Meet the new fadiha. The same as the old fadiha.

I've dealt with some pretty crass folks in my 20 years as an adult. That's not surprising, considering I spent most of that time in show biz. But two of the most notable dickhead moves I've experienced occurred when I attempted to transition out of boho-land and get a "real" job.


In 2002 and 2003 I was up for multiple Music Editor positions in the New Times (now Village Voice) chain. At the time, I was a regular freelancer for them, and all the higher ups that mattered dug my writing (or so I was repeatedly told by them). The first time out, I was one of two finalists for the Miami NT gig - but my ex-guitar player from a band that broke up in 1993 was an associate editor in the chain and talked just enough shit about me to keep me from getting it in favor of a know-nothing dork who spent 4 years writing about the same 5 nerd-rap groups.

In 2003, the same shitbird guitar player called every editor in the chain, willfully fighting the company's headhunter who said my resume "shined on my desk like a pearl in a sea of crap." Finally he got me an in-person interview in Dallas. Unknown to me, the Dallas Observer was led by an editor who called herself "Bible Girl" online. She flew me in to ask a bunch of loaded, salacious questions that had no right answer. One short interview and Mexican dinner later, she had enough material to fictionalize me as an immature gossip who was unworthy of editorship. This effectively ended my career with the company.

I found out later that it was a set-up from the get go. "Bible Girl" didn't like my "helltrout" aol screen name and decided to exorcise me from her devout branch of the alt-weekly borg. But then, new times/VVM is an entity led by known assholes. They have a proud corporate history of waiting for their writers to win awards, trumpeting them, and then firing the writers over bullshit. Screwing people is the New Times way.

So imagine my surprise when I applied for a gig way below my qualifications at a non profit, that the same old crass bullshit was on the menu. I had  hoped that the local chapter of a national  do-good organization led by the sunny daughter of a local luminary would be a little less crass than a for-profit, arts tabloid chain that thrived on scandal. I thought that her smiling face which spouted all sorts of common ground, including a shared alumni status at the local performing arts school, was a good sign. Everything at our interview seemed positive. I immediately got an invitation to the "group" interview. It looked like it was my job to lose and that I had  a new career path all lit up.
 
 Alas the "group" interview was an exercise in crassness. I, along with a dozen recent college grads, was given and exercise to complete in 25 minutes while the non profit's fearless leader watched with her employees. As we both went to the same acting program, it wasn't totally unfamiliar.  We were to pretend to be an executive board in charge of deciding which 4 out of the 7 non profit pitches listed on our worksheet were worthy of being funded.

In other words, it was a classic role reversal. The sheep (my group) had to pretend to be the sheep farmers (our would-be bosses) and decide who was producing sweater-worthy coats, and who was going to be a mutton chop.

We were given 25 minutes to carve ourselves up. For the first 14 minutes, our group was dominated by an indecisive stooge who bent over backwards to waste as much time as possible to make sure the bosses knew he was all about "inclusion."  With six minutes to go, he hadn't gotten us past our first task - so I took over. I convinced the (very nervous) group to vote again (with the same results we had gotten at the 23 minute mark) split the group in half, and allowed him to feel good about himself while writing an acceptance announcement, while I wrote the rejection letter with the 4 people in the room who had a clue as to what the assignment was.

The task was completed with 15 seconds to spare. Because of me. Period. The staff had nice things to say about the "way we gelled together." As I was the sole supply of verbal pectin, I thought I aced their exercise.

Apparently I wrote a great rejection letter. Because I got a standardized form letter that used what I wrote word for word. If you looked up "plagiarism" in the dictionary, this form letter would be in the 2012 edition as an example.

16 years ago, I a dated an Israeli girl who introduced me to the concept of "Fadiha" which is an arab term for a something that's so wrong that it becomes funny.

Dear Miami Public Allies Director, Asha Loring - ripping off a writer's work and using it to separate yourself from him is tone-deaf, crass, and unprofessional. If leaders are what you are trying to build - you might want to switch from non-profit work to investment banking. Because that's where letting people forge the knife you stick them with is an accepted tactic.

In time this incident might graduate to "fadiha" status. Right now it just sucks.

The Battle Of The Casino Jacks

Yesterday, I watched the Kevin Spacey vehicle "Casino Jack," which fictionalized the Jack Abramhoff scandal. It was a good movie, with excellent acting in it - but I was troubled how sympathetic a character Spacey turned Abramhoff into. Here was a guy who bought and sold  congress, championed sweat shop slave masters and fucked over anyone who got in his path.. Spacey made him completely human, and the lens  showed Abramhoff's half-honest vision of himself, rather than the ugly, obejective truth.


Today I watched "Casino Jack And the United States Of Money," a documentary (save for an opening "America's Most Wanted"  re-enactment or two) about the same subject. Goddamn, does it raise more questions than answers. While the hollywood version paints Washington as a whorehouse - The documentary's mosaic depicts a red light district. The Hollywood version props up McCain leading the Senate committee that tarred and feathered him as Abramhoff's comeuppance for helping sink his 2000 campaign. The Doc shows McCain cutting a deal with his fellow republicans for not destroying them in exchange for the GOP 2008 nomination. How in the HELL this escaped our dormant press is mind-boggling to me. The campaign contributions were there in black in white. Many of the same senators grilling Jack A. had taken tens of thousands of bucks from him, his clients, and his allies.

It might be the most cynical thing about the whole 2008 election. Even more than lifting Palin into the national spotlight for a brief bump in the polls. But the press stays mum when it matters, and it comes into the light 3 years later in a documentary analog to a small hollywood film that only returned 1 million on a 12 million budget. It almost makes me ashamed to be a some-time member of the press. But then, sucking up to fat cats never was my beat.

False Start

Earlier this week I watched the documentary "Fat, Sick And Nearly Dead" which follows a rich Aussie businessman named Joe through a 60 day juice-fast/cross-country road trip. The flick was inspiring, mostly because of  its barrage of  trade show-like meet and greets between Joe and his  fellow fatties who know what's wrong with them, but are unwilling or unable to change their lifestyle.


I froze the screen at a screen-cap for Joe's "Mean Green" juice recipe (bunch of kale, 1 cucumber, 4 celery stalks, 2 granny smith apples, ginger, 1/2 lemon), and over the week bought the ingredients for it. I decided to break in slowly. Tonight I planned to drink "mean green" in lieu of  a dinner entree - which kinda sucked because I served my wife dijon & red wine braised short ribs that I made yesterday.

So after serving up the evil, luscious, red meat, I brought out my cheap, aroma-brand juicer for the first time in 9 years. The last time I used it, I juiced 10 red peppers to make a risotto fit for a vampire. It was a pain in the ass, so I put it on the shelf and into exile.   At the start of its reintroduction, the juicer was slow. The hole to put stuff in is very narrow, and i decided to put the ginger in before finishing the last of the apples.

Whoops. The ginger killed the juicer. Unless it just overheated, I blew the motor on it. I drank the result anyway, which was a little too heavy on the cucumber for my taste.  It's also kinda sitting in my stomach like a steak, which is kinda strange.

At any rate,  my juice fast is on  hold, unless I decide to use my blender to make smoothies instead. This may be the way to go as I can't say I understand the science of dumping the fiber from any diet - as fiber is indigestible and fills you up. But then again, Science was never my strong point. Writing and Music is. So we'll see what tomorrow brings.