Monday, June 6, 2011
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Quick! Drop a Trojan into the Firewall's Back Pocket
I've always wanted to be able to do something on a computer that no one else could. My intelligence level when it comes to that is above the normal. But you can use this "terminal" to hack into any module you need. RADICAL!
Friday, April 15, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Origin Story Vol 5.
5.
I had been scanning entertainmentcareers.net for months to get a feel for what I was qualified, vocationally speaking. The best I could do probably was entry level/assistant gigs or an internship. But since I had already done my unpaid internship in Austin, I was going to be greedy and apply for only paid internships.
To cover my bases I applied to a couple of temporary agencies in September: Exactstaff and Appleone. Exactstaff was a fucking rip: they had me come in early in the morning in business clothes, they wouldn't pay for parking and I had to take two hours worth of tests before being asked all the same questions again by my interviewer. At the end of this inquisition they told me they would be contacting me soon with work. I still have not heard back from them.
Appleone was a different story. After Exactstaff I forwent the temporary agency and applied directly for jobs as listen on Monster and Entertainment. I received a call from Appleone acting as an agent for one of the listings for which I blindly applied. It turns out their office was in Marina Del Rey, which didn't sound that far away from K-town. Once again, I'm retarded. So I went down to Apple a couple of times to take tests and whatnot. They were actually pretty nice to you as well as easy on the eyes (all female staff). A few weeks later they landed me a week long gig before I landed my current job.
For about a month straight I averaged between two and five interviews a week. Some of them were for entry jobs and some for internships. The two best internship interviews were for the Mark Bass talent agency and Metropolitan talent agency. Mark Bass' office is located in this hyper-sweet high-rise in Beverly Hills. It's one of those offices with all white everything, contemporary art and furniture and everyone working there is very well dressed and own a Blackberry. Yay toys! So when I went into the interview I met with a guy who was probably three years older than me but very cool. We conversed very congenially about the company, my career goals, and the usual bullshit. During the course of all this however, it came out that this internship would be full time (8-6) and unpaid, despite listing on Entertainment as paid. The dude and I agreed that this whole interview had very well, despite his inexperience, and he would bounce it off of Mark Bass himself and that, barring any further applicants, it looked like I had the job. They never called me back.
The Metropolitan interview was sweeter. Their office is located in this sweet older-looking building on Wilshire a couple of blocks away from the Los Altos Apartments & Hotel, know to you and me as the Hyperion Hotel from Angel (tee hee). That gig was indeed paid along with reimbursement for mileage. The sweetest part of the whole deal? Metropolitan is a hybrid agency that represents actors, models and writers. That means that, as an intern, I would get to read scripts and do coverage for them (I love doing that), as well as sleep with models! They never called me back.
I had a few interviews for entry-level jobs of varying degrees of suckage. One job (Breakdown Services) consisted of scanning in photos through Photoshop and posting them onto their website. Mind-numbingly boring, 20+ miles away from my apartment, 30 hours a week max and an inflexible schedule, I decided to pass on this one, despite the interviewer's strong-arming.
The most ridiculous incident though, came through my submission to the Del Rey Agency, an agency that represents latino actors. I went into the interview to meet with an assistant to the boss/CEO, but in his absence I met with the CEO (there's only about 4 people in the company). We talked the usual bullshit and then things got weird. He started to compliment my looks and personality…a little unprofessional in my opinion. The position was 10 hours a day, six days a week. But when it came to pay, he blanked; he didn't know what the pay was going to be. The CEO then started talking about a guesthouse he wanted to rent out for around $1250 and how we could work out a deal for income payment and housing. I replied that I already had an apartment but apparently he wasn't listening. At the conclusion of the interview he stated that he would confer with his "money guy" and get back to me about how much pay would be for this job. I figured (read: hoped) this would be the usual scenario and I would never hear from these guys again.
Boy, was I fucking wrong.To follow up on the interview, hoping the pay would be huge (I mean if they are drug dealers or in the sex slave business imagine the cut) I called the agency back the next day at 10 a.m. No one was there…at 10 a.m.…on a weekday. So I went about my usual business for most of the day. I got a call back about 8 p.m. again from the CEO saying he hadn't heard from the "money guy" but he would get back to me the next day. About 18 hours later he calls me to say he had heard back and that he would like to meet with me to discuss the financial remuneration. This is where my own stupidity and their fucking craziness merge: he wanted to meet at his home that night to show me the guesthouse in which I would be living. I figured I'd be patient through his spiel, tell him I had already have a place (again), wait for an answer on pay and then give a yes or no on the job.
I showed up in street clothes because, I mean, fuck this guy. Seriously. He shows me the apartment/guesthouse: studio, raised bathroom, no overhead light except for a skylight and a stone's throw from his house. He claimed that I would be "in my own little world" with lots of privacy. I'm thinking: who the fuck does this guy think he is? He shows me around his property a little more. My little place would be next to his mother's. Fun. He then escorts me into his house to talk about the money. I start thinking about self-defense: go for joints, particularly the knees, the eyes, nose and, if necessary, the balls. We sit down in his living room and I hand him (per his request) my resume. He tells me more flattering bullshit about my resume and my looks and proceeds on that the pay would be $800…a month. The rent on the guesthouse, remember, is $1250. I told him I had a couple of interviews to follow through with and I would get back to him the following Monday. He called at 8 am Monday wanting an answer. I politely told him no. [On a related note: I tried finding this company online while writing this and was unsuccessful. They could have Keyser Soze-ed, but who really fucking cares?]
I continued with the hunt sending out blind emails to companies. I got a call back for a company I didn't remember applying to but gift horse's mouth, right? Before the interview I agreed to pick up a friend farther down the road thinking I'd have plenty of time. Nope. I had to call and say I was going to be late. In the end I was exactly on time, but I didn't know whom I was meeting. Just a girl…in a building. I got to the front office and had no clue where to go but we figured it out. I met with the girl who led me to a guy. The usual interview bullshit followed by: "We'll let you know by Tuesday." This was Thursday. The next day I got a call saying I was starting on Monday…at 5am.
I had found a job…but at what cost?
I had been scanning entertainmentcareers.net for months to get a feel for what I was qualified, vocationally speaking. The best I could do probably was entry level/assistant gigs or an internship. But since I had already done my unpaid internship in Austin, I was going to be greedy and apply for only paid internships.
To cover my bases I applied to a couple of temporary agencies in September: Exactstaff and Appleone. Exactstaff was a fucking rip: they had me come in early in the morning in business clothes, they wouldn't pay for parking and I had to take two hours worth of tests before being asked all the same questions again by my interviewer. At the end of this inquisition they told me they would be contacting me soon with work. I still have not heard back from them.
Appleone was a different story. After Exactstaff I forwent the temporary agency and applied directly for jobs as listen on Monster and Entertainment. I received a call from Appleone acting as an agent for one of the listings for which I blindly applied. It turns out their office was in Marina Del Rey, which didn't sound that far away from K-town. Once again, I'm retarded. So I went down to Apple a couple of times to take tests and whatnot. They were actually pretty nice to you as well as easy on the eyes (all female staff). A few weeks later they landed me a week long gig before I landed my current job.
For about a month straight I averaged between two and five interviews a week. Some of them were for entry jobs and some for internships. The two best internship interviews were for the Mark Bass talent agency and Metropolitan talent agency. Mark Bass' office is located in this hyper-sweet high-rise in Beverly Hills. It's one of those offices with all white everything, contemporary art and furniture and everyone working there is very well dressed and own a Blackberry. Yay toys! So when I went into the interview I met with a guy who was probably three years older than me but very cool. We conversed very congenially about the company, my career goals, and the usual bullshit. During the course of all this however, it came out that this internship would be full time (8-6) and unpaid, despite listing on Entertainment as paid. The dude and I agreed that this whole interview had very well, despite his inexperience, and he would bounce it off of Mark Bass himself and that, barring any further applicants, it looked like I had the job. They never called me back.
The Metropolitan interview was sweeter. Their office is located in this sweet older-looking building on Wilshire a couple of blocks away from the Los Altos Apartments & Hotel, know to you and me as the Hyperion Hotel from Angel (tee hee). That gig was indeed paid along with reimbursement for mileage. The sweetest part of the whole deal? Metropolitan is a hybrid agency that represents actors, models and writers. That means that, as an intern, I would get to read scripts and do coverage for them (I love doing that), as well as sleep with models! They never called me back.
I had a few interviews for entry-level jobs of varying degrees of suckage. One job (Breakdown Services) consisted of scanning in photos through Photoshop and posting them onto their website. Mind-numbingly boring, 20+ miles away from my apartment, 30 hours a week max and an inflexible schedule, I decided to pass on this one, despite the interviewer's strong-arming.
The most ridiculous incident though, came through my submission to the Del Rey Agency, an agency that represents latino actors. I went into the interview to meet with an assistant to the boss/CEO, but in his absence I met with the CEO (there's only about 4 people in the company). We talked the usual bullshit and then things got weird. He started to compliment my looks and personality…a little unprofessional in my opinion. The position was 10 hours a day, six days a week. But when it came to pay, he blanked; he didn't know what the pay was going to be. The CEO then started talking about a guesthouse he wanted to rent out for around $1250 and how we could work out a deal for income payment and housing. I replied that I already had an apartment but apparently he wasn't listening. At the conclusion of the interview he stated that he would confer with his "money guy" and get back to me about how much pay would be for this job. I figured (read: hoped) this would be the usual scenario and I would never hear from these guys again.
Boy, was I fucking wrong.To follow up on the interview, hoping the pay would be huge (I mean if they are drug dealers or in the sex slave business imagine the cut) I called the agency back the next day at 10 a.m. No one was there…at 10 a.m.…on a weekday. So I went about my usual business for most of the day. I got a call back about 8 p.m. again from the CEO saying he hadn't heard from the "money guy" but he would get back to me the next day. About 18 hours later he calls me to say he had heard back and that he would like to meet with me to discuss the financial remuneration. This is where my own stupidity and their fucking craziness merge: he wanted to meet at his home that night to show me the guesthouse in which I would be living. I figured I'd be patient through his spiel, tell him I had already have a place (again), wait for an answer on pay and then give a yes or no on the job.
I showed up in street clothes because, I mean, fuck this guy. Seriously. He shows me the apartment/guesthouse: studio, raised bathroom, no overhead light except for a skylight and a stone's throw from his house. He claimed that I would be "in my own little world" with lots of privacy. I'm thinking: who the fuck does this guy think he is? He shows me around his property a little more. My little place would be next to his mother's. Fun. He then escorts me into his house to talk about the money. I start thinking about self-defense: go for joints, particularly the knees, the eyes, nose and, if necessary, the balls. We sit down in his living room and I hand him (per his request) my resume. He tells me more flattering bullshit about my resume and my looks and proceeds on that the pay would be $800…a month. The rent on the guesthouse, remember, is $1250. I told him I had a couple of interviews to follow through with and I would get back to him the following Monday. He called at 8 am Monday wanting an answer. I politely told him no. [On a related note: I tried finding this company online while writing this and was unsuccessful. They could have Keyser Soze-ed, but who really fucking cares?]
I continued with the hunt sending out blind emails to companies. I got a call back for a company I didn't remember applying to but gift horse's mouth, right? Before the interview I agreed to pick up a friend farther down the road thinking I'd have plenty of time. Nope. I had to call and say I was going to be late. In the end I was exactly on time, but I didn't know whom I was meeting. Just a girl…in a building. I got to the front office and had no clue where to go but we figured it out. I met with the girl who led me to a guy. The usual interview bullshit followed by: "We'll let you know by Tuesday." This was Thursday. The next day I got a call saying I was starting on Monday…at 5am.
I had found a job…but at what cost?
Origin Story Vol 4.
4.
A few minutes after making the revolutionary decision to move to California at my desk in Austin, I started researching employment and residence in LA. Housing was/is fucking ridiculous. How so you ask? To this I respond:
LA is three to four time more expensive than Austin. My apartment in Austin (the fourth incarnation) was a two- story, 1,150 square foot townhouse two blocks north of Braker and 183. This gargantuan domicile was extremely well kept (fresh paint, carpeting etc.) and going for $729 a month for two people. No utilities were included, but the overall cost per person was probably, at the maximum, $450. For those of you who never lived in Austin, that's pretty fucking good. By contrast a similar apartment in central LA goes for about $2,300, without utilities. As I knew no one who wanted to split a lease at the time or needed a roommate, I was compelled to house alone.
I used a few of websites to gage what I was looking at: apartmenthunterz.com, rent.com and Craigslist. One of the main obstacles I ran into was a total lack of metropolitan comprehension. In Austin I knew to stay away from the east side of town. San Antonio: I had to stay away from the south side (for me, anything south of 1604). But I got to LA and realized I was hunting everywhere. Van Nuys, Echo Park and Inglewood were just names on a map, not words of caution. To this end I went to the corporate office of Apartmenthunterz.com in Beverly Hills to discuss the areas in Southern California to avoid. I was so let down by their office. It's located in this really glamorous building, but their actual office looked like two broom closets fucked and gave the offspring up for adoption. Inside I learned the areas to look in and refined my search a little more.
I rummaged metro LA as well as the better/affordable parts of The Valley. I met with a few people to check out some places and some apartments wouldn't even return my calls. My budget range was a severe hamper on the quality of apartments, so eventually I just pulled my nose and dove in. I came to realize that I was being unrealistic looking for a centrally located residence in a well-maintained building for a reasonable rate. I began to wonder how anyone ever made such a transmittal into the city of LA in the first place. Do you think Rivera y Moncada went through the same fucking hassle I did?
Two friends of mine had been living in Koreatown for a year or so, and despite their disdain for the area en mass, they found it a good base of operation for the recent arrivals. So, following their lead I narrowed my search even more to the confines of Koreatown, Mid-Wilshire and West Downtown.
I was still searching when Jillian J. M. handed me a pillar of light and I found a place that met my criteria. Finally I could stop looking, worrying and sleeping on her couch. I had a place to call my own.
One task down…
A few minutes after making the revolutionary decision to move to California at my desk in Austin, I started researching employment and residence in LA. Housing was/is fucking ridiculous. How so you ask? To this I respond:
LA is three to four time more expensive than Austin. My apartment in Austin (the fourth incarnation) was a two- story, 1,150 square foot townhouse two blocks north of Braker and 183. This gargantuan domicile was extremely well kept (fresh paint, carpeting etc.) and going for $729 a month for two people. No utilities were included, but the overall cost per person was probably, at the maximum, $450. For those of you who never lived in Austin, that's pretty fucking good. By contrast a similar apartment in central LA goes for about $2,300, without utilities. As I knew no one who wanted to split a lease at the time or needed a roommate, I was compelled to house alone.
I used a few of websites to gage what I was looking at: apartmenthunterz.com, rent.com and Craigslist. One of the main obstacles I ran into was a total lack of metropolitan comprehension. In Austin I knew to stay away from the east side of town. San Antonio: I had to stay away from the south side (for me, anything south of 1604). But I got to LA and realized I was hunting everywhere. Van Nuys, Echo Park and Inglewood were just names on a map, not words of caution. To this end I went to the corporate office of Apartmenthunterz.com in Beverly Hills to discuss the areas in Southern California to avoid. I was so let down by their office. It's located in this really glamorous building, but their actual office looked like two broom closets fucked and gave the offspring up for adoption. Inside I learned the areas to look in and refined my search a little more.
I rummaged metro LA as well as the better/affordable parts of The Valley. I met with a few people to check out some places and some apartments wouldn't even return my calls. My budget range was a severe hamper on the quality of apartments, so eventually I just pulled my nose and dove in. I came to realize that I was being unrealistic looking for a centrally located residence in a well-maintained building for a reasonable rate. I began to wonder how anyone ever made such a transmittal into the city of LA in the first place. Do you think Rivera y Moncada went through the same fucking hassle I did?
Two friends of mine had been living in Koreatown for a year or so, and despite their disdain for the area en mass, they found it a good base of operation for the recent arrivals. So, following their lead I narrowed my search even more to the confines of Koreatown, Mid-Wilshire and West Downtown.
I was still searching when Jillian J. M. handed me a pillar of light and I found a place that met my criteria. Finally I could stop looking, worrying and sleeping on her couch. I had a place to call my own.
One task down…
Origin Story Vol 3.
3.
The overall plan was to drive to Newport Beach where my (evil) aunt lives and meet my mom there where she would act as a buffer while I looked for an apartment and a job. With the money I had left I could afford to live for a few months in an apartment with a rent rate of about $700-800 a month. As far as a job went, I wanted something in the industry, because if I wanted to do retail or food I could have stayed in Austin.
The morning of the 28th I awoke at about four. It was still pitch black outside and the air was still warm and muggy, a typical summer night in South Texas. A million thoughts raced through my head as I prepped myself for the almost 600 mile leg of the first day. Some part of me was trying to convince myself that there was an alternative to making this trip. "Austin is the place to be, yo" "LA will eat you alive and spit you back to your parents' house" and the coup de grace: "Dude, you'll never get laid in LA". That last one is still haunting me even now, granted I don't have enough free time to do anything about it.
My parents, as a show of support, were up and dressed when I jumped into my car and took off into the darkness. As I drove off I took in my neighborhood of 12 years with new eyes. My typical mentality of "God, I fucking hate San Antonio" was replaced by a sense of pseudo-sentimentality. I wasn't necessarily sad I was leaving, but I was thinking that this might be the last time I ever see this neighborhood. There's the house of the girl I had an unrequited crush on for six years. There's the home of that bitch that pointed out my acne in 8th grade. There's the house of that fucking redneck prick that humiliated me in front of everyone on our bus freshman year of high school.
God, I fucking hate San Antonio.
The trip through West Texas was pretty sweet: big rocks, desert, mountains, hills and lots of open highway. If Edward Hopper had grown up in Marfa he would have loved the first leg. I was making stops every 150 miles or so to make sure I had a half a tank left as well as take in a little bit of the towns I was stopping in; bustling metropolises such as Van Horn, Ozona and Fort Stockton. One scary moment was when I was within the city limits of El Paso and I-10 seemed to be heading toward the huge Mexican flag in Juarez. I totally thought I had taken a wrong turn and I was going to Mexico.
As far as my stay in New Mexico goes, I'll just say this: Las Cruces is ghetto.
The second day was a little harder than the first. I was going from Las Cruces to El Cajon, California. I left at five and headed west before the sun could burn the land too badly. This leg was going to be a little more tedious. I was going through three states and an extra hundred miles. I saw a lot of cool shit along the way and someday I hope to go back and do the tourist thing. But the main thing I started to notice was the mountains. I have lived in Virginia and South Carolina, so I have seen the Appalachians but I still find myself staring at mountains here in Los Angeles. The Appalachians are like withered old hags of mountains. Why look at some wrinkly old A's when you can have some awesome young C's, you know?
Day three was sweet because I got to sleep in, as I was a few miles outside of San Diego in El Cajon. I was planning to meet with my mom in Newport Beach around one in the afternoon and the trip would only take about two hours, max. Unfortunately I arrived too early and was forced to tread water with my aunt for an hour or so talking about bullshit like weather. Here's why I don't like visiting family: you (or maybe just I) have to put on this false persona of a nice guy. I was a very nice guy a few years back, so it was easier then. But as time went on and the world wouldn't let up with the letdowns I grew bitter, then angry, then dark. One of the Archer brothers in Austin (I forget which one) described me as a "boiling cauldron of rage". So when I am forced to sit down with someone I explicitly don't like, it takes a lot of effort for me not to fucking tell him or her off. My aunt is very rich and as much as I try not to be, I am still materialistic. It's an endless cycle.
So after arriving in Southern California and camping out on the floor of a huge Newport Estate, I began my search for employment and residence.
The overall plan was to drive to Newport Beach where my (evil) aunt lives and meet my mom there where she would act as a buffer while I looked for an apartment and a job. With the money I had left I could afford to live for a few months in an apartment with a rent rate of about $700-800 a month. As far as a job went, I wanted something in the industry, because if I wanted to do retail or food I could have stayed in Austin.
The morning of the 28th I awoke at about four. It was still pitch black outside and the air was still warm and muggy, a typical summer night in South Texas. A million thoughts raced through my head as I prepped myself for the almost 600 mile leg of the first day. Some part of me was trying to convince myself that there was an alternative to making this trip. "Austin is the place to be, yo" "LA will eat you alive and spit you back to your parents' house" and the coup de grace: "Dude, you'll never get laid in LA". That last one is still haunting me even now, granted I don't have enough free time to do anything about it.
My parents, as a show of support, were up and dressed when I jumped into my car and took off into the darkness. As I drove off I took in my neighborhood of 12 years with new eyes. My typical mentality of "God, I fucking hate San Antonio" was replaced by a sense of pseudo-sentimentality. I wasn't necessarily sad I was leaving, but I was thinking that this might be the last time I ever see this neighborhood. There's the house of the girl I had an unrequited crush on for six years. There's the home of that bitch that pointed out my acne in 8th grade. There's the house of that fucking redneck prick that humiliated me in front of everyone on our bus freshman year of high school.
God, I fucking hate San Antonio.
The trip through West Texas was pretty sweet: big rocks, desert, mountains, hills and lots of open highway. If Edward Hopper had grown up in Marfa he would have loved the first leg. I was making stops every 150 miles or so to make sure I had a half a tank left as well as take in a little bit of the towns I was stopping in; bustling metropolises such as Van Horn, Ozona and Fort Stockton. One scary moment was when I was within the city limits of El Paso and I-10 seemed to be heading toward the huge Mexican flag in Juarez. I totally thought I had taken a wrong turn and I was going to Mexico.
As far as my stay in New Mexico goes, I'll just say this: Las Cruces is ghetto.
The second day was a little harder than the first. I was going from Las Cruces to El Cajon, California. I left at five and headed west before the sun could burn the land too badly. This leg was going to be a little more tedious. I was going through three states and an extra hundred miles. I saw a lot of cool shit along the way and someday I hope to go back and do the tourist thing. But the main thing I started to notice was the mountains. I have lived in Virginia and South Carolina, so I have seen the Appalachians but I still find myself staring at mountains here in Los Angeles. The Appalachians are like withered old hags of mountains. Why look at some wrinkly old A's when you can have some awesome young C's, you know?
Day three was sweet because I got to sleep in, as I was a few miles outside of San Diego in El Cajon. I was planning to meet with my mom in Newport Beach around one in the afternoon and the trip would only take about two hours, max. Unfortunately I arrived too early and was forced to tread water with my aunt for an hour or so talking about bullshit like weather. Here's why I don't like visiting family: you (or maybe just I) have to put on this false persona of a nice guy. I was a very nice guy a few years back, so it was easier then. But as time went on and the world wouldn't let up with the letdowns I grew bitter, then angry, then dark. One of the Archer brothers in Austin (I forget which one) described me as a "boiling cauldron of rage". So when I am forced to sit down with someone I explicitly don't like, it takes a lot of effort for me not to fucking tell him or her off. My aunt is very rich and as much as I try not to be, I am still materialistic. It's an endless cycle.
So after arriving in Southern California and camping out on the floor of a huge Newport Estate, I began my search for employment and residence.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)