Thank you for your interest in employment with ___ Library. Though your application materials indicate strengths in several areas, we are no longer considering your application for ___ Library.
Please continue to check our website for other openings. Best of luck in your employment search.”
It only took them a week to reject me. Why? WHY?! Why doesn’t anyone ever tell me why? Maybe if I knew why, I could improve future applications and actually PROGRESS.
Show up early, you’re still late. Table #1 goes last but you won’t know until you’ve sat through two prayers and a pastor drawing cards. Arbitrary decision: women with black hair go first. Every hour that ticks by, another hour lost for wage slaving.
Goosebumps as a chant for “God is Good” “All the time”, but you are all here because you are starving. Loaves and fishes, loaves and fishes. God is dead, god is dead. What do we learn from wanting? You starve to learn a lesson. Your punishment is hunger. You will not come out of the corner until you apologize.
One item from each box: Rotten tomato, moldy potato, bananas bruised and oozing. Reach for the last half dozen eggs; large marge grandma bulldozes by and snags them first. No disappointment in gods house, you ungrateful sonufa
Thumbprint welt growing larger with time; don’t itch, don’t pick: “you should see a doctor about that”. A doctor, a doctor for what, the money is gone, the money was never there. Who in the food pantry can pay for a doctor? Look at them; some people take twice what is offered. We split one portion two ways instead. Jesus hates snitches; keep your mouth shut.
In the evening, we will sell our bodies at the hospital. The scientists will experiment on us and pay us per injection. Give us the needle or give us fever. A waiver, a consent form later, tubes tied and warm with our blood. Poke and prod, sterile breath humid with side-effect tongue. We walk away dosed and lightheaded. Fifty dollars higher.
Our moldy bread fed to the pip-pip birds and radioactive ducks. The prehistoric-sized bass pick up what they’ve missed. Still surviving the poison, yet feeding no one. Loaves and fishes, loaves and fishes.
The hilarious and inspiring story of how a mysterious misfit got past every roadblock in the Hollywood system to achieve success on his own terms: a $6 million cinematic catastrophe called The Room. Nineteen-year-old Greg Sestero met Tommy Wiseau at an acting school in San Francisco. Wiseaus scenes were rivetingly wrong, yet Sestero, hypnotized by such uninhibited acting, thought, I have to do a scene with this guy. That impulse changed both of their lives. Wiseau seemed never to have read the rule book on interpersonal relationships (or the instructions on a bottle of black hair dye), yet he generously offered to put the aspiring actor up in his LA apartment. Sesteros nascent acting career first sizzled, then fizzled, resulting in Wiseaus last-second offer to Sestero of costarring with him in The Room, a movie Wiseau wrote and planned to finance, produce, and directin the parking lot of a Hollywood equipment-rental shop. Wiseau spent $6 million of his own money on his film, but despite the efforts of the disbelieving (and frequently fired) crew and embarrassed (and frequently fired) actors, the movie made no sense. Nevertheless Wiseau rented a Hollywood billboard featuring his alarming headshot and staged a red carpet premiere. The Room made $1800 at the box office and closed after two weeks. One reviewer said that watching The Room was like getting stabbed in the head. The Disaster Artist is Greg Sesteros laugh-out-loud funny account of how Tommy Wiseau defied every law of artistry, business, and friendship to make the Citizen Kane of bad movies (Entertainment Weekly), which is now an international phenomenon, with Wiseau himself beloved as an oddball celebrity. Written with award-winning journalist Tom Bissell, The Disaster Artist is an inspiring tour de force that reads like a page-turning novel, an open-hearted portrait of an enigmatic man who will improbably capture your heart.
I devoured this book in just a couple days. I loved The Room and this book is a great testament to never letting fear get in the way of your creative dream (Also having $6 million helps).
Compulsively checking my e-mail every 30 minutes to see if anyone has contacted me regarding employment.
…how bout now?
Patting myself on the back because who else would? I cracked a tallboy and cheers-ed myself. I rocked it today.
Interviewed at a library in New Mexico, went pretty well! I’m interested to see how this pans out. The interview, however awkward due to conference call logistics, wasn’t the most difficult, and I felt like I’ve been practicing enough to fully and confidently answer their questions without prattling on. I hope they liked me.
Submitted another application for FT Librarian I; this was a laborious task - 6 essay questions asking me for one page responses when entire dissertations could be written on this stuff (ie: “describe the issues you encounter with patrons of diverse backgrounds and poverty” WTF). It took me three effing weeks to make something resembling coherent answers to these questions. Reminded me of school. But I still did it! I threw my name in the ring and its awesome.
I’m celebrating myself today. This kind of stuff doesn’t seem to matter to anyone else. But I have goals in mind and nothing is going to stop me from achieving them.
Let’s go to New Mexico; let’s forget the rest of the world.
The highway for days, the sun in your face, I think they go together too perfectly. (0 plays)
"We’re all going to die — and poems can help us live with that." In a charming and funny talk, literary critic Stephen Burt takes us on a lyrical journey with some of his favorite poets, all the way down to a line break and back up to the human urge to imagine.
"If you’re wrong about some part of a poem, nothing bad will happen.”
believe I’m in the same fucking boat I said I’d never get back into again.
tumblr-ed in a while mostly because I don’t have anything positive to say these days.
Still struggling along doing the 2 PT job dance and attempting to maintain a creative will to live. And also eat.
J and I are adjusting to living together, and we’re both struggling along together, so that makes things a little more bearable at the end of the day. He’s so patient with me and my constant weepy garbage. When I feel like I’m about to lose my mind over trivial work bullshit, he reminds me that it’s all transistory and it won’t last any longer than it has to. We motivate and support each other through it, and I’m sure I’m better off with him than I was without him. I’m not sure how great a help I am to him at this point, but I’ll figure it out.
We are in the initiating stages of a musical project, and that gives me another thing to get excited (and then worry constantly) about. I need to be creating in some capacity or I might die. But then again, my anxiety surrounding my creativity might kill me first.
Survival is the name of the game.
I usually stay away from stuff like this, I’ve picked up a copy of Lean In: For Graduates by Sheryl Sandberg from my library.
What got me was the subtitle says “With new chapters by Experts, including Find Your First Job, Negotiate Your Salary, and Own Who You Are”. I actually laughed out loud in the stacks when I read “Negotiate Your Salary”. Me? With a MLS? Negotiate a salary when I can only get interviews for min wage jobs? Please. This better be hilarious.
I’m about 3 chapters in and so far, I’m a little annoyed. It must be nice to write a book after you’ve graduated from Harvard and work for Facebook. What I really want to read is a book about someone like me: an AVERAGE person who went to a State School with very few scholarships, has overwhelming student loan debt, and can’t even think about negotiating a salary when all I can do is scramble between two underpaid part time jobs. I was told education was my only chance at survival and in the end, I’ve just been set back a few years and quite a few dollars thanks to all the hard work I put in.
But I like the fact that she points out patterns I already noticed in my short professional life. Men are expected to negotiate and defend, but when women do it’s against our prescribed societal behavior code. MEN STILL GET PAID MORE THAN WOMEN ON THE DOLLAR. Hey, wtf, its 2014! According to this book, in 2010, women still only make 77 cents for every dollar men make. Why are we so concerned with raising the minimum wage if not everyone benefits from it? And something I absolutely had to write down: “Men are often promoted based on potential, while women are promoted based on past performance.” I knew it! But she put it into the words I couldn’t quite pin down.
She keep using this tag line like “What would you do if you weren’t afraid?”. Well, shit, I’d probably be the one to write that book about average Jane, but I’m not a chief executive officer of anything. No one would want to read about about someone who doesn’t even achieve success. I haven’t even achieved a FT job.
Fuck. Damn books making me think and then making me angry that I feel so helpless about fixing what makes me angry. It’s going to be a long day.