Amoeblog

WALRUS DAY

Everything you need to know to celebrate your favorite holiday

October 8 is Walrus Day. What is Walrus Day and why does it matter to you? Well, it only matters if you enjoy things that you like. Do you fit that type? Are you the sort of person who enjoys things that you like? Then Walrus Day is for you, friend!

Walrus Day is a holiday I invented when I was a kid. I took my favorite animal, favorite number, and favorite month, combining them and voila! (That’s French for ‘that’s how that muthuhfuggin’ happened’.)

Below you’ll find a Walrus Day FAQ. You can read it with your eyes which will magically make thoughts form in your brain! Big fun!
WALRUS DAY FAQ:


Q: When is Walrus Day?

A: Walrus Day is always celebrated on October 8, regardless of what day of the week it falls on, or whether you’re Jewish, Chinese, or Yusef Lateef. Mark your calendars!

Q: How does one celebrate Walrus Day?

A: Walrus Day is perhaps the easiest holiday on the calendar to celebrate well. The goal is to treat yourself: buy yourself a gift. Want cake for breakfast? Do it. Want to call in sick to work and go to the beach and frolic? This is the day.* Wanna make sweet, sweet love to Beyoncé? I say, if you can, go for it! This is your day, your chance, your excuse to pepper your day with whatever perks and joys you dare. Get creative! Unless you hate getting creative, in which case, Walrus Day is your perfect excuse to stay uncreative the whole day! Very simply: Pamper and splurge as much as possible. Diets be damned!

Posted by Job O Brother on October 1, 2009 at 08:22pm | Comments (4)

"...And the hangover goes to...!"

boobs

Hello, Earthlings! I have returned after being ill for the past week. I’m still not at 100%, but can at least sit at my computer without succumbing to vertigo and mistaking my iTunes for an episode of Battlestar Gallactica.

It’s all the fault of the 2009 Emmy Awards. Yes it is! I’ll explain…

emmy

The boyfriend and I were (again) invited to attend the HBO Emmy Award after-party. As he considered which of his designer suits to don, I sifted through the post-punk, vintage mess that is my wardrobe, desperately trying to Frankenstein something passable to wear, grateful that most people at industry parties are too self-absorbed to notice me at all.

Once we got there we took our place in line in the underground garage that served as a holding tank for men and women dressed to the nines. (Front entrance was limited to red-carpet types.) Cramped into lines of two and everyone decked-out fancy, it looked as though we were about to be slaughtered in the most glamorous concentration camp ever.

We made it in.

hbo

Now, there’s a reason why I love going to the HBO after-party. Normally, I would eschew going to industry parties in favor of getting my fingernails torn out or having bedtimes stories read to me by Carol Channing. The HBO party is an exception to this rule because it is kind of awesome.

Posted by Job O Brother on September 28, 2009 at 12:59pm | Comments (3)

Photographic Memory, Part 2

This is another installment of music and/or movies that I’m reminded of when looking at old photos of myself, my family and my friends. It was brought to you by the letter E and the number 8. And through a generous donation from the Karen Silkwood Driving Academy. And from Viewers Like You.

angry kid
"I hate you."

Here’s a picture of the dude that’s writing the sentence you’re reading right now. It was taken while he was in Kindergarten. The expression on the boy’s face sets the tone for the rest of his scholastic experience.

I don’t know what happened to make me look so surly in a photograph. It could’ve been as simple as the photographer telling me to “Smile!” which is an order I have never responded to well. I mean, if someone wants me to smile, they should be creative about it. Try saying something like:

“I’ve bought you 8 pints of ice cream and a spoon!” or

“I managed to destroy every last recording of the song ‘Entry Of The Gladiators!'” or

“I am John Gavin, and I’m going to kiss you.”

Something that would make me smile for reals. Don’t just bark orders at me! Especially to portray an emotion. That’s too personal. I AM NOT A LABRADOR RETRIEVER, PEOPLE!

Posted by Job O Brother on September 14, 2009 at 12:01pm | Comments (1)

Photographic Memory, Part 1

"Say Cheesey"
job o brother
"Please conjure sheets of paper to come floating out of the laundry basket below"
The author, circa 1996

I have recently come into possession of my adolescent photo collection. There was, for a period of about five years, a time when I owned a fetching Ricoh camera which had been given to me by a rad woman whom I lived with on a mountaintop commune on the outskirts of Santa Fe, New Mexico. She used to regale me with stories from her years as a hot-shot publicist, and explained to me which lines from David Bowie’s “Drive-in Saturday” had been written about her by the Thin White Duke.


Were these claims true? Who knows. But it did distract me from the profound and crippling nervous breakdown I was experiencing at the time, fuelled in part by excessive use of ecstasy as a means of spiritual enlightenment and by living with my then step-father who made such helpful suggestions as, “Maybe you have alien implants in your brain.”

“Oh, yes. Well thank you for that.”

I thought it might be fun to dip into the box and see what musical and/or cinematic associations they bring. Kind of reconsider my colorful past in terms of stuff you could purchase at Amoeba Music. For I am a salesman, ladies and gentlemen.

Posted by Job O Brother on September 7, 2009 at 01:17pm | Comments (4)

I no longer live, but was raised in, a Yellow Submarine.


I have seen the movie Yellow Submarine more than any other film. This is because, as a child, I had a BETA copy of the film that had been taped off our TV. Without exaggeration, I’ve seen the movie over 200 times. Unfortunately, my taped copy also contained the commercials that played on TV when they showed it, which means I have also seen this…


…over 200 times. (If I, in the future, ever do anything absolutely crazy that lands me in trouble with the law, please remember this fact and use it in my defense.)

It’s also because of this movie that I was acutely aware of who The Beatles were. While most of my 1st grade friends were learning the hard way that Strawberry Shortcake dolls do not taste as good as they smell, I was phoning local radio stations and pleading with them to play songs off of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.


I was six when John Lennon was shot, and remember the moment when I found out. I was channel surfing (back then it was “switching the dial”) when I happened upon the news. I heard that Lennon was dead and starting sobbing. It was all so confusing. My primary association with him was as a cartoon character, and on some level I didn’t understand how that piece of animation had been murdered. It was all so complicated and awful. And probably why I genuinely feared for Scooby’s well-being from then on.

Posted by Job O Brother on August 31, 2009 at 05:49pm | Comments (1)
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