Un-unique

Elaine Terre, Ellie to her friends, leaned gracefully over her egg white porcelain sink. Her eye make-up smudged all over her upper and lower lids. Trapped in the corners of her hazel eyes were the remnants of tears she was attempting to wipe away.

"I'm just done." She thought it out loud. "I'm just," a pregnant pause, an exasperated sigh, "done."

She'd been fired. It felt like a glorified dumping. Broken up with by the career that didn't want her anymore. Left alone on the skirts of Unemploymentville Co. Population: her. She felt like a cliché, and all of her thoughts backed that feeling up.

It happens to everyone. The phrase echoed in her head from a conversation she'd finished earlier that evening with her sister. Her sister, Carolyn, was an attractive young woman, aged 29, single, with a semi-high-powered career on the way to an actual high-powered career in fashion merchandising. She had little empathy for anyone when it came to relationships, jobs or general livelihood, likely due to her lack there of.

Carolyn and Elaine had a tumultuous relationship growing up, not unlike most sisterly relationships. Elaine, being the younger, found talking to Carolyn exacerbating, and would dodge opportunities to do so regularly —that is she until Carolyn would figure out a way to corner Elaine into conversation, often by trapping her in actual corners.

During the summers the pair would play a game in their country club swimming pool called, Spider. Essentially, one of the girls would hold onto the sides of the pool, often in a corner, with their legs spread while the other would have to attempt passage through the triangulated legs and arms of her sister without touching. If one indeed touched, even a hair, a strike would be marked. Three strikes and you would have to run around the perimeter of the pool. It doesn't sound as bad in retrospect, but summers in the midwest still brought about a cool air that made the pool a warm sanctuary once you were in, as the outside world remained an icy fortress.

Ellie thought about all those memories as she starred past her own reflection, wiping away her history and whatever Revlon still clung to her cheeks. Still, more tears clouded her vision.

Was I wrong? She questioned for the nth time. But she knew the answer. No, she wasn't wrong. And, she shouldn't have been as upset as she was.

It happens to everyone, El. 

i'm a memory

i pace inside daily, and sprint outside come night.
i wake you up when sleeping
there's no escape
im wrapped around your throat tight

there are no words spoken
no feeling of air exiting your lips
i cannot be pinpointed.

there are blades of grass. they are lime salted
margarita mixed
you think about them in a blink
and then
they're gone

like me, but ever present.
so not.

i drive a fancy sports-car
it goes incredibly fast
so fast you might miss it

feel the blade of grass, that one
yes
that's her.
the one beneath your big toe.

can you feel it?
no

i whisper gently to you
lulling you to bed
until tomorrow when there is nothing
for you're surely dead

there are sheep above you
count them
one. seven. nine. four. noon.
you'll be up there with them
dead so quickly soon.

i live inside your heart. your brain. your candy-coated skin.
i live inside you until there's nothing.
and no one knows i was therein.

i cannot be pinpointed.
im a squiggle on your notepad in the middle of the night

count them.
one. seven. nine. four. noon.
there is no deciphering my meaning.
it'll all be over soon.

Top Favorites

At LLR I started a Clip-of-the-Day sort of thing where I post a clip on Facebook, Twitter and other social networking sites of one our animation studios' newest things that I like.

Yesterday I was really loving this one from Framestore:
Volkswagen Polo 'Dog'








and today's clip from LAIKA:
M&M's Taste

You have to go to the top, click on Reels, then Show Reel, then in the top Right you will see a Blue M&M. Click on it. It's too funny.

Let me know what you think. I've got a couple lined up in my mind for next weeks clips...

Swimming.

So far working at Liz Laine Reps has been really freeing. Literally. Today I got let out three hours early due to a phone and Internet problem. But, even if I was still there it would be great. Working in an environment with just a few others around truly affords the hard to come by visibility that's really difficult to access in a big corporate environment. Already I've been able to meet the creative team from DDB Chicago and have scheduled screenings and trips to other advertising agencies, along with introducing myself to our roster of animators and directors. Really I'm just jumping into the thick of it and hoping I won't make a mess of things, but actually will exceed expectation.

And, it's helpful to check in with friends, too, who are diving deeply into their chosen life-for-the-moment. Here's a quote from Paul's blog that he practically never posts on, hence the title of the post: "I haven't Posted Since my Birthday."

"nothing else that needs to be said except life is predictable but at the same time full of surprises. i am learning to give all i can in the situation that i am in, and when it is over, i can move forward knowing that i did what i was supposed to do."

We Should All Be Jacks

Periodically I am vain and re-read my past posts. I think I like to check in with myself to make sure I'm not just the sounding board. However, I feel like I have been. In reading the post "Compiling the List of Yesteryear" I left the list with the possibility of gaining a position with Teach For America (TFA) and/or going to Graduate or Law School, slash getting a job.

In another previous post I mentioned that I had gotten my heart broken by various jobs and interviewees at not being selected to work at their organization, company or publication. Unfortunately for both me and TFA (yeah, I said it), I did not get the position to be the Public Affairs Coordinator. Though I would have killed at it, apparently I wasn't a "right fit." Upon asking how I could have strengthened my position or what I was missing or what they wanted and I somehow didn't deliver, they said, "No comment." This, I fear, has become a regular response from the dumper in these short-lived relationships. I've never really been privy to being in little week to month-long relationships, so I a. didn't realize I had been dumped and b. definitely didn't know how to react. My natural response was to ask why, and I guess it makes sense why they don't want to relive their thought-process. I'm convinced that for every job I didn't get over the last year, I am, indeed, the one that got away.

But, alas, I digress — going back to past posts.

I would like to say that in everything I have ever written on this blog I am and will continue to be 100 percent candid. This has, I think, gotten me in trouble, hence making the blog private. For your eyes only. The trouble with being so truthful though, is you see my direct stream of conscience. In re-reading posts I am afraid that I sound like a flake. Bouncing from idea to idea, grad to law to advertising to PR and public service to this, that and the other thing, somehow landing in a cubicle amidst the mayhem — I'm sorry.

It should also be noted that I view myself as a Jack of All Trades, as narcissistic as that may sound, which is why I jump around. I think it's an exceedingly good thing to jump around though. At this time in most of our young lives, we don't have real obligation, we don't have real needs, we just need a roof, a blanket, some food and livelihood, when it comes down to it. So, I suppose, I encourage you to re-read who you thought you were going to be last year, re-think who you are now, and make a list of all the things you want to do. (Maybe even make an outline with roman numerals, and the works.)

What's scared me most in the last few months was the fact that I thought in order to live, to do what I wanted to do, I had to compromise somewhere along the way. Eventually that may be the case, but right now, no way. It may seem like we don't have the luxury of choice, but friends, that's all we have here, and it's awesome. The thought I had constantly rotating in my mind if I didn't quit my job was, if I die tomorrow it will say somewhere in my obit that I worked in a cubicle (maybe not verbatim, I hope), but it definitely wouldn't say I was pursuing my passion — and I couldn't, then and can't now, live with that.

So, I close now by saying I still have real goals and real hopes and real things I'm pursuing, but they will change, and I will too. Graduate school or law school, living abroad, traveling often, making and donating money, giving my time, owning my life, and walking with my friends and God, learning from experience, and watching in excited anticipation for the world to throw unexpected things my way, but might be just the ticket at that very moment. I can't wait for the next exciting thing to happen, and right now I am hopeful that I'm walking more in its direct path, rather than darting left and right.

Wisdom & Working

"They weren't born like that, you know. The self-made millionaires, the now-famous who started with nothing...They learned the skills that brought them to the top, then they practiced, and through practice they changed their behavior — and their behavior made them different people; wholly different. You can be different too — any way you want to be..."

-originally from paragon-athletics

I read this in an e-mail a good friend sent to me about a month ago. Since then I have tacked it up in a cubicle, carried it around as a bookmark (in my Personal History book) and read it nearly a hundred times. It helps me.

The thing is, I've realized that through keeping an on-going list of all the books I've read this year that my most enjoyable have all been either autobiographies or biographies. Even the fiction works I've read all fall into a sort of realistic fiction where something reads as if it could have happened. But, what's more important is that it's through seeing my enjoyment in reading real-life stories that I've come to want to live a life worthy of recounting (slash I've always wanted that, just affirmation). It seems unfortunate to me that many people lead lives that (perhaps I unfairly judge) seem mundane to me. There's a sort of rhythm to life I've noticed as evidence in taking the Chicago Metra train to work every day. People sit in the same spots, wear the same self-given or office-given uniform and talk about their lives by the copy machine, how their significant other is being difficult, how they wish they could take off the afternoon, skip out early on a whim and go on a trip to Lake Geneva. I never wanted the pinnacle of my day to be leaving work.

See, I figure if you're going to be somewhere for 40 to 60 hours per week, you should like it. Maybe that's a development akin to recent years of easy-living for the under 30s, but I don't care. Why shouldn't you like your life away from and at the workplace? It seems a bizarre notion that every day, in order to be productive, has to be recounted in an excel spreadsheet with a regimen that looks, feels and is exactly the same.

Fortunately for me, I've been able to surround myself with people that have higher hopes, and more so, expectations than that — and even still the ability to carry out those passions. Thankfully after sending out an e-mail letting friends know I was leaving behind Cubicle City for some fresh air, I didn't receive any "Are you insane?" messages back. That's just a testament to good friends, good character and like-mindedness, that unfortunately many aren't accustomed to.

History (see autobiographies and biographies) has time-and-again proved that real success doesn't come from sitting on the sidelines. Waiting out the big dogs. Or sitting in a cubicle waiting for someone to give you the go-ahead. I don't want to keep my head down and act natural. There's something to be said for biding your time, but there's also something to be said for knowing what you want, and knowing what you don't want. And if you can be decisive, then be that.

Working

Here's a parred down version of excerpts from an e-mail I sent a few people regarding the day-to-day grind of my first real-real-real job working in a cubicle and my subsequent rejection of that life with built-in inner turmoil. All I can say is, time-wasting is the worst type of waste, so if you know you want to change something, get to it.

"I've just started this new job, I thought it pertinent information to let you know I am quitting.

"Yes.

"You read that correctly...

"I had been chatting with my dad [about my stint on the job so far, and really could only say],"Meh" about it. And it was bizarre. Larry, the man that just wants his kids to get jobs and fall in [the corporate] line, says to me: "Bridge, if you're not happy there, don't do it. You'll get something else." He didn't even encourage me to give it a little more time. Seriously. He went into a spiel about [his first job out of college, describing how he would] just get antsy. That's like me, antsy...

"What's weird is, I went out with some kids from [the company] the other day after work and while walking to the restaurant learned that mostly everyone who works [there] at the same position as me haven't even realized how long they've been at the company. They're content in a sort of job coma. I mean, it's got to be the benefits! I swear, none of the fun jobs offer them. My suspicion has me thinking that perhaps it's a way for the fun jobs to weed out the faint of heart. But. That said. What good is a healthy body, if it's only to serve as a shelter for a broken heart and a job comatose soul?

"Note: I am going to use it eventually in my book: My Life as a Non Journalist."

Other tales of working woes:
John

Susan

Middleness

There's even a whole website devoted to venting about your job. People need to man-up and leave what they don't like. Stagnant. Content. Interchangeable. I don't like that. If you google "I hate my job" in quotes you get over three-million sites. That's sad. It seems other people are less acclimated to life in a paid-to-go-to-a-place-that-feels-like-a-punishment.

Never Trust a Man with Two First Names

I have four things on my "To-Do List" today. It's funny. I make these sorts of lists compulsively. I always seem to have things to do, and when I don't have a lot to do, I either:

A. Make up things or
B. Write down things I have already done, and then cross them off.

I feel accomplished when I do said things. But even I know, at least a little in the back of my mind, that it's all a lie. [Pause for a deep moment.]

OK, so one of the things on my list today is to write a funny story/blurb on my blog. Hence, this moment, right now.

But the thing is, nothing funny has happened today, and though I like to make up stories, they are usually of the depressing sort, i.e. all throughout college I took creative writing and fiction courses. Each story that received the most praises were

1. A story about two brothers living in a small town, one still with their dying mother. The mom was dying of cancer, and I went into all the gritty details about what happens when mom's die of cancer, mostly just the vomiting and clean up. I'm pretty sure I had read the first few pages of A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius and felt compelled, and or, watched Susan Sarandon's performance as a dying cancer patient in Step Mom. [Another deep moment. I might have to make these more compact to send them to deep songwriter Brian McKnight.]

2. Another of these sad stories was about this really selfish doctor who goes to Cambodia on a research grant and then learns all about child sex trafficking and the like. He gets really distraught and heartbroken, and I think I had him attempt suicide.

I know, right? What's my deal? Anyway, these stories landed some compliments from the class, and one of my professors suggested I apply for the MFA program in fiction writing at the Iowa Writer's Workshop. I like to drop that in casual conversation sometimes.

So, back to the notion that nothing funny has happened. Perhaps it's because I am currently at oh-so-exciting L.Marshall, Inc. working away. Actually, today has been much busier than usual. I did payroll, organized the mail and wrote a few bid proposals. Hark. Something funny has just happened.

I work in an office of two. Well, there are some other people downstairs and then there are all the roofers out on the jobs. The office office is comprised of usually Judy and Terry, whom I might have mentioned in previous posts. Terry is a neurotic chain smoker who is in charge of all the company's finances. He wears glasses straight out of the late '70s, collared shirts from painting and roofing conventions, and gym shoes he is very proud of. They only cost him $8 each. Who doesn't like a good deal? But the best part is his mullet-styled curly hair in the back with a nice comb over. And now, pair that with a Tom Selleck mustache. You can usually find him behind his desk in the back of the office mumbling "Fuck" over and over again. I don't know why. He gets frustrated easily.

Some of our interactions are funny, others, he's kind of a jackass. Like yesterday, I told him I had to leave a little early to go to my other job (one which I had already gotten hours for before agreeing to help my padre out). And like a true jackass he goes, "Gees, that says a lot about you. I mean, you leave early and you took a long lunch." Then he does a deep sigh and says, "Yeah, it really says a lot about you." The lunch was due to Harry and Celeste, grandparents extraordinaire wanting to chat, eat and having me pick up prescriptions for them. Couldn't be helped. They're in their 80s and really are starting to fall apart each time I see them, though they still have their wits about 'em. Usually I only take 30 minutes, but yesterday I took an hour and five. An hour is typically allotted. I decided not to make a stink of it, and didn't mention casually that he takes about five 15 minute smoke breaks per day, plus a trip to Starbucks, adding up to well over that allotted 60 minutes. But, I know I could have.

Anyway, other interactions with Mr. Terry Bobbe (never trust a man with two first names) are more humorous, because really, he isn't a bad guy, just kind of a pain. So, today, I think because I made him feel bad once I let him know why I took a little longer lunch than usual, he offers to get me a coffee from Starbucks. And all I could think for a good half hour was why I didn't say, "No, but thanks a latte!"

When he gets back, he starts to rifle through the mail I had put on his desk. He opens one from Chris Industry's, one of our suppliers, and starts laughing that sort of Flem rattling one, thanks to nearly forty years of smoking. Standing up, "Brigid, oh this is good. This is good. Every once in a while Chris does something like this." Reading from the sheet: "Chris Industry's Bill for St. Mary's of 'dah' Lake." Laughing hysterically, coughing, cough, an "Oh, gees!" thrown in there for effect. "Get it? It's for St. Mary's of 'the' Lake." I get it. Gangster-speak and/or an Indian accent. "Yeah, that's funny," I answer. He sits down, looks at it for a second, then files it, still chuckling.

Future Stories. But For Now. Just Tastes.

I've become obsessed with taking notes on various happenings.

Some include, but are not limited to:

1. It just bothers me knowing that Jimmy Fallen is out there, somewhere, making more money than me.

2. People keep telling me I'm funny—that I should be in or at least write for 2nd City. I always wondered if these people really know what they're talking about. I mean, they are the "public"—the end all, be all, deciders of who makes the cut to fame. I wonder—did anyone say these nice things to the guys current in 2nd City, performing right now in Old Town tonight? Well, did they?

3. There's a big ex-football player lip singing emphatically to himself on the El train right now. He is also doing a Sudoko puzzle and wearing a blue checked button down with black slacks. A Business Professional?

4. Claddagh rings (with the heart out) on women—What does that say to the world? Is it a plea? "Please hit on me?" Pathetic or just upfront? Is it upfront if the heart is turned in (meaning, "nah, uh, I'm taken, brother!") and sad if it's out (meaning, "I'm single! Single! Take me out! Ask for my number! I'm free tonight. I'm free every night!")

5. Vaginis. This guy's last name is Vaginis. I'm thinking: Vaginis Monologues, a hit television show where at the beginning and end of each episode someone from the Vaginis Family has to share a monologue of what happened to them that day, so starting and ending an episode. This is brought on by Michael P. Vaginis, a guy who unknowingly is being made fun of by myself and my coworkers at Bar/Bri LSAT testing facility. We are currently scanning Scantrons. That's right. Someone has to make sure these lawyers in waiting have filled in their bubbles correctly. And. Yes, that's us. We get to read everyone's last names and first names. We get to poke fun at each of them. There have been a lot of "Butts" so far. I should try and Facebook Michael P. Vaginis.

5. Pretty in Pink. Ducky got the short end of the stick. Except at the end when the pretty girl asked him to dance. They should have made a movie about how in the end Ducky was alright. Titled: Ducky: The After Party.

6. Weird names: Blaine Doyle.

7. Coworkers for the week: Russell (Italian/Black female, obsessed with diversity and EOE, helps companies with diversity training, has an excuse for every single moron who has incorrectly filled out bubbles: ie. maybe they are foreign, maybe they are dyslexic, maybe they are blind (for real), maybe, well, maybe Russell, maybe they're just dumb and can't read.), Janie (a college girl, very sweet, goes to Gaucher College in Baltimore, lives with her sister in Chicago during the summer, temps for fun/money, and constantly makes me sing "Janie's Got a Gun" in my head, all day), Todd (an actor from Indiana, 26, says mildly dramatic things when explaining how something made him feel, i.e. "That kills my soul" in reference to the film Requiem for a Dream), DC (who's real name is Derek, he works as a financial guy for Goldman Sach's usually. Right now, I don't know why he's temping. His wife is his best friend, he says that casually and sweetly causing the women in the crowd to wish for something more. He's sort of a toned down Lionel Richie. He sort of looks like him and has an intense mustache that makes me laugh when I look at it), and then there are two forgettable others (1. Jamie, a beautiful, young black girl who used to work for I think it's AT&T or something like that, and the other is a K-5th grade teacher named Kristen from Naperville. Both are mid-20s).

8. Both my parents, but my dad more so than my mother, want me to appreciate the art of creation, but not to be myself a creator. Actually, that goes not just for me, but for all my siblings. It's weird, because we all learned instruments growing up, but were no Jackson 5. We all learned just enough to know how to read notes, appreciate music and the like, but were never encouraged to write our own stuff or seriously pursue music or theater as sincere job options. Funny. My oldest brother Larry took some acting classes with Improv Olympic and performed in Tony and Tina's Wedding, much to our parents' chagrin. He works at an accounting firm during the day and wishes his life were different. Now my sister is in LA in the process of gaining a BFA in film & screenwriting, my younger brother Timmy writes his own music, Kevin is transferring to USC to finish college with a degree in Screenwriting. The sad thing is, and probably the most selfish, is I was the creative, theatrical, musically talented Marshall growing up. Maybe I just thought I was. I regret playing field hockey in high school in a lot of ways. I should have done the plays. I was good at acting, always have had stage presence and can sing. Now I'm playing the banjo, and jamming more with Timmy. I've seen three musicals in the last month, and when I'm not seeing a musical or play, I'm watching a movie or reading.

9. I interviewed for two jobs this week and have another tomorrow. The one Monday was to be an Assistant Building Manager. That's right. The other is to be a Paralegal at a Home Tax/Mortgage Law Firm. To say the least: these jobs stomp creativity out, are dull, are monotonous, would in fact "kill my soul." I have another tomorrow with TravelZoo to be an Assistant Producer, which I would kill at! Should be more exciting. Is it weird that today I'm wishing I had gone out to audition for American Idol. I don't want to be on a show like that. I love to sing and perform, but I don't want to be like that. Tonight I saw Million Dollar Quartet, a story about Jerry Lee Lewis, Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins, and Elvis Presley, all involved with Sam Phillips' Sun Records in Nashville. I want what they had. I told my mom that she raised kids that all, for some odd reason, want to be famous. I think it's because we all want to be recognized. Maybe it's a big family thing.

10. Fame: Karaoke. When I told my mom about how her kids want to be famous. We just want something more. Competition. Fame is weird. A kid who took the BAR practice test's name was Fame. His/her parent was dreaming big. Kevin, my younger brother, said to me while watching Harry Potter the other night, "I could have done that role. I would have rocked at it. You know, Brigid, his dad is a major movie producer in London," all in reference to Daniel Radcliff.

11. Brian McKnight. Think of "Deep Quotes" of the day. Turn them into song lyrics. Send the finished songs to him for him to either listen to softly OR re-record giving you full song-writing credits. Did you know, "Blue Suede Shoes" sung by Elvis Presley on the Johnny Carson show, was actually meant to be sung by Carl Perkins who also wrote the song. He was supposed to perform it, but on his way to New York got in a big car accident preventing him and his band from arriving. Tough break.

12. I've fallen in love X times this year. With advertising, PR, and education. And I always am in love with music. And Each time these genres break up with me. Each time I get an interview and they turn me loose before giving me a real shot, I'm left hopeless. I'm like the retarded girl at school who can't figure out why the captain of the football team doesn't love her. Tough break. Me and Carl Perkins. Luckily for Perkins, he was a multimillionaire, got to play rockabilly music for life (my favorite kind of music) and to boot was inducted not only into the Rock and Roll, the Rockabilly, and the Nashville Songwriters halls of fame, but was also a Grammy Hall of Fame Award recipient.

13. The phrase: "I've got a taste for...," "What do you have a taste for?," etc, etc, is purely a Chicago thing. No one else says it. Most people are just upfront and say, "What do you want to eat?" Noted.

cartoon voices

Sometimes I get on a "voice" roll. What this means is basically I develop the voice of what I think someone should or would sound like. I think I could make a killing working for Pixar, Dreamworks or Disney — if only I knew how to become friends with Robin Williams and somehow implement my voices into Aladdin Return of the King and the Genie and Raja (the tiger), coming to theaters never. I should have knocked on Sir Williams' door when we both were living in San Francisco. A shot at fame missed.

Periodically I burst out into comedic voices. I have a couple of characters: one named Bernice, the other her best friend Hermione. Then I've got my umpire voice "You're Outta here!" and a few other ditties, most recently a home gnome who sounds more akin to a baby as all talking is really just goos with intonation. It's gotten some praise from Brian's roommate Danny. Almost all friends in college have experienced my gremlin voice, and one friend, Elizabeth Steele, actually made it her ringtone. I'm 99 percent positive that any time someone heard it they attempted to download a version of it from Ring Tone Nation.

I typically start throwing out my old British lady voice when inebriated. Friends in France can attest to this. Others can also attest to my creepy child laugh, which has somehow morphed into an animé character giggling.

Anyway, most of you have heard these various characters at one point or another. So, this is all to say that I've been told by a few people so far that I should become a voice actress. Every time I hear this I just want to scream, "YES!" and periodically, I do actually scream "YES!" So, consider this my notification Cartoon Movie/Television: I'm coming. One way or another.

So, does anyone know how to break into the industry? I've got a few Hollywood connections, but nothing in the animation world.

Oh, and I should also mention I do a bad ass impersonation of Macy Gray, yeah, the one hit wonder. "Games, changes and fears/ When will they go from here?/ When will they stop?/ I believe that fate has brought us here...I try to say goodbye and I choke/ I try to walk away and I stumble." She may not rock so much, but I do.

What Came First, the Chicken or the Egg?

What do employers want from me? I have about one thousand sent items to companies, corporations, publications and anything else in between, and dammit: I don't know what these people want from me.

How do you convince Jane No Name and her colleagues that you're totally, utterly, and completely, the lost individual they've been searching for all this time...without saying just that. Subtlety. I don't have it, I guess. I mean, seriously. I don't know Jane. I know her company, her brand of human, and I can imitate it all I want, but that doesn't mean that I fit, or even that someone will take the time to sift through the thousands of emails that funnel through 7 seconds after posting on Craigslist.

Thank Ed2010.com for that one. I look on that journalism job site, along with JournalismJobs.com and MediaBistro.com about a zillion times per day, week, month, yadda yadda yadda. It tells me who's looking, and today for the first time it told me why they weren't looking for me.

Other than the fact that being over qualified is now a turn-off, I'm not that surprised. [Also, I don't 'get' the whole over-qualified. Why is being ahead a bad thing, why is having a lot of experience a deterrent? John McCain and I ponder this every day.] But at the same time, even if you don't make one of these 10 careless errors, you and your silly letter will still be neglected. Lost in the Email Abyss, sorry to say. I came to a conclusion that made me highly depressed.

Basically: there's nothing I can do about it. My life is out of my hands all the time, and it's spinning out of control.

I don't like it.


For More on Joblessness and Out of Control College Graduates, check out: http://www.middleness.wordpress.com

plans. over-rated? depending on the sort.

"I moved around from town to town, lots of people around, but still so lonely. Friendships would go, then I'd hit the road. Making up excuses for why I had to leave." -Kimya Dawson

Truthfully, I love moving around, but I also like the idea of stability, which is why I'm trying for hard to find a job where I can build a career. I wouldn't mind working somewhere for a year then quitting to travel for a year or so. When I say I wouldn't mind, I actually mean to say that's sort of the plan. You know. Live, Work, and in between breath and travel. We'll see.

Happy New Years

"It may be years until the day
My dreams will match up with my pay"

-Feist, "Mushaboom" on Let It Die

jim ward. post-graduates. holidays.

I usually forget about music in the morning. But it's a great way to rev up the day. So, today I woke up, read a few chapters in Nick Hornby's "Slam" and flipped on my iTunes. Jim Ward, didn't even realize I had the man on my computer, but wow, yeah me for putting this on. I'm sure it was a last minute snatch from KRUI before I headed out those doors into post-grad life. Post-grad life is kind of like being a Post-Op patient at a hospital. Everyone wants to know how you're life has or will change thanks to the operation/graduation, they want to know what you're up to, how and if they can help, maybe make a casserole to bear the brunt of the no-job front. Well, that last part's mostly for post-graduates. Anyway, my parents had a gathering at our home last night, so I caught up with all of their friends, filled them in on me, ask questions about them and theirs; it was good. I enjoy that sort of thing. Asking questions, learning about others, filling in the blanks. Perhaps that's why I like journalism and news. But these days I'm heading in all directions. Aiming for anything and everything, but not loosing sight of what I want myself to look like at the end of the day. So, we'll see how this all pans out. I'll fill in all the rest later.

Not Exactly a Halloween Spider Web

Instead of doing Halloween this year I somehow roped myself into creating my own website. I'm a big fan of it, but maybe that's only because I've been awake for almost 22 hours straight. I should probably hit the hay.

Anyway, here's the site, if you're interested.

HERE

Enjoy!

Today

Notes on Today.

-I took my coffee to work in a washed-out tomato jar. Explanation: My roommate nabbed my to-go mug, thus causing me to search the kitchen for a re-sealable container. Tomato jar was the only option.

-I reviewed the job applications I sent last night: One to U.S. News & World Report. (I accidentally wrote "form" instead of "from." That's a bummer. I can never decide if I should email them letting them know I found the error, or not email them and hope they didn't notice. If I emailed them and they didn't notice, then I'd just be drawing attention to this error. OR. They noticed and they wanted me to email them saying I found the error, thus showing my wonderful skillz as a journalist. It is toward the end, so if they got that far in the cover letter, perhaps they decided they wanted me, but then changed their minds once seeing "form." Damn. If only it wasn't 11:23 p.m. when I shot it off last night.

-I can no longer do multiplication. I tried to figure out how much a year $12/hour at 40 hours a week would get me. Somehow I came out with $13,040. I was about 10 grand off. Good thing I'm not studying to be a mathematician. (Note: the word "mathematician" looks not unlike martian. Concordance? Anyone?)

A Nation of College Graduates

Sure, I'm a fan of higher education. I'm a college graduate myself. But these days, college degrees don't mean a whole lot. Unfortunately. Actually, education in the United States at least (prepare yourself for a sweeping generalization) doesn't mean that much. This afternoon I read this piece on The Star Ledger's website HERE. Well, it's nice to see that students are doing well on SATs and such, but standardized testing doesn't mean that much either. See. In the article the school touts the testing system as a valid form of measuring success. But from my perspective, having gone to a state school, gone through the motions of public elementary and secondary education, these tests only measure clearly commonplace status: "average."

"This year's SAT averages in themselves are not all that notable, as they were close to those in 2007 and typically change little from year to year.

Nationally, the averages didn't shift a single point from last year: 515 in math, 502 in reading, and 494 in writing, each out of a maximum 800."
-The Star Ledger

The article also makes mention that most if not all of the students from the particular school in New Jersey intend to go to college, and actually plan on going to instate colleges. The principal of the school had the audacity to say it might be that they don't want to travel too far or it "might" be that higher education is expensive. Of course that's why they're going to instate schools. College is extraordinarily expensive, especially when you measure the gains of going. Yes, you're more intelligent, but upon graduation, since so many people are going to colleges there literally aren't enough jobs to go around. And for how many seemingly blank checks students are filling out to no end, there should be jobs that pay more than the crippling dolla-dolla-bills that young graduates are might be getting out of college. Depending on which internship one accepts or not.

As a graduate with a liberal arts degrees in both Journalism and English, I can say with certainty that the education system in the United States cares more about the institution — those it employs and ever-increasing profit margins — than the students attending the school who are emptying out their piggy bank's worth of life savings just to be there. I went to the University of Iowa, and I worked hard. I enjoyed my college experience, but that's what it was, an experience. I worked all four years (yes, I finished in four years); I participated in clubs and organizations ranging from the Newman Center to University Choir; I wrote for The Daily Iowan, was Executive Editor, Managing Director and writer at Content Magazine and was a DJ at KRUI 89.7; I worked summers. I tried hard, all in the name of getting a career rolling. I did well.

Crossing the stage, shaking hands of the professors and various university officials (all making well into the $50k-$150k range, I thought of them at their graduation. I thought of who their terrible speaker was, of who they thought they were going to be 20, 40, 60 years from their meager 20-something days. Ten professors were honored for over two hours, the last hour was dedicated to the thousands of students that paid the most expensive price of admission to that basketball stadium. For a few seconds we were honored, but it didn't seem like it was about us at all.

Now I am living in California for a short stint interning for penny's (more than many of my peers are making as they intern for free, see Reality Bites below). As I attempt to flee working a dead end job that will at least give me health care, I'm here without any real cash — save for my piggy bank. I have to dig deeper into debt, because that seems to be the only way to get ahead in this world. You have to spend money to make it. And it's ridiculous. Everyone is trying to make money, but in their desire to gain a bonus they're essentially robbing the very people that make their company go-go-go. And, for the most part, company executives don't do this intentionally. Many people have mouths to feed and bills to pay, and to each his own, right? Take care of self first, right? The only way to sustain existence, right? As a 22-year-old University of Iowa graduate, Lake Forest High School graduate, Deerfield Junior High graduate, as a learned person, as someone worth employing, why does even a $35,000 job make it hard to make ends meet? By the time rent's spent, groceries bought, health care paid for, general appliances cashed out, and maybe a little tucked away for savings or a rainy day — why then, why is there still not much left? Most jobs are 40 hours a week, then another two hours in transportation time, so that's 10 hours a day, leaving between 4-5 hours left a day for life outside of sleeping and working. We're killing ourselves to get jobs that don't pay and steal our time. Our. Precious. Valuable. Time. Check out the October issue of Ode Magazine when it comes out for a peak into what a NYC schoolteacher thinks of the education institution post teaching days. I also put together a Q&A with the teacher to be put on the Web as well.

For those students graduating from high school, please head onto college, but know that even that won't be enough to get you the white picket fence, the brick house, the good neighborhood, the nice clothes. It will only get you average, and when you think of average, think nothing special. As individuals we need to think of ways to be special, to get what we want, but not at the expense of someone else. We need to be more conscious in our actions, and please, don't reward the status quo. That's a surefire way of rewarding no one.

"Everyone's special, Dash."
"Which is another way of saying no one is."
-The Incredibles

Visible Changes

During my final year at Iowa I had the pleasure of continuing to write for the Daily Iowan newspaper. I usually wrote arts and culture stories, but periodically I'd somehow end up in the metro section with a good story. One worth telling. In February I wrote a story about Invisible Children, an aid organization based in San Diego, California, that was set up to benefit the children of northern Uganda. In 2003 a film was shot to tell the story of child soldiers and the mounting internally displaced people caught in the crossfire. Five years later there has been noticeable change, especially with regard to the continued peace talks between rebel leaders of the Lord's Resistance Army (LRA) and the Ugandan government. For more information on the peace talks click here. Later in the year the University of Iowa's Invisible Children chapter hosted a benefit concert to raise awareness and funds for the northern Ugandan children, where I was again to write a piece on them. Since those two stories I have thought more of the movement and the US role in aiding foreign countries and have often found myself wanting to have a hand in it, rather than merely writing about it. Though, clearly both are necessary. That brings me to today.

Today I was checking out the progress of Invisible Children and learning more about the struggle on another blog and saw this above video. We'll see where this all takes me, but all I know is I have to use my skills to help others. It's too hard to stand idly by as the world turns, especially since that's not like me at all. But until I know what my next move is, all I can do is do what I know how, spend my time wisely, and help the world turn, not just watch it turn. So, volunteer it is, starting with a Habitat for Humanity project in Golden Gate Park Saturday morning bright and early. Volunteermatch.org is a lifesaver.

So, basically, I challenge myself as much as my stories challenge others to live outside yourself, and live a good story to tell about later.

Check it out: Invisible Children Video

ODE MAGAZINE

So, most of you are aware I'm working at Ode Magazine. It's an international, alt-monthly. We focus on positive news, but it's not that we're unaware of bad things happening to good people. We're intelligent about it, I guess you could say. We're getting set to launch our next issue in a few weeks. I got to see the sneak preview of it yesterday. Kind of exciting! I've got two mini pieces in it of about 300 words each. Still, it's cool. Plus, I did some layout for the web page we have in the magazine and wrote small minor things that don't get bylines. No biggie. Check it out if you want, just by clicking here.


You can also check out my special profile page. I mention my new favorite thing: vietnamese coffee.

That's all for now. If you see Ode's Silence issue from last month, it's still in stores at Whole Foods, Borders, Barnes & Noble and I think just recently we opened up an account with CVS. It's sweet to be part of something that is growing.

One Down. 15 to Go.

After quite a busy week at Ode Magazine, I think I can finally say I'm getting acclimated. We're getting set for the September issue, which I will have a few things in, so it's been an interesting week to begin work. I received an internship at Ode Magazine. There I get to write, edit, research, and copyfit various stories. It's pretty neat to be part of an international magazine: it's based in the Netherlands and California, with writers scattered about the globe and an executive editor who lives abroad in London.

Each day I begin my morning bright and early, grab a bite in the kitchen, then head down eight blocks to 22nd and Van Ness. I hop into the car of my managing editor and head North, to Mill Valley, as the magazine's headquarters are there, rather than in downtown San Francisco. Though it's not the most convenient place to live, the Mission district, is really fun, eclectic and always, always bustling with activity. It's about two stops away of downtown when using the Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART), and about 35 minutes from Mill Valley by car—2 hrs, roughly by using three types of public transportation. Speaking of which, last week my ride and I were out of luck when his car had to be taken to the shop. We had intended to get a ride from a coworker, but she had to leave early, leaving us with her suggested route home: by boat.

Yes, we were to take the ferry from the North Bay to downtown, then hop from there onto the BART, head to the Mission, walk eight blocks, and then, and only then, arrive home to my cozy, green Victorian flat. Well, we missed the boat. Quite literally, and ended up waiting for a taxi in the tourist town of Saulsalito to take us back to our abodes.

My first week on the job was good. I was busy, with real work, which is what I wanted. I didn't want to be fetching coffee and filling up ink cartridges. In short, I'm glad I'm not Andy in The Devil Wears Prada. Yikes.

Speaking of which, in honor of starting my job, I had intended to watch it all week. I've been watching bits and pieces for a week now, as each night I am so tired from my 8-10 hour day, plus about 1.5 hrs in transit. Now, after a fun weekend visiting with a friend from my study abroad in France, I will finish it. I will. No if's, and's, or but's. It's getting done, alright. Now, I just have to figure out what to watch over the course of seven days this week.

Bridge-Bits of Information:

-For more on Ode Magazine, just click this LINK.

-For more on traveling from San Francisco to outside San Francisco without a vehicle: Don't do it. No seriously.