Italian Grieving and Sear's High Standards

Allow me to apologize for my last post. It was a personal thing, done for my own satisfaction. I know that it did not exhibit any of the trademarks of my writing: high brow humor, clever turns of phrase, and a raw, masculine sexuality oozing from every punctuation. As everyone knows, I like nothing better than to satisfy my hungry reading public - especially the ladies. So today, I plan to write a light frivolous post about what's going on in James World, and as always I will use humor to mask my deep seated anger, insecurities, and resentment, enjoy.

First, as noted in my previous post, I spent all of last week in New York for my grandfather's funeral. Now, this was not a fun trip. It was emotionally draining and exhausting, but this doesn't mean that there was absolutely nothing humorous of note. For instance, my father comes from a large Italian family, and, apparently, in the Italian-American community it is not customary to send flowers. Italians, being Italians, send food. LOTS of food. My grandmother was practically swimming in food. Cold cut trays were hanging from the ceiling. Trays upon trays pasta filled every nook and cranny. Chicken, beef, fruit hid in the corners. Of course, being the dutiful grandson that I am, I was called upon to eat my self stupid. I ate everything, even things I shouldn't have. I was half way through an apple when I figured out it was wax. I finished it. Nothing was allowed to go to waste.

Now I have returned home and find myself in dire straights, and no, not the band. They're not looking for new members. If they were I would apply, though. No, not because I have an incredible wealth of musical talents. I would apply because I am unemployed. That's right, after a brief flurry of work, I find myself once again without a job. So, as I have said in this very space many times before, if you know of anyone looking to hire a brilliant, creative young man, lie to them and tell them I fit the credentials.

I'm looking for work everywhere. There are more copies of my resume floating around than Paris Hilton sex tapes. My resume's also more titillating. I mean, 3.7 GPA, I'd like to see Paris do that. Anyway, I'm looking for work all over, and it is beginning to become discouraging. The other day I was at the mall doing the rounds applying everywhere - in a perfect world I wouldn't even think about going about menial, high school, retail jobs, but, hey, a man has to eat. I went to Sears and in the back - way past the softer side - they have a little computer you use to apply. I spent half an hour punching in my application. The infernal machine was so aggravating. The touch screen only worked occasionally, the mouse didn't work at all, and it kept asking me questions like: "If you saw a co-worker's fly was down, how would you let him know?". Then after all this, the stupid computer informed me that I did not meet the MINIMUM requirements to work at Sears. That's right the MINIMUM requirements. Have you ever seen the people who work at Sears? Apparently they're all better than I am. Of course, I did not take this information very well. Actually, when this message first appeared on the screen I was so overcome with unemployed rage that I temporarily blacked out. Some time later I awoke to discover that I had punched through the computers touch screen, torn off all my close, and began running around Sears home and garden center like a wild ape. I defecated on a beautiful Craftsman reciprocal saw with variable speeds and a 12 month full service guarantee (see, I could totally work at Sears...Once you take away the crapping on the product).

So, if you remember anything from this post, I would like it to be: Please, God, give me a job, because if you don't I will hold you responsible for the consequences.

Shalom