#it apparently made him very depressed when it did poorly at the box office

[standupcomedyhistorian]

Who do you think this is a photo of?

If you said Bo Burnham, you'd be wrong (but BOY does it look like him, right?).

That's actually a photo of the creator of the Muppets, Jim Henson.

Wouldn't Bo be PERFECT for a biopic about the famous puppeteer? Like, looks- and height-wise, he's an amazing match (Jim was 6'3!).

I can't get the idea out of my head now...what do you all think? Might be a way for Bo to achieve the O in EGOT? 🤔

For the record, the Academy is pretty big on the Muppets, and it's how Flight of the Conchords' Bret McKenzie won his Oscar!

Let me know if you have any suggestions for who could play Frank Oz, Henson's longtime creative partner.

I'm thinking David Cross back in his Arrested Development days, but he doesn't look like that anymore lol

Keep it here for more comedy fun! ✌🏼🐔

[austinpanda]

Dad Letter, 081620

16 August, 2020

Dear Dad--

It’s been quite a week! I worked at Penquis for one day, then quit that evening. After working there for a day, I realized that I hated the shit out of it, found it to be too similar to the call center job I just quit in Austin, and that I’d rather be washing dishes somewhere. So I wrote a nice letter to my boss, apologizing, saying I didn’t think the job was a good fit, and that after working there for a day, I realized I want something not in an office environment, something much more different from what I was doing before. She wrote back and said no sweat, I understand your reasoning, and I’ll make sure you get paid for the day. 

I’ve spent some time trying to figure out whether this was a fear reaction. In other words, did I quit because it looked hard, and I didn’t want to do the work? After talking to a few people about it, I’ve come to believe that fear might have been involved, but if so, it was only a fear that I’d be stuck doing something that made me miserable, which struck me as an easily-fixable problem. Nah, I believe I’m going to view it this way: I tried it, I hated it, and I like myself too much to subject myself to it further. My most basic fuckup in this whole affair was that it never occurred to me to look for a job doing something I like. 

I’ve spent the past few days since then attempting to do grown-up things like creating a monthly household budget, planning my next attempt to quit smoking, and reconsidering what kind of job I might want to look for. I like waking up early and doing stuff on my own. Who does that besides newspaper delivery people? Will advise.

You sent me a question about Greyhound this morning! I will double-check the question now: Does he [I assume you mean the captain, played by Tom Hanks] go down with his ship, flags flying? You realize, of course, that if I answer this question, it’s going to spoil the end of the movie for you! I will answer the question now; skip to the next paragraph if you don’t want to spoil it for yourself. As it happens, he makes it across the Atlantic in one piece. Not everyone in the convoy he was escorting did, but Greyhound (actually the U.S.S. Keeling, I believe?) did. It was his first crossing. Perhaps he went down with his ship in a later one? 

Oh! It looks like Tom Hanks and Spielberg and some other affluent Hollywood types are going to make a third installment in the Band of Brothers group of mini-series. First they did Band of Brothers, which was incredible, and then they did The Pacific, which wasn’t as good, but was still darn good, and now they’re doing one called Masters of the Air. So it’ll be a mini-series about the US’s Eighth Air Force during World War II. So we have that to look forward to! I have to assume you’ve seen Band of Brothers, it’s really really really good. It’s like Saving Private Ryan, only less depressing, and slower, happening over the course of multiple episodes. I tried watching The Pacific, but all I could think was, “Hey, that’s the little boy from Jurassic Park, all grown up, having PTSD nightmares!” I really should spend less time knowing so much about the actors. 

We had a small scare this week when Sam got sick. We hate it when one of the kitties is poorly! His eyes were gunky and he looked miserable, so we took him to the vet. Going to the veterinarian during the time of coronavirus is a pain in the ass, because you have to wait in the hot car, instead of their waiting room. They see one customer and their pet at a time, then they let them out, and go to the next car to say it’s time to bring their animal inside. The vet was a very large, burly man, who held Sam’s face in his hands and said, “You’re a mess, aren’t you? You’re just a mess.” He said Sam has the cat equivalent of the common cold. Also, since Horta was getting over a similar malady when we obtained her, what’s most likely is that Horta gave Sam her respiratory infection. Cats do this, apparently, pass respiratory infections around like so many doobies. 

Since it’s the cat version of the common cold, the vet’s options were pretty much limited to (a) treat the gunky eye symptom, so kitty can see okay, and (b) nothing else! Wait for the shit to run its course, and give him eye ointment three times a day. Giving Samuel L. Jackson the cat ointment that goes directly into his eye is like trying to thread a needle while wearing boxing gloves on a rollercoaster. The cat, just like us, has millions of years of evolution telling it, “Don’t put shit in your eyes,” so he fights like crazy against the medicine, and I end up getting it roughly on his face somewhere, hopefully near enough the eyes that he’ll get the medicine the rest of the way in when he grooms his face. And the vet did it in two seconds without the cat even noticing. I watched some YouTube videos about how to do it, but at some point they all reach the “now grab kitty’s face and lift one eye open” phase, and that’s when Sam turns into the Tasmanian Devil and spins, hissing, out of my lap.

Now Horta is happy and energetic, now that she’s free from fleas, and intestinal parasites, and is over having a cold. She’ll be comfortable and well fed for the rest of her life. I wouldn’t blame Sam for recognizing that he’s totally getting the shaft in this venture. Before: blissful solitude, and our undivided love. After: spastic cocaine kitten constantly play-fighting, and giving sam a bad head cold, complete with two gunky eyes, and now someone’s eating Sam’s food and using Sam’s litter box. (Never mind that we got a second litter box so they’d each have one.) I’m trying to show a bit of extra love to Sam for all he’s putting up with. 

I got the good pleasure of showing Zach the movie Pulp Fiction a few days ago! Now there’s a movie with some unexpected resolutions in it. So many laughs in that movie that I’d forgotten about. And I had to play the old guy once or twice, when something would happen that I’d have to explain, like who Mamie Van Doren is. Another example: John Travolta and Uma Thurman go to a 50’s-themed restaurant, and the waiter asks whether she wants her milkshake “Martin and Lewis” or “Amos and Andy.” Then I have to explain to Zach, well, the first two were white guys, so vanilla shake, presumably, and the other two weren’t, so chocolate shake, presumably. I have to say, I never thought much of John Travolta, perhaps because of his early days in Welcome Back, Kotter. But in the right role, he’s an excellent actor. 

I’m going to start my job hunt this week today by printing a cover letter! Then I’ll see what other mischief I can get into before Monday comes. Take good care, and all my love to you both!

[argotmagazine-blog]

Making Less Money than My Partner is Damaging My Self Esteem and Mental Health

Capitalism has a hold over each and every one of us. For most, it offers a grueling choice: be financially stable, or be happy. Unfortunately, not many people get to have both. I know I don’t.

I quit the world of ‘stable’ work back in 2014 when I decided to become a full-time freelance writer. By stable I mean it gave me a monthly pay cheque.  I’d previously worked in retail and office environments, and both triggered severe depressive and anxious episodes for me. Verbal abuse from customers, long shifts that took time away from my university education.

I had panic attacks after sexist customers shouted at me for problems I had nothing to do with. One man called me a bitch for politely telling him the store was closing. Apparently the store “should have closed when he was done shopping.”  I threw my back out several times being told to carry boxes much too heavy for my 5 foot 99 pound frame (yes, I lifted with my legs), which caused me to miss class more often than I should have. So not only was I getting physically and emotional damage from the work, I was also failing classes. 

I didn’t feel like I was doing anything rewarding with my life either. I’d stopped writing since I didn’t have the time, and I was barely out in the sun for more than an hour or two per week. Needless to say the depression I thought was getting better, was pulling me back in. I dreaded going to work, and the mood swings began affecting everything and everyone around me.

All in all, it was just an awful time for me and for my existing mental illnesses.

I’d always been neurodivergent

I’ve had Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Anxiety, and Depression for as long as I can remember. I don’t remember a time when my living situation didn’t exacerbate each of them. In fact, these conditions have always heavily affected my ability to work in public spaces. Though all of my service jobs gave me a good pay cheque, I knew if I didn’t quit immediately, I’d destroy my mental health.

That being said, the creative industry does not pay well, at the very least for emerging creatives. So in exchange for my mental safety, well-being, and happiness, I sacrificed my finances. I’ve never felt more relaxed, yet at the same time I’ve never felt so guilty. I also sacrificed the idea of financial equality between myself and my partner.

Hard work just never seems to be enough

As a neurodivergent queer writer who works solely from home, I made less than two grand last year. And this was working every single weekday on more or less a 9-5 schedule. As someone with a white collar office job, my boyfriend can make that amount in a couple of weeks. So needless to say, I’ve been dipping into my savings since my creative career began.  It has also affected how I view myself as his girlfriend; I feel incredibly guilty that I can’t contribute to the household expenses as much as he can. It’s a vicious cycle where I feel guilty and financially unsafe, therefore my mental health suffers.

I’m not the only one living pay cheque to cheque. According to PayScale.com, a part-time freelance writer salary is put somewhere in the range of $24,000 – $115,000 per year. This doesn’t sound terrible at first for take home pay, but this doesn’t take into account the lack of medical insurance, pensions, and other benefits that affect quality of life built into a 9-5 income. Those statistics also don’t take into account how much less writers of color, LGBTQIAP+ writers, and disabled writers make. These numbers? Well they’re a lot smaller.

The 50% rule

That feeling of not being able to contribute more to the household expenses is a huge strain on my mental health. My OCD symptoms in particular have increased significantly ever since I started dipping into my savings.

During my time in retail my anxiety symptoms greatly outnumbered my OCD symptoms. I was prone to crying spells, my breathing became more laboured, and heart palpitations were plenty. OCD wise I was mostly having an issue with germaphobia, as the store warehouse was very dusty. But it wasn't until I began working from home when my symptoms became a lot more tourettic. I physically twitch a lot more, I act out more specific rituals more often - such as tapping things and experiencing constant intrusive paranoia thoughts about homelessness - and all in all I feel less control of my own body.

The anxiety created over being at home alone all day, and constantly fretting about money, manifests physically. In retail it almost didn't have a chance to manifest as often as I was too busy being yelled at or lifting impossibly heavy boxes. 

At least being freelance, I feel less attacked and less stressed by the work itself. Actually, the work itself isn’t stressful at all. I adore writing, and I love social media strategy. So it always made more sense to me to do something I loved, even if it came at the cost of my finances. But in a way even this makes me feel guilty. The work isn’t stressful, but I make less money; is this even allowed? When there are people out there who would be in an even worse position than I if they quit their day jobs, why did I deserve to make that choice?

The guilt is real

For women and feminine people, this guilt is particularly tough considering society expects us to do twice as much as cishet men, for half the thanks.

My boyfriend doesn’t particularly like his job as he once described it as “it’s not terrible, but it’s sort of soul destroying.” This to me seemed like a massive contradiction in terms. But maybe he was being brave because he didn’t want to make me feel bad. We’ve discussed it a lot, but in a way I feel like he is also dealing with guilt of his own. That he feels he doesn’t have the right to complain because of his privileges. The fear that his own mental health is suffering from his work, in turn affects my own. It’s a Catch-22; I sense his anxiety, my anxiety spikes. My anxiety spikes; my OCD symptoms increase; my mood suffers. Then in turn, I can’t sleep, I get dizzy spells, and so on.

The desire to pay 50% of everything is strong, especially with a feminist partner such as myself. Personally I find myself trying to make up for it in other ways, by beating him to the dishes when we’ve finished dinner. Taking out the trash before he gets home, overly apologising for how the apartment isn’t 100% spotless.  I know he’s had a long hard day in the office, so if I can’t give him 50% of the rent then I can sure as hell give him 100% of the housework. But that in and of itself seems so unfeminist to me. I’m taking time away from my own poorly paid work to spend extra time on the housework. I’m taking on the role of a housewife, rather than a partner. In a perfect world, I’d hope we could split all of that 50/50 too.

People don’t really understand

People kept telling me “You have a degree in psychology, why not do something in that field? And do writing on the side?” But why is my chosen career deemed as a hobby? I don’t want to ‘do it on the side.’

Creative jobs are always deemed no better than a hobby, but as soon as you become successful that’s suddenly not the case anymore. No one would tell the Russo brothers “Yeah the Avengers films are cool, but is it a realistic career? Why don’t you make the next one on the side of a bank job?” No one tells JK Rowling, “You’d be better getting a PHD, save the latest Harry Potter prequel for your free time!” 

This is because they’ve already made it, and because the art these people create is already in the zeitgeist. Countless artists quit their day jobs to pursue a life of creation, it’s very common. And a lot of people make it big. JK Rowling, originally a single mother who lived on welfare benefits, is now said to earn a whopping £142 per minute from Harry Potter royalties. 

These are special circumstances, and they often happen to people with (white cishet) privilege. The average artist, and particularly marginalised artists, wade through mountains of debt and awful pay cheques before they get anywhere. How much money these franchises eventually generate is a huge factor in how ‘valuable’ they are deemed. 

But when it comes to up and coming artists, they’re suddenly all starving artists that are taking advantage of those around them. JK Rowling would have been deemed a so called welfare thief, if the world hadn’t fallen in love with the Boy Who Lived. And if Hollywood hadn’t seen what a great money making machine it turned out to be. 

I just want to make a stable wage. I don’t need Harry Potter levels of fame and fortune. Yet it seems that is too much to ask.

So, what can I do now?

Luckily my partner understands that my career has to move slowly right now. So in order to help my anxiety, I know I have to get in that same mindset. Otherwise my symptoms will just get worse.

I don’t want to take advantage of my boyfriend, to pay only a quarter of the rent, I want to pay 50% of everything. We can share other responsibilities; the cooking, the cleaning, helping each other out emotionally. One day at a time. But until the industry pays better, and until my mental health sorts itself out, I just have to accept that this is all I can contribute financially. And that’s okay.

May is a feminist writer from the UK. She enjoys reading, gaming, and protesting.