Office Weather

As a human male in his early twenties, fresh out of college and drowning in debt and greed, I needed to get  a job. Because of my upper middle class white upbringing, the military and manual labor were not options for me. Being a waiter had been fine for a while, but after you are legally obligated to stop hitting on the hostess, it stops being that fun.

So I took to the one thing that a college-educated, articulate, aloof almost-hipster can comfortably do in this country without actually fulfilling his dreams: I became an office worker. I have talked about this job before. But all of those times I was struggling with the moral and psychological implications of this work. What I would like to touch on today is something a little bit more obscure.

It all begins with a basic human desire: Comfort. From the moment man kind first stepped out into the sun and said "Ugh, how about this heat?" we've been looking for a way to beat it. The heat that is, not the sun.

Anyway, we also always look for a way to destroy the cold. That was easier than beating the heat, because we could make fire. The only problem with fire is that it has its own level of intensity that we can't really control. So when we began to harness the intellect that allowed us to build machines, the first thing we looked for was control. So we knew fire was an uncontrollable form of heat, and that cold was hard to maintain during the warm spells. What was the answer?

Air conditioning and furnaces. Complex (maybe, I don't honestly know how they work) systems of ducts and stuff that make hot and cold air flush into a space so that we can maintain a fair constant temperature. Its beautiful.

So what does this have to do with work? Why did I begin talking about the death of dreams and limited options and yet segue into air conditioning?

Because even at work, air conditioning becomes one of a number of things that we simply cannot control.

Its been insanely warm in DC this summer. 100-plus degree days, warm inescapable nights. The world seems to be trying to drive everyone indoors. And yet, when fully 1/3 of my day is spend in my office, I find myself wishing that I could be outside just to even out.

Why?

Because my office is set at a continuous sub-comfort level of frigidity. It puts me in the sometimes uncomfortable position of having to walk into my building on a 90 degree morning while toting a sweater. This is even stranger when the man sharing the elevator with me is dressed in a button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, sweating profusely. He gives me a look like I am secretly trying to mess with his mind. What he doesn't understand is that my office seems to think that the only suitable rebuttle to the inferno of summer is the pre-Raphealite hell of endless winter.

And yet today, while shivering and triyng to keep my mind on work, I noticed a strange new weather pattern in my office.

You see, the last two days have been pleasant. 70ish degrees. Sometimes a little bit of a chill in the air. And yet, the sun still shines brightly, and it is still August, technically summer. So what is the extremity-loving A/C in an office to do about this sudden level of non-mechanical comfort?

Its still freezing cold, but every so often there is... prepare yourselves... a burst of hot wind.

Wind. In my office. Warm, burning wind like that which scorges the arid planes of the Gobi desert. My skin is confused. My mind snaps, and suddenly I have to write a blog post for the first time in almost a year.

Jesus.

Taxes. What the hell?

I have a new job now, one that pays much better than my previous job, though I am at the same company, doing basically the same thing, but that is beyond the point.

So today I received my first full paycheck with my pay raise included, and I was looking forward to tearing into that envelope and gazing upon the mountainous piles of cash that I would be gifted with for my hard work and longer hours.
Now, upon first glance everything seemed to be in order. I made double what I usually made before and there was a whole other place value to be accounted for. Then it hit me - But I worked two times as many hours as I usually did.
So I worked twice as long and got paid twice as much, which sounds good until you realized that hourly I should be making more money anyway. Thus, my disillusionment began.

The thing I have found out (which I should have known before) was that all those extra hours and extra pay added up to a higher paycheck, which thus put me into a higher tax bracket, which meant my taxes increased, which meant that I was making close to the same amount of money per hour as before.

This raises terrifying and worrying implications. I've always been under the impression that by being paid more, I would get more money. It seems, however, that by being paid more the government actually gets more money.
What?
How am I ever supposed to get a higher paycheck then? Will my life be an eternal struggle towards higher and higher pay grades, only to find that each of these pay increases also raises me up into the next tax bracket, thereby negating any hope I have of ever actually, you know, getting more money?

If so, then what, exactly, is the impetus to try harder? What reason do I have to ever aspire to more responsibility, or to do better work to get a raise?
Nothing. The answer is nothing.

Isn't that the opposite of capitalism? Isn't my incentive to do well in my work the hope that I will achieve more monetary compensation? Yes. Yes it is. But not so anymore.
And really, with a democrat in office (oh shit, here comes the politics) isn't it likely we're just going to be taxed more?

But anyway, I'm going to stop complaining and take my four figure check to the liquor store to dispel my unholy woes.

Nobel Prize - Like an A+ for Looking Forward to a Test

It's a crisp autumn Friday and I am just about to start the final day of my first week at my new job. Someone has brought cinnamon rolls and bagels into the office and I've got a cup of hot cocoa. What could go wrong?

Well it was around the time I was halfway through my cinnamon roll when someone said, "Hey, did you know Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize?"

At first I laughed and wondered what acid-dropping hippie's twitter feed they had been reading and why they were working here if they were gullible enough to believe it. After all, I had just finished reading the paper on the Metro and only saw that some Romanian woman living in German had won the prize for literature.

It was at this point, though, that the icy cold wave of dread began to consume my once gaily beating heart, because it turns out other people had heard this news too. My hope that it had all be some random Onion article that the Chinese had misinterpreted (again) slowly began to die.

Can this be true, I thought to myself, I mean, come on. What has he done? Wasn't the deadline for nomination about ten days after he was inaugurated?

I rushed to the New York Times web site because like a small child setting out cookies for Santa Claus I still unfailingly believe in newspapers. There it was. In big bold letters.

And why did Obama win? Apparently because he's got a lot of spunk and said some things that people liked and once he shook and Arab's hand right after shaking an Israeli's hand.

That's right. The same logic that keeps the roguishly handsome yet harmlessly evil antagonist from killing the youthful version of a Hollywood hero ("You got spirit, kid") is enough to get Obama the Nobel Peace Prize.

Now I am not saying that he might not deserve the prize later on in life. After all, the world loves him, he's more popular than God, he makes great speeches (at least in a syntactical way) and he's idealistic to a fault. And yea, while idealism and optimism are annoying when applied to people you know in the real world - like that friend who tells you "everything happens for a reason" after your girlfriend runs over your cat while driving off in a sports car with her Italian lover - those are the qualities you want in a person working for peace. If they faced reality like normal people they'd give up on world peace and surrender to the cold unfailing logic that the rest of us had.

However, giving a man a prize because he says he wants to do something is completely counter intuitive. Sure, he's on the right track, but it's sort of like firing the gun at the start of a race and then immediately waving the checkered flag and tossing wreathes on people. You're awarding their unfailing ability to make a show of starting something.

Imagining apply this logic to real life. I sit down and write my name on a test, at which point the teacher gives me an A. I apply to college and in the middle of my orientation seminar I'm given a mortarboard and a diploma.

"But I haven't done anything," you'd say in a baffled tone of voice as suddenly your parents show up on either side of you and your aunt who smells like chewing tobacco begins flirting with your friends.

"That's ok," the dean says, "you said you wanted to, and for that you deserve something."

So Obama says he wants to end the wars in the Middle East and close Gitmo and free the world of nuclear warheads. Cheers to him, the guy's got ambition. But shouldn't we hold off on congratulating him until after he's made a move to even try to do these things?

Remember that paper I was reading on the subway? According to it, Obama is thinking about adding 40,000 more troops to Afghanistan. Ooh, what a pacifist.

The fact is the man has promised a lot of things, and while I don't doubt that he wants to do them I sincerely doubt his ability to actually do it. You know why?

Because he's a goddamn politician.

Mother Teressa and Gandhi spring to mind as people who started off small and became huge through sheer dint of their unfailing will and their desire to create a better world. They were beholden to no one and had endless faith not only in the goodness of man but in God as well. They weren't worried about polls, they didn't care if people liked them or not. They weren't driven by ambition of politics but by an unchained sense of duty.

Allow me, before I go, to address what I am sure will be one of the main talking points for people who want to see their own personal Jesus (Wooo, Depeche Mode!) defended against the slings and arrows hurled by anyone with half a brain:

"Obama got the award because of his ability to bring people together and to remind him of his promises so that he won't let us down. It will encourage him to keep his word."

What? Have you never seen a movie involving a contract killer?

Killer: "Four million dollars, right?"

Hirer: "Yea. Half now, half when the job is done."

See? See how that works?

If a baseball team makes it to the World Series (topical sports reference) you don't hand them the damn title without making them work for it first, otherwise they slack off because they have nowhere else to go. We've already won, they will say, what's the point?

Sure, maybe Obama will be encouraged by his win, but only encouraged enough to hold back on ethnically cleansing the mid west, not enough to actually follow through on his promises.

When you get paid all at once you aren't more encouraged to do the job, or even to do the job better. You're just encouraged not to screw up badly enough for people to ask for the payment back.

Meanwhile, a group of Chinese activists who are trying to end travesties there were passed over for the prize, much as Obama passed over meeting with the Dalai Fucking Lama.

Why Cell Phones Suck - Part II

Here's a not-uncommon scenario that one of my friends has to go through from time to time.

His girlfriend likes to call him whenever they are apart. Not apart as in "I'm going off to war" or "I'll be across the country visiting family over the weekend." I mean apart as in "I'm just nipping off to the pub for an ale" (no, I have no idea why I wrote that like a British person).

That in and of itself is pretty much the most annoying thing someone can do. I'm out doing my thing, you know I am doing my thing, and yet you still phone me, thereby keeping my from doing my thing. And that was a thing I wanted to be doing!
Why is this?
Just because we have the ability to make sure someone is never, ever outside of our social grasp doesn't mean we should start hounding them so they remember we exist. Maybe she's just really insecure. Maybe she's bored or lonely.
Either way, if I tell you I'm out with someone, or going to see a movie, or doing something that I specifically don't want your company for, please don't call me "Just to say hi" or to "see how things are going."
You're not my mother. This doesn't concern you.

Maybe I am just being misanthropic because my own girlfriend doesn't call me incessantly to see if I am making sure my shoes or tied, or to ask when I am coming home, or to generate some crisis that can only be solved by me coming home right now and holding her hand as I explain that you can, in fact, take more than two Advil in a 24 hour period.

...Actually, looking at that last paragraph it seems like I really do find that just really annoying.

The thing is, too much of anyone is a bad thing. Sometimes we, as people, need a moment away from those we surround ourselves with just to remind us when we return what it is we like about them so much. Failing that, and in the case of someone who just will not let you be alone or apart from them, you just feel constricted and trapped.

So if I am out, and you get the urge to call me, listen to these whispered words of wisdom: Let it be.
You will survive two hours without me, and if not... wow. Get help.

This brings us to another thing. Sometimes I won't answer your call.
It's not that I am screening you out (most likely). Sometimes I just can't hear or feel it ring. Sometimes I lose service, like when I am on the Metro. Sometimes I just don't have the damn thing on me.

Should this occur, leave a message.

Do NOT call back seven more times, leave three messages, and then text me. This makes you appear desperate and needy, which is never, ever a reason to talk to someone.

Worst of all is when a friend (ok, who am I kidding, a girlfriend or boyfriend) becomes paranoid due to a lack of answer.
If you have the kind of mind that jumps from "Not answering phone" to "banging some other guy/girl behind my back" without ever taking a stop at "sleeping" then you need to contact your HMO and look into some well-deserved trepanation. Once again, just because you can reach anyone at anytime doesn't mean you will, or should even try.

Then we come to the old standby used by significant other and parent alike: I thought you were dead.

Yes. Of course. I didn't answer my phone, therefore I had been slaughtered Jack-The-Ripper style. Makes sense. If I call a pizza place at 5 a.m. and don't get an answer I think that the place must have burned down.
Oh wait. No I don't.

Even more egregious is when the statement "I thought you were dead" is prefaced by "It kept rolling right to voicemail."
Cell phones and human bodies are not biomechanically linked. The death of one does not result in the death of the other. Were I dead, my phone would have run twice, then been answered by someone saying in a deep, throaty voice "You're next."
...or so I can only hope.

In the end, people need to realize that a cell phone is a tool. And any tool is used at the discretion of its owner and operator. By getting a phone, I have not signed a contract which states that I will always pick up.

So calm down everyone. Let's all sit back, have a beer, and not talk to one another for a moment and see how that suits us.

The Worst Thing About It...

So I found out about that job I talked about a few posts ago - the one where I said everyone in the office told me that the only way I would get it was to become blond and grow tits? Remember that?
Well, the verdict is in and the job has gone to a cute blond girl.

Now here's the thing, before you all start to say I am a sore loser.

Had she and I been up against one another for any other job, I could have lost without reservation. She's worked here longer than I, she seems pretty smart, and for all I know she does decent work. In my logical mind, my completely unbiased and uninformed mind, she is the winner by nothing by her own hard work.

However...

Because the man who hired her is notorious in our office for only hiring girls of her kind, her selection is forever tainted in my unconscious mind.

And that is the worst thing about going out for a job where the man hiring has a clear bias. She very well may have been the most wonderful candidate for that position, but I doubt I will ever be able to accept her as one.
If I had been hired by an avowed racist, and every other candidate was black, I would never feel completely fulfilled.
Am I saying she shouldn't be?
Who knows.
But I find it hard to believe that when she takes her place on that new team and looks around her to see that she has become the latest easy-on-the-eyes addition to his harem, she won't feel that small niggling feeling of self doubt.
Which is a shame, because if she does feel that way, it cheapens what should be a great accomplishment for her.

I never want to have to ask myself: Did I earn this, or was this given to me?

Anyone showing any kind of bias - who offers up incentives based on race, gender, anything - are forever tainting an entire generation of achievement.

The Merits of Moving to Ireland

Today should have been a wondrous day for me.
There is a new Muse album out. I had yet another interview for a job I actually want. It's not Monday. I had half a burrito for lunch...

And then came the moment, the pinnacle, the zenith of what should have made this day great - the arrival of my paycheck.

I am not like many people I work with. I disdain direct deposit. I want to hold my check, get to know it a bit, sign my name on it like I'm branding a pack animal and then take it to the bank so I can see it go through that kooky machine that zips it around in a semi-circle. These are the things I love. Because I earned that money, and I want it to be handed to me so that I might see it through.

According to my pay stub I worked a little over 60 hours in the last pay period. I get something on the order of 11 bucks per hour. As such, I thought it only fair to guess that I would make at least 600 bucks on this check.

So with childlike glee I tapped the envelope on my desk, ripped off one side of it, blew into it to open it enough for my fingers to reach in, and then - as an Academy award presenter would - I drew it out slowly and flipped open the folded paper within to see that I had made...

$580.83

Any younger readers should close their eyes and scroll down real fast, because this is about to get messy.

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

Aaaand we're back.
But seriously, what is going on here? How the hell did this happen?

So unlike most days where I simply say, Yea, that'll cover rent, this time I decided to take a good long look and crunch the numbers.

I did indeed work just a shade over 60 hours, so I was right about that. As such, my total income for this pay period was about 664 bucks.
Sweet! I could buy two PS3s for that kind of scratch.

And then came that God-scaringly terrifying field just below where it tells me how much I made... the Deductions.
Jesus, just that word alone is enough to make me want to leap out of a window because I know no love or goodness truly exists in this world.
First we have federal income tax, which I still think is bullshit. What the hell did the government do for me that I need to give them almost 30 bucks? But fine, you know what, take it. The there's the Medicare tax, which is hilarious considering that for the past four and a half years my medical plan has been slap a band aid on it, take a shot of whiskey and hope for the best. 10 dollars. Why? I don't know.
So what else was left? Two things only added up to a little over 40 bucks, and yet I had been fleeced something like eighty. So what could possibly...
...
Are you #%$ing kidding me?
Forty something bucks into....
Social Security? Social. Bloody. Security?

You mean that thing, that great thing that is supposed to sustain me when I am older and don't wanna work anymore? That pool of crystal clear life-water that is apparently being sucked through a mile-wide straw by an Oreck XL vacuum cleaner? That social security?!

Now I know what some of you might be saying:
Roan, dude, bro, calm down. All this money is, like, totally going to social programs that will, like, totally better our lives, man.

I'd punch you in the face if you weren't the hypothetical suggestion of what a hippie would sound like.
I have a fantastic plan. Anyone who wants to benefit from social programs can pay into them on their own damn time. If you think the government or someone else can better spend your money than you, then give it to them. Personally, I think I know what I want and I know how to get it (woo, Sex Pistols!) and that does not include asking someone else to do it for me.
And social security? Really? Who pays into an account at a bank when seemingly the only promise the bank gives you is that "However much you pay in, it won't be there when you want to take it out!"

Either give me hope that the system will still be operational or don't keep taking my money and putting it into it.
It's like using a priceless painting to try to put out a house fire. Sure, when the fire is small maybe you can beat it out, but once the whole bloody structure is alight there is no point anymore.

All of which brings me to the topic line (sure some of you were wondering when that would come into play) about moving to Ireland.

Basically it boils down to this:
I have given up on America and want to move to Ireland, where I won't be taxed, because I shall live in the fields in a small earthen cabin with my lovely, red-haired wife, who will knit sweaters out of the fleece of our flock of lambs, tossing her curly red locks over her shoulder as she bends over the large copper kettle to make our night's stew. I shall write and tend to our flock and will bend to no man or government. And we shall be happy there in our bucolic paradise, free from the constraints of society, able to live in harmonic coexistence with nature and God.

And if you are sitting there thinking "Well that sounds a bit too idealistic" I have this to offer.

It's a hell of a lot more realistic than the Obama-approved plans and social programs you're depending on to save your worthless ass the trouble of doing things for yourself.

Speaking of Racism...

I have a perfect sense of timing, it seems.

Over at one of my favorite movie blogs there is a piece about the upcoming Disney movie, The Princess and the Frog.
Now, for a long time groups of all stripes have derided Disney for not having any black princesses. Ariel (who is a fish), Jasmine (who is Arab), Sleeping Beauty (who is a white narcoleptic), and Snow White (who is a chipmunk... or sounds like one). None of these women have been black.

Well they finally got one, and apparently everyone is squirming because, well... she's black. And so are most of her castmates. So every piece of comedy and plot wrung from her is obviously (all together now) racist!
A firefly is proud of his butt, the music is jazzy, funny characters are black... bastards! How dare they!

Ok, it's a comedy. A COMEDY. Did white people or fish or Arabs or chipmunks get offended when people of their races were used for humor in a Disney movie? Was Disney supposed to make this movie any less cartoony and stupid than all their others?

Is the film racist? Who knows, probably not. As I said above, Disney makes all kind of characters of whatever race stupid for their movies because little kids eat that shit up. Goofy characters are Disney's bread and butter. Just look at... well, Goofy. But just because they are black this time everyone is going crazy. Well you know what, I am pissed off that it's come to the point where you can't even have a character of a race be hilarious without it being seen as racist.

We're all too sensative. Way too sensative.

It's all especially odd, considering there is a point where one of the characters says, to a frog "Only thing's important is what's under the skin."

So here's a movie that was basically created because people were begging for diversity, which is being derided for using black people as comedy relief in a comedy movie centered around black people, and yet the film tells people that looks aren't important and everyone is equally judged by who they are on the inside.

Jesus I need an aspirin.