Al Gore – The Pleasurecraft

December 11, 2007

If you were planning on wearing a lampshade as your drunken coup de grace for the annual office holiday party, you might want to put together a backup plan. Lampshades are getting harder and harder to come by – not just because environmentalist killjoys like Al Gore have made the incandescent bulb passé, but because lamps themselves have become victims of modernist feng shui. Pity, most office workers could benefit greatly from muted lighting, and the lampshade would be hilarious camp, but there are plenty of other ways to pad your reputation as the office party animal. Most of them unfortunately involve getting wasted. Think of it this way: Of the many challenges you encounter in the workplace, sobriety is a relatively easy one. Sure, you could probably come up with some crazy shenanigans while stone-cold sober, but they will only look forced and insincere. When you’re trashed, your botched attempt at yanking the tablecloth out from beneath a table full of wineglasses will be forgiven as the antic of a fun-loving lush, but try the same thing sober and you’ll only be known as a (pick an expletive) idiot. The difference is subtle but important. No one will fault you for knocking back a few too many in order to have a good time, and rather ironically, that same insobriety can be used as a “blank check” excuse to operate completely outside the conventions of normal behavior. How about a little broom-closet tonsil hockey with your hot boss? Has everyone seen your awesome tramp stamp? In context? Maybe you’ve been itching to take a poke at that asshole in accounting or give the kid from the mail room a swirly. Isn’t it about time everyone heard your a capella version of “My Sharona”? And shouldn’t you once and for all put an end to the rampant speculation about whether or not those huge knockers are really real? Wanna feel? Haven’t you always wanted to make a color copy of your privates? Or leave a ruby-red lipstick print on the company president’s collar? And at the very least, you should share with your co-workers the magic of dance – ideally the ever-popular broken-armed robot or maybe a spectacularly inept attempt at the “Soulja Boy.” Oh, and feel free to unburden yourself of that shockingly racist/sexist/fundamentalist/paranoid conspiracy theorist rant that you’ve been successfully keeping pent up for years. Rest assured the preceding has only scratched the surface of what you can imagineer with the proper blood alcohol content. Two warnings, however (one is printed right on the bottle): stay away from automobiles and all other heavy machinery and don’t talk shop. The only thing more boorish than a drunk co-worker is a drunk co-worker who wants to talk about work. If shop talk is really your bag, at least do yourself the favor of attending the holiday party of a place that does interesting work. This Friday Misprint magazine is having their company Christmas party at Scoot Inn, and it’s open to the public. That’s not a huge risk for Misprint, considering the magazine only appears when they can commandeer an after-hours office copier. But regardless of the psychotic art direction and ADD-inspired editorial focus, Misprint (in)consistently comes out with wicked funny shit, which is more than can be said of certain other out-of-town publications, who swing a big bat but rarely hit it out of the park. Will they be funny in person? Depends on your bar tab, but if they turn out to be room clearing bores in the flesh, you can still enjoy live music from local bands Red Leaves, Hot Pentecostals, and Stay Gold. Should be fun, but you may have to BYOLS.

SUN., JAN. 18, 2004

Sincere, earnest, well-meaning people almost always deserve a swift kick in the ass – if only because they’re showing up everybody else. That in and of itself is pretty obnoxious social behavior. Very few people are as irritating as someone with an agenda and no sense of humor about it. Politicians are the worst. Take Howard Dean for instance: Never has there been a Democratic presidential front-runner more in need of a colonic irrigation since … well … Al Gore. Fortunately Al received an electoral enema in 2000 courtesy of Georgie Junior and ever since has been on a wild-eyed hippie spirit quest that has proven to be a quantum leap in Gore’s personal development. Now that he’s condemned to walk the Earth like Cain, all bets are off. These days Gore is genuinely engaging, with a sense of humor nearly worthy of his Harvard degree. No more superficial hand gestures, eighth-grade vocabulary, or artificial empathy with the plight of the downtrodden. The new Al Gore casts a tight net, and if you don’t get it, there’s another honorarium waiting down the road. Someday Howard Dean might plug into that sort of peace of mind and hopefully it won’t be after he’s already lost the election. George Bernard Shaw once said, “It is dangerous to be sincere unless you are also stupid.” Unquestionably the president has both covered nicely. If Dean is as smart as he is earnest, he will unknit his eyebrows and discover that America still has a sense of humor. Sometimes the truth is easier to swallow when leavened with wit, and right now very few politicians are delivering the goods. For that reason, Texas is blessed to be served by The Texas Observer, a local biweekly devoted to reporting on issues ignored by the mainstream press and politicians alike. For years the Observer has turned out great writing and writers, winning numerous awards and becoming one of the most respected publications of its kind in the nation. This weekend, the Observer will be hosting its Third Annual Rabble-Rouser Roundup & Fat Cat Schmoozefest, a yearly fundraiser hosted by Molly Ivins and Jim Hightower featuring great music by local Austin artists. This year’s formidable lineup includes Joe Ely and David Grissom, Lloyd Maines (yes, that’s Bush-bashin’ Natty’s daddy), Jimmy Pettit, Davis McClarty, Jimmie Dale Gilmore & Colin Gilmore, Terri Hendrix, and Grupo Fantasma. The show is $20 in advance and $25 at the door and for an extra 50 you can drink with Jim, Molly, and other Texas Observer writers, editors, and staff at the preshow Schmoozefest from 6 to 7pm. You could probably drink with Jim and Molly for less somewhere else, but then you wouldn’t be a fat cat, would you?