Five Sure-Fire Ways to Blow a Job Interview

Interviews are perhaps the most stressful part of a job search, regularly ranking above “lying on my resume” and “buying a newspaper for the want ads” on surveys of unemployed applicants.  Here are suggestions from five human resource professionals on common mistakes candidates make when they sit down across the desk from a prospective employer.

“Your resume says you like to dress up like Hester Prynne in The Scarlet Letter–is that true?”

Timing isn’t everything, but it’s more important than your tie.   Make sure you get to the interview on time, but showing up too early can be seen as a mark of desperation.  “Some career coaches say that if you show up too early, just sit outside in your car listening to music until five minutes before the scheduled time for the interview,” says Robin Alinsky, VP-Human Resources for Meridian Life & Casualty Company in Utica, New York.  “That’s a bunch of hooey.  There is nothing that can ruin your chances like singing along at the top of your lungs to a Michael Bolton song on your car radio while a Senior Vice President walks by,” she says.  “Especially the one that goes ‘Baby I know, where love grows’ or ‘goes’ or ‘what love knows’ or ’shows’ something like that.”

Michael Bolton:  “I know, where love grows, or goes, or something like that!”

Watch what you wear.  Sheila Swansburg of Northern Ohio Bancshares in Cleveland says it’s a good idea to check the website of the company and find out whether they have a dress code for employees.  If so, dress one level above it.  Thus, for an employer that has a “business casual” policy, “You should ideally dress in a cutaway tuxedo jacket for men, and a simple, floor-length dress in basic black for women,” she says.  If the company does not have a dress code, Swansburg says men should be sure to wear socks except during the summer months and a woman should wear underpants if the hem of her skirt is more than two inches above her knee.

Tube-topped applicant:  “Where do I see myself in five years?  Not working with a tool like you!”

Don’t stick a finger in a bodily orifice.  This is a definite no-no, according to Robert Thompson of ThermoNeutron Corporation in Palo Alto, California.  “Doesn’t matter which finger or where,” he says, “contrary to what your college roommate may have said when you told him he was grossing you out.”  He says there is some leeway if an interviewee uses a paper clip or ballpoint pen cap as an extension of his finger.  “We try to be flexible–I just don’t shake hands with people like that afterwards.”

“Mr. Bernard scratched himself throughout our interview.”

Act like you’re interested.  Do some research on the employer beforehand, says Tina Marshall, Assistant Auditor of AgriWay Feed & Seed, Springfield, Missouri.  “I’m much more likely to hire somebody who has done some homework on our company and knows what we do,” she notes, ”especially if they’ve got some dirt on our tacky Chief Auditor Lowell Furman that I can use to sabotage his career and get me a raise.”

Be yourself, unless that would be a problem.  Too many young people can’t decide whether to project a hyper-professional image that feels false, or bare their souls and tell interviewers that they need the job to support their illegitimate children or drug habit.  “I would err on the side of dishonesty,” counsel Malcolm Arnold of Ion Staffing Services in Denver, Colorado.  “Which would you rather have, a job where you have to live a lie or no job at all?”

Wisconsin on High Alert as Arbor Day Approaches

MADISON, Wisconsin.  On the heels of a U.S. government report that Wisconsin leads the nation in adult drunken drivers, state police began to assemble here early today to keep crowds forming for traditional Arbor Day festivities from spiraling out of control when beer drinkers celebrating the state’s number one status are added to the mix.

 
“When the cheese starts to fly, we start shooting–got it?”

“Wisconsinites will not tolerate lawlessness unless there’s a Green Bay Packers’ Super Bowl victory to go along with it,” said Governor Jim Doyle.  “Any attempt to turn over cheese delivery trucks will be met with swift and deadly force.”


Confiscated cheese:  Street value, $34.50.

Arbor Day is a holiday celebrated on the last Friday in April on which individuals and groups are encouraged to plant and care for trees.  It originated in Nebraska, but the locus was moved to Wisconsin after it was discovered that in Nebraska wheat is considered a tree.  The state song of Wisconsin is “In Heaven There is No Beer, That’s Why We Drink it Here.”


Packer fans tailgating:  “Let me give you my recipe for Bears’ Fan Flambe.”

The government report found the upper Midwest to have the worst drunken-driving record in the country, and Wisconsin leading the pack with 25% of adults having driven under the influence of alcohol.  “We’re number 1,” Appleton, Wisconsin residents chanted when the results were announced, pouring into the streets with pitchers of beer in their hands to set fire to grain silos and vacant parking lots. 


“Here’s one without any trees!”

Arbor Day celebrations tend to get out of hand if crowds of horticulturists are not contained, according to Wisconsin State Trooper Jim Hampe.  “You give a guy a shovel, a bag of fertilizer and a can of Heileman’s Special Export Beer,” he says, shaking his head, “and anything can happen.”

Outed by Opponent, Politician Repositioned as Openly Straight Candidate

PHILADELPHIA:  A male politician who claimed to be gay has been outed by his opponent after he was spotted at an event with a woman.   Associated Press.

Friends–

I want to thank all of you for having come this far with me along the journey of hope and personal ambition that I’ve been on.  [Clears throat]  Let me be frank with you.  I’ve let you down.  I let you believe that I was gay, when in fact I have been–for as long as I can remember–attracted to women.  In particular, I’m attracted to–and very much in love with–my “wife” of twenty-four years, who has been dressing in Dockers plain front pants and oxford cloth button-downs since I first launched my campaign.

The time has come to make a clean breast of it.  The time for hiding in the shadows is over.  From this moment on, I will be the only openly heterosexual candidate in this race–and I don’t care who knows it!

[CHEERS]

Let me tell you, the charade we had to go through was exhausting!  I don’t know how many times we’d have campaign meetings out at our three-bedroom home in the suburbs, living the lie that it was a quaint brownstone in the city.  “Where are the antique stores and the cute bistros?” Janet, my campaign manager would ask.

[Forced, artificial laughter.]  C’mon up here, Janet–let me give you a big hug.  I’m just . . . so sorry that I had to deceive you.

But enough, I say.  Enough of the pretending to like Judy Garland records.  Enough with the 30″ waistline.  I’m going to put on some weight–drink some brewskis and pig out on barbecue–right after I finish this disingenuous confessional speech!

[CHEERS]

You know, we’ve come a long way in America, breeders like my wife and myself.  It used to be that we had to watch “Will & Grace” with our gay friends, and act like we got the jokes.  It was . . . humiliating.

[Wife moves to comfort him.]

But now–all that’s behind us.  We’re out and proud heteros–and I’m ready to serve as the champion of the issues that you care about.  Sure we may not like Madonna, and we may care about youth hockey leagues and not Nelson Eddy and Jeannette MacDonald records, but dammit–we’re Americans too!


Nelson Eddy and Jeannette MacDonald:  Beloved by gay restaurant owner I worked for.

These last few days, as I tried to decide whether to come out of the closet, have been sheer torture.  But finally, I decided I owed it to you–my supporters–and to myself.  [Sniffles]  There’s been a lot of crying over the last few days at my house–a lot of it by yours truly.  [Sympathetic applause and laughter.]

Let me tell you–I haven’t cried so hard since I found out Ellen Degeneres went over to the other team.

Teen Talk

The teenage years are the most trying and troubling time of our lives, but remember–they’re only temporary!  Teen Talk hostess Beth Wingate talks to teens about their problems, without tattling.

Dear Teen Talk Lady:

            I am seventeen and want to get a snake for a pet.  My mom says no, even though I am responsible and have promised to take care of it.  Can you think of something I can say to persuade her-this is really important to me.


Bio lab:  Where young thoughts turn to procreation.

            I made honor roll last semester but will get a “C” in biology this term because I stole a dead frog from the lab.

Lyle Turner, Cape Girardeau, Mo.


They make ideal pets.

Dear Lyle–

            Don’t be upset.  Many teenage “gotta haves” fade away in just a few months.  You may not know it, but owning a snake also means owning lots of mice, which are snakes’ favorite snacks!  I would let your mother see how you take care of your newly-acquired frog over the next few months, and if you still want a snake at that point, you will be standing on firmer ground, even if you smell worse.


“Why don’t you dump Gene Ray so I can go out with him?”

Dear Teen Talk:

            I recently checked my “Facebook” page and found out that several of my so-called “friends” had posted disparaging comments under my picture, including “Dumb Stupidhead”, “Nobody likes you anymore!” and “You need dress shields, sweathog”. 


Dress shields:  The sweaty girl’s best friend.

Mrs. Teen Talk–I am very depressed because you said several columns ago that friends and family were the most important things in life, and I haven’t liked my family for several years.  I would be interested in your thoughts as soon as possible.  I am about to make myself a Screwdriver or a Rum and Coke from my parents’ liquor cabinet.

Delores Van de Kamp, Goshen, Indiana


“You are such a nimmy-not!”

Dear Delores:

            Hold it right there–I never said friends were more important than family.  You should always check with your parents before making mixed drinks from the family’s stock of hard liquor.  You never know when the adults in the house will throw a cocktail party or fun backyard barbecue, and to leave them with a funeral on their hands and no vodka in the house would be unconscionable.  Many families choose to educate their children about the perils of drinking by serving them small amounts of wine with dinner until they throw up.  Please–leave alcohol education to adults, who have learned how to abuse it properly.


Prom night.

Teen Talk Person:

            I have been going out with “Cindy” for a year now.  When we were juniors I took her to the prom, but she was crabby the whole night.  Finally I asked her what the problem was and she said “I have PMS.  It’s a disease that all women get and it makes us miserable.  Now go get me a Coke.”

            We got through the night but now the Senior Sweetheart dance is coming up-same day as the prom last year–and I would like to know more about this “PMS” disease.  Will Cindy be sick again on that day?  Do all girls get it at the same time?  If not, I think I’m going to ask somebody else.

T.J. Baxter, Jr., Stillwater, Oklahoma

Dear T.J.:

            Pre-menstrual syndrome or “PMS” is indeed Our Lord’s little practical joke on the fairer sex.  It makes us feel bloated, cranky and out of sorts.  I’d like to see him deal with it–talk about the wrath of a vengeful God!  There’d be plagues and drought and earthquakes all over the world one week every month.


Social Security Office:  “Yours will be–the third week of the month.  Next!”

            Anyway, to answer your questions: it is impossible to predict exactly when PMS will strike, so you should follow your heart and invite whichever girl you really like to the dance.  Girls do not get it all at the same time, so you have the entire female part of your student body to choose from.  PMS dates are handed out randomly at birth, like social security numbers.

Dear Teen Talk:

            For several years I have had a crush on this boy whom I will call “Darrell” because that is his name.  ”Darrell” is not the most popular boy in school, so don’t tell me I am “aiming too high” or “being unrealistic”.  He is not the quarterback of our football team or anything.  He is a defensive tackle who shifts to nose guard when we are in a three-man front–usually when we are in a “prevent” alignment at the end of the game to stop a possible “Hail Mary” pass.


“Grrr!”

            My problem is-Darrell does not know I exist.  He’s always with his buddies and my guess is he thinks that since he is on the team he should only go out with really attractive girls, which granted, I am not. How do I get him to notice him and like me?

Jean Marie Swenson, Cuyahoga, Ohio

Dear Jean Marie–

            As my mother would say, the answer is “as plain as a pig on a sofa”!  You obviously love football, and know a lot about it.  


Powder Puff Football:  “We’re going to kick your cellulite, you skanks!”

Why not organize a “powder puff” football game for girls only and ask Darrell to coach you in defensive “stunts” and legal use of the hands for down linemen.  I bet he’ll be happy to help out–just don’t let him jump offsides!

Teen Girl Ends Solo Sail, Mall Rat Dances On

NATICK, Mass.  California teen Abby Sunderland has ended her quest to become the youngest person to sail solo around the world, but Tyler Brogan, a 17-year-old high school junior in this suburb west of Boston, says  she remains an inspiration to him and his friends, who have proudly appropriated the term “mall rat” that disgusted adults mutter when they see them loitering in the area’s numerous shopping centers.  “When I heard what that girl there was trying to do,” he says as he wipes a trace of Straw-Banna smoothie from the corner of his mouth, “I knew I had to go for my dream too.”


Abby Sunderland

So Brogan swore that he would parallel Sunderland’s quest by playing “Dance Dance Revolution,” an aerobic-video dance game, in the climate-controlled comfort of the Natick Mall, an upscale shopping concourse here, until she landed.  Now that Sunderland has abandoned her journey, Brogan says he will continue to dance as a tribute to the inspiration Sunderland provided to directionless teens like himself.


Dance Dance Revolution

Child welfare authorities have reacted with alarm, saying a boy Brogan’s age should not concentrate on a single form of physical activity, and should be in school.  “I don’t know what their problem is,” he says.  “You only have to go to school 180 days, and there’s like almost 300 in a year, right?”


In training

Brogan still hopes to become the youngest person to do something really stupid over a long period of time in a shopping mall, the record for which is currently held by Todd Brandnewjetski of Downer’s Grove, Illinois.  Brandnewjetski drank a large Orange Julius smoothie for 215 consecutive days in 2004 before dying of dehydration after contracting sudden-onset diarrhea.

Dance Dance Revoluton is the leading video game in the mall rat rhythm and dance genre.  Players stand on a “dance platform” in an arcade and attempt to hit colored arrows with their feet to musical and visual cues while mall patrons stand outside and laugh at them. Players are judged by how well they time their dance steps to patterns presented to them, and are pummeled by members of their high school football team when they leave.


“I wish I could get a date so I’d have somebody to dance with!”

Brogan subjected himself to a rigorous training routine to prepare for his epic journey, logging a half-hour of dance time every morning and afternoon last summer.  “A lot of people say what I’m doing is dangerous,” he says with a sly smile at a gaggle of girls who eye him as they pass by.  “They don’t know what dangerous is until they’ve tried the sausage and pepperoni cheesy crust pizza at Papa Gino’s.”

Joni Mitchell v. Bob Dylan: Battle of the Folk Music Heavyweights

Bob [Dylan] is not authentic at all.  He’s a plagiarist and his name and voice are fake.

                                          Joni Mitchell, Los Angeles Times


“That’s not an A minor chord, you doofus!”

It’s been a tough coupla decades for a folk music fight promoter, lemme tell ya.  Like everybody says, if there ain’t no action in the heavyweight division, the lacka no action trickles down troo da weight classes.  You got da middleweights, yer Phil Ochses, yer Tom Rushes.  Folks will come see dem on an undercard, but not da main event.


“Sing Greensleeves–that oughta get him!”

You drop down to your lightweights, yer Melanies and yer Arlo Guthries.  Sure, they’re good for a Friday night hootenanny, but are ya gonna get any kinda draw on pay-per-view?  I don’t think so.


“I got a brand new pair of roller skates, you’ve got an object that completes my double entendre.”

But boy, lemme tell ya, da prospect of a Bob Dylan-Joni Mitchell slugfest, that’s got my mouth salivatin’.  Lessee–”Rumble in the Jungle” has already been used.  How about “Crash in the College Gym” or “Collision in the Episcopalian Church Basement.”  Sumpin’ like dat–it’s a promotional thing, see?


“No–not ‘The Hissing of Summer Lawns!’”

A lotta people say they don’t like the pre-fight hoopla, say it’s all fake.  I say it’s part of the fight, psychin’ out your folk music opponent like Cassius Clay did ta Sonny Liston.  So I say Joni’s got every right to run her mouth off at Dylan.  Everybody knows she’s just yankin’ his chain about the fake name.  “Joni Mitchell” is a phony as a three-dollar bill.  Her real name’s Roberta Joan Anderson and everybody knows it.  Personally I think it’s a cheap crack callin’ Bobby out ’cause he didn’t wanna be Bobby Zimmerman any more–who would?  Lotsa champs change their name.  Clay became Ali, Sugar Ray Robinson was Walker Smith, Jr.  Who cares?  It’s part of the business.


T.S. Eliot:  “I said it and I meant it, see?”

The plagiarism stuff–that’s more serious, tho.  What is it T.S. Eliot said?  “Immature poets imitate? Mature poets steal.”  I know Bob stole “Corrine, Corrina” from Bo Chatmon and the Mississippi Sheiks and Robert Johnson.  That just shows he’s mature.

I mean–what has Joni ever stolen?  Maybe the hair, from Mary Travers of Peter, Paul & Mary.  Maybe the open tuning on her guitar from Richie Havens.  The dippy demeanor, tho, that’s hers, she came up with that.  That’s her gift to music, she should get credit for it.

Anyway, it’s gonna be da fight of the century.  I know that ain’t sayin’ much since the century’s only nine years old, but still, we ain’t had a major folk music fight The Chad Mitchell Trio took on The Kingston Trio in a battle royal on Hootenanny!

I’ll lay you 2 to 1 Dylan knocks her out.

Hawking: Aliens Tougher Than Humans Except Ex-Wives

LONDON. Astrophysicist Stephen Hawking predicts in a new documentary that humans would be on the losing end of encounters with aliens, with the possible exception of his two ex-wives.


Hawking:  “Take my second wife . . . please!”

The 68-year-old scientist said alien life forms almost certainly exist but that mankind should not seek them out, analogizing possible contact to that between Columbus and Native Americans, or him and his first wife, Jane.  “In . . neither . . case . . did . . it . . turn . . out . . very well . . for the good guy,” Hawking said through his speech synthesizer.


“You draw short straw–you go to Earth.”

Both of his wives said that Hawking, considered by many to be the smartest man in the world, drove them to divorce with his insatiable curiosity.  “We’d be sitting there at night watching the telly and he’ll say ‘Did you put soap in the dishwasher?’ or ‘Do we have any mayonnaise in the house?’ It drove me insane,” said Elaine Hawking, his second wife.


Herman’s Hermits:  Alien life form of the ’60′s.

“He just doesn’t stop,” agreed his first wife, Jane. “He could never understand why the band that sang ‘I’m Henry the VIII, I Am!’ was called ‘Herman’s Hermits’ when their lead singer was somebody named Peter Noone. I’d say ‘Stephen–give your mind a rest!’”

Hawking is the author of the best-selling book “A Brief History of Time”, and is working on a sequel, a three-volume study of brevity. “As Shakespeare said, ‘Brevity is the soul of wit’,” Hawking noted wrily, speaking through his synthesizer. “But Shakespeare didn’t know that loquaciousness is the zzzblzzzzBLONK–BLONK–BLONKzzzbublzzz!” he added with a smile before changing his batteries.

 

Hawking’s voice synthesizer was designed by his second wife’s former husband, who does not consider it his most significant accomplishment. “That,” he noted, “would be losing a woman to a twit who sits around all day thinking about black holes.”

Under the Knife of a Temp Surgeon

Surgeon Shortage Pushes Hospitals to Hire Temps–The Wall Street Journal

From: temp4@brigham.com
Sent:  Monday, April 19, 2010 9:15 AM
To: prettylady1@gmail.com

Subject: Where r u 2day?

Hey there gurlfriend!  I’m at my placement for today, but a teensy bit disappointed.  The temp agency asked me if I’d mind doing some filing at Brigham’s and I said sure, I love their ice cream!  Then I get over here and find out it’s a hospital!  I hate that antiskeptic smell! :(  

 

Brigham & Women’s Hospital, Brigham’s Ice Cream:  Note the similarities.

Oh well, I O I O so off to work I go.  Let me know if you’re in the neighborhood–we’ll have lunch!

Leeza

From: temp4@brigham.com
Sent: Monday, April 19, 2010 11:43 AM
To: prettylady1@gmail.com

Subject:  Gross!

Well, I finished all my filing and started to flip through US Weekly when this mean nurse saw me and said if you don’t have anything to do, come down to the operating room we have to take out somebody’s appendix.

Well, sure, glad to help I said, but I wasn’t a Girl Scout or nothing, I don’t even know how to tie a tourniquist.  They put me to work, it was pretty easy.  They cover up the patient and all you have to do is cut down through this little hole they make for you.  The appendix looks like a little sausage so it’s easy to find.  I’m going down to the cafeteria now but I’m not going to have a hot dog!

L

From: temp2@bethisrael.com
Sent: Tuesday, April 20, 2010 10:32 AM
To: prettylady1@gmail.com

Subject:  Nose job

Hey pretty lady!

I’m over at Beth Israel today.  Typed some dictation this morning, then they called me in to help on a “rhino plasty.”  What’s that I said but everybody was so busy washing their hands and putting on their green pajamas they didn’t pay attention to me.  Anyway, I figured if it’s a rhino plasty I’m supposed to make somebody look like a rhino, right?  I did my best–I was just glad it wasn’t an elephant-plasty! 

Afterwards they told me “rhinoplasty” is a nose job, so, um, I’m not sure the patient’s gonna like it.  But what do I care?  I’ll be at a new job tomorrow!

Leeza

From: temp2@SanctaMariaHospital.com
Sent: Wednesday, April 21, 2010 1:30 PM
To: prettylady1@gmail.com

Subject:  Heartbreaker

You will not believe what just happened to me!  I got this real cute patient to operate on–I noticed he didn’t have a wedding ring on–and he kinda smiled at me as he was passing out.  Then they handed me the clipboard and I got to operate on his heart!  So I could see if he liked me or if he just felt goofy from the gas.

When I cut in to him I couldn’t find anything that looked like a heart, so I moved some of the stuff around, you know, thinking maybe it’s back behind his lungs or something.  I had to disconnect some of the tubes–I hope I hooked them up right when I was done!

They had free pens at the reception area to celebrate a new outpatient clinic they’re opening.  I got two–one for you and one for . . . holy crap–I think I left one in his aorta!

G2G

From: temp3@BBSIMWH.com
Sent: Thursday, April 22, 2010 11:15 AM
To: prettylady1@gmail.com

Subject: Uh oh

I’m over at Brigham’s again, still no ice cream.  Come to find out that Beth Israel and Brigham & Women’s and Sancta Maria have “merged” into Beth Brigham Sancta Israel Maria Women’s Hospital, so the family of the nose job patient has been prowling the halls looking for me.  But it’s not my fault–I did the best I could!  At least with Word or Excel there’s a little “Help” icon or drop-down menu or something you can go to if you have a problem, but in an operating room, nooo! You’re flying solo.

Have to do a liver operation today, and I’m meeting my “heart” patient for a drink after work.  Hope the liver doesn’t come with onions!

C U L8ter

From: temp42@MegaHealthCenter.com
Sent: Friday, April 23, 2010 4:25 AM
To: prettylady1@gmail.com

Subject: Outta here

Today I’m at MegaHealthCenter, which used to be Beth Brigham Sancta Israel Maria Women’s Hospital.  They shortened the name because people were wasting too much time typing it.

What a week–I’m exhausted!  As soon as I get my check, I’m going to run to the bank and cash it.  Everybody here says I need to buy some “malpractice” insurance, but I called my friend who’s a broker and he said you don’t need it unless you’re a doctor, which obviously I’m not–duh!

U want 2 meet 4 drinks?

Among the SEC Porn Dogs

Senior employees making over $200,000 at the Securities and Exchange Commission, the federal agency responsible for oversight of publicly-traded securities, spent hours surfing pornographic web sites during the recent volatile market period.   Associated Press.

Every day when I come into work at the Securities and Exchange Commission–at substantially less than I could make in the private sector, I might add–I take pride in the job my colleagues and I do protecting America’s widows and orphans from investment fraud.  It’s a constant battle, ferreting out penny stock scams and fly-by-night bucket shop operators.  Turn off the lights of regulatory oversight and they come out to feast on the sticky mess of investors’ nest eggs.  Turn them back on, and the scumbags scatter like the cockroaches that they are.

It’s grueling, and a guy can be forgiven for spending an idle moment here and there on something . . . fun.  Diverting.  Relaxing.  Like HotSweatyBikerBabes.com.  It’s free, unless you want to enter the private “chop shop,” where you can conduct one-on-one conversations with the Women of the Road, the gals who stay glued to their seats hugging hot gas tanks with their thundering thighs.  For that you’ll need a major credit card.  Good thing I’m in a senior position here and have been entrusted with an SEC-issued VISA card to defray expenses associated with my . . . uh . . . investigations.

My phone rings and I look down at the caller ID screen.  It’s that damn Markopolos guy again–what a nuisance.  Just when I was starting to unwind a bit.

“Hello Mr. Markopolos,” I say wearily after I pick up.  “What is it now?”

“Did you guys look at that stuff I sent you on Bernie Madoff.”

I rustle some papers to make a noise like I’m looking for the file.  “Ah, here it is,” I say.  Actually, I recycled what Markopolos sent me a long time ago.  It was doing no good cluttering up my desk.  Might as well get it back in the waste stream, where it could be made into something useful, like a post-consumer content coffee cup for Starbucks.

“So have I convinced you that Madoff can’t be making the returns he claims?  All you have to do is check the papers and you’ll see that the volume of options on . . .”

Blah, blah, blah–tell me something I haven’t heard a million times before.  A little email envelope shows up on my screen as Markopolos is droning on and on.  It’s from Chuck over in enforcement.  “Check this out,” his message says, and I open up the attachment.  It’s an image from lizardlove.com of a raven-haired bimbo getting it on with a gecko, one of the small to average-sized lizards found in warm climates throughout the world.

“If you look at his investor documents,” Markopolos is saying, “you’ll see that he doesn’t use an independent custodian to hold his fund’s securities.”

“Jesus Christ,” I say.  I turn on my computer speakers and set the volume on low, so I can hear the moans of the gecko, the only lizard that vocalizes.


“I love it when you flick your little tongue!”

“Exactly, that’s a big deal,” Markopolos says.  “Are . . . are you okay?” he asks.  “I hear a chirping sound.” 

“Just clearing my throat,” I say as I turn the speakers off.  Have to maintain the SEC’s standards of professionalism, which are a god damn nuisance if you ask me.

“So–are you guys going to do anything about it?” Markopolos asks.  Who, I ask myself, died and left this guy boss?

“You know, Mr. Markopolos,” I begin patiently, “in order to convict someone of securities fraud the SEC must prove beyond a reasonable doubt that an individual acted with criminal intent to–oh my god!”

“Oh my god what?”


Foot fetish

The money shot!”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you guys for years!”

The Pulitzer Prize is to Music What Newsprint is to Melody

Their names ring down the halls of music history, like peals of church bells heard from far away: Leo Sowerby–Walter Piston–Ernst Toch–Norman Dello Joio.


Ernst Toch: He doesn’t know you either.

What’s that?  You’ve never heard of them?  But surely, you must have.  They were all Pulitzer Prize winners while they were alive, as compared to non-entities such as Duke Ellington, John Coltrane, Thelonious Monk and now Hank Williams.  The Pulitzer Prize Committee took its own sweet time in recognizing the genius of the latter four, waiting at least a quarter century, and in Williams’ case, fifty-seven years, before awarding them “special citations.”  The former four each received the Pulitzer Prize itself, which currently comes with a cash award of $10,000.  Special citations are worth the paper they’re printed on.


Edward Kennedy “Duke” Ellington:  He’s good, but he’s apparently no Ernst Toch.

You can always tell when a self-appointed cultural authority is caught in the act of admitting a mistake.  It gives an artist a “lifetime achievement” award or other junior varsity letter to make up for the fact that the powers-that-be . . . blew it the first time around.


Walter Piston:  Not to be confused with the Detroit Pistons.

In Ellington’s case, there was no doubt as to his genius when he was alive.  During his most creative and productive period, the 1940s, the Pulitzer folks were singling out Sowerby, Piston and somebody named Howard Hanson as his superiors.  A quick check of the Schwann database of classical music reveals that Hanson, Piston and Sowerby among them have 197 musical works still in print.  The search engine maxes out at 3,000 citations, and Ellington rings that bell.  In other words, you have to do two searches to find all of his recordings that are still being produced, purchased and listened to.


Johnny Hodges, Ellington’s long-time alto saxophonist

Part of the problem, of course, is that Ellington’s music wasn’t recognized as “classical” back when he was performing it in bars and nightclubs across America.  He preferred the self-created term “American music” to describe his compositions, as opposed to “jazz,” which is derived, according to the most likely etymology, from a verb that means “to copulate.”  Try explaining that to your typical symphony Board of Trustees.


Ben Webster, tenor in Ellington’s bands from 1935-43

The musical establishment’s reluctance to acknowledge that jazz is America’s classical music is only partly their fault; if something is popular, makes people happy and you can dance to it, it has three strikes against it to most academics.  It didn’t help that jazz was the bastard product of European harmonies and African rhythms, but can the white half of the couple at least acknowledge the child as its own?

The fact that jazz was scorned initially because it came from the wrong side of the tracks has repercussions for American music to this day.  Most symphonies in this country are struggling, and jazz is excluded from the repertory of the overwhelming majority of them; there may be a connection. 

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