I'll admit I used to be a big fan of Gawker. Now, eh, not so much. It's recently become more recaps of shows (God Bless that Richard Lawson, he's the only funny one left) and blatant and not-so-great ripoffs of DListed (that website is so, very good. If you are still reading Perez Hilton or the Superficial, I implore you, DListed is the gold standard). But this article caught my eye, and I'm hoping the tide is turning over there so they can get back to what made them great, what continues to make, say, Jezebel great (except when they are just recapping shows and ripping off DListed as well...sigh).
Today's article is about the Union Square Virgin Megastore closing. Have you seen this? Another nail in the coffin for those of us who are praying that there will be some sort of divine intervention to come down and pull us out of this mess. I was a permalancer. Now? Prolancer. I'm a professional lancer of sorts. I freelance as a profession in a world where nothing is certain and anything can be taken away with a drop of a hat (sounds like a great movie line, right?) Anyway, on with the story.
"The Way We Live Now: Eking out a hard living in cubicle hell while beauty dies, duh. We work without music. We work without pay. We work without jobs, just to say "Hey, one day."
Virgin Megastore is officially dead. Dead along with it is one of your top five theoretical backup jobs in the event of your layoff; the idea that selling music in a store could be a profitable endeavor; your own whimsical daydream about one day maybe opening up a little record shop, just the really cool shit, and just living that life; and the music industry as a whole.
Hell, Joan Kroc gave the Salvation Army $1.8 billion and it still can't scrape together enough to build a new swimming pool in Detroit. Argentina's not crying for you, buddy. At least you have a job. You better hold onto like the precious diamond that it is—a valuable gem made out of dirt that you squeeze really tight. You do what you must. You do what the boss says. You do what the boss doesn't say, just to scrape and give yourself that tiny edge that just might cause them to lay off Doris, the receptionist, instead of you, when the time comes. "Furloughs," they said. "Ten percent less in the check, but you get a few more days off each month," they said. What happened? You work right through those furlough days. Because there's too much work. It's kind of like a staycation, but at work, and minus the "-cation." Just a "stay."
Of execution? One might say that. Yes one might. Because your Stay could be a staycation—of poorness:
"The real problem is that long-term unemployment is going up dramatically," said Franklin Allen, finance professor at the Wharton School. "Unfortunately, many people in their late 40s and 50s may never get jobs again."
How do you like them apples? I hope you like them enough to sell, for nickels, for the next 30 years."
Ugh. Wretched. And how much do we hate Franklin Allen? What a jerk! I mean, yes we're looking at the coffin in the store, but could you at least wait until someone dies before you decide to bury it? That metaphor worked in my mind, at least. But come on! Let's hope Professor Allen doesn't get laid off in his 40s and then decide his life is over and just give up and buy ten cats and stare at a wall for the rest of his natural-born life.