Perusing the internets in search of my dream job, or any job, because you know, I like to eat, I came across a real gem. The fact that it had nothing to do with my studies did not bother me one bit, because this job description has me written all over it.
I knew in order to grab their attention, I had to produce a cover letter worthy of an editorial piece in the Calgary Sun, and thanks to expert help from Sanbula, I think I succeeded. For your pleasure:
October 5, 2010
Re: Swing Announcer – Virgin
Dear Purveyors of Fine Radio Airwaves,
My name is Anne “Shaq” Farineau, and I had never once aspired to become a radio talk-show host until watching Frasier. His love for classical music and intellectual discussions carried over to his syllabic inflections as he soothed distraught, irate callers to the delight of television viewers everywhere. His dulcet tones were my sole inspiration for following in the footsteps of great emcees like Master T and Peter Mansbridge.
After Frasier stopped airing, I found myself spiralling into a deep depression, and began looking for other sources of entertainment that could at once present an equally profound outlook on life and curb my descent into madness. Could my father and I actually hold some similar, wholesome American (Canadian) values? Could we still be a family -- albeit a quirky, at times dysfunctional one -- that related to the audience, making them cry at appropriate intervals but mostly just adding their forced guttural chest heaves to the highly unoriginal and repetitive laugh track?
You may be wondering why you are reading this. You are no doubt leading a busy, hectic life, and have no time for such tomfoolery. Your successful candidate will be "FUN! FUN! FUN!", and not a Frasier addict, with unemployment only straining an already tenuous grip on reality. Nay, she will be a Facebook fanatic, a blogging bonanza, a Twitter tweeter! Say Yes to the Dress (plus size!) will rule her 11 o’clock hour as she stares, eyes glazed, at the meters of tulle, silk and taffeta in forty-five shades of white, ivory, or a light dusting of pink rustling about on the screen; she will try ignore the fact that she has become so familiar with this screen since she was introduced to reality TV. She thrives on the drama ushering forth between Angelina and Snookie, her heart beating faster with every punch Snooks flails at her opponent in the most recent award-winning episode of Jersey Shore. She will not write a blog that is a collection of utterly ridiculous events that somehow happen to her, or things that are so out of left-field that readers' suggestions will be to tone down the use of psychedelic drugs, but one that follows celebrities as they strut purposefully down to Zambia to pick up the latest trend: African babies (thanks Perez, World Vision will take it from here). Above all, she will come to you with a repertoire that screams telephone skills; she may even hold a technical diploma in Communication with Electronic Devices, majoring in Land-line, Cellular, and Fax Machine.
Instead, you are reading the dismal end of a university-educated girl whose sanity has been completely and utterly eliminated by the harsh realization that not only is 6’2” too tall for her dreams of a life of anorexia, but that it is also too tall for TLC. Little People Big World? People always feel sorry for midgets. They’re small; they’re cute; and they’re lovable: “Awwwww! Would you look at him smash into that hurdle?” As if they could ever endure what giants do. Big People Little World is a much darker universe. Ducking under doorways, squeezing into airplane seats, shopping at the single store in a buzzing metropolis that could come near carrying your inseam in pants – it is Scandinavian horror at its finest.
So yes, Virgin, perhaps you should consider, in your global conquest for complete media dominance, a reality show based on the trials and tribulations of the Farineau family. Please rest assured, your viewer following would be more than enough to cover the expense of a quality laugh track.
If you’ve made it this far, I offer my sincerest condolences. My thoughts are with you as you attempt to find an appropriately humorous radio emcee in a city oversaturated with arts and culture. Your find will be my entertainment on Saturdays and Sundays from noon to five p.m., and Wednesdays to Fridays from ten p.m. to two a.m., as I sit listlessly in my house wondering what happened to my bright, degreed future.
Thank you for your time; I know it was painful.
Anne “Shaq” Farineau.
P.S. I am not attaching my curriculum vitae because lets face it, what’s the point? Should you wish to reach me for some peculiar, unfathomable reason, you can find me on that god of all social mediums: Facebook.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Friday, October 1, 2010
The Maxi-Pad Answer
Cleaning out my email inbox this morning, I found this treasure glittering at the bottom:
Actual letter to Proctor & Gamble
Dear Mr. Thatcher, I have been a loyal user of your Always maxi pads for over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core(tm) or Dri-Weave(tm) absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favourite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16
in my pants.
Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from "the curse"? I'm guessing you haven't.
Well, my "time of the month" is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call "an inbred hillbilly with knife skills."
Isn't the human body amazing?
As Brand Manager in the Feminine-hygiene Division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers' monthly visits from "Aunt Flo".
Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behaviour.
You surely realize it's a tough time for most women.
In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend's testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey's Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy! The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants...
which brings me to the reason for my letter.
Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: "Have a Happy Period."
Are you fucking kidding me?
What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing happiness -is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable?
Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything "happy" about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreen's armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory.
For the love of God, pull your head out, man! If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like "Put Down the Hammer" or "Vehicular Manslaughter Is Wrong", or are you just picking on us?
Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullshit. And that's a promise I will keep... Always.
Best, Wendi Aarons
Actual letter to Proctor & Gamble
Dear Mr. Thatcher, I have been a loyal user of your Always maxi pads for over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core(tm) or Dri-Weave(tm) absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favourite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16
in my pants.
Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from "the curse"? I'm guessing you haven't.
Well, my "time of the month" is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call "an inbred hillbilly with knife skills."
Isn't the human body amazing?
As Brand Manager in the Feminine-hygiene Division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers' monthly visits from "Aunt Flo".
Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behaviour.
You surely realize it's a tough time for most women.
In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend's testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey's Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy! The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants...
which brings me to the reason for my letter.
Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: "Have a Happy Period."
Are you fucking kidding me?
What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing happiness -is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable?
Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything "happy" about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreen's armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory.
For the love of God, pull your head out, man! If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like "Put Down the Hammer" or "Vehicular Manslaughter Is Wrong", or are you just picking on us?
Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullshit. And that's a promise I will keep... Always.
Best, Wendi Aarons
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