Episode 3: At Home And A Broad
Don't start griping about the incorrect grammar of the title. I know what I wrote and I meant to do so. When taken in context of this post, you'll understand why.
I got up at the asscrack of dawn for my Open House at Disc Makers. Ever wondered who mass produces those wonderful wafers of technology called DVDs and CDs that you love and enjoy so much? Yeah, it's people like this. I hopped into Pearl and flew down the highway into Pennsauken for this thing. I listened to George Noory interview Stephen Root (Office Space, King of The Hill, Bicentennial Man) as I tooled along the highway at a steady 40 mph.
It's a safe speed, a nice, relaxing speed. I wasn't laying the hammer down this time. I had some time to spare. Leaving the cube at six in the morning for a short drive that wouldn't last even that isn't exactly my idea of a good time, but, for the purposes of landing employment, it's what I had to do. I got there well before 7am, the time of the appointment and when they finally opened their doors, I was greeted with an application and basic skills test. Great.
What I don't get is that these people had my resume' or, at least, a copy of it on file electronically. I could understand the skills test but another paper application? I filled everything out and turned it in. Two people were called to the back for a typing test. I wasn't and neither was the other guy who showed up with me. If this blog and the fact that Criss Angel's chatroom telling me to slow my typing down aren't evidence that I'm a prime candidate for the typing test, I don't know what is. Another big discouraging wall was when a nearby hospital emailed me stating that my application for employment had been rejected because they'd found someone more qualified.
Unless the dude ran black ops for some secret police organization, I don't fucking think so. I can read between those lines and that was as predictable as the punchline to the joke about the psychic getting struck by lightning. Don't you find it repulsive that it's YOU who have to be transparent to your prospective employer but not the other way around? I'm calling bullshit on that. I'm going to apply again. They don't brush the likes of ME off that fucking easily.
I got back to the cube even earlier than expected. I'm not holding my breath on that one either. Then, I get a call. Another call center job that I'd applied for was looking to hire me. The guy over the phone liked the way I talked about electronics and, between you and me, let's get one thing straight. As it stands, me without an electronic device of some type might as well be me walking around naked. If I don't have my PDA, I've got my iPhone. If I don't have that, I have my laptop, my PSP or my desktop. I can ditch cigarettes much more easily than I can ditch my addiction to the world of the brightly-lit displays, satellite relays, SatCom or frequent runs in Cyberspace. If you can't tell that I want to make my concept of a cerebral 150 Terabyte Wetwire implant a reality, I don't know how else to spell that out for you.
Sure, I know a lot about electronics, I'm just afraid of bricking one of my devices if I start fucking with it. Last thing I wanna do is crack open the case to anything, make one wrong move and my device (whichever it is) becomes an expensive paperweight. So the offer of an online university to learn more about information systems and possible government grants was too good to pass up. I'm on board if they are.
After that little bit, I had to whisk Pop over to Philly again to get zapped with radiation. Needless to say, sitting there, reading Wallace Wang's book Steal This Computer Book 4.0 is an eye-opener. It occurred to me...why shouldn't I go back to school? Why shouldn't I get paid top dollar for my skills and why shouldn't I of all people be permitted to sharpen them to razor status? I'm already using my own sweet time to learn this stuff, dammit, I should get a piece of the sky for that at least. If my love for electronics and my own study doesn't show them initiative enough...fuck 'em. I'll do the shit myself, save up, go through the school and breeze through it with my middle finger flying proudly once I graduate. Hell yes....goddamn right.
So, here I was, sitting around a hospital, learning stuff about viruses, phone phreaking and social engineering. Dangerous stuff in the hands of a derranged madman but, in my hands...useful tools for my education.
As Pop and I came back from Philly, it occurred to me that Broad Street looked exactly like it did in the Rocky movies from oh so long ago...what a shithole. Speaking of which, as we were streaking along Kelly Drive, I saw something. I must have driven by it thousands of times and never noticed it.
"Is that what I think it is?!" I asked Pop.
"Oh that?" he said, "Yeah, I think that's Grant on Horseback."
"No!" I said like an excited kid, "That!"
I pointed and Pop got a good chuckle out of my amazement.
"Oh that," he said, "Yep...that's Rocky...Old Stallone himself. It was at the top of the steps of the art museum but the board of directors didn't like it so they had to take it down."
I was reeling as I piloted the car along toward the Ben Franklin Bridge back into Jersey. He explained that it had been moved several times. I couldn't believe it. All these scullers were heading out in the rain to go rowing these boats around and most of them didn't even take notice at the piece of film history...a piece of a proud Philadelphia moment...right in their midst.
I vowed that, sooner or later, I was going to get a pic of me standing next to it.
You really have to love how some things just work out.
Right now, my head is filled with images of helping to develop the technology we have in existence already. I'm ready to rock and I don't think the world will ever be the same once I do what I need to do.
Get ready, world...Genocyde's comin' to town...a fiery invader.
I got up at the asscrack of dawn for my Open House at Disc Makers. Ever wondered who mass produces those wonderful wafers of technology called DVDs and CDs that you love and enjoy so much? Yeah, it's people like this. I hopped into Pearl and flew down the highway into Pennsauken for this thing. I listened to George Noory interview Stephen Root (Office Space, King of The Hill, Bicentennial Man) as I tooled along the highway at a steady 40 mph.
It's a safe speed, a nice, relaxing speed. I wasn't laying the hammer down this time. I had some time to spare. Leaving the cube at six in the morning for a short drive that wouldn't last even that isn't exactly my idea of a good time, but, for the purposes of landing employment, it's what I had to do. I got there well before 7am, the time of the appointment and when they finally opened their doors, I was greeted with an application and basic skills test. Great.
What I don't get is that these people had my resume' or, at least, a copy of it on file electronically. I could understand the skills test but another paper application? I filled everything out and turned it in. Two people were called to the back for a typing test. I wasn't and neither was the other guy who showed up with me. If this blog and the fact that Criss Angel's chatroom telling me to slow my typing down aren't evidence that I'm a prime candidate for the typing test, I don't know what is. Another big discouraging wall was when a nearby hospital emailed me stating that my application for employment had been rejected because they'd found someone more qualified.
Unless the dude ran black ops for some secret police organization, I don't fucking think so. I can read between those lines and that was as predictable as the punchline to the joke about the psychic getting struck by lightning. Don't you find it repulsive that it's YOU who have to be transparent to your prospective employer but not the other way around? I'm calling bullshit on that. I'm going to apply again. They don't brush the likes of ME off that fucking easily.
I got back to the cube even earlier than expected. I'm not holding my breath on that one either. Then, I get a call. Another call center job that I'd applied for was looking to hire me. The guy over the phone liked the way I talked about electronics and, between you and me, let's get one thing straight. As it stands, me without an electronic device of some type might as well be me walking around naked. If I don't have my PDA, I've got my iPhone. If I don't have that, I have my laptop, my PSP or my desktop. I can ditch cigarettes much more easily than I can ditch my addiction to the world of the brightly-lit displays, satellite relays, SatCom or frequent runs in Cyberspace. If you can't tell that I want to make my concept of a cerebral 150 Terabyte Wetwire implant a reality, I don't know how else to spell that out for you.
Sure, I know a lot about electronics, I'm just afraid of bricking one of my devices if I start fucking with it. Last thing I wanna do is crack open the case to anything, make one wrong move and my device (whichever it is) becomes an expensive paperweight. So the offer of an online university to learn more about information systems and possible government grants was too good to pass up. I'm on board if they are.
After that little bit, I had to whisk Pop over to Philly again to get zapped with radiation. Needless to say, sitting there, reading Wallace Wang's book Steal This Computer Book 4.0 is an eye-opener. It occurred to me...why shouldn't I go back to school? Why shouldn't I get paid top dollar for my skills and why shouldn't I of all people be permitted to sharpen them to razor status? I'm already using my own sweet time to learn this stuff, dammit, I should get a piece of the sky for that at least. If my love for electronics and my own study doesn't show them initiative enough...fuck 'em. I'll do the shit myself, save up, go through the school and breeze through it with my middle finger flying proudly once I graduate. Hell yes....goddamn right.
So, here I was, sitting around a hospital, learning stuff about viruses, phone phreaking and social engineering. Dangerous stuff in the hands of a derranged madman but, in my hands...useful tools for my education.
As Pop and I came back from Philly, it occurred to me that Broad Street looked exactly like it did in the Rocky movies from oh so long ago...what a shithole. Speaking of which, as we were streaking along Kelly Drive, I saw something. I must have driven by it thousands of times and never noticed it.
"Is that what I think it is?!" I asked Pop.
"Oh that?" he said, "Yeah, I think that's Grant on Horseback."
"No!" I said like an excited kid, "That!"
I pointed and Pop got a good chuckle out of my amazement.
"Oh that," he said, "Yep...that's Rocky...Old Stallone himself. It was at the top of the steps of the art museum but the board of directors didn't like it so they had to take it down."
I was reeling as I piloted the car along toward the Ben Franklin Bridge back into Jersey. He explained that it had been moved several times. I couldn't believe it. All these scullers were heading out in the rain to go rowing these boats around and most of them didn't even take notice at the piece of film history...a piece of a proud Philadelphia moment...right in their midst.
I vowed that, sooner or later, I was going to get a pic of me standing next to it.
You really have to love how some things just work out.
Right now, my head is filled with images of helping to develop the technology we have in existence already. I'm ready to rock and I don't think the world will ever be the same once I do what I need to do.
Get ready, world...Genocyde's comin' to town...a fiery invader.
posted by Lord Genocyde at 6:27 PM
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