(A Random Post)

Sell Out I

Hard Sun – Eddie Vedder

That’s the roman numeral “I” in the title, by the way, not the word “I”. That should clear that up.


I’ve got a job now. I work at a call centre. Now, before we all jump to conclusions about how I’ve sold my soul and become a telemarketer, let me assure you that I am not calling anyone and annoying them at home. No, no. I’m an English Editor. It is officially my job to make sure that those people making the annoying calls don’t fuck up. So I’m not a marketing demon, per se. I’m a marketing ARCH-demon at least.

To answer your first question, there don’t appear to be any attractive women there. However, from my gargoyle’s perch on the fourth floor, I did notice a cute girl working at the Budget Shoe store. An official investigation will be forthcoming.

I won’t bore you with the details. I stare at a monitor, I listen to recorded calls, I click a few buttons. It’s boring, menial work. It is perfect for me. I’ve found a job that has the potential to drive me to a killing spree or towards the peace and happiness that all individuals seek. It really could go either way. The people seem fine. The resident jester, Danny, was making some joke about how Chinese people eat snakes (?) and then everyone was like, “Uh oh, Chinese guy’s gonna be offended.” I told him that I didn’t care and since I was the only Chinese guy around that he should get it all out of his system now. When I told him that my mother was from Peru, he asked if Peruvian cocaine was really the finest quality and I told him that I personally preferred Columbian. “I like this guy,” he said. We all know what a social inebriate I am, but once someone enters the arena of drug humour I can take care of myself just fine.

I should mention one cool thing about the job. I’m not particularly voyeuristic, but occasionally while I’m reviewing a sales call I’ll hear some funny dialogue. One customer, after going over his information with a sales representative, did not react positively to being transferred to one of our verifiers. So after the rep puts him on hold, he just goes “Oh, fuck this” and hangs up. I will be privy to such gems on a daily basis.

My hours are from 4:00 in the afternoon to midnight and I have to work Saturdays (I get one weekday off), which would be ridiculous except for the fact that it fits my peculiar habits to a tee. I was hoping that I would land a job that would force me to, you know, live like a normal human being, but for now I’ll settle for convenience. This also means that I’ll be missing a lot of Raptors games, but they’re one of the few teams who have all their games put up on Mininova, so I’ll be fine.

As for your second question: No, I don’t know exactly what I’m doing here. Do I ever? I give this place six months, tops. Then I’m blowing this popsicle stand.


Max’s Christian basketball team is apparently doing well, but I recommend that he adopt the much vaunted Triangle Offense. Learn it, bitch!

Speaking of Max, he turned me on to this crazy indie band called Animal Collective, another one of those indie supergroups. Well, check out the video for the first single from there latest CD, Strawberry Jam. The song is called Peacebone. As I told Shirley the other night, if you can last past the first minute or so, you are officially cool.

Hey, stop stealing monkeys.
Fuck you.
Fair enough.



Destined to fight the world's evil, The WAMBAG endures massive battles involving impossible stunts, races on horse-pulled carriages, and the desecration of enchanting medieval castles (all done with dizzying computer graphics). Not only does the eye candy keep on coming, the tongue-in-cheek writing and deep Transylvanian accents perfect the film with a dose of dark humor.



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