7 Happy Jobs for a Depression

Posted on October 15, 2008

Happy days are here again, we just don’t know it yet. A depression could be just the thing to elevate our battered spirits. No more arguing whether the glass is half-empty or half-full. The glass is broken, ok? But press your nose into the shards and breathe in freedom’s air. The gloom-and-doomers might say otherwise, frighten us with their scary statistics—25% unemployment in 1932. But let’s be clear about the facts: Most experts are whiners. In the real America, Hannity’s part, they’ll shoot their supper with a musket and cook it on an open spit. (They’ve been practicing for years in Michigan.) And the rest of us will slowly adapt. There are many new industries ready to boom; jobs that not only will fill our pockets, but help us rebuild America into the greatest Chinese-owned nation in the world. Consider as alternatives:

1. Dumpster Diving Instructor: The next big thing at The Learning Annex. Can you stylishly furnish public housing with garbage from a Detroit alley? Can you make a non-lethal five star brunch with discarded supermarket shrimp? Or maybe you’ve written a mapping program that pinpoints high concentrations of cans. An ideal job for unemployed brokers, dumpster divers are shrewd, resourceful, able to seize the moment, and experts at cooking meat on a stick.

2. Soup Manufacturer: How high-tech has the world become? So much that we’re coming full circle. Soup, yes soup, could be the Mac of the 21st century. Just last week, analysts weren’t pushing Apple—they were pushing Campbell’s. At only eighty-nine cents for a can of hot, tomato-paste love, you couldn’t ask for a more cost-effective meal. Plus somebody has to make the gruel for the glut of soon-to-be-opening soup kitchens.

3. Walmart Greeter: Admit it, you’re intrigued. You see them in their little vests, dead expression on their faces, as customers wander through like cattle, hour-after-hour. “Welcome to Walmart…Welcome to Walmart…Welcome to Walmart…” You get the picture. But what about the sunny side? This is a perfect job for actors, who are used to starving anyway. Don’t merely greet customers, offer them performance pieces! Or sharpen your character work at work. Before lunch, you’re Oscar, with a fervence for chihuahuas and The Passion of the Christ. After lunch, you’re Klaus, gay German Nihilist. “Velcome to Valmart…Velcome to Valmart.” Read more

How Green M&M Got Sassy

Posted on September 23, 2008

It sounds straight out of Mad Men. Some enterprising creative director billed the Mars Company thousands to ogle old Playboy videos, and then, and this is the best part, itemized it as research. Where could I apply? I imagined a latter-day Don Draper equating a customer’s lust for milk chocolate with far more fundamental yearnings. Candy as porn, that was the concept, and all of the proper aesthetics were assembled: the backlit windows, glossy floors, the temptress in virginal white spiked heels strutting full-frontal toward the camera.

The temptress was a giant green candy with legs. But wait, it gets better.

Soon, she’s draped across a chaise, long leg dangling from the side as rose petals rain down. While bouncing on a satin bed, the accompanying music is best described as synthesizer porn. It ends with Green splayed on the floor, chocolate bosom heaving out, legs stretching up towards heaven.

“Are we good?” she asks a leering crew. Only after we cut away does she reach for a bleezy and shot of Jack Daniels. All of which begs the question: How did Miss Green M&M become a candy porn star?

In the 1980’s, M&M’s were a wholesome brand. They were the candy who took you on sleigh rides at Christmas. They melted in your mouth, not in your hand. In other words, not even eating them was dirty. Their jingle was sung by a children’s choir.

But things changed in 1984, when Jesus’ chocolate rainbow of goodness became an arrow in sin’s arsenal. The devil came dressed as a little league commercial, two boys playing candy baseball: Brown is a single, yellow is a double, orange is a triple, and green, you guessed it, is a homerun.

Eat green M&M’s and score, that was the lesson being imparted to boys approaching junior high. The thought of our carnal destiny realized thanks to the mojo of little green capsules filled us with anticipation. It was like we had discovered Viagra! The rules of the schoolyard were quietly known. Give green M&M’s to a girl if you wanted to hook up with her. If she ate them, she got horny. Read more

“Gimme…Gimme”

Posted on April 12, 2008

 By Katrina Elder

It’s decided. I’m banning Whole Foods. I’m tired of the abuse. Tired of feeling guilty after every shopping trip, or having to pretend I care when, really, I don’t. It’s not because their prices are astronomical or their claims are false. It’s not even because the tiny parking lot maze they created causes more problems than it solves. No, I’m banning Whole Foods because I’m tired of being attacked by the clipboard-wielding guilt mongers that plant themselves strategically outside the exit and play on your conscience as you walk to your hybrid armed only with one measly $50 bag of produce. It’s not a fair fight, I tell you!

How am I supposed to feel when you ask me if I have time for abused children or if I care about global warming? Of course, I don’t want bunnies to go blind or polar bears to become homeless, but seriously, how was I supposed to know about the dolphins becoming deaf? You’ve profiled me. You know by my choice of grocery stores that I have a conscience. You know that I put my money where my mouth is when it comes to finding solutions to the many problems our world faces. You have the advantage. What weapon do I have in this fight? I am forced to sign your stupid petition and put money into your already lined pockets.

Yeah, that’s right, I’m on to you. You with your PETA tee shirt and your leather Converse, your dread-locked hair and your gas-guzzling VW bus. I know you get paid per signature. I know you’re really just a “petition circulator” and not a volunteer. Wetlands. Global Warming. Net Neutrality. The Water Shortage. Black Holes. Plastic Bags. The Grey Wolf. The Boreal Forest. Nuclear Smuggling. What will my signature do for you tomorrow?

Please, just leave me in peace. Let my conscience have a rest for one night. Can’t you see I feel badly enough after spending twice what I would have at Ralph’s in order to feel better about the previous life of my skinless, boneless breast of chicken?

Really, all I want to do right now is get home to my pint of melting Häagen-Dazs Dolce de Leche and my bottle of Rhône red and forget. Forget about the hypocrisy that we’re both foolishly playing into and the lies I just can’t quite bring myself to believe.

Katrina Elder is a writer and performer in Hollywood, California. Check out her blog, Stages of Drudgery and Triumph at http://drudgeryandtriumph.blogspot.com/

How to Starbucks on $1.45 a day*

Posted on February 13, 2008

1. Order hot tea. Pay cashier $1.45 **

2. Sit, work, read, talk, or whatever you do for an hour

3. Proceed to next Starbucks

4. Present cup with lid removed. Request hot water refill.***

5. Repeat to infinity

* Assumes you’re willing to forgo Starbucks marble pound cake.
** Unless you ordered a Banana Walnut loaf. In this case, add $1.85.
*** Don’t order the grande mocha frap with shot of peppermint.

“Egg on his face!”

Posted on January 29, 2008

“Egg on his face!”
“Egg on his face!”
“Someone dropped egg on the President’s face!”
“What an embarrassment!”
“What a disgrace!”
“The President wiping egg off of his face!”

“Stop all the presses! Loop the raw feed!
Get on the wire! We’ve got a new lead!”
The reporters and cameras all fight to keep pace
With the fast breaking news of egg splattered on face.

“This just coming in,” the news anchors exhort.
“To the White House we go for this special report.”

“We’re on the South Lawn,” the reporters exclaim,
“On what moments before was a typical day,
The sun shining bright, the scene festive and gay,
The Marine Band on hand getting ready to play.
It was billed by his staff as a keen photo-op.
The commander en route to the first of three stops:
A factory, school, and then he would fly straight
To a party fundraiser. Ten-thousand a plate. Read more

Why Can’t You be More Like TiVo!?

Posted on January 22, 2008

Ah… procrastination. The nectar that plies the mind before Starbucks works its black magic. So while I wait for the alkaloid C8H10N4O2 to squeeze the jumper cables over my noodle, I’ll blog. I was on Myspace the other day, looking through profiles, when I came upon someone writing about TiVo.

“Oh, TiVo, you never let me down,” she wrote, or something to that effect. Which got me to thinking: What if people were more like TiVo? Wouldn’t it be Eden?

Consider some examples:

1. When you ask TiVo to do something, it motherfucking does it. Think of every hostile encounter that might be avoided if people acted the same? Imagine a world where everyone did everything-the-fuck-they-said-they-were-gonna-do? I know, I’m sounding like John Lennon.

2. TiVo is thoughtful. Not only will it record your shows, but it will record other shows that might be of interest to you. You might remember an episode of the King of Queens where Doug’s TiVo starts taping programs with predominantly gay themes? (”My TiVO Thinks I’m Gay!) Doug is so chagrined that he starts taping only war documentaries. Soon, he’s reclassified as a Nazi. ~sigh~ I wish I had friends who spent afternoons pondering whether to send me Hermann Göring videos or season four of The L World.

3. With TiVo, the picture is high definition. Crazy how we make televisions now where the line count is as sharp as the view out our window. When was the last time your life felt so clear?

4. Getting TiVo costs $5.99 per month. Hells ya! For less than two beers, I get an honest, dependable, thoughtful companion who is sensitive to my needs and interested in my wants. A best friend, selflessly giving, who asks nothing but for my financial honesty, and strives in its own way to make my life just a tiny bit better.

I’ve just re-read this. Is it any surprise that I’m single?

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