Recently in Dear Diary Category
- title of my future autobiography
As a former employee of the Gap, I was interested and horrified to read this psychotic Fake Trend piece in the Wall Street Journal, which tells a scary story of the "legions" of former Gap clerks who are afflicted with a strange kind of Post Traumatic Folding Disorder that causes them to compulsively fold everything in sight. According to the article
"Gap Inc. says it has trained "hundreds of thousands" of Gap store employees in the art of folding since the late 1980s.
Along the way, legions of retail grads have spent countless hours neatly folding T-shirts and jeans and stacking them on tables and shelves.
Now, their peculiar idea of perfection is straining marriages and leading to bizarre behavior ranging from buying clothes based on an item's foldability to straightening up sloppy displays while shopping."
I worked at the Gap for something like five years I think. Not continuously-- I started when I was a Junior in high school, quit when I got mono, went back when I needed money to pay for whatever it was I spent money on in high school (fast food and Compact Discs?), quit when I went to college, went back for summers, went back when I was broke during the school year, and finally quit unceremoniously and for the last time when I was stressed out about exams. This pattern lasted between I think 1997 and 2002-- I worked in three different stores. And yes, I can now fold a mean pair of "denim" if I absolutely need to. By which I mean I can do it if it's a fucking matter of life and death, so if it isn't please don't ask me to fold shit for you. Until the day comes when my folding skills can somehow stave off the destruction of the planet Earth, my clothes will be in a crumpled pile covering my bedroom floor, thank you.
The obvious and overlooked thing about this (by the way completely made-up) article is that, of all the annoying and often degrading things a person must do as a Gap employee, the absolute worst of all of them is FOLDING. It is a thankless, boring, and truly sisyphean task. And also: BORING. It takes forever and you're finally making some progress and then some horrible person comes along and knocks your whole pile over and it's like you never even started. When I worked at the Gap, I came up with a million ways to get out of doing the folding thing at all. My specialty was walking around sort of rubbing the clothes in a way that I imagined made it look like I was folding them. I figured if anyone asked me why none of the clothes I was supposed to fold were remotely folded I could just say they were perfect a minute ago until some bitchy customer ruined the whole thing. (Not sure if this fooled anyone or not.) The idea that a person's time in the retail trenches could make them "unable to go shopping without automatically spending 10 or 15 minutes refolding messy T-shirt piles in stores," as the Journal article claims, is insane to me.
That's not to say that I didn't pick up a few things from working at the Gap. The company spent so much time teaching us all about shoplifters as well as trying to catch us-- the employees-- in various forms of theft, including something called "Time Theft", that stealing became a fascination of mine. The fact that our corporate overlords trusted us about as much as they would trust your average crook-- but surely not as much as they would trust actual proven rich-person criminals like Leona Helmsley or Cindy McCain-- made me obsessed with the idea of taking them down. In other words: I'm working, but I'm not working for you.
I spent many of my zoned-out folding hours trying to devise the best possible way to steal from the company in the hopes of DESTROYING it from the inside. The thing is that shoplifting from the Gap is actually really easy-- ask me sometime and I'll tell you exactly how to do it-- but it's running a successful ongoing SCAM without eventually getting caught that is trickier. You could run a return scam, sell register tape on the black market, be the inside-man for a shoplifting ring... there were many possiblities, and even though I was never going to actually try any of them because I am really just not that kind of guy, it was my number on on-the-job fantasy. Like I say, if the company was going to treat me like a criminal anyway, it wasn't such a leap to imagine myself as one.
I think a lot of my co-workers were thinking along the same lines, because every now and then, the Gap Secret Police, known as "Loss Prevention," would show up from Corporate and take someone into the back office and that would be the last we'd ever see of that person. Hopefully people all got assigned to laundry-folding duty in prison. At least allow them that small pleasure.
Happy Fourth of July. The Fourth of July is my favorite holiday not only because I am a patriot but also because I enjoy fireworks. They appeal to my very gay sense of instant nostalgia. Watching the fireworks inspires a simultaneous feeling of awe and regret: they're over practically before they start. With fireworks (especially local fireworks versus impersonal big city extravaganzas) you get a visceral sense that your life is passing you by. This is a feeling I love. Yeah, I know it's childish of me to find this kind of angsty wallowing so delicious. I can't help it, but I will try to be more grown-up by next year.
The other thing about the 4th of July is that there are a lot of great songs about it. Off the top of my head I can think of Galaxie 500's 4th OF JULY (above, featuring sparklers!), X's 4th OF JULY, Aimee Mann's 4th OF JULY, Bruce Springsteen's 4th OF JULY, ASBURY PARK (SANDY), and Elliot Smith's INDEPENDENCE DAY. I think there are a lot more that I'm forgetting right now too. (Oh! The Elliot Smith video on youtube just led me to this great-seeming song. And who remembers a lady by the name of ANI?)
When I was little I was always concerned about what would happen if somehow the fireworks didn't extinguish themselves as they were falling for the ground-- if somehow you managed to catch a piece of one, what would happen? Good or bad? I thought about this for awhile and finally asked my mom and she told me your arm would fall off and you would probably die. I guess she didn't understand the question or was worried that I wanted to go out and play with fireworks or something. Whatever-- her scare tactics did not work. I was generally a skittish and fearful child, but in this case, my mother's dire warning just increased the appeal to me. It was at this moment that I first understood that it is worth risking life and limb for dumb things that are pretty and short-lived.
I just got off the phone with the funnest girls!me:(annoyed because I knocked my sandwich over trying to get to the phone)Hello?
me: Uh... Bennett?
me: Who is this?
me: (looking at my sandwich on the floor) I have to go.
Emily and I went to the Night of a Thousand Stevies on Friday. I had my wig stolen. If you want to see some really embarassing pictures of me, you should read our (Emily's) post about it on Jezebel.
If you want to have a truly MAGICKAL musical experience you should just watch this video:
Yay, so thanks to everyone who sent me nice things about my poor computer. The good news is that I took it to TekServe and now (several hundred dollars later) it is better than ever. I did not lose any files, which I guess means that I now have to turn in my next book on time after all. My favorite piece of advice for a coffee-drenched laptop-- courtesy of vegan shoe designer Laura F-- was to soak it in a big thing of dry rice. This seemed like the most insane vegan tip ever (vegans love rice, especially when it's from the dumpster!) but it turns out it's totally legit. At least for cellies; I don't know if it would actually work on a computer. But it might! So if you're more into the witch doctor school of tech-upkeep, keep this in mind.In other news, I got the galleys and the final cover for THE BLONDE OF THE JOKE on Friday, which was coincidentally also my birthday. They look fantastic. I'll be posting the cover on here as soon as my publisher tells me it's okay.
Well, well, well! Finally my ship has come in! Paris Hilton-- I guess unhappy that former BFF Nicole Ritchie (Richie?) is now more famous and skinny than her-- is holding open casting calls for a new friend. This sounds perfect for me! I had been looking for a new career anyway (writing = lots of work and low glamor quotient.) Also, as anyone who went to high school with me knows, reality television stardom has been a dream of mine since before reality television even existed! And this one sounds really perfect for me. My main two skills/hobbies are indolence and lassitude. Just like Paris herself.Here's the casting call:
Do you long to strut into the world’s most elite hotspots without a care in the world except how fabulous you are? Ever wish the velvet ropes didn’t exclude you from the social circles of the A-List? How about the fantasy of jet setting around the world with the ultimate BFF, whose fierce style, charisma and star power is only matched by your own.
Now that’s hot! MTV is giving the opportunity of a lifetime to one girl or “fabulous” guy who has what it takes to become Paris Hilton’s new BFF. Finally, you have the chance to show the world that you have what it takes to achieve social stardom; allowing you unprecedented access to young Hollywood as never before. Loves It!
Doron Ofir Casting is seeking “Hot Bitches” and “Fabulously Fierce Guys” who are at least the age of 21 and appear under 30.
Are you sick and tired of envying the social icons? Will you be the next pop-arazzi obsession and quintessential star of the red carpet? Prove it bitches!
Well I'm certainly tired of envying the social icons! Even my pathetic "Facebook wall" is enough to make me feel like a friendless pariah. But am I "fabulous" enough? I think I have the perfect outfit for my audition...
All I need now to make myself into the perfect reality-show package of fabulosity is a "fabulous" CATCHPHRASE. So far I have come up with:
- ""Faaaa-bulous!""
- "That's just "FAB-ulous!!!""
- "Paris, you "FABULOUS" slut!"
- "Oh, how "fabulously" fierce!"
- "I'm not "fabulous" but my boyfriend is!"
Does anyone know how to get on Judge Judy? I've always wanted to go on Judge Judy-- I think she would really like me, don't you??-- and now I have an excuse. Yesterday some man in a cafe knocked my coffee all over my laptop and destroyed the entire thing. The laptop, my entire manuscript (what there is of it), and my extensive collection of... exotic photos. Just kidding! I mean my extensive collection of MP3s. All of it is gone.
No, this did not prompt this person to get off of his cell phone. He did say sorry, which was nice. But I wanted him to be more specific with his apology. What exactly was he sorry for? For ruining my pants? For drenching a perfectly good spiral notebook? How about for destroying my entire life? I wonder if he felt bad about that.
Signs point to NO. No only did he not offer to buy me a new laptop, he didn't even offer to buy me another cup of coffee. (Although maybe a stiff drink would have made me feel better anyway.) He did give me a crumpled tissue out of his pocket (to wipe off the computer, I guess) before quickly hurrying outside to finish his call. Well. A whole tissue! Well thank you so much!
What would Judge Judy say about this? On one hand, I think she would probably hate this man for yapping on his cell phone while stomping around a crowded cafe with no regard for where he was swinging his ass. On the other hand, Judge Judy is an unpredictable lady and I feel like maybe she might have harsh words for me re: keeping my coffee so close to my laptop. Also for the fact that I never back anything up, as a policy. Judge Judy would not like that at all. She's always demanding RECEIPTS. And I have no receipts for anything.
This sort of thing happens to me all the time, although not usually on this scale. It's why I like to keep Elizabeth Bishop's ONE ART handy at all times. It cheers me up:
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster...Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
Oh wait. That poem's not cheerful at all! Well, I shan't lie. My laptop is gone. MY LIFE IS OVER.
My new book is finally, officially, actually finished which means I can now devote myself to the important task of tending to this BLOG. I know, I know... it's not like anyone reads or cares about blogs anymore. In fact, I'm pretty sure the blog as an artform has been basically dead for a year-ish, at least. But whatever. I'm going to soldier on anyway. Maybe I'll perk up as I go along. If not, I'll just post funny videos and hope it keeps the traffic rolling in. The thing is that it turns out finishing a book is really depressing. This is always true, but I always forget. You would think it would be a great feeling of accomplishment, but instead it's just panic about the fact that it's not as perfect as you want it and soon everyone is going to be reading it and judging you. Or more likely not reading and not judging, which is of course worse. Either way, it's done now and there's nothing I can do about it now. Look for THE BLONDE OF THE JOKE this fall. Hopefully I'll have the cover to post soon.
In the meantime, to gear up for it, I'm going to be posting a weekly essay about my favorite blondes in history, starting this week with either Jodie Sweetin from Full House or Stacy from the Babysitter's Club. I can't decide yet. I'll also be posting the usual blog crap-- dumb videos, pictures of cats-- as well as my famous cultural criticism. (Mean things about Tyra Banks and the monstrous Bindi Irwin.)
Okay, yay. I know this is all really boring but it feels good to finally get it all off my chest.
LOVE,
BENNETT
