Yep, I'm going to that cliche. That is, in addition to the cliche of getting laid off and starting a blog.
I'm going to make a few resolutions for 2009, some having to do with my job hunt, and some others that I should do anyhow.
To wit:
I resolve to look more often for a cloak of humility and not so much for a garish jacket of naivete about the job market
I resolve to apply for jobs that have nothing to do with my previous background, but interest me.
I resolve to not feel guilty about unemployment money. I paid into it, and I don't plan to stay on it.
I resolve to take any and all actions that justify taking unemployment, such as trying to find a job.
I resolve to apply to at least one job strictly for the money.
I resolve to be secretly happy if I don't get that job.
I resolve to keep posting on this blog, even if I would rather read another, more interesting blog (such as, all of them).
I will take freelance work, as much as I can. I'll try not to look at it as a time filler.
I resolve to learn something. Whether it's a helpful tech skill, or a language, or even how to mix drinks.
I will eat better. Maybe not nutritionally better, but maybe more organic, more locally based. They make cheeseburgers locally, right?
I will make no big plans until get a new job. But I resolve to also carry through on getting married (I'm a dope who got engaged almost a month before being laid off).
I will try to support my fiancee, who is working, as much as possible.
I will try to make someone laugh daily. I will try to laugh daily. I've been doing this pretty well, but I should probably work toward making them happen at the same time.
I will look at this list in the future, and hope that my mindset and situation are changed enough that such resolutions seem quaint, and even a little sad.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
Time to be constructive
When you're not working, it's hard not to feel like you're wasting time.
Plenty of people, of course, feel like they're wasting time at work. But at home, after the job sites are checked, e-mail followed on and coffee pot emptied, time ticks by pretty slowly.
One realizes a few things pretty fast:
1) Daytime TV really is horrible. There aren't as many soap operas as there used to be, but they've all been replaced by middle-aged women talk shows. If you were to play a drinking game with those shows where you sipped everytime either Brad Pitt or menopause was mentioned, you could qualify for a DUI on your couch.
2) As great as newspapers are, after about 1 p.m., it's hard not to feel like everything in them is about 20 hours old.
3) Job listings aren't updated very often. And if you send e-mails to the people you've already applied to, there's a 50/50 chance they won't respond until you are on Social Security.
4) I'm not saying they don't exist, but I have yet to find an at-home bartending school.
Blogging, I guess, is one way to take up some time. And upstairs lurks a PlayStation 2 with a passel of unplayed games (oh, for the days I was too busy to even cram in 5 minutes of gaming). Problem is, playing games quickly feels like an acknowledged retreat. It's one step away from a wardrobe of sweats and old t-shirts and a diet of Hot Pockets and Ovaltine (for vitamins). And who wants to go there?
But maybe there's a larger message I'm missing. If there's a time of year when maybe we should all slow down a little, take notice of every minute and maybe drop a little guilt for not getting the most out of it, the holidays seem to fit. It's definitely no fun being out of work right now -- thankfully, I don't have much Christmas shopping to do -- but I also won't be disappointing my mom this year by working on Christmas Eve and missing most of her family celebration.
Making your mom smile, not a bad use of time at all.
Plenty of people, of course, feel like they're wasting time at work. But at home, after the job sites are checked, e-mail followed on and coffee pot emptied, time ticks by pretty slowly.
One realizes a few things pretty fast:
1) Daytime TV really is horrible. There aren't as many soap operas as there used to be, but they've all been replaced by middle-aged women talk shows. If you were to play a drinking game with those shows where you sipped everytime either Brad Pitt or menopause was mentioned, you could qualify for a DUI on your couch.
2) As great as newspapers are, after about 1 p.m., it's hard not to feel like everything in them is about 20 hours old.
3) Job listings aren't updated very often. And if you send e-mails to the people you've already applied to, there's a 50/50 chance they won't respond until you are on Social Security.
4) I'm not saying they don't exist, but I have yet to find an at-home bartending school.
Blogging, I guess, is one way to take up some time. And upstairs lurks a PlayStation 2 with a passel of unplayed games (oh, for the days I was too busy to even cram in 5 minutes of gaming). Problem is, playing games quickly feels like an acknowledged retreat. It's one step away from a wardrobe of sweats and old t-shirts and a diet of Hot Pockets and Ovaltine (for vitamins). And who wants to go there?
But maybe there's a larger message I'm missing. If there's a time of year when maybe we should all slow down a little, take notice of every minute and maybe drop a little guilt for not getting the most out of it, the holidays seem to fit. It's definitely no fun being out of work right now -- thankfully, I don't have much Christmas shopping to do -- but I also won't be disappointing my mom this year by working on Christmas Eve and missing most of her family celebration.
Making your mom smile, not a bad use of time at all.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
After 1 week
Actually, it's been not quite a full week. But presuming nothing huge is different 18 hours from now -- though I won't mind if it is! -- I will presumably have been unemployed for a full week.
What I've learned so far:
1) None of us out here are alone, and there are constant reminders of it. Pick up a paper, turn on a TV, drive around and you're bound to see some sign of economic distress in a figurative sense, or the guy by the side of the road with the "will invest in non-toxic housing futures for a Christmas ham" sign. It's pervasive and you can look at it as either affirmation that it's not just you that turned the wrong corner onto unemployment street, or a grim reminder that bigger forces are keeping you away from your livelihood and a paycheck.
2) Our economy, especially right now, is constantly telling us we need to buy things. The message is so repetitive that it's jarring. When you're out of work and you see a commercial telling you jewelry is 50 percent off, it's hard not to muster a maniacal laugh and scream at the TV, "50 PERCENT!??!?! HOW GENEROUS TO DISCOUNT STUFF THAT PEOPLE DON'T NEED EVEN WHEN TIMES ARE GOOD!"
3) Optimism is free. You can always believe that the better job you want is about to be posted on a site, or that the no-hope job you just applied for is actually within reach. It's a tempered hope, and if I can use a baseball analogy, like hoping a team like the Phillies will win the World Series, instead of the Cubs. Tempered hope is believing it's possible but bracing yourself, like Phillies fans did this last year, whereas the hope of hysteria alllows you to believe the Cubs will win it all and you will be appointed Director of Pen Supply for the state of California, with full benefits and a 75K salary.
Don't discount the value of free optimism. Its price is fixed, resistant to market pressures and applied equally in all instances.
And an update on me, one week in? Perhaps better than it should be. I've done the first two post-layoff steps, which are severing ties with the old company (equipment returned) and filing for unemployment (how much? really?). The more tricky third step -- getting back into employment -- well, I'll just say I'm encouraged. Nothing's guaranteed, nothing is certain, but I'm hopeful and even believing that 2009 will weigh in as more up than down, and sooner than later.
To put it another way, I'm pretty sure this blog -- in this form -- will have a brief life.
What I've learned so far:
1) None of us out here are alone, and there are constant reminders of it. Pick up a paper, turn on a TV, drive around and you're bound to see some sign of economic distress in a figurative sense, or the guy by the side of the road with the "will invest in non-toxic housing futures for a Christmas ham" sign. It's pervasive and you can look at it as either affirmation that it's not just you that turned the wrong corner onto unemployment street, or a grim reminder that bigger forces are keeping you away from your livelihood and a paycheck.
2) Our economy, especially right now, is constantly telling us we need to buy things. The message is so repetitive that it's jarring. When you're out of work and you see a commercial telling you jewelry is 50 percent off, it's hard not to muster a maniacal laugh and scream at the TV, "50 PERCENT!??!?! HOW GENEROUS TO DISCOUNT STUFF THAT PEOPLE DON'T NEED EVEN WHEN TIMES ARE GOOD!"
3) Optimism is free. You can always believe that the better job you want is about to be posted on a site, or that the no-hope job you just applied for is actually within reach. It's a tempered hope, and if I can use a baseball analogy, like hoping a team like the Phillies will win the World Series, instead of the Cubs. Tempered hope is believing it's possible but bracing yourself, like Phillies fans did this last year, whereas the hope of hysteria alllows you to believe the Cubs will win it all and you will be appointed Director of Pen Supply for the state of California, with full benefits and a 75K salary.
Don't discount the value of free optimism. Its price is fixed, resistant to market pressures and applied equally in all instances.
And an update on me, one week in? Perhaps better than it should be. I've done the first two post-layoff steps, which are severing ties with the old company (equipment returned) and filing for unemployment (how much? really?). The more tricky third step -- getting back into employment -- well, I'll just say I'm encouraged. Nothing's guaranteed, nothing is certain, but I'm hopeful and even believing that 2009 will weigh in as more up than down, and sooner than later.
To put it another way, I'm pretty sure this blog -- in this form -- will have a brief life.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Still smarter than a scammer
You look for hope wherever you can find it.
Because someone tried to scam me on a job listing, and I didn't fall for it, I'm marking it as my tithe to the non-dumbass club for today. Mensa will take me yet, job or no.
The job described being a tutor for a young student a few hours a day, preferably during the holiday break. Seemed easy enough for someone who'd spent a fair part of his life trying to "tutor" the public through newspaper stories, although I suspect many of those stories were used to "tutor" a parakeet's hind quarters.
I replied. Quickly, a reply came back. And intrigue blossomed.
The person claimed to be a doctor in Scotland, but originally from St. Louis. Judging by the letter's syntax, I was mistaken in believing both places had English as a principal language.
The doctor had a 13-year-old son who needed to be tutored in English and algebra (ha! who says you'll never use it after high school!) three times a week, at my house.
Mind you, I live in Sacramento. Commuting distance to Scotland or St. Louis, it's not.
No problem, the doc replied. The boy will be there on holiday(his term, presumably stemming from his Scottish *snicker* roots). Yes, the winter holidays are known as the season to visit around here, unless the tule fog causes your plane to land in Lake Tahoe.
One other point of note: The doctor made casual mention that as soon as possible, he wanted to work out a way for me to get paid.
My background as a consumer reporter told me this: He wants your bank account number. And my background as a smart ass nearly compelled me to respond: I'm holding up my account number right now, and you can count it on one finger.
But that's not the reply I gave. Instead, I asked directly but politely for evidence that the good doctor was in fact not sitting in an Internet cafe in Burkina Faso -- I know, normally it's Nigeria, but Burkina Faso is a cooler name -- with a doctoral degree printed on a high-quality napkin.
So far, no reply. Off to the printer for better degree stock, one guesses.
Until further correspondence, I will disregard the job offer. And just as well, his kid was probably a brat who would've eaten my Cheez-Its and broke my PlayStation 2.
And right now, that's my job.
Because someone tried to scam me on a job listing, and I didn't fall for it, I'm marking it as my tithe to the non-dumbass club for today. Mensa will take me yet, job or no.
The job described being a tutor for a young student a few hours a day, preferably during the holiday break. Seemed easy enough for someone who'd spent a fair part of his life trying to "tutor" the public through newspaper stories, although I suspect many of those stories were used to "tutor" a parakeet's hind quarters.
I replied. Quickly, a reply came back. And intrigue blossomed.
The person claimed to be a doctor in Scotland, but originally from St. Louis. Judging by the letter's syntax, I was mistaken in believing both places had English as a principal language.
The doctor had a 13-year-old son who needed to be tutored in English and algebra (ha! who says you'll never use it after high school!) three times a week, at my house.
Mind you, I live in Sacramento. Commuting distance to Scotland or St. Louis, it's not.
No problem, the doc replied. The boy will be there on holiday(his term, presumably stemming from his Scottish *snicker* roots). Yes, the winter holidays are known as the season to visit around here, unless the tule fog causes your plane to land in Lake Tahoe.
One other point of note: The doctor made casual mention that as soon as possible, he wanted to work out a way for me to get paid.
My background as a consumer reporter told me this: He wants your bank account number. And my background as a smart ass nearly compelled me to respond: I'm holding up my account number right now, and you can count it on one finger.
But that's not the reply I gave. Instead, I asked directly but politely for evidence that the good doctor was in fact not sitting in an Internet cafe in Burkina Faso -- I know, normally it's Nigeria, but Burkina Faso is a cooler name -- with a doctoral degree printed on a high-quality napkin.
So far, no reply. Off to the printer for better degree stock, one guesses.
Until further correspondence, I will disregard the job offer. And just as well, his kid was probably a brat who would've eaten my Cheez-Its and broke my PlayStation 2.
And right now, that's my job.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Day 1 of whatever's next
So it's hard not to think, sarcastically of the Alanis Morrissette song from about 10 years ago.
"Thank you, crap economy. Thank you, false-premise-peddling former employer. Thank you Pres-i-de-ehnt Buush!"
But I'm starting all wrong.
In short, until last Friday, I was a journalist. A pretty good one, no real big awards or anything, but good enough that I'm unaware of any former bosses or co-workers who reach for aspirin when they hear my name.
Then, the economy. And my company, specifically, which had hired me exactly six months earlier, and told me they didn't care if they made money until 2012. Sounded pretty good, as speaking as a (former?) journalist, a goal of making money at all sounded infectiously ambitious.
For six months, this was a very good gig. Taking sources to lunch? Comped! A bus pass to both reduce carbon footprint and the joy of finding parking in a downtown city! Comped! Salary? Enough to buy my fiancee a decent dinner once in awhile! It was crazy!
And, like just about all journalism jobs that combine decent money, exciting stories and a minimum of fertilizer, it didn't last.
Which brings me to today.
Friday, Dec. 12, was my last day in that job (since the layoff word came down at about 8 a.m, it wasn't the most productive day. I may have scratched myself on company time.).
Today is my first day.
Of, well, I wish I knew what.
All the first few things I should be doing have been done, that is, the sending of the resumes and the calling of the old workplaces and the thinking of the coffeehouses that do seem to always be hiring.
That's led me to this, doing one of the most cliche things I can think of: Blogging about being unemployed. An unemployed writer, even. Shameful.
But there is a purpose here. I just need to figure it out -- nah, I know. This is therapy. And a way to kill some time in between seeing if my Hotmail has anything more hopeful in it than a notice of a Macy's sale (which always irritates me, because I only got onto Macy's e-mail list when I bought a wedding gift online last year).
What will it become? I dunno. I hope it ends tomorrow, with me being offered another job.
But if not, well, it's a place to write. And work some stuff out. And if I decide to let others know about it, even maybe keep someone (anyone?) mildly entertained.
"Thank you, crap economy. Thank you, false-premise-peddling former employer. Thank you Pres-i-de-ehnt Buush!"
But I'm starting all wrong.
In short, until last Friday, I was a journalist. A pretty good one, no real big awards or anything, but good enough that I'm unaware of any former bosses or co-workers who reach for aspirin when they hear my name.
Then, the economy. And my company, specifically, which had hired me exactly six months earlier, and told me they didn't care if they made money until 2012. Sounded pretty good, as speaking as a (former?) journalist, a goal of making money at all sounded infectiously ambitious.
For six months, this was a very good gig. Taking sources to lunch? Comped! A bus pass to both reduce carbon footprint and the joy of finding parking in a downtown city! Comped! Salary? Enough to buy my fiancee a decent dinner once in awhile! It was crazy!
And, like just about all journalism jobs that combine decent money, exciting stories and a minimum of fertilizer, it didn't last.
Which brings me to today.
Friday, Dec. 12, was my last day in that job (since the layoff word came down at about 8 a.m, it wasn't the most productive day. I may have scratched myself on company time.).
Today is my first day.
Of, well, I wish I knew what.
All the first few things I should be doing have been done, that is, the sending of the resumes and the calling of the old workplaces and the thinking of the coffeehouses that do seem to always be hiring.
That's led me to this, doing one of the most cliche things I can think of: Blogging about being unemployed. An unemployed writer, even. Shameful.
But there is a purpose here. I just need to figure it out -- nah, I know. This is therapy. And a way to kill some time in between seeing if my Hotmail has anything more hopeful in it than a notice of a Macy's sale (which always irritates me, because I only got onto Macy's e-mail list when I bought a wedding gift online last year).
What will it become? I dunno. I hope it ends tomorrow, with me being offered another job.
But if not, well, it's a place to write. And work some stuff out. And if I decide to let others know about it, even maybe keep someone (anyone?) mildly entertained.
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