Thursday, March 29, 2001

Office Chairs Putting Me in the Bad Mood (On-Line)(!)

Office chairs are expensive. The office chair that sells from the back of the New Yorker is really expensive; "The Breather" I think it's called. And it's ridiculously expensive. So you see, I'm already getting irked. has a very nice "manager's chair" for about $98.00. It's actually leather; not the nappy airplane seat fabric you're likely to find in lesser chairs. They are usually featured in unappealing colors too.

Some "executive" chairs listed on are ridiculously expensive as well. Not as ridiculous as "the breather", but you don't get that certain something that you get when you know you ordered an office chair out of a literary magazine.

I sit on a wrought iron breakfast room table chair at work. It does have a cushion that ties on to the back of the chair with bows. I think the chairs were bought at Pottery Barn. I think Pottery Barn is closer to Talk than it is to the New Yorker.

You could by an office chair on for $42.00. But I don't think anyone would want to do that. Usually when something is the cheapest thing on a list it is of low quality. Never order the cheapest bottle of wine at a nice restaurant. One caveat; do order the cheapest beer at a bar (especially Pabst, Schlitz, Black Label). There is a certain cred. in that.
I'm not exactly what kind of cred. A combination of creds I suspect.

I know a little bit about office chairs. This is because I "researched"
on-line (you can get anything on-line these days!) for them, for my boss, for his company. I found nice chairs and good chairs and many chairs that I wanted to sit in. He never gave me the "go-ahead" to purchase the chairs on-line(!). Then he laid me off. And then he told the company he was going to buy office chairs next week. Everyone cheered. I won't have an office next week.

But I will have a lot more time to shop for the "breather" in the back of the New Yorker for my imaginary new " start-up" (everyone's making money doing just about anything on-line. have you seen the sock
puppet!) for which I am the C.F.O. (Chief FUN Officer!).

Aaron L

Tuesday, March 20, 2001


The day I became redundant was not your typical day. And it was different. It was beautiful. It was far too beautiful for mid-March in New England. It was so beautiful in fact that many good people in the office said things like, Beautiful day isn't it. And before 2:43, Friday, March 16, I said in turn, Yes, it is isn't it.

And it was, a beautiful day. God it was sunny, and beautiful, and just gorgeous. And when my boss said we should meet outside on the porch, I was thinking to myself, What a beautiful day, that we can have our little meeting outside. Isn't that really a-typical that we can meet outside?

And the last words that he said before we sat down on the still cold and damp red brick steps under the warmest sun either one of us has felt in at least 6 months to begin our meeting properly were, Oh, what a BEAUTIFUL day, just gorgeous. And it was 2:41 at the time so I had to agree, Yes, Steve Kmetko (that's not his real name), it is a gorgeous beautiful day.

Then 2:42,2:43,2:44,2:45 etc.

My first thought was, My God, and just before St. Patrick's Day! Then Fuck you, you monkey humper (that's not his real profession). Then, Fuck, just before tax season. Then, Damn it's really nice out here. Fuck, I want to pack my shit and ride away right now.  Damn, I need to collect my pay checks. It mustAte, what? at least 50 degrees out here. Monkey humper, tax season, what time is it? 2:43. Are you still talking? He was saying, -small business, we just can't absorb . . . I was thinking, He sucks as a monkey humper anyway, I don't need to learn monkey humping from this one. Leave me alone, go away, then I got up and left.

And I packed my shit and rode off, home, into the wonderful, gorgeous and beautiful, Feels like Spring, doesn't it?, laid off, pink slipped, and beautiful day.

Aaron L

Tuesday, March 13, 2001


You Carhart wearing, soft hands having, SUV driving, clean fingernail displaying, trustafarian, working-class poser, fuck-o!
I read somewhere recently that "to play at what you are not is the highest form of disrespect, the lowest form of condescension".

After reading this, I wiped the cappuccino froth from my lip, then from my non-calloused finger onto the double-ply foresection of my Carhart pants and rose my fist in solidarity.
Then, like you smart reader, I began to see the multi-dimensional quality of my life. I am a complex person. So i was torn. Torn like my Carharts would never be.
So are we expected to walk around all the time "being ourselves". I'm not convinced that any of us wants to, or should see each other's real selves.
Ew. Gross.


What would I wear if I were actually my self? A North Carolina Tarheels basketball jersey with snoopy pajama bottoms? Though this conjecture is fun, very fun, it may not be helpful in this debate with myself.

So, I have two rebuttals to justify/apologize for loving my Carharts so

1) The first argument that comes to mind is this: imitation is the highest form of flattery, no? No. Like most 'first things that come to mind' this thought is useless and should be discarded.

2) The second argument is better. It is this: If we cannot play at what we are not, then just what the hell CAN we do? The need for creative couture, fashion sampling if you will; playful dress that cross contextualizes everything is so necessary and cool, isn't it. Yes.
Don't listen to that Nipsy Russell Comedy LP, he is not you and you are not him. Don't eat that Poo Poo Platter, you are not it and it is not you. And please don't laugh at Garfield, you are not a cat.
(insert other forms of art if you in fact are Nipsy Russell, Poo Poo, or Garfield)
. . . And furthermore . . .Take the Dashiki for instance. The Dashiki as worn by young African-Americans in the 70's as a show of Solidarity with the pro-African, Black Power movement supports my final submission to this argument that I have cantankerously started. And that's this: Why can't sharing proletariat garb be an assertion of solidarity. If the post college temp gun for hire who plays in a band or something wants to wear a gas station jacket (though oh so '95, and inappropriate for data entry) why is it that he's a poser and not a sympathizer?

So that's enough on this probably. Actually probably too much.

Aaron L

Saturday, March 03, 2001


I didn't even always like you Christopher Lydon. I didn't always even agree with you, either Christopher Lydon.

Like that time when you said you didn't like the movie, O BROTHER WHERE ART THOU?. What was that about? That was one time when i didn't like you Christopher Lydon. Or those times when you had that grammarian guy on the show. You love him, it seems to me, unnaturally. But I dont go for his snooty ways and neat sayings that sum up grammatical rule with pith. So, Christopher Lydon, that was another time i didn't like you.

And those times, which were more often than not, when you a. cut callers off, b. cut guests off and c. reminded everyone just who's goddamned show this is and who's the smartest host around! And all the grand standing.
Yes, I admire it, yet still I don't like you for it, Christopher Lydon.

But alas, Christopher Lydon, I feel curiously about you. I don't really like all these things about you. But, I'm fairly devastated you're leaving.

I hate you, now hug me Christopher Lydon. Tell me you are not leaving my on again off again love affair with public radio. Don't tell me that a clean break is the only way to end ourco-dependence (the dependence being mostly on my part). Don't cut our public conversation that I know is really private, Christopher. Don't cut to that permanent station I.D. You ARE the smartest host around Christopher Lydon. I didn't even always like you, Christopher Lydon, but I'll miss you dearly, man.

Aaron L.