Over 2,000 words and not a single mention of her? Snooze City. "Poor sasha will be hearing about that yawn for the rest of her life," says Huff Post editor Peter Goodman.
Maybe not for the rest of her life, but at least as long as reaction GIFs are a thing.
[photo via AP, gif via @ditzkoff]
Ta-Nehisi Coates has a blog post up about Lupe Fiasco's anti-Obama rant with the headline, "My President is Whack." Though we hold Ta-Nehisi Coates in high esteem, we must interject here: no, My President Is Wack.
"Whack," or "Wack?" The answer is "wack." The word meaning "bad, messed up, stupid, boring, dumb, uninteresting, unenjoyable, or otherwise not good" is spelled "wack." The letter "H" is not involved. Some random grammar site declares, "The word meaning very bad or of dubious quality is wack, with no h." On "My Philosophy," KRS-ONE said "they all just wick-wick-wack." The plague of the world is wack MC's. There's even a shitty Youtube rap video entitled "My President Is Wack," featuring the comment "your flos are hella wack."
The most important thing to remember about all of the evidence above is that none of it proves anything, because "wack" is a slang word and slang words are inherently flexible and ever-changing and and slang is whatever we make it. There is no appeal to authority that can settle this argument once and for all. You can drag in a thousand old school rappers to say it's spelled one way, and a thousand old school rappers to say it's spelled the other way, and it still will not be settled, because, look, it's spoken slang, so when you ask how it's spelled, you're just asking someone to make up a spelling on the spot. The "real" spelling and usage of slang words is—like sports, or who makes the best hot sauce—a perfect thing to argue about, because there is no answer, except the answer mutually agreed upon by the people having the argument.
The only way to settle this argument is this: it's wack. It's not "whack." That shit looks ridiculous.
Get real.
[Pic via]
Famed German poet Novalis once said of poetry, "Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason." Today, with a deeply personal yet universally-minded work read at President Obama's second inauguration, Cuban-born gay poet Richard Blanco attempted to apply salve to some of our nation's sorest wounds with language. Just his presence was historic and somewhat healing in and of itself: Blanco is the first Latino and first openly gay inaugural poet in America's centuries-long history. (Read the full text here.) The nation's collective response? "LOL, what is this dumb-ass shit? Bring on Beyonce!"
From notable Washington Post journalists...
House Majority Leader Eric Cantor's nonplussed snort basically says it all:
Nice try, Richard Blanco, but next time how about a poem that rhymes, dude? Is it so hard to rhyme? Even Sasha and Malia can probably rhyme, and they are children.
Then Beyonce sang the national anthem—which rhymes, thank you very much!—and a country raised on television was soothed once again.
The initial moments of Beyoncé's inauguration performance were fraught with confusion, after she opened her mouth to sing the national anthem and everyone realized that God had replaced the artist formerly known as Beyoncé with an actual living angel whose voice was more heavenly than a thousand Hallelujah choruses.
Bey kept things pretty traditional for the first half of the song, delivering the word "proudly" (what so proudly we hailed) as "proudly," rather than the more modern "PUH-ROWWWWDLY," and taking care to accurately pronounce the Jabberwocky-esque gibberish lines (O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming) that no one ever gets exactly right. (She studied the words beforehand, duh.)
Then all of a sudden, in the middle of the song, something crazy happened: Beyoncé went rogue.
If you take a look above right around the 1:45 mark, you'll notice that Beyoncé casually removes her earpiece, mid-line, without missing a beat. It was later reported that she was plagued by audio problems throughout the song.
At this point in the performance, Beyoncé is, as they say, "singing blind." She no longer has any way to tell if she is singing on key, except for the fact that she is Beyoncé and "off-key" is the one note that exists beyond her range.
She proceeds to fucking crush this anthem. Doin' vocal loopty loops over "proof" (gave prooOooOf through the night ); riding the waAaaAAAave of "wave" (O say does that star spangled banner yet...). Everything sounds impeccable.
She wraps up with some dynamite eye-contact with the camera and big broadway gestures for the folks there in person.
The camera picks up Joe Biden smiling a big open-mouthed smile.
The U.S. Marine Band closes us out.
And Beyoncé is now the President.
[via CNN]
An assemblyman representing Nevada Assembly District 17 was arrested on Saturday after he allegedly made threats of violence against the Assembly's newly elected speaker, Marilyn Kirkpatrick.
Steven Brooks of North Las Vegas was heard telling other Assembly members that Kirkpatrick's "first day as speaker would be her last," according to State Sen. Kelvin Atkinson.
Both Brooks and Kirkpatrick are Democrats.
Local Democratic party sources told the Las Vegas Sun Brooks was unhappy with Kirkpatrick for not appointing him to chair of the Assembly Ways and Means Committee, and had become increasingly "erratic" over the course of the last few weeks, even launching a failed attempt to oust the Speaker-Elect.
Responding to the threats, North Las Vegas police arrested Brooks without incident Saturday afternoon during a traffic stop.
In his car, officers found a loaded gun.
A management analyst by trade, Brooks was elected in 2010 and had previously served as a member of the Transportation, Judiciary and Health and Human Services committees. He was recently assigned by Kirkpatrick to the Assembly Ways and Means Committee — a committee of which she is also a member.
The Legislature kicks off its 77th session on February 4th, but a pre-session meeting of the Ways and Means Committee is scheduled for 8:30 AM on Wednesday.
It is unclear if Brooks will be allowed to attend.
[mug shot via Las Vegas Sun]
Among those absent from today's inauguration was Mitt Romney, the man who almost was. NBC News' Peter Alexander also reports that a former aide of Romney's says it's "doubtful" that the Romneys were watching. What's your problem with Beyoncé, Mittens?
So what were the Romneys watching on television today instead? According to today's TV listings for La Jolla, Calif., the Romneys had a couple options:
[Image of sad Mitt Romney via AP]
In last week's episode of Girls,one of the most groundbreaking boundary-pushing moments of uncomfortable realness occurred during a couch-sex scene between Elijah, Hannah's new gay roommate and ex-boyfriend, and Marnie, the ex-roommate and best friend, whose mesmerizing prettiness can no longer be taken for granted this season. This week's episode is primarily a metaphorical inspection of the couch for the cum/come stains left behind even though nobody came at all.
In the opening scene we see that Elijah has confessed couch-sexing Marnie to his older gay boyfriend, George, who does not approve. "Elijah, you're a gay man!" George shouts at Elijah. Elijah disagrees because remember, George, he's always said on numerous occasions that he might be bisexual. George yeah-yeah's him for this stupidity and demands better answers from Elijah or else. Elijah fights for survival.
I fucked Marnie. Big Deal. So what. Don't leave?
Elijah plans to make this memory disappear completely and fix everything by providing George with more specific details about the night he fucked Marnie on the couch. It was three pumps. Maybe two and a half. He lost his boner (he says boner again this week) so the fucking of Marnie was substandard but whatever. Don't leave?
"I want this." This is what Elijah tells George to convince him that the substandard fucking of Marnie will never, ever happen again. Elijah holds George's face with desperate tenderness, a move often deployed by people who don't know what they want, but who can still convince other people that they do.
That Silly Three-Pump Whatever Thing that happened that night aside, Elijah's attempts to minimize it only make old gay George grow more angry and wise. Men of his advanced age have patience and forgiveness but it is in short supply. Elijah is not a highly-evolved homosexual human and reveals that he has not told Hannah about that night he fucked Marnie on the couch. George is bewildered by Elijah's awfulness. A breakup happens but Elijah doesn't want it to happen right this minute. He would prefer to wait until the guilt subsides or the power dynamic in his arrangement masquerading as a relationship shifts back to him. Elijah's haphazard infidelity is forgivable; Elijah's manipulation is not. So farewell, you poof haircut with a young boy attached to it, and take this breakup like a man who has sex with women on uncomfortable couches. George exits the apartment with officious flair and off-camera the sound of a door shutting-not-slamming is heard.
These are the consequences rendered when you fuck Girls you're not supposed to fuck, gaywad.
Here is all the non-bisexual relationship news we find out in this episode:
We find Shoshannah and Ray laying in bed with each other thoroughly enjoying the pleasant vapidity of post-coital conversation, confident and comfortable that their love is true right this minute. We find Jessa and Thomas John in an apartment fantastic enough to overcompensate for his sublime assholeishness, confident and comfortable that their love is true right this minute. We find Hannah and Sandy making out on a couch, confident and comfortable their love is true right up until the point she asks him if he read her essay.
He says he didn't, but it turns out he did, and Hannah asks why he would do such a thing even though she knows the answer won't make her happy. She presses him for critcism because she can take it, you'll see.
"For starters it was very well-written," Sandy says, positively.
Hannah knows it's very well-written. This is useless information to her. Offer Hannah honest criticism so that she can react poorly to it even though she asked for it.
Sandy obliges. Off we go.
"I just didn't think anything happened [in this very well-written essay]. Ultimately it felt like I was just waiting in line and this [very well-written essay] was all that nonsense that goes through your brain when you're trying to kill time."
That's what Sandy meant by very well-written.
And you knew that you bitch so don't even.
But she does anyway.
It's at this point where the argument about the very well-written essay in which nothing happens ingnites the realest of real talks between Sandy and Hannah about race. Sandy accuses her of fetishizing token black men like a Brooklyn dingbat. Hannah thinks Sandy only sees her as another blob in the white blobby masses of females he takes joy in marginalizing. Then Hannah offers this fun fact she remembered and she'd like Sandy's opinion about this fun fact right at this exact moment: "Two out of three people on death row are black."
Here is a room. There is an elephant. We should talk to it now before more air escapes from this room. Again.
Too late. Shade has been thrown, for real this time. Hannah then decides to exit the relationship pronto because Sandy is also a Republican and his right-wing brain circuitry will never appreciate very well-written essays by white blobby masses of females. Also: gay marriage is good and guns are bad so GOODBYE, SANDY.
Back at the apartment shared by Hannah and Elijah, Marnie stands in the doorway, dressed in suspenders and hot pants. This is her new work outfit. After she was fired from the art gallery, she interviewed at other galleries, but she realized that there is not much money to be made in the art world if she sits behind a desk. Instead, she's chosen to become a hostess at a swanky restaurant club-thing frequented by old rich men, and expects to make $400 a night because she's super-pretty so why not and YOLO.
Meanwhile Marnie and Elijah are having a heated discussion about whether or not they should tell Hannah about the couch-sexing. Elijah just overpowers her with his super-fierce homo-ninja debate techniques and both their mouths remain shut for now.
It's perfect timing because Hannah has just returned from Sandy's and she's remarkably ha-oh-well about the breakup even though she enjoyed boning him so much. She grabs a tub of Cool Whip from the fridge and eats it with a spoon because she knows she's chubby and so what. Marnie takes a seat across from her and Hannah notices her suspenders and hot pants because she knows that Marnie's not chubby and so what. Marnie tells Hannah about her new job as a hostess.
Hannah is stunned. "A hostess?" she says, but actually means "EW YOU WHORE" and wishes her spoon were a garden shovel and that the Cool Whip tub was bottomless.
Marnie calmly defends her job choice, but Hannah says something about how she'd never work at a job where her sexuality was being exploited. Marnie exhales in a certain way which triggers this type of response from Hannah.
"You don't think I'm pretty enough for a pretty-person job!"
(But it's Hannah who thinks she's not pretty enough for a pretty-person job.)
Marnie's not rattled and retrenches. She fires a response she's probably used a gazillion times before on her less-pretty friend over the years "No, I think you're beautiful and you know that!"
(Marnie thinks Hannah‘s beauty is very well-written.)
At the end of this long, intense night Hannah is alone in her bed watching a YouTube video about how to trim your own bangs when out of the darnkness comes a text message from Adam. He's been sending her disquieting videos of him playing the guitar and crooning depressing songs he wrote about her. She thinks he's obsessed, even though she spent most of last year demanding his attention and girlfriend status. Once he gave it to her, surprise, she iced him. So far this episode she's described Adam as a socipath and murderous — not hot murderous, either, but real-deal axe murderous. We know that Adam and Hannah are too crazy-beautiful to live right now and that once the words of the text message are revealed nothing good can come of it:
"I'm downstairs."
He's downstairs for love, not murder, but Hannah can't diferentiate between the two when it comes to Adam.
She clicks her light off and pretends not to wait for what's next.
"I saw you turn your light off."
She tries to ignore the texts and adjusts her head on the pillow but then LOUD NONSENSE FROM A HUMAN MEANT TO STARTLE WILD ANIMALS occurs.
She screams like a girl afraid of murder-love.
It's just Adam he has a key, remember?
We see Adam in her bedroom doorway and he's so happy to be near her. He's not going to murder Hannah. Not tonight, not ever. He's lost the cast on his broken leg somehow but He probably chisled it off with a screwdriver or an old dirty fork so he could limp over to Hannah's apartment since she doesn't visit him anymore.
Hannah is annoyed and Adam is not welcome. They agitate their way through the smalltalk until Adam requests a glass of milk.
She goes to the fridge with her phone and presses 9-1-1 to make this murder-love vanish once and for all.
Adam drinks his milk and continues to be grabby and loud, all up in her face and in her space. She accuses him of raping her space. "Space rapist!," she calls him and now Hannah thinks she wants to break free forever so now's the time for her to snap:
"GO AWAY!"
She shoves Adam towards the front door.
"GO AWAY!"
She shoves Adam towards the front door.
"GO AWAY!"
She shoves Adam against the front door.
He's pinned there for a second and his heart could sure use that cast right about now.
You're stupid Adam, you took this way too far. She loves you, you giant freak, but be patient and sane. The best way to make this murder-love last forever was to stay away. Now you pressed too hard on the re-set button and it's probably ruined. So take your twisted space-raping m.o. back to your apartment, the one that's kept in purposeful disarray. You can mope in your mess until she's ready to talk to you like a human being but now or in the near future are not ...
And then the cops arrive just in time to break the spell.
"You called the Po-Po?" Adam asks her like a dope. They are standing in the stairwell looking at the two cops who've responded to Hannah's misguided call in to 911 due to a breakup emergency.
Yeah, now who's raping space? Definitely not the Cool Whip.
Hannah looks up at Adam, shamefully, hoping he'll forgive her for calling the Po-Po.
But it's too late for that now so Adam becomes unhinged and causes a scene like murderous charmers always do. He tells the two cops that he wants a restraining order against Hannah. He tells the cops she once showed up to his apartment wearing only knee socks. SHE'sthestalker! SHE'sthe crazy! SHE'stheproblem!
Hannah blushes and sighs and tells the Po-Po that she only showed up to his apartment uninvited in knee-socks one time. The Po-Po are unmoved.
The exchange between Adam and Hannah in the stairwell is ferocious but lovely because it portends a return to the terrible normalcy of their relationship. Hope is a super dynamo in Brooklyn tonight.
The cops handcuff Adam anyway because he has an unpaid parking ticket, an outstanding public urination charge and because he's being so Adam. They lead him down the stairs.
"I'm CRAZY! I'm CRAZY!" he yells with victorious defiance because he knows that Hannah still loves him in that murderous way.
"I'm sorry!" she yells from the top of the stairs like she means it this time.
"Talk to you later?" she guesses because what else do you say as Adam goes to jail.
There is no response.
But remember that two out of three people on death row are black. So the chances of Adam and Hannah's survival are still good.
Top image by Jim Cooke.
This past Saturday, the Hard Rock Hotel & Casino Las Vegas hosted the 30th annual Adult Video News Awards, a little modest event sponsored by True Love Waits. James Deen, the Promise Keeper next door teetering on the verge of crossover stardom for his upcoming role co-starring with Lindsay Lohan in The Canyons, won Best Male Performer. A delicate flower named Asa Akira brought home Best Female Performer. Lee Roy Meyers, the Saturday-morning cartoonist behind SpongeKnob SquareNuts, did not win Best Director—that honor went to Axel Braun, the Sunday-school teacher responsible for such nursery rhymes as Euro Nymphs and Boy Meats Girl (1 and 2).
Among the other wonderfully family-friendly categories as Best MILF/Cougar Release (an honor for animal activists) and Best Original Song (2012 winner "Stuck in Your Crack" was surely about sidewalks) was Clever Title of the Year. Past victors include 2012's Beggin' for a Peggin' (an underdog tale about the Mighty Ducks of Cribbage), 2011's The Devil Wears Nada (a biopic of the Spanish Anna Wintour), and 2010's Who's Nailin' Paylin? (an animated investigation into Home Depot's finances).
As to be expected, this year's nominees were all completely inoffensive and safe-for-children. Behold:
Clever Title of the Year
Asphyxia Heels the World, BurningAngel/Vouyer
Brooklyn Egg Cream on the Roxxx, Seymore Butts/Pure Play
Chocolate Covered Crackers, Black Magic Pictures
Chocolate Yam Yams, Black Storm/Monarchy/Vantage
Does This Dick Make My Ass Look Big?, Vouyer Media
Look Mom, My First Black Penis, Mike Hunt/Juicy
My Wife Caught Me Assfucking Her Mother, Devil's Film
Nice Shoes, Wanna Fuck?, Electric/Hustler
Occupy My Ass, Bobbi Starr/Evil Angel
She Plays a Mean Rusty Trombone!, Lethal Hardcore/Pulse
Show Me Your Shithole, B. Pumper/Freaky Empire
Somebody Shave Me, Zero Tolerance Entertainment
The Spit and the Speculum, Mike Adriano/Evil Angel
Subtle Fragrance of Her Private Parts, Swank/Pure Play
We Vow to Bang Black Beotches, Kelly Madison/Juicy
This year's winner is . . .
(SPOILER ALERT!!!)
Does This Dick Make My Ass Look Big?
Occupy My Ass (a talking-donkey fable), we hardly knew ye.
[image l-r: AVN program h/t via @sjaark and MurderMotels, movie poster via Evil Angel]
Tumblr blogger Mattyrab locates what might be the most important moment of the inauguration: this hall-of-fame shade-throwing moment at the post-inauguration luncheon. Watch the first lady react to whatever Speaker of the House John Boehner just said, and take notes — this is master-class material.
[Mattyrab]
An Tennessee man didn't quite get the cash he was after when he walked into a Huntsville, Alabama, Starbucks with the intent to rob it, but he didn't leave empty handed either.
Police say the bizarre robbery attempt went down this past Sunday at 7:30 AM, when Phillip Sawdey entered the Starbucks on Airport Rd and demanded money from the barista behind the counter.
The incident report states that his plan to grab the cash and run were quickly brought to a halt when the barista informed him that she was unable to open the cash register.
She then offered to make it up to him with a free cup of coffee, which he accepted.
The suspect was later spotted walking around a nearby parking lot and arrested for robbery.
[photos via Yelp, Madison County Jail]
An Australian news crew filming along a beach in Queensland's Sunshine Coast happened to be on hand to witness a bare-knuckle brawl between a British grandfather and a 6-and-a-half-foot dusky shark.
Aptly named tourist Paul Marshallsea of Wales responded to cries of "shark" by jumping in the water and grabbing the giant fish by its tail to yank it away from young children who were swimming close by.
"My instincts took over," he said after the fact.
The shark's instincts took over as well, and it thrashed backwards, nearly biting Marshallsea's leg. "hen I got the shark to just over knee deep he turned on me and just missed me with a bite," the 62-year-old said.
Wildlife expert Terry Dale joined Marshallsea, and together they managed to steer the shark away from Bullock Beach.
"I know it was dangerous but it almost looked beautiful," Marshallsea told the BBC. "You have got to have respect for a beautiful animal."
The coastguard acknowledged that Marshallsea did a "great job," but recommended that people generally avoid "manhandling sharks."
[screengrab via Telegraph]
Recently, Yahoo! News commissioned a couple Pulitzer Prize winners and also James Franco to write poems on the subject of Barack Obama's second inauguration. The full text of James Franco's poem is available here. You also have the option of watching him read the poem into a webcam while lying down in bed wearing a t-shirt, which we highly recommend doing, if only for the funny way he says "little burrito place." Here, I've responded to James Franco's poem with a poem.
Franco comma James
One of central CA's most gifted high school sophomores
But troubled, too; Needs direction
We'll make him write a poem
Poems aren't my scene, man
But James; Did you know
That poems don't have to rhyme?
...I'm in.
"OBAMA IN NASHVILLE"
Too played-out *delete* *delete* *delete*
His fingers strike the keyboard like similes crashing from the sky
"OBAMA IN ASHEVILLE" he types
Much better
The opening lines, a Wikipedian ode:
"Asheville, North Carolina, is the birthplace of Thomas
Wolfe and the sometime residence of F. Scott Fitzgerald"
Asheville is the county seat
of Buncombe County,
with a humid subtropical climate
Two stanzas down; so much space left to fill
Did you know that Zelda Fitzgerald was hospitalized for madness?
James Franco does
He'll tell you:
"Soon after his fortieth birthday, Fitzgerald attempted suicide
Here, but couldn't shoot his own head, drunk, I guess.
Later, after he was actually dead, from alcohol,
Zelda perished in a fire at her institution, one of nine."
But enough about those miserable sons of Gerald
Back to James Franco
I mean Obama Franco
I mean Barack Obama
What
to write
of him
?
Thinking about thinking about poems makes James Franco hungry
He goes to a burrito place where he feels famous
"I went to class and then the little burrito place where they know me"
Porfa bor mis amigos, no autographs hoy
But sir—you must
The check
Please
JF he scrawls on a napkin, and winks
No poem ideas yet. He emails friends
How am a poem for Inauguration?
One writes back; a sleepy old man
"...he said that my poem was a difficult task."
Some friends—What friends?—no help as usual
But wait! James Franco met Obama once
"...we waited in a private room with the likes of Tom Cruise,
And Katie Holmes, and Claire Danes."
The Manhattan Project's Hollywood satellite office? No,
The annual Correspondents' Dinner
"He knew me from Spider-Man. I asked him for advice,
I was scheduled to give the commencement speech at UCLA
And there were some undergraduate knockers against me;"
Is it illegal to touch a freshman girl's boobs, Mr. President?
That meeting took up a couple more poem stanzas
Now break to decry the hypothetical beheadings of presidents
Obama is a president, "not a king," observes James Franco
And his head belongs attached to his living body
In closing, James Franco ponders the role of a lifetime: the part of Obama
"All I would need to get down, aside from the outer stuff-
And I know that's important—is his essential kindness,
I'd let the writer put in all the political crap"
He imagines himself in a slim grey suit
A golden aura shining out 'neath a layer of blackface
"Yes, his race, no one will forget. But the soul too.
I'd win the Academy Award if I just captured that."
Inauguration.
Image via Getty
Sean Wilson thought he was the proud owner of what might possibly be the world's biggest chicken egg — a half-pound freak of nature affectionately dubbed "the beast."
But upon cracking it open to see how many yolks it contained, Wilson discovered that his beast had another surprise in store for him, a la Ferrero's controversial Kinder Egg.
Not to give the twist away, but if you're looking for the science behind the freaky phenomenon, it can be found here.
[H/T: Kottke]
When Barack Obama was inaugurated in January of 2009, the U.S. unemployment rate was 7.8%. Today, as Barack Obama is inaugurated for his second term, the U.S. unemployment rate is 7.8%. Hope, but no change. Each week, we're bringing you true stories of unemployment, from the unemployed themselves. This is what's happening out there.
The good son
In 2009, I was laid off from my job as an admin asst. with a small construction firm after 11 years. Filed for unemployment, started looking for work. One month later, my mom's husband had a severe stroke. He has since recovered somewhat although his left arm and hand are useless and walking is difficult. He has also been hospitalized three times since the stroke due to seizures. He needs assistance bathing and dressing and is pretty much relegated to sitting in front of the TV all day.
He and my mom are nearly 80. She cannot take care of him by herself...so, I quit looking for work and moved in with them to help out, even though he and I cannot stand one another. I do the driving, take care of the lawn, the dogs, minor house maintenance issues, house cleaning, etc. Don't mind doing it, she's my mom after all. Problem is, we thought this would be short-term, assuming the man's health would continue to deteriorate (he also has CHF), but he is a tough old bird. I am now 56 years old, with nothing more than a high school diploma who hasn't worked in over three years now. On top of that, my own health is starting to become suspect, nothing major or debilitating, but things that need to be addressed. Unemployment benefits ran out a while back, but do get some government assistance with SNAP. I am grateful to have a roof over my head, food to eat, things to do and still having my mom around. Frankly, the future frightens the crap out of me and only my own cowardice and the thought of how it would affect mom has kept me from ending it all. It may come to that eventually though.
The corporate drone
I'm writing this after drinking several beers and some sneaked-in (alone) shots by myself. Because what else do I have to do except drink alone?
I've been unemployed for nearly a year and I'm at my wits end here.
The reality of it is that I was laid off in November 2011 and at that moment, I was elated. I had been in a "dead-end" corporate job for six years, and for three of those years, I longed for unemployment. I hated the corporate bureaucracy and the lack of internal mobility. I only enjoyed my great coworkers and good pay at a top financial firm. So when I was called into that nameless/faceless conference room (in-the-know, by the way… I had packed up my stuff days beforehand), my heart was racing but my brain knew what was up. And as I was driving home, I felt elated, like I was freed from a cubicle prison that I willingly entered into all those years beforehand.
The first few weeks were bliss. I could do whatever I wanted to do, all those years of me sitting in a cube, wishing I was somewhere else. I enjoyed sleeping late. I reveled in going to the park on a random Tuesday, walking laps around a peaceful lake and listening to my favorite songs on my iPod. First world troubles, right? I actually enjoyed being able to go and spend time with my mother on a weekday. And beyond anything else, I loved being able to see my husband, who worked evenings as long as we had been married (and even longer).
Thankfully I received a great unemployment "payout". My severance lump sum was enough to free me from crazy debt. I was making pretty good money as a corporate drone, so I was able to get the max allotment — $500+ a week. I'd be more specific except I'm pretty much buzzed right now… because what else do I have to do except watch Netflix movies starring Taylor Lautner at 2:30am and drink booze? By the way, I'm 30.
Anyhoo.
At this point, I'm starting to get desperate. I've been out of work for nearly a year. My qualifications are solid — BA from a good university and 7+ years experience in my field. I tried my hand at freelance writing/editing (my true passion), but that isn't paying my bills. I'm ready for another soulless role in the corporate rat race, in NYC no less… and only time will tell.
The bottom line is—and the sentiment that I hope will reach your readers—is that being unemployed makes you feel worthless. Despite having a great social support system and a solid employment history, times are hard. I think to myself, "What are you contributing?" And beyond that, I'm at a point in my life where yeah, it'd be nice to own a home and have kids. That isn't happening without a job, my friend.
What's the point in waking up at a reasonable hour anymore? What do you really need to do in a day that actually makes a difference? Why not just give up and watch TV and drink?
I never thought I would be here… and yet, here I am. An overqualified piece of shit (in my mind). And I bet there are dozens of other people out there who think the same way as me.
The young attorney
I'm a young attorney out of a job. I graduated law school at age 22 in 2011, passing the bar that same July. Throughout law school I worked for a single employer; a solo practioner who promised me from hire that I would be kept on as an associate upon graduation. I took classes full-time and worked 45+ hours a week to help support myself. I didn't intern because I "knew" I had a sure-thing with my current boss. I worked with the guy for four years and he treated me well during that time. I couldn't imagine what would happen next.
I took two months off to study for the bar exam, working an odd day here and there. Three days before my test I called my boss to confirm that I would be coming back the following Monday at which point he replied, "Yeah, I don't know how to tell you this, but we don't really need you here anymore. I make plenty of money by myself; I don't need to pay another attorney salary. I made up my mind about 3 weeks ago, but didn't know how to tell you." And that was it. Perhaps I was naive and I should have hammered on the extra-curriculars, knowing the job environment was bad, but I needed a full-time salary to pay my bills; I didn't have Mom or Dad pay my way through school like others did. I had loan repayments ($130,000 of them) starting in a few months, an apartment to pay rent on, and no job. I immediately terminated my lease, and moved back home with my father.
Since then (August 2011) I have essentially been unemployed. I took a 3 month temp job at another firm, but they decided they didn't have the budget to justify another associate at that time and my contract was terminated. I've applied to, quite literally, hundreds of jobs, gone to seminars and job fairs, and have had no luck whatsoever. I've applied for secretarial positions, but they just say I am "over-qualified" because of my J.D. I've applied for attorney position, but they say I am "under-qualified" because I am entry-level with no courtroom experience. I've applied for jobs as a Park Ranger, an Admin. Assistant, and a Cashier, just to name a few. USAJobs, I'm convinced, is just a graveyard of resumes.
I now live in a rural state where I can afford the rent, for now. My unemployment runs out in a few weeks and I'm sure I will be moving home, yet again. I guess the upside to this is that my student loan repayment is deferred until I have some measurable income. There is not a day that goes by that I don't wish I had skipped college and law school altogether and gotten a tech degree of some sort. Every night I sit in bed with severe anxieties about whether I will be able to pay my bills, if I will have to borrow more money from family members, if I will have to move for the fourth time in a year. I've pretty much lost hope of becoming an attorney. I will take any job that can pay the rent and get me to a point where I am finally completely independent. I hope things turn around soon.
Dealing with this bullshit
I've been out of work off & on for 3 yrs. When I graduated from college, I tried to join the military so I would have something going. After 2 attempts at Officer Candidate School that resulted in injuries I didn't commission. I feel cheated. But I guess its not in the cards for me. So I worked some retail jobs and bartending at a few places, all of which were fucking nightmares. The one bar that took a chance on me that I loved fucked me over because I didn't have a penis. Seriously. My regulars that I run into from time to time still tell me how much they miss me and I do miss them and the work, but who's gonna go back to work at place that thinks you're disposable when they are running themselves into the ground? I'm not crazy, maybe desperate but definitely not fucking stupid. I decided to go get a certificate in medical coding. I even passed the national certification exam, that most coders don't even have. Still no job. Maybe an internship. I would be worse off it if weren't for my husband. We got married before he left for Afghanistan and he returned safe but if it weren't for him I would be completely fucked. I still have to find something soon because I have student loans up to my eyeballs. I've been through some rough shit with him by my side the last few years and I can't ask for anyone better. I'll be 29 this year. I didn't think this is where I would be at 29. My husband jokes with me saying girls go to school to meet their husbands and I know he's not serious but damn I want to prove him wrong. I just want to work for fucks sake.
Thank you for running these stories. Usually when I read them I cry but its also reassuring because I know I'm not the only one dealing with this bullshit.
Back to square one
It's only been a month and thirteen days since I've been unemployed. But I'm profoundly afraid of entering the "endless time of never coming back" that is long term joblessness.
When I graduated in December 2008 with a B.A. in Literature and B.Sc in Journalism (yes, two separate degrees in under four years) from a public research university, I lived in one of the cities most affected by the housing bubble. For six months I languished in an unemployment hell I never thought I would experience. I had internship hours at an international media company. I had done two PAID journalism internships, one in Florida and one in Mexico City, and I had worked on a series of webisodes that got published in a major newspaper. Throughout these internships, I had also worked part-time waitressing and receptionist jobs to save money. I thought I would have enough to move to a better city and maybe do those amazing, albeit expensive unpaid internships so many of my top-tier j-school friends could afford thanks to the amazing resources provided by their institutions (and the International Bank of Dad, for which I had no more credit extensions).
But there I was. Stuck and broke. Because my mother was a real-estate agent making $0 yet paying exorbitant realtor association fees plus other bills, I had to help out while living with her. My savings whittled away. I'd like to say I spent the six months between December 2008 to June 2009 working on the short-fiction book I always wanted to write, but I was applying for everything under the sun using up any and all connections I had. Fortunately, I was able to waitress for a few months and make enough cash to cover my medications and other living expenses. Meanwhile, my half-sister thought my resume might be the problem, so I took it to be edited by professional resume writers. I had no idea I could look so douchey on paper-full of typos, overstuffed, and *gasp* Cambria.
Friends would move to New York City and Washington, D.C. without jobs to literally starve on the street while interning for publications and NGOs they thought would hire them. Disgustingly enough, I thought this was a luxury. Finally, after interviews in late June, I got into an Americorps program. With no savings and nothing else really hiring in my city, I stayed with the program for two years, during which time I was placed at two different organizations. The qualifiers that come to mind: Exhilarating, exhausting, demanding, taxing, thankful to be among the ranks of the underemployed and underpaid.
Think of the program like an underpaid apprenticeship at non-profits that squeezes you for all you're worth. In order to receive the much-coveted ~$5,000 Education Award at the end of your service, you need to fulfill 1700 hours of service within a 9 month period. Meaning that 40 hours a week won't cut it. But who in the non-profit world only works 40 hours a week? My second year my weeks averaged 60 to 70 hours, with plenty of state-wide travel. I was dealing with the press, winning a legislative campaign with my co-workers, and writing like a madwoman, so I didn't mind that my monthly stipend was $1250 after taxes, about $7.00 per hour...
I started a Master's degree at an Ivy League in 2011 with a partial scholarship from the school (added to the two Education awards racked up during my Americorps service). I got into all of the schools I applied to, but only the Ivy offered me money. When I crunched the numbers, going into first-time debt for a caliber education seemed ideal, especially when the price tag seemed so small. I kept working in communications at my school, hoping that my time in academia would help put enough ironic distance between myself, a somewhat activist inclination, and a less-than-impressive Undergraduate institution. It seemed to be working. I received a grant to do field research in Mexico, and I even published two articles on the experience-for free, of course. I thought, maybe, I could finally jump back in the journalism game, even if I used the savings I'd painstakingly accumulated over 3 years. But my partner of 4 years, a web developer who had been gainfully employed throughout my ‘problems', enrolled in a PhD. We moved to North Carolina and it's been one month and thirteen days.
How am I back to square one? No one understands the paranoia, the fear that I experience every day that I don't receive an email, an interview confirmation, a phone call. My friends say I've paid my dues and something will definitely come, that I should relax and enjoy the time off. I can't relax. I'm tired of living a professional 'whac-a-mole' existence that pays a meager amount for the hours I put in. I never expected a six-figure salary. My financial goals maxed out between a $40k to $50k pay check because to me, that was too much money.
Now, no one understands when I panic, when I see my loan interest increase, when I apply to $8.00 per hour jobs. I have a mother who is insolvent who will need significant amounts of care which she cannot afford. In 6 years, she frittered away all $75,000 of her retirement fund on realtor association fees, rent, etc. believing that the American Dream would work for her as quickly as it had for so many other people. Now she wants to go back home, but can't afford the move and keeps paying the bills on her credit card and borrowing from my grandmother. Culturally, I am required to care for her when the time comes and I'm ashamed to say I jumped ship when I realized I could only, barely help myself. My health, my broken—sometimes abscessing-teeth, my swiss-cheese of a ‘career' keeps getting in the way. I'm lucky my dad, a Vietnam War veteran, gets a military stipend and did the right thing-move to Latin America where living costs and health care are cheap. Something which I might have to consider soon. One month and thirteen days.
Comparatively, I've been lucky to scrape by the way I have. I have a somewhat solid resume, I've (indirectly) worked in my field. But I see the stories, and I'm terrified. I've fought fang and claw to make the best of an economic situation that wasn't my fault. It took me years to see that it wasn't MY fault. At 26, I'm starting to hear things like "overqualified" or "not sure if you'd be the right fit" and "too much office work for someone like you, don't know if you'll be ok with that?" Again, I'm resenting people who do have work and who make a decent wage. Again, I'm applying for work at Starbucks and local restaurants. Again, I'm looking at job postings overseas hating myself for preferring jobs over relationships. I should seek strength in solidarity, but I'm obsessing over the details with a sinister calculus: they hired this less qualified person for this position because her B.A. is from a better school, because her daddy knew X administrator, because she was prettier, because she was a he, and so on. I see everyone as my competition and I don't expect others to feel differently.
So I check my inbox and nothing. It seems cruel to have tasted underemployment stability, however minimal the wages were. Some of the strip clubs I've started looking into are the droney-bass stuff of Lynchean legend. They certainly pay better than any of my ‘waste of life' tier dreams do. One month and…fourteen?
Previously
The full archive of our "Unemployment Stories" series can be found here.
[Thanks to everyone who wrote in. You can send your own unemployment story here. Image via Getty.]
Tumblr, a microblogging platform where minors come together to post inappropriate content, has apparently drawn a line when it comes to inappropriate content involving minors.
And that line, it seems, is a penis on a baby's face.
Death & Taxes magazine editor and Vice contributor Ned Hepburn didn't expect to rattle any cages when he posted an innocent photo of a baby with a dick drawn on his face, but Tumblr's Minitrue soon let him know they were not amused.
They promptly removed Hepburn's photo and sent him a notice saying the site's terms of service had been violated, and warning him that repeated violations will not be tolerated.
"Wow, good job Internet Police," Hepburn retorted in a Tumblr post that included a screenshot of the digital memory hole.
He continued: "Way to get that picture of a baby with a dick drawn on its face deleted, Tumblr. Maybe next you'll start policing the SEA OF PORNOGRAPHY also hosted on your servers? Fuck you."
Hepburn wasn't quite done challenging Tumblr's Thought Police: Soon after he re-uploaded the offending photo to his Tumblblog.
So far, Tumblr has left the photo in place, suggesting that even when it comes to enforcing previously enforced terms of service, Tumblr has a double standard.
[H/T: Uproxx, photo via Ned Hepburn]
Today Washington, D.C. was all atwitter with the graduation of President Obama from first-term president to second-term president. Here is your Inauguration 2013 yearbook.
The presidential motorcade heads down Constitution Ave. from the White House to the U.S. Capitol before the start of the inauguration.
[Image via Getty]
With an estimated 800,000 attending, there were far less people at Obama's second inauguration than the record-setting 1.8 million who attended his first. It does, however, the double the 400,000 people who came to George W. Bush's 2004 inauguration.
[Image via Getty]
Sen. Chuck Schumer (D-NY), who served as the master of ceremonies for the inauguration, gives a thumbs up as he prepares to begin the festivities.
[Image via AP]
Guests of honor Beyoncé and Jay-Z enter to accept their honorary title of First Couple.
[Image via AP]
Michelle Obama prepares to walk to the West Front of the Capitol, where the inauguration is held.
[Image via AP]
Myrlie Evers-Williams, widow of civil-rights leader Medgar Evers, gives the invocation at the beginning of the ceremony.
[Image via Getty]
Vice President Joe Biden takes the oath of office on the Biden family bible. Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor administered the oath.
[Image via AP]
James Taylor sings "America the Beautiful."
[Image via AP]
Supreme Court Chief Justice John Roberts administers the oath of office for the President. Obama takes his oath on a bible originally owned by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
[Image via AP]
Barack and Michelle Obama wave to the crowd after the oath of office.
[Image via AP]
Barack Obama delivers his Inaugural Address at the Capitol. Obama made history, becoming the first president to advocate marriage equality (or even say the word gay) during an inaugural address.
[Images via AP]
Vice President Biden and President Obama fight over who will get to congratulate Kelly Clarkson first, after singing "America ('Tis of Thee)."
[Image via AP]
Beyoncé nails the National Anthem as the skies open and God smiles upon the land.
[Image via AP]
President and Vice President share a moment following the inauguration ceremony.
[Image via AP]
Obama signs a proclamation to commemorate the inauguration. He is surrounded by Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid (D-NV), Sen. Lamar Alexander (R-TN), Sen. Charles Schumer (D-NY), Vice President Joe Biden, House Speaker John Boehner (R-OH), House Majority Leader Eric Cantor (R-VA) and House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi (D-CA).
[Image via AP]
Former President Bill Clinton and outgoing Secretary of State Hillary Clinton congratulate Obama ahead of the inaugural lunch.
[Image via AP]
Senators, House members, cabinet secretaries, Supreme Court justices, former presidents and their spouses enjoy a delicious-sounding lunch in the Capitol's Statuary Hall. Take notes on the menu, Hollywood Foreign Press Association.
[Image via Getty]
President Obama smiles from his limo during the inaugural parade, which stretches from the Capitol to the White House.
[Image via AP]
Vice President Biden makes a signature Biden face as he and Dr. Jill Biden greet fans during the parade.
[Image via AP]
Barack and Michelle got out of the car twice during the parade to greet fans along Pennsylvania Ave.
[Image via AP]
"HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY" - Michelle Obama
[Image via AP]
Chillmander in Chief, Barack Obama, and wife Michelle greet the Hawaii Home State float during the inaugural parade.
[Image via AP]
The Obamas enjoy the inaugural parade.
[Image via AP]
There is nothing not great about this candid AP photo of President Obama and the First Lady sneaking a quick smooch during this afternoon's Inaugural Parade while the First Daughters look on.
Of course, the screengrab of Malia ruining Sasha's shot a moment later is also pretty perfect.
[photo via AP, screengrab via @kerstinshamberg, GIF via Tumblr]
Not to be forgotten, Al Roker—TV news correspondent, Today Show weatherman, and White House sharter—made everyone uncomfortable again today when he shouted insanely at the President and Vice President until they acknowledged his existence. "I love Joe Biden," said Al Roker, as he rocked back and forth like a small child waiting in line for the bathroom. Biden, ever-suave, ducked out of the parade to shake Mr. Roker's hand and that was that.
Al Roker is done.
[h/t BuzzFeed]
New York Times-approved chef Guy Fieri, the mastermind behind culinary innovations such as Donkey Sauce and the no-longer-served (RIP) Nuclear Waste Margarita, is now officially in the wine business. Sometime last year – how the news went so long without being reported is a mystery and, really, an indictment of the food media – Fieri purchased a five acre vineyard of pinot noir grapes in Sonoma County, California.
"Ever since I moved to Sonoma County and saw all this incredible environment of wine, from the agricultural side of it to the business side of it, to the community involvement side of it ... I've just been in awe," Fieri said Friday. "So my wife and I were talking about it, and saying, ‘Can we do that some day?'"
That day, alas, was so long ago that Fieri has already sold some of the grapes to two wineries. But how good are the wines? The verdict, according to unbiased tastebuds of Fieri's father and business partner, Jim Ferry:
...the pinot came out real good," Ferry said.
(And in case you were wondering why Fieri's father's last name is Ferry and not Fieri, here's the Press Democrat to explain: "Ferry spells his name differently because Fieri took the Italian spelling of his family name in 1996.")
That's not all the good news, in case you were worried. If God wills it so, and county planner Sigrid Swedenborg approves, Fieri will open a tasting room in the three-bedroom house on the property, which will also include "an Italian piazza, with raised garden beds, olive trees and mountain views, according to the application submitted to the county by his company, Knuckle Sandwich LLC."
"What we're concerned about is the noise from the events and the traffic, and how that could impact the nearby residents," Swedenborg said.
Fair enough. Also: "Knuckle Sandwich LLC." Fieri has plans to one day manufacture his own wine, which he will name "Hunt and Ryde," after his two sons, Hunter and Ryder. That's a terrible name for a wine, sure, but considering Fieri's food-naming past, it's a step in the right direction.
[Image via AP]
In case you're not up to date on the newish lingo for stupid pranks, "Swatting" is the act of reporting a fake crime or emergency at someone's home, which usually results in a SWAT team showing up and scaring the hell out of everyone at the nonexistent crime's location. Last week, Tom Cruise was swatted, perhaps resulting in an advertisement in The Atlantic; this week, it was gentleman R&B star Chris Brown's turn. According to TMZ:
Law enforcement sources tell TMZ ... the caller claimed a mother and father were in a fight and the father went to another room in the house to get a gun. At that point the caller hung up, never mentioning it was Chris Brown's house.
It's not known if Chris Brown was home or not, or if he responded to the police with his trademark charm. Police are still looking for the pranksters, who, in addition to maybe pulling off the Cruise prank, might have swatted Bruce and Kris Jenner last Friday.
[Image via AP]
