By Jennifer Topper
Darkish, twisted, and outrageous, 29 Jobs and one million Lies is a glimpse at counterculture's underbelly and makes an attempt to prevail inside of that global. From demented B-movie, roach-infested movie creation workplaces chock choked with freakish characters to the Cannes movie pageant; from beginning a punk rock checklist label to its difficult yet inevitable crash; from a dirty, Greenwich Village eating place kitchen to failed makes an attempt at becoming a member of the army, 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 ways ambition to face out used to be burnt up by way of 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 can be out quickly so please remain tuned. Jenn is a proud member of the yr 0 Writer's Collective the place there are lots of writers extra gifted than herself
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Additional resources for 29 Jobs and a Million Lies
So that’s what we did. He broke in and replaced the lock, I gave him the Nintendo games and what little money I had which was given to me by my aunt and uncle, and snuck him out the back stairwell for the garbage chute. I asked him for a receipt so that I could try and get the bosses to pay for this calamity. Believe it or not, he wrote me a receipt. Typical for bureaucratic France—imagine asking a burglar for a receipt. It had already been 3 days since I hadn’t spoken to the bosses, so I felt too irresponsible to call them now.
Then my next job was even better. "Jennifer, you have to make our suite look nice, so get to the hotel early and steal yesterday's flowers from the other suites," the boss chirped, having apparently done this for years. I snuck into other film companies’ booths and bribed the maids with a few laughable centimes to give me the day-old flowers, in order to make it look like people were sending us flowers. Oh my god, this sounds so pathetic. But it’s true, really. We waited anxiously for the E! channel crew to come by and give us the publicity that we were so desperately seeking; and each year they do their stupid piece on this company, filming the idiots with the same filthy, stinking costumes on, and on and on and on.
I borrowed some money from the guys in the band and from Quelou’s friend so that I could eat for the following week. The following week was the next film market in Cannes, this time. If Milan was a total waste of time, Cannes was 20 times worse. In fact, I don’t even want to talk about it. The company didn’t want to invest in a booth there, so I literally dragged a wheel-less suitcase heavy with videos and posters through the trade center and expo hall for a couple of days, with no cell phone or any way for anyone to contact me even if they did want to have a meeting.