rock on-an office power ballad-dan kennedy

“i play right wing, like my politics.”

“my mom used to take away my hockey sticks. she made me steal them from canadian tire.”

“how are you, dear?”

so, it’s official. as of 5pm yesterday, the library is on strike, with 19 books left on my unfortunate pre-planning. call me cassandra. i’m listening to alain de botton talk at the philly free library about religion for atheists, and he’s blowing my mind right now with the connections he’s making between branding and religion. this brings me to a library initiative to sell ad space on the back of the date due slips-an idea that was simultaneously shot down and shows exactly how much thinking on its toes my favorite institution does. it reminds me of the teacher that was profiled in the age of persuasion who sold ad space on his exams to fundraise his own teaching costs. i mean, seriously-what world are we living in?

i could get lost in wallowing in the fact that i should just get a moustache and a sari and revel in my near eunuch-hood (hey, i was rejected from a drag musical). mrs. saga-you’re lucky you’re already married, because when it came time to find a wedding or other joyous party to ruin-i woulda been looking at you. instead, i choose to be happy that my earnest looks got lionel richie‘s attention in the dark, and that he grabbed my hand, looked into my eyes, and said, “how are you, dear?” take that, dl. but we can expect no less than the one that picked out clothes for mandela.

i’d be looking for the kind of deal that dan kennedy has-he gets an ongoing ad with each episode of the moth that he hosts that plugs this book. but then again, i guess i better write a book first.

“A sobering education, this reel of videos; feels like it could be part of a ‘Scared Straight’ outreach program to kids thinking about signing record contracts with major labels. They’re sort of like fashion knock-offs, these bands in the videos, made up to look like what was supposed to be the next big thing at the time. We’ve got young cute female rap trios that aren’t TLC, sultry divas who were born with only one name but aren’t Madonna, a gaggle of toned and chest-hairless boy-men who are not the Backstreet Boys. At the moment there’s a video on the screen that must be twenty-five years old. It’s an act that might as well have been named Also-a-Cute Female-Rap-Trio-with-Big-Loud-Colorful-Clothing. I can’t recognize them for anything. Jesus, one-hit wonder is one thing, but we are literally watching a no-hit wonder. Maybe even a no-album-was-actually-ever released-after-we-signed-them wonder.” (155-6)

here’s to a day of appreciating staying power. and making one’s dad jealous.

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One thought on “rock on-an office power ballad-dan kennedy

  1. the office (politics):

    “Holy Christ, is she serious? She looks kind of tough, this woman. But in her defense, she’s wearing a hippy sundress that looks like it could be made out of hemp or recycled paper towels; she’s an angry, aggressive tempest in clothing made by kind, passive people in Oregon. She seems mad, like she was mad before this exchange, I mean-like she’s been mad for years or something. Maybe it’s an act; she’s probably another perfectly respectable mid-thirties Caucasian-female passive-aggressive creative type from, say, Venice, California, who has realized the only way she’s survived for a decade here is to be perceived as tough.” (13)

    “The Fat Joe album is coming along, evidently, and then talk turns to Fat Joe’s work strike. Something about some rumor of not continuing on the CD until the label buys him a thirty-thousand-dollar fur coat that he’s had his eye on.” (15)

    “Here is what I say to the children who are our future: never underestimate how denial and a good old-fashioned mild learning disability can team up to come off as unwavering self-confidence.” (27)

    “She’s maybe late thirties and tired looking, makes a lot of money ushering record executives through the age of the Internet, and seems fueled mostly by resentment masked with stale congeniality. But more than anything, it’s her hair that precedes her. It’s crazy-person hair, no matter how you cut it. It is hair that says, ‘I’d much rather be sleeping late in an abandoned loft where I’m free to smoke menthol cigarettes in a second-hand terry-cloth bathrobe, sitting on a saggy couch, while I comment to nobody in particular about the people on a reality television show like they’re my family.’ Or maybe I’m projecting again.” (97)

    “But for one inspired second or two, I think about how cool it would be to get my own pee-pee pad and never have to leave my office to take a leak. Better still, I should make a power play for the top and get my own dog. But it’s hard to imagine putting three thousand bucks on the table for something smaller than my shoe with a better pedigree than mine, so instead I stand waiting for Vallerie to get off the phone, and I’m daydreaming of what kind of office dog I would get. I think I’d head down to the pound and choose the cagiest, most high-strung, slouching, growling, medium-size passed-over derelict canine of the bunch. Something tortured by the dry itch of minor skin disorders to the point of lunacy. I would name him Taco. Taco would be too big to sneak in via handbag, so I would sneak him into the office on Thursdays and Fridays in a large duffle bag from the Army-Navy surplus store. I would have to wrestle to writhing duffle bag onto the elevator, occasionally coughing loudly in an attempt to cover up Taco’s spasmodic, dry, hoarse growling.” (118-9)

    “Standing there, still kind of asleep, something finally occurs to me; something that arguably should have occurred to me when I was still being paid to think about selling CDs: do people even want to buy music in a physical format anymore? Then again, maybe this is the last remaining place on Planet Earth where somebody /would/ buy a CD. After all, it’s filled with adults like me already spending way too much on a product that they could get for a fraction of the price without leaving the comfort of their own home, but for whatever reason decide not to.” (202)

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