You might be shocked if you were on a job interview and the interviewer casually pointed out that the majority of the staff was white. You might be speechless if the interviewer noted that the staff was mostly men. Or non-Jewish. Or even had all their arms and legs.
And you would particularly amazed if you were a person of color, a woman, a Jew, or in a wheelchair.
But it's perfectly fine for an interviewer to sit with a person with close to thirty years of experience in the workforce, and note that the staff is mostly in its twenties. Gee, as if I hadn't noticed.
I got an email yesterday that the company where I interviewed for a job was going to continue its search, and best of luck to me. I knew I was going to receive that email, and for a split second I even considered being "professional" (just in case; don't burn any bridges) and sending an email back, saying thank you for your time, keep me in mind for future positions, etc,
But then I thought, to hell with it. They're not going to hire me; I don't fit into their "corporate culture." I knew it when I rode the elevator up to their offices and everyone was in their twenties. I knew it the minute two more interviewers were ushered into the conference room and they couldn't contain the look on their face (what was that?--surprise? horror?) I knew it when I was asked what I would do if they asked me to use certain words in the copy, and I said, You mean keywords for SEO?--search engine optimization?--and again, there was that look--surprise? astonishment? How could someone over thirty know this?
And I knew it when I was asked how I got inside a woman's head considering I wasn't a woman. And I know by then I was a bit gun-shy by the whole process, and realize that while it might be a valid question under other circumstances, by that point it seemed to come from a place that questioned a middle-aged man's ability to "relate" to women, even though I have two daughters, one about the same age as the interviewer, and over the course of my career, which spanned more than both the two interviewers' lifetimes, I've written for female audiences.
And while I most certainly will admit that maybe I wasn't best-suited for the position, I certainly don't feel it was my skills I was defending. Or if it was my skills I was defending, I'm pretty sure I was defending them for the wrong reasons.
This all is so astonishingly hard to write about, because again, I'm not certain I was the right person for that position. I'm fully aware of my deficiencies, and really don't want to get into the discussion about what older, more mature workers can bring to the workplace, their skills and knowledge that can only be attained by putting in the years.
But the one undeniable moment I'm not going to relinquish is the look on the faces of those interviewers when they walked into the room and took their first look of me. There is no hiding it; there was no hiding it. And after you've seen it more than once, you identify it quickly.
And I know the three people I came in contact that day would deny all this in the most emphatic way. And I'm not saying they are mean, horrible people. The only thing I can fall back on are Anita Hill's words, You just don't get it, which I am fully aware is lame, but our prejudices (yours, mine, ours) are so ingrained into our ways that we just don't see them.
Lawyers will tell you that age discrimination is the hardest thing to prove. (Although when a company's hiring does not reflect the diversity of society, you may have something.) Really the only thing I or anyone who experiences the prejudices that are inherent in our society can do is move on. I'm not going to fight this. I don't have that much to gain. So this company, which is very successful, I might add, will continue with its questionable hiring tactics. As a headhunter told me yesterday, I have the proven skills, I'm likable, and I have the experience. I just have to find that place where I'll be valued. And I will be. I've made lots of money for businesses over my lifetime. And I'll tell you this: Something that would give me supreme pleasure is to be valued by the competitor of the company where I interviewed.
Showing posts with label unemployment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label unemployment. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
Monday's Thoughts on Age Discrimination in the Workforce
Like most people, I'm not a big fan of Mondays. I learned though, when I was struggling, like I am now, that Monday's are the day that you really learn what you're made of. Put a person under pressure, and you'll see what they are made of. They'll crumble, or bitch and moan, or yell and lose their temper. Or they'll knuckle down and face what it is that's beating them up, and figure out a way to get passed it, move on, defeat it, do whatever it takes to get to Friday.
I'd get up on a Monday morning, and an entire empty week would loom below me like a ski slope. (I'm one of those people who see things like time lines and even the alphabet in 3-D color and shadow.) So the top of the week is really the top of the week. I'd have no work, no obvious means of income, with bills piling up and my stomach just churning, and I'd pick up the phone or email or something and by Wednesday I'd usually have something. Work. A plan. Hell, sometimes it was an entirely new problem, but I had something going.
I always say, homelessness and starvation are really good motivators.
So that's where I stood today. Actually, it was over the weekend when all the craziness of the semester just dissipated and I suddenly realized my I got my last check for teaching and I have no visible means of support. (Or, invisible means, either.)
Nothing yet. And this economy makes it all the harder. I did go on an interview last week for some contract work, but I'm not holding out for much there. Riding up in the elevator, I noticed just like the last place I worked that the people were at least half my age. The VP who I first spoke with me and was probably just a bit younger than me, even came out and told me that the average age of the your average worker there was in their twenties. (The fact that there wasn't an true representation of all ages in society is always a good indication that while they talk diversity, they really don't practice it. I don't recall seeing any African-Americans either.)
Then came what I always dread. He ushered in two managers who had never met me and only knew me from my resume. And the looks on these twenty-something faces when they turned the corner into the conference room and saw me told me all I needed to know: Age discrimination is alive and well. It's a look I've seen a number of times on younger people's faces when they first lay eyes on me, and the generational gap yawns between us. And I know I barely have a fighting chance, even if I might not be exactly right for the job. (Although this time I think I was.)
There's not a lot you can do in that situation. I can't prove that I was being discriminated against. But I do know what I saw.
And truth be told, when I was freelancing it was a requirement of the clients I took on that I 1) liked the people I'd be working with because I like to have fun, and I do consider my work fun; and 2) I had to feel that client organization was making the world a better place. I built a pretty good, thriving business by being true to my own beliefs and values. It worked once, and I believe it will work again.
I'd get up on a Monday morning, and an entire empty week would loom below me like a ski slope. (I'm one of those people who see things like time lines and even the alphabet in 3-D color and shadow.) So the top of the week is really the top of the week. I'd have no work, no obvious means of income, with bills piling up and my stomach just churning, and I'd pick up the phone or email or something and by Wednesday I'd usually have something. Work. A plan. Hell, sometimes it was an entirely new problem, but I had something going.
I always say, homelessness and starvation are really good motivators.
So that's where I stood today. Actually, it was over the weekend when all the craziness of the semester just dissipated and I suddenly realized my I got my last check for teaching and I have no visible means of support. (Or, invisible means, either.)
Nothing yet. And this economy makes it all the harder. I did go on an interview last week for some contract work, but I'm not holding out for much there. Riding up in the elevator, I noticed just like the last place I worked that the people were at least half my age. The VP who I first spoke with me and was probably just a bit younger than me, even came out and told me that the average age of the your average worker there was in their twenties. (The fact that there wasn't an true representation of all ages in society is always a good indication that while they talk diversity, they really don't practice it. I don't recall seeing any African-Americans either.)
Then came what I always dread. He ushered in two managers who had never met me and only knew me from my resume. And the looks on these twenty-something faces when they turned the corner into the conference room and saw me told me all I needed to know: Age discrimination is alive and well. It's a look I've seen a number of times on younger people's faces when they first lay eyes on me, and the generational gap yawns between us. And I know I barely have a fighting chance, even if I might not be exactly right for the job. (Although this time I think I was.)
There's not a lot you can do in that situation. I can't prove that I was being discriminated against. But I do know what I saw.
And truth be told, when I was freelancing it was a requirement of the clients I took on that I 1) liked the people I'd be working with because I like to have fun, and I do consider my work fun; and 2) I had to feel that client organization was making the world a better place. I built a pretty good, thriving business by being true to my own beliefs and values. It worked once, and I believe it will work again.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Save the Midldle Class...Ride a Train
President Barack Obama tonight will deliver his State of the Union message, and it's said that he's listened to the people, taking note of the drumming the Democrats got in Massachusetts, losing Ted Kennedy's senatorial seat to virtual unknown, Scott Brown. And to all you Teabaggers out there, yes it was Kennedy's seat, and your crowing about it being the People's Seat is just a bunch of empty blathering that people in need of slogans pass off for intelligent conversation, so give it up. JSYK, it IS now Scott Brown's seat, it doesn't belong to any of you people who voted for him, and he's responsible for everything that happens there now, just like Kennedy was. And if don't believe me, go try sitting in it. You won't get passed security. (This is what you get from a bunch of people who name their political party after a gay sex act.)
But President Obama is listening, he says. Jobs are the priority. Saving the middle class is the priority. Whoa. Nothing like taking a year to figure out what a lot of us have known for oh, say TEN YEARS!! Man, is it that obvious? We need jobs? With unemployment running close to 20%? (I use the unofficial number that would include the unemployed, the underemployed, and those who plain old gave up looking for work.) Is it that obvious that the middle class has been hung out to dry after holding up this country since WWII? Who says Washington is out of touch?
And he's going to start by investing $8 billion in a stimulus package to build a couple of high speed train links. Eight billion. Wow. Of course, compared to the $182.5 billion used to bailout just AIG, just one of the many financial companies our tax dollars saved, $8 billion doesn't look like a lot. BECAUSE IT ISN'T! Eight billion dollars is barely a drop in the bucket.
All right. Phew. Take a breath, Action Bob, and let's set the record straight.
The middle class was left hanging by the government, but guess what, the middle class stuck its own head in the noose as the government held it. But the middle class, more than AIG, more than GM, more than Lehmann Brothers, needs bailing out, because quite simply, without the middle class there will be no more United States. The rich will just go somewhere offshore, though not where their factories are because those countries are inhabited by poor brown people and rich, white people who inhabit Wall Street and the upper echelons of the financial world don't like being around poor brown people.
The middle class actually cut its own throat starting back in the 1980s and of course, greed was at the bottom of it. Reagan and Clinton (just to show I'm not partisan or a liberal) both deregulated the banking industry, that allowed the megainstitutions we have today like CitiGroup come to be. Banks, stock brokers, insurance companies, mortgage companies all came under one roof, and that's a lot of foxes watching a lot of chicken coops. Add a dose of greed and you've got the makings of some delicious disasters.
Corporations began manufacturing and selling offshore, negating the need for the middle class that, since WWII, bought all the crap that American industry was manufacturing with built-in obsolescence.
But here's where the middle class cut its own throat. It bought in to all this because the stock market and the housing market were doing tremendous, and that's where the middle class put all its money. So, even though prices for everything from gas to a college education were going through the roof, it seems the middle class was more focused on their retirement rather than today, and retirement looked pretty good for them. Or so they thought. Now we know that the middle class retirement years were all smoke, and that's where they all went, as in up in smoke.
Eight billion dollars for a couple of high speed train spurs isn't going to cut it to make enough jobs to save the middle class. I'll blog about this again, but it's what I was afraid of: Obama just wasn't the visionary that we needed for this country. And neither was McCain, so all of you Teabaggers just shut up. We're in this together, and the one thing I agree on is it's the people who are going to get us out of this mess. Maybe. Right now, it looks pretty grim, though, doesn't it?
But President Obama is listening, he says. Jobs are the priority. Saving the middle class is the priority. Whoa. Nothing like taking a year to figure out what a lot of us have known for oh, say TEN YEARS!! Man, is it that obvious? We need jobs? With unemployment running close to 20%? (I use the unofficial number that would include the unemployed, the underemployed, and those who plain old gave up looking for work.) Is it that obvious that the middle class has been hung out to dry after holding up this country since WWII? Who says Washington is out of touch?
And he's going to start by investing $8 billion in a stimulus package to build a couple of high speed train links. Eight billion. Wow. Of course, compared to the $182.5 billion used to bailout just AIG, just one of the many financial companies our tax dollars saved, $8 billion doesn't look like a lot. BECAUSE IT ISN'T! Eight billion dollars is barely a drop in the bucket.
All right. Phew. Take a breath, Action Bob, and let's set the record straight.
The middle class was left hanging by the government, but guess what, the middle class stuck its own head in the noose as the government held it. But the middle class, more than AIG, more than GM, more than Lehmann Brothers, needs bailing out, because quite simply, without the middle class there will be no more United States. The rich will just go somewhere offshore, though not where their factories are because those countries are inhabited by poor brown people and rich, white people who inhabit Wall Street and the upper echelons of the financial world don't like being around poor brown people.
The middle class actually cut its own throat starting back in the 1980s and of course, greed was at the bottom of it. Reagan and Clinton (just to show I'm not partisan or a liberal) both deregulated the banking industry, that allowed the megainstitutions we have today like CitiGroup come to be. Banks, stock brokers, insurance companies, mortgage companies all came under one roof, and that's a lot of foxes watching a lot of chicken coops. Add a dose of greed and you've got the makings of some delicious disasters.
Corporations began manufacturing and selling offshore, negating the need for the middle class that, since WWII, bought all the crap that American industry was manufacturing with built-in obsolescence.
But here's where the middle class cut its own throat. It bought in to all this because the stock market and the housing market were doing tremendous, and that's where the middle class put all its money. So, even though prices for everything from gas to a college education were going through the roof, it seems the middle class was more focused on their retirement rather than today, and retirement looked pretty good for them. Or so they thought. Now we know that the middle class retirement years were all smoke, and that's where they all went, as in up in smoke.
Eight billion dollars for a couple of high speed train spurs isn't going to cut it to make enough jobs to save the middle class. I'll blog about this again, but it's what I was afraid of: Obama just wasn't the visionary that we needed for this country. And neither was McCain, so all of you Teabaggers just shut up. We're in this together, and the one thing I agree on is it's the people who are going to get us out of this mess. Maybe. Right now, it looks pretty grim, though, doesn't it?
Monday, August 24, 2009
Structural Engineers needed in Boston
One of my Facebook friends wrote to me with this.
These are tough times for everyone. If you know anyone who is a structural engineer, pass this along. Or even better, just pass it along; let's get viral. Maybe someone will get work out this.
Here's the job:
I am currently looking for Structural Engineers (ES1) to work for my client in lovely Boston, one of the biggest names in the transportation industry. Must be PE and a minimum of 1 year of experience. Work is across Massachusetts, depending on projects.
If you know anyone.... thanks!
These are tough times for everyone. If you know anyone who is a structural engineer, pass this along. Or even better, just pass it along; let's get viral. Maybe someone will get work out this.
Here's the job:
I am currently looking for Structural Engineers (ES1) to work for my client in lovely Boston, one of the biggest names in the transportation industry. Must be PE and a minimum of 1 year of experience. Work is across Massachusetts, depending on projects.
If you know anyone.... thanks!
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Ah, the blogsphere
Ah, the blogsphere.
I used to write on this blog sometimes five and six times a day. I was steeped in the digital world, but more so, I was sitting in a cubicle bored to tears most of the time with thoughts and ideas and impressions rattling around in my head and this space was the best outlet for them.
But more and more I'm just living life right here in the "real" world. Not that I'm still not fascinated by the digital space. I still am, probably more than I've ever been. It is my little window to the world. I'm still unemployed, and while for some crazy reason I'm really not worried--how can you worry about something that is so far out of your control, like this financial crisis, as the Europeans so eloquently call it? It's like worrying about the weather. So, while I keep myself so busy sometimes it's almost laughable. I'm out of work yet there still aren't enough hours in the day for me to get everything done, from looking for work to taking care of the apartment and the meals to writing and continuing to just improve myself as a human being. Yes, that last one takes up a lot of time and energy. (That's a joke, son.)
And sometimes I feel a little guilty that I don't write here more. I know there are followers; some people subscribe, some people lurk, and others drop by occasionally to see what's up in my life--idle curiosity, perhaps, but it's nice that people are thinking of me. Just as I think of people in the periphery of my life.
It's not an excuse for not writing here, but I'm busy trying to figure out what to do with my life, how to do the things I want to do, how Sue and I can live our lives the way we want to. There are classes I'm considering including more acting classes and writing classes and auditions. Thursday I have a job interview for contract work that I have to prepare for, which would be great if I could land it because it would be the kind of work I used to do before I quit freelancing and went back to the agency. I loved the freelance life, the freedom, the stimulus from meeting new and interesting people, and learning about new subject matter and details for things I already know about.
Red Dog is out in a few hands now, hopefully being read and not just taking up space on a hard drive somewhere. It's at a few theaters for consideration for readings, and I'm hard at work on another play now that deals with all my favorite themes: abandonment, trust, family. That's all I'm going to say right now, because you don't want to show something to the world when it's still in such a formative state. The air seems to shrivel things. But I'm just as excited about this play as I was about Red Dog. I love the pure joy of simply writing.
And right now I have four pieces of chicken marinading in the 'fridge that I'll cook on the grill later and put back in the 'fridge for a meal later of cold chicken and salad when Sue gets home. I tell you, when she walks through the door, my heart just sings, and I love seeing the look on her face, too, when she sees me. I say I'm lucky, and she says she's lucky.
I try to keep things open. For the longest time I had my Facebook page closed up only to friends. But then it occurred to me that one of the things I like so much about the digital world is the idea of its openness. Again, that shared experience that we all have, whether we want to admit it or not. Being closed is not the way to go in the new world, and so I opened my page up to the world, and have had some good results. I've "met" new people, musicians and artists and actors and others in my field and though we've never met face-to-face we've shared ideas and personally, I've learned and grown from them.
But openness can be a bit creepy, too. There are those who will always abuse anything. I have a lurker on this blog, someone in Australia, and all the signs of a creep are there. He hits the blog pretty regularly, and he seems to be searching for anything relating to Sue. For a while he'd keep going back to pictures I posted of her and used the keyword, lanka, as in sri lanka where Sue lived for awhile. It was weird to see the connections. I removed the pictures, and it seemed when he realized they were missing he immediately used the keyword "sex" to look for things on my blog, which I thought was a rather poignant, primal, word association. Now he sits on the blog for a good hour, pouring over the posts date by date. Anyway, this is the dark side of the Internet, and just like all new things in the world, we have to adjust and learn, which is the one thing I love doing.
As I started with this post, ah, the blogsphere.
I used to write on this blog sometimes five and six times a day. I was steeped in the digital world, but more so, I was sitting in a cubicle bored to tears most of the time with thoughts and ideas and impressions rattling around in my head and this space was the best outlet for them.
But more and more I'm just living life right here in the "real" world. Not that I'm still not fascinated by the digital space. I still am, probably more than I've ever been. It is my little window to the world. I'm still unemployed, and while for some crazy reason I'm really not worried--how can you worry about something that is so far out of your control, like this financial crisis, as the Europeans so eloquently call it? It's like worrying about the weather. So, while I keep myself so busy sometimes it's almost laughable. I'm out of work yet there still aren't enough hours in the day for me to get everything done, from looking for work to taking care of the apartment and the meals to writing and continuing to just improve myself as a human being. Yes, that last one takes up a lot of time and energy. (That's a joke, son.)
And sometimes I feel a little guilty that I don't write here more. I know there are followers; some people subscribe, some people lurk, and others drop by occasionally to see what's up in my life--idle curiosity, perhaps, but it's nice that people are thinking of me. Just as I think of people in the periphery of my life.
It's not an excuse for not writing here, but I'm busy trying to figure out what to do with my life, how to do the things I want to do, how Sue and I can live our lives the way we want to. There are classes I'm considering including more acting classes and writing classes and auditions. Thursday I have a job interview for contract work that I have to prepare for, which would be great if I could land it because it would be the kind of work I used to do before I quit freelancing and went back to the agency. I loved the freelance life, the freedom, the stimulus from meeting new and interesting people, and learning about new subject matter and details for things I already know about.
Red Dog is out in a few hands now, hopefully being read and not just taking up space on a hard drive somewhere. It's at a few theaters for consideration for readings, and I'm hard at work on another play now that deals with all my favorite themes: abandonment, trust, family. That's all I'm going to say right now, because you don't want to show something to the world when it's still in such a formative state. The air seems to shrivel things. But I'm just as excited about this play as I was about Red Dog. I love the pure joy of simply writing.
And right now I have four pieces of chicken marinading in the 'fridge that I'll cook on the grill later and put back in the 'fridge for a meal later of cold chicken and salad when Sue gets home. I tell you, when she walks through the door, my heart just sings, and I love seeing the look on her face, too, when she sees me. I say I'm lucky, and she says she's lucky.
I try to keep things open. For the longest time I had my Facebook page closed up only to friends. But then it occurred to me that one of the things I like so much about the digital world is the idea of its openness. Again, that shared experience that we all have, whether we want to admit it or not. Being closed is not the way to go in the new world, and so I opened my page up to the world, and have had some good results. I've "met" new people, musicians and artists and actors and others in my field and though we've never met face-to-face we've shared ideas and personally, I've learned and grown from them.
But openness can be a bit creepy, too. There are those who will always abuse anything. I have a lurker on this blog, someone in Australia, and all the signs of a creep are there. He hits the blog pretty regularly, and he seems to be searching for anything relating to Sue. For a while he'd keep going back to pictures I posted of her and used the keyword, lanka, as in sri lanka where Sue lived for awhile. It was weird to see the connections. I removed the pictures, and it seemed when he realized they were missing he immediately used the keyword "sex" to look for things on my blog, which I thought was a rather poignant, primal, word association. Now he sits on the blog for a good hour, pouring over the posts date by date. Anyway, this is the dark side of the Internet, and just like all new things in the world, we have to adjust and learn, which is the one thing I love doing.
As I started with this post, ah, the blogsphere.
Friday, June 5, 2009
9.4% of nothing is still nothing: Unemployment rate is not easing off...
The unemployment rate "jumped" to 9.4% in May, and thank God the media is now starting to include the point that if other factors are taken into account--people who have stopped looking, people who are working for a lot less, seasonal workers--the unemployment rate would be around 16.4%. I've been saying that all along, but since I don't blog for the Huffington Post, what the hell do I know, huh?
Okay, big time media gurus, here's another little factoid from the trenches that you in your ivory towers wouldn't know. Remember folks, you heard this first from Action Bob Markle.
It's reported that the pace of job reduction is slowing down. First, I don't know why the difference between pace and rate is so important. I'm sure someone good at splitting hairs can explain this, but frankly, it doesn't mean anything. What's happening is there are fewer people being laid off as we roll through 2009, and that's taken as a good thing. And this is where you don't listen to the experts.
Answer me this: You have 100 apples in a basket. And each month I want you to take away 10%. The first month you take away 10. The second month you take away 9. The next month 8, all the way to the tenth month where you'd take away one. The rate is the same, but the pace is slower, for the simple fact there are less apples in the basket. There are simply less people to lay off. Companies can't lay off everyone, for land's sake.
Just a good way of showing how numbers can be manipulated, and you can't believe everything you read. Or at least, you have to still be able to think, and not be spoon-fed everything that's in news.
Okay, big time media gurus, here's another little factoid from the trenches that you in your ivory towers wouldn't know. Remember folks, you heard this first from Action Bob Markle.
It's reported that the pace of job reduction is slowing down. First, I don't know why the difference between pace and rate is so important. I'm sure someone good at splitting hairs can explain this, but frankly, it doesn't mean anything. What's happening is there are fewer people being laid off as we roll through 2009, and that's taken as a good thing. And this is where you don't listen to the experts.
Answer me this: You have 100 apples in a basket. And each month I want you to take away 10%. The first month you take away 10. The second month you take away 9. The next month 8, all the way to the tenth month where you'd take away one. The rate is the same, but the pace is slower, for the simple fact there are less apples in the basket. There are simply less people to lay off. Companies can't lay off everyone, for land's sake.
Just a good way of showing how numbers can be manipulated, and you can't believe everything you read. Or at least, you have to still be able to think, and not be spoon-fed everything that's in news.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Count your blessings if you're employed and stop your complaining
About four hours ago this status line appeared on my Facebook wall:
Wishes it was 5:00
This is from a person who is working. Working at a very good job, I might add.
Well, I'll trade places with you.
I don't mean to be mean. Just ironic.
I'm at least familiar with this person (because I do have "friends" on Facebook who I have no idea who they are), and I know this particular person didn't mean any harm. I also know that there are people working who are probably suffering, doing work that is so stressful that it might end of killing them--very literally. Actually, this particular person just may be a good example of that.
It's just that, sometimes it seems that we can only get perspective on things after we lose it. Like a job. We bitch and moan and complain about our jobs, our bosses, the loudmouth in the next cube who can't talk quietly on the phone. But you take all that away and you suddenly get a good idea of what you've lost.
Kids are like that. I used to wake up almost every day to a woman screaming at her kids. Get up. Pick this up. I'm not telling you again. That kind of stuff. This family was wealthy and frankly I couldn't figure out what the woman had to complain about; she had everything any human being could ever want. And there I was, lying in my bed, my kids living in the next town and I was seeing them maybe a day or two a week, if that much, and I thought to myself, you don't know how lucky you are. Yeah, kids can drive you crazy, but you know, maybe it's only when you don't have them in your life anymore, through divorce, like it was for me, or even you almost lose them through sickness, that you really get a good idea how much of a treasure they are.
So, tonight, if you got a job, get down on your knees and thank the good Lord. And if your kids are in the next room sleeping, go in and kiss them on the head. Like I've said before, the warmth that comes off a sleeping child's head could raise a dead man.
Wishes it was 5:00
This is from a person who is working. Working at a very good job, I might add.
Well, I'll trade places with you.
I don't mean to be mean. Just ironic.
I'm at least familiar with this person (because I do have "friends" on Facebook who I have no idea who they are), and I know this particular person didn't mean any harm. I also know that there are people working who are probably suffering, doing work that is so stressful that it might end of killing them--very literally. Actually, this particular person just may be a good example of that.
It's just that, sometimes it seems that we can only get perspective on things after we lose it. Like a job. We bitch and moan and complain about our jobs, our bosses, the loudmouth in the next cube who can't talk quietly on the phone. But you take all that away and you suddenly get a good idea of what you've lost.
Kids are like that. I used to wake up almost every day to a woman screaming at her kids. Get up. Pick this up. I'm not telling you again. That kind of stuff. This family was wealthy and frankly I couldn't figure out what the woman had to complain about; she had everything any human being could ever want. And there I was, lying in my bed, my kids living in the next town and I was seeing them maybe a day or two a week, if that much, and I thought to myself, you don't know how lucky you are. Yeah, kids can drive you crazy, but you know, maybe it's only when you don't have them in your life anymore, through divorce, like it was for me, or even you almost lose them through sickness, that you really get a good idea how much of a treasure they are.
So, tonight, if you got a job, get down on your knees and thank the good Lord. And if your kids are in the next room sleeping, go in and kiss them on the head. Like I've said before, the warmth that comes off a sleeping child's head could raise a dead man.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Curse of the Unemployed: Overqualified applicants
Got this as part of an email today:
"Thank you for your patience in regards to feedback from the hiring manager. The quality of applications for this position has been particularly high and we regret to inform you that we will not be moving forward with your application."
The quality of the applications for this position has been particularly high? Well, since I have 28 years of experience at this particular position, the quality must be extraordinarily high. Like Mount Everest high. Like, overqualified. Like, people who are overeducated who are out of work and willing to do the kind of work I've been doing for the past 20+ years.
Yeah, it's fun out here. It really is.
"Thank you for your patience in regards to feedback from the hiring manager. The quality of applications for this position has been particularly high and we regret to inform you that we will not be moving forward with your application."
The quality of the applications for this position has been particularly high? Well, since I have 28 years of experience at this particular position, the quality must be extraordinarily high. Like Mount Everest high. Like, overqualified. Like, people who are overeducated who are out of work and willing to do the kind of work I've been doing for the past 20+ years.
Yeah, it's fun out here. It really is.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Unemployment's getting kinda weird
I'm going into my third month of unemployment (last night I heard about a fellow actor-type who's been laid off since September--six months!), and it's getting weird.
The government today reported that another 651,000 jobs were lost in February. Man, we're bleeding jobs faster than GM's bleeding dollars. Is that possible? Since December, 2007 when this so-called recession was first recognized (this intrepid reporter is calling it a depression; remember: You heard it here first, at Action Bob Markle) 4.4 million people are out of work. That officially puts the jobless rate at 8.1 percent, the highest in 25 years. But let's not forget that that figure does not include seasonal employees, the self-employed who aren't finding work, and people like those old timers who greet you at Wal-Mart who aren't making enough to feed their cats. Unofficially, let's call the jobless rate at around 15, or maybe 18 percent, okay?
There is no work out there. I've had one tiny job, and one acting job. You can only make so many batches of red sauce, chicken soup, bean soup, and chili before it starts to get a little repetitious. Make only so many dinners for your honey when she comes home from work before you start feeling a bit worthless. Only so many small chores and errands you can run before you start wondering if you actually are useless.
And you know those are the landmines you have to dodge. You don't just flop down on the couch and sigh and call it a life. I write everyday. I'm a writer, that's what I do. I'm taking low-cost classes around Boston. Music theory at Club Passim. Acting for the camera from a casting agent.
I'm starting to look into going back to school. All the time I was married I couldn't get my Masters because I was too busy working a dead end job to support the family. Now here I am, 53-years-old, out of work in a depression with a BFA in photography. Maybe it's time to finally get that degree, and God love Sue, she's the one pushing me to do it, thinking we can travel and teach at the same time. The one thing is the cost of a university degree is still as inflated as the value of homes. There is no way a Masters should cost between $20,000 and $30,000. Everything, everything still costs way too damn much, and we all need a serious realty check.
You got to get out of the house. Even going into Boston and wandering around, checking out the library, doing some people watching, changes your perspective. Those prison people know what they're doing when they throw you into solitary. We're social creatures. We gotta see some sunshine from time to time.
And I've finally started that play I said I'd write. Yeah, it's called Red Dog, and it addresses that theme I'm constantly beating to death, that we as a society don't recognize that the people who hurt us emotionally are no different than thugs who hurt us physically, and that as a species we still aren't evolved enough to actually see the thing we're hurting, but it's a part of us as surely as our arms and legs are. It's called Red Dog because red dog is a football term for a blitz, where linebackers or defensive backs suddenly charge and usually hit the quarterback from the blindside and inflict some serious harm (which is what these emotional thugs do; they just blindside us because most of us simply are not raised to believe people would do such a thing, so we're caught unaware), and also because dogs are color-blind and can't see colors, but it doesn't mean they don't exist. And the play has all of my favorite things in it: dogs, guitars and whiskey.
The government today reported that another 651,000 jobs were lost in February. Man, we're bleeding jobs faster than GM's bleeding dollars. Is that possible? Since December, 2007 when this so-called recession was first recognized (this intrepid reporter is calling it a depression; remember: You heard it here first, at Action Bob Markle) 4.4 million people are out of work. That officially puts the jobless rate at 8.1 percent, the highest in 25 years. But let's not forget that that figure does not include seasonal employees, the self-employed who aren't finding work, and people like those old timers who greet you at Wal-Mart who aren't making enough to feed their cats. Unofficially, let's call the jobless rate at around 15, or maybe 18 percent, okay?
There is no work out there. I've had one tiny job, and one acting job. You can only make so many batches of red sauce, chicken soup, bean soup, and chili before it starts to get a little repetitious. Make only so many dinners for your honey when she comes home from work before you start feeling a bit worthless. Only so many small chores and errands you can run before you start wondering if you actually are useless.
And you know those are the landmines you have to dodge. You don't just flop down on the couch and sigh and call it a life. I write everyday. I'm a writer, that's what I do. I'm taking low-cost classes around Boston. Music theory at Club Passim. Acting for the camera from a casting agent.
I'm starting to look into going back to school. All the time I was married I couldn't get my Masters because I was too busy working a dead end job to support the family. Now here I am, 53-years-old, out of work in a depression with a BFA in photography. Maybe it's time to finally get that degree, and God love Sue, she's the one pushing me to do it, thinking we can travel and teach at the same time. The one thing is the cost of a university degree is still as inflated as the value of homes. There is no way a Masters should cost between $20,000 and $30,000. Everything, everything still costs way too damn much, and we all need a serious realty check.
You got to get out of the house. Even going into Boston and wandering around, checking out the library, doing some people watching, changes your perspective. Those prison people know what they're doing when they throw you into solitary. We're social creatures. We gotta see some sunshine from time to time.
And I've finally started that play I said I'd write. Yeah, it's called Red Dog, and it addresses that theme I'm constantly beating to death, that we as a society don't recognize that the people who hurt us emotionally are no different than thugs who hurt us physically, and that as a species we still aren't evolved enough to actually see the thing we're hurting, but it's a part of us as surely as our arms and legs are. It's called Red Dog because red dog is a football term for a blitz, where linebackers or defensive backs suddenly charge and usually hit the quarterback from the blindside and inflict some serious harm (which is what these emotional thugs do; they just blindside us because most of us simply are not raised to believe people would do such a thing, so we're caught unaware), and also because dogs are color-blind and can't see colors, but it doesn't mean they don't exist. And the play has all of my favorite things in it: dogs, guitars and whiskey.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
A trip to the unemployment office
Well, first, it's not called the unemployment office anymore. It's called the...drumroll, maestro...The Career Center. Ta-da. No it is not a Career Center. Let's face facts here, people. It's the unemployment office because you go there because you're unemployed.
I tried to sign up for unemployment benefits--that's code for money--a couple of times over the phone, but the sheer volume of people seeking career advice--that's more code for money--caused the Career Center to implode. First I was shunted to another day based on the last digit of my social security number, and then when I called on that day I was held in a holding pattern, eating up my cell minutes like Pacman on speed, then after about twenty minutes I was unceremoniously disconnected.
So I decided to go in, in person. With much trepidation, I might add. Because in this country, it is shameful and embarrassing to be out of work, or poor, or just not a bright and shiny lie. But heck, I'm an actor and a writer. I need life experiences to keep my creative juices flowing.
And you know what? It wasn't that bad. As a matter of fact, it wasn't bad at all. Just regular folks needing a little help. I even saw a woman there who I used to see on the T when I commuted. Small world. We're all in this together, people.
I took two books I'm reading: A Journey in Ladakh by Andrew Harvey and One Man's Wilderness by Sam Keith. (Sorry. I haven't updated weRead on Facebook. I've been a little busy.) Both books are about people searching for spirituality, each in their own way. One, in Ladakh, India, and the other in Alaska.
The Career Center was a bit hard to find, sort of tucked away on a side street. I asked a UPS driver where it was. He told me, and he was the one who ruefully told me it was called the Career Center now, and we laughed, then he said there were a lot of people there and wished me good luck. Boy I tell you, the regular response of people when they learn you got laid off is that you've been diagnosed with cancer.
It wasn't that crowded. I expected the place to look like they were giving away Springsteen tickets, but it was quiet and friendly. I had to fill out a form, then sit for a bit longer than an hour. I read a bit about the man building a log cabin in Alaska, then while I was reading about the British intellectual looking for spiritual enlightenment in India, my name was called.
A brief meeting with a consultant, and I was out of there.
Oh, and I also learned that the state is hiring prison guards. Now there's a job for a writer/actor.
I tried to sign up for unemployment benefits--that's code for money--a couple of times over the phone, but the sheer volume of people seeking career advice--that's more code for money--caused the Career Center to implode. First I was shunted to another day based on the last digit of my social security number, and then when I called on that day I was held in a holding pattern, eating up my cell minutes like Pacman on speed, then after about twenty minutes I was unceremoniously disconnected.
So I decided to go in, in person. With much trepidation, I might add. Because in this country, it is shameful and embarrassing to be out of work, or poor, or just not a bright and shiny lie. But heck, I'm an actor and a writer. I need life experiences to keep my creative juices flowing.
And you know what? It wasn't that bad. As a matter of fact, it wasn't bad at all. Just regular folks needing a little help. I even saw a woman there who I used to see on the T when I commuted. Small world. We're all in this together, people.
I took two books I'm reading: A Journey in Ladakh by Andrew Harvey and One Man's Wilderness by Sam Keith. (Sorry. I haven't updated weRead on Facebook. I've been a little busy.) Both books are about people searching for spirituality, each in their own way. One, in Ladakh, India, and the other in Alaska.
The Career Center was a bit hard to find, sort of tucked away on a side street. I asked a UPS driver where it was. He told me, and he was the one who ruefully told me it was called the Career Center now, and we laughed, then he said there were a lot of people there and wished me good luck. Boy I tell you, the regular response of people when they learn you got laid off is that you've been diagnosed with cancer.
It wasn't that crowded. I expected the place to look like they were giving away Springsteen tickets, but it was quiet and friendly. I had to fill out a form, then sit for a bit longer than an hour. I read a bit about the man building a log cabin in Alaska, then while I was reading about the British intellectual looking for spiritual enlightenment in India, my name was called.
A brief meeting with a consultant, and I was out of there.
Oh, and I also learned that the state is hiring prison guards. Now there's a job for a writer/actor.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
I'm out of work--I don't have any free time, and Bernard Madoff
A few years ago, a friend asked me to do something and I told him I'd have to check my schedule to see if I had time. Laughing, he said to me, "You're an out-of-work writer. If you don't have the time, no one does."
Well, that wasn't quite true, but I did see his point. Writers (and actors and artists and musicians and a host of others who have non-traditional, non nine-to-five jobs) don't always look like we're as busy as the rest of the lemmings. But, if I can hold to the rodent metaphor just a bit longer, we're probably busier than most, more like that crazy hamster spinning its wheel than most people would imagine. Most of the time we're working; we're just not necessarily making money.
So, of late, as news of my, ahem, available "free time" gets around, I've had a few invitations to meet some friends during the day. And I hate to be a jerk, but I'm too busy. I still have three stories to file to Cape Cod Life. There's the resume that needs fine-tuning and the samples that need uploading on the Web site (a heckuva lot harder and more complicated than one might imagine; nothing is easy anymore) and there's the business of doing my own IT troubleshooting now, thanks to the good people at HP who don't seem to be able to fix a "communication error." What we do seem to have is a failure to communicate. The Halfway House Club opens tomorrow evening, and that means bearing down there. I have a long list of people I want to contact and meet with and an office to set up.
Plus there are the holidays and everyday life to keep on top of. Today it snowed, or something. There's cold, slippery crap outside right now, and I still haven't gotten the snow tires put on my truck.
I guess the thing is, I've never been one to just sit. I can't sit on the beach and just bake in the sun. My oldest still remembers me taking her hand and going for long walks on the beach during summers on the Cape, saying, let's just see what's around that bend. Forget TV; I don't understand how anyone can just sit and watch. I always need something in my hands--a book, a guitar, or a wooden spoon in the kitchen--or I always need to be working towards something. It's just the way I am. I like being busy. And I always find things to keep me occupied, to the point where I wonder where the hours in the day went.
I suspect this trait will keep me active in my old age, keep my brain alert, or what passes for alert with my brain.
An aside, I'm also keeping up with the story in the news about Bernard Madoff, the Wall Street investor who is accused of cheating investors out of $50 billion. I interviewed Madoff back in the late '80s. His firm then was headquartered in Jersey City with a view of the World Trade Towers, and used the computers that my company sold. Part of my job was to interview the company's top customers and write business stories. I remember him being very personable and likable, but also a brusque man. He had that edge that you would expect from someone who likes money and making it, and like some successful men, you got the idea you didn't want to get on his mean side. I say some, because over the course of my career I've had the pleasure of meeting and talking with some of the most successful people in business, and many successful people are kind, generous, and gracious. In this country we're innocent until proven guilty, but given the news of the past year on Wall Street, one wonders just how many are going to be brought to trial, and how many are going to get away with murder.
Well, that wasn't quite true, but I did see his point. Writers (and actors and artists and musicians and a host of others who have non-traditional, non nine-to-five jobs) don't always look like we're as busy as the rest of the lemmings. But, if I can hold to the rodent metaphor just a bit longer, we're probably busier than most, more like that crazy hamster spinning its wheel than most people would imagine. Most of the time we're working; we're just not necessarily making money.
So, of late, as news of my, ahem, available "free time" gets around, I've had a few invitations to meet some friends during the day. And I hate to be a jerk, but I'm too busy. I still have three stories to file to Cape Cod Life. There's the resume that needs fine-tuning and the samples that need uploading on the Web site (a heckuva lot harder and more complicated than one might imagine; nothing is easy anymore) and there's the business of doing my own IT troubleshooting now, thanks to the good people at HP who don't seem to be able to fix a "communication error." What we do seem to have is a failure to communicate. The Halfway House Club opens tomorrow evening, and that means bearing down there. I have a long list of people I want to contact and meet with and an office to set up.
Plus there are the holidays and everyday life to keep on top of. Today it snowed, or something. There's cold, slippery crap outside right now, and I still haven't gotten the snow tires put on my truck.
I guess the thing is, I've never been one to just sit. I can't sit on the beach and just bake in the sun. My oldest still remembers me taking her hand and going for long walks on the beach during summers on the Cape, saying, let's just see what's around that bend. Forget TV; I don't understand how anyone can just sit and watch. I always need something in my hands--a book, a guitar, or a wooden spoon in the kitchen--or I always need to be working towards something. It's just the way I am. I like being busy. And I always find things to keep me occupied, to the point where I wonder where the hours in the day went.
I suspect this trait will keep me active in my old age, keep my brain alert, or what passes for alert with my brain.
An aside, I'm also keeping up with the story in the news about Bernard Madoff, the Wall Street investor who is accused of cheating investors out of $50 billion. I interviewed Madoff back in the late '80s. His firm then was headquartered in Jersey City with a view of the World Trade Towers, and used the computers that my company sold. Part of my job was to interview the company's top customers and write business stories. I remember him being very personable and likable, but also a brusque man. He had that edge that you would expect from someone who likes money and making it, and like some successful men, you got the idea you didn't want to get on his mean side. I say some, because over the course of my career I've had the pleasure of meeting and talking with some of the most successful people in business, and many successful people are kind, generous, and gracious. In this country we're innocent until proven guilty, but given the news of the past year on Wall Street, one wonders just how many are going to be brought to trial, and how many are going to get away with murder.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Really, don't cry for me...
Inevitably when I tell someone I got laid off the first response is, sorry.
I get it. The loss of steady income in this economy is scary. And the job prospects? Well, things do look pretty grim, don't they? Especially for a 53-year-old writer. Not that there's age discrimination in the working world. Especially in youth-oriented marketing departments and ad agencies. Oh no. That would be illegal.
But the thing I keep saying to people is that I was prepared for this, the writing was on the wall despite whatever I or anyone else was being told. And this is the third time in my career this has happened. You learn over time how to deal with this situation. My advice to anyone nowadays is get used to this. I forgot how many different jobs "experts" now predict college-educated people entering the workforce now will hold over the course of their lives. Whatever the number, I know it's a bunch.
I do appreciate the kind words, though. And the sympathy. Hearing them is a little like being Tom Sawyer listening in on his own funeral. But for all my friends out there, I'm doing okay. Sue and I are doing okay. My kids know it: I one tough son-of-a-bitch. (Thanks, Dad.) I only look cute and adorable. I really do like a challenge, and by God the Creator really handed me one this time.
I think the most important thing I learned from being laid off the first time back in the '90s was that my job does not define me. I was devastated that time. My whole being, all my feelings of self-worth and accomplishment revolved around my job. My feelings of worth are no longer tied to being a corporate writer any more than they are to me being a creative writer, businessperson, actor, or musician. These are things I do to enjoy my life. I write, act, engage in the business world. But all these things are just a top layer. I almost want to say window dressing, but that denigrates them a bit. They are the outcome of what lies below them.
The real me isn't a writer or actor or businessperson. The part of me that gets me through these times are parts that are curious, daring, risk-taking, fun-loving, and caring. These are the real parts of me. I write and act and photograph because they let me explore and learn about the world and life, which I am so curious about. Of course I need money and through business I earn money, but just as important as the money is, I also like that business teaches me so much about how the world runs, and how people operate and interact.
The senior exec who gave me the news said that we were going to have a difficult conversation. I wanted to say to him, are you going to tell me I have cancer? Are you going to take away my kids? Losing a job is hard, but there are lots of worse things in life to lose. Over the course of my lifetime, I've lost a lot more than jobs. There are even parts of me, deep inside, that are gone. So a job? Well....
And I keep saying, I'm going to fight this from intruding on my life. Yeah, I'm waking up in the middle of the night, I'm sure from nerves. But there are so many other things in my life, big and small. Coming up are Christmas with my daughters, for the first time in maybe seven years. Tell me that's not cool. The Halfway House Club opens Thursday night, a project I am very excited about. Right now there is a big pot of chicken soup cooking on the stove, making the apartment smell so great. SRV is cranking on the stereo. I'm barefoot, wearing an old pair of jeans (well, that's nothing new) and a favorite old shirt. There are wonderful things in this world, big and small, and to let the loss of a job stand between me and experiencing the world and life is just wrong.
When I was going through probably the toughest time in my life, I told myself I didn't want my heart to get hard. Yesterday I was in Park Street Station, and while waiting for a train that didn't come (I eventually just went upstairs and walked to my meeting over on Boylston Street) I was lucky enough to be able to listen to a busker there. His name was John Gerard, and listening I realized he had a really sweet voice. I had one dollar in my pocket, which I threw in his case. (One more lonely dollar, as The Low Anthem sings.) If you let this shit get to you, you'll never hear the new singer. You'll never see what makes you you.
I get it. The loss of steady income in this economy is scary. And the job prospects? Well, things do look pretty grim, don't they? Especially for a 53-year-old writer. Not that there's age discrimination in the working world. Especially in youth-oriented marketing departments and ad agencies. Oh no. That would be illegal.
But the thing I keep saying to people is that I was prepared for this, the writing was on the wall despite whatever I or anyone else was being told. And this is the third time in my career this has happened. You learn over time how to deal with this situation. My advice to anyone nowadays is get used to this. I forgot how many different jobs "experts" now predict college-educated people entering the workforce now will hold over the course of their lives. Whatever the number, I know it's a bunch.
I do appreciate the kind words, though. And the sympathy. Hearing them is a little like being Tom Sawyer listening in on his own funeral. But for all my friends out there, I'm doing okay. Sue and I are doing okay. My kids know it: I one tough son-of-a-bitch. (Thanks, Dad.) I only look cute and adorable. I really do like a challenge, and by God the Creator really handed me one this time.
I think the most important thing I learned from being laid off the first time back in the '90s was that my job does not define me. I was devastated that time. My whole being, all my feelings of self-worth and accomplishment revolved around my job. My feelings of worth are no longer tied to being a corporate writer any more than they are to me being a creative writer, businessperson, actor, or musician. These are things I do to enjoy my life. I write, act, engage in the business world. But all these things are just a top layer. I almost want to say window dressing, but that denigrates them a bit. They are the outcome of what lies below them.
The real me isn't a writer or actor or businessperson. The part of me that gets me through these times are parts that are curious, daring, risk-taking, fun-loving, and caring. These are the real parts of me. I write and act and photograph because they let me explore and learn about the world and life, which I am so curious about. Of course I need money and through business I earn money, but just as important as the money is, I also like that business teaches me so much about how the world runs, and how people operate and interact.
The senior exec who gave me the news said that we were going to have a difficult conversation. I wanted to say to him, are you going to tell me I have cancer? Are you going to take away my kids? Losing a job is hard, but there are lots of worse things in life to lose. Over the course of my lifetime, I've lost a lot more than jobs. There are even parts of me, deep inside, that are gone. So a job? Well....
And I keep saying, I'm going to fight this from intruding on my life. Yeah, I'm waking up in the middle of the night, I'm sure from nerves. But there are so many other things in my life, big and small. Coming up are Christmas with my daughters, for the first time in maybe seven years. Tell me that's not cool. The Halfway House Club opens Thursday night, a project I am very excited about. Right now there is a big pot of chicken soup cooking on the stove, making the apartment smell so great. SRV is cranking on the stereo. I'm barefoot, wearing an old pair of jeans (well, that's nothing new) and a favorite old shirt. There are wonderful things in this world, big and small, and to let the loss of a job stand between me and experiencing the world and life is just wrong.
When I was going through probably the toughest time in my life, I told myself I didn't want my heart to get hard. Yesterday I was in Park Street Station, and while waiting for a train that didn't come (I eventually just went upstairs and walked to my meeting over on Boylston Street) I was lucky enough to be able to listen to a busker there. His name was John Gerard, and listening I realized he had a really sweet voice. I had one dollar in my pocket, which I threw in his case. (One more lonely dollar, as The Low Anthem sings.) If you let this shit get to you, you'll never hear the new singer. You'll never see what makes you you.
Monday, December 15, 2008
The weight of unemployment
Today I got up and walked around. One foot in front of the other. Had a meeting at a hiring agency, someplace I worked for when I was freelancing. The reality has more than set in, and I think one of the reasons is way back in the '90s we--the working stiffs of the world--were told to get it into our heads that we were working for ourselves. So, from there on in I just basically looked at my employer as one big client, and I was in business for myself. It's not a bad viewpoint.
And the thing is, when you have to sit down and explain to someone what you do, what you've been doing the past two years, and what you know, it gives you a good insight that you are--and I am--not going to be destitute. I know my business, and I'm good at it. All I need and want is the chance. The scary part is wondering if there is any work out there at all. The first business to dry up is always writing. Everyone knows they can't do Flash, but everyone since the age of six thinks they can write.
There are words that they put on the page, so that must be okay. They even feel kind of proud of themselves. But together are the words persuasive? Interesting? Think about it, you're still reading this, aren't you? Why? Uh, because I can write and I can write in an interesting way that keeps people reading.
Still, the weight of it all hangs over my head. Once again I woke up in the middle of the night last night, and not wanting to wake Sue tossing and turning, got up and slouched on the couch and read a bit.
"Sometimes Po Campo sang in Spanish. He had a low, throaty voice that always seemed like it was about to die for lack of breath. The songs bothered some of the men, they were so sad.
'Po, you're a jolly fellow, how come you only sing about death?' Soupy asked. Po had a little rattle, plus his low throaty voice, made it a curious effect.
The sound could make the hairs stand up on Pea Eye's neck. 'That's right, Po. You do sing sad, for a happy man,' Pea Eye observed once, as the old man shook his gourd.
'I don't sing about myself,' Campo said. 'I sing about life. I am happy, but life is sad. The songs don't belong to me.'"
Well, still, when I was putting on music today, I shied away from country. I went through a point in my life where I just wallowed in country music. It was like picking a sore day after day after day. Oh, my wretched life.
Today I put on some Shakira unplugged. With that wild woman singing in Spanish, there's no way you can be depressed.
And I keep a running to-do list. Keep busy. There's plenty to do. Step by step. Brick by brick. That's about the only way to do it.
And the thing is, when you have to sit down and explain to someone what you do, what you've been doing the past two years, and what you know, it gives you a good insight that you are--and I am--not going to be destitute. I know my business, and I'm good at it. All I need and want is the chance. The scary part is wondering if there is any work out there at all. The first business to dry up is always writing. Everyone knows they can't do Flash, but everyone since the age of six thinks they can write.
There are words that they put on the page, so that must be okay. They even feel kind of proud of themselves. But together are the words persuasive? Interesting? Think about it, you're still reading this, aren't you? Why? Uh, because I can write and I can write in an interesting way that keeps people reading.
Still, the weight of it all hangs over my head. Once again I woke up in the middle of the night last night, and not wanting to wake Sue tossing and turning, got up and slouched on the couch and read a bit.
"Sometimes Po Campo sang in Spanish. He had a low, throaty voice that always seemed like it was about to die for lack of breath. The songs bothered some of the men, they were so sad.
'Po, you're a jolly fellow, how come you only sing about death?' Soupy asked. Po had a little rattle, plus his low throaty voice, made it a curious effect.
The sound could make the hairs stand up on Pea Eye's neck. 'That's right, Po. You do sing sad, for a happy man,' Pea Eye observed once, as the old man shook his gourd.
'I don't sing about myself,' Campo said. 'I sing about life. I am happy, but life is sad. The songs don't belong to me.'"
Well, still, when I was putting on music today, I shied away from country. I went through a point in my life where I just wallowed in country music. It was like picking a sore day after day after day. Oh, my wretched life.
Today I put on some Shakira unplugged. With that wild woman singing in Spanish, there's no way you can be depressed.
And I keep a running to-do list. Keep busy. There's plenty to do. Step by step. Brick by brick. That's about the only way to do it.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Laid off--again
Ouch. Well, not really. Seriously, after the third time in my career, you kind of get used to you. It doesn't hit you as hard as it did the first time.
This time, though, I was prepared. I mean, the handwriting was on the wall. And despite all the reassurances by staffing (we're looking for a spot for you; that's what they get paid the big bucks to say) you know when you're billing zero...zilch...nada...they're not going to keep you around based on your good looks. At least not these looks.
Sue and I even talked about whether or not we should have gone to Arizona, given the precarious nature of my work. The money I would have been given for the two weeks of accrued vacation time, plus the hard cash in the savings account that we had saved for the trip might have come in handy for the long, cold winter of this depression. (Yes, I said it: worldwide depression, too; let's not mince words, okay? Again, the politicians are paid big bucks to say one thing when it's another.) But we figured we should live, and not let the problems of the world get in our way. When they're lowering us in our graves, nobody is going to say we shouldn't have gone.
And we talked a bit in Arizona that if or when I did get laid off what we would do. I'd try to get as much freelance as I could and work on acting. Before I was hired by the agency I was freelancing and acting for five years, and by the time I went back to a legit job I was doing okay for myself.
Like I said, it gets easier, especially when you're prepared. The first time I had drank the kool-aid. Back then, my job defined who I was, accomplished corporate writer, career businessman, provider, and it getting axed put a hole in me at the water line. I had nowhere to jump. After that, I swore I'd never let me or my family be vulnerable again.
The second time was a pretty day in June--June 11 to be exact. This time it was December 11. What is with that number 11, anyway? I didn't even listen to the director as he let me go. All I know is I stared out the window over his shoulder and thought to myself, what a gorgeous day for a bike ride. It was, and I rode about twenty miles that day, and thought, I always wanted to be on my own; when I'm eighty and look back and didn't do it I'd have regrets. So, back in 2002, with the economy in the dumper (but not this bad, admittedly) I started my own business with no clients. By the time digital central called me and asked if I wanted to work on an automotive account, I had a nice little stable of clients plus a couple of acting gigs that kept me busy. And yeah, it's true: When you're working for yourself you get to work half days. And the great thing is, you get to choose which 12 hours you work.
So, this time around when I got the call to come to the conference room, I pretty much knew what was up. You know, I even felt sorry for the two on whose shoulders this job fell. It's a dirty job. I liked where I worked, and I liked the people. They weren't responsible for this economic shit show we got going right now.
And I got some nice goodbyes and even a couple of hugs from some of the people I worked with. I think it hurt them more than it hurt me. There is a bit of survivor's guilt that happens to people, and for some I'm not sure they're prepared for what lies ahead for them as they continue in their same jobs and when the axe finally falls on their heads. I learned a long time ago that my work does not define me. And just like there are certain people who I refuse to give power to over my life, a series of events is not going to control my feelings or actions. Am I nervous? Of course, especially about money. I'd be an idiot not to be. This is a worldwide depression. It is. Trust me out here.
But you always got to look on the bright side. I missed the freedom I had freelancing. I like being my own boss. I like knowing, at the end of the day, that if something went well or something screwed up, I was the one responsible, and no one else. I don't like someone setting my schedule for me. Life is easier for Sue and me when I have freedom--to make dinner for my sweetie, pick up the dry cleaning, do laundry. And my old buddy, Bob, gets his playmate back. I've had that dog since he was twelve weeks old. He's eleven and a half now, and for all but the last two years he and I were inseparable. He'd even go on client meetings with me. (Remind me someday to blog about the one at Eastern Mountain Sports.) Today, like old times, he and I drove down to Hyannis and interviewed an artist for a profile for Cape Cod Life. Now it's a little after five on a Friday, and I'm sitting on the floor blogging, with a beer by my side and Bob snoozing on the other side of the room, like the Aussie that he is. (They're not cuddly dogs, just one reason I like them so much. They're their own dogs.)
And one last note: Sue and I live pretty simply. I see real fear in people's faces. Yeah, we're nervous, but when Wall Street crashed we kind of looked at each other and said, we don't have any money to lose anyway. I've been working hard to be debt-free. All my debt is consolidated on two credit cards--one with 0% interest and the other with 1.9% interest. I've been slowly paying this off, and one of my biggest fears is that I'll start picking up debt again. I want to leave this planet owing no one. My pickup is beat up, but it's paid for. I don't have a mortgage, a car loan, or a second home. Sue and I don't even have a television. I see other people and know their lives are screwed down tight. And that's what scary.
More to come. Every day will be bring something new, I know that. Like the Chinese say, may we live in interesting times.
This time, though, I was prepared. I mean, the handwriting was on the wall. And despite all the reassurances by staffing (we're looking for a spot for you; that's what they get paid the big bucks to say) you know when you're billing zero...zilch...nada...they're not going to keep you around based on your good looks. At least not these looks.
Sue and I even talked about whether or not we should have gone to Arizona, given the precarious nature of my work. The money I would have been given for the two weeks of accrued vacation time, plus the hard cash in the savings account that we had saved for the trip might have come in handy for the long, cold winter of this depression. (Yes, I said it: worldwide depression, too; let's not mince words, okay? Again, the politicians are paid big bucks to say one thing when it's another.) But we figured we should live, and not let the problems of the world get in our way. When they're lowering us in our graves, nobody is going to say we shouldn't have gone.
And we talked a bit in Arizona that if or when I did get laid off what we would do. I'd try to get as much freelance as I could and work on acting. Before I was hired by the agency I was freelancing and acting for five years, and by the time I went back to a legit job I was doing okay for myself.
Like I said, it gets easier, especially when you're prepared. The first time I had drank the kool-aid. Back then, my job defined who I was, accomplished corporate writer, career businessman, provider, and it getting axed put a hole in me at the water line. I had nowhere to jump. After that, I swore I'd never let me or my family be vulnerable again.
The second time was a pretty day in June--June 11 to be exact. This time it was December 11. What is with that number 11, anyway? I didn't even listen to the director as he let me go. All I know is I stared out the window over his shoulder and thought to myself, what a gorgeous day for a bike ride. It was, and I rode about twenty miles that day, and thought, I always wanted to be on my own; when I'm eighty and look back and didn't do it I'd have regrets. So, back in 2002, with the economy in the dumper (but not this bad, admittedly) I started my own business with no clients. By the time digital central called me and asked if I wanted to work on an automotive account, I had a nice little stable of clients plus a couple of acting gigs that kept me busy. And yeah, it's true: When you're working for yourself you get to work half days. And the great thing is, you get to choose which 12 hours you work.
So, this time around when I got the call to come to the conference room, I pretty much knew what was up. You know, I even felt sorry for the two on whose shoulders this job fell. It's a dirty job. I liked where I worked, and I liked the people. They weren't responsible for this economic shit show we got going right now.
And I got some nice goodbyes and even a couple of hugs from some of the people I worked with. I think it hurt them more than it hurt me. There is a bit of survivor's guilt that happens to people, and for some I'm not sure they're prepared for what lies ahead for them as they continue in their same jobs and when the axe finally falls on their heads. I learned a long time ago that my work does not define me. And just like there are certain people who I refuse to give power to over my life, a series of events is not going to control my feelings or actions. Am I nervous? Of course, especially about money. I'd be an idiot not to be. This is a worldwide depression. It is. Trust me out here.
But you always got to look on the bright side. I missed the freedom I had freelancing. I like being my own boss. I like knowing, at the end of the day, that if something went well or something screwed up, I was the one responsible, and no one else. I don't like someone setting my schedule for me. Life is easier for Sue and me when I have freedom--to make dinner for my sweetie, pick up the dry cleaning, do laundry. And my old buddy, Bob, gets his playmate back. I've had that dog since he was twelve weeks old. He's eleven and a half now, and for all but the last two years he and I were inseparable. He'd even go on client meetings with me. (Remind me someday to blog about the one at Eastern Mountain Sports.) Today, like old times, he and I drove down to Hyannis and interviewed an artist for a profile for Cape Cod Life. Now it's a little after five on a Friday, and I'm sitting on the floor blogging, with a beer by my side and Bob snoozing on the other side of the room, like the Aussie that he is. (They're not cuddly dogs, just one reason I like them so much. They're their own dogs.)
And one last note: Sue and I live pretty simply. I see real fear in people's faces. Yeah, we're nervous, but when Wall Street crashed we kind of looked at each other and said, we don't have any money to lose anyway. I've been working hard to be debt-free. All my debt is consolidated on two credit cards--one with 0% interest and the other with 1.9% interest. I've been slowly paying this off, and one of my biggest fears is that I'll start picking up debt again. I want to leave this planet owing no one. My pickup is beat up, but it's paid for. I don't have a mortgage, a car loan, or a second home. Sue and I don't even have a television. I see other people and know their lives are screwed down tight. And that's what scary.
More to come. Every day will be bring something new, I know that. Like the Chinese say, may we live in interesting times.
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