Pop knew everybody. Didn’t have a dime and took me everywhere. We’d pull up to the Garden parking lot in our old beater. No hope. It was full when I was born, and now I’m in grammar school. I cringed until the face leans out of the booth and it’s his nephew in there. Right over there, Uncle Buddy. Where the players park.
You couldn’t buy a ticket with money. The Garden would thrum with excitement and no one would miss it for filthy lucre. Pop had four. Conjured them like a wizard at work because the boss was already wearing white shoes for the season and wouldn’t sweat in a seat in that hellhole when he could be on the Vineyard. Pop says he’ll sit behind the pole and stare at the big rusty rivets but I’d always end up there because I fit.
Uncle Smokey would come and puff his tiparillos and jape with Dad and I was in the company of men and stood in awe like at the foot of marble Lincolns.
There was weather inside there. Cumulus clouds of smoke would meet the smog from the drunken exhalations and clash with the cold front coming up from Bobby Orr’s ice under the rickety parquet wood floor.
Then we’d stand and the floor was lost to me, nothing but the boles of men in an endless forest swaying in the breeze of excitement.
I’d kill ten innocent men to go back there for ten minutes.
… there’s WINNAR IS YOU, there are Win/Win situations. And then there’s a website called “Not Hired.”
If you’ve ever had a job that involves reviewing a lot of resumes, you’ve probably seen a whole bunch of this sort of thing. I used to sit in amazement from time to time, looking at some colossal weirdo fidgeting in the chair across my desk from me looking for a clue and a job, but not in that order, when it would occur to me that they were the people that made it past HR in the first place. How bad was the raw feed?
Sometimes it’s not your fault. I remember looking at a resume in 2004 or so from a guy who had worked for the better part of two decades for the Bin Laden family. Dude, lie, I thought. But in general, they’re all self-inflicted wounds in the Hire Me! ER.
Anyway, here’s the greatest of the very great of weirdos that want a job. How many of you are smart enough to make an insane clown-colored spreadsheet of “Things I Believe” to apply for a position? None? I thought so. Because let’s face it, a potential employer is going to wonder, on a scale of one to ten, or one to twenty here and there for no apparent reason, how you feel about Trousers, Ninja Men, Groin Injuries (The Balls() Mexicans, Fast People Who Run Past My Window, Bags, Coral…
“On Something Down Under,” from Not Hired.
Ninja turtles? “Yes of course.”
I wouldn’t write if it wasn’t for the Internet. The WYSIWYG editor and cut and paste and so forth made it exactly as easy as it had to be, or I wouldn’t do it. I’m hardly lazy, but I’m impatient.
The Internet doesn’t work. I’m sorry to break it to you, but it’s a cobbled together mess, and it was cobbled together by a very informal committee of persons who indulge their own bizarre tastes and wonder why everyone doesn’t want to run their own lives from the command line in Linux.
I don’t know, why doesn’t everyone smelt their own tin to use as solder for the circuit boards they’re making for themselves?
I try to keep up with the Internet, because it’s kinda my job now. So like a fool I downloaded Firefox 3 instead of waiting for its final release. And I woke up this morning, and Flash video is off my menu.
It’s a sort of encapsulation of the whole affair for me. It’s like the Interweb version of the low-flow toilet. I’m told about all the very important and cutting edge things that my toilet now does, because some addle-headed bureaucrat got a notion that we were running out of water everywhere, of all things. I’ve noticed however high-tech my toilet might be, there’s still a turd in there after I flush it. Seven times.
Flush, Flash, it’s all starting to look the same to me. It doesn’t work for no good reason. Flash video is the format for YouTube videos, and my little widget advertisement with the slideshow of tables over in the right hand column, and a lot of other stuff. And the current version of Flash doesn’t work with Firefox 3.
I’m not looking for advice on what to do here. I could expunge Flash from my hard drive, (make sure you don’t have applications open with Flash in their cache!) go to Adobe, find an older version of Flash, download and install it, reinstall Firefox 3, and it would probably all work. That’s a full time job for a long time, and I’ve got better things to do.
There is a great tech reckoning coming. I can feel it. The great mass of people are going to rise up and demand that the pasty, doughy, porn-addled, copyright infringement fetished, anonymity fascinated, Bill Gates-hatin’ dorks that bang on the Internet like a blind cobbler’s thumb stop fooling around and make the damn thing work. You’re all mechanics –bad ones — not CEOs. The sooner you’re making 35 grand in a cubicle out back and people that understand that the process is not the product are put in charge, the better off we’ll all be.

You don’t understand economics very well.
No offense. I don’t know who you are, but I’m willing to defame you like that. Why do you suppose that is? It’s because nobody understands economics very well in my experience. When I see the poll question “Which candidate for President do you trust more to run the economy?” it’s the question itself which bugs me, not the percentages assigned to the candidates. If you’d ask or answer that question, you have a pre-civilized view of economics in my opinion.
I’m not educated in economics, so I know a little about it. If I was educated, I’d know about an economics education. Not the same thing. I learned what I know about economics by getting the treatment a baby gives a diaper every day out in the economic landscape. You’re not allowed to indulge in fantasy very long out here. You can do it for a lifetime in a college. And beyond, if you can get published.
I want to talk about price elasticity, because it interests me. It refers to the relationship between the supply and demand for things as you tinker with price, or supply, or a host of other factors.
In general, people who work with their hands seek price inelasticity. That means that demand falls more slowly than an increase in price. Since the amount of work a person can do is finite you want to raise your price to perform the work without decreasing demand too much by doing so. You work less for more money.
If demand is elastic, this means if you raise your price, the demand falls, and doesn’t make up for the increased price. You raise your prices but you make less money.
If it’s unit elastic, there’s a direct correlation between price and demand. Raise the price, demand goes down exactly the amount necessary so that revenue stays the same. An accountant is the only person to have ever seen this creature.
Now let’s go out on the economic map where navigators used to see “Here Be Monsters.”
Perfectly elastic pricing is where if you raise the price one iota, the demand drops to zero.
And finally, if we talk of demand being perfectly inelastic, no matter what you charge, the demand stays the same. You’ve got a crack stand in Marion Barry’s living room.
Now I want you to come out to the edge of the map where I live, and have lived for the vast majority of my life. Forget inelastic price, elastic price, and the unicorn of economists, unit elastic demand. Those are just things that determine whether you’ll buy a flatscreen TV or an end table or not. I want to get existential on you.
If you have a sinecure, you will never understand what it is to be in a walk of life where demand for your production risks perfect elasticity. You simply talk about the churn in the economy. No sympathy for those buggy-whip manufacturers. They should have been smart and got a job collecting tolls on the highway and then they wouldn’t have found themselves in that pickle. People with whales on their pants who refer to their significant other as “Lovie” like this line of reasoning a lot, too.
People often tell me that my furniture is very inexpensive for what you get. Raise your prices, they counsel. Maybe. But more likely, they don’t understand that the market often doesn’t make such fine distinctions about your pricing structure. Sometimes it’s pass/fail. I have to be careful never to hit the fail point because there’s no readjustment period. You’re just dead. People with straightforward jobs can picture this best by imagining that if you went into you boss’s office and demanded a raise, the only two answers are: “Sure!” and “You’re fired!”. You’d be less extravagant in your demands then, wouldn’t you?
What about the political angle I mentioned earlier? Oh, that’s where perfect inelasticity comes in. See, you don’t understand it, because if you answered the poll question above, you think the government is the producer in this scenario. You think they produce prosperity, and through some jiggery-pokery with inelastic set-asides, or elastic statutes, or unit elastic Smoot-Hawley tarrifs or raging carpet-bombing wars, they’re going to arrange for the shelves in the US Store to be stocked with goodies for you. But you’ve got it exactly backwards.
The example often used for perfect inelasticity is the human heart transplant. If heart transplants were ten dollars, you wouldn’t want one just because it was cheap, and if it cost eleventy-billion dollars, but you needed one, you wouldn’t care what it costs. You’d beg, borrow, or steal the dough to get it.
So in the real world with the government in the picture, I am the good or service. But the United States Government is not a supermarket. It is a pawn shop. And I am born pawned, and I wake up every morning pawned. And if I want to get myself out of there, to work all day and try to make a few bucks so I can worry about something other than my very existence, I’m going to do whatever I’m told, and pay whatever is demanded of me. My interest in continuing to be me is 100%, and my demand to continue being me will not diminish no matter how abusive the situation you plunge me into.
My demand for me is perfectly inelastic, and the government knows it. Pay up, sucka.
The Mafia always understood perfect inelasticity, too. They’d come in, tell you how much protection money was required, and mentioned that your kneecaps were perfectly inelastic if you bent them backwards.
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