Brian Michael Bendis, �Ultimate Spider-man Collection�
Let me give a shout out to Satan, as this is my 666th entry. Keep up the good work. You and I don�t always agree on issues but I have to admire your work ethic, particularly since you scammed your little imp henchman with George W to do your bidding from the White House. Smart move. Now you have the entire country (and probably the world) packing their handbaskets. And that latest touch, what with hiring Fox News host Tony Snow to take over the role of press secretary? Wow. That took some serious balls, Beelzebub. It�s like you�re not even trying to hide the evil anymore. And I�m sure Snow�s is going to get a nice basket of eternally tormented souls come secretary�s day.
Like I said, Satan, we don�t always agree but I admire a good Protestant Work Ethic. No offense. I spoke with my friend Kelly earlier tonight... oh you know her? Well, I guess I�m not surprised. But anyway, she paraphrased that old obnoxious makeup advertisement saying, �I don�t hate people because they�re beautiful, I hate them because they�re boring.� I�ll expand that to say I hate them when they�re boring or fail to live up to their potential.
The problem is I get frustrated sometimes looking at my surroundings. I know a lot of brilliant, talented people, and I get frustrated to see them toiling away at things they don�t really like, simply because moving toward goals or dreams is too complicated or tough.
And it is tough. After getting my bachelor�s degree I continued working at the used bookstore that brought forth this Web site, partially because I liked my job, but also because trying to break into the journalism field seemed too hard, and I had no connections. But I eventually realized that if I wanted to get my foot into the field, I had to show some initiative.
That was one of the main reasons behind the move, because I was feeling safe in my environment back in California. Why wouldn�t I? I spent most of my life there, made friends, formed bands, and developed routines. But I knew I was selling myself short. Sure, it was comfortable, but it wasn�t my full potential. Hell (whoops, again, no offense), I�m sure you felt the same way when you created the first four circles. You could�ve stopped there. You could have said, �Eh, and as for everybody else, you get purgatory.�
But no. You kept working at it, subdividing categories and digressions to make the best damn damnation around. Good for you. Or bad for you, however you prefer.
Sorry, I�m rambling. The point is, I figured I needed to put myself in an unfamiliar environment to force myself out of complacency. So I applied to Columbia University in New York, which many say is your stomping grounds. I got wait-listed and while I was waiting, I felt the pull of wanting, even needing to stay with what was familiar. I dare say I even sabotaged my chances for leaving. I almost fell back into that comfortable routine. When I realized what I was doing, I sent out a new application for Hawaii, and simply treated it like it was required that I go, instead of simply desiring a change.
It�s weird to think how it was only about four or five months ago that you deities did your PG version of the Book of Job on me. Oh, I know, I didn�t have to deal with boils or deaths of my offspring. (Though really, Satan � since I didn�t have any children, if you want to kill The Offspring, feel free.) But it wasn�t easy. I mean, at the end of November, I was working four jobs and taking Graduate Courses at the university. I was surviving on nothing but Top Ramen and Potatoes. And whiskey. Oh, and evil. Meanwhile I was dealing with being poor, along with having my car being towed, ticketed, hit by a drunk and broken into. My father had the stroke and I was living in a hallway with an angry lesbian.
(Just to clarify for the newcomers, the angry lesbian didn�t live in the hallway with me.)
Worst of all, one of those jobs I was forced to take was at that corporate sponsored one-stop rebellion shopping center � the place that I always referred to as The Company. That was just low, even for you.
I have to admit, things were tough during those times. I have a lot of people to thank for helping. People like Stacy and Mrs. Happy from my bookstore, both of whom sent books to keep me happy, and Top Ramen to keep me fed (and also because they thought it was funny. Enough with the Top Ramen, ladies, I�m getting fat.) Gloria and Jason sent money for whiskey in the form of a supermarket gift card, though I think I used it to buy Top Ramen. Sarah and Erin sent cigarettes and money, which that time I did actually use for whiskey. Eric helped more than he�ll ever know. Brandi sent food that I can't prepare unless I bought more ingredients and the Fingerprint CD that she borrowed from me about seven years ago. Clompy and Gwyn sent money, even though they both probably could have used it themselves. Betty and Fran took my beloved cat. The girl who bedded me gave me a bed. Danny B sent a fuckload of CD�s, saying I could either keep them or sell them to get by. I kept them, which made me happier than any monetary reward could have brought. Idiot-milk sent CD�s and candy. And Kelly gave me encouragement on a nearly daily basis.
I know, I�m instituting my own form of hellish torture right now. I also know that if I were accepting an Oscar, they would have turned on the music about five sentences ago. I�m getting to the point.
See, it�s just odd to think about because even though it was only a short time ago, it seems so far away. Since then, I left The Company and I received a waiver form declaring they cheated me out of break hours and overtime pay, and offered a settlement if I promised I wouldn�t sue. The settlement wasn�t much, not enough to go into court for anyway, but it felt like a little victory against that awful place.
In the meantime, since I made so little during the last half of the year and went to school, my tax return is astronomically high. I�m using it to pay off one of my credit cards, which is a better gift that anything I could buy myself. In addition, the nightclub upped my wages significantly after I brokered a deal where instead of asking for a pittance, I instead told the owner to decide on an amount that he considered worthy of keeping me. He went higher than I expected, and he�s a cheap fucker, so that�s saying something. I�ve also been there long enough so as people know and like me and seek me out when they need a drink, tipping accordingly.
Then there�s the newspaper work, which was the reason for me coming here in the first place. I turned in my invoices from the last month, and the pay out equals more than I got total for my penance at The Company for my entire tenure.
So, things have gotten easier. I now live in a great house in the Manoa Hills overlooking Waikiki. I�m not starving. I haven�t had any Top Ramen in over a month. Sure, Satan, there are times that I feel sad about all I gave up. I miss the bookstore. I miss my cat. I miss the Camera Cinemas, In-and-Out Burger, Bo-Town, Falafel Drive-in, happy hour at Hawgs, Holder�s Country Inn and hanging out with my friends at the Cinebar and the Caravan. I miss sex. Lord, (Argh, fuck, sorry!) I miss sex. There have been times where I wonder if I�ve made a terrible, terrible mistake.
But I also remember what I�m trying to do with getting my foot in the door in the wild world of publishing. When my editor recently asked if I needed anything and I answered with �A job, or at the very least, an internship,� I wasn�t expecting much.
Which made me all the more surprised when she answered, �We�d love to have you.�
