Saturday Night Live was very funny. I always try to watch the X’mas broadcast. The holiday episodes are usually quite odd. And last night was no different. Hilarious rap with Chris Parnell and one of the new guys. Just overall very good. Neil Young was the musical guest and he was of course great and interesting. Jack Black was quite funny too. Thumbs up.

I am trying to get in a positive mood for work. It’s all I can do. As a few people have said, just try to be invisible, on the down low and smile smile smile. Not saying that it’s going to be easy but I feel I can do it. Kill them with kindness. That sounds malicious, or at least it reads that way.

Listening to Devo right now. Not the Italian tenors known as Il Divo. First album. My brother Brian owned it. I stole it from him. Devo was a novelty to Brian and his pals. Not to me though. I subscribed to their philosophy somewhat. My high school year book was “Q: Are we not men? A: We are Devo” I was also listening to Rock and Roll Musik at the time. I loved the song ‘Pop Music’ by M. Still do.

The third rock and roll concert I believe was Devo at the Palladium. I walked by the Palladium this afternoon. It is now a NYU dormitory.

The first time I saw someone with florescent hair. I was such a boy from the suburbs. I was blown away. My brother Frank took me, he with the red eyes. Frank had seen Devo before in Dover NJ. A lot of people I knew had been at that show. Not me. This was my first chance.

Despite the weird looks of the crowd, I felt completely comfortable with these people, despite the fact that my mother still basically dressed me. I think I found an old suit jacket, put a safety pin in the lapel and wore a Devo T shirt underneath.

I’m sure I wore pants and sneakers. My mother would not have let me out of the house otherwise.

A sweet familiar smell filled my nostrils when the lights went low. It wasn’t the band though, Devo showed short films they’d made before they’d hit the stage. Booji Boy and company. Very entertaining for sixteen year old John Ozed.

The band came on soon after the films and tore through an amazing set. I knew all the songs, and would’ve had a yellow Devo jumpsuit if only my parents would’ve given me the money…

They were jumping up and down, running back and forth. They sounded a lot like their records, no extended solos here, just what you want, loud and fast and fun. I took a photograph from our seats, which turned out to be a yellow jumpsuit blur, and the back of people’s heads in the rows in front of me. I often wonder whatever happened to girl with bad dye job coming out.

I am exhausted, physically and emotionally. The week, which started out badly, continued downhill. I was told I was getting crap for a bonus and Christina, the woman I work with since March got twice as much as me. I know I’m being punished by these fuckers. I know how much Christina got since I asked her. I’m sure I looked crestfallen. I’ve been working for these shit bags since 2002 and I got screwed.

A few days later, John McGruff, head asshole with head up his ass sent out a memo stating that anyone discussing bonuses would have a cause for dismissal. Of course this was after the fact and anyhow he never mentioned the confidentiality when discussing the numbers that each person would receive. Stupid fuckhead.

So the pussy known as John McGruff was out of the office Thursday and Friday. It’s just gotten so rotten in the office. I have no back up, no one I could tell my troubles to. There a few sympathetic ears but ultimately they can’t do a thing. Everyone’s watching their own asses anyway.

I still do my job, and I do it well. Anything that is asked of me, I have to do. I don’t have the luxury of postponing my jobs like others do. I get requests from London, San Francisco, Los Angeles and Boston and everything they ask for, or need, I make sure they get it.

With this job I feel like a battered wife who keeps going back for more.

I do a lot of work behind the scenes. I make sure the show goes on and runs smoothly. I’m an asset at this shithole and they treat me like shit. I know I’m not shit, but when faced with wave upon wave of this I start to have doubts. Bill has been a pillar of strength for me through out all this. He’s really coming through for me.

There is such incompetence in this office and I seem to be the only one who sees it. I’ve given up pointing it out since nothing gets done about it. Which adds to the depression that I’ve experienced the past few days. Exhausting depression.

Last night, a friend from the San Francisco office called and asked me to go out and pick up ribbon for some gifts they’re sending to clients. Not any type of ribbon, something nice, something classy. I knew just the place. I walked around midtown while doing so, not at all in the holiday spirit and grimacing at those that have the spirit that I lack.

Spent 70 bucks and change on these fucking ribbons. They are nice nonetheless. I got back to the office and had the office manager tell the admin bitches, and Brenda that the ribbon was at my desk. A few waddled up and took what was needed. One in particular, Helen Pollard Isaac, who was a friend a year ago, (we’ve gotten distant) walks up to my desk and says that I’m such a fag for picking out such nice ribbon.

I show how offended I am. I get kicked in the fucking teeth all week long and now this fucking bitch makes a comment about me being a fag and picking out nice ribbon. Helen is Trinidadian, and she’s black.

She sees my unhappiness with that comment and doesn’t understand why I’m upset.
She’s that stupid. She tried to rationalize it by saying that I called her a cock blocker a few weeks ago, so it makes us even. You see, a few weeks ago there was some guy, very handsome, ruff around the edges came in to fix the coffee machine. The 2 of us were talking in the kitchen about nothing in particular, but the talk was sexually charged, or at least that’s how I heard it.

I play it safe, mention that I don’t play on his team. Just then Helen comes in and interrupts whatever vibe might’ve been happening. The sexually charged atmosphere dissipated, he went his way and I went mine. I turned to Helen and called her a cock blocker. Yes a very bad thing to say. I say that with total facetiousness.

If I said to Helen, ‘Nice ribbon, you are such a nigger’ or if I say to Christina, the same thing, only saying, ‘You are such a spic’ There’d be hell to pay. I don’t say those words. They are hateful words that I rejected ages ago hearing them fall from my parents mouths at various times growing up.

I have been called Nigger more times than I have ever said it. And I’ve been called that hundreds of times. I despise the word, evil and hateful.

But there is no problem calling me a fag. Helen and I were friends once, but when Hope arrived on the scene that all changed, and Helen stopped being close. It turned into a high school type atmosphere. Only there is no guidance counselor to turn to. I have no one in my corner at work to help me out.

Helen suggested going out for some coffee with her after she said that, but I don’t have her job. Helen and the Persian bitch have been routinely going out for coffee most days, I don’t have that option. Plus after what she said, what makes her think I would want anything to do with her? We aren’t close friends anymore, we are coworkers. That’s it.

She is truly a stupid fuck. So she walks up to me as I’m getting ready to go home and she says we should go for coffee next week. I say no. She says she didn’t mean to say what she said. I said, it’s too late, she said it. It’s over. She actually cries, she seems contrite. I cannot deal with this bullshit anymore. These fucking bitches say anything they want to me, and if I say anything in return, the waterworks go on.

The bosses believe them anyway. I am shit in their eyes. But they’re so fucking stupid, they don’t see how the office can’t run without me. Initially it would be a problem, probably for a few weeks, maybe a month till they figure out what it is that I do. They really have no clue. Christina, my assistant, by the way is useless. I’ve been carrying her.

I walked home, down Park Ave, smoking my cigar, fuming along with the tobacco. I played Thunder Road by Bruce Springsteen and the bladder moved right behind my eyes, but I was strong. No one wants to see a 6’2” guy smoking a cigar bawling his eyes out. I know I wouldn’t.

Hooked up with a Rasta pal from back in the day and rode the PATH home, reading about Man Ray and wishing I was no longer working for such a shit firm.

Also the job that I interviewed with four people on 12/8 and one more on 12/12 went to someone else.

It’s all fear and loathing with these assholes.

FUCK THIS SHIT.