Unemployment: Day 15

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I'm Officially Unemployed!

And unemployable!  Probably!

Yes, sad as it is to say, today is my last day working for Playboy.  Our entire department was laid off so today we have to come in, clean out our desks, sign the "We promise not to sue" paperwork and then head out for a liquid lunch at noon, never to return to 680 N Lake Shore Drive.

How am I?  Dealing, I suppose.  I'm not really sad about losing my job--helping grown men masturbate is nobody's idea of a dream--but I am terrified about losing my insurance.  Cholesterol problems don't just take care of themselves, after all.

So, until I get another job, I'll likely be a bit nervous and unkempt.  Fortunately for my dedicatedly sexy readership of nine, I've constructed a handy-dandy "Mike Jacklich Mental State" test.  This way, when you see me, you can instantly deduce my mood without even asking.   It's rather simple:

If, when you see me, I am wearing my lace-up boots:

I took the time to lace up my big boots!  Clearly, I tried today!  I'm optimistic about the future!  Woot!  I'm going to Taco Bell!

If, however, I'm wearing my slip-on Nikes:

 

Buy me a drink!  I'm sad!  I'll never work again!  My wife can do better and is sure to leave me as soon as she comes to her senses! I guess I'll go to Taco Bell.

***************

Honestly, I'm going to look back at this day--sometime far in the future--as a great day.  I really was treading water here at the Rabbit and delaying my inevitable trip to super-adulthood.  Now I can finally get on with my life.  Plus, I kind of hated this job.  I'll miss my friend Lisa and, um, the tits but that's about it.  I won't miss the fat bitch from my office that actually had the gall to say "Looks like Mike has a case of the Mondays!" in an obnoxious voice the day after my Godfather died.  And I won't miss the impotent dicks who called in every day demanding to know why their internet isn't functioning or why their penises didn't work (Yes, this happened to me once). 

So, in a fitting metaphor for my last day at Playboy, as I type this the maintenence guys are taking down the copper rabbit head in the lobby, in anticipation for the company's eventual move to L.A.

Good-bye, bunny.  Good-bye scantily-clad ladies.  Good-bye insurance.



Oh, dear god.  I just realized something horrible:  I'm going to have to pay for my porn in the future.  

Why!?  Why, god, why!?!?

CTA

The morning commute can be hard on anyone.  I like to think of myself as a fairly laid-back guy when it comes to such things.  Seeing how I help grown men masturbate for a living, if I experience a delay in my public transportation, I simply shrug my shoulders and say loudly to the commuter next to me, "I guess that's just 5 fewer guys I won't be able to electronically stroke off today.  How sad."

Of course there can be frustrating days on the CTA, too...I once made the mistake of sitting next to this miserable old bitch who took offense at my winter coat infringing on her seat.  Instead of doing what any normal person would do ("Excuse me, but your coat is sneaking into my space.  Could you please move it?"  "Certainly!  I would hate to offend a polite commuter such as yourself!  Have a super-duper day!  But I won't let you go without a hug!"), she jammed her elbow into my side.  I assumed the assault was just a spasm or a mistake and ignored it.  To further get her point across, she proceeded to jam her elbow into my ribs three times in quick succession.  "Ow!  Why are you elbowing me!?," I asked.  "Your damn coat is in my seat!   It's 40 degrees out.  Why don't you zip it up like a damn normal person?"

I was dumbfounded and this was one of those rare times when I found myself at an actual loss of words.  If course I thought of all sorts of clever things to say to her later that day.   "I'm terribly sorry!  I thought I was on a Chicago Transit Authority bus and not in your first class stateroom!  How silly of me!" or "Oh, I didn't zip up my coat since, unlike you, I haven't yet felt to cold, clammy hand of death on my shoulder!"

But you know what?  Maybe I was in the wrong.  My coat is puffy and it was unzipped.  Maybe my coat really did annoy her.  I was willing to chalk it up as this woman having a bad day but a few mornings later, I found myself sitting across from her when the same situation played out with a new guy sitting next to her.  This time, he was a much smaller guy than me and his jacket was zipped up to his chin.  The same thing played out: she thought he was infringing on her space and instead of moving to another seat, proceeded to swing her arms about until she struck him several times.   He had a much better response than I did:  "I didn't know you needed three seats for your fat ass, you old bitch!"

Clearly, this woman is the worst commuter in the world.  Plus, she looked like a cross between Mac's Mom from "Its Always Sunny in Philadelphia":

and the Bitter Beer Face Guy:

I have never wished death upon anyone.  But I have to tell you:  Every time I see her at the bus stop now, a little part of me is disappointed she's still alive.

****************

This morning I was in another world.  I took some NyQuil last night and it worked like a charm.  Knocked me out, stone cold.  However, the stuff was clearly still in my system this morning and I commuted like a zombie.  When my bus pulled up to the Foster and Sheridan intersection, I heard a woman screaming outside the bus.  It would seem that there was some construction on the east side of the intersection that day and as a result, my 147 bus and the following 144 bus could not pull past the intersection and stop end-to-end.  Because of this, the 144 pulled up parallel to my bus and stopped to let on passengers.  Apparently, the screaming woman didn't realize this was happening and as the bus pulled past and proceeded onto Lake Shore Drive without her, she ran at a full sprint after it screaming, "TELL THAT FUCKER TO STOP!!!"  Now, keep in mind that I was inside the bus when I heard her--crystal clear, by the way--as she screamed outside the bus...this woman was loud.  And mad.

Then, for whatever reason, she got onto my 147.  Since she was running back from her pursuit of the 144, she was the last person on.  The bus started to pull away from the stop as she walked to the back of the accordion-style bus, muttering profanities the entire way.  Instead of sitting down, she reached the back doors to the bus and started frantically pounding on the glass.  As she did so, she screeched "LET ME OFF THIS FUCKING BUS!  OFF!  OFF!  OFF!"

Let me tell you:  she was not happy with the way her morning commute was turning out.  The bus driver came to a tire-screeching halt, let her off and she exited muttering, spitting and bitching the whole way.  I last saw her as she was walking west on Foster Ave. 

I hope her day got better.  All I know is this:  I would have given my next paycheck to have seen that woman take a seat next to the old elbowing harpy from the story above.  I feel karma owes me a solid.

Sigh.  Maybe tomorrow.

I'm old, Part 2

Back on January 30th, 2008, I posted an entry at my totally inappropriate MySpace blog entitled, "I'm Old".  Within, it had the following passage:

"It all started at work.  My back had been feeling a little out of sorts for the better part of the day.  Lower back pain is never pleasant, I would imagine, but I had never really experienced it before.  The spasms started small and only happened when I stood up from my desk area.  Any time I turned or, uh, moved, a tiny little pain would shoot through my spine and hammer my brain.  Ouch.  But it was manageable.  

I left work, made my way to the train and started thinking about the delicious, delicious burrito I was going to buy across the street from my bus stop. I knew something was wrong when I ordered something like 'a chorizo burrito with no sour-GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA !'  It snuck up on me and attacked with such vengeance that I didn't know what the hell had happened. It felt like to opposite of an orgasm.  I stammered through my order and immediately went next door to the liquor store and bought a bottle of vodka."

The rest of the post goes on to describe how useless I was for the next 48 hours.  It was the most pain I had ever randomly encountered, and this comes from a guy who just had his neck assaulted by a crazy homeless dude.  

Anyhow, I figured that the source of my back pain was from a weird chair I had been using at work.  They had just moved us from one end of the office to the other and in the move, they had lost my desk chair.  The new one was super uncomfortable and over the course of the next few weeks, I experienced some back soreness that eventually erupted into the fateful burrito order above.   I switched chairs shortly thereafter and, like magic, my back pain slowly went away.  I haven't experienced anything like that godawful week since.  

Cut to this past week.  It happened again but this time, there is no "office chair" explanation for my spasms.  I can only come to one conclusion:

I am--for realz, this time--really god damned old.

You see, normally when folks throw out their back, it's because of a lingering issue from long ago--my dad's back pain can be traced to when he played football in college--or otherwise they were doing something moderately active: whether it be playing with their kids, or falling off a ladder or making a sudden, jerky movement to prevent someone or something from falling.   All of these are fantastic excuses for back pain.  You know what I did to cause my back pain?  

I sat down on my bed to put on my socks.  

Ask Krishni about it sometime.  She was laying on the bed when I sat down and immediately shot directly up screaming something like "JESUSF'INGGAAAAAAOWOWOWOWOWCHRIST!"  I begged her to move over--likely not in a polite fashion--so I could lie down and whimper and swear and pretty much not move.   It was terrible.  And I have no idea what I did to cause the back gods to be angry with me.

Now, it's been well documented that I don't exercise enough.  And I eat a lot.  And probably drink more than I should.  And I just turned 33.  My sudden and fierce back attack was probably a direct result of all of the above.   Or maybe it's because I've already peaked as a human being--sad as it is to say, since I help grown men masturbate for a living--and it's all downhill from here.  

Christ.  Krishni married an old man.  Here's photographic proof:

Hooray for old man pants!

Blog headers...harder than it looks

Like any sane person whose adolescence occurred in the '90s, I watched an awful lot of The Simpsons growing up.  Because of this, I am not-so-uniquely qualified to definitively say that the "Clown College" episode was their finest moment. 

Also known as "The University of Michigan"

Of course, even the casual fan can pick out the two running jokes during the intro: Bart forever writing on the blackboard:

And the "Couch Gag":

I've seen most of these gags--at least from the first 8 or so seasons--thanks to the magic of the VHS tape that allowed a poor college kid to record the 14 daily showing of the Simpsons on Fox to be rewatched later, over many, many beers.

In the 2000's, Fox and Matt Groening--the creator of the Simpson clan--upped the ante by annually releasing The Simpson's DVDs.  I only bought the 1st season before realizing that I could never afford each season as it came out so I just borrowed each season as it was released from my buddy Brad.  It is because of these DVDs that I was introduced to the magic of the "director's commentary".  I LOVE the directors commentary (DC).  For those not in the know, the DC is an alternate audio track that plays along with the movie that features--duh--the director as well as the producer, some of the principle actors, maybe the cinematographer or the writer and they all sort of talk over the movie with interesting trivia facts and such.   I've watched most of my favorite movies with the DC turned on (Braveheart was weird because instead of the commentary being provided by any of the folks above, it was provided by Mel Gibson and Mel Gibson alone.  177 minutes of Mel Gibson rambling on and on by himself in what I imagine to be a candle-lit room full of Nazi propaganda posters.  Probably naked.) as well as the entirety of the 1st 8 seasons of The Simpsons.

Remember, I was unemployed for 6 months in 2006.

Of course, each Simpsons episode kicks off with the above two jokes.  The goal was to have two unique jokes for each episode and, for the most part, that has been the case.  You do tend to see repeats of the couch gags more often than repeats of Bart at the blackboard but they do happen.  What Groening discovered, according to the commentary, is that it is damn hard to write these two jokes week after week and keep them fresh and funny.  Even with a team of writers.  In fact, he joked--I think he was joking--that he often pushed the blackboard gag off on The Simpsons unpaid interns.

For the 5 of you that have followed my blog from the beginning, you may recall that I used to have a little witticism that appeared beneath the title of my blog that changed all the time.  The line was--for the most part--about Bonzer T and it at first changed daily, then every couple of days, then weekly, then my Mom died, then, after the last one sat there for a couple of weeks, I just pulled the joke altogether.  That's not to say that the gag will not come back...it's just really, really hard to do.

At first I thought "How difficult can it be?  Just pick a historical figure, make the person say something that he or she would never say and always make it about how awesome/offensive/manly you are.  You're super awesome and offensive and manly!  Piece of cake!"

Let me tell you, that shit is hard.  What I've found is that some days I'm not at all creative, or pissed at a masturbator that just called into work, or super hungry, or sometimes I'm sad, or disproportionally horny, or just plain tired.  Those are the days that you have to force yourself to stay clever.  It's one thing to be paid to do so and it's another thing to keep clever on a totally rad PG-13 blog in my spare time.

That said, what follows are each and every blog header that I kept for the 1st couple of months of the Home Skillet.  I think we can all agree, the work suffered as time went on:

“A safe place to bash Julia Roberts”  --Winston Churchill

“The window dressing of the Gods.”  --Jesus Christ

"Super cute!" --Madeleine Albright

"Thrusting towards mediocrity." --Millard Fillmore

“Jettisoning the philanthropic and crusty.”  --Brian of Nazareth

"Seriously, Julia Roberts sucks." --Marie Curie

"Sucking the shrimp out of life, one tail at a time." --Col. Sanders

"Eternally rolling with the homies."  --Peter Tork

“Arrrg!  ‘Tis only one rum better than mine!”  --Captain Morgan

“How'd the play end?” --Abraham Lincoln

“DAMN!  You lookin' gooooooood, sugar!”  --Bill Donohue

“On the 3rd day, Bonzer did rise again”  --God

“Oh shit”  Osama Bin Laden

“Dead on balls accurate” --LL Cool J

“Christ, this guy rambles”  --Jesus Christ

“Well, he's no Shatner”  --Bender Rodriguez

“Sniff, sniff”  --Barrack Obama

“Tougher than a pommel horse on fire.”  --Curt Thomas

“Sad Panda.” --Norman Schwarzkopf

“I dunno, dude. You're the shit.” --Yahweh

Honestly, I don't know how that "Red Meat" guy does it.  

M-F

As we all know, the clock is ticking here at the Rabbit; it is inevitable.  At some point--probably before the end of the fiscal year--I will be out of a job.  And as much as I've enjoyed helping thousands of grown men masturbate for the last few years, it will hurt losing this job.  Not because I truly enjoy the work.  No, it's more because I truly enjoy money.  I wish, though, that I had some more money.  We all would like to make more money at what we do but I think we also can agree that limited money is better than no money. 

Which brings me to the perks of my current job.  I get some pretty amazing insurance.  Krishni is kind of blown away by that.  I get lots and lots of free porn.  Brad is excited about that little benefit.  Occasionally we have big, drunken "Cube Crawls" here at the office that feature scantily clad models running around the office doing jello shots with the pasty tech guys.  Not gonna lie: that's pretty fun. 

But since I've gotten married, there has been one major problem beyond being a technological fluffer: my schedule.  You see, when I 1st started this job, I was just coming off my "work" at Steppenwolf Theatre Company.  I worked an odd schedule there where Tuesday and Wednesday were my "weekend".  When I started here, I told them I could work weekends because that was what I was used to.  As a result, I was given a Sun-Thursday schedule.  I actually liked that a lot since Sunday, especially during football season, was a super-slow day filled with ESPN.com, South Park episodes and computer games.

Since my marriage, however, I've realized how fun it would be to have an actual weekend and be able to do stuff with my wife, friends and family on Sundays.  For the past year, I've been bugging my boss to move me to a regular Monday-Friday schedule.  You know, like a normal person.

I finally got my wish.  For the 1st time in my life, I will have a regular M-F job.  I can go out on Saturday nights again!  I can attend Mother's and Father's day!  I can watch the Bears!  Provided I still have a job in October!  Ha ha!

Seriously, this will be the 1st time I've ever worked relatively normal hours (I will be working 8am to 4pm).  The only other time I worked M-F, was when I worked at KJRH in Tulsa on the morning show.  And I had to be in the studio at 4 freakin' 30 am.  Those are not, what one would call, "normal hours". 

Color me happy.  At least until the next Jonestown blood-letting here at the Rabbit, that is.

Anyone have any job openings anywhere?  I can work weekends!