By Jennifer Topper
Darkish, twisted, and outrageous, 29 Jobs and 1000000 Lies is a glimpse at counterculture's underbelly and makes an attempt to be triumphant inside of that international. From demented B-movie, roach-infested movie creation workplaces chock filled with freakish characters to the Cannes movie competition; from beginning a punk rock list label to its not easy yet inevitable crash; from a filthy, Greenwich Village eating place kitchen to failed makes an attempt at becoming a member of the military, you gotta ask, what is a pleasant woman from the suburbs doing all of this soiled paintings for.
29 Jobs and 1000000 Lies is the gut-wrenching, self-deprecating account of the way ambition to face out was once burnt up via clumsy offerings, immaturity and self-defeating righteousness. 29 Jobs is a post-GenX novel, other than it is real, and within the vein of Sarah Vowell, Chuck Klosterman, and Dave Eggers.
Jenn Topper is simply over the moon that she's published 29 Jobs and one million Lies. Her first novel, Getting the previous Gang again jointly should be out quickly so please remain tuned. Jenn is a proud member of the yr 0 Writer's Collective the place there are numerous writers extra proficient than herself
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Extra resources for 29 Jobs and a Million Lies
And that the infomercial was going to be marketing itself, because it wasn’t free, and it wasn’t going to be broadcast so you had to buy it to see it (although I think that USA Network eventually broadcast it at 3am on a Tuesday, like 6 months after the fact). The fact was that I didn’t get it, so I had an incredibly difficult time explaining it to a bunch of freaky wannabe stripper-druggie-actorstrangers. I had to set up appointments, mainly for the strippers/actresses, to come in and have one-on-one’s with the guys.
I was wearing was an old boardwalk crank tshirt, “Stop Staring at my Tits” and boxers. I got to the door, looked at the bathroom key I was carrying, and realized I didn’t bring the apartment key. Oops. No, really, motherfucking OOPS. Talk about panic…I find myself quivering as I write this because I tried to block this out. After all these years, it still isn’t even funny to me. Yeah, yeah, I know you’re already laughing, but this really sucked. Remember, I still didn’t have a wallet or ID, barefoot, and I’m in fascist France!
I was charged with calling in a favor from a casting company (that supposedly owed our company a favor, but in reality, they didn’t…see, I’m not the only one living in an alternative universe) and ask them to float us some headshots and some talent on spec. Ok, I learned that that NEVER happens in this business, unless there’s a blowjob somewhere in the equation. So I hit the street to find talent; I called friends and friends of friends and roommates and eventually some headshots started to trickle in.