FLOATING SHAWN

Helping Haiti, for real

Reposted from my Facebook profile.

A few people have asked if I'm really not donating to Haiti just because a few Haitians stole my AT&T account and used it to run up crazy bills phoning home. Well, no, the crimes of a few bad apples would not stop me from offering a helping hand to people in need. But if you REALLY want to help Haiti, instead of texting your $10 to nowhere or faxing your credit card number to George Clooney, try writing your elected representatives in Congress and the White House, and implore them to do the following:

1) Send more of our troops. Not to attack anyone -- as a peacekeeping force, to preserve law & order and prevent Haiti's currently anarchic state from further devolving into a hotbed of terrorism and gang violence.

2) Open up American immigration to allow more Haitian refugees to legally come to the United States to work and acquire a quality education.

3) End the centuries of discriminatory foreign trade policy that sped Haiti's decline into being the poorest country in the Americas.

Most foreign aid is wasted to corruption. It's not only conceivable but inevitable that a large portion of the money donated to disaster relief funds will never make it to the mouths of all those starving orphans. But with some sensible policies and the security of a peaceful state, Haiti might have the chance of a better future. Just don't deceive yourself: throwing money at a telethon is not the answer. It makes you and Alec Baldwin feel better more than it actually helps anyone. Real change takes REAL action--something we all need to remember next time we wonder why America's own problems haven't been solved yet.

I'm Nobody's Stooge

UPDATE: This post has been officially redacted by the Company to omit excessive opinions about the Company, its competitors, and other unrelated products, events, and proprietary information. Don't mess with the Company. They will redact you.

It's been so long since I've posted anything, I almost forgot that I had a blog. Whenever I have the urge to post, I choke it off with the same restraint that stops me from slapping annoying children in public, because much like physically reprimanding someone else's kid is an express lane to jail, my inescapably inflammatory opinions on all things are an express lane to the unemployment line. As a bottom-rung employee at [company name redacted] with no supervisory responsibility or managerial influence, I am not important enough to earn a decent salary, but, at the same time, I am somehow just important enough that a single stray tweet from me could be picked up by the media as the sanctioned opinion of a multi-billion-dollar corporation and that would be a PR nightmare.

And so it was that Shawn's tongue was cut from his mouth, his wit withered and wilted, and his heart was buried beneath the floorboards of the apartment he could barely afford to rent.

Until this week. As I lay in bed with the flu, watching Hulu videos of Conan ripping apart his corporate tormentor on his last few shows before he is unceremoniously shown the door by NBC,  I am emboldened to post some of the commentary that has been eating me up inside, daring me to share to it, to reclaim the rebelliousness that was once a primary characteristic of my identity. I have too long been the willing pawn and supplicant of nameless, formless forces. As Michael Jackson sang in "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'": Lift your head up high, scream out to the world, I know am someone, and let your truth unfurl.

Shamon, indeed.

Besides, as much as I have been subjected to the scare tactics of corporate contracts, NDAs, and Human Resources, surely dominion over my life and thoughts cannot be bought for the price of my meager income. I've got an expensive bachelor's degree from a private university, dammit! So I'm just going to write whatever I want to write, right here, right now, and we'll see what ensues.

So...

1) Everyone keeps asking me, "What's up at [company name redacted]? Are you still going to have a job by this summer? Will you still be in New York?" And the truth is, I don't know. Nobody knows. Personally, what I think is going to happen is that [speculation redacted]. But again, I don't know, and it's starting to [frustration redacted].

2) Thanks to an early birthday gift from my folks, I finally have a PS3 (Slim, natch), which means that I own every major system except a PSP--which I'd hardly [remark redacted]. I can't afford many games, so I use GameFly to constantly rotate my library. Best game I've played lately? Definitely [competitor's title redacted]. It's critical for me to understand all the big game systems, because I've been working on [titles redacted]. Not that my opinion matters all that much, since my job mostly entails [description redacted].

3) [entire paragraph redacted]

4) Movies. You know, I saw Up in the Air, and Christine agreed with me that it's [opinion redacted]. All in all, 2009 seemed like a monumentally bad movie year. Hopefully that's just the aftershock of the WGA strike, which seems to have [analysis redacted] for writers in entertainment. That said, at least Avatar and The Hurt Locker were [praise redacted]!

5) My wedding is coming up! [details redacted]

6) As for my writing work, [career redacted]

7) [all further remarks redacted]

Well, there you have it. I've been wanting to talk about things for a while. Feels good to get them off my chest. I've been kind of down since Michael Jackson died, so my resolution for the New Year is to be more positive by [methods redacted]. I can't believe I held off talking about all this stuff for so long for fear of the corporate hand-slap. Fortunately, I've remembered that I'm nobody's stooge, so from now on [mission statement redacted].

Until next time!

Silence of the Rants

Last week, I came this close to canceling my TypePad subscription and shutting down the blog. I'm not canceling just yet, but I'm almost there.

It's not a money thing; however broke I am (and I am very, very broke), I can still scrounge $8.95 every month to keep the blog.

It's not that I don't have time to blog, either. Aside from the occasional happy hour or splurging on a $15 movie ticket, I've sacrificed almost all traces of my once vibrant, adventurous social life (another consequence of my hand-to-mouth, middle-class poverty). In the absence of shopping and partying, I have loads of time to write.

The problem is that I don't have anything to blog. Or anything I can blog. Or any desire to blog.

I won't blog about politics because I'm politically burnt out. Bringer-of-change Obama is, so far, not changing much. Watching him win the election last November was like taking 5 hits of E at Disneyland. But each day since the inauguration has felt like the morning after taking 5 hits of E at Disneyland. My serotonin receptors are shot and I can't help feeling that the world is as bad as it's always been. Nothing will never be that good again, at least not without more E (or another election), and the local dealer has changed his pager number. I'm glad we didn't wind up in a K-hole (i.e. elect McCain), but I wish for some reason to be optimistic about the state of the nation—and if wishes were horses, beggars would ride unicorns.

I don't blog about my personal life because it's, well... personal. Life is not reality TV and no, I don't care how many times you went to the gym today, so I'm not going to waste my time and yours by twittering every time I take a shit.

I can't blog about video games, comics, or movies anymore because I signed a contract to brand-manage video games at DC Comics, a company that publishes comics and licenses characters to movies (not to mention that DC is owned by Warner Bros., which is in turn owned by mega-corp Time Warner, so given the incentive, HR could probably indict me for conflict-of-interest for brushing my teeth left-to-right instead of right-to-left). Last year I worked on a book called Life Inc.: How the World Became a Corporation and How to Take It Back; this year I'm prohibited from ranting about pop culture because I'm choked by a corporate gag order. Fate has a twisted sense of humor that way.

I can't blog any of the incredibly brilliant comics art that various artists have produced for me over the last year, for reasons that should be obvious to anyone who didn't skim the previous paragraph.

I won't blog about food because I firmly believe that describing food is like describing sex; the only way to enjoy it is to try for yourself.

I can't blog about my boy-band screenplay because doing so would devalue the intellectual property that I'm working so hard to craft.

I can't blog about my exciting travel plans because, my honeymoon aside, I have none—and my honeymoon is personal, so don't expect me to blog about that come June, either.

I can't blog about sports because, try as I might, I just don't care.

Strip away all the personal issues, politics, popular culture, and food, and what can I possibly blog about? I honestly don't know, and to be honest, I don't care anymore.

Five years ago, I met an editor from High Times at another banal film festival after-party. I gave her one of my first homemade business cards, introducing myself as a "humble wordsmith."

Reading the card, she asked, "Do you have a blog?"

When I told her that I did not have a blog, she dismissed me as an amateur. Surely I wasn't serious about writing if I didn't have a blog. It took a couple of years for this networking misfire to needle its way deep enough into my insecurity to force me to start this blog, but eventually it did just that.

But that was five years ago. Perhaps, in those days, it would have distinguished me to blog about my bullshit. Back then, blogs were relatively scarce, ergo they had more value. In 2004, I would have been smart to blog aggressively, daily even, to effect a professional output.

Today, everyone has a blog, and I might be more distinguished by not blogging.

I think of time spent blogging—even now!—as time when I should be writing something else, something that will bring me some of this money stuff that I never seem to have. You could cite the Diablo Cody case as an example of "from blogging to Oscar gold," but I'm not a stripper, so among other attributes, I lack the exciting nocturnal anecdotes that brought Ms. Cody her (admittedly deserved) fame.

I mean, really, what is worth my time (and yours) to write about? Apart from renouncing my pledge not to blog about my personal life, I'm really at a loss. It's easier and more sensible for me to just post on Facebook or Twitter as I come across links and stories of interest. That way, I don't give myself a panic attack trying to process the political miseries of this American life; I don't waste my time writing about nothing (and worse, writing without getting paid for it); I don't risk the wrath of a spanking by my corporate masters, who have purchased my soul at the bargain cost of an embarrassingly low hourly wage plus health insurance.

You may get the sense from this post that I'm not very happy. Well, I'm not. Make no mistake, I'm very happy with my personal life, and I like to keep it that way, which is another reason not to blog about it. But I'm not happy about where I'm at with my income and career prospects, and there's a goddamn fire in my belly to do something about it, and when I put it all in perspective, blogging is a superfluous effort.

For anyone who has kept reading until this paragraph, that means you shouldn't expect to see me post more frequently. If I do post, it will only be a procrastination, a moment self-consciously wasted to relight the coals in my belly furnace. 

I'm sorry if you enjoyed my previous posts and you think it's a shame that I've no motivation to blog. I think my writing has value. I think this blog does not. Another month's rent is due on the 1st, and free doesn't pay the bills.

Crazy NYC

Today, this mentally unstable gentleman wearing a Jason Voorhees mask menaced the Subway sandwich shop where I buy my lunch. He blocked the door, ranting in that unintelligible way that bums do, angrily shaking his cane at the befuddled Pakistani clerks. Threats to call the police did not phase him; when he suddenly left it was likely due to frustration, or the voices in his head telling him that Quiznos is superior. Now he's loose on the streets. Or maybe he's in your house... Yes, YOU, your house!

Sam Tsui's One-Man Michael Jackson Medley

I bet MJ would be most honored.

Kudos to Sam and Kurt Schneider. This is brilliant.

Happy Fall from Shawn & Christine

I haven't posted because I've been like sooo busy lately. Between work and staying up late to write songs for the ongoing boyband project and watching loads of British sitcoms, it's easy to forget about the old blog. I had planned to write up my thoughts on the dozens of video games I'm playing, but recent corporate developments have forced me to keep a lid on any sort media commentary, at least while I tip-toe around uncertain employment status until Q1 2010.

So what can I post that won't distract me from writing, or interrupt my day job, or get me preemptively fired from said day job?

Pictures. In this case, Christine and I at a corn maze in Schuylerville, NY, last weekend. Marvel at our monogamous bliss!

I know what you're thinking: "Shawn, this is too exciting!" I know, I know. Christine and I are high-rollers. We're beyond Caribbean getaways and Kilimanjaro climbs and skiing in Vale. When we cut loose, we rock corn stalks, baby. Dig it!

Workin' for the man

So after all those months of unemployment and waking up at 11 A.M. and wandering around New York City for hours just because there was nothing better to do, after posting resumes online and submitting endless cover letters, attending silly cocktail job fairs and condemning myself to failure, I finally, thankfully, have a job.

I'm breathing easy and waking up early now, but the anxiety induced by the hiring process has definitely added a few more flecks of gray to my beard.

"I see you were the Editorial Assistant on a book called Life Inc.: How the World Became a Corporation and How to Take It Back by Douglas Rushkoff." The HR Manager deadpanned like a snarky Steven Wright. He was testing my resolve. "So how do you feel about working for the man?"

"Working for the man," I chewed on it, cleared my throat, let him know I was considering my answer. I didn't want him to think that I'd anticipated his questions, that would make me look smug.

"I had a feeling you might ask me that," I said. "And, uh, everybody's gotta eat. If you read Life Inc., you'll see it's not- it doesn't just condemn corporate life. It's about how life, now, today is inevitably corporate, and living this corporate life all the time has certain biases and disadvantages, but there are ways to evolve ourselves to surpass that. But you can't just unplug from the system, obviously the system doesn't do everything wrong, I mean, it's good enough to be The System, right?"

I was rambling. And I hadn't answered his question, at least not in a satisfactory way. I needed this job so badly that the pressure was threatening to derail me. I thought, 'Chill out, dude. Be zen. What would Don Draper do?' I then became, through some demonic method acting possession, the physical and mental embodiment Don Draper.

"I've worked for the man at lots of different companies, they're all on my resume and I've got great recommendations from each of them. I have no problem working for the man."

And I really don't. Especially not when "the man" in question is DC Comics and I've got a freakin' Superman tattoo.

Two days after my interviews at Warner Bros. and DC, I submitted the writing test — sort of an essay test on video games and the DC Universe — that had been assigned to me, being certain to send the file several hours ahead of the deadline. I was terrified. Even after I sent the test, I read those two pages over and over again, and I was devastated when I counted three grammar errors and a missing word.

Days passed. I was in such agony that I actually paid to see Transformers 2. I thought that CGI, throbbing subwoofers and plot-holes would distract me from obsessing about the job.

But there was no distracting me from fretting over my potential dream job.

A dream job at DC Comics — the home of Superman and childhood dreams and professional opportunity.

The days passed and I started to lose it. Did I have the job or not? If I weren't so paranoid about male pattern baldness, I would have been ripping my hair out. 

I was ready to call the HR Manager to ask if they'd made their decision, but then he called me and I struggled to maintain composure. "They have identified you as a top candidate, and we're running a background check on you, but your candidacy does not guarantee that any final decision has been made or that you have the job." I'd have to wait a few more days, or perhaps even a week to find out the final decision.

The next day I left town for a family vacation. I felt stranded in limbo, unable to enjoy the R&R so graciously provided by my parents, clutching my iPhone for dear life; at any minute I might either win the lottery or suffer a broken heart.

My Dad decided that I had the job. He didn't think I would have gotten the "top candidate" call if the decision hadn't already been made. He reasoned that, "the company's spending money on you for the background check, and so you must be of value to the company, therefore, they'll make you an offer.

I was less optimistic. "This is just setting me up for greater disappointment later. Please, let's not talk about."

I was afraid to take my iPhone to the beach, so I left it locked in the hotel room closet safe. I lasted for only a few hours on the beach, beautiful and sunny though it was, before I dashed back to the hotel room, yanked open the safe and checked my voicemail.

Holy fracking scraps, I had a call from the HR Manager! "Call me back before uh, 5:30," I looked at the time. 5:32! 

The phone had poor reception in my room, so I ran to the balcony. If I hadn't gotten the extra bars out there, I may have leapt over the rail in search of a signal. Fortunately for my leg bones, I didn't have to do that.

The call went through. I got the offer. I accepted. I got the dream job.

The End... Or only the beginning?

Now I work at DC as Assistant Editor–Interactive. I can't tell you about day-to-day action, because most of it deals with confidential, unreleased, awesome interactive entertainment.

I can at least tell you that I have played Batman: Arkham Asylum, and it is absolutely brilliant. That's not some corporate shill, it's the truth. This blog is not an appropriate platform for DC business so you won't hear me airing it here — take this recommendation as my unbiased fanboy opinion.

Since I am now a gaming professional, you can expect the focus of my posts to shift towards video games. With the exception of upcoming DC titles, I'll tell you what new games I'm playing on 360, Wii, DS, PS3 and the iPhone. Maybe even the PSP if I have time and a must-play game.

Expect these game-themed posts soon.

And since you're wondering, the answer is yes, I am still writing the boy-band screenplay. It's going to be spectacularious.

Daddy, I want it NOW!

If I believed that people have souls, and there were a $130,000 luxury item so kick-ass that I would subprime mortgage my immortal soul to buy it, the JetLev would be it.

Something Liberals and Conservatives Agree On

The Bill of Rights is way too long.
This Reason promo is frighteningly, hilariously true. Thanks to Ted Balaker for the pointer.

Eclectic Method Tribute to Michael Jackson

Eclectic Method - The Michael Jackson MIx from Eclectic Method on Vimeo.

Thanks to Jeff Newelt for the link!