I was caught in the pack of like-minded pedestrians headed to the nearby restaurants for their 45 minute lunch breaks. We were on auto-pilot, passing through the intersection at 4th and Market. I was wearing charcoal slacks, a gray and black coat, a gray stocking cap, black scarf and carrying a black umbrella...so was everyone else in my entourage.
Approaching from the opposite direction was a group of tourists on a guided tour with Betsy Ross (or was it Dolly Madison?) - they all stared as we passed.
I saw on their faces looks of pity and misunderstanding. These good folks from rural PA or north Delaware think we are all focused, hard, dark and cynical people that don the uniform of our brothers - dark and skin-covering.
This makes me glad. Not because I want to conform to the city around me. I don't wish to be swallowed by darkness or form a calloused heart. This makes me glad because I know something they do not...
Underneath my drab outerwear, hidden by the hood pulled to my eyes and scarf wrapped tightly to my chin, is a tangerine-orange, long-sleeved thermal shirt. Bright orange!
Much like the city I call home, all you have to do is remove one layer before uncovering things brighter than the matching name-tags identifying the judgmental tourists. Local pubs full of friends, quaint shops carrying unique finds, a bank with a teller who knows your name...all these things, and more, are the bright orange shirts of my beloved CBL.
And that's something that Betsy won't tell you!
12.27.2007
Location, location, location
Last night, after I had finally drifted off to a troubled sleep (my mind was wanting to watch another episode of Scrubs, but my body was saying no) I was awoken by the all-too-familiar sound of the Bros (our collegiately inclined neighbors who, after having their fraternity disbanded, decided to replace the Sigma Nu Kappa house with Unit 101 in the Becker Building). Normally the revelry is kept to gangsta rap, screaming at the Eagles/Owls (the teams, I don't live anywhere near a conservatory) and the infinite repeat of 300.
Last night, however, there was a new aspect to the white noise of drunken debauchery. (Some people, after moving from the city to a more rural area have a hard time adjusting to the silence - they say they miss the sound of traffic. I personally am lulled to sleep by the pleasant melodies of "chug, chug, chug" and "Smack that Bitch Up.") Last night there was angry yelling.
The Bros were being yelled at by the across-street-neighbors. It was scary. This was real city-folk getting quite mad at one another. Words and phrases that I dare not repeat were thrown about.
Since I live in the CBL I was sure there was about to be a shooting. I was noting times and exact phrases, remembering things very closely for the police report...and then it occurred to me. I am surrounded by a bunch of yupsters. I live in a neighborhood famous for its rejection of franchises, preservatives and shampoo.
By now there is certainly a law suit pending. My testimony goes to the highest bidder. (Now I must go look up whether blogs can be used as hard evidence.)
Last night, however, there was a new aspect to the white noise of drunken debauchery. (Some people, after moving from the city to a more rural area have a hard time adjusting to the silence - they say they miss the sound of traffic. I personally am lulled to sleep by the pleasant melodies of "chug, chug, chug" and "Smack that Bitch Up.") Last night there was angry yelling.
The Bros were being yelled at by the across-street-neighbors. It was scary. This was real city-folk getting quite mad at one another. Words and phrases that I dare not repeat were thrown about.
Since I live in the CBL I was sure there was about to be a shooting. I was noting times and exact phrases, remembering things very closely for the police report...and then it occurred to me. I am surrounded by a bunch of yupsters. I live in a neighborhood famous for its rejection of franchises, preservatives and shampoo.
By now there is certainly a law suit pending. My testimony goes to the highest bidder. (Now I must go look up whether blogs can be used as hard evidence.)
12.18.2007
Was it a morning like this?
As I understand it, we all attempt to reason with ourselves during some part of our day. At some point in a major decision we either weigh pros vs. cons or attempt to find a logical solution to an irrational problem. Reason is a key aspect separating humans from many other animals - we need not rely on instinct, in fact, we are often encouraged to ignore instinct.
Every weekday morning my alarm goes off. The time is not consistent, it is all based on when i went to bed. The consistent aspect of the morning is found in what happens internally as soon as the alarm sounds. I begin to reason with myself.
"Get out of bed."
"It's too early."
"You are the one who set the alarm this early."
"Yeah, I admit I was a bit zealous last night, but I should have the right to ignore it."
"You have the right, but that makes you weak."
"You realize you are calling yourself weak?"
"Ok, if you get up now you can take a super-long shower."
"Not good enough..."
"And, I will let you take a nap this afternoon when you get home."
"Promise?"
"Yeah."
"Because you always say that, and then you get too busy."
"Naw, I promise."
Inevitably, however, as soon as I get in the shower and the sleepiness is washed from me...
"You tricked me. You aren't going to let me take a nap...I'm not even that tired."
"Works every time."
This could explain my self loathing.
Every weekday morning my alarm goes off. The time is not consistent, it is all based on when i went to bed. The consistent aspect of the morning is found in what happens internally as soon as the alarm sounds. I begin to reason with myself.
"Get out of bed."
"It's too early."
"You are the one who set the alarm this early."
"Yeah, I admit I was a bit zealous last night, but I should have the right to ignore it."
"You have the right, but that makes you weak."
"You realize you are calling yourself weak?"
"Ok, if you get up now you can take a super-long shower."
"Not good enough..."
"And, I will let you take a nap this afternoon when you get home."
"Promise?"
"Yeah."
"Because you always say that, and then you get too busy."
"Naw, I promise."
Inevitably, however, as soon as I get in the shower and the sleepiness is washed from me...
"You tricked me. You aren't going to let me take a nap...I'm not even that tired."
"Works every time."
This could explain my self loathing.
12.17.2007
Spirit of the CBL
The Company Christmas Holiday Party. I use the capital letters to denote this ubiquitous experience that has become an institution in itself. Where superiors and subordinates gather after work to mingle as if they were equals - all the while remembering they are not.
At 18 hundred and 30 hours the majority of employees from my place of business boarded the Spirit of Philadelphia - a big boat on the Delaware River, the Hampton Inn of cruise liners, the Chili's of the sea - once the boat set sail (does a boat set sail if it does not have sails?) we were trapped, along with Arthur's Dance Studio and the staff of the Camden River Sharks (minor league baseball team), for the next 4 hours.
The CHP is a wonderful example of so many things: why stuffed mahi should not be mass produced, thatSecret Santa's Festively Anonymous, Non-religiously Focused Gift Giving Partners are always a bit of a let down, but most importantly - why employees and employers should not be allowed together on the dance floor when there is alcohol involved.
I think I will leave it at that.
At 18 hundred and 30 hours the majority of employees from my place of business boarded the Spirit of Philadelphia - a big boat on the Delaware River, the Hampton Inn of cruise liners, the Chili's of the sea - once the boat set sail (does a boat set sail if it does not have sails?) we were trapped, along with Arthur's Dance Studio and the staff of the Camden River Sharks (minor league baseball team), for the next 4 hours.
The CHP is a wonderful example of so many things: why stuffed mahi should not be mass produced, that
I think I will leave it at that.
12.04.2007
And that was just on my break
Every day, after my first round of work, I take a break. I go to the restroom to fix my cowlick (that pops up once my hair has completely dried), refill my water bottle and head downstairs to get a muffin from the little store in our lobby. It is a pretty quick break – all things considered.
Apparently my subconscious thinks the break should be lengthened.
Once it has arrive at ground floor, the elevators lay at rest with doors open until a passenger boards and punches a button. So, post muffin purchase, I walked into the elevator…
A good 4 to 5 minutes later a radio-bro (those are the shmucks on the 10th floor) got on the elevator, looked at me quizzically and asked what floor I was headed to. Not only was I absent-mindedly standing on the elevator with the doors wide open, I hadn’t even selected a floor to try to go to. Make it worse? I almost missed getting off on 7. He said “Isn’t this your floor?” as the doors were re-closing, and caught the doors with his newspaper. I gave him the finger and said, “Mind your own dang business.” … Ok, not really. I sheepishly grinned and gave that throaty groan where your lips barely part and it can mean either “thanks” or it is an acceptable response to “how are you?” – and then slipped out of the elevator.
I might start taking the stairs, to avoid ever seeing him again – but those things get really repetitive.
Apparently my subconscious thinks the break should be lengthened.
Once it has arrive at ground floor, the elevators lay at rest with doors open until a passenger boards and punches a button. So, post muffin purchase, I walked into the elevator…
A good 4 to 5 minutes later a radio-bro (those are the shmucks on the 10th floor) got on the elevator, looked at me quizzically and asked what floor I was headed to. Not only was I absent-mindedly standing on the elevator with the doors wide open, I hadn’t even selected a floor to try to go to. Make it worse? I almost missed getting off on 7. He said “Isn’t this your floor?” as the doors were re-closing, and caught the doors with his newspaper. I gave him the finger and said, “Mind your own dang business.” … Ok, not really. I sheepishly grinned and gave that throaty groan where your lips barely part and it can mean either “thanks” or it is an acceptable response to “how are you?” – and then slipped out of the elevator.
I might start taking the stairs, to avoid ever seeing him again – but those things get really repetitive.
11.29.2007
How am I not myself?
I have fallen into someone else's routine.
I didn't realize it until today - but it is certainly true. Once again it is proven that no one is their own person, we are all mere puppets in the game of a chanceful life.
My alarm goes off at eight – and because the manufacturer of Casio’s travel clock made the decision to set a four minute snooze, I am forced to hit it twice.
The Core Reality Group decided in renovating to install water-heaters that take a while to heat up, so instead of doing the “cold-water tippy-toe” dance around the outside of the stream I brush my teeth. Because Philips set a two-minute timer on the Sonicare 9300 I am forced to do this for a full 120 seconds (occasionally I reclaim my independence by going for a second round).
The Philadelphia Enquirer – an odd paper in itself – refuses to throw the paper in front of my door. Instead they choose to make it more difficult on themselves and throw to the main entrance of the Becker Building. By someone else’s design my routine includes walking down my front steps and immediately back up the next set of steps to the lobby doors. Exception is this morning, a rare morning when they throw the paper on the complete opposite side of the building. Not only is it frustrating, but thoroughly confusing.
SEPTA (South Eastern Pennsylvania Transportation Authority) somewhere along the way decided it was unnecessary to run the trolleys on an actual schedule. So they get there when they damn-well-please. Often after several minute of waiting I am forced into an alternative routine…walking. I do so according to the routine of the crossing signals and erratic drivers on Girard Avenue. SEPTA further controls my morning by running the EL every ten(ish) minutes.
Jeff – who gets to the desk at six a.m. – typically takes a smoke break just about the time I arrive. Part of my morning ritual, thanks to Jeff – and Marlboro, is to wait for him to return so I can say “good morning.” Yes, that is essential.
Once I get to work my day is controlled by doctors, managers and editors. Going home is just as bad.
I suppose it is true we are all controlled by the decisions of others to some degree. I guess the main reason I am thinking about it this morning is this:
Last night I watched the republican YouTube debates. If one of those guys gets to control my life, in any fashion more than being an Enquirer paper-boy, I might have to do more than just continually color my hair.
I didn't realize it until today - but it is certainly true. Once again it is proven that no one is their own person, we are all mere puppets in the game of a chanceful life.
My alarm goes off at eight – and because the manufacturer of Casio’s travel clock made the decision to set a four minute snooze, I am forced to hit it twice.
The Core Reality Group decided in renovating to install water-heaters that take a while to heat up, so instead of doing the “cold-water tippy-toe” dance around the outside of the stream I brush my teeth. Because Philips set a two-minute timer on the Sonicare 9300 I am forced to do this for a full 120 seconds (occasionally I reclaim my independence by going for a second round).
The Philadelphia Enquirer – an odd paper in itself – refuses to throw the paper in front of my door. Instead they choose to make it more difficult on themselves and throw to the main entrance of the Becker Building. By someone else’s design my routine includes walking down my front steps and immediately back up the next set of steps to the lobby doors. Exception is this morning, a rare morning when they throw the paper on the complete opposite side of the building. Not only is it frustrating, but thoroughly confusing.
SEPTA (South Eastern Pennsylvania Transportation Authority) somewhere along the way decided it was unnecessary to run the trolleys on an actual schedule. So they get there when they damn-well-please. Often after several minute of waiting I am forced into an alternative routine…walking. I do so according to the routine of the crossing signals and erratic drivers on Girard Avenue. SEPTA further controls my morning by running the EL every ten(ish) minutes.
Jeff – who gets to the desk at six a.m. – typically takes a smoke break just about the time I arrive. Part of my morning ritual, thanks to Jeff – and Marlboro, is to wait for him to return so I can say “good morning.” Yes, that is essential.
Once I get to work my day is controlled by doctors, managers and editors. Going home is just as bad.
I suppose it is true we are all controlled by the decisions of others to some degree. I guess the main reason I am thinking about it this morning is this:
Last night I watched the republican YouTube debates. If one of those guys gets to control my life, in any fashion more than being an Enquirer paper-boy, I might have to do more than just continually color my hair.
11.13.2007
When the bough breaks...for real
I realize I have a post entitled "When the bough breaks." I also realize if you read the post you may have no idea why.
Contrary to the proof (my blog) I have tons of post ideas popping into my head at any point during my day. Sometimes I will write them down on my hand, of course, they never actually make it to the page.
Last post, I had intended to make a double-subject post. Part one being what it turned out to be, and part 2 being what this one is.
--- *** ---
My building shakes.
I mean, it really shakes back and forth. Sways to and fro.
During our orientation Cathy mentioned that the building shakes - but even after our first half-hour we knew better than to take Cathy too seriously. I assumed when she said the building would shake, she meant the jack hammers were loud (which they are, very).
What she really meant was the first 3 days I thought the guys across the partition from my quadricle were wrestling on their desks and bumping my wall. Then I thought my desk-mate (it's a wrap-around desk) did that really annoying foot shaking thing that moves the whole table at a restaurant (the worst is when you know it is that one guy that came with your friend, but you don't really know him well enough to ask him to stop. Typically I end up subtly kicking his shin).
But no, it's the whole building.
Normally it isn't too bad. A slight headache from the shaking monitor. The occasional belch from my stomach being rumbled for me. But every once in a while I am positive the whole building is coming down...and I scream.
They are tearing down the building attached to ours. It used to be a radio station, they are building a Jewish-American museum in its place. I am fairly certain the entire art department will soon be wiped out with a stray wrecking ball. Who needs 'em anyway.
But until that day, I will just get my sea legs and continue to press on.
Contrary to the proof (my blog) I have tons of post ideas popping into my head at any point during my day. Sometimes I will write them down on my hand, of course, they never actually make it to the page.
Last post, I had intended to make a double-subject post. Part one being what it turned out to be, and part 2 being what this one is.
--- *** ---
My building shakes.
I mean, it really shakes back and forth. Sways to and fro.
During our orientation Cathy mentioned that the building shakes - but even after our first half-hour we knew better than to take Cathy too seriously. I assumed when she said the building would shake, she meant the jack hammers were loud (which they are, very).
What she really meant was the first 3 days I thought the guys across the partition from my quadricle were wrestling on their desks and bumping my wall. Then I thought my desk-mate (it's a wrap-around desk) did that really annoying foot shaking thing that moves the whole table at a restaurant (the worst is when you know it is that one guy that came with your friend, but you don't really know him well enough to ask him to stop. Typically I end up subtly kicking his shin).
But no, it's the whole building.
Normally it isn't too bad. A slight headache from the shaking monitor. The occasional belch from my stomach being rumbled for me. But every once in a while I am positive the whole building is coming down...and I scream.
They are tearing down the building attached to ours. It used to be a radio station, they are building a Jewish-American museum in its place. I am fairly certain the entire art department will soon be wiped out with a stray wrecking ball. Who needs 'em anyway.
But until that day, I will just get my sea legs and continue to press on.
10.28.2007
When the bough breaks
I am pretty open about not being madly in love with my job. I do like the people I work with, and feel at least competent when it comes to my tasks - but it is not exactly what I thought I would be doing with my life at this point.
However.
I have found over the past two weeks there is something that happens to "working folk" that does not exist with the rest of the population. It is a sensation I was teased with during my years of classes and internships - but never fully appreciated even through my work as a Temp.
Affectionately and colloquially I believe it is referred to as "quittin' time."
After a long day of work, no matter how strenuous or simple, I start watching for the big hand to get back to the 12 for the 8th time. The routine of checking my email for the final time, shutting down my computer, organizing my to-do list for the next day, emptying my water bottle, packing my bag and heading out the door is a process glorious enough to outweigh any lack-of-interest in my work.
In short, going home makes it worth getting up.
However.
I have found over the past two weeks there is something that happens to "working folk" that does not exist with the rest of the population. It is a sensation I was teased with during my years of classes and internships - but never fully appreciated even through my work as a Temp.
Affectionately and colloquially I believe it is referred to as "quittin' time."
After a long day of work, no matter how strenuous or simple, I start watching for the big hand to get back to the 12 for the 8th time. The routine of checking my email for the final time, shutting down my computer, organizing my to-do list for the next day, emptying my water bottle, packing my bag and heading out the door is a process glorious enough to outweigh any lack-of-interest in my work.
In short, going home makes it worth getting up.
10.23.2007
The week in review
See how busy my job is?
I have been employed for one week and two days. I am in the groove. I am rollin' with the punches. I am slightly bored. I am in a routine. I am in a rut.
That is not a bad thing.
I work in an office. I have an ID card.
I guess that's the gist of it.
I have been employed for one week and two days. I am in the groove. I am rollin' with the punches. I am slightly bored. I am in a routine. I am in a rut.
That is not a bad thing.
I work in an office. I have an ID card.
I guess that's the gist of it.
10.12.2007
Just another day
Today begins the last weekend I am allowed to take for granted. Though I have, for the past two weeks, been temping at a clever little non-profit...the job is so menial I feel like I am expending more energy watching a fast-paced episode of Ally Mcbeal (which I have been doing a lot lately).
There has been a major plus to my temporary employment. Everyday I walk to my EL stop and hop on the Blue Line to go downtown. I typically get off at 11th street and walk the block to 1234 Market Street - the SEPTA building (South Eastern Pennsylvania Transit Authority) - then I stroll onto the express elevator (floors 12-20). I greet Falicia at the front desk and start working...
I like to get off at 11th Street so I can, on my way to work, pass some of the more amusing parts of the city.
1. The older (presumably) homeless man who has a karaoke machine hooked up to his electric wheelchair. He sits in front of the Market East Station and sings some classic tunes. So far I have heard everything from Christina Aguilera to Journey being belted by this not-so-bad man of the streets. I try to give him some cash when I have it...this sometimes proves a bit...disconcerting, however. You see, whereas most people put out a guitar case or Dunkin Donuts cup for spare change - the Karaoke Cavalier uses his prosthetic leg as a cash receptacle.
2. The road-side food carts. You know, hot dogs, hamburgers...I saw a shrimp-cocktail stand yesterday and walked across the street to avoid it. I opted instead for a beef kielbasa...mostly because it rhymes with che pasa. I am looking forward to the day when I go to order and they say: "Heeey man! Che pasa?" and I respond simply "Kielbasa."
3. As you get off the subway and turn the corner onto market, there is a stunning view of City Hall (the largest masoned building in the U.S.A.) That's enough about that.
4. Probably my favorite part of the trip to and from 1234 Market Street is my return home. I take the elevator back down to the lobby, then the escalator down to the below-the-lobby...walk out the door and through the turn-stile to 13th Street station. That's right, from office to subway, without ever going outside!
So, for now, I will completely blow off my weekend as if it was just another day.
There has been a major plus to my temporary employment. Everyday I walk to my EL stop and hop on the Blue Line to go downtown. I typically get off at 11th street and walk the block to 1234 Market Street - the SEPTA building (South Eastern Pennsylvania Transit Authority) - then I stroll onto the express elevator (floors 12-20). I greet Falicia at the front desk and start working...
I like to get off at 11th Street so I can, on my way to work, pass some of the more amusing parts of the city.
1. The older (presumably) homeless man who has a karaoke machine hooked up to his electric wheelchair. He sits in front of the Market East Station and sings some classic tunes. So far I have heard everything from Christina Aguilera to Journey being belted by this not-so-bad man of the streets. I try to give him some cash when I have it...this sometimes proves a bit...disconcerting, however. You see, whereas most people put out a guitar case or Dunkin Donuts cup for spare change - the Karaoke Cavalier uses his prosthetic leg as a cash receptacle.
2. The road-side food carts. You know, hot dogs, hamburgers...I saw a shrimp-cocktail stand yesterday and walked across the street to avoid it. I opted instead for a beef kielbasa...mostly because it rhymes with che pasa. I am looking forward to the day when I go to order and they say: "Heeey man! Che pasa?" and I respond simply "Kielbasa."
3. As you get off the subway and turn the corner onto market, there is a stunning view of City Hall (the largest masoned building in the U.S.A.) That's enough about that.
4. Probably my favorite part of the trip to and from 1234 Market Street is my return home. I take the elevator back down to the lobby, then the escalator down to the below-the-lobby...walk out the door and through the turn-stile to 13th Street station. That's right, from office to subway, without ever going outside!
So, for now, I will completely blow off my weekend as if it was just another day.
10.08.2007
I've got no strings
I have a job. Yeah, employment. A 9 to 5 (well, actually it is on flex-time, so it might be a 6:30 to 3).
A dream job, perhaps not. A paycheck, paid vacation, possible friends, work experience - definitely. I am pleased as punch (so pleased, I am willing to use the term "pleased as punch").
I will be an editorial assistant for a medical publishing group. 3 subway stops from my house, in Olde City (or Olde Towne as I like to call it). Just a short walk from all sorts of lunch stops, pre-work coffees, post-work bars.
I'm a real boy.
A dream job, perhaps not. A paycheck, paid vacation, possible friends, work experience - definitely. I am pleased as punch (so pleased, I am willing to use the term "pleased as punch").
I will be an editorial assistant for a medical publishing group. 3 subway stops from my house, in Olde City (or Olde Towne as I like to call it). Just a short walk from all sorts of lunch stops, pre-work coffees, post-work bars.
I'm a real boy.
9.28.2007
This one is juuuust right.
**This post may be considered off-color by some readers**
Urinals are amazing. It's crudely simple, but true. I can only hope the creator of the urinal had some sort of a patent on it (though my guess is it was God, with the tree). Based on the anatomical make up of males, the urinal is overwhelmingly ergonomic.
I can get passed the awkward situations created at times by "urinal etiquette," occasionally resigning myself to take a stall (but I am not above making others uncomfortable to avoid the stall). I am willing to put up with the unnecessarily obnoxious all-the-way-to-the-floor urinals (they tend to splatter). In truth, there is only one thing that really bothers me when it comes to the men's-room-line-killer.
Those freaky-deaky, super short urinals that can be easily used by NO ONE. (For those readerettes who do not know of these unpleasant contraptions, I would compare them to walking into a stall in hopes of a toilet - merely to find a Fisher-Price Laugh and Learn toilet).
These nuisances are, I can only assume, intended for young boys - well, they can just use a stall like they learned to do at their house (unless they have a urinal at their home, in which case I can't figure out why they would ever want to leave). There has been at time I attempted to use a mini-pee, but was so afraid I would actually relieve myself on-top of the contraption - I couldn't go.
All that to say, today my life changed.
Today I went into the restroom, post job interview (which is probably the subject I should be covering right now). I was astonished. Along the urinal wall (no dividers, just FYI) there were three sizes of urinal. Daddy Bear, Baby Bear...and Perfectly-normal-why-the-heck-do-you-need-another-size Bear. Considering my grand stature (6'5") I opted for the Daddy Bear.
It was too tall.
I was up on my toes, laughing out loud, when another gentleman entered the restroom. I saw him notice me and chuckle to himself. I could basically read his thoughts: "I don't know why they even have that thing in here, there is no need to mess with something as crudely simple as a urinal."
Amen, man. Amen.
Urinals are amazing. It's crudely simple, but true. I can only hope the creator of the urinal had some sort of a patent on it (though my guess is it was God, with the tree). Based on the anatomical make up of males, the urinal is overwhelmingly ergonomic.
I can get passed the awkward situations created at times by "urinal etiquette," occasionally resigning myself to take a stall (but I am not above making others uncomfortable to avoid the stall). I am willing to put up with the unnecessarily obnoxious all-the-way-to-the-floor urinals (they tend to splatter). In truth, there is only one thing that really bothers me when it comes to the men's-room-line-killer.
Those freaky-deaky, super short urinals that can be easily used by NO ONE. (For those readerettes who do not know of these unpleasant contraptions, I would compare them to walking into a stall in hopes of a toilet - merely to find a Fisher-Price Laugh and Learn toilet).
These nuisances are, I can only assume, intended for young boys - well, they can just use a stall like they learned to do at their house (unless they have a urinal at their home, in which case I can't figure out why they would ever want to leave). There has been at time I attempted to use a mini-pee, but was so afraid I would actually relieve myself on-top of the contraption - I couldn't go.
All that to say, today my life changed.
Today I went into the restroom, post job interview (which is probably the subject I should be covering right now). I was astonished. Along the urinal wall (no dividers, just FYI) there were three sizes of urinal. Daddy Bear, Baby Bear...and Perfectly-normal-why-the-heck-do-you-need-another-size Bear. Considering my grand stature (6'5") I opted for the Daddy Bear.
It was too tall.
I was up on my toes, laughing out loud, when another gentleman entered the restroom. I saw him notice me and chuckle to himself. I could basically read his thoughts: "I don't know why they even have that thing in here, there is no need to mess with something as crudely simple as a urinal."
Amen, man. Amen.
9.21.2007
A little language lesson
Q: What tyrannical trait do my father and favorite public relations professor have in common?
A: The ability to (often unknowingly) make one feel fleaish while correcting language limitations (read: flaws).
It is not an altogether undesirable trait, and it certainly keeps you on your linguistic toes while discussing communications strategies...and taking out the trash. I even like to believe a bit of the Syntax Gestapo gene has been passed on to me. I can quickly recognize error in speech, whether or not I can correct it.
Unlike my corrective counterparts - I am not very concerned with the poor grammar that grips our country like a unquenchable flame. I am more worried about the people who don't sound cool when they talk.
As I (hopefully) enter the world of mass communications, I am prepared to take on the challenge of speech alteration for the better of bored listeners around the globe (at least where English is spoken, I can't do much for the other guys). Part of this process is eradicating the "business bro" terminology. So, here is my statement:
As a future communications leader of the world (yep, the world) I hereby dedicate myself to the removal of the following language from my vocabulary and the vocabulary of those within my sphere of influence.
1. Drop me a line. (This means get in contact with me)
2. Give me a holler. (This is normally used for the phone)
3. (and this is the worst) Shoot me an email.
In addition to said terminology, I will refrain from any phrasing I deem unfavorable in the future.
Any others?
***these were submitted by a new friend via email***
1. You're good to go
2. ..take it to the next level
3. my bad
4. BFF
5. snail mail (which is a derogatory comment about our nation's postal service)
6. anything with "a-cino" at the end.
A: The ability to (often unknowingly) make one feel fleaish while correcting language limitations (read: flaws).
It is not an altogether undesirable trait, and it certainly keeps you on your linguistic toes while discussing communications strategies...and taking out the trash. I even like to believe a bit of the Syntax Gestapo gene has been passed on to me. I can quickly recognize error in speech, whether or not I can correct it.
Unlike my corrective counterparts - I am not very concerned with the poor grammar that grips our country like a unquenchable flame. I am more worried about the people who don't sound cool when they talk.
As I (hopefully) enter the world of mass communications, I am prepared to take on the challenge of speech alteration for the better of bored listeners around the globe (at least where English is spoken, I can't do much for the other guys). Part of this process is eradicating the "business bro" terminology. So, here is my statement:
As a future communications leader of the world (yep, the world) I hereby dedicate myself to the removal of the following language from my vocabulary and the vocabulary of those within my sphere of influence.
1. Drop me a line. (This means get in contact with me)
2. Give me a holler. (This is normally used for the phone)
3. (and this is the worst) Shoot me an email.
In addition to said terminology, I will refrain from any phrasing I deem unfavorable in the future.
Any others?
***these were submitted by a new friend via email***
1. You're good to go
2. ..take it to the next level
3. my bad
4. BFF
5. snail mail (which is a derogatory comment about our nation's postal service)
6. anything with "a-cino" at the end.
9.17.2007
Fasting, in the name of employment
Just one block from my loft is a quaint, yet classy pedestrian walkway jam-packed with restaurants, salons, boutiques and my new favorite video store (coincidentally, the video store guy and I are becoming quite the pals; I have named him Kevin).
To me, there are two real stand-outs in the Liberties Walk (you know you are in Philadelphia when...): The video store, a super-hip collection of "The"+1-word titles (The Crush, The Paper, The Lover, The Cannon) and films picked solely for their obscurity (I won't try and mention any of these, because I have never heard of any of them). The other is the candy shop(pe). Yes, an honest to goodness candy store with everything from ice cream and rock candy to truffles and chili-pepper chocolate.
One thing people should know about me, I love candy. I am a sucker (npi) for sweets. Cookies, brownies, cakes, ice cream, hard candy, chewy delights, simple sugars, pies, hydrogenated fats, over-processed glucose of many kinds...I love it. It is truly my weakness.
As a display of dedication to the job hunt, I am refraining from entering the store until I have found permanent employment. It may be the hardest thing I have ever done...and I did a 3-day solo trek in the mountains of Utah carrying nothing but a knife and an empty saucepan.
*I also have a bottle of 1999 Veremonte Cab Sav that I am not opening until I get a job - but after typing this I really just want candy...
To me, there are two real stand-outs in the Liberties Walk (you know you are in Philadelphia when...): The video store, a super-hip collection of "The"+1-word titles (The Crush, The Paper, The Lover, The Cannon) and films picked solely for their obscurity (I won't try and mention any of these, because I have never heard of any of them). The other is the candy shop(pe). Yes, an honest to goodness candy store with everything from ice cream and rock candy to truffles and chili-pepper chocolate.
One thing people should know about me, I love candy. I am a sucker (npi) for sweets. Cookies, brownies, cakes, ice cream, hard candy, chewy delights, simple sugars, pies, hydrogenated fats, over-processed glucose of many kinds...I love it. It is truly my weakness.
As a display of dedication to the job hunt, I am refraining from entering the store until I have found permanent employment. It may be the hardest thing I have ever done...and I did a 3-day solo trek in the mountains of Utah carrying nothing but a knife and an empty saucepan.
*I also have a bottle of 1999 Veremonte Cab Sav that I am not opening until I get a job - but after typing this I really just want candy...
9.11.2007
Obligatory goosebumps
We had a very specific morning routine.
I would wake up and put on the coffee he had prepped the night before. I would shower while he watched the news. He would often shout up to me the interesting things that were already happening in our world - it is always strange to realize how much goes on before I am even awake.
"You're not gonna believe this," he called up the stairs. "Some f***-up ran a plane into one of the towers in New York."
"Which tower?" I asked, assuming he meant a Cessna had clipped a radio antenna atop the Rockefeller.
"One of the world trade towers - man, good morning America."
Honestly, we thought it was funny. Sad that so many people were obviously dead or injured - but really, what kind of pilot ran into buildings.
So, we finished our morning routine.
He showered while I brushed my teeth and dressed. I turned off the TV and finished homework while he dressed and together we walked to chapel.
On the way from our apartment to campus we typically encountered two other pairs of roommates. A married couple from across the street, and two girls from the end of the road. None of them knew about the plane crash - typical.
Chapel was silent. People were solemn and, despite my arrival with five other people, I immediately felt alone in the huge room. The giant American flag, the one reserved for American Studies speakers and patriotic programs, had replaced the regular curtain.
Another plane, another building - this wasn't a screw up.
6 years later...it feels obligatory to get goose-bumps at least once during the day. Whether it is for the thousands of people who died, or the remarkable bravery shown over the next year during the site excavation...I just can't help it.
I would wake up and put on the coffee he had prepped the night before. I would shower while he watched the news. He would often shout up to me the interesting things that were already happening in our world - it is always strange to realize how much goes on before I am even awake.
"You're not gonna believe this," he called up the stairs. "Some f***-up ran a plane into one of the towers in New York."
"Which tower?" I asked, assuming he meant a Cessna had clipped a radio antenna atop the Rockefeller.
"One of the world trade towers - man, good morning America."
Honestly, we thought it was funny. Sad that so many people were obviously dead or injured - but really, what kind of pilot ran into buildings.
So, we finished our morning routine.
He showered while I brushed my teeth and dressed. I turned off the TV and finished homework while he dressed and together we walked to chapel.
On the way from our apartment to campus we typically encountered two other pairs of roommates. A married couple from across the street, and two girls from the end of the road. None of them knew about the plane crash - typical.
Chapel was silent. People were solemn and, despite my arrival with five other people, I immediately felt alone in the huge room. The giant American flag, the one reserved for American Studies speakers and patriotic programs, had replaced the regular curtain.
Another plane, another building - this wasn't a screw up.
6 years later...it feels obligatory to get goose-bumps at least once during the day. Whether it is for the thousands of people who died, or the remarkable bravery shown over the next year during the site excavation...I just can't help it.
9.10.2007
A good night's sleep
For the past several nights I have had several things to impede my sleeping habits. My mind keeps waking me up in the outrageously early morning hours, and not allowing me to sleep peacefully for several more hours.
Saturday night/Sunday morning I woke up (4:53) to discover a complete inability to process thoughts in a logical manner. Random names, silly words and extreme aspects of facial features (big noses, random warts, overhanging brows) kept jumping into my brain with no warning - and certainly no explanation. I contemplated David/squishy/flat nose for quite a while. Finally I resorted to telling myself a story - forcing myself to think sequentially.
This morning it was all about organization. I made some very solid personal statements correlating my emotional wellbeing with the organization of my surroundings...and the organization of my surroundings with the amount of things I own. This in itself is not completely insane - but then I started listing the things I owned, and trying to figure out how to get rid of them.
It started at the front door, I owned the front door and it had to stay. Then the shoe pile next to the front door, I had to keep the shoes - but the pile had to go. Things got very confusing when I was self-explaining how I partially own my roommates - after all, I have time and energy invested in them. I knew practically they both needed to stay (if for no other reason than economy), but I also know it is wrong to own another person. As I lulled myself back to sleep I was determined to stop spending time with my friends, it was the right thing to do.
Aside from a stellar duet with Pavarotti (RIP) the rest of my slumber was uneventful.
This is a sure sign that I need something to occupy my mind.
Saturday night/Sunday morning I woke up (4:53) to discover a complete inability to process thoughts in a logical manner. Random names, silly words and extreme aspects of facial features (big noses, random warts, overhanging brows) kept jumping into my brain with no warning - and certainly no explanation. I contemplated David/squishy/flat nose for quite a while. Finally I resorted to telling myself a story - forcing myself to think sequentially.
This morning it was all about organization. I made some very solid personal statements correlating my emotional wellbeing with the organization of my surroundings...and the organization of my surroundings with the amount of things I own. This in itself is not completely insane - but then I started listing the things I owned, and trying to figure out how to get rid of them.
It started at the front door, I owned the front door and it had to stay. Then the shoe pile next to the front door, I had to keep the shoes - but the pile had to go. Things got very confusing when I was self-explaining how I partially own my roommates - after all, I have time and energy invested in them. I knew practically they both needed to stay (if for no other reason than economy), but I also know it is wrong to own another person. As I lulled myself back to sleep I was determined to stop spending time with my friends, it was the right thing to do.
Aside from a stellar duet with Pavarotti (RIP) the rest of my slumber was uneventful.
This is a sure sign that I need something to occupy my mind.
9.06.2007
Spring forward
Over the course of my life I have always considered myself to have a few "fall-backs." Some options in case I find the course of my life going in an unforeseen direction. These choices include, but are not limited to: law school, authoring a book, writing a screenplay, international au pair, housekeeping, and my personal favorite... going insane.
Law school is still an option. The LSAT is out of the way...but could I really handle 3 more years of school? I will wait out my roommate's attempts at post-graduate work, see if I can get a feel for their views.
Authoring a book/screenplay are both very appealing. I have always thought if I simply had the time to sit and write I could easily whip one out...more than likely a Great American Novel. However, this past month has been nothing but - and I have done nothing of...
International au pair is out of the question until this lease is up.
Housekeeping, I think, is mostly just because I have a secret desire to harmonize with myself on "Sing Sweet Nightingale" as the bubbles reflect my elbow-greasery.
Honestly, that last-listed sounds the most appealing most of the time. It seems as if there is a certain freedom in allowing your mind to rid itself of the constraints we put on ourselves from day to day.
But for now, I will persevere. I had a follow-up phone-interview that went very well... How does one go about proving themselves the best thing to ever happen to a company?
Law school is still an option. The LSAT is out of the way...but could I really handle 3 more years of school? I will wait out my roommate's attempts at post-graduate work, see if I can get a feel for their views.
Authoring a book/screenplay are both very appealing. I have always thought if I simply had the time to sit and write I could easily whip one out...more than likely a Great American Novel. However, this past month has been nothing but - and I have done nothing of...
International au pair is out of the question until this lease is up.
Housekeeping, I think, is mostly just because I have a secret desire to harmonize with myself on "Sing Sweet Nightingale" as the bubbles reflect my elbow-greasery.
Honestly, that last-listed sounds the most appealing most of the time. It seems as if there is a certain freedom in allowing your mind to rid itself of the constraints we put on ourselves from day to day.
But for now, I will persevere. I had a follow-up phone-interview that went very well... How does one go about proving themselves the best thing to ever happen to a company?
9.03.2007
8.28.2007
A life long journey
Who could have guessed all those years of curfew in college would have prepared me for life in the big city:
Here in CBL the subway/EL is my primary mode of transportation. It is quick, easy, inexpensive - and far less stressful than driving in COWSL (City of One-Way Street Love). Unfortunately, the trains stop running at/around midnight. The SEPTA buses still run-on through the night - but seriously, who takes buses anymore?
Last night, after a lovely night out, I realized it was far too late to catch the subway. My options were either a cab, or a bus.
And then I started thinking.
I often tell people that my apartment really isn't that far from downtown - perhaps I was right. To prove it to myself, and get an accurate time/distance, I decided to walk home.
3.1 miles and oh-so-many blocks later, I was home.
My intention was never to economize, but when I returned home I was terribly impressed with myself for the money I had saved on a cab...all the trip had cost was 45 minutes of my time, a little peace-of-mind and the six dollars and fifty cents I gave out to homeless people along the way.
8.27.2007
Friday, Saturday and Sunday
Weekends do not matter to someone without a job.
All I am asking for is a reason to care about the weekend.
Does that sound desperate?
- more -
There is a chance I will never grow tired of seeing the skyline as I go throughout my day. On my way from the EL stop I have a beautiful view from the north, on the way back from the super-market I have a stunning view from the south. Riding the train back from the airport there is an overwhelmingly comforting view - welcoming home the tired and poor to the huddled mass where it is kinda hard to breathe.
All I am asking for is a reason to care about the weekend.
Does that sound desperate?
- more -
There is a chance I will never grow tired of seeing the skyline as I go throughout my day. On my way from the EL stop I have a beautiful view from the north, on the way back from the super-market I have a stunning view from the south. Riding the train back from the airport there is an overwhelmingly comforting view - welcoming home the tired and poor to the huddled mass where it is kinda hard to breathe.
8.21.2007
Difference #464
I flew home last weekend. My little brother was getting married.
I am old.
I packed my suit and two changes of clothes, threw in sandals and my dress shoes, my toothbrush and deodorant (I left behind toothpaste, shampoo, shower gel and hair product - I was not checking a bag). I trudged 5 blocks to the nearest ATM, and back 2 blocks to my EL stop. Took the Blue Line to Market East and caught the R1 to the airport. Used my credit card for self-check-in. Argued with the security guy about my deodorant being a liquid/gel (He said it was, I contended it was not. I eventually pointed out that the container actually says "Smart Solid." I won.). Worked on cover letters on my laptop on the plane, and sent in another resume from the Charlotte airport. Talked with everyone and their mother about "What I am doing these days," and "Why Philadelphia." After the weekend, I flew home.
I am a grown up.
As I arrived back in CBL I gave directions and tips to a lovely woman flying in for an extended lay-over from Paris. I told her what to see, where to eat and what trains to take to fulfill said advice.
I am from Philadelphia.
I am old.
I packed my suit and two changes of clothes, threw in sandals and my dress shoes, my toothbrush and deodorant (I left behind toothpaste, shampoo, shower gel and hair product - I was not checking a bag). I trudged 5 blocks to the nearest ATM, and back 2 blocks to my EL stop. Took the Blue Line to Market East and caught the R1 to the airport. Used my credit card for self-check-in. Argued with the security guy about my deodorant being a liquid/gel (He said it was, I contended it was not. I eventually pointed out that the container actually says "Smart Solid." I won.). Worked on cover letters on my laptop on the plane, and sent in another resume from the Charlotte airport. Talked with everyone and their mother about "What I am doing these days," and "Why Philadelphia." After the weekend, I flew home.
I am a grown up.
As I arrived back in CBL I gave directions and tips to a lovely woman flying in for an extended lay-over from Paris. I told her what to see, where to eat and what trains to take to fulfill said advice.
I am from Philadelphia.
8.12.2007
CBL
I live somewhere else now. I have always known it would happen...but now that it has, the feeling has yet to sink in. Possibly things will change once I get a job (yes, that was me saying I still don't have a job).
The building I live in, however, is incredible. Our place is wonderful - high ceilings, hard wood floors, lots of space (very little storage) - just the way I like it. I have met really nice people:
Katie: works in the handcrafted-all natural-wood-furniture store (all the shops around here are hyphenated, and most of them include "natural" somewhere in the title). She was a huge help when things went a little wrong upon our arrival.
Sara: "with no H," she is quick to inform you. I suppose that is helpful in remembering her name. I am not sure if she also works in the store, but she sure spends a lot of time there.
Ken: one of the building managers. He saved our lives by letting us move in to the place, even though our broker had messed up a lot of the details (a lot=all). He is constantly checking with all the tenants to make sure we are doing well.
Ken's cronies: two larger guys that are constantly with Ken. A sort of Crabb and Goyle - minus the dark arts.
Joe: our neighbor. Joe wears Under Armour.
The job search continues. It is hard to know what to do at this point, my computer is sick of typing cover letters - but if he types the right one, I have promised to buy him the new wireless keyboard he asked for.
The building I live in, however, is incredible. Our place is wonderful - high ceilings, hard wood floors, lots of space (very little storage) - just the way I like it. I have met really nice people:
Katie: works in the handcrafted-all natural-wood-furniture store (all the shops around here are hyphenated, and most of them include "natural" somewhere in the title). She was a huge help when things went a little wrong upon our arrival.
Sara: "with no H," she is quick to inform you. I suppose that is helpful in remembering her name. I am not sure if she also works in the store, but she sure spends a lot of time there.
Ken: one of the building managers. He saved our lives by letting us move in to the place, even though our broker had messed up a lot of the details (a lot=all). He is constantly checking with all the tenants to make sure we are doing well.
Ken's cronies: two larger guys that are constantly with Ken. A sort of Crabb and Goyle - minus the dark arts.
Joe: our neighbor. Joe wears Under Armour.
The job search continues. It is hard to know what to do at this point, my computer is sick of typing cover letters - but if he types the right one, I have promised to buy him the new wireless keyboard he asked for.
7.25.2007
Alternatives to the norm
In the event that the hum-drum, same-ole job searching methods do not work for me I have started compiling a list of potential alternatives. Whether or not they are valid has yet to be seen.
1. In planning to move to the CBL (City of Brotherly Love) I have been continually warned that finding an apartment in a Big City is no easy task. This advisory has always seemed silly and illogical to me. A bigger city has more apartments, therefore it should be simpler to find an apartment (I have never had trouble finding a place in a small town. With more options to choose from...well, I repeat myself). However, I heeded and sought out The Philly Apartment Company - a free service dedicated to placing newcomers in appropriate housing within the CBL (I think it is catching on).
Yesterday my roommate flew to Philadelphia to tour several of the apartments they have found for us (spacious loft living, ahh.), if he signs a lease today I am contacting the Philly Employment Company.
2. I ran for S.A. President at my university, and lost. The man who defeated me turned out to be a great friend, and a decent president...I was content to allow him to rule-the-school, but I stayed on and worked on special projects.
Yesterday he called me. One of his groomsmen cannot make it to the wedding, would I be willing to step in and be an attendant in his wedding. I am getting used to coming in second to Travis (that's his name).
Travis has a fantastic resume, and pretty good people skills - I am encouraging him to apply for jobs in the Philadelphia area and then reject them... inevitably I will be called next.
1. In planning to move to the CBL (City of Brotherly Love) I have been continually warned that finding an apartment in a Big City is no easy task. This advisory has always seemed silly and illogical to me. A bigger city has more apartments, therefore it should be simpler to find an apartment (I have never had trouble finding a place in a small town. With more options to choose from...well, I repeat myself). However, I heeded and sought out The Philly Apartment Company - a free service dedicated to placing newcomers in appropriate housing within the CBL (I think it is catching on).
Yesterday my roommate flew to Philadelphia to tour several of the apartments they have found for us (spacious loft living, ahh.), if he signs a lease today I am contacting the Philly Employment Company.
2. I ran for S.A. President at my university, and lost. The man who defeated me turned out to be a great friend, and a decent president...I was content to allow him to rule-the-school, but I stayed on and worked on special projects.
Yesterday he called me. One of his groomsmen cannot make it to the wedding, would I be willing to step in and be an attendant in his wedding. I am getting used to coming in second to Travis (that's his name).
Travis has a fantastic resume, and pretty good people skills - I am encouraging him to apply for jobs in the Philadelphia area and then reject them... inevitably I will be called next.
7.14.2007
A nibble
In the arena of job searching I have learned a few things.
1. You actually have to send out resumes in order for people to respond to them.
2. You actually have to have a resume to send one out.
3. Jobs don't find you, you have to find them.
4. If, by some stroke of fate, there is minor contact made about a potential job - no matter how minimal the contact - it is all you can think about until you hear otherwise.
1. You actually have to send out resumes in order for people to respond to them.
2. You actually have to have a resume to send one out.
3. Jobs don't find you, you have to find them.
4. If, by some stroke of fate, there is minor contact made about a potential job - no matter how minimal the contact - it is all you can think about until you hear otherwise.
6.28.2007
A brave new day
An ideal day for me:
8 a.m. - Stir awake. Realize how early it is and immediately go back to sleep.
9:30 a.m. - Officially wake-up. Work on laptop doing trivial things (facebook, email, read some online news, etc.)
10 a.m. - Shower, dress, make my bed.
11 a.m. - Brunch with a friend. There are few things in life that bring me the same joy as brunch, especially when it involves dishing.
12:30 p.m. - Errands. Inevitably there will be a stop by the dry cleaners, bank, grocery, drug store, florists and perhaps something completely superfluous. This is also the time when appointments (dental, medical, cosmetical) should be scheduled and attended.
3 p.m. - Lunch. Somewhere delightful. This time will be reserved for out-of-town visitors and business associates, or a chance for me to enjoy some time alone...in public.
4 p.m. - Work. A little freelance writing or design. Perhaps focus on a specific character in my new novel, really hash out their inner psyche.
4:30 p.m. - Stop working. Relax from the busy day I have had. Perhaps pick kids up from their after school program, or at least make sure the nanny has.
5 p.m. - Exercise. Make a couple rounds at the gym. Swim a few laps. Something low impact, just for toning purposes.
6 p.m. - Shower and dress for the evening. If dinner is to be at home - begin dinner.
The evening will, of course, be varied. Dinner reservations should never be made before 8 p.m., and the late movies are always less crowded. If the performance starts at 8 p.m., tapas or cocktails should be had previous - with dinner to follow.
11 p.m. - Read.
Sleep when reading allows.
8 a.m. - Stir awake. Realize how early it is and immediately go back to sleep.
9:30 a.m. - Officially wake-up. Work on laptop doing trivial things (facebook, email, read some online news, etc.)
10 a.m. - Shower, dress, make my bed.
11 a.m. - Brunch with a friend. There are few things in life that bring me the same joy as brunch, especially when it involves dishing.
12:30 p.m. - Errands. Inevitably there will be a stop by the dry cleaners, bank, grocery, drug store, florists and perhaps something completely superfluous. This is also the time when appointments (dental, medical, cosmetical) should be scheduled and attended.
3 p.m. - Lunch. Somewhere delightful. This time will be reserved for out-of-town visitors and business associates, or a chance for me to enjoy some time alone...in public.
4 p.m. - Work. A little freelance writing or design. Perhaps focus on a specific character in my new novel, really hash out their inner psyche.
4:30 p.m. - Stop working. Relax from the busy day I have had. Perhaps pick kids up from their after school program, or at least make sure the nanny has.
5 p.m. - Exercise. Make a couple rounds at the gym. Swim a few laps. Something low impact, just for toning purposes.
6 p.m. - Shower and dress for the evening. If dinner is to be at home - begin dinner.
The evening will, of course, be varied. Dinner reservations should never be made before 8 p.m., and the late movies are always less crowded. If the performance starts at 8 p.m., tapas or cocktails should be had previous - with dinner to follow.
11 p.m. - Read.
Sleep when reading allows.
6.21.2007
Resuming my resume
I never really made one.
There was the version we had to turn in to get credit for so many of those classes that want to make sure we are ready for the real world...however, none of those ever really worked. I am not prepared, I am in the real world and I don't have a resume.
My desired field of employment requires a certain level of innate creativity in all aspects, but especially upon first impression. Whether it is true or not, we have been told over and over that our resumes are tremendously important to even get a foot in the door. They must rise above the rest - from the layout to the font selection, we should meticulously scrutinize over our lives on paper.
So, here i go. Time to pool the last 4-6 years of my life and place it on a stylishly understated yet outstandingly designed single sheet of paper.
There was the version we had to turn in to get credit for so many of those classes that want to make sure we are ready for the real world...however, none of those ever really worked. I am not prepared, I am in the real world and I don't have a resume.
My desired field of employment requires a certain level of innate creativity in all aspects, but especially upon first impression. Whether it is true or not, we have been told over and over that our resumes are tremendously important to even get a foot in the door. They must rise above the rest - from the layout to the font selection, we should meticulously scrutinize over our lives on paper.
So, here i go. Time to pool the last 4-6 years of my life and place it on a stylishly understated yet outstandingly designed single sheet of paper.
6.11.2007
A job
The lazy days of summer continue on without me. For the past 24 years, despite my employment status, I have considered summer to be an, often-overwhelming, bore. I love boredom. Every time I am in a situation and I think "I am bored," it brings me more joy than a Dasani in the desert.
This summer, however, I have hit the ground running. One thing leads to another (not the least of which is a job that could take the entire summer to figure out) and I might not see a break until I have built up vacation time with a Philadelphia employer.
I say this as a hopefully valid excuse for my writing hiatus. I understand it is not very couth to begin something and not finish, though in my case I don't think I will ever be finished.
And now, I have very official-sounding client calls to make.
This summer, however, I have hit the ground running. One thing leads to another (not the least of which is a job that could take the entire summer to figure out) and I might not see a break until I have built up vacation time with a Philadelphia employer.
I say this as a hopefully valid excuse for my writing hiatus. I understand it is not very couth to begin something and not finish, though in my case I don't think I will ever be finished.
And now, I have very official-sounding client calls to make.
5.26.2007
the first move
Today marks a fairly momentous occasion, I am moving out of my apartment.
This particular apartment I have only lived in for about ten months, but all in all, this marks the last apartment that will be supported by a monthly check from my parents.
When I first moved out of the house, and was not in school, I paid my own bills (but still occasionally relied on help from them). However, since I began school I have always relied on the generosity of mom and dad to keep me in room/board.
Today that ends.
I am first making the move to Little Rock where I will be living with a friend's family (note, not "family friend") - not exactly complete independence...but from there I head to Philadelphia. So essentially this is the pre-move, since I am not taking much more than clothes with me to Little Rock.
I took some video of the apartment last night. I am pleased of how it has become home. This is a good thing.
This is scary.
This particular apartment I have only lived in for about ten months, but all in all, this marks the last apartment that will be supported by a monthly check from my parents.
When I first moved out of the house, and was not in school, I paid my own bills (but still occasionally relied on help from them). However, since I began school I have always relied on the generosity of mom and dad to keep me in room/board.
Today that ends.
I am first making the move to Little Rock where I will be living with a friend's family (note, not "family friend") - not exactly complete independence...but from there I head to Philadelphia. So essentially this is the pre-move, since I am not taking much more than clothes with me to Little Rock.
I took some video of the apartment last night. I am pleased of how it has become home. This is a good thing.
This is scary.
5.19.2007
the practical things in life
making the perfect resume is a bee eye tea sea aitch.
after several revisions and attempts at different fonts, colors, layouts, wording, ordination, etc. I have decided to start from scratch. reworking simply will not get the task done.
i need something fresh. something innovative. something that says, "I'm unique" but not, "I think I'm unique." maybe some inspiration will come on my road trip tomorrow.
the portfolio is an entirely different matter. it is turning out well, but also turning out to be a lot of work. not to mention, i have no idea how to actually post a website to the web. (future employers, please note: I am fully aware the proper AP use of website is actually Web site.) but as soon as i do, i will post the link so you may all marvel at my genius. or genus (interesting to realize that if you back up a bit, we are all really homos).
back to fido.
after several revisions and attempts at different fonts, colors, layouts, wording, ordination, etc. I have decided to start from scratch. reworking simply will not get the task done.
i need something fresh. something innovative. something that says, "I'm unique" but not, "I think I'm unique." maybe some inspiration will come on my road trip tomorrow.
the portfolio is an entirely different matter. it is turning out well, but also turning out to be a lot of work. not to mention, i have no idea how to actually post a website to the web. (future employers, please note: I am fully aware the proper AP use of website is actually Web site.) but as soon as i do, i will post the link so you may all marvel at my genius. or genus (interesting to realize that if you back up a bit, we are all really homos).
back to fido.
5.17.2007
the feet of the master
as i reflect on my former life as a college student i fondly remember the time spent with my mentor JS. he is, in essence, whom i wish to become.
the wednesday before graduation all the senior PR/J majors thought it would be very clever of us to "kidnap" him and drag him to eat with us, at which time we would heap praise upon him and lavish him with gifts.
as all good and true plans do, this one failed.
instead we finally tracked him down and pleadingly convinced him to meet us at the Oil. once there we did, in fact, heap praise upon him and give him our delightful gift...
and then he spoke.
we were all very used to his speaking, as his advisees we were subject to hours and hours every week...for years. but this time he did not include any clever anecdotes or trivia from the everyday lives of superstars - tonight he spoke with the precise posings of a personal ghandhi. assuring us of our success, and commanding our consecration for the upcoming battle.
never have i seen a group of restless students more focused on what a professor was saying. it was as if we had to read the words as they came out his mouth in order to fully understand them. the whistling espresso machine and boisterous conversations of others in the crowded coffee shop were merely mirrored ripples for the swan to glide upon.
Joshua 3:5
the wednesday before graduation all the senior PR/J majors thought it would be very clever of us to "kidnap" him and drag him to eat with us, at which time we would heap praise upon him and lavish him with gifts.
as all good and true plans do, this one failed.
instead we finally tracked him down and pleadingly convinced him to meet us at the Oil. once there we did, in fact, heap praise upon him and give him our delightful gift...
and then he spoke.
we were all very used to his speaking, as his advisees we were subject to hours and hours every week...for years. but this time he did not include any clever anecdotes or trivia from the everyday lives of superstars - tonight he spoke with the precise posings of a personal ghandhi. assuring us of our success, and commanding our consecration for the upcoming battle.
never have i seen a group of restless students more focused on what a professor was saying. it was as if we had to read the words as they came out his mouth in order to fully understand them. the whistling espresso machine and boisterous conversations of others in the crowded coffee shop were merely mirrored ripples for the swan to glide upon.
Joshua 3:5
the first week
i was wrong.
i was confident that after i graduated i would immediately start receiving checks in the mail - to pay for rent, clothes, food and the like.
apparently i was mistaken.
all this time i have been prepped by my professors as they speak of "the real world," and all this time i kind of assumed they really just meant "post-college."
mistaken again.
they were serious about going forth and conquering...except conquering in this sense is more like napoleon finally convincing the dog to get off his side of the bed...it's going to be a cold winter in russia.
i was confident that after i graduated i would immediately start receiving checks in the mail - to pay for rent, clothes, food and the like.
apparently i was mistaken.
all this time i have been prepped by my professors as they speak of "the real world," and all this time i kind of assumed they really just meant "post-college."
mistaken again.
they were serious about going forth and conquering...except conquering in this sense is more like napoleon finally convincing the dog to get off his side of the bed...it's going to be a cold winter in russia.
5.07.2007
Final stretch
This story begins the week of graduation.
It's funny how my life tends work out, the harder I work the more likely it is that something goes wrong. Not to say that things don't always work out in the end, but if i really pour my sweat, blood and tears into something there is a 90% chance that something major is going to blow-up in my face right before the finish line.
side note: these days you are supposed to watch your blog/facebook/myspace for things that might turn away potential employers/grad schools - so if you are a potential employer/admissions committee, please realize I always finish with excellent results, despite bumps in the road.
All that said...my graduation seems to be extending itself. Through no fault of my own (of course) my internship situation has gone awry. But I'm still walking across that precious proscenium.
I will graduate. Victory will be mine.
It's funny how my life tends work out, the harder I work the more likely it is that something goes wrong. Not to say that things don't always work out in the end, but if i really pour my sweat, blood and tears into something there is a 90% chance that something major is going to blow-up in my face right before the finish line.
side note: these days you are supposed to watch your blog/facebook/myspace for things that might turn away potential employers/grad schools - so if you are a potential employer/admissions committee, please realize I always finish with excellent results, despite bumps in the road.
All that said...my graduation seems to be extending itself. Through no fault of my own (of course) my internship situation has gone awry. But I'm still walking across that precious proscenium.
I will graduate. Victory will be mine.
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