Dan Smith May Teach You Guitar, But He Certainly Won’t Answer Your Emails

Anyone who’s ever spent time in the New York City area knows that Dan Smith Will Teach You Guitar. His practically omnipresent posters, featuring only his image and the aforementioned catchphrase, can be found in every single bar, bodega, and coffee shop in the city; I even have one in the bathroom of my apartment. I haven’t checked, but they’re probably all over New Jersey and Connecticut, too. The marketing campaign is so well known that it has been spoofed in promotion of a Mike Myers movie and a John Mayer album.

A few weeks ago, I decided that unemployment was the perfect opportunity to answer some of my most burning questions about this bona fide New York icon. For example, is there only one Dan Smith, or is Dan Smith a kind of trade name representing a particular collective of private guitar instructors? Is it really Dan Smith, the individual depicted in the advertisements who teaches you, or is that man on the flyer an idealized representation of the real thing? As one friend put it, “Is this like those ubiquitous cards for prostitutes in Vegas, where you put in a call for Karen, but get Ursula or Bertha instead?” Also, where will Dan Smith teach me guitar? Do the lessons take place at a studio somewhere in Astoria, or do I have to give him directions to my out-of-the way apartment in Brooklyn? If he gets lost, am I liable for the hours he spends wandering up and down Court Street with only the guitar on his back? Perhaps most importantly, how the hell did he manage to proliferate his posters in such high volume and at such an alarming rate? Does he employ elves, or just many industrious friends? These are just a few of my many inquiries.

My plan was to explore any journalistic skills I may have by interviewing this local celebrity, and then writing up a profile for publication on this blog. I sent him a lovely, concise statement of purpose at the email address listed on the flyer in my bathroom, requesting just a few moments of his time for an interested member of the public. So far, he has yet to either consent to or decline my request. The mystery and suspicion continue to mount.

Vice-Swapping

After fulfilling today’s application quota on two-day per week, unpaid internships I will never even get a call for, I decided to try out another activity popular among the jobless. This is known as “vice swapping,” and it involves trying something that you know is bad for you that you haven’t had the opportunity to try before, or at least haven’t attempted to try recklessly or in excess. If I had a job, or an income of any kind, this would be a pointless experiment in self-destruction; I could simply step outside, get some crack (see post 3), or heroin, or whatever, and just go to town. I could buy myself some skydiving lessons; I could pay a prostitute.

When you’re unemployed, however, this takes increased effort and creativity. After several hours of deliberation, I decided to “vice-swap” my afternoon beer for some Red Bull. A lot of people drink Red Bull, and seem to enjoy it. I have tried it before, several times, and neither did I enjoy it, not did it give me “wings,” as they say. The few sips I had taken in the past seemed both sticky and icky, and I decisively ruled that it was just not my thing. But, I do know that it’s like really, insanely bad for you, so I figured I’d give it another go.

The first thing I learned about Red Bull is that, contrary to my expectations, it is actually way more expensive than beer. I bought three cans from the bodega down the street (one large, and two “standard,” I guess), and this cost me 11.50. $11.50! 22 oz cans of Budweiser are $2. Pizza is $2. A comparable size bottle of coke is, well, I don’t know because I dislike soda, but I’m sure way cheaper. So far, Beer is winning in the eyes of the broke and the unemployed.

I drank the big can first, hoping to at least not doze off while perusing the “best-of” section of Craig’s List (another great activity for the unemployed). I got through three of the lengthier rants and raves, and one pretty well-written short story masquerading as a personal ad before I polished it off. At this point, I felt no more or less alert, and aside from having to pee, really felt no different at all. I reached into the fridge for can #2: the sugar-free variety.

Halfway through can number two I detect a discernibly elevated heart rate, enlarged pupils, and body chills. Also, I’m sweating; not like, profusely, but more than I should be just sitting at the computer. I don’t know if this is a side effect of the Taurine (whatever the hell that is), the copious amounts of artificial colors and sweeteners, or the astronomical amount of caffeine, but something has definitively taken hold. Also, the aftertaste resembles what I assume to be the precursor to a stroke.

I’m less than two cans deep, and I feel like anyone with a less hearty constitution would have serious concerns about their current medical condition. I can’t believe it’s legal to sell this to children, especially considering that that even I occasionally get carded going for the Bud 22s.

Moral of the story: Red Bull is weird, and gross, and in no way entertaining recreationally. Beer wins.

The Joys of Unemployed Football

Football holds a special place in the hearts of the funemployed. What began as a healthy obsession with my hometown team has recently evolved into an uncontrollable mania for the sport in general. Everyone needs something to look forward to, but for those of us with less structured weeks, football provides a landmark by which we may assess forward motion (first and last sports pun ever, I swear).

This newfound preoccupation has probably been fueled by the fact that I’ve had to suffer through two consecutive Sundays sans Steelers. In my early days of unemployment, before my soul had calloused over and had given up all hope of ever finding work, I looked to Sunday and it’s eternal optimism for the strength to persevere. If the Steelers won, I envisioned an auspicious week in my job search. If they lost, well, I was fucking pissed, but at least everyone else was, too. As a bonus, if Jeff Reed happened to get himself arrested, then I had a super-fun Monday reading national press coverage of the event.

The combination of a bye week followed by a Monday Night game is cruel under any circumstances, but may actually induce hallucinations and criminal behavior in the out-of-work. Fortunately, I managed to stay on the right side of the law this week through educational outreach programs and stealthy use of the Internet. Sunday’s AFC North rivalry match was broadcast into my apartment loud and clear via several sketchy URLs.

Having time off from work, or from meaningful activities of any kind (outside of bloging, of course, and funemployment camp) has yielded me the opportunity to become a better and more informed fan. Thanks to ample time to explore both official websites and fan blogs, I’ve really been able to augment exponentially my knowledge of the sport and its participants. Not only have I enriched my understanding of the history and structure of my hometown franchise ten-fold, I’ve also gotten much cozier with the whole league in general. Even if this newfound knowledge does not reflect upon my resume, I am hopeful at the very least that it will enhance my profile in future Pub Quiz events.

Kickoff—Go Steelers.

Goats, etc.

Full disclosure: I love goats. I love everything about them, from their little beards, to their cheese, to their sweaters. I love that they are affectionate and helpful, and that they come in over fifty different varieties. Were it not illegal and potentially cruel for me to keep one in my Brooklyn backyard, I would run out this very moment and obtain at least two. (Goats are heard animals, and get lonely without goat-buddies).

Like all unemployed goat enthusiasts, I’m really looking forward to catching a cheap matinee of the new film “The Men Who Stare at Goats” sometime this week. My love for Jeff Bridges is on par with my love for all things hircine, so this is a pretty big deal for me.

Unlike some other urban-dwelling goat aficionados, however, I refuse to dwindle my precious out-of-work moments just gazing at goat imagery. In addition to the goat-related film screening, the funemployed collective will be taking a fieldtrip to a livestock auction, to get up close and personal with some real live goats. This is by far our most ambitious and costly project (train fares and entrance fees may approach $20), but the educational value and emotional satisfaction are well worth the investment.

We’ll pack some picnic lunches (with extra benadryl, for me) and report back on our findings. If loving goats is wrong, I don’t want to be right.

DEEP FRYDAY

A few weeks ago, I mentioned that there would be an activity based on a large, outdoor deep fryer in my backyard. A series of complications, including at least one case of Swine Flu, caused a prolonged delay of this much-anticipated event. I am pleased to announce that the activity known as “DEEP FRYDAY” will finally take place tomorrow, starting at 3 pm. We could have gone forward with this days ago, but then we wouldn’t have been able to label it using such an outstanding pun. I mean, really, any day can be Deep-fry Day, but there is only one DEEP FRYDAY. Also, it has been suggested that this title carries strong sexual connotations, in an ironic twist on a culinary form not typically considered sensual (at least not North of the Mason-Dixon line), so we’ve been having fun just saying it for awhile.

We will fry anything and everything, however a prize will be awarded for the most creative and successfully-executed fried object. The biggest FRY FAIL will have to clean up the mess that will inevitably ensue, so everyone should really bring their A-game. Stuff to throw in there is BYO, but I’ll provide the libations.

The Week in Review

Does making $10 off the Vikings win on Sunday count as employment for the week? I vote YES. Is it wrong to take money from a fellow job-seeker, especially when they pick a ridiculous 3-point spread against the incomparable Brett Favre (bad decision making is, after all, a glaring symptom of prolonged unemployment)? The jury is still out.

It has been an exciting and eventful seven days for the group, and I am pleased to announce that we have three outstanding new members. Yesterday we got to know one another over a rousing game of scrabble in the scenic neighborhood of Greenpoint. We’re now looking forward to some constructive computer-based skill building early next week.

On a personal note, I am thrilled to report that on Friday, after several hours of intensive training, I was moved up from pee-wee to third-string JV in our fooseball league. My defense in particular is both robust and inspired, and I may even be allowed to dress for next week’s game.

Halloween 2009 will not be discussed here in this forum, or anywhere else for that matter, ever again.

Other accomplishments include watching the entire first season of Friday Night Lights, and the entire third season of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. I am also choking and gagging my way through the overwrought prose in the Prince of Tides, and have completed upward of thirty crossword puzzles. Our newly developed, top-secret Sangria recipe is really helping with the former.