Smelly Books for Sale!

This place had a book fair the other day, only $1 a book.
But wait, that's not all!
Get there in the last hour, like I did, and you can get as many books as fit in a box for just $5!

Combing random piles of books to determine whether they are worth a dollar is a rigorous mental process. "Might someone else benefit from reading this? Do I need the extra clutter? Will I actually read this?"

But when volunteers begin barking "$5 a box," the criteria slacken a hair:
"Will this fit in the box? Does it have words and/or pictures on the pages? When the End Times come, how long will this burn, providing me warmth and light?"

When all was said and done, I think finding the Bridge to Terabithia was worth the $5. But I'm all set if I ever decide to visit Atlanta, Sicily, or Thailand, refinish some furniture, or need inspirational quotes for teachers or lawyers. Or if I can't sleep.

Variation on a Theme

"You can't fire me, I quit!"
or
"You can fire me, but when you realize what an asshole you are and offer to 'let' me come back, I will say to you: Thanks but No Thanks! [Asshole!]"

Speaking of themes, it's not unusual for me to be among the most diligent and competent workers at a company and simultaneously be the least paid/appreciated/respected. Honesty, reason, and an unwavering willingness to help out will get you nowhere at a lot of jobs, but I'm sure I'll find one where that's not the case.

The silver lining in this case is that there are a dozen people in the office who completely back me up, and are as sad to see me go as I am to leave. And I find that I am still capable of making difficult decisions based on principle. So it could be worse.

Yesterday -

Saw a kid stealing mouthwash from the corner store - my new credit score is 804 - returning desire to paint the 4th, white wall of my otherwise green room

Who I am

I am a condescending hypocrite with a big brain*, bigger heart, and a slew of abrasive defense mechanisms that, when balled up together, are bigger than 12 of those brains and 9 of those hearts put together. (Laid end to end they circle the earth 47 times, but I never thought that kind of visualization was very useful.)

I was born to have hairy legs, weird thumbs, and freckles - but also to have nice eyes, tall...ness, and, well, freckles.

I often blame my circumstances on...my circumstances, but I'm not afraid to take responsibility for my life.

I sometimes trick people into thinking I can really juggle by juggling for a few seconds, then acting like I don't feel like juggling anymore, when really if I tried to jug- one more -gle, I'd drop everything but I usually explain to those people that I've just tried to trick them into thinking I can juggle.

I write in a blog I know my family and a very few friends read, often revealing my innermost thoughts, but I don't write every day, week, month, or season. So what?**


((*I say to this to mean both that people often think I'm smart (I think they're wrong) and that I have a big head. Serious. Human hats don't fit on it. No lie. Send me a hat, I'll send you a picture of it not fitting on my head.))


Now, you have me at a disadvantage!
Who are you?
**and how was your summer?

There's this guy Paul,

and I am nearby when he tells this story, showing off a framed print of this comic book page, the intellectual property of Frank Miller:

"So I give it to the Kinko's girl to scan, and she says 'I can't do that sir, it's copyrighted material.' So I go, 'I'm Frank Miller." [Here, storytelling Paul freezes every facial muscle in what is no doubt a flawless recreation of his excellent poker-face deadpan.]

"Then she started to argue with me, so I cut her off - I'm Frank Miller."

It becomes obvious to me that his story is that he cleverly manipulated a Kinko's employee...but wait a minute. Would a Kinko's employee care? Would they go that far and not bother to check his ID? Above all else, why would a successful and published comic book artist need to go to freakin' Kinko's to get a medium-quality print of their own work??

So I call bullshit!

"Bullshit Paul! You did not tell the Kinko's girl you were Frank Miller."

"Yeah I did, buddy."

"You are such a liar."

Paul is already walking away, but turns to deliver this gem before shutting himself in his office:

"I don't lie Joe. It's not worth it."



(For those who are slow like me, I would point out that Paul is not Frank Miller)

Perfect timing

After tending bar, I return to the day job office to drop off my monkey suit and pick up my bike - it's about 9pm when I pull on my helmet and look out the window at distant flashes of what a coworker is calling "heat lightning." As my buddy and I pull into the street on our bikes, a wind starts to pick up.

After three blocks the wind has increased exponentially, and the intersection ahead of me is empty except for a giant dust storm that looks so angry I briefly consider stopping and looking for shelter for the night. But instead I close my right eye, turn my head, and push through it, feeling a sandblast of NY grime.

As we continue through Manhattan to the bridge, the persistent whirling dirt that dusts my eyes with grit mingles with a light, cold drizzle.

Finally, past all the belligerent truck drivers and sharp-turning cabs, we reach the bridge and its sheltered lanes of relative calm. There's hardly anyone else there, so I get to look over my shoulder at the near-constant white flashes above Manhattan.

Halfway across the bridge, the flashes have caught up; I can see them to the side and reflecting off tall buildings ahead.

Not one block into Queens, lightning flashes nearby and the intermittent thwack of fat raindrops on my helmet begins. A dozen long city blocks to go - I'm not going to beat this storm home but I couldn't be more thrilled! The rain increases in surges, retreating a little, then returning even thicker. Finally it drops all pretense - the thunder follows the lightning more and more closely until I can hear the individual branches of a bolt as it crackles above me. My tires are spitting water in a crazy arc and my eyes, squinted since the dust of Manhattan, narrow to allow just the glow of traffic signals and taillights. Going as fast as I can through drenching curtains of water while making sure I have enough time to react on the newly-wet road with just coaster brakes, I fishtail (mildly) only once.

I arrive at my doorstep dripping, beaming, taking a last look at the sky and the rain as someone high up in the apartment building across the way closes their window.

That was really, really fun.


*The red line represents the temperature this evening, dropping from 90 at the beginning of the ride to 70 toward the end. The wind speed went from below 8mph to 20mph in the same time period.

Title Andronicus

I started riding a bike to work (and back). I think there should be a new word for riding, since when you ride roller coasters and buses and trains, you get to just sit there. This particular 4-mile journey breaks down into three distinct sections, the way I see it.

I start in Queens, which is a pretty good warm-up: not too many cars or pedestrians, wide roads, casual pace, etc. Next is the bridge, which is the purely physical part of the journey: there is a clearly marked, uninterrupted, relatively straight, uphill path that just requires the unthinking use of muscle. Finally, Manhattan - a gauntlet of terror and lessons in calculated risk. This is the brain-intensive portion, where reflexes, decision making, prediction, and again, sheer terror all come into play. I think I sweat more from nerves here than I do going across the bridge.

My first ride into work was my second time on a bike in over a decade, so pretty much every ride since then has seemed like a cake-walk, however close the calls I get myself into may be. I once misjudged a light and rode right out in front of oncoming traffic, haha.

Anyway, lest anyone get the wrong impression that I now lead a healthy lifestyle, my breakfast the other day was a dented can of Budweiser and some peanut butter cookies (thanks Bonnie!).

Also, I predict that as humidity increases, my likelihood of riding will decrease.

I on the E...except it's a C

My assumption was that, since I saw a C train leaving as I entered the station, the train that immediately followed it was an E.

Since I'm not familiar with the stops on either train, and it was too crowded to push through with my giant luggage-poorly-disguised-as-a-backpack and look at the map, I didn't discover I was on the wrong train until I heard "last stop."
One hour later, I was back at the station I'd started at, wondering whether I should've given myself more than two and a half hours to get to my flight. (Nah, but I should have checked which train I was boarding.)

In all, it took me four hours and $10 to go from work to the airport and back home again, with a piece of paper that guarantees me standby status (which guarantees me nothing) on the next available flight - 24 hours later.

Actually, I don't consider it much of a loss; I finished the book I was reading and got my daily exercise. Best of all, there's not a single reason for me to get out of bed until at least 2 tomorrow!

Quick Note

Before I leave for a weekend trip to Sacramento (for a friend's zoo wedding and to see some family), I thought I should mention two things:

1) To all who have asked for my new address. I'm not ignoring you, I just keep forgetting to send an email when I'm home and can copy it off an envelope. Paciencia y fe!

2) By the time I get back, my credit card debt should be completely paid off. It's funny, I taped a fortune cookie "fortune" to the back of my phone that says "Vacation can wait. Stick to the project till the end." It was supposed to remind and encourage me to persevere while I sacrificed nearly every cent to get this thing off my back. But it turns out I never look at/read the back of my phone, so it was pretty pointless. Which in turn makes the last few sentences pointless, I guess. Except that it turned out in the end that I did stick with the project and am now going on vacation.

2a) Debt paid...now what??

Money Masters?

I've been watching this documentary online for at least a week and a half now. These are the reasons it is taking me so long:

•It's about 3 and a half hours
•Its circa-1997 production values are...curious. There is only one host/narrator, who apparently traveled most of the Western world to stand in front of buildings and monuments to talk about them, all while holding and gesturing with what may or may not be the same pen/pencil/twig.
•The only other person in the video is the guy who does the voiceovers for the quotes, and he does them all in the same voice. Franklin, Jefferson, Lincoln, evil Bankers; they all have exactly the same booming, over-dramatic, "I'm doing this in one take, awkward pauses be damned" voice. I'm really hoping that in the hour or so I have left, there'll be a woman quoted, and I really hope he uses the same voice.
•Speaking of awkward pauses, there are so many in this movie that I wonder whether it's some sort of brainwashing technique. Or maybe it is specifically designed to give the viewer enough time, with no noise or significant movement of video, to fall asleep...because that's exactly what happens to me.
•All this is in addition to the video being so pixelated and blurry that I feel like I'm squinting through a dirty window to watch it on a TV with bad reception.

That said, there's some nearly life-changing information in it, and sometimes the somewhat nerdy host gets really indignant about what he's talking about, which is amusing and strangely infectious.

I was going to link to it, but it's called Money Masters, so you can just type that on in to Google, that's what I did. Also, hulu.com has free full epsiodes of some good TV shows, old and new. I only wish I was paid the .008 cents I'm due for advertising it.

Two phrases

First, "chain smoking." After a lot of thinking, I still wish this had some significance aside from the fact that it means smoking a lot. I want an actual chain to be involved. At least metaphorically. Even the most literal interpretation of the current phrase involves just lighting a second cigarette with the first, which is so far removed from any concept of a chain that it's just silly. And come to think of it, chain letters are really more like trees or tournament brackets than chains.

"Can't have your cake and eat it too."
Yes you can! What you can't do is eat your cake and have it too.* That's what it should be. And even though this is supposed to mean "the things people want are often incompatible," I am 100% sure that nobody has ever wanted to eat a cake but still have it around afterward. In fact, it's very common for people to eat cake (or force others to) so it won't be around. And if you do want it around, it's only because you want to eat some more of it later, which still leaves these as compatible wants.
If you, for some reason, want to possess cake as much or more than you want to eat it, then you are a non-representative weirdo outcast (who shouldn't be ashamed of being so, but who should also not be the subject of a proverb meant to apply to the general public).

In conclusion, "chain mail" is currently the only compound noun or verb beginning with chain that I support, and we should choose either "You can't eat your cake and have it too, even though you wouldn't ever want to" or "Cake is not unlimited."

Please join me in rallying around these important causes.

*Bartleby agrees!

THEM!

There is a half-hearted trail of ants making its way from my bathroom doorjamb to the wall underneath my window. Since I have nothing for them to drag home, they see fit to just pass through.

Initially I was against the whole arrangement, but these ants, while slower than the California variety to which I'm accustomed, have a much tougher exoskeleton, making them so much harder to squish that it's not worth the time and toilet paper.

Surprisingly, I haven't found any crawling on me yet - they stick pretty much to their route. Although occasionally when I move my shoes, there'll be a few that scatter (slowly) and I almost feel bad, like I'm the uncool parent breaking up a party. But then I realize that ants shouldn't be hiding under shoes anyway, they should be out somewhere being industrious and snubbing carefree grasshoppers.

So Beck has these two albums, right? Guero and Guerolito.

Guerolito is all the songs on Guero, but remixed. I only know one of them, so whenever any of the others plays when I'm listening to my music in random order, I try to guess whether it's the original Beck song or the remix. I am wrong every single time, without fail.

Dude has some weird songs.

Whatcha doin Tuenight?

When I observe my week according the 7-day standard, I realize I can't remember the last day off I had, nor do I know when my next will be. I accept this as a consequence of having three jobs, since it means I'll have paid off my debt that much sooner, but the idea can still get me down occasionally.

So I've decided (just now, as I type this) to subdivide my week into 14 half-days.
Now I get several days off a week! Sure, I may be working Monday, but not Monnight! And I think I have Wednesnight off too - that's a whole weekend right there!

One sentence, two numbers.

I just noticed that my best credit score ever, 781, is the reverse of my best bowling score ever, 187, which I only remember because it's the police code for murder, which I only remember because it was the title of some crap movie I don't think I ever even saw, but still know to be crap, thanks very much.

it's hard for something to grow on something that's moving

When MySpace told me that "Daniela would like to be added as one of your friends!"
I says to myself, I says, "Only if it's the pizza place."
And I was pretty disappointed that it wasn't.
I don't use that MySpace stuff much anyhow.

In other news, there are continent-sized pools of garbage floating in the ocean near Hawaii and Japan.

I've seen One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest before, but I somehow forgot the part right before the chief's escape. Oops, spoiler alert. I liked when Jack's character told everyone in the institution that they're no crazier than the "average asshole out walking around on the streets." That's true.

Gotta go, medication time!

I totally forgot that I only posted so I could update the debt meter, and even though I could do that now without posting again...um...

A Room of One's Own

Walking through the Times Square subway, see a woman drop an atm receipt (looked more like she threw it to the side, actually). She then turns back to look at it, and I realize that a man with sunglasses and an I'm-blind cane is pointing it out to her...what the whaaat?

I moved to a 1br, 1 bath apartment that is really a room with a bathroom also. It's nice and not, and it's off a convenient train that becomes really really inconvenient pretty often, and it's quiet but noisy and private but not. So I like it and I don't.

But there's something to be said for having a place more or less to yourself.

It's hard not to notice when things fall into place:

The day after I quit the first theatre job, I was coincidentally offered the second, which was everything I liked about the first - and then some - and nothing I didn't.

The only editing job I applied for was the one I only heard about because of that class I took, and somehow I was hired there, too.

The only apartment listing I responded to worked out to be my new place with only a few days to spare.

I've crossed paths with people I never should have, by any seemingly normal or logical standard, but who have helped me more than I'll probably ever understand.

And so on,
but,
while it all can seem very propellent and providential, when I step back I still don't see that I've gone anywhere special, really. And when I consider the jobs and circles of friends I end up floating around in, I sometimes can't help but think of that Groucho Marx quote,
"I don’t care to belong to any club that will have me as a member."



I ask you, reader,
What's your life leading up to?

I think this is very funny.

I can feel my brain gradually deteriorating, dissolving like something...dissolvable. Dissolvable is a word, though some spell checks would say otherwise, adding to the feeling. Memory is my greatest weakness - if I could just effortlessly remember half of what I thought about or wanted to do, I'd be golden. At least silver. One of the scariest moments I've experienced was having this one epiphany, then a couple days later reading something I'd written years earlier about having the exact same epiphany.

Entropy's a bitch!

(red|pill) I

http://listverse.com/entertainment/top-15-film-misquotes/

[[Among the hardest to believe:

"Mirror, mirror on the wall" was never said in Snow White.

"Play it again, Sam" was never said in Casablanca.

"Beam me up, Scotty" was never said in Star Trek.]]


"Most of the things we do, we do for no better reason than that our
fathers have done them or our neighbors do them, and the same is
true of a larger part than what we suspect of what we think."
Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.

I am in Their Debt

So, I got a little overzealous in paying off my smaller-balance credit card, to the point that I had to deposit every dollar bill I could find (one, to be precise, along with a ten) to make my minimum payment on the •other• card and have 8 cents left to my name. Of course, this ended up dipping below thanks to shady banking practices, but hey, let them have their $35 fee, again. I'll be free of their clutches before long. Provided I continue to ignore any and all health problems until I (most likely) get health care toward the end of March.

My progress will slow considerably now, since I used almost all of my tax return, birthday/christmas money, and that month's worth of 80-hour-a-week paychecks to get this far.

I don't know why I think that focusing so much on eliminating this debt will free me from slavery to money, but I do.

"How Long? Not Long.

Cause what you reap
is what you sow."

To the commenters, again

Laurie - yes, I was [a very committed] Adams, and no, I've not heard of Phil! So I guess I'll go look him up.

Chu - Happy year of the rat to you, too! I just found out I'm a pig instead =(

Rich - Still Alive is my new favorite song

Silver Lining, vol. 2

I still love guacamole.

The clouds:
On Saturday, I met a friend at Chipotle.
We had different meals, but both partook in the Chips con guacamole, or as it is called on their menu, "Chips with Guacamole."
Much later that night, we would both become quite vehemently ill - if you object to my word choice, I will be happy to explain to you how I "showed strong feeling; was forceful, passionate, intense" - and remained ill for the following two days.

The silver lining:
My friend had just been saying on Saturday that she had a Chipotle adddiction that was costing her dearly, and while she meant monetarily, I might have added calorically (not that she's plus-sized, but any one of those burritos could feed a busload of starving teenagers).
So she is obviously cured of that affliction, at least for a while!

I'm still considering what my own silver lining might be in this situation, but so far I can only assume that if I had been able to get out of bed on Sunday, some terrible fate would have befallen me. Soooo....cool, still alive!

Before and After, pt. 1

Boston Massacre

Before paying any attention to what it was, despite having heard it explained to me several times in life and even walking the ground where it happened:
Thought a whole bunch of awesome revolutionary colonials were mercilessly gunned down by ruthless (have to be ruthless to do things mercilessly, I feel) Redcoats.

After paying attention:
Five - 5 - dudes were killed. Five out of an angry mob of hundreds that surrounded like 8 soldiers and clubbed one to the ground. So yeah, less of a massacre and more of a "surround, terrify, and club some guys with guns and you gon' get shot, son."
A jury even acquitted all but two of the soldiers, the ones who shot directly into the crowd.

So?
Soldiers in the city is a bad idea - check.
Oh, and someone please please remind me that I want to go watch the re-enactment on March 5th!!
Seriously.
It's only a $30 bus ride, round trip.
Just send me an email or a text on March 3rd.
I'll take a picture?

Something to Consider

I impulse-bought the Pulitzer-winning* John Adams biography the other day, which is rare for me (buying something, that is, not being impulsive).

*not one of those other crappy bios that those other crappy authors probably spent their whole lives working on - pfeh, who needs em?

I never know where to put my asterisked comments.

Anyway, I've been struck by a few interesting things, but here's Adams himself talking about how cool being a lawyer is:

Now to what higher object, to what greater character, can any mortal aspire than to be possessed of all this knowledge, well digested and ready at command, to assist the feeble and friendless, to discountenance the haughty and the lawless, to procure redress to wrongs, the advancement of right, to assert and maintain liberty and virtue, to discourage and abolish tyranny and vice?

Wow! He kinda makes it sound like being a superhero, I dig it. Too bad lawyers today (not counting those on Law and Order) don't act this way. I imagine future biographers of current lawyers will have less admirable passages to cite:

Now to what higher object, what greater character, can any mortal aspire than to be possessed of all this mahogany furniture, well polished and ready to hold customized pens, to assist the feeble and friendless while charging hundreds an hour, to discounten...to drive supersweet sports cars, to procure red dresses and thongs for the advancement of a night, to assert and maintain [personal] liberty at the cost of [societal] virtue, to discourage and abolish [everyone else's] tyranny and vice?

Also, three cool images [x]

Not for sale?

For some reason, I deeply resent being asked if I "really get paid" for these writings. I guess it's mostly the implications I imagine are behind the question, some of which I'm sure are real!

For one thing, please know that I do not write here for money.
I write if/when I feel like it, as should be evidenced by my long history of sporadicity.
That's also why I've avoided writing as a career up to this point - I don't want to write on someone else's schedule, or pay schedule, or for someone else's purpose.

Seems to me that you always have to sacrifice some part of a creative activity to get paid for it, unless you're somehow lucky enough to be sponsored or discovered, or if you're already famous or something (please stop writing children's books, celebrities with no talent for the craft). The purpose of this blog is, without question, so that I can write without any restrictions other than my own. If/when I receive any money for anything I write, I will definitely consider it luck...and gladly accept it.

Maybe instead of asking "are you really getting paid," you should be asking, "where can I send my contribution?"

This concludes another free post. =)



"Money is not a thing, it is not even a process. It is a kind of shared dream. We dream that a small disc of common metal is worth the price of a substantial meal. Once you wake up from that dream, you can swim in a sea of money." - Terry Pratchett (paid to write)

"Interestingly, the US nickel coin contains 0.04 oz (1.25 g) of nickel, which at this new price is worth 6.5 cents, along with 3.75 grams of copper worth about 3 cents, making the metal value over 9 cents." - Wikipedia author(s) (not paid to write)

I often find that I have to trick myself into doing the things that (I think) I want to do.
The oldest in the book is putting my alarm clock (/phone) as far away from my bed as possible. In this particular room, this means I can still usually reach it from the bed, but the process usually annoys me into a more wakeful state.

Lately it seems that my theoretical/idealistic side has struck a deal with my practical side, because I now put the phone in a spot that seems far away at night, but is well within reach every morning.

My latest self-deceit, however, has been an unmitigated disaster! At one misguided point in my recent past, I thought to myself, "I need to do this stuff, but I don't feel like it right now. I'll put it on my bed, because surely I won't actually sleep on top of the CDs I should import and the letters I'd like to respond to." (Several obvious flaws with this plan, I know, but the procrastinator's mind is forgiving.)
And anyway, I was at least half right - rather than sleep on top of my tangible To-Do list, I pushed everything to the side and slept on the remaining bedscape.

Now, I'd say about 60% of my bed is covered with stuff I somehow thought I'd feel more like doing when twice as tired...? Truth is, when it comes time to crash, anything that doesn't look like it'll spill and/or attract unwanted guests seems like an acceptable bedfellow.

I'm off to address this issue and reclaim my living space, wish me luck (even though by the time you read this I'll be finished).

Week's End

I have dramatically reduced my shifts at my theater job! To something like zero. I'd like to retain the right to return for a shift or two a month, if only to visit with all the people who work there.

I suppose the logical follow-up to this tidbit would be to address the why, so I'll just list the Pros and Cons rather than attempt a prose-based explanation. This has mostly to do with the fact that I can't tune out the living room TV that's on right now (and has every right to be, don't get me wrong).


Pros!
•Easiest work ever: count stuff, sell it, fold some shirts

•Amazing full view of Times Square, the beating heart of consumerism in America, among other things.

•Daily exposure to thousands of people from all over the world.

•Interaction with actors, singers, dancers, who are trying to "make it," some who have made it, and some who never have and never will - I'm a sucker for being around people who are nothing like me. Plus, of course, the rare black sheep, like me, who aren't entirely sure how they got there.


Cons¡
•Most unfulfilling work ever: Not just that, but the opposite of fulfilling. I suppose I don't mean this job specifically, but any job where you are acutely aware that you are doing nothing positive.

•Full view of Times Square, where it's often difficult to distinguish day from night and the enormous flashing advertisements tend to force themselves through the floor-to-ceiling windows and suffocate anyone who lingers too long.

•Daily exposure to thousands of people from all over the world - I think anyone who's worked retail will more readily understand how this could be a problem...

•Interaction with people who not only live off the psychological exploitation of other people, but delight in it...I mean, wtf??

•Oh yeah, shitty pay - after each month of full-time work, I earned only just enough to pay for rent, bills, and some food. And that's with the cheapest rent I've ever paid.

•Terrible hours. Many actors work these jobs because it leaves their days free for auditions, but for me it just meant working either 6 nights a week with 2 consecutive 11-hour days, or 5 nights a week with 3 11-hour days. And while thousands of things are happening all the time in this city, most of these things take place in the evening hours or on weekends, which is exactly when I can't attend them.

The End Result:
The gnawing feeling that a huge chunk of my life was being spent doing something with which I'm not ideologically aligned, and for so little money that I wonder how the people who pocket the profits live with themselves.
I think I quit this job mentally a long time ago, and have basically just been going to hang out with the people I only see there. But, people are everywhere, no? And now I'll have a lot more time to spend with them =)

Nemesis

Competition and I, as I previously predicted, were both hired, so we can officially be cool. And anyway, it turns out I have a much bigger enemy in the office - none other than my old nemesis - rampant static electricity!

Yes, the same fiend that hounded me in the dry-aired casinos of Vegas and makes the couch unsafe every winter has now found me at the workplace! I am shocked literally dozens of times an hour. Even a quarter turn in my chair produces enough electricity to zap me the next time I touch a doorknob, door (they're metal), door jamb, computer, tape deck, light switch, lamp, person....even the mouse sometimes gets me! The shocks range from Rice-Krispies-level snaps, crackles, and pops to 1.21-gigawatt arcs of of pure electric power that could send a DeLorean back in time.

I only hope that repeated electrical shock has no adverse effects on the human body...

Newz

I'm officially hired - junior editor!

I'm hoping to move up in the ranks sooner than later, and not just because "junior" sounds really terrible, but because I want to know everything there is to know.

My progress has been slow so far, mostly because they all still have such low expectations when it comes to my work. Mostly I get condescending (and figurative) pats on the head when I do something right. I've also been interrupted several times by someone telling me what to do or what I don't know, when if they'd let me finish the sentence I was 75% through, they'd have realized there was no need to interrupt me. But I guess it's more about them feeling like they have a purpose and mad smarts 'n skillz than about being efficient and friendly. Le sigh.

Fortunately, I only let this stuff get under my skin long enough to post about it here, and meanwhile I'm quietly changing the system for the better. I plan to become so efficient that I'll have free time to dabble in the other dark arts of production: writing, shooting, and more advanced post-production stuff.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
By the way, if you want to see what a day in the life looks like (sorta), email me and I'll send you the keyword you need to find a "behind the scenes at the office" video on YouTube. One of the writers made it on his own in an attempt at...viral marketing, I guess?

I'm in it a couple times, but of course it was filmed at the end of my first two weeks of sleepless nights, not to mention during the most boring of my duties. [These and other qualifications also available via email.]

If you look closely, you can make out a lot of the things I've already talked about: the soundproofing material on the walls; my Competition looking on as I play Police Trainer; the tape library I helped organize on my first day; even the table of Emmys that intimidated me the first time I walked in.

To the commenters

Thanks Chu!

AND TO whoever cryptically offered to employ me as her personal banker:
You have played only yourself for a fool! For I, like Midas, Buffet, and Orman before me, can turn any man's ordinary holdings into a vast glittering for-tune (pronounced for-choon) with the slightest touch! Despite your derision, I will still accept the position on one condition - during meetings I get to wear very cool, officious spectacles and shuffle papers importantly.


What's with all the geeky phrasing tonight? I dunno.

Our hero dashes into the stall, locks the door, and removes his button-down brown shirt to reveal! his cheesy merchandise logo T-shirt. A minute more and the transformation from
ordinary office worker to extraordinarily underpaid and jaded merchandise seller is complete.
What villains will be conquered this eve?
Perhaps the ornery mother of two who yells at her kids before buying them the things she's yelling at them about wanting to buy?

Or the family of seven who insist on trying on every possible size of shirt before settling on the one first recommended to them?

Or maybe, tonight, the arch nemesis of all good-hearted people will appear to wreak havoc: the merchandise manager who actually enjoys, in her own words, "tak[ing] advantage of every man, woman, and child that walks in [the theatre]."

Whatever the case may be, he is prepared; he possesses a stout heart, nimble wit, and also some headphones to block out a majority of the sales meeting and any other annoyances.

Good news first!

I saved almost everything from the past few 80-hr weeks and paid off a big chunk of mah debt!

Bad news is that I forgot about the new $3 "maintenance" charge for my savings account, which means the balance is now -$3, and will probably soon be much more. I'll call, but not being a girl will hurt my chances at getting the sure-to-come Hefty-brand fee removed.

The net result is good news, though =)

The Object of Whose Affection?

Today I got my first phone call at work - from Stamps.com? What?!
Not only did they somehow know I work there, they also thought I made decisions about postage. So, which one of you is selling my information?

Yesterday at work, someone was throwing out a catalog for this huge "rock-n-roll auction," like a real-life ebay, y'know? There were the standard items: signed photos and compositions, guitars, pianos, clothes, what-have-yous, and doodads. But lurking among the standard fare was....well, this:
Hmm, what to buy...an expired credit card that was probably mostly used by a personal assistant/whiny relative, or the piano on which Lennon's "Imagine" was composed and recorded? Tough decisions like that make me glad I don't have any disposable income.

Concerning the 17-hour day...

One of those terrible word problems, where "word" really means math spelled out:
If I wake up at 6:45 to go to job 1, and I get home from job 2 just before midnight, how is it that I do not collapse upon entering my apartment? Even counting the hours on my fingers makes me tired, yet somehow I manage to stay up way too late every single night.

Despite the self-inflicted lack of sleep, I think I prefer this sort of lifestyle; it feels much more productive. I wonder if you can hire a service to send someone to sedate you every evening? Or maybe have the neighbor's kids do it for a buck?

I'm even looking for ways to fill Monday and Tuesday evenings, though I should probably leave them for grocery shopping and laundry, no? But the NYU class bulletin, she beckons me, her visually nondescript pages promising unlimited opportunities for education, improvement, empowerment. Unlimited, that is, if money is no object. And as we can see from the as-yet immobile debt-o-meter, that is clearly not the case...yet!

Perhaps if I get hired on full-time I can convince the bosses that I will be much more valuable to the company if they pay for me to learn, say, how to make my own stained glass. Doing that kind of stuff in-house saves a lot on shipping alone, y'know. Something to think about.

Harvard Yarn

Before I interviewed at this new job, I realized I owned only T-shirts, jeans, and one pair of black pants that have been through too many things to also subject them to an interview.

So I bought several new "outfits" with the help of an amateur fashion consultant and my confidence was restored!

Even after my interviewer commented twice, in shock, on how dressed up I was, and that I was wearing a tie.

And even after I noticed that every other editor, producer, writer - everybody - was wearing jeans and T-shirts (okay, some sweaters and hoodies, but see how that doesn't fit as nicely into the structure of my story? that's why we leave it out or put it in parentheses).

The good news is that I arrive at work wearing whatever I feel like; sometimes business casual, sometimes casual casual - usually whatever's on or near the top of the pile of clothes at the end of my bed.

Today, the topmost article happened to be my Harvard t-shirt, so I put it on, completely unaware that such an act is a cardinal sin at this particular office.

Those who didn't outright challenge me for being so audacious stared at length at the bold lettering and school motto as they walked past.

Even after I explained to an alumnus-of-Yale writer that I had only just visited, just once, he referred to me and Harvard's sports club as "you guys," as in the spitefully (and actually) delivered remark, "Well, at least you can say you guys beat us 6 out of the last 7 years." Another writer told me she was only upset because she had kids that had applied to and graduated from college. I couldn't tell how that was relevant, but the point is these people freakin' hate Harvard. I think somebody even called me Harvard! Somebody else even leapt to my defense, telling mother-of-children, "It's alright, he didn't go to Harvard."

So in sum:
Worry about what to wear: overspend and overdress
Don't worry about what to wear: become social pariah

I'll go with not worrying, that's just how I roll. Although I think I will shelve the Harvard shirt, at least until I need to stage some sort of silent office-wide protest.

My trifolded note to self says "ageism =)/i r not stupid/slower pace"
In order, then!

I'm beginning to realize I may have been hired partly because I graduated last year. This realization comes after at least half a dozen comments along the lines of, "oh, good, you can tell us if [our program aimed at college students] is hip and fresh." Little does anyone know I've been out of touch with my peers (heck, nearly the whole world) for decades now - I knew Weird Al's version of Smells Like Teen Spirit years before I ever laid ears on the original. I was able to reassure one writer, though, who was worried that an Are You Afraid of the Dark reference might be too obscure - I told him how all the 18- to 22-year-olds at my other job bring that shit up at least once a week.

Okay, so I am a little stupid, but some of the folk at the office are treating me as if I'm some recently-thawed relic of the Ice Age. "Com-pu-ter?" I suppose it's my fault for not being clearer about what pointin' and clickin' skills I possess, but when it comes to technology, it's difficult to give someone a synopsis of exactly what you are and aren't familiar with. As a result, more of my time than I would like is spent watching someone explain something to me that I am already more familiar with than they are. I simply can't figure out a way to stop these impromptu "lessons" without coming off like a complete douchebag, much like I do in this post.

Partly related to this overall theme of people assuming I'm going to be some incompetent chair-warmer is my sneaking suspicion that I'm working way too hard while I'm there. Almost every time I finish something, I'm met with incredulity and some kind of stuttering, "...well...I'll talk to someone and see if we can get something else for you to do..."
As an example, here's a nearly verbatim conversation:
"Hey, I finished capturing that footage."
"All of it??"
"Yeah"
"Everything??"
"Oh, uh, yeah, everything...I mean, everything in those packets you gave me."
"All the packets??"
"Y-yeah?"
"Really??"
And so on, including a thorough check of said packets to make sure I had truly written down and highlighted requested information. (By god, I had! But had I numbered the clips? It's very important that I number the clips...oh, I had, oh good.)
I mention this not to make myself out to be some super-industrious slice of perfection, but to say that I suspect many office workers adhere to some unspoken code that if it can be done in 2 hours, it can also be done in 8, and really, what's the rush?

I'd like to think that even if someday I'm paid vast fortunes to edit per hour, I'd rather work as quickly/efficiently as possible than try to stretch out the time spent in front of a computer, because even though Money = Freedom*, Freedom > Money.

*Disagree? Please leave a detailed comment!

I declare this meeting of the Midnight Society over.

Only today did I realize that editing all day means you have to sit at a computer all day.
The sooner Minority-Report-style user interfaces get here, the better. Anyway, I think better (or more, anyway) when I'm walking around, and I'm sure there'd be creative benefit to using more than just a select few of my fingers.

The other sitting-related thing I learned today was that the sitting position least stressful on your spine is not the classic stock straight 90°, nor leaning forward, but leaning back at a very slackerly angle of of 135°! It's always nice to have your bad habits exonerated, no? So lean back y'all, lean back.

P.S.
Among the most illuminating things I've ever read:
http://www.bartleby.com/59/3.html

Add 2, divide by 3, carry the 10,000

I did a little of them mathematics today, and I reckon that if I go all out with two jobs, I can have my credit card debt paid off just before July 4th, which is also about the halfway mark for the year. After that, it's personal/student loans and saving up for early retirement ;)

Related to this, I wonder if anyone knows a good way to cheer up someone who's just had surgery to correct a deviated septum?

Silver Lining, vol. 1

I expressed concern after my first day at this job.

The clouds:
You see, I am not the only "temporary" hire - there is another! And while he was placed with the most senior editor (someone thought I said "Monsignor Editor" - this will someday be what I call myself), I was placed with the second in command. Monsignor has taken Competition under his wing, showing him all the ropes, pulleys, trap doors, etc.
My mentor, on the other hand, told me he was pretty busy, on a deadline, and didn't really have anything for me to do, so maybe I should just go see what even-lower-on-the-food-chain wants. Okay! That guy didn't really have anything for me to do either, so I ended up helping a couple not-related-to-editing-at-all employees move, sort, and reorganize hundreds of tapes. Basically, I was learning how to count to 2000 while the other new guy was learning how to, y'know, edit?

The silver lining:
I know where all the tapes are, I'm on a friendly basis with the people who make day-to-day stuff work around there, and I am familiar to, and with, most everyone. Whereas I've only seen Competition sitting in the same room watching the Monsignor edit, and I've heard him call someone the wrong name. So I figure that if the time comes when one of us has to go, the same principle will apply as on a farm - once you name the little piggy and get used to its particular oink and they way it helps you organize tapes even though that's not its job, you just couldn't possibly turn it into bacon! In short: I'm Some Pig, he's one of those other animals in that book.

Disclaimer:
Competition is actually a really cool guy, I genuinely wish him the best and doubt that we won't both be hired in the end. He also happens to unintentionally be the Spitting Image of Ron Livingston's character in Office Space, right down to his voice and completely relaxed persona, and how could you not love that?

No cause for alarm

Problem 1: Received mixed information about the alarm system and was first to arrive in the morning.

[It turns out that the difference between a four-digit alarm code (wrong) and five (right) is characterized by a piercing and altogether convincing alarm, followed by realistic visions of a heavily armed security force arriving and opening fire on me and my suspicious paper bag, filled with what forensic experts would later find to be muffins (both corn and chocolate chip).]

Solution: Figured it out before strike team arrived, apologized (semi-)profusely to amused production manager. Problem 1 overcome!

Problem 2: Left passport somewhere in the office two days ago, having brought it for payroll paperwork.

Solution A: Panic, sure that a look-alike is gallivanting in Latin America, committing terrible atrocities and leaving photocopies of my passport as evidence at each crime scene.

Solution B: Open photocopier, retrieve passport, feel affection for coworkers who either a) don't make photocopies or b) carefully replaced my passport each time they did.

A junior again?

Tomorrow I start my first* day as an authentic, entered-in-the-payroll-system, key-holding, alarm-code-knowing, junior editor**.
*fourth actual day at the office
**Position permanence TBD.

I'll be working on who-knows-what in a dark cave of a room from 8-4.
There's one lamp, no windows, and a really nice computer with a decent chair in front of it.
The walls are patchworked with that paradoxical sound-absorbing foam; squishy and harmless yet threateningly pointed (like a pundit? no? ok). Despite that, I'll keep the door almost closed so as not to disturb anyone with the repetition one often hears from an editing station as different cuts/graphics/effects are tried and tried again. This, along with my terrible posture, should quickly turn me into some kind of a freakish pasty hermit.

I'm happy to have this job, and to be starting it with the New Year, so in the future I can easily calculate how long I've been there. I'm still not saving any lives, but I am definitely more interested in the work and paid more appropriately.
As a bonus, I heard about it from the professor of that class I took, which validates the investment only if I work beyond the initial trial month, which will pay for less than 2/3 of the course cost.

Now I should look to upgrade my previous job so that I'm not working 80 hours for 60 hours' pay.

I have also shamelessly stolen a debt-o-meter and added it to the right of this page so you can all play along at home as I hack away at my debt. Half of it was accrued by living jobless for 9 months in NYC and taking several trips, the other half by getting certified as a film editor and taking the LSAT + a prep course.

Normally I'm not one for the New Year concept.
Aside from the fact that it's fun to count down from 10, and that Auld Lang Syne is a great song to sing in a group since nobody really knows all the words, there's never been anything altogether special about it. I'm sure I'm not alone in the feeling that 11:59pm December 31st is a whole lot like 12:01am January 1st.

That said, I did a lot of cleaning today, some reflection, and I've even made resolutions for the first time ever. Much of my life up to this point has been essentially walking away from shitty things in the past, only to look over my shoulder at them and run smack into some new shitty things.

So here's to looking where you're going, even if you don't know where the hell that is! Happy New Year =)