Consider dreams and aspirations

Having a dream is alot like having all-time favorite films, books, restaurants, cousins, or used cars: indecisiveness prevents these from being found out. Possibly, in an ideal state, these dreams and yearnings exist untouched, and possibly untouchable, by the human consciousness and centre of speech. Forgive the phenomenological diversion, but it's hard for me to fathom that some people have all-time favorites and others don't: watch someone buy food and drink after a good, profitable day (especially if it breaks up a run of losing days) and their overworked superego will give way to their carnal desire for something that they can't help but enjoy.

What do I want to do in life? Not sure. Importing beer or wine would be nice, but those are difficult jobs to have if you're not an insider in those countries that do it, notably, European countries. Writing would be great, or maybe not, it could be terrible. I'm dating a writer who, in spite of landing a book deal with movie and tv options, has told me that she would like to return to film with writing on the side, but she's not 100% on that to be her future. More than that, I've always held writers a bit circumspect. Why do you want to have both your career and hobby based on enscribing thoughts, opinions, and imaginations? Seems a bit self-obsessed.

At any rate, I'm surrounded by such wonderful friends that I've never felt so loved or complete before. It's good that my parents don't have this blog because that might hurt their feelings. Regardless, everyone is giving me advice and alot of it is great (and some of it visible in this blog in the comments section) and points to the future with their belief that I can do great things. One friend in particular, who lacks in neither cynicism or talent, pointed me to her very own company, a noted national newspaper. Their own internal classefieds reveal tons of writing jobs and, what's more, open up worlds of possibilities. After all, where there are open positions for reporters, a notably difficult position to get, not to mention, keep, there must be possibilities for freelance work. Why not send some of my former travelogues, heavily edited, to these guys? The worst they can say is "no," and slightly less worse, "not today." At the very least, I'd have a story to tell people.

I have reservations about journalists and their lives as well. It becomes clear that the journalist is the social butterfly for whom people are mere mouthpieces of gossip and expert-sounding advice to be used to further their own career. It would be unethical for a journalist to pay a source, but why should anyone talk to a journalist if they're not getting something in return? If, for instance, I could talk to a journalist enough so that everyone above me at my company were fired, making me president, that would benefit me, I suppose, but then I'd spend my life finding 14,000 replacements to hire. Don't get me wrong, I love spending my free time socializing, but I'm pretty convinced that it's vacuous and not the gateway to key inside sources that tell people how the world really works. I suppose that a "good" journalist, read, a reliable one, holds a few lifelong tenets, such as


"[the current presidential administration] is (pick one: good/bad), and that's so for [the very reasons that the administration tells us], therefore, I'm going to interview [three people: someone who could be identified as on the inside that agrees with you, someone that the public knows and that will prove your point, and someone from a foundation of sorts] because they're intractably connected to the facts, which is why I got into journalism."


Can I work so hard that I alienate everyone around me in order to achieve this? Because I don't hold tenets like that (while, at the same time, holding nearly unwavering tastes) I think I would find it miserable, yet very sociable. Well, at any rate, I should give it the college try (even though I graduated a while ago, I'm still making college tries) to get my writing published in the best outlet I can. Start at the top, work my way down, similar to the admissions process that I, admittedly, never participated in, taking the "easy way in" to KU.

Thanks for all the support, stories about amazing jobs to come.

Wells

Job search brings out old stress

While conversating with an esteemed friend of mine, the question came up as to what I wanted to do, exactly, with the Time and Life magazine that I would be trying to slide my way into. In the pursuit of something so elusive and exclusive, I had shunned the typical questions that involve my day-to-day fulfillment on the job. What do I want to do and in what enviornment do I want to do it in? I don't know, honestly. I think that magazines in general suffer their readers with repetitive content. On the other hand, the ones which are packed with serious, world-changing articles are often too dense, namely Nature and Science. The Economist reaches perfection but has a Wizard of Oz aspect because none of the writers have bylines (although there are contributors from the world over). Time is for children, Newsweek is for liberally spawned children, and US News and World Report is for children who steal magazines from doctor's offices. Even the "fun magazines," such as the off-road and sky-surfing mags, are boring because they don't cover much ground and provide a bountiful portion of their pages to special interest advertising. I recall trying to read an issue of "Ski" and wondering where all the articles were. Even the articles seemed to just be about the equipment. The swath of magazines does little to promote their value: design mags, Utne Readers, Men's Mags, the Cosmo clan, it leaves the eyes reflecting their glossy sheen remarkably well.

And yet, it takes alot of guts and hard work to make a place in magazines. Presumably, this is because there are life-enriching jobs on the other end, which makes the entire industry appealing, as opposed to one particular publication.

This same friend, an academic by trade, questioned why I wasn't an academic. Well, it's simple: the English department at KU was the perfect metaphor. Buried in the depths of a huge, flat, building, Professors worked themselves silly and played political games that have nothing to do with scholarship (except that they now seem inseparable) in order to get an office that they would never have to give up. What was a typical office, though? It was a small, windowless space, one in a row of eight at the least. It was certainly quiet, perhaps as quiet as any building which serves for storage or abandonment. These geniuses, hard-workers, and (the few, the proud) the professors that could actually teach all earned a space in this building. Before the building became a repository for the purveyors of humanities, though, it was designed to be a parking garage. Essentially, the professors' workspace was their indefinite, labelled parking space with enough room to cram bookshelves and a desk, all enclosed in prefabricated walls. The unattractiveness of the space, however, is not the lesson, as other professors on campus had sunlight and a view, but shared their situation with the English professors entirely. From what I could see, professors worked very hard to achieve a position that they could never leave unless it was to their detriment. They traded flexibility and movement for a job which guaranteed security and creative influence, which is a fair trade, but perhaps not one that I'm willing to make.

What if I want to move or start a business? What if I wanted to be identified as a professional, someone who, depending on the job market, can start a practice in a new place without having to have extensive contacts. What if I wanted to risk my retirement on an investment? None of these things would be possible if I was dependent on the caretaking nature of the institution for benefits and for my livelihood. I'm not set in stone on anything, but I have an independent temperament that prefers to be alone than to be a team-player. Moreover, while the academic life may be the best in the end, I had to see for myself what it was like to live beyond the strictures of the university. I never feel satisfied with people's descriptions; I'd rather find out for myself.

Tomorrow I'll come up with some more job news.

Appearances are not what they seem

My job has all the appearance of being cool. Besides the fact that I don't do anything, there's the aspect that I'm in the music industry. I'm not looking over numbers concerning widgets, steel, or gasoline usage; I'm a part of the huge machine that makes magic! Of course, this magic is now being used to create Monsterah Carey and Nickelflack records. It goes both ways, but I guess I'd like to state my opinion here and now: in the twentyfirst century, the music biz is pretty boring, at least from the standpoint of the big boys. I wonder whether the small guys are doing anything really interesting. At least, above and beyond those who write, perform, record, sell, and tour their own material.

Now that I've seen that a certain industry is not particularly evocative, I look with trepidation towards the others which carry cache above and beyond the paycheck (and, often, to the detriment of the paycheck). Publishing, the supposed custodians of culture (since art is so hard to understand or feel anymore, at least, frequently), movies, the most vibrant and participated in art of our time (participating in architecture is passive for most), tv, the ultimate panacea, of which I am a fan despite its frequent poor quality, and fashion, where, despite the odds, a coat is never just a coat.

I think that my doubt lies not in how stimulating these fields may be, but in their ability to transcend a life from boredom to excitement. Jobs, even those that supposedly represent someone's life work, are still jobs, not some equivalent of going out and drinking. Even jobs where you can drink and hang out with friends (bartending) end up being work. Work is work, and the point is to find some people, a mission, and a group of tasks that are agreeable, not to think industry-by-industry.

Of course, staffers like people to be in the same industry, jargon usage, mostly.

I won't be complaining for long anymore

Yesterday I had several good things happen to me, but more notably, I got results from a couple of contacts. One contact, I feared, wouldn't ever offer me job, relationship, or any help that connected to her because we had partied together and she was used to my ribald nature. I have a hard time keeping anything to myself, especially anything vulgar or sexual. Why would she want to sully her company by letting me in the door? Well, the truth is that she sees my pure heart, at its very core to say the least, and my sufficient intelligence, and she probably knows that I provide a breath of fresh air to any diffcult situation. So, she personally passed on my resume and cover letter to the HR department for two jobs, including a job in the HR department, no less!

It should be clear that I've railed on HR departments before, so why would I want to join the herd of benefit checkers and resume tossers? Clearly, because there's always room for improvement. There's always another chance for me to practice being nice to total, and often pushy, strangers as well as impolite co-workers. There's alot to know with health insurance, one of the most critical parts of life when someone gets sick. As I've said before, HR is a critical component in the success of a company.

The other contact that got in touch with me was a friend of my cousin's. She works in the Time and Life building, conveniently located right across from Radio City, where I work. She said that she's been impossibly busy but would love to make time and talk to me about the publishing industry, hopefully providing me with a referral if I can ever apply there.

I've never gotten anything from a peer referral. My current job was less of a referral and more of a favor granted by the president of the company. Still, though, anything to minimize the gap already inflicted by the internet is a great advantage.

I had a dream 10 minutes ago

Taking a break from an unusually slow workweek, I decided to join my co-worker in a little nap. My garrolous friend, a real nice guy, does production for the Steve Harvey show right next to me and could be considered a huge nuisance. In fact, if he wasn't nice, I'd be complaining every day. So, I just limit it to once every two months.

His day, as a Producer for the Steve Harvey Morning show, starts at five at a local Urban station. Then, after the show's over, he comes uptown and works/naps/watches movies on his PSP until five. The guy confesses that he does this to keep out of trouble, because with all the napping he could leave earlier. Still, though, people expect downloads from him (and he expects downloads from other people) so he would have to work at home as well. Being in radio production is tough. Another veteran producer who works for a notorious right-wing talker is going to law school soon.

Now that I have zero to do, I too take occasional office naps. It seems so legit when your co-worker is sleeping right in front of you.

During this mini-siesta, though, I had a small dream where I was talking to a job consultant of some sort. He was placing colored square stickers on a piece of paper, depending on what I could do for a job. Whenever he came across a sticker that said Manager, he said, nope, can't do that. I didn't feel either way about it because it's how I've been looking at the job boards anyways. Apparently, though, it's on my mind even though I've applied for relatively few jobs this week.

McGraw-Hill needs a prize made just for them

Those hallowed textbook publishers that also own Standard and Poor and a couple of other operations (McGraw-Hill Construction, for instance), defnintely came through late in the day yesterday with a pick-me-up that was uncharacteristic of HR. After a small spate of messages left on both ends, their HR rep finally got ahold of me to clarify my job application. She told me that she wasn't sure if I really wanted a part-time job, because she sensed that I was going for a full-time position (probably stemming from the fact that I'm working full-time right now). She was very polite and told me to keep right on applying and checking their resource board now and again.

In the publishing world, which gets swamped by the intelligensia jumping the SS Academia by the droves, there's no real need to be nice: if one is disappointed with the HR attitude and leaves in a huff, ten more appear from nowhere brandishing their unappealing academic credentials.

Then again, there's no reason to be mean, either. What can be handled in a short and gruff manner can also be dealt with civilly and adroitly. There is no excuse for treating applicants like scum, and if I run into an HR group laughing about their evil ways, I may dress them down for all to see. They may crumple up my application and throw it away in the trash, instead of the permanent waste dump that is the file drawer, but at least I'll leave a sting with my mother's glare and acerbic choice of vocab words.

Politeness is an inconvenience, despite its virtue

The race to the bottom of the heap, mired in manure to the chest or even the chin, is the secret of success for many conspicuous personages. I need only ring the bell for James Frey, at least before the expose, Donald Trump, the prince of gaudy eyesores and incorrigible bankruptcy bailouts, and our pencil-thin pariah Paris Hilton, who has not a bone of saving grace, to point out that being a miserable person will be rewarded handsomely! This is, without a doubt, the 21st century rags-to-riches story, but Horatio Alger be cursed, because doing what mom and dad said will only result in rewards no more exciting than plain vanilla ice cream, definitely not Breyer's.

Enter my blog! If it takes off, I could be walking hand-in-hand with other notables. For instance, there are bloggers who regularly give themselves a manure facial, such as the Washingtonienne: a coke-sniffing Pennsylvania Ave. street-walker, proud of herself beyond all reason. More prominently, and with much more appeal, are the self-made Hollywood automartyrs, like Morgan Spurlock, the once praised but now forgettable McDonald's antihero and creator of Super Size Me. As I digested my Burger King breakfast, it came to me in a carb-loaded vision that this non-native New Yorker pulled off a rather common coup-de-tete: he stole the lifestyle of the urban lower class and made money selling it to the middle class. Hopefully, since he is clearly an exploitation artist, he can go over some new ideas with Harmony Korine, who acutely purges melodrama all over her movies with the finesse of a Lifetime movie that interjects daytrading scandal and German war crimes into a typical waspy wham-bam-beat 'er up hormone fest. At the very least, these vision-in-the-flesh directors have given screentime to everyone from frumpy hipster girls to lanky slang-slinging rollerbladers, those who would normally never get the chance.

The problem, though, is that my blog keeps floating up from the bottom of the manure spread, where it could be popular. If no one responded to my resume, I'd look pretty sorry and therefore prove a real point to a mass audience that likes to be shown which conclusions they should jump to. I'm fifty resumes in and I've already gotten three calls! One of them was a dud, the other was for a job that I shouldn't have applied for, and, most recently, I got a call from a young lady who left me with the wrong message concerning my resume. When I checked my voicemail yesterday, I had a message from Robert Half, another legal staffing firm, asking me to call them back. I called back later on, only to be asked brusquely which position I applied for, and to which I was told that I did not apply for that position, despite the fact that I had applied for it and nearly all the other positions within my reach. Then, she had another call to take, and couldn't get ahold of me again, yesterday or today. I gave her a courteous reminder call that she could return my call anytime, but apparently my application and her position as a legal staffer were irksome details in her life, so, no call back.

I'm not sure what to do about jobs today, besides doing the one that I'm paid for.

It's about time

Would you believe it, 50 resume postings in and I get a job offer? McGraw-Hill called me up on my cell phone, which I conveniently left at home, for the position of Traffic Coordinator within McGraw-Hill Construction, a far cry from their books or stock rating (Standard & Poors) business. Now, unfortunately I overlooked a critical detail about this job, that is, that it's part-time, 16 hours a week. I'm pretty sure it won't be a high enough salary to justify leaving a full-benefits 40 hour a week job. Overlooking details is going to cost me my job, even if it's a job I never had in the first place.

It might be worthwhile to go in guerrilla and find out what kind of skills I would need to become a research analyst or an editor. While staffers loathe the noncommitted job searcher, they should take a step back and realize that it's a natural response to a job market in flux. Both of my parents will swear away the notion that they wanted the jobs they had, in the sense of wanting to do that activity for a living. Instead, they took what they could find and what they could make money doing. And make money they did. They instilled a value in me which says that if I can't find something in the next two years, I'm applying to the MTA.

Let me usher in a story about getting a great job

Usually, I only get two small benefits from IM Chat: I get to keep up with people that I rarely see, and those that I can't seem to see enough of. Today, though, I got a real job story. Come over to 166 Newel and shake hands with the man himself, because he pulled off something incredible.

Devin Vermeulen, Architect, NYC:

Did I ever tell you how I got the job with the first architecture firm I started working for? I actually met them when they came into Blue Smoke as an office for an X-mas lunch. While I was dropping off food, the principal architect jokingly said to the server, "Hey, you're not an architect, are you? Because we need someone to design a website," or something of that nature. I perked up as the server said, "Actaully, I'm a graphic designer and this is my last week here, I just got a job." The principle said, "Oh, that's too bad, we missed the boat," so I said, "Well, I'm an architect and I'm availible." He said, "Really?" and I said, "Yeah, I had just moved here a bit ago after getting my degree in Kansas." He gave me his card and said to call him after the holidays, I sent him my resume the next week, called him in January, set up an interview, and was working for him a week and a half later.

Devin has since found another architect job that he's pleased with even more.


Chat with me on Google Chat or on AIM Wellsmus to share your story on the blog. This is about getting jobs, after all, not just letting me prove that I can't employ myself better.

I don't care for your style of interviewing

Last night, instead of organizing papers, I was on the floor with an ironing board. I'm aware of the idea of using a stand to raise the board to waist-level, but, last week, in a fit of impatience and rage, I tore the legs off because they wouldn't fold down. In any case, I had some clothes to nicen up for an interview right before work today with an Office Staffing Firm. Part of the reason I'm leaving this job is for the almighty dollar, which I'm not making now, nor will I be in the future, because radio is on the downturn and no one is doing anything right to reverse it.

I felt priviledged to get an interview so soon after starting my new job quest. This particular firm was looking for paralegals, and it was made blatantly clear to the staffer that I had no legal experience, either on my resume or otherwise. Still, though, she wanted me in for an interview by the next day and, operating on the principle that interviews are a pain and therefore only given when absolutely necessary, in other words, when employment is a possibility, I gladly agreed.

I came and filled out a general application that seemed frivolous. After all, the most pertinent and individualized information could easily be culled from my resume, especially with the search engine technology availible. I filled it out hastily and got on to my interview, five minutes early, feeling absolutely sure of myself and my ability to learn a new job. The woman was nice and asked me briefly about my resume, mostly focusing Kansas, actually, because she wanted to know if it was nice in Kansas. I was not really in the mood to chit chat all morning, though, so I answered everything with brevity until she told me that, as I had no legal experience, she had nothing for me. She then suggested that I do some pro bono work, somewhere, somehow, so that I could gain the experience required to be a bigtime corporate legal heel. I told her that I was confused, because it was made clear before the interview that I didn't have this experience, to which she gave a stock answer that she wanted to get the meet-and-greet out of the way, in case anything more in my league came up.

Before I left, I made sure to tell her that I wouldn't work for any less, but only somewhat more, than what I'm making now. After all, I have a cush, pleasant job in radio. Why should I trade it for a bottom-rung carbon copy gig where I have to bust ass around a bunch of suits and ties all day? A law office must be what passes for a video arcade in the 9th circle of hell. Fun, you say? Stimulation? Not a chance! Everybody has a price, though, and mine is five grand more, which is only three grand less than I would ask to work for Heidi Fleiss.

I'm having a hard time picking up the staff and walking on this morning, I'm feeling the curse of the English Major heavy on my heart, which feels like a hungover attack of remorse that won't go away. I beg anyone looking at an English major to stay away, learn to read and write some other way. All those weekends I stayed in to study have only earned me the right to get suggestions from people. It still leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Who does volunteer work to do office jobs for major corporate law firm? Ugh. I might as well scrub hood ornaments for charity or recycle cigarette butts to needy bums to get a look from some Big Shot auto manufacturer or tobacco company.