Chain of Fools

Toll booths. Mayonnaise. Car alarms. Limericks. Cow tipping, Gigli, and pogs.

What do these all have in common?

They've all been systematically proven by yours truly to not be the ultimate meaning of life. Now, I present the newest inductee into the Existential Irrelevance Hall of Fame: Chain Letters.

You know chain letters. They're those annoying messages that threaten bad luck or bodily harm if you don't immediately forward the contrived, manipulative, and/or get-rich-quick message presented to everyone you know.

These damn things are everywhere these days. Originally just a random nuisance for the postal system, chain letters are now prevalent in emails, on social networking sites like Myspace and Facebook, and even on cell phone texts.

They are a waste of space, time, and brain cells.

Still, spam's retarded cousin shows up everywhere I look. And not once has a chain letter ever brought anything but a frown to my face.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A million people die every day from not knowing the meaning of life.

You can save those people!

Forward this blog to ten of your closest friends immediately or you will have the worst week of your life! :(

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


See, they're even annoying in parody form.

Seriously, what compels people to create these things? Are we that starved for attention? Do we really have nothing better to do with our time? Is there anything on the planet more ridiculous?

Things I have more respect for than chain letters include, but are not limited to:

+ Scientology stress tests.

+ Pauly Shore's career.

+ The reign of Ugandan dictator Idi Amin, a man whose human rights atrocities were overshadowed only by his legendary cannibalism.

I know what you're thinking. You think I'm overreacting. You think that chain letters, while indisputably annoying, are ultimately harmless, at least when compared to an ethnic cleanser and the star of Biodome.

To that, I do not argue about the poor hard-working schlubs who have been conned out of money from get-rich-quick pyramid schemes. Nor do I argue that the misinformation common in these messages is systematically dumbing down our society.

No, I simply bring you this message, straight from the official web site for The Make-A-Wish Foundation, in an entire section devoted to chain letters:


"Each day, the Make-A-Wish Foundation and its chapters receive hundreds of inquiries about chain letters claiming to be associated with the Foundation and featuring sick children. However, we do not participate in these kinds of wishes.... The time and expense required to respond to these inquiries distracts the Foundation from its efforts on behalf of children with life-threatening medical conditions, and more importantly, can divulge information that is potentially harmful to a child and his or her family."

That's right. Chain letters are interfering with the dying wishes of sick children.

Daily.

Take that, Idi Amin.

Guess Who's Back? Yeah...It's Just Me.

If you are one of the millions and millions out there that follow this blog regularly, you've no doubt noticed that I haven't updated with a new blog for a week and a half now.

As it turns out, emergency room bills are even more exorbitant than I thought. Consequently, after getting my dislocated finger treated in an Atlanta emergency room, I spent the past week returning to Phoenix in the hopes that having a permanent address would make finding a job easier.

The plan, as it stands now, is to work in Phoenix for a couple months, promote The Hobo Diet in Las Vegas in July, then finish this project on the East Coast, where I will inevitably discover that ever elusive meaning of life.

Though I will be taking a break from living in a van, I will be continuing the project. Check back over the next couple weeks for stories of online dating, job hunting, and existential exploits in Houston, San Antonio, Atlanta, Orlando, and more.

Thank you. You may resume scanning the internet for celebrity gossip, porn, and/or twitter updates.

They've Created a Monster

With hopes of becoming an oil rig worker dimming, I decide it is necessary to look for other work in Houston. My reasons for moving on include, but are not limited to:

+ I learn that becoming a grunt on an oil rig is about as feasible at this juncture as becoming a rock star, horse jockey, or nuclear physicist.

+ I decide any job could lead to good stories as long as I was paying attention to my surroundings and making stupid decisions (always a guarantee for good stories).

+ I check my bank account.

Now, I don't mean to be melodramatic, but the list of people with better financial portfolios than I have includes MC Hammer, Ed McMahon, and that guy you just gave a dollar to at the freeway on-ramp because you liked the cardboard sign he was holding up. My point is, beggars can't be choosers, so when I arrive to Houston, I decide to increase my options to any job that will take me.

That involves searching for work on the internet. Unfortunately, Monster.com provides me primarily with job listings that fit into one of three categories: 1) completely out of my league due to lack of experience, 2) an obvious scam, and 3) a really crappy sounding job that may or may not be a scam.

I decide to wade through the listings in category three. Almost immediately, I stumble across an ad looking for people to get into "event marketing." It sounds both professional and interesting, yet is considered entry-level and is open to all college graduates regardless of major. I call the number listed and am set up with an appointment the next day.

"Make sure to bring two copies of your resume," the woman on the phone tells me. "Oh, and the dress is business professional."

Business professional. Very classy.

I'm going to have to park the van far away from the office.

The Student

You will do great things.
Of this you are certain.

You will do great things not because they are expected of you
Not because they are required of you
But because they are familiar.

At the gate of opportunity
Or the precipice of disaster
You are calm.

Empowered by the knowledge
That no matter what has come before you
Or what will come in the future
You are ready.

A true test of character has never scared you.
You have seen selflessness firsthand and you are stronger for it.
You know what it is to be loved.

To love.

You are your mother's son.

And for that
You shall never want.






This poem is dedicated to a constant source of unconditional love and unwavering support in my life; a confidant and a friend. Thank you for always being there for me...even when "there" happens to be paradise.

Happy Mother's Day and Aloha!

To Boldly Go Where Many Have Gone Before

Ultimately, the goal of this blog, project, and eventual resulting book (look for it in participating stores whenever stores start deciding to participate) is to find the meaning of life.

Obviously, my method to attack that goal is not always conventional nor is it consistent, partially because I'm a big fan of variety, partially because I think meaning is often found in unexpected places, and partially because sometimes I just like to write something fun for the Hell of it. So, in the spirit of switching this blog up every once in a while, I am introducing a new running theme..."Top Eleven Lists."

One of my favorite books growing up was a compilation of "Top Ten Lists" from David Letterman's show. It provided me hours of entertainment and proved to be far more entertaining than Jay Leno's compilation book, "1001 Mildly Humorous and Delightfully Inoffensive Topical Jokes."

Had I taken to Leno, you'd have to poise yourself for a query regarding the current temperature outside. Fortunately, I preferred Letterman, so instead you can sit back and enjoy the first installment of Project Meaning's "Top Eleven List." Incidentally, I make the lists go to eleven instead of ten in honor of a) avoiding copyright infringement, b) my overwhelming urge to go above and beyond for the millions and millions of people who read this blog and c) my favorite scene from This is Spinal Tap.

So without further ado, I bring you The Top Eleven Signs That Star Trek is Cool Again:


11. Women start showing up to the conventions.

Notice the "e" in women.

10. Burger King does commercials involving their creepy mascot, an alien race from the series, and an inexcusably bad pun. People continue to eat Whoppers anyway.

9. Scientology is outdone by a new religion citing Gene Roddenberry as their Lord and Savior. None of the founding members are given wedgies by the Catholics.

8. Somewhere in rural Indiana, a man effectively utilizes his Star Trek memorabilia collection to get laid.

7. Two words: Shatner. Fever.

6. Barack Obama starts ending his speeches with the "live long and prosper" hand sign. It soon becomes synonymous with "hope."

5. The Bloods and the Crypts are overtaken by a new street gang calling themselves "The Borg." Using an eerily interconnected approach, they recruit a staggering amount of disenfranchised albinos and lead them into a life of violent crime. Resistance to the gang's tactics is, of course, futile.

4. In high schools across America, the Klingon language is used to mock the less popular kids.

3. Teenage girls tear down their posters of Zac Efron, the Jonas Brothers, and the Twilight vampire and replace them with calendars of Leonard Nimoy in provocative poses.

2. In honor of Spock, cold calculated logic becomes a hip new trend, immediately rendering Snuggies, Chicago Cubs fans, and Fergie's singing career obsolete.

And the number one sign that Star Trek is cool again...

1. Trekkie groupies.



If you enjoyed this list, feel free to send me suggestions for future lists. If you didn't enjoy this list, please refrain from suggesting "The Top Eleven Reasons Why Lists Are Gay," "The Top Eleven Reasons Why Your Blog is Gay," and "The Top Eleven Reasons Why You Suck."

My Neck Remains Soft

The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.

You can quote me on that. In fact, someone ought to write a book about that.

I really do want to work on an oil rig. Unfortunately, the more research I do, the less likely a possibility that seems. I buy a subscription to a web site advertising oil job listings for both experienced oil workers and entry level applicants. Unfortunately, it soon becomes clear that the site will be about as effective in getting a job in the oil industry as Monster.com or Craigslist.

Even more disconcerting are the message boards I come across. Apparently, I am not the only one with the brilliant idea of becoming on oil rig grunt. Plenty of aspiring grunts post frequently on various boards asking the best way to get work. In each thread, the response is similar: There is no work to be had, and if there were, you would almost certainly need rock solid connections in the industry to gain you favor.

Actually, most threads devolve quite quickly from advice into an impromptu search for jobs. The message boards are littered with guys who have years, sometimes even decades, of experience working on oil rigs who just got laid off from one rig and are desperately looking for another to no avail.

The economy has not helped my cause. The oil site I joined claims that the number of people seeking jobs on oil rigs is not enough to keep up with the demand, but this is clearly written a while ago. All other research indicates that while demand for workers in a struggling oil market goes down, the supply is increasing.

The life of a roughneck is difficult and the work taxing. If American Idol is to be believed (and it is not the type of show to utilize hyperbole and propaganda, in the same way that I'm not the type of writer to use sarcasm and pop-culture references) then oil rig roughnecks have the fifth most dangerous job in the world.

Before an economic crisis, that's enough to keep most people away, but roughnecks also make over twenty dollars an hour. In this climate, that makes it a hard job to come by, and with my savings dwindling by the minute, it looks like I might not have the luxury of pursuing an in-demand job.

So when I get to Houston, I cancel my subscription to the oil site, and pull up Monster.com instead.

Time to make some even better laid plans.




Editor's Note: For those interested, the four jobs considered more dangerous than roughneck on an oil rig are as follows:

4. P. Diddy's Personal Assistant.

3. Customer Complaint Rep for Time Warner Cable.

2. CEO for an American Automobile Manufacturer.

1. Professional Shark Humper.

Cue NBC's "The More You Know" graphic, and I'm out.

Will There Be Blood?

Driving through Northern Texas, I can't help but notice the fields of oil derricks dotting the landscape. Really, it's impossible not to notice them, because that's pretty much all there is in Northern Texas.


Oil derricks. Okay, oil derricks and pregnant teenagers. But I digress.

Every time I pass another derrick, I can't help but smile. I am, after all, on my way to being an oil man myself. I'm convinced that the best job to get in order to fund the rest of Project Meaning is as a grunt on an oil rig.

According to my research, oil grunts make up to $25 an hour due to the physical demands and inherent dangers of the work involved. Even better, workers on offshore oil rigs tend to work in shifts, with a demanding two weeks at sea followed by two weeks of rest and relaxation time at home. This would work perfectly for my project.

So I mentally prepare myself for the challenge. I watch a documentary about life on an oil rig. I become a member of a web site promising inside information on the oil industry and links to the best oil jobs around. I even get weirded out when an oil rig grunt makes it into the later stages of American Idol.

But there's just one problem.

In order to be a grunt on an oil rig, you have to be hired to be a grunt on an oil rig.

Unenlightened and Unemployed: My Search for Meaning Becomes My Search for Work

It turns out existential philosophy saturated with pop-culture references is not the get-rich-quick scheme Bernie Madoff promised me it would be.

This project is financed primarily through my savings from working on "Gene Simmons Family Jewels" and some greatly appreciated support from family, so it was never a secret that I would eventually run out of money at some point on the road.

To avoid losing the "purposeful" aspect of my homelessness, I devise a plan to get work in the middle of the project. Of course, speaking as a man with enough stupidity/naivete/we'll go with moxie to head off in search of the meaning of life, getting a regular job is not in the plans.

No, my goal is to find a job that will not only sustain the project economically, but also provide it with a great deal of interesting stories, and perhaps if I'm lucky, even an undercover expose on a potentially corrupt industry. I'm thinking a modern adaptation of Upton Sinclair's The Jungle.

After some careful consideration and planning in my hometown of Phoenix, I decide to take Project Meaning through Texas. In search of an interesting job to write about, I look for the following attributes:

+ Decent pay. I don't need to make a fortune, but it would be nice to make more than the kid working the grease trap at Burger King.

+ An interesting environment. The more exotic the job, the more interesting characters, and the better the chance at unearthing a real story.

+ A little danger. As a product of the MTV generation, I've always felt that dangerous somehow translates to cool and interesting, no matter how stupid that actually sounds as I type this sentence. Plus, I'm a big believer in finding a way to significantly test yourself every once in a while in order to grow as a person.

After considering my qualifications, I came across the perfect job.

"Guess what?" I find myself asking anyone and everyone who will listen, to which most of them feign interest, even going so far as to provide me with an obligatory, "What?"

"I'm going to be a grunt on an oil rig."

And so my search for work (which, as it turns out has very little to do with oil yet does involve a considerable amount of grunting) begins.