It was bound to happen, and happen it did, in mid-May 2009 - my sixth month of unemployment. I had not gotten a single call back, let alone any kind of interview, since late March. I saw it coming and was powerless to stop it. The Fog was descending from the sky.
By now I assume that any readers [ARE there any readers? Hello? Helloooooo??] out there who don't know me have at least gleaned that I'm a sarcastic and fairly negative person, so reading that I am prone to periodic tussles with The Fog should not come as any great shock.
This round was going to be ugly. I had been utilizing almost all the tools at my disposal to keep it at bay, but much like trying to convince the Vogons not to throw you off one of their ships, resistance is, ultimately, useless.
There was a lot of positive stuff in my life in the weeks leading up to the Fog Attack, which of course only served to make the Attack hurt even more. I had gotten really good at being the house-husband; everything was always clean and the fridge was stocked, etc.. Laundry, dry-cleaning, any and all types of shopping, home repairs, errands and more - all expertly handled by moi.
The Orioles and Nationals, while both still terrible, beat up on some teams they had no business beating (the Os beat the evil empire in the first game played at their new $1Billion stadium, and had the intestinal fortitude to do it a second time two days later).
The weather turned awesome, I got out to shoot trains, I sat outside and read, I sent out a bazillion résumés - some of them for what seemed like really good "fits." I wrote a little for the first time in ages. My photo/negative scanning was progressing well and I was having a blast posting to the ol' photo bloggy thing. I started jogging again for the first time in years, and when that jacked up my knees mercilessly, my disappointment and pain were nicely offset by a big fat prescription for Vicodin (possibly my favorite substance on the planet). [Maris] was beyond supportive and encouraging in all things, and it appeared that she had many more months before her company would go full-on Vortex of Doom on her. Life was really not that bad, despite the fruitless job search.
As anyone who has battled depression can tell you, none of that matters much. That's all happiness stuff. Depression is not sadness or unhappiness. To someone who has never been afflicted, this illness is hard to describe. Plus, it comes in all shapes and sizes, colors and styles. Technically, mine is not that bad, except when The Fog comes.
My brand of The Fog is like The Nothing, from "The Never-ending Story." It drapes itself over me like a heavy, cold, wet and slightly smelly blanket and devours any and all energy I may have had before its arrival. I become completely immobile. My body goes numb. No one and nothing can move me from this state. I become a zombie, only without the need, desire or ability to lurch about eating people's brains. You could drop a naked, giggling Deschanel in my lap, and I would feel nothing. I'd be well aware that I should be moved, and that would only frustrate me.
When The Fog is upon me, I can barely muster the motivation to maintain my daily life. I don't do anything. I know what's happening and I know it's not my fault, but that doesn't matter at all. It's like being underwater in a straight jacket; I am utterly, completely impotent to improve anything. I know I have to wait. I don't want to wait. I want to get up and work out and get a job and make [Maris] laugh and get a haircut and buy stuff and write the great American novel and kick some bad guy's ass and drive around with the top down and cut the grass and cook the best dinner ever and call my mom just to say hi. But I can't do anything. So I wait.
Usually, I wait for a week, maybe two. This time, I waited for a solid month. I posted pics on the photo blog, I mindlessly whiled days away on Facebook and TV and stared at headlines that normally would have pissed me off, and I slept. I slept. I slept some more. I got up some days, and sat outside and slept some more while bugs bit me. I don't get suicidal or anything; that would require a motivation and energy that I just don't have. I've been through this before, so I sat in a mental waiting room and pretended to read a 3-month old "ESPN Magazine" until my name was called.
When I finally hear it, it sounds like "Bambi."
"Piss off you antelope."
"Bambi. Get up."
"I'm not done with this article about what Michael Vick did to those dogs, and I was going to read 'Why no one gives a flying fuck about the fact that alex rodriguez cheated and did steroids for years - because he's a soul-sold-to-satan yankee now' after this."
Get up, Bambi. Bambi, GET UP!!"
"Look, Mr. Bambi's Father Voice -- I'm a fucking ZOMBIE. I will eat your little venison brain, man..."
"BAMBI!! GET UP!!!"
Friday, September 17, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Day 143 of Double-barrel Unemployment: Sea-Don'ts & The Tough Budget Cuts
Wednesday April 22, 2009
Another two weeks without a job, another generous payment of $720 (after taxes) from my beloved state of Maryland. I have learned over the years to prioritize my spending during layoffs, cutting out all but the barest essentials. Although until now I had never been out of work for more than two months, there's just no way of knowing how long a layoff will last, so you have to be really careful with your cash.
So, given that [Maris] was still bringing home a decent paycheck, but for who knew how much longer, and given that I was by this time almost five months removed from my final payment from the ol' Vortex of Doom, I knew I had to put some planned purchases on the back burner for a while.
The $2,000 tiki bar for our as yet nonexistent patio would obviously have to wait. It's a shame, too. Between the two of us, [Maris] and I have . . . hang on . . . (counting on fingers) . . . FIVE friends - two of whom we've actually seen in-person in the past year. Now, I know what you're thinking and the answer is no - we canNOT entertain without a tiki bar.
[Maris]'s birthday was coming up, but cuts in that budget were needed, too. In 2008, my friend Godfrey Ozzenbarq III (not his real name) and I took a road trip down to Duck, NC to get a special-ordered coconut cake from the awesome little old lady who makes the desserts for the equally awesome Red Sky Café. NOTE: Cool place with fine, inventive food and cocktails. Anyway, my enticement to Godfrey (again, not his real name) to accompany me on an 11-hour round trip for a birthday cake was that I would treat for lunch at Red Sky. Well, in 2009 my tiny emergency cash flow from the state was not going to allow THAT. So, with no offer of a free lunch, Godfrey (still not his real name but it's growing on him) said a pox on me and my stupid cake, and I had to go alone. Saved $20, though!
Also canceled was my planned trip to see Simple Minds at one of the myriad of very cool European summer music festivals. Nuts.
My eBay bid for a long-sought-after SIGNED Yothu Yindi tour poster, circa 1993? Withdrawn. Bidding was heading into the upper hundreds. :(
I would have to put off my hand-held espresso machine purchase, and hope that maybe Santa would consider it, come Christmastime. Guess it'll be another year before I try espresso. I hope it doesn't taste too much like coffee. Can't stand coffee.
No more recreational drugs or top-shelf liquor, for a while. Okay, well, much less, anyway. Okay! A little less. Alright, the same amount. But I watched for sales!
A new laptop, on which I hoped to write my first novel and with which I planned to scan and store thousands of photographs for my photo blog, launch my internet photography business and become gainfully self-employed... Well, that purchase occurred, but the bulk of that expenditure languishes to this day as a balance on my credit card, so it hasn't really had much of an impact on cash flow. Also, a quick note to the people responsible for the creation of (and failure to stop) Microsoft Vista: You are evil morons who should be the first against the wall when the revolution comes.
Also thrust to the burner in back: My $700 "Grimmace" costume, a $450 pair of Plexiglas platform pimp shoes with goldfish in them, the collected works of Mark Leyner, handwritten in crayon on that wide-ruled kindergarten paper, a jade chalice with the Tasmanian Devil etched into the inside of the bowl, the indoor Slip n' Slide ($55 at Target) and the electric (or maybe it was cobalt) blue leather assless chaps and matching cowboy hat I saw on Andy Bell of Erasure once.
What did I buy with this week's unemployment benefits payment? Well, grocery shopping took a cool hundred off the top, so all I was able to pick up this time around was the desperately-needed laser-guided robotic vacuum - $399.99 at Hammacher Schlemmer. I'm unemployed, but that's no reason to waste 20-plus minutes a week pushing some old-fashioned Hoover around our 900 square foot house. Am I right?
With what was left, I fell prey to H-S's little "customers who bought this product also purchased this" routine, and picked up a Children's Inflatable Sea-Doo for about $200. We have no pool, no pond or lake or river or stream or nearby beach - and no children - but you just never know when you're going to need one of these handy items. Right now, it's out back, full of ice, just waiting to be stocked with beverages. We're calling it our little yellow vinyl tiki bar, for now.
Another two weeks without a job, another generous payment of $720 (after taxes) from my beloved state of Maryland. I have learned over the years to prioritize my spending during layoffs, cutting out all but the barest essentials. Although until now I had never been out of work for more than two months, there's just no way of knowing how long a layoff will last, so you have to be really careful with your cash.
So, given that [Maris] was still bringing home a decent paycheck, but for who knew how much longer, and given that I was by this time almost five months removed from my final payment from the ol' Vortex of Doom, I knew I had to put some planned purchases on the back burner for a while.
The $2,000 tiki bar for our as yet nonexistent patio would obviously have to wait. It's a shame, too. Between the two of us, [Maris] and I have . . . hang on . . . (counting on fingers) . . . FIVE friends - two of whom we've actually seen in-person in the past year. Now, I know what you're thinking and the answer is no - we canNOT entertain without a tiki bar.
[Maris]'s birthday was coming up, but cuts in that budget were needed, too. In 2008, my friend Godfrey Ozzenbarq III (not his real name) and I took a road trip down to Duck, NC to get a special-ordered coconut cake from the awesome little old lady who makes the desserts for the equally awesome Red Sky Café. NOTE: Cool place with fine, inventive food and cocktails. Anyway, my enticement to Godfrey (again, not his real name) to accompany me on an 11-hour round trip for a birthday cake was that I would treat for lunch at Red Sky. Well, in 2009 my tiny emergency cash flow from the state was not going to allow THAT. So, with no offer of a free lunch, Godfrey (still not his real name but it's growing on him) said a pox on me and my stupid cake, and I had to go alone. Saved $20, though!
Also canceled was my planned trip to see Simple Minds at one of the myriad of very cool European summer music festivals. Nuts.
My eBay bid for a long-sought-after SIGNED Yothu Yindi tour poster, circa 1993? Withdrawn. Bidding was heading into the upper hundreds. :(
I would have to put off my hand-held espresso machine purchase, and hope that maybe Santa would consider it, come Christmastime. Guess it'll be another year before I try espresso. I hope it doesn't taste too much like coffee. Can't stand coffee.
No more recreational drugs or top-shelf liquor, for a while. Okay, well, much less, anyway. Okay! A little less. Alright, the same amount. But I watched for sales!
A new laptop, on which I hoped to write my first novel and with which I planned to scan and store thousands of photographs for my photo blog, launch my internet photography business and become gainfully self-employed... Well, that purchase occurred, but the bulk of that expenditure languishes to this day as a balance on my credit card, so it hasn't really had much of an impact on cash flow. Also, a quick note to the people responsible for the creation of (and failure to stop) Microsoft Vista: You are evil morons who should be the first against the wall when the revolution comes.
Also thrust to the burner in back: My $700 "Grimmace" costume, a $450 pair of Plexiglas platform pimp shoes with goldfish in them, the collected works of Mark Leyner, handwritten in crayon on that wide-ruled kindergarten paper, a jade chalice with the Tasmanian Devil etched into the inside of the bowl, the indoor Slip n' Slide ($55 at Target) and the electric (or maybe it was cobalt) blue leather assless chaps and matching cowboy hat I saw on Andy Bell of Erasure once.
What did I buy with this week's unemployment benefits payment? Well, grocery shopping took a cool hundred off the top, so all I was able to pick up this time around was the desperately-needed laser-guided robotic vacuum - $399.99 at Hammacher Schlemmer. I'm unemployed, but that's no reason to waste 20-plus minutes a week pushing some old-fashioned Hoover around our 900 square foot house. Am I right?
With what was left, I fell prey to H-S's little "customers who bought this product also purchased this" routine, and picked up a Children's Inflatable Sea-Doo for about $200. We have no pool, no pond or lake or river or stream or nearby beach - and no children - but you just never know when you're going to need one of these handy items. Right now, it's out back, full of ice, just waiting to be stocked with beverages. We're calling it our little yellow vinyl tiki bar, for now.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Remembering Camp Stupid
Time for a little excerpt from my little NaNoWriMo novel. I hardly remember writing it, so it's making me chuckle. I hope it does the same for you...
For some kids, sixth-grade camp is five days and four nights of pure excitement, adventure and just generally wonderful memories that they look back on with warmth and fondness for the rest of their lives. They're away from home for four nights, a first for most eleven- and twelve-year olds. There are deer and woodland critters and deep, dark forests and rustic cabins and crafts and songs and campfires and all sorts of fun things to do and see. For these kids, those few days are just too great to describe when they get home.
I was not one of those kids. For me, Camp Seneca Falls [not its real name] was a prison for children, with strange wardens who made us sing about Jesus before they would let us eat. I'm sure it didn't help matters that we went in December, when even their warmest cabin was approximately forty degrees, but I swear, that place was wretched. I hated dressing and undressing with a bunch of kids, most of whom I didn't know at all, thanks to the fact that two different schools shared the camp for the week. I hardly slept. The food was simply cruel. Of the nineteen other boys in my cabin, I knew exactly two - Marty and Larry. Misery loves company, and they seemed pretty miserable, too. There. That's my highlight. Marty and Larry hated it, too.
Luckily, we were allowed to choose where we sat in the big dining hall, so Marty, Larry and I found a couple friends, and we wallowed together in our collective despair. Our leader in misery was Lewis, a quiet genius at odds with the beliefs of his huge Catholic family. Somehow, Lewis was well on his way down the Shining Taoist Path, or possibly headed for a life as an agnostic, or at the very least a strong believer in a clear separation between church and state, and he was rather put out by the coerced singing to Jesus for our food. At each meal, he changed the words to sarcastically express his distaste for the ritual.
"Oh, dear sweet Jesus on the cross, we thank you because they won't let us eat if we don't..."
or
"I'm singing, for my food, with a bunch of strangers. I'm confused. I know what grace is, but I've never been required to sing it and say 'Jesus' every third word, but they seem serious about not feeding us if we don't sing this song. I'd like some food, pleeease..."
or
"Dear precious Buddha on the mountain, I hope this Jesus song isn't offending you... We don't mean it - we're just hungry and these people are apparently running a little cult here in the woods..."
I gave serious consideration to faking an illness so that I could get sent home. I couldn't, though. Chicken, you know. As the week wore on, word spread about Lewis' sarcastic versions of the blessing, and he stepped up his little protest.
By the second-to-last night, he had graduated to:
"Oh, here we are again, Lord. I'm not even really hungry, but they are watching from the perimeter of the room and I'm already on thin ice, after what I said to the crafts lady when she asked why I made a popsicle stick Star of David when she had suggested a cross-- oh, we're done? Ahh-men!" We all laughed, and for a moment, camp sucked a little bit less.
At breakfast the next morning, we had kids from other tables asking if they could join us in "prayer." Lewis hadn't prepared anything, so we all simply sang "We Love Jesus" over and over, to the tune of the morning prayer song.
At our final lunch, Lewis gave us a copy of what he had written for the prayer, and he urged us all to join him. We passed his song around quickly and did our best to remember it. What we lacked in memorization, we made up for in enthusiasm.
"Dear Lord, please bless this holy lunch of the blessed redeemer. And if you can hear us, please send buses. We promise to be good for the rest of the year. For the rest of the year, Lord. For the rest of the year. If you'd just get us out of here, for the rest of the year." We were in unison by the end, and our hearty "Ahhh- mennnn!" definitely got some attention. We were clearly having way too much fun. One of the camp wardens glared at us for a long time, but no one said anything to us, and we were allowed to eat.
Throughout that lunch, Marty and I made as many copies as we could of some new lyrics Lewis had scribbled in his notebook for what he was calling "The Last Supper," and distributed them to the the ever-growing gang of Bad Children. It was the last night. What could they do, send us all home?
At dinner, there were so many kids packed together at our table, an outsider might have assumed we were all the best of friends and for the moment, I guess we were. We couldn't conceal our excitement. The kids at surrounding tables seemed to be watching us expectantly. At the sound of the warden's little "time to see how many times you can squeeze Jesus' name into a one-minute song or else you don't eat" bell, a hush fell over much of the big room.
"We come on the Sloop John B, Me grandfather and me, Around Nassau Town we did roam, Drinking all night, got into a fight. Well I feel so broke up, I want to go home...”
I realized then that the singing in the rest of the hall had trailed off, leaving just our table. We fed off each other's dedication to this thing we had started, and couldn't help but get even louder.
"So hoist up the John B's sail, See how the mainsail sets, Call for the captain ashore, Let me go home, Oh won't you let me go home, Let me go home, Yeah Yeah, let me go home, Well I feel so broke up, I want to go home."
Everyone stared at us. Our teacher looked for a moment as if he wanted to laugh, but frowned at us instead. The camp cult people glared daggers at us. Lewis cleared his throat. "Oh, yeah. Sorry." He then conducted us through a loud, heartfelt "Ahhh-MENNNNN..." We broke into spontaneous applause for ourselves and were thrilled to hear many kids throughout the room join us.
Okay, so camp had a couple of memorable moments, and that was one of them. The good news was that we were, in fact, allowed to eat. The bad news was that, after some investigation, it was determined that Lewis, Marty and I were the instigators of this uprising and needed to be punished. Our punishment: The three of us had to go from cabin to cabin just before lights-out and sing "Sloop John B" in its entirety. In our pajamas.
Man, I loved Camp Stupid.
For some kids, sixth-grade camp is five days and four nights of pure excitement, adventure and just generally wonderful memories that they look back on with warmth and fondness for the rest of their lives. They're away from home for four nights, a first for most eleven- and twelve-year olds. There are deer and woodland critters and deep, dark forests and rustic cabins and crafts and songs and campfires and all sorts of fun things to do and see. For these kids, those few days are just too great to describe when they get home.
I was not one of those kids. For me, Camp Seneca Falls [not its real name] was a prison for children, with strange wardens who made us sing about Jesus before they would let us eat. I'm sure it didn't help matters that we went in December, when even their warmest cabin was approximately forty degrees, but I swear, that place was wretched. I hated dressing and undressing with a bunch of kids, most of whom I didn't know at all, thanks to the fact that two different schools shared the camp for the week. I hardly slept. The food was simply cruel. Of the nineteen other boys in my cabin, I knew exactly two - Marty and Larry. Misery loves company, and they seemed pretty miserable, too. There. That's my highlight. Marty and Larry hated it, too.
Luckily, we were allowed to choose where we sat in the big dining hall, so Marty, Larry and I found a couple friends, and we wallowed together in our collective despair. Our leader in misery was Lewis, a quiet genius at odds with the beliefs of his huge Catholic family. Somehow, Lewis was well on his way down the Shining Taoist Path, or possibly headed for a life as an agnostic, or at the very least a strong believer in a clear separation between church and state, and he was rather put out by the coerced singing to Jesus for our food. At each meal, he changed the words to sarcastically express his distaste for the ritual.
"Oh, dear sweet Jesus on the cross, we thank you because they won't let us eat if we don't..."
or
"I'm singing, for my food, with a bunch of strangers. I'm confused. I know what grace is, but I've never been required to sing it and say 'Jesus' every third word, but they seem serious about not feeding us if we don't sing this song. I'd like some food, pleeease..."
or
"Dear precious Buddha on the mountain, I hope this Jesus song isn't offending you... We don't mean it - we're just hungry and these people are apparently running a little cult here in the woods..."
I gave serious consideration to faking an illness so that I could get sent home. I couldn't, though. Chicken, you know. As the week wore on, word spread about Lewis' sarcastic versions of the blessing, and he stepped up his little protest.
By the second-to-last night, he had graduated to:
"Oh, here we are again, Lord. I'm not even really hungry, but they are watching from the perimeter of the room and I'm already on thin ice, after what I said to the crafts lady when she asked why I made a popsicle stick Star of David when she had suggested a cross-- oh, we're done? Ahh-men!" We all laughed, and for a moment, camp sucked a little bit less.
At breakfast the next morning, we had kids from other tables asking if they could join us in "prayer." Lewis hadn't prepared anything, so we all simply sang "We Love Jesus" over and over, to the tune of the morning prayer song.
At our final lunch, Lewis gave us a copy of what he had written for the prayer, and he urged us all to join him. We passed his song around quickly and did our best to remember it. What we lacked in memorization, we made up for in enthusiasm.
"Dear Lord, please bless this holy lunch of the blessed redeemer. And if you can hear us, please send buses. We promise to be good for the rest of the year. For the rest of the year, Lord. For the rest of the year. If you'd just get us out of here, for the rest of the year." We were in unison by the end, and our hearty "Ahhh- mennnn!" definitely got some attention. We were clearly having way too much fun. One of the camp wardens glared at us for a long time, but no one said anything to us, and we were allowed to eat.
Throughout that lunch, Marty and I made as many copies as we could of some new lyrics Lewis had scribbled in his notebook for what he was calling "The Last Supper," and distributed them to the the ever-growing gang of Bad Children. It was the last night. What could they do, send us all home?
At dinner, there were so many kids packed together at our table, an outsider might have assumed we were all the best of friends and for the moment, I guess we were. We couldn't conceal our excitement. The kids at surrounding tables seemed to be watching us expectantly. At the sound of the warden's little "time to see how many times you can squeeze Jesus' name into a one-minute song or else you don't eat" bell, a hush fell over much of the big room.
"We come on the Sloop John B, Me grandfather and me, Around Nassau Town we did roam, Drinking all night, got into a fight. Well I feel so broke up, I want to go home...”
I realized then that the singing in the rest of the hall had trailed off, leaving just our table. We fed off each other's dedication to this thing we had started, and couldn't help but get even louder.
"So hoist up the John B's sail, See how the mainsail sets, Call for the captain ashore, Let me go home, Oh won't you let me go home, Let me go home, Yeah Yeah, let me go home, Well I feel so broke up, I want to go home."
Everyone stared at us. Our teacher looked for a moment as if he wanted to laugh, but frowned at us instead. The camp cult people glared daggers at us. Lewis cleared his throat. "Oh, yeah. Sorry." He then conducted us through a loud, heartfelt "Ahhh-MENNNNN..." We broke into spontaneous applause for ourselves and were thrilled to hear many kids throughout the room join us.
Okay, so camp had a couple of memorable moments, and that was one of them. The good news was that we were, in fact, allowed to eat. The bad news was that, after some investigation, it was determined that Lewis, Marty and I were the instigators of this uprising and needed to be punished. Our punishment: The three of us had to go from cabin to cabin just before lights-out and sing "Sloop John B" in its entirety. In our pajamas.
Man, I loved Camp Stupid.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Day 129 of Double-barrel Unemployment: Not NEARLY The Party That Most Days Are
Wednesday April 8, 2009
I remember this day. I was still feeling a little discouraged about my job search. I know the advice contained in my rejection letter from a couple of weeks prior was constructive and well-intentioned and all; there was just so much of it. I had a lot to work on. Plus, I had not developed any good leads since that interview. The economy - even here in the supposedly recession-resistant DC area - was still in a foul state. Even my recruiter/headhunter contacts were starting to sound dour, and that's not good - these people tend to be extremely positive, almost like salesmen. There was a strong, chill wind blowing outside. Bleah.
BUT...
Not one, but two silver linings appeared and sent my day scampering in a better direction, that afternoon. First, I finally set up my photo blog http://www.photographs-by-joe.blogspot.com/ and completed the first little post. It felt good to do something somewhat creative. It still does. Very few people are looking, and I'm okay with that. In many ways, the photo blog and this blog are like talking to yourself in the car; very low-cost therapy.
The second instant day-improver came in the form of my bi-weekly Maryland Unemployment Insurance Benefits payment. This always makes me happy. As you may have heard in the news earlier this Summer, there are a lot of educated men and women in prestigious, high-level elected offices who believe that unemployment benefits payments to the jobless are a disincentive put any effort into finding work. A couple of these leaders went so far as to phrase it such that we unemployed people choose to remain unemployed; that we prefer these little payments to getting hired.
Well, I hate to disappoint my bleeding-heart liberal friends, but the above is SO TRUE!! I simply adore being jobless. Sure, the first couple of layoffs sent me scrambling to find new work as quickly as I could. As I recall, after that first one in 1995, I was so proud of myself for finding a new job before I received a single penny of unemployment benefits. What was I thinking??? I know better, now. By Day 129 of this layoff, I had come to fully embrace the government-subsidized life of the unemployed layabout.
I started slow, hesitant to "take advantage" of the system. I paid cash for groceries, filled the car with just enough gas to get me to and from the store, fixed broken stuff in the house etc..
Before long, I realized just how good I really had it. So, my $360 a week (after taxes, including the extra $25 from the Feds from one of their "emergency recovery acts") began to seem like found money. [Maris]'s job at her own little Vortex Of Doom looked stable enough, right? I'd roll out of bed at about noon and play video games until at least 3:30, when I'd switch to Sports Center for a couple hours. I started sending out exactly the required-for-continued-eligibility number of résumés (two) per week, and made sure they were for jobs for which I could never be hired. I took up smoking and quickly accelerated to two packs a day. There went $140 of my bi-weekly $360.
I expanded my binge drinking of only top-shelf tequilas and rums from weekends-only to just about every day. Mmmmm... All free, thanks to unemployment! I rationalized that I was saving money, by keeping the lights off most of the time and taking maybe one or two showers a week - and never shaving (those blades are expensive).
With one benefits payment, I bought myself a pair of "Miami Vice" pinkie rings. I know - but they're really nice! One is Crockett and one is Tubbs and they have little diamonds for eyes. Classy!
Another check (two, actually) went to Toys R Us. My old Playstation 2 was just not cutting it, anymore. I had to upgrade and get some new games and controllers. I was getting really tired of "Crash Bandicoot." Sitting around and playing games is just the best, and with Unemployment, I feel like they're paying me to do it!
You know what's better than endless days of sleeping late and smoking and drinking Patron Silver and playing "Halo?" Strippers! My friend Godfrey Ozzenbarq III (not his real name) and I started heading into DC on benefits payment days to ogle the girls at "Good Guys" on Wisconsin Avenue. We quickly graduated from that to "Camelot," at great expense. Don't worry, taxpayers. You're not paying for this lifestyle. Unemployment Insurance is privately funded, mostly through premiums paid by employers, and they're doing much better now that they've gotten rid of so many employees.
But you know what's even better than strippers? Hookers! Okay, I don't think that's really true, but I can honestly say I wouldn't know. But I know drugs are better than strippers. Oh, Godfrey (not his real name) and I sure know how to party! We're back to playing a lot of "Crash Bandicoot," as well as my old vintage Atari stuff - and tons of Ms. Pac Man. That stuff is amazing when you're baked or rollin' or tweaked or Timmy!'d or buzzed or blasted or floating or destroyed or wrecked or made into pizza rolls or smelling the kitten or drunk or selling encyclopedias or trippin' or jumping the shark or writing epitaphs or playing the Cheap Trick albums at 78rpm or whatever the kids are calling it these days.
When there's cash left (there never is), we buy lottery scratch-off tickets. I think I won $25,000 once, but I was trashed and I think I must have used the ticket as a desperation rolling paper and burned it up.
Yep, being unemployed is pretty sweet. I can't imagine myself getting another job, as long as these massive piles of fun bucks for nothing keep rolling in. Work is for chumps. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've gotta go do some online gambling before I get too wasted to focus...
:)
I remember this day. I was still feeling a little discouraged about my job search. I know the advice contained in my rejection letter from a couple of weeks prior was constructive and well-intentioned and all; there was just so much of it. I had a lot to work on. Plus, I had not developed any good leads since that interview. The economy - even here in the supposedly recession-resistant DC area - was still in a foul state. Even my recruiter/headhunter contacts were starting to sound dour, and that's not good - these people tend to be extremely positive, almost like salesmen. There was a strong, chill wind blowing outside. Bleah.
BUT...
Not one, but two silver linings appeared and sent my day scampering in a better direction, that afternoon. First, I finally set up my photo blog http://www.photographs-by-joe.blogspot.com/ and completed the first little post. It felt good to do something somewhat creative. It still does. Very few people are looking, and I'm okay with that. In many ways, the photo blog and this blog are like talking to yourself in the car; very low-cost therapy.
The second instant day-improver came in the form of my bi-weekly Maryland Unemployment Insurance Benefits payment. This always makes me happy. As you may have heard in the news earlier this Summer, there are a lot of educated men and women in prestigious, high-level elected offices who believe that unemployment benefits payments to the jobless are a disincentive put any effort into finding work. A couple of these leaders went so far as to phrase it such that we unemployed people choose to remain unemployed; that we prefer these little payments to getting hired.
Well, I hate to disappoint my bleeding-heart liberal friends, but the above is SO TRUE!! I simply adore being jobless. Sure, the first couple of layoffs sent me scrambling to find new work as quickly as I could. As I recall, after that first one in 1995, I was so proud of myself for finding a new job before I received a single penny of unemployment benefits. What was I thinking??? I know better, now. By Day 129 of this layoff, I had come to fully embrace the government-subsidized life of the unemployed layabout.
I started slow, hesitant to "take advantage" of the system. I paid cash for groceries, filled the car with just enough gas to get me to and from the store, fixed broken stuff in the house etc..
Before long, I realized just how good I really had it. So, my $360 a week (after taxes, including the extra $25 from the Feds from one of their "emergency recovery acts") began to seem like found money. [Maris]'s job at her own little Vortex Of Doom looked stable enough, right? I'd roll out of bed at about noon and play video games until at least 3:30, when I'd switch to Sports Center for a couple hours. I started sending out exactly the required-for-continued-eligibility number of résumés (two) per week, and made sure they were for jobs for which I could never be hired. I took up smoking and quickly accelerated to two packs a day. There went $140 of my bi-weekly $360.
I expanded my binge drinking of only top-shelf tequilas and rums from weekends-only to just about every day. Mmmmm... All free, thanks to unemployment! I rationalized that I was saving money, by keeping the lights off most of the time and taking maybe one or two showers a week - and never shaving (those blades are expensive).
With one benefits payment, I bought myself a pair of "Miami Vice" pinkie rings. I know - but they're really nice! One is Crockett and one is Tubbs and they have little diamonds for eyes. Classy!
Another check (two, actually) went to Toys R Us. My old Playstation 2 was just not cutting it, anymore. I had to upgrade and get some new games and controllers. I was getting really tired of "Crash Bandicoot." Sitting around and playing games is just the best, and with Unemployment, I feel like they're paying me to do it!
You know what's better than endless days of sleeping late and smoking and drinking Patron Silver and playing "Halo?" Strippers! My friend Godfrey Ozzenbarq III (not his real name) and I started heading into DC on benefits payment days to ogle the girls at "Good Guys" on Wisconsin Avenue. We quickly graduated from that to "Camelot," at great expense. Don't worry, taxpayers. You're not paying for this lifestyle. Unemployment Insurance is privately funded, mostly through premiums paid by employers, and they're doing much better now that they've gotten rid of so many employees.
But you know what's even better than strippers? Hookers! Okay, I don't think that's really true, but I can honestly say I wouldn't know. But I know drugs are better than strippers. Oh, Godfrey (not his real name) and I sure know how to party! We're back to playing a lot of "Crash Bandicoot," as well as my old vintage Atari stuff - and tons of Ms. Pac Man. That stuff is amazing when you're baked or rollin' or tweaked or Timmy!'d or buzzed or blasted or floating or destroyed or wrecked or made into pizza rolls or smelling the kitten or drunk or selling encyclopedias or trippin' or jumping the shark or writing epitaphs or playing the Cheap Trick albums at 78rpm or whatever the kids are calling it these days.
When there's cash left (there never is), we buy lottery scratch-off tickets. I think I won $25,000 once, but I was trashed and I think I must have used the ticket as a desperation rolling paper and burned it up.
Yep, being unemployed is pretty sweet. I can't imagine myself getting another job, as long as these massive piles of fun bucks for nothing keep rolling in. Work is for chumps. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've gotta go do some online gambling before I get too wasted to focus...
:)
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Day 120 of Double-Barrel Unemployment: You're SO Not Hired
Monday March 30, 2009
As a full-time seeker of a new place where I can toil thanklessly for the benefit of those who are already wealthy (and for a paycheck I can pass along to my creditors), I do a lot of my job-seeking online. Most targeted employers or job boards automatically acknowledge my electronic résumé submissions with a short, generic email. Usually it's a simple "Thanks for applying for Job XYZ - we'll call you if we're interested." Some companies will include an invitation to register on their website so that they can alert me to future job openings with their organization.
Sometimes, I'll even get a rejection email, formally informing me that, while my qualifications were "impressive," the company has decided I wouldn't be a good "fit" for that position at this time, but boy, they really were "impressed" and they wholeheartedly wish me "the very best of luck" in my search. I get a strangely comforting sense of closure from these. It's efficient, too. No wasting valuable job search time with bothersome interviews and whatnot - just cut to the chase and reject the candidate up front. It's just easier for everyone that way.
Then, there's the rejection email (or, in rare instances, phone call) that follows an actual interview. My first in-person interview resulted in one of the most thorough and helpful rejection emails I've seen:
"Dear Joe, [they used my first name!]
Thank you for coming in to meet with me and my management team last Thursday. It was a pleasure getting to know you, and we are all very impressed with you and your credentials. We were faced with a very difficult choice (Ms. Johnson got so stressed she required hospitalization over the weekend. She's okay now.), but in the end we determined that another candidate was just a slightly better fit for the Accounts Receivable, Preserves Canning and Facial Hair Grooming Compliance Officer position. We hope you understand.
I strongly believe in giving constructive feedback, and this extends to prospective employees. In that spirit, I have some notes I think you might find useful. First, on your résumé:
Sincerely,
Portnoy J. Whatever
President and CEO
Acme Cheese, Inc."
See? That guy was really trying to be helpful! I keep this letter in my "job search" folder, and I review it before every interview.
Thanks for reading all the way to the end of this drivel. More later, as soon as I can muster it (I have to ketchup)...
As a full-time seeker of a new place where I can toil thanklessly for the benefit of those who are already wealthy (and for a paycheck I can pass along to my creditors), I do a lot of my job-seeking online. Most targeted employers or job boards automatically acknowledge my electronic résumé submissions with a short, generic email. Usually it's a simple "Thanks for applying for Job XYZ - we'll call you if we're interested." Some companies will include an invitation to register on their website so that they can alert me to future job openings with their organization.
Sometimes, I'll even get a rejection email, formally informing me that, while my qualifications were "impressive," the company has decided I wouldn't be a good "fit" for that position at this time, but boy, they really were "impressed" and they wholeheartedly wish me "the very best of luck" in my search. I get a strangely comforting sense of closure from these. It's efficient, too. No wasting valuable job search time with bothersome interviews and whatnot - just cut to the chase and reject the candidate up front. It's just easier for everyone that way.
Then, there's the rejection email (or, in rare instances, phone call) that follows an actual interview. My first in-person interview resulted in one of the most thorough and helpful rejection emails I've seen:
"Dear Joe, [they used my first name!]
Thank you for coming in to meet with me and my management team last Thursday. It was a pleasure getting to know you, and we are all very impressed with you and your credentials. We were faced with a very difficult choice (Ms. Johnson got so stressed she required hospitalization over the weekend. She's okay now.), but in the end we determined that another candidate was just a slightly better fit for the Accounts Receivable, Preserves Canning and Facial Hair Grooming Compliance Officer position. We hope you understand.
I strongly believe in giving constructive feedback, and this extends to prospective employees. In that spirit, I have some notes I think you might find useful. First, on your résumé:
- While I appreciate the importance of making one's résumé distinct from "the crowd," I wouldn't recommend using that fluorescent day-glo green poster board, nor do I think it's a good idea to make one's CV 20" by 30". You're lucky yours didn't get recycled with the junk mail.
- If you're going to embellish your past job titles, you might not want to include in your references anyone who would provide contradictory information. To wit: Your last supervisor informed us that you were an Accounts Receivable/Order Processing Administrator, NOT "Owner, Inventor, Patent-holder, Spokesmodel, Big Kahuna, Majority Shareholder, Visionary, President and Boss Of Everybody," as you put it.
- If you're going to share your reasons for leaving previous employers, you might want to come up with something other than "that job was stupid" for each and every one of them. Just a thought.
- Yes, it is a good idea to arrive a little bit early for a job interview. However, five hours early is too early. You made our receptionist uncomfortable, and while it does show great initiative on your part, she did not appreciate your answering her phone when she got up to use the copier. In the future, may want to limit yourself to arriving a few minutes early.
- We have a business-casual dress code here, so I can't really fault you for wearing Dockers and a Polo shirt. I also can't legally ask you anything about that intricate network of trusses, supports, straps and medical-looking girdles you were wearing. I can, however, suggest that maybe you wear such items underneath your clothes. Failing that, you may wish to consider wearing a suit jacket over those things. Again, just trying to be helpful, here.
- Take off your sunglasses and "Who Farted?" hat when you come into our office.
- While we were all impressed with your energy and enthusiasm, a little more focus on the interview itself would probably have been beneficial. I know our location adjacent to the railroad tracks can be a bit distracting, but running to the conference room window every time a train passed and yelling "Woo Woo!" and "All Aboard!" and then shouting out the number, make and model (and horsepower, in some cases) of every engine, well - it really broke up the "flow" of the interview.
- Falling asleep while our Director of Operations (the person to whom you would have reported, had you been hired) was asking you a question? Not a good idea.
- Finally, I must say that we all found the candor and originality of your answers and remarks refreshing, to say the least, but I would try to stay away from such statements as "I just applied here because I have to make at least two job contacts a week or else I'll lose my Unemployment Benefits," or "I thought this job sounded easy," or "Am I getting paid for today," or "This is boring!" And when asked to tell us about yourself, I think 90 minutes about why "It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia" is the best show on TV, is just way too much, and not really the kind of information interviewers are looking for.
Sincerely,
Portnoy J. Whatever
President and CEO
Acme Cheese, Inc."
See? That guy was really trying to be helpful! I keep this letter in my "job search" folder, and I review it before every interview.
Thanks for reading all the way to the end of this drivel. More later, as soon as I can muster it (I have to ketchup)...
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Day 116 of Double-barrel Unemployment - "You Should Invent Something"
THURSDAY MARCH 26, 2009
My first in-person interview of this layoff! Normally, I'm already re-employed by about day 60, but this time, I had taken it pretty easy for the first month or so. By the end of January, I was applying for jobs daily and checking in with all my recruiters once a week. I had started to get calls from prospective employers, and by the end of February I'd had several phone interviews. These went well, but I had yet to get an in-person interview. Too much experience, too little experience, missing the one résumé item they couldn't live without, not a CPA, made too much at my last job etc.. So, it was exciting to land an actual interview. I won't get into the details. It went great - they liked me, but it had just been too many years since I had managed people.
Day 116 wasn't just my first real interview. It was also the day I was given one of the more insipid pieces of advice I've heard in this or any layoff. As someone who has taken several trips down Unemployment Boulevard, I get a lot of advice. I'm always grateful that people want to try to help, and the pointers I get are sometimes really novel or useful. Sometimes.
I've been through this enough to know the basics by now, so even some of the better suggestions are less than helpful.
"Hey Joe - you should try applying for a lot of jobs." Really? Ya think?
"Have you tried updating your résumé every couple of weeks, so it will show up in more employers' searches - in case they search only for 'new' résumés?" Great tip. I've been doing that since my 2001 layoff. It works.
"Remember you were saying there are tons of I.T. Security job listings, especially with government contractors? You should try to get one of those jobs." I am an order entry, billing, customer service, A/R person with zero I.T. experience or education, and most of those jobs require a top-secret clearance, but I'll keep that in mind.
"You take such nice pictures - you should be a professional photographer!" Thanks. I've actually taken some baby steps toward that goal. Even bought a negative scanner. I'm realistic, though. I've seen the work of pros, and I know I have a long way to go. Not saying no - just need to pay the bills while I work that out.
"Hey Joe - you should work for Google! I hear they're hiring, and it's supposed to be the coolest company to work for." Really? Again, I'm not so much a programmer. Plus, those jobs are in California. We're in Maryland, in a house that's $100,000 under water.
"There are towns in Iowa that are offering all kinds of incentives to lure people to live and work there. You should go!" Okay, again - house would cost $100K to sell. Plus, then we'd live in IOWA.
"Why don't you be a writer?" I am a writer. There are millions of me. I have bills, man. I've been at it for years and I will keep at it, but the odds are not good that I'll ever make a living at it. I love it - I mostly do it for myself, anyway.
"You love to eat - you should be a restaurant critic!" Oh dear sweet zombie Jesus.
"You and [Maris] should start your own company." Cool - will you give us the money? We have a business model ready to go. Phase I: Steal Underpants. Phase III: Profits!
"You should be more positive." Yes, I know. It's worked so well for me in the past.
"You should get one of those top-secret clearances." That would be awesome. Costs tens of thousands of dollars, though. Will have to find a company that will sponsor me. The problem is, they are flooded with applicants who already HAVE clearances. Maybe when the market turns around.
"If the market's so bad, why don't you use this time to go back to school and get a more marketable degree or just take some classes that will boost your résumé?" I can't say this is a bad idea, but by day 116 [Maris]'s job was looking shaky, too - so we just didn't have the nerve to gamble with what little cash we had.
"You should invent something!" You're absolutely right. I should do that.
"Have you thought about going on a reality show?" No. No, I haven't. Have you?
"You should start a blog! Or a photo blog!" Ugh. Wait, what? Okay - I might go ahead and do that...
My first in-person interview of this layoff! Normally, I'm already re-employed by about day 60, but this time, I had taken it pretty easy for the first month or so. By the end of January, I was applying for jobs daily and checking in with all my recruiters once a week. I had started to get calls from prospective employers, and by the end of February I'd had several phone interviews. These went well, but I had yet to get an in-person interview. Too much experience, too little experience, missing the one résumé item they couldn't live without, not a CPA, made too much at my last job etc.. So, it was exciting to land an actual interview. I won't get into the details. It went great - they liked me, but it had just been too many years since I had managed people.
Day 116 wasn't just my first real interview. It was also the day I was given one of the more insipid pieces of advice I've heard in this or any layoff. As someone who has taken several trips down Unemployment Boulevard, I get a lot of advice. I'm always grateful that people want to try to help, and the pointers I get are sometimes really novel or useful. Sometimes.
I've been through this enough to know the basics by now, so even some of the better suggestions are less than helpful.
"Hey Joe - you should try applying for a lot of jobs." Really? Ya think?
"Have you tried updating your résumé every couple of weeks, so it will show up in more employers' searches - in case they search only for 'new' résumés?" Great tip. I've been doing that since my 2001 layoff. It works.
"Remember you were saying there are tons of I.T. Security job listings, especially with government contractors? You should try to get one of those jobs." I am an order entry, billing, customer service, A/R person with zero I.T. experience or education, and most of those jobs require a top-secret clearance, but I'll keep that in mind.
"You take such nice pictures - you should be a professional photographer!" Thanks. I've actually taken some baby steps toward that goal. Even bought a negative scanner. I'm realistic, though. I've seen the work of pros, and I know I have a long way to go. Not saying no - just need to pay the bills while I work that out.
"Hey Joe - you should work for Google! I hear they're hiring, and it's supposed to be the coolest company to work for." Really? Again, I'm not so much a programmer. Plus, those jobs are in California. We're in Maryland, in a house that's $100,000 under water.
"There are towns in Iowa that are offering all kinds of incentives to lure people to live and work there. You should go!" Okay, again - house would cost $100K to sell. Plus, then we'd live in IOWA.
"Why don't you be a writer?" I am a writer. There are millions of me. I have bills, man. I've been at it for years and I will keep at it, but the odds are not good that I'll ever make a living at it. I love it - I mostly do it for myself, anyway.
"You love to eat - you should be a restaurant critic!" Oh dear sweet zombie Jesus.
"You and [Maris] should start your own company." Cool - will you give us the money? We have a business model ready to go. Phase I: Steal Underpants. Phase III: Profits!
"You should be more positive." Yes, I know. It's worked so well for me in the past.
"You should get one of those top-secret clearances." That would be awesome. Costs tens of thousands of dollars, though. Will have to find a company that will sponsor me. The problem is, they are flooded with applicants who already HAVE clearances. Maybe when the market turns around.
"If the market's so bad, why don't you use this time to go back to school and get a more marketable degree or just take some classes that will boost your résumé?" I can't say this is a bad idea, but by day 116 [Maris]'s job was looking shaky, too - so we just didn't have the nerve to gamble with what little cash we had.
"You should invent something!" You're absolutely right. I should do that.
"Have you thought about going on a reality show?" No. No, I haven't. Have you?
"You should start a blog! Or a photo blog!" Ugh. Wait, what? Okay - I might go ahead and do that...
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Day 53 of Double-barrel Unemployment: Hope and the Mortality of Stars
Thursday January 22, 2009
Well, well, well. 2009. Son of a bitch. It's 2009! The holidays were behind us, blurry and fattening and fun in their familiar chaos. The NFL playoffs were over, with only the Steelers-Cardinals (Cardinals???) Superbowl yet to be played. Stuff had been happening, but it had been a strange assortment of highs and lows.
It began with news of the death of the father of my good friend Godfrey Ozzenbarq III (not his real name). Godfrey, my one-time boss at Erol's, confidant, grifter, go-cart enthusiast, porn critic, mentor, turtle painter, ranting partner, career counselor and would-be Tom Delay beater-upper, had watched his father fade away rather quickly over the past half-year and depart on New Year's Eve. Godfrey and I now had this in common. My dad's fade, ending in July 2005, was slower, but of course there were parallels. Godfrey's mother had died two months after that. Now, both of his parents were gone, and departures were becoming all too frequent. We both have a pragmatic view of such sad events, and Godfrey had emailed me of his being at peace with the fact that he would never live larger than his parents had.
I knew the feeling, and replied with something along these lines:
Well, well, well. 2009. Son of a bitch. It's 2009! The holidays were behind us, blurry and fattening and fun in their familiar chaos. The NFL playoffs were over, with only the Steelers-Cardinals (Cardinals???) Superbowl yet to be played. Stuff had been happening, but it had been a strange assortment of highs and lows.
It began with news of the death of the father of my good friend Godfrey Ozzenbarq III (not his real name). Godfrey, my one-time boss at Erol's, confidant, grifter, go-cart enthusiast, porn critic, mentor, turtle painter, ranting partner, career counselor and would-be Tom Delay beater-upper, had watched his father fade away rather quickly over the past half-year and depart on New Year's Eve. Godfrey and I now had this in common. My dad's fade, ending in July 2005, was slower, but of course there were parallels. Godfrey's mother had died two months after that. Now, both of his parents were gone, and departures were becoming all too frequent. We both have a pragmatic view of such sad events, and Godfrey had emailed me of his being at peace with the fact that he would never live larger than his parents had.
I knew the feeling, and replied with something along these lines:
"True, sir - your musing on mortality and living large. In reading obits and listening to stories of your 'rents, of my own dad and his, as well as of older friends of the family who are lining up to depart, I on more than one occasion have stopped and thought HOLY SHIT - Look at all the stuff he DID! I haven't done jack flydiddlyfuckin' SQUAT! I'm not about to tell you that I have the energy or wherewithal (whatever that is) to attempt to live as big, but it does give one a pause, no?
Once, on a family stroll on a dark Rehoboth beach, my dad told us as we marveled at the number of visible stars, that it was very likely that many of them were at that very moment already long-since dead and gone. We're teeny, man. But we do what we can and we get by and we try to enjoy ourselves as much as possible.
And there are bright spots. Watching the 1,800,000 frozen but hopeful and overjoyed people on the Mall, listening to a smart young new President (the address, not the stumbly oath) as he spoke in complex, compound sentences with subject-verb agreement, polysyllabic words and proper syntax (without an "in'" for ING anywhere to be found) was a deeply moving experience. Yeah, we're still just approaching the deep end of this shitter ("shitter's full!"). But there's hope. With bush exiled in texas where he can't hurt us any more, and with an intelligent, THOUGHTFUL and popular dude in charge, maybe - just maybe - we can begin to recover and actually be proud Americans once more. Eventually."
On the heels of Obama's Inauguration, while [Maris]'s company laid off a bunch of her coworkers, leaving her with a less-secure job and way too many hats, I ratcheted up my job search and found myself with two phone interviews and a new recruiter meeting in the span of two days.
Sure, the economy is in the toilet and headed for the septic tank, but we just swore in our first African-American President and we are tempted to feel hopeful for the first time in over eight years. The country of which he is assuming the controls is halfway down the awful spiral of a black fucking hole, but there is that faint glimmer of hope, and we cling to it with all our might.
Join us next time, when things get funny. Probably...
On the heels of Obama's Inauguration, while [Maris]'s company laid off a bunch of her coworkers, leaving her with a less-secure job and way too many hats, I ratcheted up my job search and found myself with two phone interviews and a new recruiter meeting in the span of two days.
Sure, the economy is in the toilet and headed for the septic tank, but we just swore in our first African-American President and we are tempted to feel hopeful for the first time in over eight years. The country of which he is assuming the controls is halfway down the awful spiral of a black fucking hole, but there is that faint glimmer of hope, and we cling to it with all our might.
Join us next time, when things get funny. Probably...
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