Last night's show at The Comedy Studio was fine, except I didn't adjust the mic stand (which Rick Jenkins had graciously lowered--he's a very tall drink of water), and hence spent my set leaning into the mic.
I knew I was doing it, I wanted to stop, but I didn't have the mental fortitude to adjust the stand while talking--perhaps the comedic equivalent of walking and chewing gum--so decided to forge ahead, poor posture notwithstanding.
Just watched the DVD from the show, and my posture isn't as bad as I feared, but, of course, could be better. Mother would not be pleased, but I don't think anyone would notice. That much. Okay, except for my comedy buddy Jennifer. And any other comic watching.
To heck with them. That's my attitude at the moment, and I'm enjoying this fleeting fiestiness while it lasts. (It won't.)
The jokes got laughs, for the most part, so my mission was accomplished. And, it appears it was duly noted by Mr. Jenkins. It seems both yours truly and Jennifer will be invited back to the Studio on a regular basis. In a word: Woo!
That's something to write home about. And I would, if my parents were still living. Would be a little pointless now. Perhaps I'll write my Aunt and Uncle in Wisconsin, what's left of my father's generation in the homeland. They just sent me three pounds of coffee beans, for they know I'm job-hunting and probably want to help out somehow. Coffee is an unobtrusive, but oh-so-thoughtful way of saving a niece some money. Best of all, they remembered that Linda and I like the strong stuff, and that's what they sent.
Bless their hearts.
Thing is, I know they'll wonder what The Comedy business is going to come to, and I don't have an answer for them. At the moment it just seems the thing to do. What keeps me going: If the Universe gives you hints about doing something (i.e., standup), you do it, people tell you you're good at it and to keep doing it, and it seems to be getting progressively easier and enjoyable to do it, you'd keep doing it too, wouldn't you? Of course you would--wouldn't you?
I may just be trying to shorten my deathbed regrets phase, but then again, I am not exactly being deluged by offers from more "legitimate" opportunities, so what the hey.
That's my rationale du jour. Now, I must figure out what I'm doing at tonight's show, even though I have no idea how much time I have. Details, details.
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Saturday, July 30, 2005
That went well...didn't it?
Overall, I think my interview yesterday went well, but it was one of those intense experiences that resists recollection, if you know what I mean. What I remember: Both of my interviewers seemed good, solid, decent people--which matters a lot--who are just being very, very careful as to who they bring into their company fold.
I get that, really and truly I do--when a company is as small as this one is, it can't afford deadwood. That comes later, when the organization is HUGE.
(Am I a little jaded after my decade-plus of covering corporate America? Well, yes, come to think of it, I am....)
I also have another little bit of work to do for them on Monday, which I hope will help my cause. It seems like a very good job that would actually entail using my brain on a regular basis for decent pay. The fact that it would also be a work-at-home job means a lot, too (especially after driving home in the thick of rush hour traffic yesterday....what misery!). They have one more candidate they need to interview, and then they'll make their decision. Here's hoping!
The best part is if they hire me, I won't have to worry about them finding out I'm gay--they know, people, they know. If my look isn't "clue" enough, the fact that they asked for an explanation of The Amazonian and I gave it to them is--and I looked carefully, and didn't see either person flinch when I said "lesbian," so at least that's out there. If it puts a kabosh on the deal, so be it. Their loss.
It's hanging over my head today that Tuesday I get my root canal repaired. It occured to me yesterday that not only am I at the age where one has root canals, I am at the age where one has root canals REDONE. This does not qualify as progress.
But tonight I have a show at The Comedy Studio, and that's today's focus. Have finally figured out exactly what will fit the 5-7 minute timeframe, so I'm ready. Am really looking forward to it, even if there's a tiny tremble of anxiety attached. Ah, what's life without a few tiny trembles? BORING, that's what.
I get that, really and truly I do--when a company is as small as this one is, it can't afford deadwood. That comes later, when the organization is HUGE.
(Am I a little jaded after my decade-plus of covering corporate America? Well, yes, come to think of it, I am....)
I also have another little bit of work to do for them on Monday, which I hope will help my cause. It seems like a very good job that would actually entail using my brain on a regular basis for decent pay. The fact that it would also be a work-at-home job means a lot, too (especially after driving home in the thick of rush hour traffic yesterday....what misery!). They have one more candidate they need to interview, and then they'll make their decision. Here's hoping!
The best part is if they hire me, I won't have to worry about them finding out I'm gay--they know, people, they know. If my look isn't "clue" enough, the fact that they asked for an explanation of The Amazonian and I gave it to them is--and I looked carefully, and didn't see either person flinch when I said "lesbian," so at least that's out there. If it puts a kabosh on the deal, so be it. Their loss.
It's hanging over my head today that Tuesday I get my root canal repaired. It occured to me yesterday that not only am I at the age where one has root canals, I am at the age where one has root canals REDONE. This does not qualify as progress.
But tonight I have a show at The Comedy Studio, and that's today's focus. Have finally figured out exactly what will fit the 5-7 minute timeframe, so I'm ready. Am really looking forward to it, even if there's a tiny tremble of anxiety attached. Ah, what's life without a few tiny trembles? BORING, that's what.
Friday, July 29, 2005
Well, I've had my morning workout...
Today is interview day, as well as take-Linus-to-the-groomer's day (Shwea's paw sprang a leak again last night, so she's sitting this one out).
Guess which one was more fraught? So far, getting Linus to the groomer's. While I was inside seeing if the coast was clear, he figured out why we were there. Being the manly man that he is (ie., allergic to soap), he rebelled. First, he hopped in the front (yes, driver's) seat of the car--always a bad sign. Next, he resisted getting out of the car, and then he absolutely fought going into the groomer's shop. Thanks to this dog, I will never have any trouble grasping the expression "digging in one's heels." He does it professionally--with all four of them. Very effective.
I have a choke chain (well, it's cloth, so as not to be as brutal as the metal varieties, or so I hope) for the purpose of overriding such rebellions, but today it was as ineffectual as Leave No Child Behind. It took three people--me and two groomers--to get him into the shop, and even that was a struggle. A man watching us even came by to offer his assistance, for heaven's sake.
The only good thing in all of the hubbub is that Linus never growled or showed his teeth. He may hate bathing, but he kept to the non-violent resistance route, and for that I will always be grateful. My not-so-little pacifist!
Now I need to get my professional work samples together, take a shower, and prepare to drive to my interview. After this morning's events, I'm feeling a little worn out, but calm.
Not a bad mindset for an interview, say I.
Now, if I could just figure out how to keep Shwea's paw from bleeding and shave 30 seconds off my set for The Studio tomorrow night, all would be swell.
There is, indeed, always something.
Guess which one was more fraught? So far, getting Linus to the groomer's. While I was inside seeing if the coast was clear, he figured out why we were there. Being the manly man that he is (ie., allergic to soap), he rebelled. First, he hopped in the front (yes, driver's) seat of the car--always a bad sign. Next, he resisted getting out of the car, and then he absolutely fought going into the groomer's shop. Thanks to this dog, I will never have any trouble grasping the expression "digging in one's heels." He does it professionally--with all four of them. Very effective.
I have a choke chain (well, it's cloth, so as not to be as brutal as the metal varieties, or so I hope) for the purpose of overriding such rebellions, but today it was as ineffectual as Leave No Child Behind. It took three people--me and two groomers--to get him into the shop, and even that was a struggle. A man watching us even came by to offer his assistance, for heaven's sake.
The only good thing in all of the hubbub is that Linus never growled or showed his teeth. He may hate bathing, but he kept to the non-violent resistance route, and for that I will always be grateful. My not-so-little pacifist!
Now I need to get my professional work samples together, take a shower, and prepare to drive to my interview. After this morning's events, I'm feeling a little worn out, but calm.
Not a bad mindset for an interview, say I.
Now, if I could just figure out how to keep Shwea's paw from bleeding and shave 30 seconds off my set for The Studio tomorrow night, all would be swell.
There is, indeed, always something.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Maybe the cheddar line should stand...
Just realized I've known I don't have the music in me for a while--I just re-realized it thanks to the e-mail.
Wonder how many times I've "realized" something in this blog (or heaven help me, elsewhere, where people pay attention), only to have realized it before. Maybe even more than once before.
Egads--that's just sad. Well, humbling, at the very least. And isn't being an "oops!", alcoholic, asthmatic, semi-employed, middle-aged, Midwestern, a miserable failure as a Peace Corps volunteer, and formerly Catholic enough humility for one lifetime?
Apparently not.
Was thinking about taking out the line in my set where I say I'm not the sharpest cheddar in the cheese haus, but I think the cheesehead still fits. So I'll wear it.
Wonder how many times I've "realized" something in this blog (or heaven help me, elsewhere, where people pay attention), only to have realized it before. Maybe even more than once before.
Egads--that's just sad. Well, humbling, at the very least. And isn't being an "oops!", alcoholic, asthmatic, semi-employed, middle-aged, Midwestern, a miserable failure as a Peace Corps volunteer, and formerly Catholic enough humility for one lifetime?
Apparently not.
Was thinking about taking out the line in my set where I say I'm not the sharpest cheddar in the cheese haus, but I think the cheesehead still fits. So I'll wear it.
Realizations and rumblings.
Did I already mention middle age is the time when one's illusions begin to crumble in earnest? (Yes, I did--middle age is also the time when one's memory gets spotty, sorry.) Received an e-mail reply from a couple of friends (who are also a couple) to a comment I made in relation to "Mad Hot Ballroom," in which I wrote of my wish to dance like the little darlin's in the film, but sadly: "This North Woods gal does not now, nor will she ever have, the music in her."
They found that line quite funny, which is the usual human reaction to the truth writ large, so there goes another illusion--though I like to think I have musical sensibilities (I did play clarinet and tenor sax for years, after all), it is widely recognized that I do not have the music. In me, that is.
Which may be different than being musical, this is true--I may be constitutionally incapable of doing a convincing rumba or salsa, but I can follow a tune, keep a beat, and beyond (if only in my mind, not my carcass).
Why this is bothering me today is hard to figure. The upside is that this all may be adapted for use in a future comedy routine--might be a good addition to an expanded bit on the life-affirming joy that isn't the Upper Midwest.
We are not a sultry people. We do not now, nor will we ever have, the music in us.
Needs work--the rule of three applies to all things--but there's something there, really and truly.
On other fronts, Linda's taken off the rest of the week, for we were supposed to be flying out to Las Vegas this weekend for a Peace Corps reunion. We cancelled because of my job situation, of course, and instead we're staying home--well, staying home and doing The Comedy.
Which, as substitute activities go, isn't that bad. It would be great to see the gang, but not while worrying about how the trip was reducing my financial breathing room. Going to Vegas with money worries is rather like going to Bourbon Street with a drinking problem. Or something.
Well, Linda's preparing to take Linus for a walk (Shwea's still on restricted duty), so close I must. Need to practice my set, and that needs to be done alone (but for a trusty dog).
They found that line quite funny, which is the usual human reaction to the truth writ large, so there goes another illusion--though I like to think I have musical sensibilities (I did play clarinet and tenor sax for years, after all), it is widely recognized that I do not have the music. In me, that is.
Which may be different than being musical, this is true--I may be constitutionally incapable of doing a convincing rumba or salsa, but I can follow a tune, keep a beat, and beyond (if only in my mind, not my carcass).
Why this is bothering me today is hard to figure. The upside is that this all may be adapted for use in a future comedy routine--might be a good addition to an expanded bit on the life-affirming joy that isn't the Upper Midwest.
We are not a sultry people. We do not now, nor will we ever have, the music in us.
Needs work--the rule of three applies to all things--but there's something there, really and truly.
On other fronts, Linda's taken off the rest of the week, for we were supposed to be flying out to Las Vegas this weekend for a Peace Corps reunion. We cancelled because of my job situation, of course, and instead we're staying home--well, staying home and doing The Comedy.
Which, as substitute activities go, isn't that bad. It would be great to see the gang, but not while worrying about how the trip was reducing my financial breathing room. Going to Vegas with money worries is rather like going to Bourbon Street with a drinking problem. Or something.
Well, Linda's preparing to take Linus for a walk (Shwea's still on restricted duty), so close I must. Need to practice my set, and that needs to be done alone (but for a trusty dog).
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Up in the air
I woke up at the first bell this morning (not after several of the only bars I frequent these days--snooze bars), for I had a rendez-vous at 7:30 a.m. at the cottage with a plumber.
My heart be still.
The plumber, however, was not quite as timely a fellow as I had expected, and didn't show up until 8:50 a.m. Puddin' head.
Yes, I could have slept another hour--or at least hit the snooze bar a number of times. Puddin'head-n-a-half!
While I waited, I cleaned the house and refilled the hummingbird feeder. Linda is of the firm belief that hummingbirds only like "fresh" sugar water, but I saw one dart up and drink repeatedly from water that was at least 10 days old. He (or was it she?) didn't seem to mind, but I had time to kill, so did my duty to the boids.
Also dismantled the garbage bin that the bears kept breaking into, even though it's empty. Do bears not have a good sense of smell, or do they just like to mess things up every so often, just to let you know they're there? Bears without a cause....
Returned to a call from the potential job person, who had some more for me to do. With her help, I created a couple of pie charts that weren't half bad--rather fun, that. (Sorry, just watched part of "Mrs. Dalloway," and all the British English stays with this one.) May even have an official interview with this group this Friday, though it's too soon to tell.
Sadly, the one job I thought I had a real shot at is no longer a target, so to speak. It sounded so cool: It was with a university, it entailed writing and editing, and not only that, three of my former colleagues wrote such glowing letters of recommendation on my behalf even I would have hired me on the spot (and I know what my weak points are!). It seemed perfect, but then the Fates intervened. In yesterday's mail, I learned that the university has suspended its search due to "budgetary constraints." So goes another prospect. Alas.
On the other hand, there is the interview possibility, I'm working on my sets for this weekend, and have already put together my first draft for the LGBT magazine. So I may not be a hot full-time employment prospect, I've got my charm in other sectors.
Unpaid sectors, but who am I to quibble?
My heart be still.
The plumber, however, was not quite as timely a fellow as I had expected, and didn't show up until 8:50 a.m. Puddin' head.
Yes, I could have slept another hour--or at least hit the snooze bar a number of times. Puddin'head-n-a-half!
While I waited, I cleaned the house and refilled the hummingbird feeder. Linda is of the firm belief that hummingbirds only like "fresh" sugar water, but I saw one dart up and drink repeatedly from water that was at least 10 days old. He (or was it she?) didn't seem to mind, but I had time to kill, so did my duty to the boids.
Also dismantled the garbage bin that the bears kept breaking into, even though it's empty. Do bears not have a good sense of smell, or do they just like to mess things up every so often, just to let you know they're there? Bears without a cause....
Returned to a call from the potential job person, who had some more for me to do. With her help, I created a couple of pie charts that weren't half bad--rather fun, that. (Sorry, just watched part of "Mrs. Dalloway," and all the British English stays with this one.) May even have an official interview with this group this Friday, though it's too soon to tell.
Sadly, the one job I thought I had a real shot at is no longer a target, so to speak. It sounded so cool: It was with a university, it entailed writing and editing, and not only that, three of my former colleagues wrote such glowing letters of recommendation on my behalf even I would have hired me on the spot (and I know what my weak points are!). It seemed perfect, but then the Fates intervened. In yesterday's mail, I learned that the university has suspended its search due to "budgetary constraints." So goes another prospect. Alas.
On the other hand, there is the interview possibility, I'm working on my sets for this weekend, and have already put together my first draft for the LGBT magazine. So I may not be a hot full-time employment prospect, I've got my charm in other sectors.
Unpaid sectors, but who am I to quibble?
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Turn the beat around....
Yesterday was all over the map, but mostly in the good parts. I did another freelance gig, but felt at sea for most of it--happily, the person in charge is an understanding sort, and sent me even more work to do today. In a word: Yay!
Secondly, I heard from a new GLBT magazine in Arizona that yes, indeed, they want me to write a humor column. Am hoping I can write funny enough for these folks, for they seem determined to do something great--and I'm all for that, especially where "family" is concerned. We deserve nothing less. And they're going to pay. Not a lot, mind you, but certainly more than I made in a year writing for the ill-fated Amazonian.
Third, I heard from someone in my alumni association who promised to forward my "Bucky's Not a Bigot!" design to the head of the outfit--the Big Cheese, if you will (sorry, that really was uncalled for, wasn't it?). I don't know what, if anything, will come of this, but it is gratifying that someone felt it was worth passing on to the Powers That Be.
And lastly, my Shwea is a pup with a new lease on life--she's so happy to be mobile again, she's practically laughing.
Happiness for everybody!
Now--and it comforts me to write this--I must get back to work.
Secondly, I heard from a new GLBT magazine in Arizona that yes, indeed, they want me to write a humor column. Am hoping I can write funny enough for these folks, for they seem determined to do something great--and I'm all for that, especially where "family" is concerned. We deserve nothing less. And they're going to pay. Not a lot, mind you, but certainly more than I made in a year writing for the ill-fated Amazonian.
Third, I heard from someone in my alumni association who promised to forward my "Bucky's Not a Bigot!" design to the head of the outfit--the Big Cheese, if you will (sorry, that really was uncalled for, wasn't it?). I don't know what, if anything, will come of this, but it is gratifying that someone felt it was worth passing on to the Powers That Be.
And lastly, my Shwea is a pup with a new lease on life--she's so happy to be mobile again, she's practically laughing.
Happiness for everybody!
Now--and it comforts me to write this--I must get back to work.
Monday, July 25, 2005
Shwea walks! Jennifer kills!
Yesterday was a day that started off awful but ended up great. While I was in Boston waiting for my sandwich, Linda called to tell me that Shwea, the unable-to-walk dog of the morning, was walking. Hooray! She still favors her leg a little, but nothing like she did yesterday. A miracle of science!! Hooray x 2!!
And my comedy buddy Jennifer Myszkowski did Western Mass proud last night--she killed at The Comedy Studio, and I think she was the best of the bunch. She certainly maintained the hilarity level throughout her set, which is more than most of the comics could do.
We also did a little post-show schmoozing, which was awkward, as it was very noisy in the bar and I didn't know most of the people there--and you know, I was feeling a bit drained by that time, having been up past my bedtime three nights in a row (the mind may be willing, but the body is having none of it). And I really didn't feel "part of" the post-show, for I hadn't performed. Yes, this gal can get self-conscious at the drop of a hat! (Keep wondering how old I have to be for this miserable shyness to fade away--am beginning to think "dead" is how old I'll have to be. Yup, dead.)
Anyway, I also found myself getting really anxious about next Saturday's show--I guess Rick (Jenkins, The Studio's fearless leader) telling me that Saturdays always sell out didn't help--and am going to prepare myself to the point where I will be nervous by choice, not because I'm unprepared.
Well, now I have some paid work to do, thank you very much (my freelance business is beginning to show signs of life), so off for more coffee I go.....
And my comedy buddy Jennifer Myszkowski did Western Mass proud last night--she killed at The Comedy Studio, and I think she was the best of the bunch. She certainly maintained the hilarity level throughout her set, which is more than most of the comics could do.
We also did a little post-show schmoozing, which was awkward, as it was very noisy in the bar and I didn't know most of the people there--and you know, I was feeling a bit drained by that time, having been up past my bedtime three nights in a row (the mind may be willing, but the body is having none of it). And I really didn't feel "part of" the post-show, for I hadn't performed. Yes, this gal can get self-conscious at the drop of a hat! (Keep wondering how old I have to be for this miserable shyness to fade away--am beginning to think "dead" is how old I'll have to be. Yup, dead.)
Anyway, I also found myself getting really anxious about next Saturday's show--I guess Rick (Jenkins, The Studio's fearless leader) telling me that Saturdays always sell out didn't help--and am going to prepare myself to the point where I will be nervous by choice, not because I'm unprepared.
Well, now I have some paid work to do, thank you very much (my freelance business is beginning to show signs of life), so off for more coffee I go.....
Sunday, July 24, 2005
What did Shwea do to deserve this?!
This morning, Shwea could not get out of (or, more accurately, off of) bed. Her back left leg was completely out of commission. When Linda and I foisted her off the bed, she collapsed.
We eventually got her outside, though her paw--on her other back leg--started to bleed again. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!
I gave her a Tylenol, as I been told to do by our vet in the past (see the wisdom of that below), and eventually, she was able to hop around and relieve herself.
That was a relief for us all.
Then I called the emergency vet, though this time it was a much more local (than Springfield) vet--just across the bridge, in Hadley. That vet told me that Tylenol is poison to dogs, and that I should only give my dogs aspirin from here on in.
(Will be calling my vet tomorrow to see why they suggested I poison my dogs, not to worry.)
Anyway, she was able to see us this morning at 10:00, and after a thorough examination, the vet said (if I'm recalling correctly) that the two most likely scenarios are (1) Shwea might have injured a ligament, or (2) Shwea is developing more severe arthritis. She gave us some pain meds (okay, they're just for the dogs--me, I could use a sedative, truth be told), and said if she doesn't stop tucking her bad leg up in three days' time, I need to bring her to her new vet for x-rays.
Yeah, that's just what the old semi-employment budget needs, but you know I'll do it. (Call me crazy, but I would sell my car to make sure my pups get the care they need.)
My goddess, for all the pain Shwea is in, she just hobbled into my office so she could be near her momma--how could anyone not respond to, much less reward, such devotion?
What a way to start a day, eh? Especially a day after a rather (for me) late night--I didn't get into bed until around 11:30, and since I got up around 6:00, I'm feeling a little cheated. Depleted, even. Perhaps a nap will be in order soon.
As for why I was up past my bedtime, it was so Jennifer and I could go to the open mic in Worcester, which was in a part of town that, well, the word seedy was meant for. The regulars were not what you'd call sophisticated comedy buffs, and they proceeded to play pool and talk loudly during the show, sometimes interrupting the comic (as happened to poor Jennifer, who was trying to time her set in prep for tonight's debut at The Comedy Studio, for heaven's sake).
Doing a set under those conditions is better than practicing in one's bathroom, but not by much. However, the comics were all very good-natured about it all, and we did all do our best to rise to the occasion and not take it personally. And the comic running the room was a good guy, so you know, we may be back there again--a comic in need of stage time is a desperate thing.
Tonight, happily, is not a desperate situation--we're heading to the hallowed Comedy Studio so Miss Jennifer can perform. I'm not on the slate, but am going along to offer moral support and to help make the drive less tedious--and she is returning the favor next week, bless her comic heart. It will be fun to just take in the atmosphere without the heart palpitations of knowing one will have to perform. Plus, this has been a pretty darn draining weekend, with two nights of comedy and lots of driving/riding in a row--not to mention the shock of a disabled furry love of my life.
Realized this morning (before the fur hit the fan) that I don't think I'd be able to do three nights of comedy in a row without having a lot of recovery time afterwards. Tonight I won't be in bed anytime near 11:30, so expect tomorrow to be more challenging than the usual Monday.
We shall see.....
We eventually got her outside, though her paw--on her other back leg--started to bleed again. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!
I gave her a Tylenol, as I been told to do by our vet in the past (see the wisdom of that below), and eventually, she was able to hop around and relieve herself.
That was a relief for us all.
Then I called the emergency vet, though this time it was a much more local (than Springfield) vet--just across the bridge, in Hadley. That vet told me that Tylenol is poison to dogs, and that I should only give my dogs aspirin from here on in.
(Will be calling my vet tomorrow to see why they suggested I poison my dogs, not to worry.)
Anyway, she was able to see us this morning at 10:00, and after a thorough examination, the vet said (if I'm recalling correctly) that the two most likely scenarios are (1) Shwea might have injured a ligament, or (2) Shwea is developing more severe arthritis. She gave us some pain meds (okay, they're just for the dogs--me, I could use a sedative, truth be told), and said if she doesn't stop tucking her bad leg up in three days' time, I need to bring her to her new vet for x-rays.
Yeah, that's just what the old semi-employment budget needs, but you know I'll do it. (Call me crazy, but I would sell my car to make sure my pups get the care they need.)
My goddess, for all the pain Shwea is in, she just hobbled into my office so she could be near her momma--how could anyone not respond to, much less reward, such devotion?
What a way to start a day, eh? Especially a day after a rather (for me) late night--I didn't get into bed until around 11:30, and since I got up around 6:00, I'm feeling a little cheated. Depleted, even. Perhaps a nap will be in order soon.
As for why I was up past my bedtime, it was so Jennifer and I could go to the open mic in Worcester, which was in a part of town that, well, the word seedy was meant for. The regulars were not what you'd call sophisticated comedy buffs, and they proceeded to play pool and talk loudly during the show, sometimes interrupting the comic (as happened to poor Jennifer, who was trying to time her set in prep for tonight's debut at The Comedy Studio, for heaven's sake).
Doing a set under those conditions is better than practicing in one's bathroom, but not by much. However, the comics were all very good-natured about it all, and we did all do our best to rise to the occasion and not take it personally. And the comic running the room was a good guy, so you know, we may be back there again--a comic in need of stage time is a desperate thing.
Tonight, happily, is not a desperate situation--we're heading to the hallowed Comedy Studio so Miss Jennifer can perform. I'm not on the slate, but am going along to offer moral support and to help make the drive less tedious--and she is returning the favor next week, bless her comic heart. It will be fun to just take in the atmosphere without the heart palpitations of knowing one will have to perform. Plus, this has been a pretty darn draining weekend, with two nights of comedy and lots of driving/riding in a row--not to mention the shock of a disabled furry love of my life.
Realized this morning (before the fur hit the fan) that I don't think I'd be able to do three nights of comedy in a row without having a lot of recovery time afterwards. Tonight I won't be in bed anytime near 11:30, so expect tomorrow to be more challenging than the usual Monday.
We shall see.....
Saturday, July 23, 2005
So much for my theory of the Elks...
It wasn't a truly bad show, it just wasn't very good--the crowd was thin and not entirely sure what to make of yours truly, the mic kept cutting out, and performance space was just weird. A lone snackbar chair in the middle of a linoleum expanse with track lighting.
Ah, experience.
The best part is I don't feel bad about it, just, "Oh well, it just wasn't my night." Am very pleased to be so sanguine about it, and am glad to not feel bruised today (that has happened in the past).
Oh, and the french fries (I'll save the sweet potato fries for another day) at the Wagon Wheel were the best I have ever had in my life--and I've had lots of fries in my day, let me tell you. The burger was burnt--and while I've managed to enjoy burnt burgers in my day as long as they were covered in lots of ketchup, lettuce, and tomato--this burger was burnt beyond the usual repair.
But I still ate it.
I don't know what that's about (Grandchild of the Depression Syndrome, perhaps? Hunger?), but my friend Holly, also a rather non-assertive Midwesterner, was moved to return her burger for a refund.
My goddess, I'm less assertive than another Midwesterner? That's like a few steps from spinelessness.
However, Holly's beau Dave also ate his whole burnt burger, and was going to eat the charred remains of Holly's if she wasn't going to return it, so I don't feel so bad. And Holly did announce, frequently, in case I missed it, that she was "In a mood." A mood in which you tell everyone exactly what you're thinking.
Yeah, so maybe she was a Midwesterner in a fleeting feisty phase (say that five times fast)--that may have been it.
So maybe I'm not as wimpy as all that; maybe I've just got a healthy appetite. Or? (Never mind, I know what you're thinking.)
As for the future, I'm off to Worcester tonight, to try out a "new" (well, for us) open mic with my comedy buddy Jennifer. Who knows what's ahead--a great new place to perform, a terrible new place to avoid like the plague, a new story? That's just a few of the possibilities--we shall see!
This a.m., I heard that Phyllis Diller, perhaps the first woman comic I ever saw (or was it Minnie Pearl? I can't remember--my earliest days are a blur), has an autobiography out. The title is something about being a lampshade in a whorehouse, and I can't wait to find out what that's about. She was on NPR this morning, and it was beyond good to hear her laugh--that laugh was the salvation of more than a few of her near-misses, but more often, the icing on top of her countless wonderful creations. Miss Diller's 88 and retired from the stage, but still coming up with priceless material: She told a joke about women with facelifts that I will cherish for a very long time--gives this relatively young comic all sorts of hope.
As for NPR, my hope is running thin--they did a piece this morning about a series of articles in a Kansas paper that tried to rebut "What's Wrong with Kansas?" the book that discusses the bizarre voting practices of people who ultimately have little to gain--and a lot to lose--from their picks.
Ah, the poor regressives were feeling picked upon, so they came up with a "Nothing's Wrong with Kansas" campaign, that focused on local talents like a woman who whistles, a guy who makes sourdough bread, and other contributing members of society.
Ah, people--what the hell does whistling have to do with picking representatives who send the Bill of Rights rights packing at the first signs of trouble? How does making good sourdough bread make it okay that your reps are sending your kids to die in a war that was based on lies and is a recruiting vehicle for terrorists worldwide? Where does "nothing wrong" square with your government's plans to hand big pieces of your Social Security over to financial institutions who may or may not handle it wisely? In fact, may leave you scrambling to make ends meet when you're least likely to be able to do so? Will the sourdough bread guy be there to feed you, when the time comes?
Oh dear, I'm in a mood myself. Didn't help that I ran into a friend at Dog Heaven this a.m. who is convinced the religious nuts--Christian and Muslim--are going to kill us all in a final, bloody war. She found out she might have diabetes and wasn't feeling exactly upbeat, shall we say, so I suggested she go see "Mad Hot Ballroom." It won't change the largely terrible state of the world, but it might just give her some hope.
And as long as we've got hope.....
Ah, I've got a set list to write (you're pardoned if you're relieved). Better quit pontificating and get typing.
Ah, experience.
The best part is I don't feel bad about it, just, "Oh well, it just wasn't my night." Am very pleased to be so sanguine about it, and am glad to not feel bruised today (that has happened in the past).
Oh, and the french fries (I'll save the sweet potato fries for another day) at the Wagon Wheel were the best I have ever had in my life--and I've had lots of fries in my day, let me tell you. The burger was burnt--and while I've managed to enjoy burnt burgers in my day as long as they were covered in lots of ketchup, lettuce, and tomato--this burger was burnt beyond the usual repair.
But I still ate it.
I don't know what that's about (Grandchild of the Depression Syndrome, perhaps? Hunger?), but my friend Holly, also a rather non-assertive Midwesterner, was moved to return her burger for a refund.
My goddess, I'm less assertive than another Midwesterner? That's like a few steps from spinelessness.
However, Holly's beau Dave also ate his whole burnt burger, and was going to eat the charred remains of Holly's if she wasn't going to return it, so I don't feel so bad. And Holly did announce, frequently, in case I missed it, that she was "In a mood." A mood in which you tell everyone exactly what you're thinking.
Yeah, so maybe she was a Midwesterner in a fleeting feisty phase (say that five times fast)--that may have been it.
So maybe I'm not as wimpy as all that; maybe I've just got a healthy appetite. Or? (Never mind, I know what you're thinking.)
As for the future, I'm off to Worcester tonight, to try out a "new" (well, for us) open mic with my comedy buddy Jennifer. Who knows what's ahead--a great new place to perform, a terrible new place to avoid like the plague, a new story? That's just a few of the possibilities--we shall see!
This a.m., I heard that Phyllis Diller, perhaps the first woman comic I ever saw (or was it Minnie Pearl? I can't remember--my earliest days are a blur), has an autobiography out. The title is something about being a lampshade in a whorehouse, and I can't wait to find out what that's about. She was on NPR this morning, and it was beyond good to hear her laugh--that laugh was the salvation of more than a few of her near-misses, but more often, the icing on top of her countless wonderful creations. Miss Diller's 88 and retired from the stage, but still coming up with priceless material: She told a joke about women with facelifts that I will cherish for a very long time--gives this relatively young comic all sorts of hope.
As for NPR, my hope is running thin--they did a piece this morning about a series of articles in a Kansas paper that tried to rebut "What's Wrong with Kansas?" the book that discusses the bizarre voting practices of people who ultimately have little to gain--and a lot to lose--from their picks.
Ah, the poor regressives were feeling picked upon, so they came up with a "Nothing's Wrong with Kansas" campaign, that focused on local talents like a woman who whistles, a guy who makes sourdough bread, and other contributing members of society.
Ah, people--what the hell does whistling have to do with picking representatives who send the Bill of Rights rights packing at the first signs of trouble? How does making good sourdough bread make it okay that your reps are sending your kids to die in a war that was based on lies and is a recruiting vehicle for terrorists worldwide? Where does "nothing wrong" square with your government's plans to hand big pieces of your Social Security over to financial institutions who may or may not handle it wisely? In fact, may leave you scrambling to make ends meet when you're least likely to be able to do so? Will the sourdough bread guy be there to feed you, when the time comes?
Oh dear, I'm in a mood myself. Didn't help that I ran into a friend at Dog Heaven this a.m. who is convinced the religious nuts--Christian and Muslim--are going to kill us all in a final, bloody war. She found out she might have diabetes and wasn't feeling exactly upbeat, shall we say, so I suggested she go see "Mad Hot Ballroom." It won't change the largely terrible state of the world, but it might just give her some hope.
And as long as we've got hope.....
Ah, I've got a set list to write (you're pardoned if you're relieved). Better quit pontificating and get typing.
Friday, July 22, 2005
Stop me before I blog again!
It's odd, it's a little more than a month since I was supposed to go visit my friends Ed and Martial in Palm Springs, but it wasn't until today that I really missed them and their odd, parched neck of the woods.
Maybe next year, eh?
ARRRRRRGH!
The phone interview, she is over. Thank goddess.
The job, she is probably--definitely--not for me (I was hearing "brush off" in the interviewer's sign-off; that may have just been her haste, but then again.....).
At least that's my immediate, post-interview stance. It sounded like a writing job, but it really is more of a marketing job.
A "self-funded" marketing job.
And we all know how I feel about marketers, don't we? (We don't?) Well, when I was in an MBA marketing program in the mid-1980s (it was a phase), a professor said, "Your paycheck is life's report card."
I was stunned. Disgusted. Aghast.
My classmates, however, thought it was the most inspirational thing they had ever heard.
In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if some of them had their grandmothers embroider a pillow with that sentiment, so they could keep that glorious phrase near them even during their leisure.
ARRRRRRGH, say I.
The job, she is probably--definitely--not for me (I was hearing "brush off" in the interviewer's sign-off; that may have just been her haste, but then again.....).
At least that's my immediate, post-interview stance. It sounded like a writing job, but it really is more of a marketing job.
A "self-funded" marketing job.
And we all know how I feel about marketers, don't we? (We don't?) Well, when I was in an MBA marketing program in the mid-1980s (it was a phase), a professor said, "Your paycheck is life's report card."
I was stunned. Disgusted. Aghast.
My classmates, however, thought it was the most inspirational thing they had ever heard.
In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if some of them had their grandmothers embroider a pillow with that sentiment, so they could keep that glorious phrase near them even during their leisure.
ARRRRRRGH, say I.
Dog paw, car cleaning, phone interview, comedy
How's that for a "list of things to do," eh? Took the bandage off Shwea's paw this morning, and while there's a spot that looks a little funky (and no, not the good funk), the pad isn't bleeding, and that's the main thing. I'm hoping a little air will do it good, and as Shwea is passed on out the floor beneath my desk, I don't think I have to worry about her opening it up somehow. At least until lunchtime (then all bets are off--she and Linus follow me around during lunch prep, hoping against hope that I'll drop something good, like a side o' beef).
The car must be cleaned today, for tonight I pick up Holly to go to the benefit in Gardner, and right now, my car is so full of dog hair it's like driving around in a cotton candy machine--without the spun sugar. Everyone leaves the car looking like they're wearing mohair, and that's just not right.
As for the phone interview, it's for a job that would entail a two-hour drive into the heart of darkness (aka Connecticut), and unless they're open to telecommuting, I don't stand a chance. The irony is they probably won't even consider a telecommuter for the job, even though they are consultants to an industry that regularly outsources its customer-facing departments half a world away without a thought. "Sure, we trust the people in India to do the right thing by our customers in Iowa, but you ink-stained wretches writing reports that nobody reads, we need to keep a close watch on you!" Ah, corporate America.
This afternoon, I get another freelance assignment from the company that was thinking of hiring me, but is now interviewing other candidates. Was it something I said? Did they "Google" me? There are a few not-terribly-flattering stories about me floating around on the Web that refuse to go away. They're from the end of my days as an embattled co-editor of a publication for the lesbian community, and they could make me look a little surly. (The publication didn't exactly go well, and I didn't exactly take it well, shall we say.) Worse, one hack decided to make it worse than it was in his treatment of our sad story, saying my co-editor was my life partner (no, he didn't fact check) and then after a few more mistaken interpretations chalked the whole thing up to the bitterness of dinosaur dykes (yeah, gotta love those gay boys who embrace their inner misogynist, don't you?). Ah, I'm getting agitated. Must stop writing about this now.
Lest you think this list too dreary, the day is topped off with The Comedy, and that makes all things if not bright and beautiful, at least a lot more bearable. I'm a little nervous about how the Elks will respond to my, shall we say, diverse brand of comedy, but yesterday I listened to my last Elks Club show, and it went pretty well. And those Elks were in Connecticut, which I think is a lot more tightly wound land than Massachusetts. We shall see.
As to The Comedy, my comedy buddy Jennifer summed up the beauty of the comedy buddy relationship here--if you're a comic or a fan of The Comedy, it's a must-read.
Oh, and I almost forgot--I also get to go to the famous Wagon Wheel restaurant tonight, which I have heard so many wonderful things about (specifically: great burgers and sweet potato fries). A more heavenly combination is hard to comprehend.
This is a day for the record books, people.
The car must be cleaned today, for tonight I pick up Holly to go to the benefit in Gardner, and right now, my car is so full of dog hair it's like driving around in a cotton candy machine--without the spun sugar. Everyone leaves the car looking like they're wearing mohair, and that's just not right.
As for the phone interview, it's for a job that would entail a two-hour drive into the heart of darkness (aka Connecticut), and unless they're open to telecommuting, I don't stand a chance. The irony is they probably won't even consider a telecommuter for the job, even though they are consultants to an industry that regularly outsources its customer-facing departments half a world away without a thought. "Sure, we trust the people in India to do the right thing by our customers in Iowa, but you ink-stained wretches writing reports that nobody reads, we need to keep a close watch on you!" Ah, corporate America.
This afternoon, I get another freelance assignment from the company that was thinking of hiring me, but is now interviewing other candidates. Was it something I said? Did they "Google" me? There are a few not-terribly-flattering stories about me floating around on the Web that refuse to go away. They're from the end of my days as an embattled co-editor of a publication for the lesbian community, and they could make me look a little surly. (The publication didn't exactly go well, and I didn't exactly take it well, shall we say.) Worse, one hack decided to make it worse than it was in his treatment of our sad story, saying my co-editor was my life partner (no, he didn't fact check) and then after a few more mistaken interpretations chalked the whole thing up to the bitterness of dinosaur dykes (yeah, gotta love those gay boys who embrace their inner misogynist, don't you?). Ah, I'm getting agitated. Must stop writing about this now.
Lest you think this list too dreary, the day is topped off with The Comedy, and that makes all things if not bright and beautiful, at least a lot more bearable. I'm a little nervous about how the Elks will respond to my, shall we say, diverse brand of comedy, but yesterday I listened to my last Elks Club show, and it went pretty well. And those Elks were in Connecticut, which I think is a lot more tightly wound land than Massachusetts. We shall see.
As to The Comedy, my comedy buddy Jennifer summed up the beauty of the comedy buddy relationship here--if you're a comic or a fan of The Comedy, it's a must-read.
Oh, and I almost forgot--I also get to go to the famous Wagon Wheel restaurant tonight, which I have heard so many wonderful things about (specifically: great burgers and sweet potato fries). A more heavenly combination is hard to comprehend.
This is a day for the record books, people.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Bucky's a bigot?!
Did I already rant about the fact that the University of Wisconsin, my (formerly) dear alma mater, doesn't offer domestic partnership benefits--in fact, it is the only Big Ten school not to do so? Yeah, you're right, I did.
This morning, while I was walking Linus (Shwea's bandaged up and on limited walk duty for a few days; more on this later), I was thinking about the situation anew (there was a cute story in the latest Advocate on how two UW lesbians hooked up, and it got me steaming about the uncoolness of the school's policy all over again), and I remembered the great T-shirts that were sold during the graduate student strike in the early '80s. They had a picture of a particularly fierce looking Bucky (Badger, the Wisconsin mascot), and underneath said "Strike Big Red!"
I wore that shirt so long, it fell to pieces in the wash. Was wondering what T-shirt design would work for this domestic partnership situation, and came up with the idea, "Bucky's Not a Bigot! Domestic partnership for all Badgers!" No, that's too long, isn't it? Maybe the "Bucky's Not a Bigot" line could go in front, under the Bucky picture, and the domestic partnership bit could go on the back.
Have to think about this. And since I have no work today, odds are good I'll have lots of time to do just that--and work on my sets for the weekend. "My sets"--that is a hoot to write, even though I think my Linda is wondering how she got mixed up with a comic. I'm going to be out Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights, which officially makes her a Comedy Widow. Kind of a drag, I know, but I also know she supports my comedy big time--it's just the theory of support can be a little easier than the practice, especially on atypical weekends like this.
That paid gig I mentioned yesterday--it's not coming to pass. Good thing, I think, for it would have meant next weekend was another three-night Comedy Widow extravaganza for Linda, and we don't want to push our luck.
On other fronts, the vet thinks Shwea just scraped her paw jumping out of the car. What a delicate flower! I think I need to get a carpet remnant for the garage floor or toughen her up somehow. The vet also suggested Preparation H--it apparently helps cells regrow (don't want to dwell on how that works for its primary purpose, but that's what she said). So, we'll be dabbing that on her paw at bedtime--ah, the things we do for unconditional love.....
This morning, while I was walking Linus (Shwea's bandaged up and on limited walk duty for a few days; more on this later), I was thinking about the situation anew (there was a cute story in the latest Advocate on how two UW lesbians hooked up, and it got me steaming about the uncoolness of the school's policy all over again), and I remembered the great T-shirts that were sold during the graduate student strike in the early '80s. They had a picture of a particularly fierce looking Bucky (Badger, the Wisconsin mascot), and underneath said "Strike Big Red!"
I wore that shirt so long, it fell to pieces in the wash. Was wondering what T-shirt design would work for this domestic partnership situation, and came up with the idea, "Bucky's Not a Bigot! Domestic partnership for all Badgers!" No, that's too long, isn't it? Maybe the "Bucky's Not a Bigot" line could go in front, under the Bucky picture, and the domestic partnership bit could go on the back.
Have to think about this. And since I have no work today, odds are good I'll have lots of time to do just that--and work on my sets for the weekend. "My sets"--that is a hoot to write, even though I think my Linda is wondering how she got mixed up with a comic. I'm going to be out Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights, which officially makes her a Comedy Widow. Kind of a drag, I know, but I also know she supports my comedy big time--it's just the theory of support can be a little easier than the practice, especially on atypical weekends like this.
That paid gig I mentioned yesterday--it's not coming to pass. Good thing, I think, for it would have meant next weekend was another three-night Comedy Widow extravaganza for Linda, and we don't want to push our luck.
On other fronts, the vet thinks Shwea just scraped her paw jumping out of the car. What a delicate flower! I think I need to get a carpet remnant for the garage floor or toughen her up somehow. The vet also suggested Preparation H--it apparently helps cells regrow (don't want to dwell on how that works for its primary purpose, but that's what she said). So, we'll be dabbing that on her paw at bedtime--ah, the things we do for unconditional love.....
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
"Wicked bummer," as we never said in Wisconsin
Well, I was feeling fairly upbeat this morning, for late yesterday afternoon I landed a phone interview (for a job that's two hours away, unfortunately--so it's probably another bit of interviewing practice) and woke up with a general feeling of well-being (that I spent about an hour in a church basement last night probably has more than a little to do with that, but I digress).
Then, Linda and I took the dogs for a walk this morning, and when we returned home Shwea jumped out of the car and was bleeding. Well, her paw--the one that was supposedly healed--was bleeding, and while it wasn't bleeding a lot (no geysers, I'm happy to report), it was bleeding enough for me to have to take her back to the vet's this morning.
That's just wrong, people--the Universe just needs to cut this dog a break. Me and my work situation will eventually iron ourselves out, but this paw problem with Shwea--she's my first dog, she's a big bundle of sweetness and fur--has me vexed. For heaven's sake, the dog needs to be able to take a walk without giving blood. Is that asking too much?
I've been to about six vets about this, maybe more, and I'm hoping that the vet we see this morning will be the one to finally get to the bottom of this. Wish us luck!
On other fronts, there's a chance I might get a paying comedy gig soon, but then again, there's a good chance I won't. It's nice to be asked, regardless--just like that job that's two hours away. I probably won't get it, but it gives me all sorts of hope to be interviewed.
We're living on hope, people. Soon, we'll be livin' on a prayer, but that's a shameless lift from my friend Jennifer, so close I must (before I pilfer again!).
Then, Linda and I took the dogs for a walk this morning, and when we returned home Shwea jumped out of the car and was bleeding. Well, her paw--the one that was supposedly healed--was bleeding, and while it wasn't bleeding a lot (no geysers, I'm happy to report), it was bleeding enough for me to have to take her back to the vet's this morning.
That's just wrong, people--the Universe just needs to cut this dog a break. Me and my work situation will eventually iron ourselves out, but this paw problem with Shwea--she's my first dog, she's a big bundle of sweetness and fur--has me vexed. For heaven's sake, the dog needs to be able to take a walk without giving blood. Is that asking too much?
I've been to about six vets about this, maybe more, and I'm hoping that the vet we see this morning will be the one to finally get to the bottom of this. Wish us luck!
On other fronts, there's a chance I might get a paying comedy gig soon, but then again, there's a good chance I won't. It's nice to be asked, regardless--just like that job that's two hours away. I probably won't get it, but it gives me all sorts of hope to be interviewed.
We're living on hope, people. Soon, we'll be livin' on a prayer, but that's a shameless lift from my friend Jennifer, so close I must (before I pilfer again!).
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
The cleaning lady is taking her sweet time
It's cleaning day, and I am having a hard time getting motivated to tackle this (overdue) job. Keep hoping another fragment of freelance work will come in from that editing job I thought I had a shot at--it appears to still be on the freelance course, with no word of a full-time position. Oh well.
Applied to some more jobs yesterday, and am looking at a job in Cambridge today--I know, I know, the commute would be a killer, but the job sounds so cool.
"Cool" jobs are few and far between, let me tell you--heck, all jobs are few and far between when you've landed in the purgatory known as ALMOST 20 YEARS OF EXPERIENCE.
I'm beginning to think that doesn't make me sound like a seasoned professional, rather it sounds like: Old, expensive, fussy, technologically inept, and a giant pain in the ass.
When if people would just have me on over for an interview, they could see that none of that applies--except, perhaps, for the old and/or expensive part. (But I'm getting less expensive every day; and for a 46-year-old, I'm remarkably lifelike.)
It's been three months since I learned of my job's (partial) demise and the end of work as I know it. Must admit I thought I would have landed something by now, but it's beginning to look like I am going to have to bide my time until the fall--and hope/pray things start to open up then.
What's most frustrating is that I can't even find TEMP work--that just seems wrong, somehow. The last nibble I had turned out to be "wrong for me" (the company found me overqualified for the job--but isn't that the nature of temp work for a lot of people?!), and now "my" rep is working on a gig that wouldn't start until the end of August. August?!
Wah, wah, wah, whine, whine, whine, kvetch, kvetch, kvetch--okay, I feel better now.
Elsewise, not much is shakin'--enjoyed the season finale of "The Scholar" last night, especially the testy exchanges among the college recruiters who were making the tough (make that nigh impossible) choice about who should win. The final three candidates were all good--great, even--though the guy was a little too intense for my liking--he seemed to be someone who could easily go over to the Unibomber side of the equation if life threw him a few too many curves.
Hope the show is renewed for next season, for cheesy and occasionally annoying as it could be, it puts a premium on education, community service, and playing well with others--values our country's current leaders don't share, to put it mildly.
Sigh.
Applied to some more jobs yesterday, and am looking at a job in Cambridge today--I know, I know, the commute would be a killer, but the job sounds so cool.
"Cool" jobs are few and far between, let me tell you--heck, all jobs are few and far between when you've landed in the purgatory known as ALMOST 20 YEARS OF EXPERIENCE.
I'm beginning to think that doesn't make me sound like a seasoned professional, rather it sounds like: Old, expensive, fussy, technologically inept, and a giant pain in the ass.
When if people would just have me on over for an interview, they could see that none of that applies--except, perhaps, for the old and/or expensive part. (But I'm getting less expensive every day; and for a 46-year-old, I'm remarkably lifelike.)
It's been three months since I learned of my job's (partial) demise and the end of work as I know it. Must admit I thought I would have landed something by now, but it's beginning to look like I am going to have to bide my time until the fall--and hope/pray things start to open up then.
What's most frustrating is that I can't even find TEMP work--that just seems wrong, somehow. The last nibble I had turned out to be "wrong for me" (the company found me overqualified for the job--but isn't that the nature of temp work for a lot of people?!), and now "my" rep is working on a gig that wouldn't start until the end of August. August?!
Wah, wah, wah, whine, whine, whine, kvetch, kvetch, kvetch--okay, I feel better now.
Elsewise, not much is shakin'--enjoyed the season finale of "The Scholar" last night, especially the testy exchanges among the college recruiters who were making the tough (make that nigh impossible) choice about who should win. The final three candidates were all good--great, even--though the guy was a little too intense for my liking--he seemed to be someone who could easily go over to the Unibomber side of the equation if life threw him a few too many curves.
Hope the show is renewed for next season, for cheesy and occasionally annoying as it could be, it puts a premium on education, community service, and playing well with others--values our country's current leaders don't share, to put it mildly.
Sigh.
Monday, July 18, 2005
Couldn't I just win the lottery or something?
I know, I know--it's bad enough our top-level government officials scorn the notion of "reality-based" information (much less truth-based governance), I can't afford to jump on the "Expecting a miracle any day now" bandwagon, too.
Just didn't realize what a charmed existence I was leading until recently--no worries of the financial sort, just the usual mix of existential dread and quiet hopes for a more meaningful existence, someday.... Well, someday is now--or perhaps it never will be, and I'm just telling myself I'm on the cusp of something fabulous so I won't stumble on the reality that I'm actually on a precipice where my finances are concerned and am thisclose to falling over the side.
A financial precipice isn't as scary as others I could be teetering on, and for that I am grateful. I don't think my mortal soul is in peril at the moment, for I'm feeling no desire to do anything that would threaten my sobriety (and for me, sobriety is the key to my soul, to put it mildly). It's key to everything, come to think of it.
The good news of the week is I have a benefit on Friday--true, it's at an Elk's Club, but hey, I get 15 minutes--and an open mic on Saturday. Sunday, I ride with Jennifer to Boston, where she gets her fabulous self on the stage of The Comedy Studio for the first (and certainly not the last) time. It will be a wonderful weekend of comedy, this I am counting on.
Now, if I could just find something useful to do with myself until then.....
Just didn't realize what a charmed existence I was leading until recently--no worries of the financial sort, just the usual mix of existential dread and quiet hopes for a more meaningful existence, someday.... Well, someday is now--or perhaps it never will be, and I'm just telling myself I'm on the cusp of something fabulous so I won't stumble on the reality that I'm actually on a precipice where my finances are concerned and am thisclose to falling over the side.
A financial precipice isn't as scary as others I could be teetering on, and for that I am grateful. I don't think my mortal soul is in peril at the moment, for I'm feeling no desire to do anything that would threaten my sobriety (and for me, sobriety is the key to my soul, to put it mildly). It's key to everything, come to think of it.
The good news of the week is I have a benefit on Friday--true, it's at an Elk's Club, but hey, I get 15 minutes--and an open mic on Saturday. Sunday, I ride with Jennifer to Boston, where she gets her fabulous self on the stage of The Comedy Studio for the first (and certainly not the last) time. It will be a wonderful weekend of comedy, this I am counting on.
Now, if I could just find something useful to do with myself until then.....
Friday, July 15, 2005
Wracked with ambivalence yet again
Well, there's still no definitive word on that job I was so hopeful was mine earlier this week. It now seems that the person who is hiring is trying to decide among a few fabulous candidates, for I was given another editing/writing job to do (happily, I'll get paid for this one), due Monday.
The good news is the job hasn't gone away completely; the bad news is the longer it takes to land, the less sure I am that I'm interested in it. In my experience, black and white, yes and no thinking can be done only on the quick; the grays start to emerge when one has time to ponder. And I've had enough time to ask myself, in all sincerity: Do I really want to learn all there is to learn about metals? The manufacturing sector? Inventories?
But another series of questions come to mind, too: Do I really want to pull my own weight financially? And is anyone else offering me a way to do just that? Is the temp job lady ever going to find me something??
Yup, here I am, strapped onto the ambivalence rack yet again, for the 3, 256th time in my life.
I spend more time here than anywhere, so you'd think I'd enjoy it by now, but no.
So, I'm going to go run an errand or two, then get on the rower, in the hopes it will help me see my way to some clarity on these questions. Or at least let me feel as though I've done something productive today, besides take an early-morning trip to the local recycling center.
The end of the week total of jobs applied for and whose status is unknown: 52. Number of jobs applied for and whose status is (sadly) known: 9. Number of jobs applied for and in the running for: 1.
The good news is the job hasn't gone away completely; the bad news is the longer it takes to land, the less sure I am that I'm interested in it. In my experience, black and white, yes and no thinking can be done only on the quick; the grays start to emerge when one has time to ponder. And I've had enough time to ask myself, in all sincerity: Do I really want to learn all there is to learn about metals? The manufacturing sector? Inventories?
But another series of questions come to mind, too: Do I really want to pull my own weight financially? And is anyone else offering me a way to do just that? Is the temp job lady ever going to find me something??
Yup, here I am, strapped onto the ambivalence rack yet again, for the 3, 256th time in my life.
I spend more time here than anywhere, so you'd think I'd enjoy it by now, but no.
So, I'm going to go run an errand or two, then get on the rower, in the hopes it will help me see my way to some clarity on these questions. Or at least let me feel as though I've done something productive today, besides take an early-morning trip to the local recycling center.
The end of the week total of jobs applied for and whose status is unknown: 52. Number of jobs applied for and whose status is (sadly) known: 9. Number of jobs applied for and in the running for: 1.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
"Today later," eh?
Thought I might be close to landing a job today, but am now beginning to wonder if I made it all up (yes, I'm ending a sentence with a preposition, and no, that's not a good indicator of why my job hunt has been for naught, you churlish beast).
The editing/writing test I took yesterday went well, apparently, but now I'm waiting for a follow-up interview/call that was supposed to happen "today later." That was the phrasing at 9:13 this morning, and this person is on the East Coast, so I'm wondering: Did I manage to say something stupidly job-costing in my last missive to this person, or did she just get busy (she was on deadline, after all, and I know how that is) and put the call/me off?
This job-hunting business is a crazy-making affair, let me tell you. It doesn't help that my initial excitement over the job prospect sent adrenalin coursing through my veins, adrenalin that has now worn off and its absence is making me want to take a little nap. Okay, a big nap.
But I know I won't sleep, wondering if the "today later" call is on its way. Harrumph!
I'm also wondering if the fates are arranging it so that the person calls just when the postman is delivering and/or the paperboy is making his appointed rounds. Then she'll get to hear the "hounds of heck" I listen to every day, which may make her think I work from my home, alright. My home in a kennel.
Otherwise, Shwea, Linus, and I had a fine walk this morning at Dog Heaven--Shwea's first in about two weeks. She has been flat out on the floor ever since--that's a sign of a dog walk well done.
So, I can't land jobs, but I can give my dogs a proper walk. One takes one's successes where one can....
The editing/writing test I took yesterday went well, apparently, but now I'm waiting for a follow-up interview/call that was supposed to happen "today later." That was the phrasing at 9:13 this morning, and this person is on the East Coast, so I'm wondering: Did I manage to say something stupidly job-costing in my last missive to this person, or did she just get busy (she was on deadline, after all, and I know how that is) and put the call/me off?
This job-hunting business is a crazy-making affair, let me tell you. It doesn't help that my initial excitement over the job prospect sent adrenalin coursing through my veins, adrenalin that has now worn off and its absence is making me want to take a little nap. Okay, a big nap.
But I know I won't sleep, wondering if the "today later" call is on its way. Harrumph!
I'm also wondering if the fates are arranging it so that the person calls just when the postman is delivering and/or the paperboy is making his appointed rounds. Then she'll get to hear the "hounds of heck" I listen to every day, which may make her think I work from my home, alright. My home in a kennel.
Otherwise, Shwea, Linus, and I had a fine walk this morning at Dog Heaven--Shwea's first in about two weeks. She has been flat out on the floor ever since--that's a sign of a dog walk well done.
So, I can't land jobs, but I can give my dogs a proper walk. One takes one's successes where one can....
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