State of the Life Address - #45
Hello Friends!
Please watch. 1 minute 47 seconds.
I will be in Texas from Thanksgiving to New Years. Yeehaw.
08min reading time
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My family, my friends, my fellow readers,
The Constitution of Incessant Newsletters states:
He shall from time to time give to Readers information of the State of the Life and recommend to their Consideration such measures as he shall judge necessary and expedient.
ββArticle II, Section 3 of the Constitution
Thus, I am fulfilling this duty.
This last year, we saw some great changes in the economic sector. These changes were mostly shitty. Nonetheless... well, that's it -- it was shitty.
I was employed at a movie studio earlier this year before the pandemic. On the paper variety Office Depot calls "eggshell" lays the words of the crafted document deemed my "Resume". On this Resume, every position at that movie studio was through a third-party. I called it "temp work", but they preferred the term "tax avoidance". Due to the pandemic, they knew they were in a tight spot. I was laid off indefinitely, faster than you can say "I wonder what's for lunch?" Cut to 9 months down the road, and the trades announced that this movie studio was hemorrhaging finances, gutting entire departments, and proliferating a mass exodus from their address books, which begs the question: If they just accepted my suggestion of Taco Tuesdays, would they be in this situation? We may never know.
For the middle part of the year, from the tail of Spring to the start of Fall, my work opportunities were dry. Dry, goddammit. Until one day I got a call from my Secretary of Employment saying, "Do you want to work at Participant Media?" And I said, "Fuck yeah, I want to work at Participant Media." Best of all, they treat their temps better than the last people I was with. Participant: nicest people in this industry. I'll be starting my 2nd temp job with them in December. I've also been working productively as an Office PA on a CBS educational show thanks in totality to my Peace Agreement with my neighbor. Thank you. I'll always be grateful to my Allies.
But in order to serve my Allies and fellow Readers, a body in shape is a hero's cape. That was a little rhyme. I made it myself.
Earlier this month, I was perusing the rich literary document called "The 4-Hour Body" by Tim Ferriss. With this newfound knowledge and organizational breakthroughs, I'm on track to lose 20 pounds by the end of 30 days. Plus, the foods are simple assets that will not only keep my budgetary surplus, but in fact, will be cheaper in the long run. The Slow Carb Diet Act of 2020 states the following:
1. No "white" carbs: bread, rice, tortillas, potatoes.
2. No fruit: apples, grapes, cantaloupes.
3. No drinking calories: beer, fruit juice, milk, soy milk, sugar in my tea.
4. Eat the same few meals over and over again.
5. Go crazy one day a week as a cheat day.
This new Act lies in 3 basic food groups: Protein, Legumes, and Vegetables. My current order of meals for Sunday through Friday are the following:
Breakfast: A bowl of black bean chili with sauerkraut and 2 hard-boiled eggs. A kettle full of black tea with sometimes cinnamon for flavoring. A bottle of water with electrolyte solution, and a consumption of multiple vitamin supplements: Biotin, Vitamin D3, Omega 3 Fish Oil, and Finasteride. Breakfast must be consumed within 30 minutes after waking up.
Lunch: Mexican food if I'm at the office. Usually a tortilla soup minus the tortillas and the cheese. Add in the guac. If it's Chipotle, then it'll be a burrito bowl with double chicken, double beans, double lettuce, fajita veggies, and salsa -- no rice, no cheese, no sour cream.
Midday Snack: Nuts. Unsalted.
Dinner: Lean chicken, spinach, black beans.Β Maybe canned fish, maybe broccoli.
And before I go to bed, as a Bedtime Snack, I'll take a heaping spoonful of almond butter to spike my blood sugar and at least one full vial squirt of California Poppy oil in a hot cup of chamomile tea. 1 page of my diary. A hot shower for better sleep. Out. Dry off. And I'm off to bed, slumbering like a bear.
Wake up. At the latest: 5am. Rush downstairs. Two cold eggs in a pot. Turn on the gas. A cold, freezing shower till my teeth chatter. Dressed. Eat breakfast. It's 6am. Time to write for 2 1/2 hours. Drive to work, do the goddamn work, and squeeze in writing on my lunch hour (or in the various pockets of the day). Unless Iβm actively trying to crush work as efficiently as possible by 4:30pm or 5pm so I can go home early, in which case, I eat while working.
The above plan was a full bipartisan agreement in our Congress with world leaders signing on, except for the few senators from Prokrassteh Nation refusing to vote on the bill.
Let's talk decorating.
Earlier this year, when I returned to Los Angeles, the state of the interior was a drab. Β It was an apartment devoid of any human expression. The blank walls led to blank feelings. I pressed forward on a New Deal to revamp the interior, but my Secretary of the Treasury, Chayz Banque, said, "Sir, you cannot withdraw funds in cash by that amount unless you speak to my manager. Now would you like your checking account balance on your receipt?" I said, "Keep your fucking receipt, I'll find something else." I then found foreign financing: the Amazon Prime card. After much research, I was able to revitalize the interior through cheap alternatives at half the initial projected cost: foliage, soft lighting, posters that aren't stupid; I paid down the debt in a short amount of time and now my place is so cozy it would make any visiting female diplomat think I got my shit together.Β
We can drone on about explanations, but sometimes cold hard numbers are the only way to convey progress in this country:
7.2 -- the number of sleep hours I get each night. SIXTY-FIVE DEGREES.Β
20 -- how much I paid for my last haircut. Fucking great.
8 -- the number of notebooks currently being written in. Too many dammit.
6 -- number of times in the last two months I spoke to the Postmaster (or as my constituents call him, "the mailman"). Drives a fuck ton in that mail truck, but when does he ever have time to chat?
1 -- the number of car washes in the last 3 months. Gotta get that dirt layer real thick.
0 -- number of birds fed through my bird feeder. I WANT BLUE JAYS GODDAMMIT.
~120,000 -- the approximate number of words that I have formally written this year. Screenwriting, newsletter writing, formal letters, casual letters, love letters, social media posts -- fucking handwritten shit with a quill; you think I'm playing with this number?
19 -- the number of inappropriate jokes I made with Allies in the last month about a protected class of people. Double points if you make a joke about a protected class to a friend that is in that protected class and they laugh with you. Therefore, in this industry, all my Jew jokes are doubled. If you make more than 40 inappropriate jokes per month, you may be a psychopath bristling with prejudice. And if you make less than 2, you may be a Twitter user.
...
I think the president is going off the rails-
WHO'S SAYING THAT SHIT? Was it you, Senator Rashenalitee? Listen, Readers: Are we on track to hit goals and milestones? YOU'RE GODDAMN RIGHT WE ARE. I am on track to have a balanced budget. Completed workS of writing. A constellation of good habits, thanks to my Department of Google. And then the buck stops there -- that there is a complete life.Β
Though, I will concede that life wouldn't be complete without a nice car. And a personal chef. Okay, maybe a small cottage. In the French countryside. With a Swiss girlfriend. Who's a neurosurgeon. And we'll have two chimpanzees for pets. And two kids. One will be named "Deus X. Machina", the other "Moma Getty Louvre". THEN that will be a complete life.
How do you achieve the above life? Get off the Facebook -- I'M LOOKING AT YOU, SENATOR LIZARD BRAIN. Sign off, delete the app, quit stalking amateur swimsuit models on the Gram, and HIT. THAT. KETTLEBELL. Yeah, that's right: kettlebell. Fuck gyms. Fuck the athletic establishment. It's time to get ripped on a Happy Meal budget. Kids come up to me and say, "Mr. President, I wanna get yoked like you." And I would be poking their flabby toothpicks they call 'arms' and say, "Needs more kettlebell."
Where did I get that kettlebell you ask? Off the foreign lenders: Amazon. As long as we keep throwing our fiscal policy into the hands of the Dear Leader Jeff Bezos, every few days will be a little Christmas. A dopamine shot to the Pentagon.
It's getting wild with the packages if I'll be honest. A tea kettle. Shoelaces. Fucking facial cleansers. Our government contractor La Roche-Posay is ripping us off, like we're some Malibu girl that grows tomatoes out of a shit bin. And like the rest of our government contractors, I'm cutting ties. You can be rest assured that my days of buying specialty toothpastes are over. The notebook bonanza is done. It's time to terminate our Harney & Sons contract, a direct supplier of the Loose Leaf Tea epidemic.
Read my lips: No new Amazon packages.
We will do everything we can to make sure the state of my life is smooth sailing.
As we keep on living, my fellow Readers, some parting advice:
Minimize the Drama.
Focus the Priorities.
Stimulate the Private Sector.
Carry on America. God Bless my Friends, my Family, and God Bless the United Readers of Shoot The Shit Wednesday.
NOW WHEREβS MY BLUE ANGEL FLYOVER?
