The Summer of George

"My name is George. I'm unemployed, and I live with my parents."

With so many television shows out there, I think everyone can find some television character who embodies their circumstances if not their personality. Batmite is a shorter, paunchier version of Raj from The Big Bang Theory. Dave is the Tweek character from South Park. And I've maintained for some time that Kyra Sedgwick's character from The Closer is essentially Virgil if she were a police chief.

But those are all endearing characters. I realized a few weeks ago while watching Seinfeld that I am the living embodiment of George Costanza.

The line inspiring that train of thought is clearly the one at the top. If that isn't the most succinct summation of my circumstances (brought on when George decides to do the opposite of his natural insticts by being completely honest with a woman), then I don't know what is. In addition, George repeatedly fails with women, complains about insignificant minutiae, and lives vicariously through the interesting lives of others. And in the long-running Seinfeld plotline of George and Jerry trying to create a pilot for a sitcom, George fancies himself a marketable writer despite never actually selling any written material.

Given that George is something of a fictionalized version of Larry David, the creator of Seinfeld and current star of Curb Your Enthusiasm, I also find myself frequently sympathizing with the main character of that latter show. George, Larry David, and I could all sit down and have a marvelous lunch together. We're all essentially the same person.

Except I'm not bald.... or Jewish.... yet.

More Costanza quotes that apply to me:

"If you take everything I've accomplished in my life and condense it down to one day, it looks decent."

"I'm disturbed; I'm depressed; I'm inadequate; I've got it all!"

"I was living the dream. I was stripped to the waist eating a block of cheese the size of a car battery."

"You ask me to have lunch, tell me you slept with Elaine, and then say you're not in the mood for details? Now you listen to me. I want details and I want them right now. I don't have a job. I have no place to go. You're not in the mood? Well you GET in the mood!"

"I'm ALL awkward pauses!"

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"The jerk store called... they're running out of you!"

My Personal Debasement

My current pimp lodgings

The economic recession occasionally makes me feel better because I'm a sadistic and bitter man. I appreciate the fact that my unemployment misery is now shared by thousands if not millions of other Americans. Imagine my elation when I discovered someone with a story distressingly similar to my own.

A recent article on CNN.com relates the tale of Jeffrey Root, a good-natured 26-year-old slob from Utah who just quit his fast food job so that he could move back into his parents' basement because his expenses were becoming too great. What does Jeffrey do now? Why he's working on his English degree. He hopes to become a teacher one day!

This is not fair at all. Aside from living in Utah and having a very cute wife (pictured in the article), Jeffrey is essentially living my life. I was unemployed and living in my parents' basement before it was cool. Where's my fucking CNN tribute??

However, the article still makes me feel better about myself. Here is a lovely quote from it:

In a recent poll of people ages 18 and older, the AARP found about a quarter of them were living with their parents or in-laws; and about one in seven were living with a sibling.
About 15 percent of the 1,002 people polled by the organization said they're at some risk of having to move back into their parents' home. And about a third of those at risk said they may have to do so because of job loss.

Suddenly my basement lifestyle doesn't seem so bad. I'm a trend-setter!! Pretty soon, a sizable percentage of Americans will loiter in basements downloading episodes of 30 Rock, perusing Star Trek message boards, and blogging about their superfluous subterranean existences while waiting to wander upstairs to see what the parents have cooked for dinner.

Actually, to be fair, I'm really lathering on the hyperbole in describing my homestead as a "basement." As you can see from the picture at the top of the post, my bedroom does not consist of concrete walls and a hammock suspended to the floorboards of the living room. And just outside my bedroom is a game room furnished with most of the crap from my old apartment.
The "basement" of our house is actually the size of the entire upstairs. My parents seldom come down here, so it's like I have my own little apartment beneath the house. As if that weren't enough, there's even a sweet gym in our basement so that my fat ass can shed its excess pounds.
I'm like the Scrooge McDuck of vagabonds. I get the street cred and wild pity sex of an unemployed tramp, but I have sweet lodgings that I fully enjoy and exploit even though I know full well that I don't deserve them on a financial level. I will admit that my lifestyle of moochery has frequently given me a laissez-faire attitude toward the job search. However, in all fairness, there really aren't any jobs anymore. I have several websites that send me job postings based on a multitude of search criteria. Over the summer and into the fall, I received several credible leads a day. Now I'm lucky to find a job that I barely qualify for once every two weeks. Additionally, I'm now competing with a lot of bitter formerly-employed people who have much more experience than me who now want the same crappy jobs that I so highly covet.

I really do miss having my own place (sharing an apartment with Batmite even qualifies). There's a certain level of pride in paying for your own space and having complete control over your own life, and I'd jump at the chance to have an apartment again. However, with a very nicely-paying part-time job right next door, no rent, a sweet basement command center, and an economy that wants to personally rape me, I'm very happy to remain a cellar dweller for another six months. I'll reassess my life choices before going to get my teacher certification.

I still need a hot wife and a background in food service to beat Jeffrey, but I'm going to show that bastard who the real basement phenom is! Of course, he doesn't have to deal with this asshole...
... so he's got one up on me there.

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4 out of 5 readers are not as impressed as JP is with his great pun title. The last reader is too busy fawning over the picture of the cute kitty cat.