For Your Information

You may be able to tell by my lack of posts, but I've been rather busy lately. For no other reason, then that I'm finally gainfully employed. Fucking finally, right? While sitting at my desk yesterday an obnoxious Microsoft Outlook pop-up alerted me to a new email. Like a good little monkey, I eagerly checked to see who'd contacted me. Quickly, I realized I'd been chosen for the "New Hire Spotlight," please see email below:

Hello Chris,

I wanted to welcome you to service source and let you know that I have chosen you for the new hire spotlight for the next scoop issue. If you could please send me some info about yourself for example:
Where you are originally from, where you went to school, your major, pets, hobbies and or siblings just some ideas.
Please answer these questions as well:

"One thing no one would ever guess about you? “
" If you could have dinner with anyone who would it be? “

Please send an appropriate picture of yourself that you would like me to use. Let me know if you have any questions and please respond by cob on Friday.

Thanks so much, :)

Ashley

What are the chances right? For someone that tries as hard as I do to fly under the radar, I'd been targeted and shot down. For real though, does anyone really want to be educated, however terse, on my life story mid piss? My saga is no more exciting than a trip to the local DMV, although, at times it seems to read somewhat like a mid-day soap opera. My question to you is: do I send a picture of Stalin or Hitler? I can't really decide which one defines me more. Jokes aside, here is my submission:

Hey Ash,

I was born in the back of 57' Chevy while driving on the 101 - My mom was a fast woman, and my dad, an even faster driver. My mother, a Bavarian whore, my father a traveling salesman specializing in ceramic shower curtain rings constantly fought over the last Zebra cake almost inevitably ending in a trip to the emergency room. Needless to say, they were parents of character.

I went to middle school in South Boston, otherwise known as "Southie", did I mention Ben Affleck is my best friend? After middle school, I decided the educational system had nothing more to offer me and deemed it necessary to write my memoirs on the back of a cocktail napkin at the local watering hole. After being brutally rebuffed by multiple publishing companies due to questionable sources, I self published my literature and was soon compared to Hunter S. Thompson, subtract the whole shotgun in the mouth episode and having my ashes shot out of a cannon. Did I mention Anthony Kedis is my other best friend?

As a capricious teen, my life on the streets led to my befriending of a feral cat, that I kindly referred to as Rabbles, due to his raging case of rabies. He died soon thereafter. I buried him adjacent to Jimmy Hoffa's body in the Hudson river using a cinder block and chains. In memory of him, I jailhouse tattooed his name on my eye lids which ultimately led to a bad case of hepatitis C.

Hobbies for me consisted mostly of playing the guitar in central park for change, turning tricks in Manhattan, and quenching my thirst for manifest destiny. In terms of siblings, I had sister that at the age of three crawled out the screen door declaring legal emancipation while taking the lord's name in vain. Insisting that she would return for sustenance, libations, and pipe tobacco the parental units allowed her to wander the streets in search of Donald Trump's secret to his world famous comb-over.

One thing you probably would never guess about me is that in my past life, I was actually a quadriplegic Olympian in the shot-put, breaking the world record of 3 meters. If I could have dinner with anyone, it would be Bono, soon thereafter culminating in a brutal round of curb stomping, Bono on bottom.

I hope this helps!

Chris

No Apologies, I Don't Think Before I Speak

I'm In The Wrong Profession

Why is is it that musicians, mainly rappers, get paid millions of dollars to throw a few words together that lack any profound statement or depth? Writers have things to say, insights to make, revelations about the lives we live. This is the stuff deserving of great reward, not lyrics that invokes degradation of women and the consumption of Courvoisier and Cristal, two sub-par liquors.

There are so many things to read that would provide a person with edifying information and instead of taking advantage we've resigned ourselves to bouncing our head to a few computerized beats, complemented by language, that in quality, closely resembles what is written in the National Inquierer. Like good little lemmings we've adapted our consumption habits to targeted marketing with questionable intentions, making a cadre of people rich that I wouldn't even want to be associated with.

It would be a harsh generalization to criticize all these "artists" but I think we can collectively agree that most of the final products fall short of anything culturaly prodigious. I'm as guilty as anyone, I partake in listening to it, although for me it is more for background noise, and less something to spend an immense amount of time analyzing. No Apologies, I Don't Think Before I Speak

You Don't Follow? Neither Do I

Writing is not a dialectic thought process, it's scattered with lateral inquiries, non linear expounding. For these very reasons, I sit in awe of those that can write novels. My mind is that of a daydreamer, I'm here one moment, gone the next. The pensive ability to write a concisely articulate manifesto has never been within my grasp, and might never be, usurping me for eternity. Give me a computer, a blurb about a current event and you'll have an elucidated opinion piece, voila!, complete with a healthy smattering of humor and self degradation.

Writing that's been planned to a T is both boring to read and transparently contrived. Being put on the spot is where you find the most raw of epiphanies. They're broken down into their most simple of forms, no time for complexities and derivatives, or to mask the naked truth of what you really desire to say. I know it sounds like I'm advocating not thinking, nay, I'm saying go with your visceral instinct and you're ablution will be that much more gratifying.

I find on a daily basis, that I'm looking around, observing insignificant things about people, buildings, minute details that neither matter nor anyone else cares to notice. Has my mind slipped into a realm of existence where I break everything down for my own satisfaction? Why has my mind moved into this alternate reality and am I the only one here? Is my mind on the search for perpetual stimulation or has the hand of senility prematurely ensnared me within it's grasps? I can't help but think that my left "handedness" has doomed me in a right-handed world; like trying to fit a square peg in a round hole. Each day feels like on step closer to a mental purgatory , as if everyone's aware of some secret I'm utterly unaware of, adding dramatic irony to an already ardent pilgrimage. No Apologies, I Don't Think Before I Speak

In The Land Of Ken And Barbie

At what point did people become so uncomfortable in their own skin? Instead of focusing on the here-and-the-now we're fixated on the superficial details. There's a distinct difference between self-awareness and being completely conceited, based on silly mental complexes. I hate to sound like a broken record, or a therapist for that matter, but these are social constructions developed by those that are uncomfortable with their own meager existence. They build these walls and impasses so they can justify throwing rocks from their own glass houses, built of solace and resentment.

The human populace, the world across, is teetering on the edge of implosion. Most people never get the chance to be judged by others because they're too busy looking themselves in the mirror, pointing out perceived latent flaws. Recently, I met a girl that's father did penis implants. No longer has vanity been restricted to the public image, it's now manifested itself in the most personal of places, the bedroom. This statement applies predominately to the female sex and their obsession for harder more perky chesticles. You may die, but your boobs will live on forever. Doesn't it bother anyone that grandma has nicer boobs than your girlfriend does? I find it ludicrous.

All women are beautiful in their own right, beyond the inspection of tits and ass. As Hank Moody once said, I love all women, whether for ten minutes or ten years, I love them all. There is something lovable in all women, whether it be a distinct characteristic, physical attribute or some adorable quirky idiosyncrasy. These are not to be taken for granted, they're to be exposed and fortified. Instead of embracing these protruding nail heads, as they are, society is slowing hammering down any sign of individualism, largely related to aesthetics. Any girl I decide to date, doesn't need to be capable of hanging my towel from her perfectly shaped boobs or glow in the dark, being fake on the outside indicates a deeper psychosis, or more bluntly, the girl is fucked in the head.

I'm not gong to say god made you a certain way, or that you were created in his image. For some reason, though, you were supposed to exist as you are, why fight it? I'm not going to wax intellectual to why religion is poison or about my own agnostic biases, I'm simply throwing out the idea that by manipulating your body, ultimately you're also changing your state of consciousness. No Apologies, I Don't Think Before I Speak

I'll Be The Tortoise, You Be The Hair

You ever get the feeling that life is passing you by? My sense of paranoia has given birth to the acute awareness concerning the plethora of advanced degrees and life maneuvers people in my age group are procuring. Its hard not to, when they so eloquently throw it in your face, via social networking sites. You all know who you are. Is there some race to the finish line in life that I wasn’t made aware of? We all face the same ominous fate. Many kids in my class are either done with a secondary degrees or are nearing the culmination of a doctorate, while each day I feel that my regression is nearly complete. Would college have been our first choice had it not been a social construction or some fucking pre-conceived axiom?

There’s an inkling I have that there are two distinct parties within this cadre of overachievers, one is the highly motivated sycophantic brown-noser that has always wanted to be _____ insert world-changing profession here, and the second group, people that took a shot in the dark because they were scared shitless of being shaken from the proverbial parental tit, ill prepared to face the daunting task of fitting into the hierarchy, and many hues of mediocrity. I don’t say this disparagingly. Ok, maybe I'm taking a little pot shot at these people. There are going to be some very discontented people who figure out that they just spent six figures for a career path they no longer desire and could have avoided this gaffe for $12 at the local Borders. What happens then? You become a slave to the system. I’d rather work a job that uses 10 percent of my brain, that leaves the rest of it for me, than work a job that uses all my brain and leaves nothing for my own salvation.

Don’t take my lack of direction as a reversion to apathy. I’m simply not satisfied with just being "ok." I will find what I’m looking for at the end of my personal odyssey. I once fell for the psycho-babble bullshit, deeming it noble to chase what you love. That’s not always feasible and not always the best advice. Look at Hitler, he was doing what he loved. Imagine if someone had advised him to be a doctor, World War II averted. Take these platitudes with a critical vantage point, most people don’t love what they do. Denizen’s lack of satisfaction with work, is the number one complaint in America. Does this really surprise anyone? Hasty school and job decisions are direct players in this heinous statistic. Feigning knowledge of the occupational sublime would be, at best, a theory based on nothing more than mere empirical evidence.

I, without fail, get to play 20 fucking questions nearly every week. Invariably, the conversation comes to the same conclusion in relation to my current life aspirations and goals and that would be-I don’t know. For many mothers and fathers that believe I'm courting their daughters, this is not a sufficient answer, their pupils dilate coupled with a look of totally bewilderment. They urn for more, an extrapolation on the “profane” statement I’ve just made, as if this answer isn’t lucid enough? No Apologies, I Don't Think Before I speak

I'm Steve Stilfer, Who Are You?

If there was every a movie that defined our generation, it would be American pie. The insight into our superficially myopic view on life, largely motivated by sexual exploration of promiscuity hit the nail a on the head. I remember it clearly. Freshman year of high school the first American Pie came to viewers everywhere, loathed by the critics, unanimously relished by the teenage nation.

Many may disagree, but I mark this movie as a shift in cinematic humor. It swung for the fences, allowing humorous situations stand for themselves, without feeling the need for bombastic deadpan banter. A film ubiquitous with middle America, cul-de-sac's, unbuttoned flannel shirts, and heinously amorphous skateboard shoes. It, like many hit movies, was quoted into oblivion, causing many, such as myself, to put this one on the shelf for awhile. Other movies that have joined it are: Old School, Anchorman, and pretty much any movie from the Frat pack. I guess that's the risk you run when you write a screenplay complete with pleasurably quotable aphorisms.

The best way to ruin a good movie is to over quote it. Do people really assume that their tone and mannerisms will thwart those of the highly paid actors that comprise these films? Leave the acting to the professionals, we've all undoubtedly seen these movies anyway. The reason I still love this movie is, because it's a constant reminder of the anticipation felt before an illicit soiree, the zeal of the first sexual encounter, and all the painfully awkward situations that come to fruition in the search for personal identity.

There's no question, this film was cheesy and hyperbolic at times, complete with monologues packed with verbiage most high school students will never fully comprehend. It was a film that gave hope to everyone, the jocks, the social pariahs, and yes even the average guy still clutching to his sexual innocence. You'd be hard pressed to meet someone that hasn't seen this movie and found some way to enjoy it. It'll be considered part of the cinematic cannon in the years to come, joining the coterie of movies, such as Sixteen Candles and Pretty in Pink, films of teenage angst the generation before us looked to for social constructions, dictating appropriate youth behavior in all it's capriciousness. A classic it may not be, excuse my inclination to over do it.

These films possess far more influence than most understand. As a student of media, fully equipped with a journalism degree, I've seen the results of this social experiment. Even in college, rarely a night would go by that a drinking bout wouldn't incorporate some type of botched cinematic quotation, indubitably culminating with the imbibing of some alcoholic concoction. I did my best to refrain from being one of these vapid souls and simply reverted back to "cheers." Claiming these movies didn't alter my own behavior would be an utter lie, so I won't do that. American Pie also did a superb job of choosing accompanying music, the songs to this day, envoke a stream of emotions and a montage of girls, drinks, and nights long past. No Apologies, I Don't Think Before I Speak

Isn't Gas Expensive Enough Already?

By now, everyone is keenly aware of the environmental issue coming to fruition in the Gulf Mexico. There are a couple lessons to be learned from this and the first and foremost would be to require safety valves similar to the ones used by nearly all other oil rigs around the world, be utilized in rigs off the American coast. Had this valve been in place, you can bet your ass we wouldn't have an oil spill that's being compared to the Mobile Valdez catastrophe. The second edifying lesson is, that we shouldn't turn our back on off shore drilling at the first sign of adversity. Imagine if we had turned our back on space exploration after the first failed mission? Barack Obama needs to heed this as a warning and a lesson learned, he should not back down from another energy initiative. Have you noticed the lack of Ethanol rhetoric? (thank god)

I think we can all agree, that offshore drilling isn't the answer to our long term energy needs. It's a shortsighted stop-gap with a couple potential positives. It isn't deepening the pockets of Middle Eastern OPEC members while simultaneously helping alleviate the American people of high energy costs. This exploration is, at the very minimum, worth a second try.

I've been impressed with BP's response to this dire emergency. They've submitted to both incur all spill related costs, which includes lost pay for those employed by the sea. In addition, BP has spear-headed the effort to thwart the dissemination of oil towards land. My question for those reading is, did Obama act in a timely and presidential manner? Does this represent his hurricane Katrina?

In contrast, when the administration did decide to act, I was impressed with the President's hard nosed stance towards this natural disaster. His resolve that all responsibility fall on BP, was nothing short of valiant. Discourse outlining the effort was strong and decisive in a way I haven't seen from Obama, since the primaries. This may be due to perceived pressure felt from his own party and from the right that he needs to rule with an iron fist. His passive response to international spats has many, including myself, questioning the pose in which he administrates. This should have been a home run, a hasty contingency plan employed resulting in Obama looking like a friend to the oil industry and a savior to mother earth. Instead, in my eyes he's in no better a place than he was before. No Apologies, I Don't Think Before I speak