a Strong Leading Dog” category. How did it know!? So I decided to pull you out the next morning and start with an object that has less knowledge inside than I do. That was hard to find!
Pad of Paper, you are so non-judgmental! You don’t highlight things I misspell, like bussines, with a harsh red line. You don’t care if I use the passive voice to say things like “The cake was eaten by me. It’s none of your bussines.” You don’t care, and it’s brill-yant! My unemployment has now seeped into my bloodstream. In these critical stages, Pad of Paper, I need to complain uninterrupted. I need to let my genius flow out so that some day, I can take all the brill-yant things I wrote down on you, and shake them violently in front of my HR rep’s face! You go “crinkle crinkle,” Pad of Paper. When I shake computer, it doesn’t go “crinkle crinkle!” And without that “crinkle crinkle,” how will the HR department know how bad of a mistake they made letting me go wasted all of those months? A bad mistake, Pad of Paper, a bad mistake made by HR rep.
Pad of Paper, the great thing about you is that you have so many other uses besides storing information. I am not sure if anyone has ever thought of this, but when I take one of your sheets and crumple it up, I can make a ball! Then, I can take those balls and throw them at people! I heard on Fox News that President Obama is the devil. Then I heard on MSNBC that President Obama is Buddha. That has no relevance, just thought I’d share.
Anyway Pad of Paper, this Friday, I propose a little field trip to Wall Street. Apparently those assholes who ruined the economy wrote down on other Pads of Paper how to keep destroying the economy before those three guys were carted off to a really nice prison that sort of resembles a five-star hotel. We have to take action, Pad of Paper. First, with the use of at least 10 or 12 paper balls, we will ambush security and gain access to the buildings. Then, with another 15 or 20 paper balls, we will systematically and brill-yantly steal all those secrets from those assholes! Then WE can destroy the economy! We’re going to be so rich, Pad of Paper, that I won’t be able to write my salary down on you! Together, we can make sure those Wall Street assholes are punished, even taxed! They will regret what they did. All the bad bad mistakes made by them!
With papercuts,
Mala
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Dear Pad of Paper,
We have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we? Before yesterday, the last time I had seen one of you was in 1998, before I got my first laptop. You are deceptively simple, Pad of Paper. I spent 14 minutes yesterday just trying to figure out where you keep all of your information. Then I realized you don’t have any! It’s me who needs to fill that in! I suppose that’s what got me hooked initially. Computer has created so much data about me that if it ever went rogue, I’m pretty sure it could it could predict my movements before I do! It has gotten a bit overwhelming, Pad of Paper. I knew it was time to take a break when I used the interwebs to sign into my Netflix account a few days ago, and it told me I really enjoying watching movies from the “Mind-Bending Foreign Pantomime with a Strong Leading Dog” category. How did it know!? So I decided to pull you out the next morning and start with an object that has less knowledge inside than I do. That was hard to find!
Pad of Paper, you are so non-judgmental! You don’t highlight things I misspell, like bussines, with a harsh red line. You don’t care if I use the passive voice to say things like “The cake was eaten by me. It’s none of your bussines.” You don’t care, and it’s brill-yant! My unemployment has now seeped into my bloodstream. In these critical stages, Pad of Paper, I need to complain uninterrupted. I need to let my genius flow out so that some day, I can take all the brill-yant things I wrote down on you, and shake them violently in front of my HR rep’s face! You go “crinkle crinkle,” Pad of Paper. When I shake computer, it doesn’t go “crinkle crinkle!” And without that “crinkle crinkle,” how will the HR department know how bad of a mistake they made letting me go wasted all of those months? A bad mistake, Pad of Paper, a bad mistake made by HR rep.
Pad of Paper, the great thing about you is that you have so many other uses besides storing information. I am not sure if anyone has ever thought of this, but when I take one of your sheets and crumple it up, I can make a ball! Then, I can take those balls and throw them at people! I heard on Fox News that President Obama is the devil. Then I heard on MSNBC that President Obama is Buddha. That has no relevance, just thought I’d share.
Anyway Pad of Paper, this Friday, I propose a little field trip to Wall Street. Apparently those assholes who ruined the economy wrote down on other Pads of Paper how to keep destroying the economy before those three guys were carted off to a really nice prison that sort of resembles a five-star hotel. We have to take action, Pad of Paper. First, with the use of at least 10 or 12 paper balls, we will ambush security and gain access to the buildings. Then, with another 15 or 20 paper balls, we will systematically and brill-yantly steal all those secrets from those assholes! Then WE can destroy the economy! We’re going to be so rich, Pad of Paper, that I won’t be able to write my salary down on you! Together, we can make sure those Wall Street assholes are punished, even taxed! They will regret what they did. All the bad bad mistakes made by them!
With papercuts,
Mala
12.05.2010
Unemployment Object Memoirs: A Tribute to Microwave
I decided to start writing thank you notes to the various objects that are helping me get through unemployment. This edition is dedicated to Microwave.
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Dear Microwave,
Hello, how are you? I’m not sure if you speak English since you were manufactured in China, but if you don’t, I apologize in advance for this blabbering. I was an idiot in school and took French. And now I’m unemployed. How do you say “merde” in Mandarin?
You’ve been doing an excessive amount of incoherent muttering these past few weeks. Initially, I decided to just let you be. I mean, who the hell writes letters to objects? So stupid! Actually, the real reason I decided to let you whine is because a friend of mine is so busy, she can barely breathe and asked me to help with her schoolwork. But then she found out I are writes bad, so she stopped asking. Now I have time, are you happy Microwave!?
Anyway, I first want to apologize for that little incident. As I have contracted this horrible condition known as unemployment, my ability to do things has waned, including my ability to buy food. That late October evening when I stumbled into the kitchen because I couldn’t remember how to get to my room is thus easily explained. You see, Microwave, I was starving, so I figured if I put that box of crayons in your mouth long enough, they would eventually get so soft that the crayons would become edible. Sure, this caused an explosion and we were both in the hospital for two days, but thanks for trying, Microwave! E for effort! And for explosion!
I’m so sorry that the months since then have gotten worse for you. We were all really devastated when we lost toaster to that piece of sourdough bread. I know how close you two were. In an ideal world, you would have time to grieve on your own, but as I leave the building less than 5 times a month, I couldn’t help but notice your long, anguished rotating plate spins. It’s always hard, Microwave, but I am here for you as you have been there for me.
Microwave, I know our relationship has been a bit rocky these past few months, but if you don’t mind, I have a favor to ask of you. Last week, I got an email from the prince of Nigeria, and he told me to click on a link at the bottom. Naturally I did, and was redirected to a porn site. Didn’t see that coming! But then I decided to get back to work, and submitted my resume to one of those companies that hire imbeciles to tell you what jobs you qualify for. Then it happened! One of the resume readers told me to let my experiences “marinate” while writing my cover letter. That’s it, Microwave! I need to let things marinate! So I finally bought some food! All I have to do to get a job is let my resume marinate in red wine, lemon, basil and garlic! The resume person said so! I assume this needs to be heated, so microwave, if you would be so kind, sometime next week I need to put my marinated resume inside to cook. I think 5 minutes on high should be enough. Then: presto! I will have a job! It’s coming, Microwave, my job is almost ready!
Yours truly,
Mala
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Dear Microwave,
Hello, how are you? I’m not sure if you speak English since you were manufactured in China, but if you don’t, I apologize in advance for this blabbering. I was an idiot in school and took French. And now I’m unemployed. How do you say “merde” in Mandarin?
You’ve been doing an excessive amount of incoherent muttering these past few weeks. Initially, I decided to just let you be. I mean, who the hell writes letters to objects? So stupid! Actually, the real reason I decided to let you whine is because a friend of mine is so busy, she can barely breathe and asked me to help with her schoolwork. But then she found out I are writes bad, so she stopped asking. Now I have time, are you happy Microwave!?
Anyway, I first want to apologize for that little incident. As I have contracted this horrible condition known as unemployment, my ability to do things has waned, including my ability to buy food. That late October evening when I stumbled into the kitchen because I couldn’t remember how to get to my room is thus easily explained. You see, Microwave, I was starving, so I figured if I put that box of crayons in your mouth long enough, they would eventually get so soft that the crayons would become edible. Sure, this caused an explosion and we were both in the hospital for two days, but thanks for trying, Microwave! E for effort! And for explosion!
I’m so sorry that the months since then have gotten worse for you. We were all really devastated when we lost toaster to that piece of sourdough bread. I know how close you two were. In an ideal world, you would have time to grieve on your own, but as I leave the building less than 5 times a month, I couldn’t help but notice your long, anguished rotating plate spins. It’s always hard, Microwave, but I am here for you as you have been there for me.
Microwave, I know our relationship has been a bit rocky these past few months, but if you don’t mind, I have a favor to ask of you. Last week, I got an email from the prince of Nigeria, and he told me to click on a link at the bottom. Naturally I did, and was redirected to a porn site. Didn’t see that coming! But then I decided to get back to work, and submitted my resume to one of those companies that hire imbeciles to tell you what jobs you qualify for. Then it happened! One of the resume readers told me to let my experiences “marinate” while writing my cover letter. That’s it, Microwave! I need to let things marinate! So I finally bought some food! All I have to do to get a job is let my resume marinate in red wine, lemon, basil and garlic! The resume person said so! I assume this needs to be heated, so microwave, if you would be so kind, sometime next week I need to put my marinated resume inside to cook. I think 5 minutes on high should be enough. Then: presto! I will have a job! It’s coming, Microwave, my job is almost ready!
Yours truly,
Mala
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