Friday, February 20

As I write this, I'm sitting in the den of my Grandparent's house in Larsen, where I'm spending the weekend due to the wedding. It's about 10:30pm, and from what others tell me, the roads are dangerously icy. I don't have to leave the house until 2pm tomorrow, so I'm going under the blind guise that it won't be quite so bad then. This computer is agonizingly slow, and has more viruses than Courtney Love's bathwater. Zing! Take that, famous performer!*


*The sole purpose of this post was for Ryan to use that one-liner. Forgive him. He's very tired and hungry, and he's quite aware that it's not even very funny. It's not even Jay Leno-funny.

I'll talk about the wedding on Monday.

Thursday, February 19

Here Comes the Science.

2 weeks ago I took a typing and clerical exam for the job of Clerk Typist at the Madison Public Library. This would involve me keeping track of every piece of text in the entire massive building. Believe it or not, I really want this job, and the $25,000 a year isn't too bad either. So I applied, and was invited to this test.

I was one of 115 people to apply and test for the position, so right off the bat I knew that to get this job would be a miracle to say the least. I just thought that if I typed and answered questions as fast as I could, I would get a better percentage due to sheer volume. My intelligence is questionable, but my speed of completing work is second to none. This would be the only way that I could succeed over the 114 others who were more qualified, and had spent actual work hours in an office environment rather than 4 years at a hardware store. Writing down "Hardware Store Clerk - 6/98 to 6/02" doesn't really pad out a resume too well.

So on the morning before I took the big test, I tried cocaine for the first time. I purchased the high-grade "white" from a guy named Vance who I always see standing outside the liquor store from the window of my house. I had sworn off caffeine for over 2 years now, and knew I really needed an extra boost for the undertaking. My job depended on it.

So, all coked up, I drove to the testing site near the Capitol Building going a shade over a hundred miles an hour in the Escort. I got there an hour and a half early, and spent that extra time finding a parking spot and walking to the building. (I would later find out from Celia that I actually just drove around the block of my house for 45 minutes, parked in the street, and ran the 20 miles to Madison)

When I got there, I sat down and started the first of my 2 tests, the typing test. You needed to type a minimum of 40 net words per minute. Forgetting that I needed to type the text off of the sheet that was handed to me, I spent the testing time just going on about how neat I thought that cats were. They sent me a transcript of what I wrote, and here's a small sample of it:

"cats rocK1! they shit in boxes andsleeep all day i gotta cat shes awsome she eats kibble and it was colld outside today"

Somehow, I managed to milk 51 net words per minute out of that performance(and 60 gross), so I got to take the written Clerical exam next. By this point, I was starting to feel exhausted and emotional. By the time the instructor came back to me with the test booklet, I was crying pretty hard and had my scarf wrapped around my face to muffle the yelling. She was nice about it though, and just left the booklet next to me. Eventually I calmed myself down and started taking it, though it was very slow going. Every time I got to an alphabetizing question, I would start reciting the alphabet out loud while counting on my fingers, much to the annoyance to the room full of other testers who were already growing more and more impatient with me. I would get to about "J" before I broke down again, muttering things about how much I hated cats while I wrapped the scarf ever tighter. I got 4 correct out of 160. Adding insult to injury, I had to walk all the way back home.

So I got the letter today saying that although they would consider me for Library jobs in the future, I was not high enough on the list of people they were going to interview. I ended up ranking #14 out of 115, but it was just below the cut. So it's back to square one for me.

Don't do the drugs.

Wednesday, February 18

We here at the Communist Dance Party (i.e. me) are working hard to ensure your satisfaction whenever you visit the site. We have enabled comments for your suggestions and feedback, and are in the process of making pictures of our staff (i.e. me) available to you as well. Keep visiting, and pictures will be up soon.

We Love the Subs!

Go to www.rathergood.com, and check out the horrible animations this guy does. I've found out that not only is he responsible for the new Quizno's commercials, he was responsible for the singing VH-1 kittens. These kind of ideas can get you rich.

Tuesday, February 17

Comments Abound!

If you happen to stop by here, and you have something to say about it, please post a comment by clicking on the "Comments" button at the ends of the particular posts that pique your interest. Tell me what you're thinking aboot.

Monday, February 16

Sheet Envy

Today was the deadline to try out to become a host on Mythbusters. I had planned on submitting an application and videotape of myself attempting to prove or deny an urban legend, but I ran out of time.

It was going to be great, I tells ya'. I was going to talk about backwards masking in music, and if it were possible to put in a message that was audible forwards as well as backwards. I would test if the English language, with its' infinite phonetics and pronunciations, would hold up under what happens to audio when it's reversed (and I outta know). I was going to go to MMI, and record a bunch of things, and make it look real professional-like, and the people at Discovery Channel in San Francisco would call me and immediately request that I take the next flight to California to become the new host.

But the guy that was supposed to give me the contact information to the MMI instructors I needed to call failed to respond to me after a week of pleading. So it fell through and I'm pissed off and bitter. So to Lucas, if you ever read this, I hate you and you've ruined my chances to become a cable television personality. If it takes me until I'm a hundred years old, I will kill you.

But enough of that, because I'm behind it and it's over. It's a big week here at the Olson/Kasuboski household. Celia is putting the finishing touches on a bed sheet that will be hung at the wedding reception of her friend Cassie. Apparently, this sheet was requested to be made to hang over pictures of dead soldiers at the VFW where the reception will be held. I could get into how awful it is to drape a painted sheet over monuments to people who threw themselves onto grenades to keep us from having to learn German, but I'll save it. This sheet may seem like a trivial detail in amongst all the things we have to do to prepare for this wedding, but if you can believe it, this sheet almost broke us up on a number of occasions, and still may.

We've had to move furniture to accommodate it. We've accidentally painted a giant pink "D" on the walls of our rented apartment. The house was torn up because of it for weeks on end, causing my OCD to kick into high gear and be none too fun to be around. Paint, lace and plastic jewels everywhere. I'm unhappy, Celia's unhappy, the cats want to walk on it and can't, so they're unhappy. As I type, it lays splayed in the living room, looking cold and unapproachable. It will leave the house on Friday. Enough about the sheet.

So back to this wedding. Celia is in it, and I will be a spectator. The plan was to be cordial and polite at the wedding, and then get completely shitfaced and embarrassing at the reception. (Celia's idea and exact words, I swear.) Apart from the fact that I don't drink, and I've never been "shitfaced", we hear the news that there will be no alcohol at the reception! Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous in your life? Have you ever been to a wedding reception where everyone wasn't making a whiskey sour-induced fool of themselves? Sure, I've got alcoholics in my family, but reception-drunk-ness is a staple of ALL family weddings. It's just the principle of the thing. True, hardly anyone there will be over 21 (I'm 22), but I'm still gunna stick to my guns on this one.

On Friday, the day before this wedding, I get to spend the day with my Dad. This shouldn't be a big deal, but you've got to understand that I've talked to my Dad for a total of about 4 minutes a year for the last 11 years. He thought I would be interested in what was going on at the Bird and Game Farm that he runs back home in Larsen. Apparently, a camera crew is coming to tape an outdoor television show there, and for some unknown reason he knew that I was in school for stuff like that. So he invited me to stand in the freezing cold Wisconsin forest, in February, for 8 hours while people pointed guns and cameras at birds; and shot, killed, dismembered and gutted them. I said yes, but only because my Dad has never invited me to anything. For an anti-gun, anti-redneck, anti-cold weather, anti-killing stuff vegetarian, this should be hell on earth. And it might be, but I'm still going to do it because I'm a good son and I'm not invited to the wedding rehearsal.

Right now I'm reading "Stupid White Men", by Michael Moore. I'm listening to "For Young Electric Pop", by Polysics. I watched "Bowling For Columbine" a couple of weeks ago, and for the first time in my life I cried watching a movie.

Have a good day, spuds.