Wednesday, December 15, 2010

The Rage: Resurrected

You know how one day you're the handsomest person ever to walk the crummy planet and the next day you have a shiner? Yes, I know you have no idea about the former but imagine.

The rumors are true. I am in fact sporting a black eye and what now appears to be a green forehead. But really, if anyone can carry this off and still look this good, it's me.

To set the record straight, here is what happened.

On my usual canvass of the neighborhood, patrolling for unruly unwashed masses bunching around tree stumps, drinking moonshine and generally rabble rousing of a nature of which I reject, I was ambushed. Heimlich was picking daisies for a floral arrangement he's been working on so he didn't see the villain approach. It was a sneak attack of the sneakiest kind. The ground opened up in front of me and before I knew it, I was face forward. My precious blood was spilled. Heimlich was horrified and vomited on the spot. (He's very sensitive, as well as evil.)

That's really all I remember. The first night was rough as I moved in and out of THE RAGE. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that ground and my perfectly contoured face meeting it.

The pain that followed was indescribable. I feared for my very large and powerful brain. Luckily my crack team of medical experts helicoptered me immediately to the top secret medical facility which I will not name, for testing. After CAT scans of my very large and powerful brain, it was concluded that my head was in fact too hard to penetrate and my very large and powerful brain was in tact. This was good news all around. I can assure you I would have continued world domination even with a brain injury.

Which brings me to today. Four days since my attack, I can report that I am nearly pain free, save for blowing my nose which is exceptionally excruciating and disappointing since it's one of my favorite activities. Fear not, my attacker will pay for this brazen act of insubordination. In due time. When you least expect it, ground, you will pay.

Never underestimate THE RAGE.

Friday, December 10, 2010

I've been busy



You know how one day you're the mayor, and four days later some punk usurps your post? Who am I kidding? You have no idea what it's like to hold a position of authority.

Let me paint a picture.

I became Mayor of a local high-class establishment through the popular Foursquare. I have resisted these ridiculous social sucks on my time until I found out Mayorship was at stake. How can Foursquare hand out important titles to the unwashed masses with such abandon? It's irresponsible.

Nevertheless I engaged in your reindeer games and naturally assumed my Mayorship in no time. My chest puffed with pride. Drinks were raised in my honor. Immediately my giant brain began to consider the possibilities of world domination via Mayorships. It's a little small scale for my taste, tres medieval these Mayorships but I was down with the concept of being in charge and other people knowing full well that I am the boss.

Speaking of which, I decided that Boss should be the next level up from Mayor. I will write Foursquare later with this brilliant idea.

Back to my Mayorship. I didn't take my superior position lightly. After celebrating with my minions, I raced home to devise a plan. World domination requires premeditation. It's true I was sequestered for some days working feverishly on the rights and obligations of the unwashed masses in my kingdom (to be honest, the rights were none but obligations many--as it should be).

Four days later, I emerged from my top secret headquarters with my Mayoral Manifesto. It is too brilliant to lay on your tiny brains and a summation won't do my genius justice.

And so, I checked in on my kingdom, elated at the prospect of creating order out of what clearly was human chaos. Rules, people, rules are made by me for you to follow. But lo and behold some villain has usurped my Mayorship! Andrew K. from Brooklyn! Scoundrel! Bastard! Son of a whore! (I realize those last two are similar.) You fool, do you have any idea what my tyrannical mind is capable of? Find your friends, indeed. Oh, I'll find you, Andrew K. from Brooklyn.

Needless to say, I was pissed. I've drafted several letters to Foursquare demanding a recount. Andrew K. from Brooklyn? Give me a break. Listen you little Ross Perot upstart, I will crush you with the ferocity of my tiny fists. Unleash the hellhounds!

Nice work, Foursquare. I've been peaceful for months and now this. The Rage.

Merry Christmas.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Dear NPR, I want to work for you.

All this unemployment, nee freelancing, has forced me to look inward and ask the tough questions.

"What are you doing with your life?"

Although I'd like to scream "Shut up, innards!" and punch them in the proverbial face, my mind, as you can imagine, cannot be silenced.

An aside on me punching anyone in the face. I have tremendous strength in my tiny fists, make no mistake. I discovered this hidden talent over the weekend when I inadvertently punched myself in the left eye. I was using my superior strength to lift a very heavy box of OXY CLEAN when the damn plastic handle broke and my fist went flying into my left eye. Damn, Penny!

Back to my powerful mind. It never shuts up with its "suggestions" and "recommendations" and "judging." What a jerk. Let me just panhandle like God intended. But no, my mind keeps asking "What do you really want to do? Where do you really want to work?"

So here's my TOP PLACES I'D LIKE TO WORK IF FORCED TO MAKE A DECISION ON WHERE TO WORK AND WHAT TO DO WITH MY LIFE. (in no particular order)

-- NPR. Does this really need explanation? Have you seen the Jerome L. Greene Space, listened to Story Corps or This American Life, or coveted Carl Kessel on your home answering maching?

-- Four and Twenty Blackbirds bakery. They make the delicious pies and cookies and rhubarb muffins. I don't really want to get up at 4 a.m. to help them bake but I'd gladly be a taster.

-- Attache to billionaire. I'd help you decide which restaurants to go to, shows to attend, vacation spots to hit, etc. You would never look me directly in the face or address me without "Dear Shiny Penny, may I please..."

-- Anonymous lottery winner.

-- Reader of Classics, New and Old. I've always said I'd like to be paid to read. That would be the extent of my duties. I would decide what to read and when.

-- Theater Critic. I love the theater. I also love my opinion of the theater.

-- Oyster Shucker. As long as I get to eat 50% of oysters shucked.


I'm tired of this assignment already. I've made enough important decisions for today and it's only 10:30 am. Yeah, you have to get up early to dominate. That's how I do.

Thursday, April 29, 2010

Freelancers have feelings, too.

Myth: Freelancers have more fun.
Myth: Freelancers have no feelings.
Myth: Freelancers are so carefree and happy.
Myth: Freelancers will work around the clock.
Myth: Freelancers don't care about money.

I'm taking the time out of my whimsical freelance life to bust these myths once and for all. Everyone is under the delusion that freelancing frees you up to do all these great things. Go to museums! Sleep till noon! Party all night! Explore the city! Have sex with strangers! You've been misled and miserably misinformed.

Let me break down freelancing for you. It's really akin to panhandling with your "skill set" in that frying pan. Hell, a thousand people will walk by you and completely ignore your pleas for "Change, sir?" A few will stop to gawk, point, and laugh. Everyone will judge. It's generally an awesome feeling to lay yourself open to all this constructive yet uninvited feedback. But hey, who cares? Freelancers don't have any feelings.

Most freelancers I know are cranky. Myself included. And contrary to popular belief, we are shut-ins. You must not look away from your computer. We receive these secret messages throughout the day. Coffee shops are not an option. Those are for the seriously committed unemployed and unwashed masses. I prefer to contain my unwashed-ness to my own super headquarters. Plus, you need to be at the ready for whenever that client calls, no matter what time. "It's an emergency! I need you to blah blah blah by Monday." Oh, okay, I'll work this weekend because I have no life. Geez, I forgot. You're a jerk.

When we do complete your ridiculous job, please remember to pay us. There's nothing "free" about freelancing. No one is giving me free food or free beer or free rent. I still have to pay for all these things and you have to pay me. Waiting a month, two months, three months, four months, five months to get around to looking at my invoice is not acceptable. In fact, such actions will unleash the demons upon you and I will not be sorry. I will yell at you. You do not want this.

As you might have guessed by this point, freelancing is not the answer to your prayers. Keep your full-time job, you lucky bastard. And buy me a goddamn beer.