It really is an easy job. The worst thing about it is having to wake up in the morning at 6:25 a.m. And if that’s all I have to complain about, I really have nothing to complain about. I do have to get to bed earlier than I did last night, or at least get back into the routine, which I neglected for the past two weeks
Mike has been outstanding filling in for Bill when Bill is on the road, and Bill is going to be gone for 2 weeks. Mike does have his beloved coming in for a few days, so I don’t know how that’s going to work out. We shall see…
So the United States has invaded Venezuela, taking out Maduro and his wife, and where the neighborhood bully is out on the same level as Russia and China doing whatever we want and by doing so it seems that Russia will be able to fully invade Ukraine and China will be able to take over Taiwan because if we can do shit like that why can’t they?
It’s probably going to be quiet here all week at the little fruit stand on Wednesday. I’ll be working at the major fruit stand all day, not my favorite, but it’s a small price to pay; it’s a good job that I have, and if I have to jump through hoops like that, then God damn it, I will.
I’m not sure if I ever followed that train of thought that I posted a few weeks ago about the first job and I had, and how easy it was for me because of the good graces of my mother. That set the tone for every job that I’ve had ever since.
I suppose on a large scale, I just never have taken any job that I’ve had too seriously, always hoping for either a revolution or something fabulous. Nothing has happened, but I have found myself in good situations with good people from Murdoch magazines to Skyline Studios to Right Track Studios to working for Arif Mardin and then Arista Records.
After Arista, I was at Staffmark and didn’t take it seriously at all, which they probably got tired of and showed me the door, which I had seen when I was walking through it. Then I wound up at Putnam Lovell AKA wanker banker, which is how I pronounced them in 2005, and I just started this here blog
And even though it was uptight and financial, I still didn’t take it seriously. Working for Wolff Olins is incredibly stupid, and my dedication to it was diminishing at best, and I still did not take the job seriously.
I suppose I should start taking this position seriously. What else do I have to do?
I enjoy the people I work with, they seem to enjoy me, and it’s a good position. If I have to work at the fruit stands headquarters for a few hours in the middle of the week so be it. I can do it, I’ve done it before, and I will do it again
With Mike around, I watched a lot of movies. I finished the first John Wick movie of all four of them. We watched The Lord of the Rings extended editions, we also watched The Dead Zone, and a few other things which escape me at the moment.
Last year, I discovered Labi Siffre only 55 years after he arrived on the scene. This song that got me was called bless the telephone which was quite touching and beautiful, and still moves me. I played that as well as the Hammond song by the Roches.
I sort of expected a road to Damascus moment with regards to Mike hearing this music and having him say oh my Go,d this is beautiful, what is this but it didn’t register like that at all if it registered at all.
Mike is a hip hop kid, and that’s what he knows, and he has taken to ribbing me about my Beatles infatuations.
There’s about two and a half hours left of my workday. I died for Monday, not bad for a return to work, people to come in, but didn’t stay long since there was nothing happening, and it doesn’t seem like anything is happening here at this fruit stand for the most of this week.
This entry has been dictated
The Google Gemini rewrite in the manner of Fran Lebowitz
## The Fruit Stand of Human Events
The primary defect of the morning is that it occurs so early. To be precise, 6:25 a.m. is not an hour; it is a punishment. People tell me that “early to bed, early to rise” makes one healthy, wealthy, and wise, to which I say: I have seen the people who are awake at 6:30, and they are none of those things. They are merely caffeinated and indignant. I spent two weeks neglecting my routine—which is the only polite way to say I lived like a human being—and now I am expected to return to the rigors of the clock.
I am currently employed at a fruit stand. This is not a career; it is a situation. In my life, I have been employed by Murdoch magazines, by Skyline, by Arista Records. I have worked for Arif Mardin. I have even, God help me, worked for “wanker bankers” and branding agencies where the stupidity was so profound it felt architectural. Through it all, I have maintained a singular, unwavering professional philosophy: I do not take any of it seriously.
I have spent my entire adult life waiting for one of two things: a revolution or something fabulous. Neither has arrived. Instead, I have found myself at a fruit stand.
—
### The Geopolitics of the Neighborhood Bully
While I am contemplating the ripeness of a peach, the United States has decided to invade Venezuela. We have removed Maduro and his wife, presumably because we felt the international stage lacked sufficient chaos. We are now the neighborhood bully, but a bully with a nuclear arsenal and a very short attention span.
By behaving this way, we have essentially handed a permission slip to Russia and China. If we can treat South America like a game of Risk played by someone who hasn’t read the instructions, why shouldn’t Russia take Ukraine? Why shouldn’t China take Taiwan? We have established a global precedent that “because I want to” is a valid legal argument. It is a very 21st-century way of doing business.
—
### The Youth and the Telephone
Then there is Mike. Mike has been filling in for Bill, who is “on the road.” In my experience, when people say they are on the road, they are usually trying to find themselves or avoid someone else. Mike is what the marketing people call a “hip-hop kid.” This means he views my devotion to the Beatles as a quaint, Victorian hobby, like collecting lace or dying of consumption.
I attempted to provide him with a musical education. I played Labi Siffre’s “Bless the Telephone”—a song so beautiful it should be mandatory—and “The Hammond Song” by The Roches. I expected a Road to Damascus moment. I expected Mike to fall to his knees and weep at the discovery of melody. Instead, nothing. Not a flicker. It didn’t register. If you want to feel old, don’t look in a mirror; just play a Roches record for someone who thinks music started with the invention of the Auto-Tune.
While Bill is away, Mike and I have watched movies. We watched *John Wick*, a film about a man who kills several hundred people because someone touched his dog. I understand the impulse, though I prefer to stay indoors. We also watched the “extended editions” of *The Lord of the Rings*. Why anyone would want a *longer* version of a movie about people walking through a forest is a mystery that even Tolkien couldn’t solve.
—
### The Dignity of the Stand
On Wednesday, I must go to “Headquarters.” This is a grand term for a larger fruit stand. It involves jumping through hoops. I am not a circus animal, but I have learned that if you want to be paid, you must occasionally pretend to be one.
My mother is responsible for this. My first job was so easy—thanks entirely to her good graces—that it ruined my work ethic for the next fifty years. I have spent my life walking through doors and, more importantly, seeing the exit sign on my way in.
There are two hours left in the workday. It is quiet. No one is buying fruit. No one is starting a revolution. I suppose I should start taking this position seriously, if only because I have absolutely nothing else to do.
> This has been dictated. If it sounds like I am talking to myself, it is because, in this economy, I am the only person worth listening to.
—