Saturday, June 30, 2007
Friday, June 29, 2007
Random Thoughts for Friday
Jane has a nasty summer cold, feels like doody, and has exhausted herself writing, of all things, a restaurant review. I feel so craptacular that I even cancelled a sex date with my Special Naked Friend tonight... yes, it's that bad. So all I've got today are some random thoughts to regurgitate...
1. Why hasn't Henry Waxman started impeachment proceedings against Dick Cheney yet? And if you haven't been keeping up with the Washington Post series, here it is. Read it and weep for your country. Archer's got the best take on it so far... (Archer, have I told you lately that I love you?)
2. The new job is very, very cool, and although the reverse-commute is going to take some getting used to, so far, so good.
3. I hope Rita Ragone gets a bundle from ESPN. This is exactly what happened to me at the Bad Place -- sexual harassment that would not stop, complaining to management about it, having the other men who work there close ranks, and eventually getting my ass fired for my troubles. In fact, I may just call Rita's lawyer and sic him on the Bad Boss.
4. Miss Midwesterly is coming to NYC in two weeks! Yay!
5. I adore cheesy 60's pop songs. Right now The Walker Brother are on, and if you can name their big hit without googling, then I will know you are a paisan of the first order. And they've just segued into Spiral Starecase (no that's not misspelled).
6. Win a prize, tell me why this picture is so sad:
7. We who have been their people have always known of their superiority. I've always suspected that Mambo and Madison are merely biding their time before they go all Lyle and Erik Menendez on me one night.
"Unlike other domestic animals, which were tamed by people, cats probably domesticated themselves, which could account for the haughty independence of their descendants. “The cats were adapting themselves to a new environment, so the push for domestication came from the cat side, not the human side,” Dr. Driscoll said."
1. Why hasn't Henry Waxman started impeachment proceedings against Dick Cheney yet? And if you haven't been keeping up with the Washington Post series, here it is. Read it and weep for your country. Archer's got the best take on it so far... (Archer, have I told you lately that I love you?)
2. The new job is very, very cool, and although the reverse-commute is going to take some getting used to, so far, so good.
3. I hope Rita Ragone gets a bundle from ESPN. This is exactly what happened to me at the Bad Place -- sexual harassment that would not stop, complaining to management about it, having the other men who work there close ranks, and eventually getting my ass fired for my troubles. In fact, I may just call Rita's lawyer and sic him on the Bad Boss.
4. Miss Midwesterly is coming to NYC in two weeks! Yay!
5. I adore cheesy 60's pop songs. Right now The Walker Brother are on, and if you can name their big hit without googling, then I will know you are a paisan of the first order. And they've just segued into Spiral Starecase (no that's not misspelled).
6. Win a prize, tell me why this picture is so sad:
7. We who have been their people have always known of their superiority. I've always suspected that Mambo and Madison are merely biding their time before they go all Lyle and Erik Menendez on me one night.
"Unlike other domestic animals, which were tamed by people, cats probably domesticated themselves, which could account for the haughty independence of their descendants. “The cats were adapting themselves to a new environment, so the push for domestication came from the cat side, not the human side,” Dr. Driscoll said."
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Just a Few Special Mentions:
A few shout-outs to those who helped me through the morass of unemployment:
Miss Midwesterly -- crazy, kooky girl whose perfectly-timed visits, among other things, got me through some dark times. She was always the first one to call me when I posted a grim note here on The Boat. Invariably cheerful when I needed it most.
Racer X -- always a voice of reason, right in the neighborhood -- introduced me to the best hot dogs in the East Village, and fronted me for uncountable drinks. Cooked me a steak.
Peeker -- the guy who can make me laugh hard enough to make me wet my pants a little. Also bought me many, many beers.
Ace -- What can I say about Ace? My oldest "New York" friend. Willing to travel in to NYC from HOBOKEN to buy me many, many beers. Ace, you are the only person I know with the balls to fire up your one-hitter directly in front of a cop and pull it off. My hat is off to you.
EmKay -- Presiding over the taps at Marshall Stack, I know you gave me more free drinks than your new bar could probably afford. But it was always nice to know that a few blocks south of The Bean, I could count on a cheerful face to greet me.
And to my Special Naked Friend -- I wouldn't have made it through the depression without our Naked Times together. Cause sometimes, a girl just needs to be naked with someone.
Miss Midwesterly -- crazy, kooky girl whose perfectly-timed visits, among other things, got me through some dark times. She was always the first one to call me when I posted a grim note here on The Boat. Invariably cheerful when I needed it most.
Racer X -- always a voice of reason, right in the neighborhood -- introduced me to the best hot dogs in the East Village, and fronted me for uncountable drinks. Cooked me a steak.
Peeker -- the guy who can make me laugh hard enough to make me wet my pants a little. Also bought me many, many beers.
Ace -- What can I say about Ace? My oldest "New York" friend. Willing to travel in to NYC from HOBOKEN to buy me many, many beers. Ace, you are the only person I know with the balls to fire up your one-hitter directly in front of a cop and pull it off. My hat is off to you.
EmKay -- Presiding over the taps at Marshall Stack, I know you gave me more free drinks than your new bar could probably afford. But it was always nice to know that a few blocks south of The Bean, I could count on a cheerful face to greet me.
And to my Special Naked Friend -- I wouldn't have made it through the depression without our Naked Times together. Cause sometimes, a girl just needs to be naked with someone.
Friday, June 22, 2007
The New Job
Okay, so I landed this gig in White Plains, working for a luxury resort and hotel chain, as a Print Production Manager, which is what I DO, fachrissakes.
If anyone had told me that it would take me SIX months to land a gig, I would have laughed in their faces. I mean, I'm Jane Doe, dammit. Smart, motivated, hard working, reasonably attractive, all that good stuff. Impeccable eye for color. Tough but fair. Blah blah blah...
Actually, all the experts DO say it takes about six months. But since I started my path of unemployment absolutely convinced of my own specialness, my own star power (insert jazz hands here), surely, I told myself, it would only be a few weeks for me.
HAH. The echo of the Universe's ugly laughter still peals in my ears.
So -- now I know. It takes that long. So here are the hard, fast, practical things I learned from unemployment:
1) The experts are right. Have six months of living expenses set aside, MINIMUM. And if that sounds like it's too hard to do, picture yourself scrambling to explain to your landlord that you can't pay your rent, ducking phone calls from creditors, selling your car for a per-pound rate, and choosing to feed your pets over yourself. And if that doesn't get your currently-employed self to start saving, I don't know what will.
I was lucky. NYS Unemployment didn't even cover my rent, but I'm lucky enough to have a friend who loaned me a chunk of money, and my sisters stepped up as well. There were a couple of times when hooking seemed like a fairly viable option for me, honestly.
2) The experts are right, the sequel. You have got to make finding a job your job. None of this aimlessly sending your resume out to cherry-picked ads on monster or hotjobs. You've got to spend about 4-5 hours a DAY looking for a job -- that includes not just cruising the internet, but getting on the phone as well. My experience is that any more time per day than that is too tiring/demoralizing -- for some reason, looking for a job is much more draining than actually having a job.
3) There will be days on which you will wake up, consider another day of unemployment, pull the covers over your head and want to go back to sleep for another 50 or 60 hours. This is called the blues and it is natural. Some days, you just gotta listen to that inner voice very very closely. If you're paying attention, you will know which days you should just stay in bed. (Generally, for me, it was the ones with the dumping rain).
4) Prepare yourself to become unhealthily obsessed with the characters on a syndicated show. I actually said this to a friend at one point: "I hope I don't get a job too soon because then I won't find out how they killed Pru off on "Charmed." Hello? Time to take off the drawstring pj bottoms, put on some hard shoes and re-enter the world.
5) That being said, the smartest way to NOT have this happen is to get up, get ready and GET OUT OF THE HOUSE without turning on the TV at all. (Charmed also comes on a 4pm here, so I knew I could watch after a productive day of job hunting). Cause before you know it, CNN American Morning is morphing into something else, which morphs into something else, and before you know it, you're watching Turk and JD do one of their black guy/white guy comedy routines in a Scrubs re-run.
6) I recommend NOT doing it at home. Too many opportunities to procrastinate, distract yourself ("hmmm, wow, look at the dust kittens under the refrigerator...and behind the toilet...you know, come to think of it, i haven't given the apartment a good cleaning in a while...") Trust me. While my apartment was gleaming during my unemployment, it's all too easy to let situational ADD take over so you don't have to actually deal with the fact that your ass is unemployed. Pack up your laptop and go somewhere with free wireless. While I was looking for a gig, I was grateful that I don't have internet at home. If I did, I would never have left the house. I would go to The Bean like it was my job, which in essence it was.
Next, more tips for the Underemployed....
If anyone had told me that it would take me SIX months to land a gig, I would have laughed in their faces. I mean, I'm Jane Doe, dammit. Smart, motivated, hard working, reasonably attractive, all that good stuff. Impeccable eye for color. Tough but fair. Blah blah blah...
Actually, all the experts DO say it takes about six months. But since I started my path of unemployment absolutely convinced of my own specialness, my own star power (insert jazz hands here), surely, I told myself, it would only be a few weeks for me.
HAH. The echo of the Universe's ugly laughter still peals in my ears.
So -- now I know. It takes that long. So here are the hard, fast, practical things I learned from unemployment:
1) The experts are right. Have six months of living expenses set aside, MINIMUM. And if that sounds like it's too hard to do, picture yourself scrambling to explain to your landlord that you can't pay your rent, ducking phone calls from creditors, selling your car for a per-pound rate, and choosing to feed your pets over yourself. And if that doesn't get your currently-employed self to start saving, I don't know what will.
I was lucky. NYS Unemployment didn't even cover my rent, but I'm lucky enough to have a friend who loaned me a chunk of money, and my sisters stepped up as well. There were a couple of times when hooking seemed like a fairly viable option for me, honestly.
2) The experts are right, the sequel. You have got to make finding a job your job. None of this aimlessly sending your resume out to cherry-picked ads on monster or hotjobs. You've got to spend about 4-5 hours a DAY looking for a job -- that includes not just cruising the internet, but getting on the phone as well. My experience is that any more time per day than that is too tiring/demoralizing -- for some reason, looking for a job is much more draining than actually having a job.
3) There will be days on which you will wake up, consider another day of unemployment, pull the covers over your head and want to go back to sleep for another 50 or 60 hours. This is called the blues and it is natural. Some days, you just gotta listen to that inner voice very very closely. If you're paying attention, you will know which days you should just stay in bed. (Generally, for me, it was the ones with the dumping rain).
4) Prepare yourself to become unhealthily obsessed with the characters on a syndicated show. I actually said this to a friend at one point: "I hope I don't get a job too soon because then I won't find out how they killed Pru off on "Charmed." Hello? Time to take off the drawstring pj bottoms, put on some hard shoes and re-enter the world.
5) That being said, the smartest way to NOT have this happen is to get up, get ready and GET OUT OF THE HOUSE without turning on the TV at all. (Charmed also comes on a 4pm here, so I knew I could watch after a productive day of job hunting). Cause before you know it, CNN American Morning is morphing into something else, which morphs into something else, and before you know it, you're watching Turk and JD do one of their black guy/white guy comedy routines in a Scrubs re-run.
6) I recommend NOT doing it at home. Too many opportunities to procrastinate, distract yourself ("hmmm, wow, look at the dust kittens under the refrigerator...and behind the toilet...you know, come to think of it, i haven't given the apartment a good cleaning in a while...") Trust me. While my apartment was gleaming during my unemployment, it's all too easy to let situational ADD take over so you don't have to actually deal with the fact that your ass is unemployed. Pack up your laptop and go somewhere with free wireless. While I was looking for a gig, I was grateful that I don't have internet at home. If I did, I would never have left the house. I would go to The Bean like it was my job, which in essence it was.
Next, more tips for the Underemployed....
Everyone Was Lying
Just who did the surveyors in this study talk to? Mormons and Hassids?
I'm sorry, if you are surveying 20-59 year olds, you've managed to include an entire generation that defined sleeping around and the Sexual Revolution. And they're claiming they've only slept with 4 people (women) or 7 people (men) in their lifetimes.
Come ON. I ain't buying it.
Then again, I always promised that if I had a daughter, I would send her off to college with these words of wisdom: "Sleep around. I did."
I'm sorry, if you are surveying 20-59 year olds, you've managed to include an entire generation that defined sleeping around and the Sexual Revolution. And they're claiming they've only slept with 4 people (women) or 7 people (men) in their lifetimes.
Come ON. I ain't buying it.
Then again, I always promised that if I had a daughter, I would send her off to college with these words of wisdom: "Sleep around. I did."
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Friday, June 15, 2007
Sunday Afternoon at Jane's House
What a couple of dorks. Mambo (16+) and Madison (3-ish) in a rare moment of not bugging the shit out of me. Yes, Mambo is that big. Even the vet comments on how very tall he is.
Burqa's A-Comin' Here!
When I first heard about this, the Cranky Old Man who resides behind the curtains of my soul was at first grimly satisfied. (YOU know who that Cranky Old Man is, he's chasing you out of his yard or confiscating your wiffle ball. He's the Junior Soprano of my psyche. Or maybe, in this case, the Bill Cosby.)
I loathe the oversized, beltless pants look almost as much as I hate the flat-brimmed ballcap (with its MLB sticker still affixed) that is the inevitable topper to the low-pants look. And before you give me the social lecture about prisoners having their belts taken away from them, blah blah blah, yeah, I know. But still, I see a young thug on the subway wearing his pants low, so low that he can't take a normal stride, instead shuffling along like he ate too many jalapeno poppers last night, and my first thought is "WHAT A TOOL."
But I thought about it for a few minutes, and I looked at the picture that accompanied this article, then I noted where the ordinance was passed, and then at the wording of the ordinance, and a teeny tiny little flame of indignation started to burn. Not a blazing fire, maybe something pilot-light sized, but it got me a-thinkin.
Here's the ordinance: It shall be unlawful for any person in any public place or in view of the public to be found in a state of nudity, or partial nudity, or in dress not becoming to his or her sex, or in any indecent exposure of his or her person or undergarments, or be guilty of any indecent or lewd behavior.
Vague (actually, not so vague when you think about it) racist overtones aside, it's the phrase, "in dress not becoming to his or her sex" that carries a whiff of the Ayatollah about it. Who makes that determination? If the Town Fathers of Buttmunch, Louisiana decide that women must not wear tight jeans, or ANY jeans for that matter (not becoming to their sex!), what will happen next? What if I use a public restroom, inadvertently tuck my skirt into the waistband of my thong, and parade down Main Street without realizing I'm shootin a moon at the Civil War re-enactors in the village green -- can I be arrested if no kindly soul helpfully points out that no one wants to see my ass?
You're not allowed to wear baggy hip-hop pants in this cracker-ass town, but I'd bet my life that you can pretty much buy a gun any time you want.
I loathe the oversized, beltless pants look almost as much as I hate the flat-brimmed ballcap (with its MLB sticker still affixed) that is the inevitable topper to the low-pants look. And before you give me the social lecture about prisoners having their belts taken away from them, blah blah blah, yeah, I know. But still, I see a young thug on the subway wearing his pants low, so low that he can't take a normal stride, instead shuffling along like he ate too many jalapeno poppers last night, and my first thought is "WHAT A TOOL."
But I thought about it for a few minutes, and I looked at the picture that accompanied this article, then I noted where the ordinance was passed, and then at the wording of the ordinance, and a teeny tiny little flame of indignation started to burn. Not a blazing fire, maybe something pilot-light sized, but it got me a-thinkin.
Here's the ordinance: It shall be unlawful for any person in any public place or in view of the public to be found in a state of nudity, or partial nudity, or in dress not becoming to his or her sex, or in any indecent exposure of his or her person or undergarments, or be guilty of any indecent or lewd behavior.
Vague (actually, not so vague when you think about it) racist overtones aside, it's the phrase, "in dress not becoming to his or her sex" that carries a whiff of the Ayatollah about it. Who makes that determination? If the Town Fathers of Buttmunch, Louisiana decide that women must not wear tight jeans, or ANY jeans for that matter (not becoming to their sex!), what will happen next? What if I use a public restroom, inadvertently tuck my skirt into the waistband of my thong, and parade down Main Street without realizing I'm shootin a moon at the Civil War re-enactors in the village green -- can I be arrested if no kindly soul helpfully points out that no one wants to see my ass?
You're not allowed to wear baggy hip-hop pants in this cracker-ass town, but I'd bet my life that you can pretty much buy a gun any time you want.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Paula's Interview: Question #2 & #3
What's the Best Thing About Living in New York?
I never thought I'd say this, but: Living in Brooklyn. This from a woman who lived in Hell's Kitchen from 1988 to 2001 and loved every minute of it. Okay, maybe getting mugged a half block from home wasn't so great. Or being burglarized. Not so great, as well.
Runner up to best things: Getting 30 rides out of a $24 unlimited ride metrocard. The bagels (trite, I know, but until you've eaten a "bagel" in Colorado, you just don't understand). Shopsin's. Coney Island Cyclone and the Brooklyn Cyclones. This year, the Mets (with their two players who are PUSHING 50!).
What's the Worst?
9/12 New Yorkers. I hate them all.
And the fact that Manhattan as the magnet for innovation and creative vitality is over. An overpriced, homogenous gated community for rich white people and their trust-funded kids. Plus the Staten Island/Bensonhurst/Bay Ridge wannabes who want to be their friends.
When you hear about artists leaving New York and taking up residence in Philadelphia, you know that something is seriously wrong -- sociologically, economically, and culturally. Foul, fetid, fuming, foggy, filthy Philadelphia as the place for artists on the East Coast -- it's just wrong.
I never thought I'd say this, but: Living in Brooklyn. This from a woman who lived in Hell's Kitchen from 1988 to 2001 and loved every minute of it. Okay, maybe getting mugged a half block from home wasn't so great. Or being burglarized. Not so great, as well.
Runner up to best things: Getting 30 rides out of a $24 unlimited ride metrocard. The bagels (trite, I know, but until you've eaten a "bagel" in Colorado, you just don't understand). Shopsin's. Coney Island Cyclone and the Brooklyn Cyclones. This year, the Mets (with their two players who are PUSHING 50!).
What's the Worst?
9/12 New Yorkers. I hate them all.
And the fact that Manhattan as the magnet for innovation and creative vitality is over. An overpriced, homogenous gated community for rich white people and their trust-funded kids. Plus the Staten Island/Bensonhurst/Bay Ridge wannabes who want to be their friends.
When you hear about artists leaving New York and taking up residence in Philadelphia, you know that something is seriously wrong -- sociologically, economically, and culturally. Foul, fetid, fuming, foggy, filthy Philadelphia as the place for artists on the East Coast -- it's just wrong.
Freelancing
I've posted only one comment on the subject of my long absence, that would be Archer, because he's got the general tone of the comments pretty much covered...
I gotta tell you, I'm kinda digging the freelance life. You can go in, work for a company, and not have to get caught up in the whole political shenanigans that go on in a large corporation. You show up, do the job you've been hired to do, and because you're a freelancer, you just don't have that paw and claw mentality of the full-time staffers. I kinda like it.
The Company is populated with many "young girls," and they fill me with a kind of nostalgia. They're generally young and completely career-driven -- I remember that feeling well -- and they've got that endearingly serious demeanor that young female executives-in-training seem to have. That "you will take me seriously" mien that they think indicates that they are serious businesswomen. It makes me wonder, as I remember my days in advertising, with the suits and heels and briefcases and client meetings, at what point did I cast off that mantle of bullshit? It may have been when I looked around at some random agency meeting and thought to myself, "Wow. These people really think that selling subscriptions to magazines with television commercials is IMPORTANT."
While I can't disclose the name of The Company (they've contracted me through the next couple of weeks), I'll give you a few clues, just for grins.
1) The Company is located in New York City (duh).
2) The founder/owner/creative genius of The Company is a woman.
3) The founder of The Company was once a model AND a stockbroker.
4) The founder of The Company is recognizable to pretty much everyone in America.
5) The founder of The Company, for a short period of time, got a whole lot of attention for her handbag.
6) She's my very favorite ex-convict, and I have blogged about her in the past (albeit in one of my other blogs.)
Let's just say, the founder raised the bar for middle-american style far above marching-duck dishtowels -- forever. There's something to be said for that...I've always admired her, though I don't own a glue gun and I certainly can't imagine that making a cranberry wreath is anything other than occupational therapy for Lindsay Lohan. (Do they let addicts have pins?)
And that's a good thing.
I gotta tell you, I'm kinda digging the freelance life. You can go in, work for a company, and not have to get caught up in the whole political shenanigans that go on in a large corporation. You show up, do the job you've been hired to do, and because you're a freelancer, you just don't have that paw and claw mentality of the full-time staffers. I kinda like it.
The Company is populated with many "young girls," and they fill me with a kind of nostalgia. They're generally young and completely career-driven -- I remember that feeling well -- and they've got that endearingly serious demeanor that young female executives-in-training seem to have. That "you will take me seriously" mien that they think indicates that they are serious businesswomen. It makes me wonder, as I remember my days in advertising, with the suits and heels and briefcases and client meetings, at what point did I cast off that mantle of bullshit? It may have been when I looked around at some random agency meeting and thought to myself, "Wow. These people really think that selling subscriptions to magazines with television commercials is IMPORTANT."
While I can't disclose the name of The Company (they've contracted me through the next couple of weeks), I'll give you a few clues, just for grins.
1) The Company is located in New York City (duh).
2) The founder/owner/creative genius of The Company is a woman.
3) The founder of The Company was once a model AND a stockbroker.
4) The founder of The Company is recognizable to pretty much everyone in America.
5) The founder of The Company, for a short period of time, got a whole lot of attention for her handbag.
6) She's my very favorite ex-convict, and I have blogged about her in the past (albeit in one of my other blogs.)
Let's just say, the founder raised the bar for middle-american style far above marching-duck dishtowels -- forever. There's something to be said for that...I've always admired her, though I don't own a glue gun and I certainly can't imagine that making a cranberry wreath is anything other than occupational therapy for Lindsay Lohan. (Do they let addicts have pins?)
And that's a good thing.