Having Sex with a Corpse--is it that wrong?

During a typical, late afternoon brainstorming session, which usually entails monitoring my beard growth in the mirror and contemplating whether or not I should shave it, my mind wondered to a story that has been unfolding in Cincinnati about a morgue worker who was tried and found guilty of having sex with corpses.

I had been following the story for some time, but really only through the daily headlines, so my knowledge of the case was sparse to say the least. I started thinking that, although grotesque and utterly repulsive, society really isn't threatened by this man. Couldn't we just put him in a job where there are no corpses, say, not the morgue? I started building my defense while in the shower after said beard monitoring. I should note here that I have a tendency to take the unpopular side of explosive issues. My impassioned defense of Michael Vick has cost me several friendships as well as caused me to lose the business of at least one client in my previous job. I have, at various times in my life, argued that more guns on the streets would be a good thing--and once I extended this argument to include the need to overthrow the government sooner rather than later. I campaigned vigorously for women's suffrage until I found out it was the right to vote. And in college I once took the side of the Hutus when debating the Rwandan genocide in a class on East Africa. I regret that one.

So anyway as I sat down and came up with my eye catching title, I figured I should get some of the details of this case before heroically defending this man. And I am mortified. This link breaks down the amount of dead sex he was having. I will probably side with the rest of society on this one. How this has escaped the national spotlight I have no idea. Although, once Forever Unemployed shines his spotlight of truth on a subject, national uproar is soon to follow. (Stay strong OJ! I'll figure something out...)

In other news, FU just got wireless capabilities which has dramatically increased his comfort while attending his blog duties. And, tomorrow FU turns 26. While this means very little in the grand scheme of things, there is a decent chance he could be inebriated in the AM and might not manage a post. I will see what I can do.

As always, stay strong America-

Forever Unemployed

FU is Not God, Eats Easy-Mac for Breakfast

From time to time I get carried away in my rhetoric and yesterday's claim to be God was one of those times. I apologize to those I might have offended and regret any needless animal sacrifices that resulted from readers looking to pay me homage. Alas, these things happen.

Today is off to a decent start; I have already watched a Netflix movie (Appaloosa--I gave it two stars), I am still in sweatpants, and I am not at work. This morning I also realized that we are approaching the end of February, which means the beginning of March will soon be here, and that means I will be able to collect a brand new fly from the "Fly of the Month Club" from Orvis. This is fantastic.

And there was a most remarkable aberration this morning that I feel is worth reporting. Instead of my usual breakfast cereal, Total, I had Easy-Mac. It was delicious and very easy to prepare. Nothing tickles me like products that turn out to be precisely as advertised, and Easy-Mac certainly tickled me. I am going to muster some energy here so that I can venture outside of my apartment and mail this movie back.

Happy Hump Day-

Forever Unemployed

FU Achieves Nirvana, Might be God

If there is one thing I have established with this blog it is that expectations of regular posts should be kept very low. Yesterday, being my 87th consecutive day off, deserved a special celebration. I decided to go skiing and woke up at the ungodly hour of 6:30 in the morning to head to the mountains. Due to an overnight snow shower of roughly 20 inches that continued throughout the day, FU benefited from some of the best snow of the entire season. The fact that this was my first time skiing all year and I was so fortunately blessed with this gift from above had me contemplating for some time my divine composition. Surely, only the Son of God could receive/cause such a miracle. After ruminating on this for much of the day, I eventually decided that if I was God I would probably be a much better skier. I would also probably be able to approach women in bars. And I have a bald spot on my face which really impedes beard growth and has been the source of much consternation. Amidst this mounting evidence I concluded that there was a 99% chance that I was not God and got back to enjoying my day as a mere mortal.

I was surrounded by people who were all not working while being as unproductive as I was. Delighted by this healthy population of like-minded individuals, I thought of my followers and figured I had an obligation to determine how so many people became citizens of the FU nation. Sadly, most of the people I interviewed on the chairlift were retired, after long careers, or were on vacation from work. This saddened me. Coupled with the earlier revelation that I was not God, I was overcome with a sudden wave of fatigue and dread. Also, my mustache had frozen and it was becoming increasingly difficult to breath, so I decided to pack it up and head home.

On the way home I passed by a stretch of road which had almost been my undoing earlier that day. On my way up to the mountain I was driving on a series of back roads that were covered in last night's snow fall. My truck hit a slick patch and after some serious fishtailing I found myself traveling backwards in the oncoming lane. As I sat in the driver seat, looking at the rising sun through my amber-smoked aviator sunglasses, and sliding violently in the wrong direction and toward my possible demise, I felt a sense of calm. Sure, an inability to confront or express emotions is a trait that I am lucky to have inherited from my father, but I think there was something more. I believe I have reached the pinnacle of existence, and much like the Buddhist monks sitting atop the Himalayas, I have achieved nirvana. Everyday is a delight for me, and if my number is called then I will merrily march onward and hope that somebody will continue this blog after I have gone.

But I quickly abandoned that Buddhist nonsense when I thought of a much more logical explanation for my calm when faced with mortality; I AM God. Why would I be panicking--I am indestructible. Pleased with having put this question of my composition to bed, I happily continued on home and woke up today at the much more godly hour of 10:00.

Stay strong America--I command you.

Forever Unemployed

Forever Not Honored at Oscars

Despite my immeasurable contributions to film in 2009, I was saddened to see that my efforts were not recognized by the Academy. Smarting from this unprecedented snubbing, I am seeking solace in the call of the outdoors. While most of you will be returning to various economic engines Monday morning to start the countdown to the weekend, I will be skiing. Sadly, this means no journal entries during the day. I will do my best to get a detailed recounting of how awesome my day was Monday night.

Stay strong America-

Forever Unemployed

FU Reduced to Watching Heli-Loggers

Yesterday truly was a struggle of the human spirit. Due to the Netflix tragedy I gave up on the day at roughly 9:00 in the morning, which left a lot of daylight to struggle through. There was a stretch from 1:00-3:00 that I spent on our love seat just staring at the ceiling. That was actually a pretty enjoyable part of the day. The low point came around 10:00 last night when I found myself watching The Learning Channel's newest series: Heli-Logging.

This has been an interesting trend in cable television when channels like TLC and the History channel air a series that follows blue collar people doing their blue collar jobs in a format that is absolutely impossible to interpret as being informative or historical. The basic premise to these shows is to find a job with an inherent amount of risk (like driving trucks on ice, fishing in the Arctic), put a camera crew on location and record all the drama as it ensues. The most interesting thing about these shows is that they prove that people will watch anything on television.

Last night I watched as this train wreck of a wife--the kind of woman who wears glitter eyeshadow around the house--tries to console her heli-logging husband who, for some reason, is still wearing a bathrobe at noon and is halfway through a six pack. I'm not saying I am above this behavior, but isn't this guy supposed to be heli-logging? We cut back to the wife as she addresses her marital problems and explains them away as caused by her husband's passion for heli-logging. The husband, still in his bathrobe and cracking open another cold one has just lit a cigarette in his living room.

Meanwhile, back at the logging site, everything is going according to plan. The safety standards that have been put in place seem to be working and the trained professionals doing their job apparently know what they're doing. This doesn't deter the production crew from reminding the viewer that disaster could strike at any minute. But after several hours without a disaster (sigh) the cameras head back to base camp to follow the drama of a worker who is--wait for it--drunk on his day off. This is where I turned the program off. First off, you're supposed to drink on your day off. Secondly, this guy is in the middle of the woods--what else are you going to do? Log? It's almost like the only peril these guys deal with is the danger they pose to themselves....

And that's when I figured out what the appeal of these shows was. It's not the danger of the job; it's getting a chance to see the absolute depths of existence these people inhabit. If you've spent your whole life in the lonely frontier of Alaska, or even worse, anwhere in Canada, the thought of losing your life isn't tragic. If anything it's probably appealing. The guy in the beginning of the show who was shamelessly drinking and smoking in his bathrobe wasn't passionate about heli-logging. He was passionate about killing himself. And I totally empathized with him after seeing his wife. I bet he enters the forest each day and says, "Please Lord, end me." But I wager God gets as big a kick out of his misery as the typical cable viewer at 10:00 on Thursdays does. Can you imagine how frustrating it must be for these people to come home alive at the end of each work day? Needless to say, this series is now being DVR'd by yours truly.

Congratulations (or my condolences) to everyone for making it through another workweek. For the next two days you can live like me.

Forever Unemployed

Yesterday Was Actually Wednesday

Mea culpa. In yesterday's post, a thrilling exploration of how often I shower, I closed with a note on how it was Tuesday. By no means did I intend to discourage those working readers by making the week seem even longer than it already was. Work itself is discouraging enough. Sadly enough, at the time of writing I actually believed it was Tuesday.

Sadder still is that after the arrival of not one but two Netflix movies in the post yesterday, I took them over to a friend's house and left them there last night. When I realized what happened this morning I was so incensed I could have strangled a puppy. It's a rainy day and a perfect excuse to watch movies all day. Now what am I supposed to do? I really don't have any other choice but to put on Norah Jones, curl up in a ball, and wallow in self-pity. What must I have done to anger the gods so!

The only thing that is keeping me going at this point is the hope that this forlorn day might open up a window to an emotional rainbow and a whole palette of feelings which I can splash on this canvas allowing you to gain a better understanding of a truly complex and bewildering being--me. But for right now I am only one color....blue.

Come back to me Netflix, come back to me....

An Interesting Twist in My Shower Schedule

I just took what was at most a four minute shower after two minutes of which I couldn't remember if I had shampooed my head or not. While this reflects either a severe drop in FU's cognitive abilities or just the remarkable amount of carelessness and leisure that envelopes my life, I'm not sure. I will most likely spend the better part of today on the couch contemplating which one is more likely. I do know that my head got at least one, but maybe two, scalp massages with Head and Shoulders.

More to the point, I thought this occasion appropriate for addressing my showering schedule as of late. I have long been a consistent, once-a-day bather. Depending on the levels of physical exertion, I've even doubled up from time to time. But before FU rose like a phoenix from the ashes of a steady job he voluntarily quit before fully understanding the breadth and depth of the current financial crisis, he maintained a strict policy of not showering on Sundays. This policy predates my attempt at a professional career and was adhered throughout college (and possibly as far back as high school, although scholars are at odds as to when precisely this policy first took hold).

It's not that I don't like being clean. There is just something about lying around in your own filth that seemed rejuvenating, as if my pH levels had found equilibrium. Perhaps I identified showers with the start of a workday--that is to say, the morning shower signaled the end of an otherwise perfect day. Maybe I resented the act of bathing for this reason. Possibly I viewed a day away from showering like a farmer views the fields he left fallow; restorative, regenerative, and if not entirely hygienic, necessary for the health of the entire operation (i.e., me).

But having cast off the bonds of employment, I have found my life to be one long set of Sundays, but without the dread of the morrow. In fact, I can't wait for the next day of my life. Perhaps this explains why I am constantly napping--I simply can't wait to wake up in tomorrow. So I guess it would be more accurate to say that my life is kind of like a Friday/Sunday hybrid. Either way, it rocks. My ultimate point is that I have found myself suddenly loathe to take showers. I have traced this to three possible explanations: the first being that I am subconsciously identifying everyday of my life as a Sunday and without knowing it, I am enforcing my no showering policy; the second being a continued identification of the shower as 'the start of the day,' something I am generally too comfortable to confront in sweatpants, and perhaps (also subconsciously) still rebelling against; and the third being sheer laziness.

I think all of these have merit, and while I am not sure which argument I would want to make the case for, I am not going to even attempt one, because that would be missing the point. In my current existence, I answer to no one. I don't have to shower if I don't want to. I can sit around in sweatpants all day eating mayonnaise out of the jar if I felt like it. I don't feel like it, but having the option to do so is comforting. And to be quite honest, breaking a sweat really isn't a part of my life right now. My activity levels really don't call for consistent bathing anyway. Between the kitchen and the living room, over the course of the day I might walk 100 yards. So I'm still pretty clean, with or without a shower.

I guess my point is that being able to do whatever you want, whenever you want, is probably the greatest feeling I've ever had. I think today is Tuesday, which would mean three and a half more days till the weekend for the rest of you. Stay strong America-

Forever Unemployed

FU is Eating an Orange, Otherwise Not Much Else Going On

Today has passed almost entirely without incident, which is to say, it has been phenomenal. I finished off the green bean casserole that I made yesterday, which took two turns in the microwave in order to achieve a suitable temperature for consumption. That took three minutes. I have also gone to the mail twice, but have come back empty-handed both times. I'm eager to go back a third time, but am waiting for the right moment.

In other news, during an earlier conversation with my aunt who works for an airline, she told me she was concerned that if she got laid off she would never want to look for work again. It wasn't that the job search frightened her, it was that she simply doesn't want to work anymore. Talk about someone getting me. Sometimes she calls just to hear about how little I am doing. While talking with the rest of my family I have to keep up appearances of a job search. I have another aunt who regularly calls me to let me know that she is praying for me to find a job. (God might want to take care of some other things first....say, Africa).

My apathy towards a job search is starting to become ridiculously transparent and I am quickly running out of ways to change the subject when talking with kin. When I tried to respond to my mom's question about what jobs I had been looking at, I got the sense that she knew I was lying to her, but would rather not acknowledge it; much like when I was 15 and she caught me just after smoking a cigarette and I tried to tell her I had been burning toilet paper to cover up a fart. (I had my back up against a wall and that was the best I could come up with). So I figured tomorrow I should check out the job boards so I can come up with some material and avoid alienating myself from my family. But don't worry America, I won't apply to anything.

Back to lounging-

Forever Unemployed

Forever Makes a Delicious Chicken Salad and Then Eats It. He Also Ponders Time

My sister holds the notion that if you give a person a half hour to complete a task, it will be accomplished in 25 minutes, however if you give that same person that same task and a deadline of five days, it will take all five days. I speak of this now because this highly structured, regulated and routinized* world we live in so often demands that we "find time" to do things. Today, while playing housewife, I did a load of laundry for my roommate because he didn't have any time to do it himself. Hey, what else do I have to do?

Which is exactly the point I am trying to get at. I have no deadlines, time frames, or any schedule at all. Half of my day I'm not even sure if I'm awake. So returning to my sister's principle, if you give a person five days to complete a simple task, what happens if you give them no deadline at all? This is the incredible world I live in--one where time isn't even non-linear, it's a non-factor. (I'll avoid a lengthy segue here about our definitions of "time," but Stephen Hawking treats the subject admirably in A Short History of Time, specifically chapters two, nine, and ten).

In last week's post I mentioned that I had to go to the grocery store. I just got around to that today. It probably would never have happened if I didn't really need to eat. In that same post I mentioned that I would address my showering schedule and the fact that I might have AIDS. Neither of those posts have been attempted. To be fair, both subjects being equally important demand a lot of attention. But I guess that's the point; I have had nothing but "time" to address these issues but have simply gotten lost in the chronic abyss that is my life. When you have absolutely no time constraints, what does it matter if it's done today, tomorrow, or 1,000,000 years from now. This is the philosophical argument I'm forced to address every time I am confronted with activity. I find myself quite often saying, "what does it matter, I'll get to it in a million years," and then smirking and imagining myself high-fiving Stephen Hawking. Sometimes I even go down that road where I say "what does it matter, I'll get to it in infinity." But that always leads me to attempt a comprehension of infinity and I usually end up getting really dizzy and passing out on our living room floor. Again, to be fair, this could be because I haven't had a lot to eat lately, so maybe it has less to do with infinity and more to do with groceries. Either way, I stick to the more reasonable "I'll get to it in a million years" and find myself doing very little quite often.

But back to the groceries. Confronted with the prospect of starvation, coupled with the fact that I had parked last night in a "residents only" spot and was already in my car to move it, I decided to venture to the grocery store. Upon getting home I changed my roommate's load of laundry and set about preparing my chicken salad and then immediately eating it. In doing so I lost track of "time" and didn't pull out my roommate's shirt from the dryer a little early, like he had asked. It's probably ruined forever. But that's what happens when you don't have to answer to "time." I'm sure he'll understand.

Stay strong America-

Forever Unemployed

*That's my first time using this word--a 1/2 Day of Rest might be in order to recognize this occasion.

FU Sleeps Past Noon

The lives of history's great men all contain one moment, one event that marked their metamorphasis from ordinary to extraordinary. This afternoon, my moment came to me. Caesar crossed the Rubicon, Washington the Delaware, Einstein explained relativity, Edison invented the light bulb, Michelangelo completed the Sistine Chapel, and today, I slept in past noon. I haven't done that since college and for several years I didn't think I ever would again, but today, just a few weeks shy of 26, I managed to slumber past the sun's zenith.

This historic day immediately called for recognition and around 12:57 I established that today would be a "day of rest." Usually reserved for Sundays, Tuesdays, or any day where inclement weather threatens, I will not leave the apartment today or change out of sweatpants. Only frozen food or leftovers will be consumed. No cleaning, straightening, or organizing of things in my apartment will be attempted. Showering is simply unthinkable.

The writing of this blog borders on violating kosher, but posterity demanded it. Like all of the revolutionary moments mentioned earlier, this one can not be accurately appreciated or described at the time of its occurrence. Only the passage of time will allow future generations to put this into proper context, but I think it is fair to say that no conversation of aviation's most pivotal moments could take place without including Armstrong's stepping foot on the moon, Lindbergh's transatlantic voyage, the Wright Brother's first flight, and Forever Unemployed's PM wake up. This event simply transcends humanity.

Every General has a Colonel, every Batman a Robin, and FU has his roommate who thankfully picked up last night's tab AND it should be noted, slept past 10:00 this morning. While still an AM wake up and by no means mentionable when compared to my accomplishments, it is still worth noting simply because he has a job for which he was incredibly late this morning.

I must get back to resting, but I congratulate everyone on suffering through another week of work. Leisure awaits me-

Forever Unemployed

FU Regrets Decision to Attend "Abs Class"

An ill-fated decision made earlier today following the previous 48 hour run of great decisions took me to my gym and the Thursday Abs Class. I'm not a workout class kind of guy, and your core muscles aren't particularly relevant to lounging, so in retrospect this decision was completely unfounded. Perhaps at the time I thought a little physical exertion would keep me on the wave of good times I had been riding. Perhaps in the back of my mind I thought the class would be filled with gorgeous women eager to pounce on a 25 year old college graduate without a job and absolutely no ambition in life.

I was wrong on both accounts. While there was one attractive girl in the class, I am pretty sure my repeated calls for a break along with the stagnant smell of a cigar smoked 24 hours earlier coming out of my pores nixed whatever small chance I had to make a positive impression.

Several hours later, my body is still shaking from the instructor's insane workout regimen. The next several hours FU will be spread out like a starfish on his floor groaning. Take care my followers-

Forever Unemployed

Sweatpants, Cigars, and Being Smarter than Socrates

Another fine day in the life of FU. After my sister left on Tuesday (and my subsequent entry regarding Maine) I dilly dallied around the apartment for somewhere in the neighborhood of five hours. I'm not quite sure what I did or how long it took, but I know the answers are something like "very little" and "what does it matter to someone who is unemployed," respectively. I guess when it comes to these stretches of my daily life, I am sort of like Plato in the Allegory of the Cave, aware of something's presence but unable to ascertain its real form. More to the point, the hours I spent on Tuesday evening in the apartment are not important. What is important, is that the window to the human soul which this blog has become, is perhaps more groundbreaking and philosophically more insightful than anything since St. Augustine.

Who else is grappling with the ideas of time, relativity, life's purpose, the morality of our actions. Don't you see that the "apartment" is really "consciousness?" The work week is mortality, sweatpants are contentment, coffee is family. It's all a metaphor that is interwoven at a level that probably won't be understood for centuries until we develop computers that are fast enough. By that time we'll probably have calculated the last digit of pi and colonized Mars. Like Melville I don't expect to be appreciated in my own time, but that's the curse of true genius, isn't it?

That was all a lie. I'm pretty sure I watched reruns of "Bones" on TNT and did laundry, but that's not important. During this five hour period I managed to largely ignore the remnants of a 30 pack of Bush Light that was sitting in our refrigerator. Somewhere around 10:45 my will broke and I ended up drinking six of those delicious BLs, which ultimately lead to me sleeping in until 11:00 yesterday. Well, I woke up and contemplated my life a little bit, and realized it was pretty awesome, and wanted to reward myself for making great decisions. So I went down to a cigar bar and spent two hours savoring aromaic carcinogens in a poorly ventilated den. This was probably the manliest place I have ever been. It's the kind of place where offers are written on napkins and slid across the table and people drink cocktails that haven't been heard of since the 20s. I imagine that 100 years ago Teddy Roosevelt would sit at a table in the corner and arm wrestle everyone who walked into the place. I was at peace with the world.

But then it got better, because I met up with my roommate and two of our friends for a steak dinner and some Prohibition-era cocktails. This again lead to me coming home and enjoying a Busch Light or two which, again, lead to me waking up this morning and realizing that I make great decisions. So here I am in sweatpants on a Thursday, enjoying a cup of coffee and wondering if I'll get out of the apartment today. Only one more day of the work week for all of you hacks out there. Stay strong America-

Forever Unemployed

Forever's Sojourn to Maine

My sister came to visit this past weekend and expressed a desire to see New Hampshire while she was in town. I wasn't sure if she meant that I point it out to her on a map, or if spying it through binoculars near the state line would do. She intimated nothing specific about what she wanted to see or do in New Hampshire; an entire state she simply wanted to "see." In fact, her exact words were, "I've never seen New Hampshire...I would really like to do that while I am visiting."

I consulted two friends who were from the state (briefly wondering if I could just introduce them to her and have that count as our visit) and found that they were equally perplexed as I was as to how to show someone an entire state. Perhaps even more vexing, was the fact that both expressed bewilderment as to why someone would want to visit New Hampshire. One actually remarked that drinking in Boston would be a better alternative to drinking in New Hampshire, which was his only recommendation of things to do in New Hampshire.

Back to square one, I set off for the local library intent on figuring out what to do in New Hampshire and quickly found the solution in a guidebook to Maine. So early on Monday morning my sister roused me out of bed (around 9:00) and we set off for the lower corner of Maine (briefly passing through a sliver of New Hampshire on our way, at which point I considered my obligations as host complete). However, I was pleasantly surprised when we reached the sleepy town of Kennebunkport, Maine. Arriving at 11:00 in the morning and emaciated from skipping breakfast due to my early wake up, we set out on foot to find a diner that would eagerly serve us. What we found was that half of the town was abandoned for the winter. What establishments that remained in business throughout these frigid months weren't open on Mondays, save two, and those two didn't transact any business until 11:30.

I fell in love with the place, though not at first. While most people, starving and exhausted from a whirlwind tour of the Southeast corner of New Hampshire via I-95, would have been peeved by the lack of food, I understood it. I didn't' love it--yet--but I got Kennebunkport. Everybody (who works) hates Monday. To most people, the hatred of Mondays usually taints their Sundays nights. In fact, I was so loathsome of Mondays that Saturday mornings I found myself struggling to get out of bed, simply because I knew what was coming. So what better way to start the week off, than by not going to work? It's what I have been doing for months.

People in Kennebunkport, who actually have jobs, just don't work on Mondays. Half of the store owners actually shut down entirely for half of the year. In fact, most of these propieters are so eager to shut down, they forget to take down their "Open" signs in the process causing many a weary traveler to shout expletives and wish damnation upon them while kicking their double-locked doors and knocking over their sandwich signs for feeling so deceived after having first felt so delighted at the prospect of a warm meal, before said traveler realizes his blood sugar is dangerously low and his resultant foul mood might land him in trouble with the town's one cop, who has been watching him assault various "Open" cafes throughout the entire southern side of Main Street.

Of course, once 11:30 came around and FU was finally sated with a Philly Cheese Steak, his love of the town came to him. And upon further refection, I can't harbor bad feelings at those store owners who deceived me. I blame those store owners who keep ridiculous hours, inducing all of us to expect commerce to continue around the clock, throughout the year, thus forcing people to work all the time as well. In fact, if it was the end of the season I'd probably forget to take down the "Open" sign as well. I'd be so eager to leave, I'd probably forget to turn off the lights or lock the doors. I'd probably leave a day early and forget to tell anyone I was going. That's what the town of Kennebunkport is all about, and that's why I see myself retiring there some day....

Family Inhibits Writing, Increases Activity, Decreases Rest

Another unforgivable lapse in posting, however I have an excuse which doesn't have to do with my laziness: I have family visiting and haven't had a tremendous amount of "me time" to plumb the depths of unemployment and its related twists, turns, ups, downs, and emotions for my readers. But don't fear, the upcoming week you should see some really interesting posts concerning 1.) my showering schedule, 2.) having to go to the grocery at some point this week, and 3.) I might have AIDS.

Unfortunately, (for my legions) my sister is in town through Tuesday, which may mean that I won't be able to tackle the stated topics until at least then. But the good news is that there has been a flurry of activity the last couple days, all of which has had absolutely nothing to do with finding gainful employment (I'm now a member of the "Fly of the Month" club through Orvis!) which I look forward to recounting. Although the amount of walking I have been subjected to over the last several days has left me absolutely fatigued--Wednesday has already been declared a sweatpants day.

Finally, my heart goes out to the rest of you who have to go to work tomorrow and start another endless week of grinding it out. I am going to Maine to pump some dollars into the local tourist industry. Stay strong America-

Forever Unemployed

Forever's Take on Christian Bale

I initially wanted to steer clear of the recent firestorm brewing over Christian Bale's verbal tirade on the set of his newest movie that has been sweeping through all the major media outlets. While the tip of the spear of timely, relevant, and important news reporting--Perez Hilton, TMZ, CNN--were all over this story, I really wanted to stay true to my base and focus on my life, not Christian Bale's. But CB is a loyal reader, and I had to speak up.

One thing that the average Joe doesn't appreciate about somebody who truly is a master of their craft is the perfectionism that drives us, that fuels our fire. Christian Bale was in what I like to call, "the zone." It's the sole sanctuary of artists, athletes, big game hunters, and really, really expensive prostitutes. It's the place I enter when trying to recall the previous day's inactivity. Within the zone colors are brighter, edges are sharper, texture is amplified, memories become more malleable. When I am in the zone I can hear my feet sweating. We artists harness that sensitivity and turn it into something we hope is tough to understand and incredibly profitable.

But with that hypersensitivity the zone brings, the actor, painter, blogger, must exert an equal, if not greater amount, of focus to bring their creativity to fruition. My roommate found this out the tough way not too long ago, when he made too much noise walking through the door as he came home from work. I had just entered the zone, and reacted like an agile puma. I pounced on him and would have choked him to death, but my recent indolence does not support such exhaustive outbursts of activity and I soon fainted. Was he mad? No, he lives with a Michelangelo and he should have known better. In fact he apologized profusely. And I'd be willing to bet you, that if we had a chance to listen to the whole tape of what occurred on set, we would hear a lighting director apologizing to Christian Bale as well.

We artists did not ask to be born this way; misunderstood and better than most everyone. We just were. It's a burden we must bear and we do so humbly. While not everyone will understand this, I understand CB.

Lots of Activity and Movie Watching

Yesterday and today both brought a whirlwind of activity for FU. I made it to the gym for the first time in about a month yesterday, and was so spent I had to immediately watch a movie afterward to recharge my batteries. Having reestablished my operational equilibrium, I managed to actively mill around the apartment for the rest of the day.

After a frozen pasta dinner and watching five hours of college hockey on television, I plugged in my alarm clock for the first time since late 2008. While I have really been enjoying sleeping in every morning, I figured if I could get up earlier I would be able to enjoy an extra hour or two of not working. However, the snooze button, always an Achilles heel of mine, continued to be an irresistible temptation, and this morning it got pounded like it was in the 15th round of a Rocky movie. After an hour or so snoozing I did manage to get up around 9:30 and then mailed off a Netflix movie.

The activity continues! Because I then went outside of the apartment (again!) for lunch with an old coworker. She informed me that she would be leaving her job sometime in late summer and that since we had similar backgrounds I would be a viable candidate as her replacement if I was interested. Clearly, she is not a regular reader. I said thanks but no thanks. She paid the bill, we made out, then she went back to work and I to my couch. Again, feeling particularly spent after so much activity, I must now watch a movie to prepare myself for tomorrow.

And as for most of you, we're almost to Wednesday, hump day. For me, it's just another day in paradise.

Forever Unemployed

Addressing My Lack of Discipline

To my burgeoning fan base I need to address a serious deficiency that is an inherent part of my current retirement--a lack of discipline. To most of this country, today is Monday, the start of another week. A few months ago, a Monday morning meant that I was fudging my weekly activity report, perusing a standard set of web sites that regularly distracted me from work (espn.com, nytimes.com, theonion.com, etc...), playing a few games of tetris, and then usually settling down to ponder whether or not I should follow Alexander Supertramp into the wild. While I didn't (and don't) think a lonely death in an abandoned bus in the Alaskan Frontier is an enviable way to meet death, it would mean that I was no longer working, and therefore had currency as an alternative to my current life plan. Having to consider the pros and cons of both of these positions--alive and working, dying but not working--regularly occupied the final hour of work before my lunch break on most mornings. Some days I'd try to play tetris while considering my existential funk, but it usually resulted in an embarassingly low score, thus forcing me to take things one at a time.

What is my point? Having broken the shackles of weekly reporting, daily sales activity, and keeping up a general appearance of caring, the only person I have to report to now is me, and I am an incredibly laid back boss. I haven't gotten out of bed before 10:00 any day of the last two weeks. I then usually spend the hours before noon aimlessly wandering around my apartment, watching Sports Center until I have the broadcast memorized, rifling through my roommate's belongings, and then using the toilet with the bathroom door wide open. While my current life policy is that I am doing whatever I want, whenever I want, I realize that it is not fair to my adoring legions to keep them in the dark. In the days ahead I am going to work on establishing a regular rhythm to my reporting.* I promise to get better.**

It is almost 12:30 now, which means it's time for a bowl of cereal and then a nap. Stay strong America--

Forever Unemployed

*Since I am the only person responsible for holding myself accountable, I am not making any promises.
**See previous asterisk