An Open Letter to Dave Chappelle

Dear Dave,

Please come back. Carlos Mencia's MIND OF MENCIA has been touted as "possibly the greatest thing for Comedy Central since Chappelle's Show."

After repeated viewings, Mencia's show is dull and mediocre at best. I watch it now only as background noise.

Dave, what you and your co-writer Neal have come up with are true works of comedy genius.

From what I've read about your journey to South Africa, it seems you have two problems.

1) Your crew needs to be weeded out.

2) You're worried about not living up to network and fan expectations.

I'm sorry I can't help you out with that first part. It's something you gotta do on your own.

The second part, I got you covered. Don't worry about it. Write what you think is funny. That's what you did for the first two seasons, and that shouldn't change for the third. Don't worry about being able to top yourself from last season. No one in a million years will EVER be as funny as you impersonating Rick James screaming, "Fuck your couch, nigga!" over and over again.









NOTHING WILL EVER BE AS FUNNY AS THAT SO DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT.

Please, Dave, come back soon.










Also, what the fuck is up with the titties getting censored on the Season 2 DVD set?

Dooced*

* - To be fired from your job because of the contents of your web log. Originated at http://www.dooce.com/archives/dooced/index.html

No, not me. I haven't mentioned where I work, names of any employer/employees or clients. I haven't had any "when keeping it real goes wrong" moments in a LONG time.

And shit, no one reads this anyway.

This goes WAAAAAAAAAAAAAY the hell back to spring 2002. First, there were Heather B. Armstrong's posts about basically being the first person to be fired for complaining about her job on the Internet (see above link).

Very shortly afterwards, a New York Post "Page Six" article, by Richard Johnson -

Forgive me for the terribly juvenile remark, but it needs to be said: Dick Johnson? Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.

- with Paula Froelich and Chris Wilson, was published on Thursday, May 23, 2002. I clipped this article out of the paper and held onto it ever since, and I'm going to share it with you all now.

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Media aide bitches too much.

A lowly assistant at Hearst magazines was fired yesterday after telling her high-maintenance bosses in an anonymous memo: "Buy your own candy, stop rifling through my desk, and yeah, guess what - I have to pee, too!"

The blistering harangue - which she posted on mediabistro.com's "Bitch Box" - begins: "Hey editors, get off your fucking high horses and come down and smell your trash. We are your editorial assistants - not your maids, your mothers or your personal assistants.

"1. Your dead plants, pigeons and other 'wildlife' in your office are not my problem. You've been around long enough to know plants need water and if they don't get it, they die…

"2. Duane Reade sells candy to ANYONE. Do not bitch if the candy jar is empty. Do not bitch if what's in there isn't your favorite candy. Haul it ONE BLOCK east and buy the stuff yourself…Plus, we're sick of fronting the cash.

"3. Pub Tech responds to everyone. It's really easy to call them. And odds are, the problem is something you could fix if you would just suck it up and take one training class.

"4. The refrigerator doesn't keep things forever. I'm tired of my one little yogurt being surrounded by your seven containers of three remaining bites of a $50 lunch that has been in there so long, it smells like sweat socks.

"5. Learn how things work around here. I'm half your age, make a third of your salary, and after baby-sitting you for over a year, could do your job and still have time for a manicure. The copier is push-button, occasionally the printer does need paper, and the production department is just down the hall. Chimps could do half this stuff.

"6. I will occasionally not be at my desk. No kidding. I have to pee, too. And I get a lunch hour. Respect it or buy yourself a slave. Kathie Lee's made a second career out of this.

"7. I do not have ESP. If you've told me to do something, it's done, if you didn't, it wasn't. I can't read your fucking mind…and if it's after 5:30, too late. Your forgetfulness and lack of organization is not my emergency. I'm going home to watch 'Survivor.'

"And finally, 8. My desk is not your playground. Quit going through the papers on it; not all of it pertains to you. Don't take things off it - if it was meant for you, I'd give it to you." The memo ends, "That is all - for now. The Assistant."

Hearst, known to partake in "manhunts" where it traces e-mails, phone calls and Web links that employees have made, quickly identified the offending assistant and fired her, sources said. Calls to Hearst were not returned. The memo has been removed from mediabistro.com.

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Run this search in your Google toolbar: blog fired

Friday night I picked up a co-worker's copy of the NY Post and found another article about Nadine Haobsh, http://jolienyc.blogspot.com/ a magazine editor getting fired for office gossip. Her bosses "thought it displayed a lack of respect for the industry and a lack of professionalism."

I find that to be hilarious, considering the total lack of respect and professionalism found in ANY industry, usually displayed by managers & CEOs. They are petty, immature, grudge-holding, office-political players, spoiled, and close-minded. Their egos need constant stroking, and they'll belittle anyone who works below them if they feel the slightest bit vulnerable.

If you look at the business practices of the companies that have fired bloggers, (Microsoft, Google, Starbucks, Delta Air Lines, Friendster) you'll find that the phrase "business ethics" doesn't seem to apply most of the time. I'm WAITING for the day Wal-Mart employees start blogging; although, they probably have a no-blog clause in the contract.

Blogger David Pomeroy, at http://blogs.msdn.com, has this to say about firing employees for having a blog:

If employers are good employers, what do they have to fear? Most likely those who rant and rave are likely to be talking about former employers, or one who got them fired... rather than their current one.

Starbucks employee fired for blog: http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/09/04/141004.php

One anonymous commenter said: "That Starbucks would make anyone sign something stating not to bad mouth the company speaks volumes as to HOW BAD the Company really is."

IS ANYONE LISTENING TO THIS?

Allow me to bestow a few nuggets of wisdom to every single company out there, just to make things crystal clear. If you don't want your employees bitching about their job, there are a few things you can do.

1) Reward your employees properly. Let's say there are three people: the client, the sales representative, and the producer. The sales rep takes the client out for lunch, and gets a substantial commission for all the work the client brings in to the company. The producer does all the hard work of actually making sure the client's product is done efficiently, correctly, and on time. Although I've seen exceptions to the rule, this is generally the case. Why is it that people doing most of the work reaping the least of the benefits? The sales rep is rewarded simply for knowing the right people. There is a REASON why people at the bottom of the totem pole are the most bitter.

2) Make sure the people with responsibility know how to handle it with maturity. If anyone does the kind of shit that assistant at Hearst complained about, they should be fired. Being in charge doesn't mean you get to be a jerk about it. My supervisor is the BEST I've had since I was working upstate. He works to make things right in the office. It's really simple: if you're a good boss, you'll have relatively happy employees. The happier the employees, the less likely they'll need to bitch on the web and cause you great embarrassment.

3) To all the bitching employees out there who use their blogs to complain: Create a new blog, don't give any personal information - not your name, not the city you're in. Keep it simple. "Customer did this, boss did that." Don't say, "I work at Starbucks." Say, "I work for a North American coffee shop company." We are smart readers, and can figure out who you work for, but it leaves you with the deniability.

4) To employees with supervisors who suck: go over their heads. Go to Human Resources or the big(ger) boss and see what can be done. If nothing can be done, try to get another job. Once you leave, then you can complain all you want, as long as everything is HONEST. Don't slander.

What in the FUCK is wrong with you people!?!

Why? Why the fuck would anyone do this? You people are all sick.

Before you start whining, "oh what is this idiot complaining about now?" I shall explain my horrible weekend.

As most of you know, I'm single. Might-as-well-be-a-monk single. Haven't had a second date in years. So I relented and filled out the unbearably long questionnaire at eHarmony. With that done, it proceeded to search for a woman that I wouldn't hate, and wouldn't hate me. Their massive database for my local area couldn't find any matches for me.

I said, "okay, broaden the horizon a bit. Look a little further away." It searched on a national level. Nothing.

Fuck it. Search ALL of their members everywhere in the world.

Zero, zilch, nada, goose egg, bupkus, and any other word or number that means I'll be alone for the rest of my life. (Gosh, I have such a positive attitude.)

eHarmony was quick to point out that 10,000 people join their site every day and blah blah blah, that doesn't exactly take the sting out of being rejected by THE ENTIRE WORLD.

With all this in mind, I turned to the W4M section of the last refuge of freaks and weirdos like myself...Craigs' List. I screened out the ads for women too young or too old, and any euphamism that fat/morbidly obese people use to avoid reality.

I should point out to you that I'm about twenty pounds overweight and it would be hypocritical of me to reject someone who had the same proportions. So "curvy" and "chunky" are generally acceptable to me. I also have a thing about kids and educational levels, but that wasn't a problem this time around.

One of the ads I responed to led to some email tag & exchange of personals profiles. Her rejection of me boiled down to "Wow, I want someone EXACTLY like you, just not YOU."

Baby, you sure know how to make a guy feel special.

Eventually, an ad for a single curvy Latina who had no expectations led to some actual progress. We met up at a coffee/sandwich shop near Union Square and talked for a while. She was pretty cute. Dark hair, but without any highlights, tacky long-ass fingernails that prevent productivity, a nice tan top with very short sleeves, and blue jeans with that horrid fade on the thighs. She wasn't too overweight; she filled out her clothes nicely.

Anyway, we talked about work, college (she had to drop out due to financial reasons), music...you know, standard first date stuff.

Everything seemed to be going okay, for the first time in a long time. That's how I should have known that things were going to take a very sudden turn for the worse.

An hour into the conversation, she pauses for a second. She turns around and nods to a guy sitting at another table. The dude is built like a linebacker: tall and round. He nods back at her with a smile.

Alarms are going off inside my head. I sit there for a second, bewildered.

"What the hell was that about?"

She leans in over the table, purposely reminding me of her cleavage, and says:

"My husband wants to watch us fuck."

"Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelll, GOODBYE!"

I stood up, put money on the table for the sandwich & drink, and RAN THE FUCK OUT OF THERE.



This happened last Sunday. I've finally stopped freaking out enough to actually write about it.

What in the Hell is wrong with you people!?!

Scene One: A young woman leads her seven or eight year daughter up the stairs at a subway station. The little girl was proud of the clothes she had on, and was seeking attention as little kids are wont to do. The woman turns to the girl and says, "You look sexy!"

Let that sink in for a minute.

She called her EIGHT YEAR OLD DAUGHTER "SEXY."

Little girls are not sexy! They're princesses! They're angels!

NOT SEXY!

The very last thing any kid needs to worry about is if they're sexy or not. Jeebus H. Cripes, let kids be kids!



Scene Two: An office buildings' restroom. A guy walks in, talking on his cell phone. He finds a stall takes a seat. He conducted business while…conducting his business.

Ew.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

"Hands free" was not invented for this. It is truly gross, and anyone who talks on their phone IN THE BATHROOM should be really ashamed of themselves. I hope it falls into the toilet and gets busted, and when you bring it to the store to get it replaced, you have to explain the shit stains all over it.

Get some fucking decency, you sick bastards.

Sugar Mommy?

Just after graduating college, I had met one of Bowie’s co-workers from the coffee shop he worked at downtown. She was cute. As Bowie and I left, I told him so. “Yeah, she thought you were cute, too.” “Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.” “She has a boyfriend…”

“Damn. Oh well.”

“She’s got two kids, too.”

“More info I didn’t need.”

“She, uh, she said that she wants to be locked in a room with you for five hours.”

“Okay, I’m ready to castrate myself. You’re not helping, Bowie.”

The next day, Bowie called me from work, and then put her on the phone. I had no idea how to react. Small talk, followed by awkward silence, and I finally asked her to put Bowie back on. She was disappointed, and so were her co-workers. Everyone else at the store was asking Bowie if I was gay.

Sorry, but I won’t take any part in an affair. It’s simply wrong. My dad cheated on my mom. My sister had trailed him; it’s probably the smartest thing she has ever done in her life, figuring it out. Dad moved out, for a year, and then moved back in. I’ll never understand why Mom took him back. I’ll never cheat. NEVER. If I’m not happy in a relationship, I’ll have the balls to say so, and work to make it better. If that’s not possible, then it’ll have to end. Simple as that. (I know, nothing is ever that simple. But in a world full of greys, I’m a pretty black & white kind of guy.)

After that wonderful experience, my assistant manager tried to hook me up with one of his “sistas.” She seemed very sweet on the phone, but there was something in her voice I didn’t like. She sounded like she was 14 (actually 19 at the time. I was 21). And during our second conversation, I found out that she, too, had kids.

I asked Avery (a 35-y-o gay man), “Did I somehow neglect to mention that I don’t like kids? After all the rants you’ve heard me spout on about what I like and what I don’t, did that little piece of very important info slip through the cracks?”

My next encounter with flirtation that summer was three weeks before I moved back to Bumblefuck. The coffee shop was giving away a trip to San Francisco. An attractive woman in her early 30s had walked in and, after ordering her coffee, asked me if I had ever been to SF. “No, this job really doesn’t give me the opportunity to travel much.” A barrista working for less than six months makes $6.25/hour. At 35 hours a week (considered full time at Timothy’s World Coffee), I could barely pay my bills. I never had much money for comics. Airfare and a hotel were out of the question.

“Well, if you’d like to go there sometime, let me know.”

‘Waitjustagoddamnminute,’ I thought. ‘Did she just offer to be my sugar mommy?’

And before I could think of anything else, she left the building.

A few other thoughts floated in my head. When did I become this sex object? In college, no woman would give me the time of day, and now there are a couple of them, with kids, that want to fuck my brains out. Why is it that the ones you do want don’t want you, and the ones you don’t want do want you? Am I really that hot of a commodity?

Nahhhh, that’s just crazy talk. In a few hours, while you’re sleeping on the floor of Lynne’s living room (their “couch” was a 1 & ½ person love seat, about four feet wide. No way in hell was I gonna sleep on that twice), you’ll forget all about the surge of actual self-esteem, and get on with your usual everyday misery.

There are some people who say, “It is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all.” And some of those people who have loved and then lost are so hurt by it; they say that it is better to have never loved in the first place. Speaking as someone who has never been in love, I hope they’re wrong. I’ve seen what happens to people when they are with the person they love. I’ve seen the peace and freedom that it brings. I want to feel that sense of profound intimacy you can only get by completely giving yourself to someone who is doing the same for you, intellectually, emotionally, and physically. I’m tired of feeling numb and broken inside. Twenty-six years of solitude can wear you down.

Male vs. Female Roommates

As some of you know, I have two female roommates. Jack Tripper I ain't. In college, I had three male roommates each year. Believe it or not, there isn't a big difference.

Male roommates are too lazy to help clean the apartment.

Female roommates are never around to help clean the apartment.

Aside from a little more hair in the shower drain, that's really it. Nothing deep or profound.