Unemployment recap

Official number of days of my unemployment: 222 (1 September 2005 - 9 April 2006)

The Prologue (Summer '05):

-Late May 2005-Mid-July 2005: Post-graduation malaise/mortification; pre-Europe planning/packing.

-July 11-August 5, 2005: Self-reliance and self-discovery (ha) in Paris, Bruges, Amsterdam, Munich, Vienna, Turin, Genoa and London. (Most significant accomplishment: riding on the London Underground.)

-August 6-August 31, 2005: Post-Europe decompression; time spent on various lakes (Candlewood, George, Wobegone); First job interview at Norwalk architecture firm (offered and declined because, hey, if it was that easy, why not wait a little while for something better to come along?)

The 222-Day Crucible:

-September 2005: Slow but steady progress on application submission. Interviewed at The Mount in Lenox, MA; offered "literary arts program coordinator" job; declined because, hey, if it was that easy, why not wait a little while for something even BETTER to come along? (And committing to two years working in the rural Berkshires felt like social suicide.) Also, the blackjack winning streak begins.

-October 2005: Feverish submission of job applications; editorial assistant gig at small local publisher is sole glimmer of hope, but is snuffed out because it's part-time and they're not convinced that I won't quit as soon as I find a full-time job. Also: the dawn of the (Temporarily) Unemployed Ivy League Graduate. (There was much rejoicing.) Also, more blackjack.

-Early November 2005: The Food & Wine debacle. (Let 'em find this on Google. It'll serve 'em right.)

-Mid-November 2005-Early-January 2006: Winter Break. (The Game, b-day festivities, blackjack, Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, blackjack, Christmas, New Years, blackjack, Starbucks) Lots of distraction; little progress on the job front.

-Mid-January 2006: Submitted to a dizzying array of jobs (Newsweek, rural upstate New York newspaper, personal assistant to unnamed author in Manhattan). Dead ends, all.

-February 2006: The Kaplan debacle. The Yaccarino garage debacle.

-March 2006: The apex (or would it be the nadir?) of my self-loathing. Lowlights include: a day at my uncle's perfume pump company; aborted attempts at fiction writing; more dead-end job applications. Highlights include: slam poetry and the Oscars.

-Early-April 2006: One finally sticks. And then another does, too. But why does it still feel like I'm unemployed? (Oh, right: as the anonymous comment writer said, unemployment--as it has come to be defined by this chronicle, anyway--is more than just the absence of a steady income.)

-April 10, 2006: The blog gets boring.

So, you see? It was an eventful 222 days. Right? I mean, yeah, you were probably out there contributing to society, learning new things, making mad scrill (sp?), blazing trails, rescuing cats from trees, discovering cures for cancer and hangovers. But I was doing my best too, man. It took a while. (Strike that: it's taking a while.) But I'm getting there. I think. I hope.

First day on the (second) job

To my dismay, my writings on the C-------- of P----------- still seem to be drumming up a fair amount of readership. It's a situation that I wish didn't exist, and as a result I've felt a little less inclined to be as confessional as I've been in the past.

I'm starting to wonder what direction this blog is going to take. You're probably getting bored of hearing me say that.

I'm working two jobs now. Tonight was my first night as a Qpac pollster. I worked my usual five hours at BNH (the word "worked," in this case, is used in the loosest sense. There's so little for me to do there, and so much time for me to do it, that I spend a lot of time looking busy by repeating things that I've already done. I've written and erased and rewritten the same form email dozens of times just to fill the minutes). After that, I had a couple of hours to myself--which I could have used for something productive like physical activity or writing or looking for full time jobs, but didn't--and then at 5:30 I sat down to my polling station for the first time. I must say that I enjoyed it. It's gloriously mindless work: I sit in front of a computer that generates random phone numbers and calls them upon my command; if someone answers, I read directly from a series of scripted instructions and questions; if no one answers, I make note of it, hang up and command the computer to dial another number. Tonight was the final night of the current poll, so I spent most of the evening calling numbers that had been called before but were put on the "Call Back" list because the initial call(s) went unanswered (we only stop calling a number once a flesh and blood person on the other end declines to take the survey).

I completed a total of 3 surveys--each of which took about ten minutes. The rest of the night I spent listening to the sound of successive phone rings (count eight of them and hang up is the rule) and trying not to look up rabidly any time someone walked into the room. I made nearly 200 phone calls over the course of three and a half hours. But I didn't hate it. In fact, I'll be looking forward to going in tomorrow for the start of a new poll. I'll probably get more hang-ups, but I'm sure to get a greater number of willing participants as well.

I think the main appeal of this job is the opportunity it affords me to ask people very personal questions. I'm supposed to be completely neutral in my administration of the poll, which I think I am--I didn't have a problem keeping an even tone and casual demeanor on any of the questions. But I have to say that in my mind I was always rooting for people to answer a question the way I would answer it. I've got my own opinions on stem cell research and Dick Cheney and needle exchange programs and it was always a pleasure to hear that the anonymous New Jerseyan on the other end of the line felt the same way I did.

I think I'm going to like this job, and I'll probably stick with it longer than my 10 to 3.

In other news, I think I've settled on a short-term plan: Americorps. I considered Americorps at the end of my senior year and over last summer, but by the time I really got serious about it it was September and too late to apply to anything. But I've been doing a little research lately and it would seem that I haven't missed any deadlines and that Americorps would be a productive and engaging way to spend a year. I'd probably start in mid-July (which seems to be when the bulk of the projects start) and then I'd be done in July 2007 with several weeks to myself to kill before starting ________ in the fall of 2007. (Law school? Creative writing classes? Joining the circus?) April 30 is the earliest deadline for most of those jobs, so I'll be cramming in some resume-writing over the next couple of days. It remains to be seen how easy it will be for me to land one of the jobs. I'd like to think it won't be so hard, but, well, all I've got are my previous experiences and we know how that goes.

Finally, one more thing on my to-do list is making phone calls to people I've been avoiding most of this year. There are a handful of people who I tried not to talk to while I was unemployed--for instance my college roommate, who's Teaching for American in inner city Chicago. I owe him, and a few others who I felt especially insecure talking to, a call or an email now that I'm finally doing a little money-making. I'm not out saving the world (yet) but at least I can finally refer to my unemployment in the past tense.

Works-in-progress

[Here's what I meant to post last night before Truth broke in with all her matter-of-fact about putting my foot in my mouth]

I gave up on that stupid b-llsh-t Welcome Center story...for now.

But here's a stanza that I've been working on. It's one of four, but you'll have to ask real nice to get the other three.

I light a match to watch it burn
It's out before it hits the floor
It knows that it will not return
To write a song or fight a war

Is "lighting a match to watch it burn" a worn out idea? I have a feeling that it's close to a song lyric (or a million song lyrics). And what about attributing consciousness to the match? Have I stumbled into hokey-ness? And am I leaning too hard on the rhyme by pairing "floor" with "war"? Rhetorical questions, all.

I trained for the Qpac pollster job yesterday evening. My first day (night) is Monday. I think the current poll is a Jersey poll, so watch out Garden Staters. Your caller IDs can't save you from the inquiring minds at Hamden CT's premiere public opinion analysts.

I tell you, though, the desperation in that polling room in the middle of a shift is intense. I walked in at 6:30 for the training (an hour after the shift began) and I felt like an anthropologist discovering a remote African village. Everyone--literally everyone--looked up from their stations in wonder. Who is this stranger from the outside world? Donzens of pairs of eyes sparkled with hope and curiosity. Has he come to deliver us from our pitiful lives of servitude? Remember the orphanage scenes from "The Cider House Rules," when the rich couple drives up in a fancy car and all the little orphan children accost them and affect their most adorable behavior? It was much more depressing than that. But I've got the desperation act down to a science (I'm coming up on 11 months of practice) so I should fit right in.

Speaking of desperation, I've been conscripted to join my mother on a Sunday trip to Nassau County, Long Island to "celebrate" Orthodox Easter with the husband's family. My Big Fat Greek Nightmare.

Kiss those journalism aspirations goodbye

It looks like the big break I've been waiting for has finally arrived! My blog has been discovered...

...by a former employee of one of the publications to which I submitted an application back in the fall--a publication whose name was plastered all over this electronic chronicle for several weeks, and which may or may not have been portrayed in a decidedly unflattering manner.

I was browsing the hit counter (as I'm prone to do) and I happened to notice that one particular post seemed to be getting a lot of views in recent days. I went back to the post only to discover a long comment from an individual claiming to have worked at the publication I was blogging about. I couldn't bring myself to read the entirety of the (long) comment, but the gist of it appeared to be that I lacked modesty (for presuming that I would have a fair shot at being considered for a job at this publication) and that, moreover, to excoriate a potential employer in a publicly accessible forum constituted ill-advised bridge-burning.

I agree with the comment writer whole-heartedly on the second point--and in doing so I don't mean to be an apologist. In the early days of keeping this record of my job-search experiences, it never occurred to me that anyone at all would be reading--let alone representatives of the companies to which I was applying. But in the face of discovery by an individual who might have taken direct offense at the things that I've written, I see no choice but to stand by my words. The frustration conveyed in these posts, particularly the early ones, is very real. And I don't think it's an unfounded frustration. It takes a while to grow accustomed to the silent rejection that is so commonplace in the writing field. I don't think I was ever asking to be coddled--I just hoped to receive fair and decent treatment from potential employers. Eventually it became apparent that my standards for the treatment of job applications by major publications were idealistically high.

For my own part, it probably would have been prudent to have been a little more discrete in my cathartic outbursts. But the damage has been done, and now I'll have to live with the consequences of offending the very people I've been trying to impress. (Circumstantial evidence on the hit counter suggests that several individuals have spent time reading the relevant posts in recent days. Just my luck--it looks like my vitriol is making the rounds of the inboxes of employees of this (T)UILG-maligned publication.)

I spent about an hour purging the posts from the first half of this blog of all proper company names. I grew weary very quickly, but pressed on until about December. I'll finish up with the second half sometime soon (before anyone from a certain SAT prep company catches wise, let's hope).

The way I see it, there are two potential outcomes to this turn of events. I'll either be that much more resolute in my quest to land a cushy writing job as I'm faced with the prospect of muscling my way off the blacklist; or my decision to go to law school or not just got a hell of a lot easier.

Posting from work!

Eek! I hope no one sees me!

I'm working on temp agencies today. How ironic.

I wonder what would happen if someone in the office found this blog. If they were to read the last post, it would take them about ten seconds to figure out who had written it. (And probably about ten more seconds to fire me.)

Fie on me for being so descriptive. The narrative, boy! Pay attention to the narrative!

Yesterday on Wikipedia I spent several hours reading about infamous aviation disasters (TWA 800, PanAm/Lockerbie, the Challenger). Horribly morbid stuff. I'd been brought to the subject by a conversation at dinner about "The Aviator," which my mom and her husband had seen just recently. We wound up on the subject of plane disasters, and my mother's husband claimed to have seen a surface-to-air missile being launched into the sky on the day TWA 800 crashed. That was probably the biggest lie I've heard all year. The odds of that actually being true are vanishingly small, as far as I can tell. What a putz.

Spending time on Wikipeda also always makes me realize how much great literature there is out there that I haven't read (How I got from the Challenger to Brecht and Beckett I can't say). I'm thinking of picking up a couple Nathaniel West novels on my way home from work today. Just in case you care.

P.S. - Happy Birthday to little Suri Holmes-Cruise!

Job minutiae

Like Jenny's (DC '07) dad (LAW '7?), I have a weird habit of listening to one song on repeat, many many times in a row. In the car, it's been The Beatles' "Across the Universe" for the past few days. On my iTunes, it's still stupid "Move Along." I have to take a few days off every now and then when it starts to get really old. But then I come back and it's as foot-stomping head-nodding good as it was the first time I heard it. My ears are still ringing from this most recent listening bloc. (I can't write with music on.)

My job is so boring I can barely bring myself to write about it. It's been improving steadily, though--or maybe it's just that I'm getting used to it. Whichever it is, my distaste is gradually declining, which means that I'll probably be able to tough it out for the month-long duration of the project.

In case it's not clear what my job is, here's a synopsis: This bi-weekly business publication in the New Haven area puts together a business reference guide once a year. The guide consists of ranked lists of various types of businesses (i.e., hotels, body shops, sports equipment stores, etc.). I've been assigned to compile information for twelve of the lists that will be included in the guide. (In case you're wondering, my lists are: auto dealerships, charter bus companies, executive placement firms, engineering firms, health and fitness centers, health and beauty spas, limousine companies, printers-quick/instant, residential real estate agents, telephone equipment companies, temp agencies, and web design companies.) The information I'm seeking varies from list to list, but it usually has to do with the size of each operation (i.e., "how many limos are owned by the limo companies," and "how many technicians are employed by the telephone equipment companies"). Step one in obtaining the information is sending a survey via fax. If a week goes by with no fax response, then I have got to call the companies. The calling is the nasty part. Most of the time the people I'm talking to have no idea what I'm talking about, or they think I'm trying to sell them something. And then once I've finally broken through, I have to go and ask them fairly intrusive questions about their businesses (I dread the lists where I'm going to have to ask for the annual revenue of a company).

I get the sense that it's not too cool to use the computers at work for casual internet surfing. (And I've been paranoid since a friend of mine told me about his job as an IT guy, in which he has the power to print out reports of what people have viewed in their web browsers.) I've tried to sneak peeks into cubicles to see if I can catch a little recreational internet use, but haven't really noticed any. Another problem is that while my desk is pretty well separated from the rest of the workers in the office, it's right along the path to the bathroom. It wouldn't take much for someone to glance over and catch me--oh, I don't know--scouring message boards for the latest buzz on Snakes on a Plane. (There, I've done it. I mean, every relevant blog needs its one obligatory SoaP reference, right?)

Another odd feature of having a desk on the Toilet Trail is that I get to see everyone in the office at least once a day, but in a context that's hardly conducive to striking up conversation. Think about it: who wants to chat it up with the new guy (or really anyone) on the way in or out of the bathroom? I've tried to catch a few people by prepping conversation starters in advance, but without much success. (I'll say something like, "Boy, I wish this computer would stop crashing on me," as the ad sales guy brushes by purposefully, and I'll only catch a few mumbled syllables as he disappears into the restroom vestibule. On his way out, he'll avoid eye contact as he shakes his hands dry.) So, I've gotten to know a lot of people by their bathroom habits--the research director hits up the john once after lunch, the publisher's secretary goes in for twenty minutes at a time, ad sales guy is in there at least five times a day but I think it's mainly to straighten out his tie--but that's just about all I know about any of my new co-workers.

How's that for a few work-related anecdotes? That may have to last for a couple days (but watch out for a surreptitious from-work post sometime soon).

Best sentence ever

"During the ordeal, the media hubbub grew apace, and cat agnostics grumbled about folderol."

-From the New York Times article about the rescue of a cat that had been trapped in the wall of Greenwich village building for two weeks.

I've been scrounging around for something interesting to say over the past couple of days, and have (til now) been coming up empty. I'm still trying to grow accustomed to working (at a job that, it turns out, I don't like very much). I had an interview at Quinnipiac last night and they offered me a job as a phone interviewer. I'll probably do the training at the end of next week. I'll work both jobs until the magazine job ends (mid-to-late May), and then I'll probably try to start up another part time gig. I'd like to move out of the house before my brother gets home for the summer (early June-ish)--not because I don't want to live with him, just because the idea of the three of us kicking around the house all summer is a little bit more than I can handle. If anyone reading this is looking for a roommate or knows someone who is, let me know.

I'm going up to the Bay State for the evening(/night?) for a house party in Somerville. I haven't been to a party in a while. Well, there was Cromicon II a few weeks ago. And Dave's sister's kegger with all those high school kids a month before that. What I mean to say is that it's been a while since I've been to a party where I've known almost no one. I hope there won't be any awkward corners to stand in--the temptation might be difficult to resist.

Eh, who am I kidding? I'll probably down three beers in the first half hour and be complaining about the direction of my life to total strangers all night.

Animal encounters

I think I mentioned that I've been spending a little time in the backyard on the hammock lately. Late Sunday afternoon, I was reclining comfortably, catching up on my New Yorker reading. I think I was in the middle of an article about racial politics in the Netherlands when I looked up and noticed a bird in a high branch directly above me (the tree I was under was very tall--I'm bad at estimating--1.5 times as tall as my two-story house, I'd say). I thought to myself, "If this bird decides to relieve itself, I'll be cast in the role of birdie toilet." But what was the likelihood of that? It was a million to one, I figured.

I was wrong. About five minutes after I noticed the bird and contemplated getting shat on, I got shat on. Just a tiny spec--maybe the size of a dime--on the left shoulder of my t-shirt. Still, I was pissed, mostly because it meant I had to get up off the hammock, go inside, and change my shirt. I wasn't going to loaf around with bird crap on my shoulder (as tempting as that prospect was).

Later that evening, I was invited to Carina's house for some Palm Sunday coffee and dessert. I related my in-the-line-of-fire story to her and her family, and she gasped and said, "That's good luck! It's really rare to get crapped on by a bird!" This superstition was vaguely familiar, but it hadn't occurred to me until then. So since Sunday I've been walking around waiting for something good to happen.

Unfortunately, I had a second animal encounter late last night that maybe have negated my bird crap bonanza. I was walking to my car from Corinne's apartment in downtown (well, the grad ghetto) New Haven, when a black cat "crossed my path." Or I crossed it's path. Actually, we were travelling in opposite directions and just kind of passed each other. I tried to remember if I'd ever seen a stray black cat before--I don't think I ever have. As we went by each other, the cat gave me a look as if to say, "What, you're not sprinting to the other side of the street? Don't you know I'm supposed to be bad luck?" I suppose I might have gone out of my way to avoid that cat if I didn't think that at the very least the bird defecation incident would cancel out any potential misfortune.

Maybe this afternoon I'll stand under that tree for a while in hopes of regaining some of that bird crap karma.

First day on the job

Not too much to say at this point. My first five hours of work weren't all that stimulating. I filled out a W4; waited around for 45 minutes while a few people figured out how to start the computer that I was to be working on; made a few phone calls to disinterested bus charter companies; and furtively checked my email.

(Sidebar: I only had two new emails today--one moronic forward from my father [I don't have the heart to tell him to stop forwarding stupid office humor to me]; and one rather distressed email from my aunt. She was pissed about an incident that took place over the weekend. On Saturday, I went out for hibachi with her and my two young female cousins (12 and 16). At the end of the meal, after she had looked at the check, my aunt turned and said to me, "You can pay me back for this meal once you get your first paycheck." Some combination of stupidity and Sapporo caused me to say in instantaneous reply, "And you can give me gas money for all the times I pick the girls up from school." My aunt's face contorted into a mask of shock and revulsion. I think I quickly followed-up with an, "I'm just kidding," but it was like throwing a glass of water at a forest fire. I felt pretty lousy for having said what I said, because I didn't really mean it. A few minutes later, she pressed the issue, saying, "Well, I don't think you've spent $100 on gas picking the girls up from school." Again, stupidity and Sapporo said, "And I don't think I ate $100 worth of food." I looked away so as to avoid seeing her reaction. I asked myself when I had turned into such an asshole. Flash forward to today: I was half-expecting some sort of communication from her regarding the incident, but when I read it at work today it hit me pretty hard. It read, in paraphrase, "Good luck on your first day of work! Why are you an asshole...[500 words]...no really, aren't you ever appreciative of anything? Hope your first day goes well!" I spent at least an hour of my first working day arranging the pens on my desk while mentally drafting my effusively apologetic response.)

Ooh, ooh. One fun thing was setting up my voicemail. It was the kind of system where you record your name and your greeting separately for twice the fun. I used to hate the sound of my voice, but I've either gotten used to it or it has legitimately started to sound halfway decent (satisfyingly deep when I'm thinking about it, somewhat gravelly, slighly breathy, a hint of an implacable accent.) I recorded my name a half a dozen times, and the greeting more than a dozen times. It took a lot of practice runs to get it to sound unrehearsed. The fun really started when I discovered the feature that lets you listen to what you've recorded. I gave myself a good chuckle listening to a few botched versions ("Hi, you've reached Michuhlapresti, I'm regretfully blabedy blah blah"). And I definitely listened to the finished version a bunch of times. I knew it was right when I found myself thinking, "Yeah, now that's a guy that I would hang out with. He sounds tough, but kind of urbane too." Good times.

Looks like there was plenty to say after all. Funny how that happens.

Coming soon:
-An official tally of my jobless days
-A thorough analysis of the months between June 2005 and March 2006
-Workplace strife (knock on wood)
-Qpac Polling update: I may be working 40 (total) hours by next week
-Something pertaining to the world at large (Ha!)

(Temporarily) employed

So, I got the job that I interviewed for on Thursday. (They called me two hours after the interview was over. I was in the middle of writing the previous post when they called, as a matter of fact. I didn't have the heart to scrap it.)

I'm starting work on Monday at 10 a.m.

Job title: Researcher at Business N** H**** Magazine (I'm trying to ward off Google hits by my future employers.)

I'll be working 20-25 hours a week, at least through the end of May.

Also on Monday I plan to head over to the Q-pac Polling Institute to fill out an application for the pollster job. Like I said last time, if I can nab 20 or so hours over there, I'll be working full-time and I can start thinking about getting out of the house.

In a way, accepting this offer feels slightly anti-climactic. It's no dream job, but it has been clear for a while that a dream job isn't within my reach at this point (not to mention the fact that I don't have a very clear notion of what that dream job would be). I'd say this job falls about halfway between awesome and embarassing.

Irrespective of how I feel about this particular gig, however, it is an indescribable relief to finally be moving on. I've gained some traction. The ball is rolling. Pick a metaphor. Perhaps this is a slow start, but at least it's a start. The hard part is over (I think, I hope).

One question that lingers in the wake of today's news is the future of this chronicle. Where does it go from here? I don't have any interest whatsoever in scribing a humdrum "Offices are Funny" blog, or worse yet, an "I'm Studying for the LSAT" blog. I suppose I could shuck theme altogether--J.C. and Co. over at EatFirst#1 write a good theme-less blog.

One thing's for sure: I'll have to reconsider the title. I've had a few in mind ("Upper-Level Think Piece," "The Exception Proves the Rule," "What the Sh*t" and "I Think I'm Pretentious But I'm Really Just Dumb").

I've got at least a couple of posts left before any major overhaul takes place (most notably: a meticulously reconstructed chronology of the past 10 months of my life).

I can only think of one way to end this post:

[Sigh of m-----f---ing relief]

Breathlessly close (?)

I had a job interview this morning. I was ten minutes late because they were doing some road work on southbound 91.

The position I interviewed for was that of a "researcher" at a business publication in New Haven (for those of you who know the Elm City, the office is across the street from Tandor, above the martial arts studio). The two women who interviewed me did most of the talking. They explained the duties of the position (compiling information for an annual publication that features lists ranking various types of businesses against one another). They described some of the challenges I might face (businesses being reluctant to provide particular pieces of information; not having phone calls returned). I got the obligatory "What are you doing now?" question and I fumbled through my "Well, I've been taking some time off to travel and write..." answer. (For the first time, I heard myself say "I graduated from college about a year ago." It was a mortifying experience.) At one point, one of the women used the word "over-qualified" to describe me, and it was all I could do to keep from forming my hand into the shape of a pistol and pointing it at my temple. I assured them that I was eager to accept the position, and I promised to commit myself for the duration of the project (April and May). I asked when I might hear back from them and if they would tell me either way, and they said I would hear yes-or-no by Friday or Monday. I regaled them with my Food & Wine horror story, and we all shared a hearty chortle. (Did you know that Lewis Carroll coined the term "chortle," and that it is defined as a combination of a chuckle and a snort?) At the end of the interview there was a flurry of handshakes, I had a few copies of past publications thrust into my arms, and I walked out of the office with a spring in my step.

I'd like to think that I'll be offered this job, and that I'll take it. I felt comfortable and confident, I made a strong case for myself, and I think the ladies took a shine to me. On the drive home, I was all smiles. Being in the magazine's office reminded me that my most fulfilling experiences in the past have been with publications (a fact that had all-but-faded from my mind in recent months). Yeah, this job would be part-time (24 hours or so a week), and temporary, and it's not Newsweek or Entertainment Weekly (ha), but I can honestly say I'm excited about it. If nothing else, it's a ground-floor position in print journalism that could be the resume item I need to weasel into something a little more flashy in the (near?) future. And if this works out, I might also continue to pursue the night-and-weekend job at Quinnipiac, in which case I could be working full-time hours and finally be able to turn tail on dad's house in North Haven.

Have you noticed how rosy everything always seems to me after a job interview? Twenty mintues of perfunctory interview banter and I'm suddenly the golden boy on the path to greatness. Watch it all come crashing down tomorrow with an email that says "We're sorry, but we've found someone who is better suited to our needs at this point in time. Best of luck!" Just watch.

P.S. - In yesterday's post I mentioned a tip that I received from a Herald buddy. Late last night, I was struck by a bolt of paranoia--"Is somebody punking me again?" was the question that flashed into my head. It seemed slightly unusual to be getting a job tip in the comments section of a blog post, and it was especially odd to be getting it from this particular person. I wasn't aware that he was a blog reader, and it seemed strange that he had been able to find the link to this webpage but hadn't been able to find my email address. I had already sent him a desperately eager email, so when I woke up this morning I sent a second disclaimer email saying, "So, some people who read my blog have a tendency of jerking me around, and if you had no idea what I was talking about in my email yesterday, I'd like to apologize."

It turns out that it wasn't a hoax. After my second email, my friend writes back saying "Uhhh, that was me. Stop being so paranoid."

Just another day in the life.

Status report

Looking back at the posts of the past couple of weeks, it feels like I've lately neglected to report on the basic nuts-and-bolts of my day-to-day activities. You've probably been sitting there thinking "Gosh, all Mike does these days is recline on the sofa watching reruns of The Sopranos, trolling IMDb for future Surreal Life cast members, and writing bad sad-sack haikus." Wrong you are, my friends. I've been as busy as someone in my situation could hope to be. Here's a bullet point update to bring you up to speed:

-Jobs opportunities currently on the docket include:
--Literary Assistant in North Branford (it's been more than a month, and I've basically given up, but it still counts until I get the "the position has been filled" email)
--Researcher for business-to-business publication in New Haven (a few days have gone by with no word)
--Copy Assistant at Random House (Ha. Ha ha.)
--PR Assistant in West Cornwall, CT (it irks me that I haven't heard anything back from this one; how many people could possibly have applied to this obscure job out in the middle of nowhere?)
--Telephone Interviewer for the Quinnipiac University Polling Institute (sent in a resume yesterday; if it works out, this one could be really interesting [Quinnipiac conducts a lot of political polls, and you'll often see them cited on national news reports])

-I got an email from Kaplan the other day, reinviting me to participate in SAT tutor training. I decided to decline, because at this point it doesn't feel worthwhile, and I'm still kind of pissed that I wasted the entire month of February thinking that I'd be starting at Kaplan in March. It might be a bad decision not to go through with it--yesterday in Newsweek, I read an article about a 27-year-old who just published his first novel, which is a fictionalized account of his three-year stint as an SAT tutor in Manhattan. Whatever. I can't really justify not doing it, so I'll just move on.

-Maybe you caught this interesting development in the comments section of the "What's an Ojibwe?" post: a former Herald colleague of mine sent me a tip about a couple of job openings with Steven Brill, a guy who, among other things, created CourtTV (I think). I'm prepared to dive headlong into these opportunities (one is a writer-researcher job this guy's latest entrepreneurial venture; the other is as a coordinator for journalism career information at Yale). I feel like the writer-researcher gig would be the more favorable of the two. Mostly, it'd get me out of New/North Haven and into New York City, which, the more I think about it, is where I'd like to be right now. I have no idea what my chances of landing either of these jobs will be. I'll keep you posted.

-I met with my uncle and one of his associates yesterday to go over the work I've been doing for them. (In case you missed it, I'm gathering information on companies that have moved out of the Northeast and into the American South or to South America to lower their operating costs.) There wasn't much to report, to their dismay. I feel like I'm in over my head with this project. I have zero working knowledge of business or economics (my Game Theory course in college was torturous). And, quite frankly, I don't ever want to have anything to do with business. From my brief exposure, I can confirm that it's the cold, soulless world we all think it is. Cubicles and expense reports and "maximizing profits." Shudder. (Sidebar: The secretary at the company, the one I wrote about several weeks ago, gave me a very chilly reception this time. She appeared not to recognize me ["Have you ever been here before?"] and she pointedly demanded my paper visitor's badge back when I left. Clearly there was no way she could have found the blog post I wrote about her. I hope.)

-A friend of mine has asked if I would write a recommendation on her behalf for a summer internship she's applying to. This assignment is sure to be the highlight of my month. I'm very excited to be doing it, and I'm very grateful to her for asking me.

-Yesterday, I went with a few people (Corinne!) to the Bushnell Theater in Hartford for a reading by David Sedaris. It was hilarious. And sometimes quite moving. And if I could have anyone's career in the entire world it would probably be his. I may have said that about someone else already (Susan Orlean?), but I'll rescind that and say Sedaris instead. What impressed me most about the reading was the way he was able to control the mood and emotions of an audience of thousands of people. One moment, the theater would be filled with laughter, and the next it was reverently silent. It's an awesome power, and (sadly for me) it's certainly an inherent ability and not something you can achieve by earning a Master's degree.

-This past Monday I took a road trip with my friend Kate to Rhode Island (a Rhode trip?). She had to sign a lease on an apartment she'll be living in this summer. We had a pleasant day: I got a walking tour of the campus, met he old advisor, had a few beers at happy hour, and ate a nice burrito dinner. Nothing beats Li'l Rhody.

-I've got the house all to myself this weekend (Friday-Sunday). Dad's taking a trip to B-more with his lady friend. If you'd like to do anything devious and/or nefarious, you know how to reach me.

-I need to get a gym membership. Like, now.

-Work on my creative writing has totally stalled. It's been days since I've written anything. I've got less than a week to get ten more pages together if I want to apply to the Iowa program. It's doable, but it'll be a challenge. But I really want to go through with it.

I think that about does it. (That was long. I'm sure I'll have lots of spelling and grammar to correct.)

See? And you thought I was just sitting around with my thumb up my...

What's an Ojibwe?

Over the past few months, I've been prone to finding inspiration is sources ranging from the sublime (Thomas Pynchon) to the absurd (The All-American Rejects). Most recently, The Sopranos has been providing a few pearls that I've caught myself latching onto. I'm slightly hesitant to take anything on The Sopranos seriously, since it usually seems like most of the ideas portrayed in the show are cynical. But I'm a sucker. But you already knew that.

I've been thinking a lot about the Ojibwe saying that has been given a lot of screen time in the last couple of episodes. If you watch The Sopranos, you'll probably think it's dumb of me to be reproducing the saying here. I think it's pretty dumb too. But here it is.

"Sometimes I go about in pity for myself, and all the while, a great wind carries me across the sky."

I've put off posting for a couple of days because I was reluctant to have the "04.06" link pop up. It's April. It's spring. The weather was spectacular yesterday. I sat outside on the hammock and read all afternoon.

Who am I? Where am I going?