I don’t know what’s worse. The fact that I’m sad enough to acknowledge the closest I’m going to get to any type of exotic location this summer is through my imagination, or that I persisted with it for two whole weeks. But nevertheless, my recent journey was designed to highlight more than the amount of time I currently have on my hands (believe it if you will). That is; it teaches us all a valuable lesson about sequels. A lesson that I feel is appropriate in the current American movie climate.
An in-depth study of All’s Fair in Love and War should reveal what I mean (even a quick glance would do if you’re so desperate to get back to Facebook or a day job or something else insignificant). The first one I came up with on the spot, and was published around 15 minutes after I started writing it. I couldn’t think of anything else to talk about that week and fancied a change.
Then I realised a small part of me actually liked what I had written, and the idea developed in the deep recesses of my mind that it wasn’t inconcievable to write a follow-up for the next week. Hence, the sequel, written on a bigger budget of time and energy, but carrying the weight of expectation to make something outshining its predecessor. And in my opinion, it failed miserably.
There is a lesson in there somewhere. I have no doubt it will present itself more clearly in my upcoming review of The Hangover part 2. That’s what this has all been about, so don’t miss it, and I’m kind of hoping now that the film is a massive disappointment, if only to prevent me from looking totally stupid.
In a more relevant reference to the title of this entry, I got a job last week. Yes, I actually did. No, I don’t actually have a job this week.
What I have realised, thanks to Emerald Insights Limited, is that selling beauty products door-to-door in a faraway location where you have to pay for your own food and transport, with your only income taken from a 20% share of the profit from the 3 or 4 products you’ve sold at £25 a hit, doesn’t quite work for me. Especially not when it’s 10 hours a day, 6 days a week, and your day is spent on the doorsteps of strange people whom you have to give fake wide smiles to, before avoiding them like the plague once you realise they’re not actually going to buy anything from you. If it sounds rather depressing, and extremely exploitative, rest assured that’s exactly how it feels when you’re observing it first hand. This type of thing isn’t what I pictured myself doing when I took a study break a few months ago.
However, as we’re on the subject of lessons this fine evening, I choose to see the positives in this experience. The main positive being a realisation for myself. You see, I never should have got that job. It should have been obvious to anyone that I wouldn’t be able to sell Victoria Jackson’s new promotional make-up range, and I’m not just refering to the fact that I clearly had no idea who she was. I talked my way into it. That mouth of mine plunged me far out of my depth and into something I didn’t enjoy one bit, all to prove people wrong, to be able to say I had a job. Well, if that’s what a real job in the real world is like, then no thank you.
I’ll stick with creative writing.