Write, Spell and Think Better, Job Seekers!

Nothing I've encountered inspires an equal amount of rage and amusement as a really bad resume.
While managing at Goodwill I once corrected the many grammar and spelling mistakes of a faxed resume and sent it back with "Try Harder" scrawled across the top.
Admittedly, I did it for my own amusement (plus I may have been high on painkillers) but I'd like to think I did the guy a favour.

Hiring potential ushers for the theatre has reawakened my hatred/secret glee about crappy writing skills. I'm sorry, but in this age of Spellcheck, mistakes are unacceptable. Especially the mistake of relying too heavily on Spellcheck, like the person who last worked at a temp agency and "went to various job placemats."

So, I suspect, did the guy who was working at a ski resort "which has just rapped up there season."

There is just no excuse for the woman who has "Excptional customer service skills and Experrience assisting irate customers." If her attention to detail is exemplified by her resume, I can see why her customers are irate.
But my personal favourite had to be "Excellent verbal and written communnication skills."

I can understand why one person, who works at a prominent fast food franchise, needs a new job. He listed his duties as "food items safely, neatly and efficiently." It must be annoying to be a food item -- but having to be safe, neat and efficient for minimum wage? Unacceptable!

My heart did go out to the person who finished three years of community college and relocated to a new town for an ultimately failed relationship.
"To be honest," the person wrote, "my heart was not in dental hygiene, therefore I went back to my home town to work for the cleaning company and follow my heart."
I could mock this on several different levels but I'll go with this: Why are you telling me this in a cover letter asking for a job?

I don't think hobbies should be listed on resumes, especially if they include "keeping busy" as one gentleman wrote.
And the guy whose list of qualifications decreased in font size to form a funnel shape kind of annoyed me. Seriously, dude ... I could barely read that you are a "proactive problem solver."

Sadly, I had to put some of these resumes in the 'Possible' file. If I excluded everyone whose resume was incredibly fucked up, I'd have a talent pool of three to draw from. I am looking forward to meeting the dude who wrote "My drive and commitment to excellence may only be recognized through a personal meeting."
That guy must have a major pair of 'nads. He will be ruthlessly mocked if his "commitment to excellence" is not up to my exacting standards.

Obscure Ontario Liquor Laws

I took my Smart Serve course tonight. Hold your applause.
Not only did it get me out of baby sitting but, in four-to-six weeks, it will legally allow The Aging Hipster to sell alcoholic beverages in Ontario. Don't think I won't take advantage of that, booze moochers. A glass of wine is now $2.50 at The Leith Home For Failed Writers.
Three bucks for a beer and $3.50 for spirits. If you think you can find a better price, knock yourselves out. We have better music, allow smoking and watch Star Trek (TNG) at midnight.
During my extensive studies for the course, I did unearth some obscure Alcohol and Gaming Commission of Ontario (AGCO) laws.

1 c.) Patrons may, at management's discretion, be forcibly ejected after playing "Never Gonna Give You Up" by Rick Astley on the juke box three non-consecutive times.
Patrons must, by law, be forcibly ejected after playing this song on the juke box three consecutive times.
Servers may legally kick anyone playing "Paradise By The Dashboard Light" by Meatloaf twice before ejecting them.

3 f.) Service of alcoholic beverages is prohibited after 2 am. Please be advised the "Beer Ain't Drinkin'" defense was overturned by the Ontario Court of Appeal on May 5, 2006.

4 a.) A licensed establishment may lose said license if found dispensing drinks not paid for by the patron, even if said patron has huge boobs.

7 a.) Although discrimination on the basis of Race, Sex, Color, National Origin, Disability, Religion or Sexual Orientation is strictly prohibited, the server may address any male ordering a crantini as either 'Charlotte' or 'Princess'.

12 b.) Service shall be immediately stopped to anyone ordering "a hound for the rouse" as laid out in the court case Ellicott v. The Province of Ontario.

18 f.) An alcoholic beverage may contain up to 12 ml of spittle if the tip of "don't bet on the horses" or similar advice is offered in lieu of monetary recompensation.

A critical reappraisal of the film Cabin Boy, fifteen years hence

Anxiety kills theatrical release. I figure that audiences are almost always willing to embrace risk, just as long as they are confident that they are in safe hands and have faith that the film maker is taking them somewhere interesting, and for good reason. I don't think that we even mind if the ride is sometimes a little bit bumpy and we occasionally touch down somewhere quite unexpected. It is this magical mystery element that makes a production like Chris Elliott's Cabin Boy so much more compelling than Woody Allen's Annie Hall, a production of undeniable quality with plenty of quality actors giving quality performances to create a quality film experience that quality critics all are informed upon receiving their union card they must love.

(My apologies to the theatre critic whose prose I stole and replaced with relevant references but, seriously dude -- your job is useless. I should know. I've done it.)

Audiences are happy to embrace risk – much more than most directors and producers give them credit for – but audiences don't like to be made to feel anxious. Watching Elliott cry "My christening wig! I've had in since infancy," as thugs toss his figurative innocence overboard makes the viewer cringe in sympathy and in esoteric understanding. Elliott has boarded the wrong ship in a comic conceit not wielded so very expertly since the writers of Three's Company wove their magic.

While Brian Doyle-Murray and Andy Richter shine, it is truly Chris Elliott that owns Cabin Boy. His unapologetic portrayal of a Fancy Lad gathered no Oscar nominations, garnered no critical praise and is not mentioned in the same breath as De Niro in Raging Bulll or Tom Hanks in Forrest Gump.

Time will prove Cabin Boy as worthy as any Oscar nominated film.

As long as Time rolls marijuana cigarettes and secretly smokes them while Barb is out at a baby shower.

Allow Me To Present ...

The Best Album Cover Ever.

Anger Me!

I've not been posting enough lately.
I've thought long and hard (hehehe) about why and I think I've come up with the answer. I'm just not angry enough anymore.

For example :

Rather than raising their prices to ride out the world food shortage/shitty economy, major food manufacturers are making the quantities smaller while charging the same amount.
I've noticed the trend ... McCain's ... Oakburn Farms ... I'm looking at you.
Sigh ... I've got nothing except resignation ... That'll happen.

Bell Canada buys The Source by Circuit City stores in Canada, forcing employees to quickly back-track on all the anti-Bell propaganda they were forced to spout while trying to earn enough money to appease original pimp daddy Uncle Ted Rogers (now deceased).
I've got some mild amusement that I no longer work there ... a little empathy for those not smart enough to leave ... that's about it.

We have a Conservative government in Ottawa; We have taser happy Mounties in British Columbia; I have a a drunken Barb who insists on yelling "Hulk Smash" and thumping me on top of the head.
No anger -- no venom -- only a slight headache.
No rants save this one -- Barb, if you don't quit yelling "Hulk Smash" and thumping me on the head ... I will send you to rehab.
You don't read comic books. You've never seen a Hulk movie. Where the hell are you getting this from?

I invite you, Gentle Reader, to try and raise my dander ... so to speak.
Send me the most annoying news stories you have read recently. Share your personal stories of consumer frustration and corporate impotence. If you must, Insult my hygiene, appearance or writing ability.

Please note: if your comment is "Hulk Smash" I will have you committed so fast your head will fucking spin.

Happy Fat Tuesday

It is turning out to be a great day for geeky comedy fan boys.
First, Andy Richter signs back on as Conan O'Brien's sidekick when he takes over The Tonight Show on the first of June.
Then Michael Cera - formerly the last holdout - signs on for the long rumoured Arrested Development movie.
The only way today gets any better is if Tina Fey and Alyson Hannigan show up at my door with an assortment of whisky, fireworks and pornographic films.

... and the winner for best belated Oscar blog post is ...

Wanna hear something sad?
I'm nearly forty-years-old and most of the movies of 2008 that I saw were based on comic books:
The Dark Knight, The Hulk, Hancock, Iron Man and Hellboy 2.

I did watch movies about making movies, angry, well-armed, racist senior citizens and panda's who can suddenly perform an acceptable amount of Kung Fu.

Regardless, I watched the Academy Awards.
Partly to mock them, mostly because there was nothing else on television.

As entertainment The Oscars failed.

As an excuse to invent a drinking game it fared a little better.

These were the rules going in:

Drink every time there was a standing ovation.
Drink the eleven times someone I had heard of ... including Charlton Heston over Joan's left-wing protestations ... had died in the memorial video.
Drink every time someone mentioned prominent Negro President Barack Obama.
Drink every time someone thanked God. (When Bill Maher cursed God, I threw up a little bit into my glass in recompense.)
Drink every time a movie I actually watched won anything.
Drink every time Sean Penn weeps.
Drink every time someone in the pre-show mentioned Vera Wang. (Actually, I giggled first then drank. WANG ... hehehe.)
Drink every time some Asian dude thanks his pencil and company robot.

Last year I made the mistake of drinking every time someone sounded like a pretentious twat.
I was carted off to the hospital at 9:38 pm. I had my stomach pumped at 10:19 pm.

Happy Family Day

Family Day brings back so many fuzzy memories, doesn't it? The traditional Family Day Eve dinner of one (1) bucket of chicken and water; listening to classic Family Day carols by Sister Sledge and Mike and The Mechanics; gathering around the television to watch a midnight showing of Eight Is Enough. Priceless memories.
While you casually toss your Family Day Knickers on the sofa, waiting for the Genealogy Monkey to fill it with gifts of oranges and disposable cameras - please spare a thought for those who have no-one to make them feel like a failure.
The only reward afforded these poor unfortunates is a paid day off from work.
Help make someone's Family Day complete.

Anonymously email someone and tell them they have wasted their potential.

Randomly phone people and ask why they haven't given you grandchildren.

Tell folks you've just met that they drink to much and passive aggressively mention interventions.

Start arguments with complete strangers over what you'll get in the will when their parents die.

This Family Day, bring Christian charity to those in need. It starts with you!

(please note: family is defined as one father, one mother and at least one offspring - all others need not apply)

Happy Valentine's Day

I'd like to give you all something of very high quality that takes none of your space and wastes none of your time.
A pipe bomb has been mailed in your name to Hallmark Industries Inc.

Elmo Video Watched, Not Enjoyed, By Drunken Babysitter

Apparently, Screw My Ex-Girlfriend ... Please has been my most influential post since I urged America to vote for change.
I am currently babysitting a five-year-old boy, a two-year-old girl and a twelve-year-old bottle of Scotch.
Later, I will take all three out to the car, roll up the windows and light a cigarette. We won't be going anywhere, I just enjoy all manner of criminal activity.
While I entertain her children with a rousing chorus of Cocaine Blues by Johnny Cash, Skipper is out on a date, all thanks to my blog entry.
So ... who is grossly invading your privacy and robbing you of your dignity now?
Seriously, who is it?
Whoever it is owes me a bottle of bourbon.