Like Pulling Teeth...

A rare third entry today: Today at 3PM, I was set for one of my very favorite pastimes - dentistry victim. Numbed, dumbed, drooling and prostrate, my personal tooth fairy was coming at me with a tiny boat hook when my phone rang.

'Scuse me... I have to take this...

And, naturally, it was a rare return call from some prospective employer. My timing has been uniformly impeccable lately.

Now, there are those who say that a vocabulary is an important asset in impressing hiring managers; I would like to add proper diction as a equally valuable tool. Sounding like a stroke victim does absolutely nothing for prospects during phone interviews.

Hopefully, my burbling explanation was sufficient to hold him off until tomorrow morning. Wish me luck - I'll keep you informed...

John Lee Hooker testifies

The President Needs Me. To Work. For Free.

This morning didn't bring any joy on the job front, but I did get a letter from Jackie Cornell-Bechelli, the new State Director for Organizing for America in New Jersey. She's looking for volunteers to help the president with the November election, and, since I have some time on my hands, naturally I came immediately to mind.

Always polite, I excused myself in my RSVP, explaining that my free time is spoken for in search of a roof and the occasional bowl of gruel. I hope she understands.

However, the missive got me thinking: The political machines are missing a real resource by ignoring the Beggar's Guild. We already carry signs, occupy high traffic areas, and are used to importuning pedestrians. In exchange for a few square meals and a flop, we'd be glad to have them sponsor us.

For a few square meals, a flop, and twenty bucks, we'd probably be willing to pretend we were sponsored by the other guy.

Our local highways are littered with people in cow suits waving at passers-by, bored college kids holding up signs shilling for Going-Out-Of-Business sales, and, in one particular case, Betsy Ross on a swing set inviting us to buy fudge. I think a wino with vomit down his shabby tee-shirt holding up a sign saying "Vote for Wally - He Made Me The Man I Am Today" would be worth at least a Jackson to somebody.

Have your people call our people - we'll work out a deal.