Ralph Steadman, �Scar Strangled Banger�
It�s been a strange week, my beauties. A strange week indeed. Nevermind about the book, which is awesome, and has its own fully self-contained version of strangeness attached (and that�s without talking about his illustrations).
Ok, perhaps a bit about the strangeness of this book. I shouldn�t have to talk about the abnormality of Steadman�s art, because you�re all familiar with Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, yes? Good. No, what was weird was that I got this book, along with three beautiful Daredevil hardback collections on the one day I went back to San Jose last November. I worked for one day, for about nine hours, and in that time I found so many things that there wasn�t any way I could possibly pass on the chance to pick them up for myself, almost like the bookstore itself conspired to make me look at what I was missing. (But I need more � I have about three �real� books left, and then I�m out, so who wants to help a brother out?)
I mean, jeez, this collection alone � on the day I was there, there were two other employees working, both of whom are huge Ralph Steadman fans. We prayed for collections like this to come in while we were working, so as to have first dibs. I visit for one stupid day and lo and behold, a copy of the book that I�ve been coveting for the last ten years just happens to appear. I put the standard post-it note on the cover, seeing it on the shelves of books to be priced, with my scrawl saying, �DIBS! Mine! Mine! Mine!� with all the exclamation points ending in little inverted triangles. I�m no longer sure if Mrs. Happy is still there as she hasn�t posted her over-exuberant comments in the last two weeks or so but in any case, both her and the other employee were kind enough to let me buy it for myself without a fight, even though they all wanted it for themselves.
Not that it matters. If we had had to fight for it, I would have kicked all their asses.
But that�s a separate form of weirdness, though to tie it in this collection is all about Americans, mostly in a work environment, which is what I�m about to talk about.
Spoooooooky.
So yes, things have been weird, and I�m not sure whether to place the events in the �good,� �bad,� or �this stuff only happens to Dean� pile.
First of all, it�s a good thing I�m finagling the internship with the paper on my own terms, because I received a letter from the University of Manoa in Hawaii the other day, one that essentially said, �Oh, so you�re interested in enrolling in our Graduate Program for Communications? Um... No thanks.�
Yes, that�s right, I was rejected from their program. I have no idea why, and the rejection notice only attached on another 30 or so words so they aren�t any help. I really don�t understand it. My GPA upon graduating with my BA was 3.65. My letters of recommendations came from the Dean of Communications at SJSU, as well as a media studies professor who not only loved my work, but hit on me as well. The third came from a professor who taught the graduate studies program in Communication at the same university. Of course, that professor was the one I made fun of in this very same blog and I�ve been reading how employers and universities are searching the Internet and sites like MySpace when they make their assessments.
Whoops.
But you know what? Fine. I really wasn�t interested with taking on schoolwork next semester, partially because I plan on being too busy working at the club and at the very same newspaper I planned on taking all these courses for, simply to get the opportunity to do an internship. Which, I�ve already stated, I now have. In the meantime, there�s the work at the night club.
It�s strange to think about the club, because events lend themselves to how long I�ve been here in Hawaii. When I started, the owner introduced me to his girlfriend. Soon after, he announced that she was pregnant. She finally dropped last Friday, much to his relief.
I say much to his relief, because they already knew it would be a boy and the delivery date was dangerously close to my birthday. And with them being Korean, I explained that 2006 was also the Year of the Dog, which is what I was born in. If, I continued, there was any truth to astrological charts and his baby coincided with my charts, he was in for a world of hurt. He looked very relieved when my birthday passed and she still hadn�t shoved the child out through the Play-doh fun factory of life.
So he finally got his child. And of course, as every obnoxious new parent has to do, he wanted to show pictures to everybody. He ran over and flipped open his phone.
�Ok, look,� I told him before looking at the screen, �I�ve dealt with new parents before and I just have to warn you, I think all babies look like meatballs. I know, you think it�s the cutest thing ever, but I think it looks like ground beef where if you squint, you might see something that resembles facial features.�
�Oh, not mine,� he said, pressing the view screen toward my face. I took a look at his newborn.
�All right, now I�m just hungry,� I said.
To his credit, however, he flipped open his phone to the next person who ambled up to the bar to show off the fruit of his loins. I was emptying the ashtrays as the viewer did the requisite �Awwwwww...� comment when I heard them ask what he named it.
�Meatwad,� he responded.
That doesn�t fall under the weirdness I promised though. No, the weirdness stems from the fact that I wasn�t sure how he planned to deal with his impeding fatherhood while still working at the bar. We�re only open four nights a week, but he is there on all of those nights. The way the Hawaii Liquor Commission works is that every bar employee has to be licensed. There is an ID card for a barback (which I have), which is different from a bartender (which I also have � and which made the ladies behind the desk grouse about making me take, and pay for, two different tests). The final restriction is that there always has to be a bar manager on duty. That was him. Except now, he wants me to take the position.
Yes, you read that right, he wants me to be in charge of the bar.
I would say he�s not the brightest guy on the island, but I wouldn�t want him to do a google search and find this.
Whoops.
