WHY YOU WON’T BE SEEING ME FOR A WHILE
WHY YOU WON’T BE SEEING ME FOR A WHILE
WHO’S THE BOSS?
I am in receipt of a most interesting email. (Forgive the pseudo-British narration. I’ve been reading this, and the writing style has usurped my senses, a word which here means “to take hold of and not let go”.) This email is titled “NEWS, NEWS, NEWS!!!”, and is from somebody at my old company. I never really expected to hear from anyone at my old company, let alone with an email titled, “NEWS, NEWS, NEWS!!!”, so you can imagine how intrigued I was.
As you may remember, at my old company, I had a Very Bad Boss. Everyone hated VBB, no one more so than me. For over two years, I plotted my escape, and finally, about three months ago, I gave my notice. I didn’t have another job lined up, didn’t have much money in the bank. He was just that bad.
And I expected that would be pretty much the end of it. But earlier this week, there was that email, sitting in my inbox, and in the nanosecond between when I saw it and when my drool sensors kicked in and I clicked on it, I was extremely curious as to what this NEWS, NEWS, NEWS!!! would be.
As it turns out, he’s leaving the company. As much as I wish he went down in some sordid scandal and was led from the building in handcuffs in front of dozens of news crews, all that happened was that he found a job at another law firm and gave his notice. Sure, there was a bit of late-night document copying and Jerry Maguire-esque client-poaching going on, but nothing that would really be of any interest to anyone outside the firm. In other words, either the three exclamation points in the email subject line or the all-caps letters may have been justified, but not both.
Still, I was amazed how interested I was in news that no longer affected me. I couldn’t help thinking about how ecstatic the mood must be at the old office, as evidenced by the headline “NEWS, NEWS, NEWS!!!” and the content of the email as well, which was about five paragraphs long and contained a total of 1,472 exclamation points.
And I also couldn’t help thinking that if I’d stayed, I would pretty much have been screwed. As a result of my old boss’ departure, his entire department was being disbanded. (Although he was a pain in the ass and everyone hated him, the department really can’t function without him, as they were kind of the loser frat of our office, held together by one guy with a big client list. He chased out anyone with any ambition, and the three people who remained were his sycophantic whipping boy, a guy who’d been spending over a year trying to get fired, and a clueless new guy who took the job because he was really desperate.)
So, if I’d stuck around, I would’ve been out of work anyway. But at the same time, I kind of wished I could have witnessed the elation as the news passed around the office. As smug as he feel to be leaving on his terms, the fact that he’s backstabbing the company gives everyone complete immunity to tell him off. I’m sure he’s had his ass handed to him quite a few times since announcing he was leaving, from the tech support woman who was tired of his constant demands, and the office manager who bore the brunt of his tantrums, and from everyone within a ten-office radius of him, who was tired of his constant screaming on the telephone. So many smackdowns, and I wish I could’ve heard them all. As much as I wanted to think I had left the place behind me forever, I have to admit it’s still a part of me. All the petty dramas still strike a chord. To any bystander, it would just be news, but to me, it really was “NEWS, NEWS, NEWS!!!”
The day after I received that email, I was at the Pixies concert, when I heard a voice calling me: “Jerry! Jerry!” And then, because I hadn’t responded, “… Jerry?” I was staring right at the guy, a disheveled, borderline-homeless-looking guy in a ratty plaid shirt and jeans, with thick neo-hipster glasses. He looked like some cryogenically-frozen undergrad from the early-80’s who hadn’t bathed in twenty years, a sad late-30’s loser who couldn’t let go of his youth.
I had to stare at him for a few seconds before I finally realized who it was. It was my old boss.
No, not that old boss. My old old boss. (If this didn’t really happen to me, I wouldn’t believe the coincidence either. I don’t believe in fate, but I’m a firm believer in dramatic irony.) He seemed stunned that I didn’t recognize him, although I should also point out that he had lost a lot of weight. And, out of fear of libeling him, I don’t want to say something I can’t prove, like, “He was stoned out of his mind.” So rather than resort to possible hyperbole, I’ll leave it at, “He had perhaps had a puff or two of a marijuana cigarette.” I remembered now that he was a huge Pixies fan and realized I shouldn’t have been surprised to see him. But earlier that day, when I’d gone through my head wondering who I knew whom I might bump into at the concert, I hadn’t even thought of him.
The old old boss predates the blog, so I haven’t really written much about him, but he was about 100 times worse than the old boss. Whereas Old Boss was passive-aggressive, Old Old Boss was just aggressive. Extremely. He yelled at me. He called me names. If something wasn’t filed in a timely manner, he threw the file across the room. And he also said I was the best assistant he’d ever had.
One time, Old Old Boss tried to do something nice, but he even messed that up. Everyone kept telling me he’d gotten me a very generous birthday gift, but my birthday came and went and he said nothing about it. I think he was terrified to be generous, so he kept putting it off. As time dragged on, I figured the gift was never coming. Six weeks after my birthday, my father died. I took a week off from work.
Then, about three weeks after I came back — more than two months after my birthday — he came up to me one day, barked a few commands at me and then said, “Oh, yeah. I got you a birthday present.”
“My birthday was two months ago.”
“Well, yeah, but you were mad at me for a while, then you were sad about your dad, so, I kind of held off.” He pointed toward his desk, which was piled about three feet high with junk and old files. “If you want to dig around in there, if you see something that looks like a gift certificate, that’s for you.”
I worked there for a year and a half. I was miserable, and I hated him, and when I left I hoped I’d never see him again. I continued working in the same area, though, so I’d occasionally run into people from the old office at lunch, and whenever I did, I’d soak up all the latest company gossip.
Now I was standing next to him, this man who’d stirred up so much anger and frustration in me, and I had no idea what to say. I wasn’t intimidated, I wasn’t curious. I was just indifferent. It helped that he was mellowed out — possibly by controlled substances, but you know me, I’d never speculate on that. Our entire conversation lasted about thirty seconds, and about ten seconds into it, all I could think of to ask was:
“Is, uh, Cyndi still there?”
“Yeah, she’s still there.”
“Yeah, she left, but then she came back.”
“Oh, how funny.”
We didn’t have NEWS, NEWS, NEWS!!! to talk about. We didn’t even have news. Once we’d gone through the whole list of people I remembered, we kind of shrugged and then parted ways. And I realized the key to neutralizing a person’s negative effect on you isn’t just cutting them out of your life. It’s moving on.
As much as I can’t stand him, I’m still intrigued by my old boss’ life and career. I still need to hear that news, because everything I went through when I worked for him is still fresh in my mind and very much a part of me.
But ask me again in three years. By that time, if I run into him on the street, it may take me a moment or two to even recognize him.
Chip and Kim, Linda and Karen, Brandon and Nicole, Colin and Christie, Jerry Bruckheimer. All people I disliked and wished ill upon… until tonight. By 11pm this evening, I loved every last one of them.
Once again, the Amazing Race went out in style, with possibly their most exciting finale ever. Coming two days after their Emmy win, it made for a pretty amazing week for Mr. Bruckheimer, damn him.
I know the next season has already been shot, and I know the people who make the show don’t need advice from me on how to make their show better, but here are my suggestions for next time anyway:
Other than that, leave everything exactly the same.
WELCOME BLOG, BACKERS!
Today, I’m celebrating the return of two buddies to the blogosphere.
A hearty welcome back — and a big hug, too — to BittyBoo, who’s been performing in a regional production of Wit staged at Northridge Hospital and her new house in the Valley. Let’s be glad the extended run is finally over. Check out Karen’s story and send her some cyber-love.
And, if you can keep it on the H.H.*, go check out Paul’s new photoblog. Mr. Monster at the End of This Blog took an extended vacation due to a case of “someone in my family found my blog”, so let’s keep this one our little secret, okay?
I realized just this week that today is the day I turn 33 1/3 years old.
I am 1/3 of the way to 100.
Why am I constantly thinking of new ways to make myself feel old?
On the bright side, I won’t be a record speed again for another 11 2/3 years.
SIDEBAR, JERRY, SIDEBAR
Well, last week the new season of the Apprentice began, and tonight it’s the new Survivor. It’s the perfect time to revive the reality show guessing segment of my sidebar, but I’ve decided not to, because I’m bad at keeping up with the sidebar and don’t want to fall behind, and because there are other places out there where you can get better predictions for these kinds of things and, mostly, because I’m almost always wrong. (Remember when I predicted Rumsfeld’s resignation? If only, Jerry, if only…) So my record of 22/55 will stand forever.
However, I will say this in terms of predictions: there’s no way the guy with one foot is going to get voted out first.
And instead of Guess, Jerry, Guess, I now present a new feature called “That’s my jam!” What’s my jam? Well, maybe a word or phrase I like, maybe my favorite ice cream flavor, maybe a new friend. My jam is my jam. I can’t control it. Right now, my jam is “ratass”.
Also, in response to a request, I’m adding a link to my latest LAist post. Since I don’t actually post them myself and won’t know the permalinks right away, I can pretty much guarantee I won’t be able keep on top of this, but as Bart Simpson said, I’ll try to try.
BACKHANDED BY PALM
Because Other Drew doesn’t have a blog of his own… and because I have nothing else to post today… and because this MUST be seen, the following is an actual email that Other Drew received from Palm technical support.
Not that it matters, but the email inquiry Other Drew sent Palm tech support that invited this response was perfectly normal and polite…
Thank you for contacting palmOne™ Technical Support. My name is Leah, I will be assisting you with regards to your inquiry.
With regards to the issue with your handheld, you may eat it and fuck off, you ratass. Hahaha!
Oops…are you offended by my reply, you moron? I DARE YOU, go to the Better Business Bureau, to the media, to your lawyer, you silly loser…tsk…tsk..tsk!!!
We hope this issue has been resolved to your satisfaction. A Customer Satisfaction Survey will be emailed to you very shortly. Please take time to provide us with your feedback about this support experience as it will help us in our on-going effort to continually improve our services.
If you require further assistance, please do not hesitate to contact us again. You can also find troubleshooting articles and frequently asked questions at:
To learn more about palmOne handhelds, please visit our support web site at:
Thank you for choosing palmOne.
palmOne Technical Support
I mean, can you believe that? “On-going” does not need to be hyphenated. Nothing bothers me more than a poorly-punctuated email.
Also, Other Drew is not a ratass.
After phoning Palm and requesting an alternative solution to the problem with his Palm than eating it (which most likely wouldn’t have helped), Other Drew received an apology and was told that the matter had been dealt with.
I’m guessing Leah no longer works there.
NAKED POOL PARTY
I went to a naked pool party last weekend.
There were lots of cute boys there, swimming and frolicking completely bare-assed and without shame. Unfortuantely, I use the word “boy” not in the West Hollywood sense, but literally. You see, none of the nudists in question were past kindergarten.
This was not my idea of a good time.
Drew has already covered this hellish kiddie party quite well, but he left out a couple of things he didn’t witness.
Let me just say that it never ceases to amaze me how many parents are perfectly willing to let their children run around naked in other people’s houses. Yes, it was a pool party, and those naked running kids started off as naked swimming kids, but I don’t get that either. Knowing what kids tend to do in swimming pools, why encourage them by letting their peeing, pooping parts float around freely?
Then again, not my home, not my kids, not my rules. So I tried my best to look the other way and remind myself that however scarred these might be in years to come, I wasn’t the one who’d have to pay the therapy bills. I tried my best to turn a blind eye to J.J., who was about four years old and racing through our friend’s house completely naked. I expected that at some point, J.J.’s parents would see him, apologize profusely, and immediately put some pants on the kid. But they knew he was there, and they just walked in and out of the kitchen, taking bites of watermelon and brownies, unconcerned that their son’s teeny-weenie peenie was on display to everyone at the party.
J.J. followed a couple of five-year-old girls down the hall, then they closed the bedroom door on him. So he stood outside the door, knocking and screaming at them to let him in. They were holding the door shut, so that every time he managed to push it an inch or two, they’d slam it closed again. I figured they had his clothes inside and were hiding them from him, and I also figured that if this lockout continued, some crushed fingers were inevitable. So, even though none of the other adults seemed concerned, I decided to step in.
“Okay, guys. Let’s knock it off and let J.J. in.” I pushed the door gently, and the girls stepped back to let J.J. in. But it turned out J.J. wasn’t looking for his clothes. Quite the opposite. As soon as I let him in the room, he ran up to the girls and started playing with himself. Yes, like a miniature version of some creepy, unshaven backwoods perv, he grabbed himself and smiled a satisfied, devilish grin. I don’t know what struck me first — the discomfort or the sense of vindication: See, Jerry, you were right. This is why kids shouldn’t be naked at parties. The girls, who were just old enough to be disgusted, screamed their heads off and ran out of the room, and J.J. took off after them.
And that’s where I checked out. This was really not something I wanted any part of.
So I let J.J. chase the girls around the house all he wanted, figuring somebody else would eventually step in. But no one did. A few minutes later, the girls shuttered themselves in the bedroom again and this time, J.J., still naked, knew exactly how to solve the situation. He marched up to me, grabbed me by the arm, and dragged me to the bedroom to help him get in again.
That’s when I went to the kitchen to help clean up.
A few minutes later, I found myself talking to J.J.’s mom in the backyard. She was really nice, so I decided not to bring up her son’s exhibitionism. For all I knew, what he was doing was a perfectly natural part of childhood sexual development. I’m not a kiddie psychologist, so I’ll let her sort that one out herself. Again, there’s always therapy.
“Jennifer, let’s go!” her husband bellowed from inside the house. His tone suggested he’d been looking for her for a long time, he was fed up with this damn party and he wanted to leave immediately.
Jennifer ignored him. “Jennifer, come on!” She kept talking and slowly made her way toward the house. By the time she went inside, the husband was standing next to me, picking up his kids’ towels and bathing suits from the pool area. He groaned, shook his head and looked directly at me. “What are you supposed to do with a wife who’s a drunk?” he asked.
And then he grabbed his stuff and went back inside.
Drew and I got home and agreed that we were putting off having kids indefinitely, maybe even forever.
THE FIRST-EVER WJW FALL PREVIEW SPECTACULAR!!!
Team America: World Police – Drew knows someone who’s seen it who dismissed it as nothing but “puppets hardcore fucking and shitting”. How could anyone have any problem with that? (October 15)
I Heart Huckabees – The trailer stinks, and it never really explains what a Huckabee is or why anyone would heart one. But I heart David O. Russell, and that’s all that matters. (October 1)
Shall We Dance? – Proof that trailers can change minds. I thought this sounded like the worst movie ever. But the preview got to me. I mean it really got to me. It filled me so full of the human spirit that I walked out of the theater and hugged a hobo. All is forgiven, J-Lo. Make Richard Gere dance! Make him dance! (October 15)
Bad Education – La nueva pelicula de Pedro Almodovar? No puedo esperar! (11/19)
Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events – I’m always excited to see any movie that’s based on a book I’ve actually read. Okay, fine, so this is based on three books that total about 30 pages altogether and it was written for kids. And I only read one of the books. Shut up. (December 17)
Spanglish – All I know is that James Brooks is directing. And that’s enough. (December 17)
Joey – I’d be as skeptical about this as anyone else, but I’ve seen the pilot and it’s hilarious. I stopped watching Friends toward the end, but I’m ready to fire up Tivo #2 so I can record this and Survivor at the same time.
LAX – When discussing this show, Drew’s boss griped, “Who would believe Heather Locklear runs LAX?” To which Drew replied, “Well, I would.” That’s why I love Drew.
life as we know it — It’s got Kelly Osborne: bad. Its title is all lower-case: even worse. But it was created by a couple of Freaks & Geeks vets, so I’ll give it a chance.
Survivor: Vanuatu – Another men vs. women matchup? Snore, snore. An amputee and two lesbians? Burnett, you snagged me again!
Bands Reunited – The show with the best premise ever is back! And this time they’ve got the English Beat, ABC and NKOTB… or do they? Please, Donnie Wahlberg, please!
The Apprentice 2 – Let’s make this the #2 show in America… just because that’ll drive Trump nuts.
Diff’rent Strokes, The Complete First Season – A moment of silence for Dana Plato, please. (September 14)
Fahrenheit 9/11 – You just know Michael Moore saved the really good stuff for this DVD, since it comes out just a couple weeks before the election. As to what could be worse than W sitting clueless in that Florida classroom for 7 minutes, I don’t know. Maybe he takes a crap on a bald eagle? (October 5)
What’s Happening, The Complete Second Season – Yes, this is the season where they get busted for bootlegging the Doobie Brothers concert. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, I don’t want to know you. (October 5)
The Thrills “Let’s Bottle Bohemia” – They have more songs in my iTunes top 25 than anyone else. Two. (September 14)
Tears for Fears “Everybody Loves a Happy Ending” – Has there ever been a better title for a reunion album? Sure, I’ve already downloaded half of this off iTunes, but if the other half is half as good, it’ll be 3/4 of a perfect album. (September 14)
R.E.M. “Around the Sun” – Anyone who says they’re not as good as they used to be probably hasn’t heard “Up”. They probably have heard “Reveal”, but one less-than-stellar album doesn’t destroy a band’s credibility. Anyway, I don’t care if they do start to suck. Any band that makes an “Automatic for the People” has earned my disposable income for the rest of my life. (October 5)
Pure Francis “Diamond” – It’s Robbie Williams’ sure-to-be-disastrous “makeover” project, wherein he performs a different style of music (electronic) as a “character” he created. If you’re thinking Chris Gaines, Chrisafer’s way ahead of you. Why am I still interested? I love my Robbie, and I love disasters. I’m hoping for a catastrophic success. (October)
U2, Untitled – Yes, even though it has a song called “Yahweh” on it. Ugh. (November 23)
Election Day (11/2)