That's the title of the article I have to write for work.
I've been emailing various still-life artists, asking their advice for beginners. It's been a real snooze-fest....until now.
Here's a bit of advice one artist sent me this morning:
Very important: Put things together,which works well together,which create harmonies.Its not harmonious,when you paint a beautuful flower bouquet,and on the bottom near the vase you place a half full ashtray or a open package with condoms.
How true that is.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?? / Sojourner May Not Be Suitable for Children...
Well, technically, guess who went to dinner--ME!
Last night was dinner at the boss's place--massa let Sojo into the big house, y'all!!
I arrived with a 6-pack--of juiceboxes--and a bottle of wine as a housewarming gift for the adults. I was instantly greeted by 3-year-old Timmy,* who is really into trains. As massa cooked, I chatted with his new missus** (who actually used to work on my plantation, too, and currently freelances, so we weren't total strangers) and drank some of the wine that they'd already opened. We mostly discussed my impending move Down Under, and entertained the young one. After a few minutes, I noticed that everyone was shoeless, and asked if they preferred I took my shoes off.
"Oh, no, it's fine, whatever you prefer," said Massa.
"Oh, good, um, I'm going to keep them on because I've got a short-pants/ankle-socks situation that the boots are hiding, and it's very unflattering."
I think he understood.
Anyway, dinner was quite pleasant and low-key, and I didn't slip up by, you know, talking about how I can't wait to leave my plantation. In fact, my heart was actually warmed when the massa told me that the big massa (the overseer, if you will--will you?^) has been interviewing potential successors and singing my praises to each of them, basically telling them, "you've got big shoes to fill, and from the looks of it, you can't handle clown shoes."
Or, you know, something tender about me.
Anyway, the thing I like about little kids is that in new situations, they force everyone to focus on them, thereby taking attention away from the guest/new person/or cousin with Elephantitis. I didn't finish my dinner (it was delicious, I swear!), and started to feel guilty, when little Timmy (who clearly had left the table long before the adults and was amusing himself) came back and asked me to wear a mask and a conductor hat and let him ride on my back as though I was a human train.
Who was I to deny the cherub this wish? (As you know from previous posts, I have a way with the children.)
So there I was, in a mask that obscured my vision and a hat fit for a toddler, yelling "Choo Choo" and prattling on about Thomas the Tank Engine in front of my boss and his future wife.
Yep, the blacktress has no shame.
It really helps that my massa and I have a rapport, and he finds me pretty funny. Turns out the future wife shares his sense of humor, and, like, Sojo, she is really rational with children. Take, for instance, the following dinner time excerpt:
Timmy: Mommy, I'm hungry.
Mom: Well, Timmy, you didn't eat your dinner, and dinner time is over. You can have milk, or an apple.
Timmy: I don't want an apple! (pouting, of course, ensues)
Mom: Well, what about a glass of milk?
Timmy: I don't want milk. ("Oh my god, do I see a glisten of a tear?" I wonder as the scene goes down)
Mom: Well, Timmy, I don't know what to tell you.
HAHAHAHH!!! That's exactly how I will be if I ever accidentally get knocked up and decide to carry my kid to term and raise it myself.
Seriously, you've got to be logical with them, you can't let that ranting and whining go unchecked, or you'll end up with a brat.
In the end, he went for the apple and was quite pleased.
After the "human-train" incident, Timmy and I had really bonded, and he ran into his room and returned with The Cat in the Hat.
"Here, you be the teacher!" He said to me, as he pulled me over to the living room chair. He nestled beside me so I could read to him. (Tenderness!!!) He then made his mom and my massa sit on the floor in front of us so that we could read to them.
Oh my god, I was about to conduct story-time to my boss.
For serious, guys. I cannot make my life up. Is this normal?
As I said earlier, I don't really go for baby talk with the little people (or with dwarfs). I also have a tendency to see the seedy, sketchy, darkly humorous sides of so many of children's shows and books (see my serious analysis of television show Max and Ruby, for more). As a seasoned comedic veteran, I know the importance of connecting with the audience. While I had a 3-year-old who wanted to read, I also had two adults who were not about to sit through Cat in the Hat while seated on the floor. I had to provide a literary experience that would reach them all.
So, here, for your reading pleasure, is the completely improvised (and then quickly written down on the subway home) version of the Cat in the Hat, as told by Sojourner to Massa, his future wifey, and the cutest little boy ever.
PLEASE NOTE: The underlying goal of my story was also to help get little Timmy drowsy and ready for bed (it was, after all, already an hour past his bedtime!).
Last night was dinner at the boss's place--massa let Sojo into the big house, y'all!!
I arrived with a 6-pack--of juiceboxes--and a bottle of wine as a housewarming gift for the adults. I was instantly greeted by 3-year-old Timmy,* who is really into trains. As massa cooked, I chatted with his new missus** (who actually used to work on my plantation, too, and currently freelances, so we weren't total strangers) and drank some of the wine that they'd already opened. We mostly discussed my impending move Down Under, and entertained the young one. After a few minutes, I noticed that everyone was shoeless, and asked if they preferred I took my shoes off.
"Oh, no, it's fine, whatever you prefer," said Massa.
"Oh, good, um, I'm going to keep them on because I've got a short-pants/ankle-socks situation that the boots are hiding, and it's very unflattering."
I think he understood.
Anyway, dinner was quite pleasant and low-key, and I didn't slip up by, you know, talking about how I can't wait to leave my plantation. In fact, my heart was actually warmed when the massa told me that the big massa (the overseer, if you will--will you?^) has been interviewing potential successors and singing my praises to each of them, basically telling them, "you've got big shoes to fill, and from the looks of it, you can't handle clown shoes."
Or, you know, something tender about me.
Anyway, the thing I like about little kids is that in new situations, they force everyone to focus on them, thereby taking attention away from the guest/new person/or cousin with Elephantitis. I didn't finish my dinner (it was delicious, I swear!), and started to feel guilty, when little Timmy (who clearly had left the table long before the adults and was amusing himself) came back and asked me to wear a mask and a conductor hat and let him ride on my back as though I was a human train.
Who was I to deny the cherub this wish? (As you know from previous posts, I have a way with the children.)
So there I was, in a mask that obscured my vision and a hat fit for a toddler, yelling "Choo Choo" and prattling on about Thomas the Tank Engine in front of my boss and his future wife.
Yep, the blacktress has no shame.
It really helps that my massa and I have a rapport, and he finds me pretty funny. Turns out the future wife shares his sense of humor, and, like, Sojo, she is really rational with children. Take, for instance, the following dinner time excerpt:
Timmy: Mommy, I'm hungry.
Mom: Well, Timmy, you didn't eat your dinner, and dinner time is over. You can have milk, or an apple.
Timmy: I don't want an apple! (pouting, of course, ensues)
Mom: Well, what about a glass of milk?
Timmy: I don't want milk. ("Oh my god, do I see a glisten of a tear?" I wonder as the scene goes down)
Mom: Well, Timmy, I don't know what to tell you.
HAHAHAHH!!! That's exactly how I will be if I ever accidentally get knocked up and decide to carry my kid to term and raise it myself.
Seriously, you've got to be logical with them, you can't let that ranting and whining go unchecked, or you'll end up with a brat.
In the end, he went for the apple and was quite pleased.
After the "human-train" incident, Timmy and I had really bonded, and he ran into his room and returned with The Cat in the Hat.
"Here, you be the teacher!" He said to me, as he pulled me over to the living room chair. He nestled beside me so I could read to him. (Tenderness!!!) He then made his mom and my massa sit on the floor in front of us so that we could read to them.
Oh my god, I was about to conduct story-time to my boss.
For serious, guys. I cannot make my life up. Is this normal?
As I said earlier, I don't really go for baby talk with the little people (or with dwarfs). I also have a tendency to see the seedy, sketchy, darkly humorous sides of so many of children's shows and books (see my serious analysis of television show Max and Ruby, for more). As a seasoned comedic veteran, I know the importance of connecting with the audience. While I had a 3-year-old who wanted to read, I also had two adults who were not about to sit through Cat in the Hat while seated on the floor. I had to provide a literary experience that would reach them all.
So, here, for your reading pleasure, is the completely improvised (and then quickly written down on the subway home) version of the Cat in the Hat, as told by Sojourner to Massa, his future wifey, and the cutest little boy ever.
PLEASE NOTE: The underlying goal of my story was also to help get little Timmy drowsy and ready for bed (it was, after all, already an hour past his bedtime!).
THE CAT IN THE HAT: BLACKTRESS VERSION
The sun did not shine.
It was too wet to play.
So we sat in the house
And tried to sleep the day away.
I sat there with Timmy.
We sat there, we two.
And I said, "How I wish you were older
so I could be friends with you."
Mom wasn't home
'cause she was making ends meet
So we sat in the house
And wondered what we would eat.
But all we could do was to
Sit!
Sit!
Sit!
Sit!
And we did not like it.
Not one little bit.
And then
something went BUMP!
Sally reached for the phone.
I said, "Oh god, why did mom leave us alone?"
We looked!
Then we saw him step in on the mat!
We looked!
And we saw him!
The Cat in the Hat!
And he said to us,
"Why do you sit there like that?"
"Tomorrow's school, but don't be weepy
We can have the kind of good fun
that will make you nice and sleepy!"
"I know some good games we could play,"
Said the cat.
"I know some new tricks," [Ed. Note:Watch for child molesting]
Said the Cat in the Hat.
"A lot of good tricks.
I will show them to you.
Your mother
Will not mind at all if I do."
Then Sally and I
Did not know what to say.
Our mother was out of the house
For the day.
Who were to deny a feline in fancy dress?
The times would be good, we expected no less.
But our fish said, "No! No!
Make that cat go away!"
See, the fish is a buzzkill [Young Timmy looked at me blankly at this point]
cause he does nothing all day.
Then the cat let out a yawn,
and said, "fish, kill that noise.
"We're gonna have some fun,
then sleep soundly--and poised."
"I have a game called,
INDOOR VOICES, PLEASE--
It's where everyone stops yelling
And jumping on his knees."
[Improvising in rhyme is hard--especially when you have to keep it PG.
I made it about that far when Timmy got distracted and they went and got Goodnight Gorilla-- a completely unsanitary tale about animals breaking out of their cages at the zoo and going into the home of the zookeeper so they can sleep in his bed.
Ew.]
Well, even though I couldn't make it to the end for Timmy, here's where the story was headed.
"The cat was acting totes wired
But Sally and Timmy were really tired.
They wanted the fun, but knew they had a big day ahead
So they said, 'hey cat, come back tomorrow,
we're gonna go to bed.'"
"But what about your mother?
Don't you want to say hi when she gets in?"
"No," said Sally,
"She'll probably be surly, and will
undoubtedly be reeking of gin."
So the Cat sighed, and almost cried.
"No one every wants to play me!
This is why I resort to breaking and entering!"
Sally and her brother just shuffled up the stairs.
Hardened by life as latchkey children,
they just yelled back, "Dude, who cares?"
As they tucked themselves soundly in their own beds,
The cat sat in the living room,
balancing the fish bowl on his head.
He then went searching in the cupboards, for a little late-night nip
As tears poured down his cheeks, he said,
"Step 13--it's okay if I have one little sip..."
THE END.
Take that, Seuss!
It was too wet to play.
So we sat in the house
And tried to sleep the day away.
I sat there with Timmy.
We sat there, we two.
And I said, "How I wish you were older
so I could be friends with you."
Mom wasn't home
'cause she was making ends meet
So we sat in the house
And wondered what we would eat.
But all we could do was to
Sit!
Sit!
Sit!
Sit!
And we did not like it.
Not one little bit.
And then
something went BUMP!
Sally reached for the phone.
I said, "Oh god, why did mom leave us alone?"
We looked!
Then we saw him step in on the mat!
We looked!
And we saw him!
The Cat in the Hat!
And he said to us,
"Why do you sit there like that?"
"Tomorrow's school, but don't be weepy
We can have the kind of good fun
that will make you nice and sleepy!"
"I know some good games we could play,"
Said the cat.
"I know some new tricks," [Ed. Note:Watch for child molesting]
Said the Cat in the Hat.
"A lot of good tricks.
I will show them to you.
Your mother
Will not mind at all if I do."
Then Sally and I
Did not know what to say.
Our mother was out of the house
For the day.
Who were to deny a feline in fancy dress?
The times would be good, we expected no less.
But our fish said, "No! No!
Make that cat go away!"
See, the fish is a buzzkill [Young Timmy looked at me blankly at this point]
cause he does nothing all day.
Then the cat let out a yawn,
and said, "fish, kill that noise.
"We're gonna have some fun,
then sleep soundly--and poised."
"I have a game called,
INDOOR VOICES, PLEASE--
It's where everyone stops yelling
And jumping on his knees."
[Improvising in rhyme is hard--especially when you have to keep it PG.
I made it about that far when Timmy got distracted and they went and got Goodnight Gorilla-- a completely unsanitary tale about animals breaking out of their cages at the zoo and going into the home of the zookeeper so they can sleep in his bed.
Ew.]
Well, even though I couldn't make it to the end for Timmy, here's where the story was headed.
"The cat was acting totes wired
But Sally and Timmy were really tired.
They wanted the fun, but knew they had a big day ahead
So they said, 'hey cat, come back tomorrow,
we're gonna go to bed.'"
"But what about your mother?
Don't you want to say hi when she gets in?"
"No," said Sally,
"She'll probably be surly, and will
undoubtedly be reeking of gin."
So the Cat sighed, and almost cried.
"No one every wants to play me!
This is why I resort to breaking and entering!"
Sally and her brother just shuffled up the stairs.
Hardened by life as latchkey children,
they just yelled back, "Dude, who cares?"
As they tucked themselves soundly in their own beds,
The cat sat in the living room,
balancing the fish bowl on his head.
He then went searching in the cupboards, for a little late-night nip
As tears poured down his cheeks, he said,
"Step 13--it's okay if I have one little sip..."
THE END.
Take that, Seuss!
Dude, he so has an addiction.
*Name has been changed to protect the innocent Caucasian youth.
**How do you like them apples?! Massa did the cookin' while Sojo did the drankin'!
^If it makes you uncomfortable, you can just call him "editor-in-chief," which I guess is "technically his title."
Monday, September 15, 2008
Random Bloggery
Forgive me readers, for I have sinned.
It has been nearly a week since my last blogged confession.
I’ve been a bit all over the place and unsure of where the nuggets of gold are. So, as I usually do when I don’t know what’s good, I’ve just written some snippets of the latest randomness. Happy Monday!
Little Jackie
When I first heard the Little Jackie song “The World Should Revolve Around Me,” my ears instantly perked up, for I, too, believe it should always be about Sojo. As I listened closer, each line seemed to speak to my soul as a blacktress: “I’ve had a lot of failed relationships / I don’t get involved ‘cause I’m not equipped …” Don’t I know it! I was instantly hooked on this single, and needed to know more. As my internet stalking began, I discovered that Little Jackie is also the genius responsible for “Black Barbie,” one of the finest songs of the 21st century. Imani Coppola is sharp, funny, cheeky, and chill on this album, and I’m totally addicted. I think my favorite jam is “28 Butts.” Sample lyric: “I wanna save a kangaroo from a life in a zoo / I wanna own a llama/ I want less drama in my life / I think I really want to be a happy housewife.”
While I could go on and on expounding her virtues, I know what you all want—Black Barbie. Here it is, for your viewing pleasure:
Can Sojourner Handle his Truth??
I went out on a date with a comedian on Friday night, after meeting him Tuesday night at the Village Lantern. He is really fresh-faced and could be on a CW drama, but has decided to make his way in comedy. He’s pretty funny (he’s no blacktress, but he can hold his own), and I saw him perform again last night. As those who have seen my stand up can attest, I put the whole truth out there on stage. It’s a no-holds-barred, adrenaline-fueled thrill ride—much like Bad Boys or Point Break. I appreciate a funny slice-of-life story, so when this new boy made some joke about how he meets so many girls after his shows, I found myself surprisingly nervous, unable to separate the gag from the TRUTH. Should I really be surprised if that is true (Did I forget to mention he’s fresh-faced)? Should I really be taken aback if he decides to put that truth on stage even if I’m in the audience? It may be that Sojourner can dish it, but can’t take it!
Celebrity Has-Been Sighting
Last night, before supporting the new gentleman caller’s comedy, I hung out at 99 Below, a west village bar with cheap dranks and a bartender who is destined to be my baby’s daddy. Here’s why: he’s Irish, 6’5”, gay as the day is long, and cute as a button on a baby’s blouse! He is, to me, heterosexuality’s greatest loss. But, what he lacks in the desire to procreate with me, he makes up for in the desire to get me wasted on the Lord’s Day (Sunday FUNday!). It was just a few regulars/alkies in the underground bar, and we all turned judgmentally when new people entered. One blondie looking for shots comes in, followed by two middle-aged dudes. Just when it couldn’t get any more random, in walks ANDREW KEEGAN, who joins the girl with the elderly!!!
Yes, folks, Andrew Keegan, the middle school crush of so many. He often played the snotty hot guy in such films as Ten Things I Hate About You, O, and, my personal favorite, Camp Nowhere. Tell me you remember this man:
He looks exactly the same as back in the day, only he’s much greasier. He was wearing a shiny black vest and pinstripe pants, and he is not giving up his signature shaggy hair for nothing. They only came in for a minute, then headed out—I guess, in search of a hipper scene, perhaps one where someone would pay attention to him. Nonetheless, it made my day.
Guess Who’s Going to Dinner?
My boss invited me to dinner at his home, with his wife and kid!! This happens tomorrow! I’m totes freaking out. First of all, I have really serious rules about mingling with work people outside of the office. I feel like I can’t really be myself or discuss most topics because my sheer hatred for the workplace will somehow be accidentally revealed. I don’t know what questions to ask or how to keep up a conversation that’s both interesting and non-incriminating. Even though I only have 8 days of work left (holla!), I feel like I should still be on my best behavior and not burn bridges. What should I bring as a gift? Will a bottle of wine simply reveal my budding alcoholism? I’m thinking a bottle of wine for the adults, and a 6-pack of juice boxes for the youngster. Yes? No? Obviously I will fill you in on how it all goes down.
It has been nearly a week since my last blogged confession.
I’ve been a bit all over the place and unsure of where the nuggets of gold are. So, as I usually do when I don’t know what’s good, I’ve just written some snippets of the latest randomness. Happy Monday!
Little Jackie
When I first heard the Little Jackie song “The World Should Revolve Around Me,” my ears instantly perked up, for I, too, believe it should always be about Sojo. As I listened closer, each line seemed to speak to my soul as a blacktress: “I’ve had a lot of failed relationships / I don’t get involved ‘cause I’m not equipped …” Don’t I know it! I was instantly hooked on this single, and needed to know more. As my internet stalking began, I discovered that Little Jackie is also the genius responsible for “Black Barbie,” one of the finest songs of the 21st century. Imani Coppola is sharp, funny, cheeky, and chill on this album, and I’m totally addicted. I think my favorite jam is “28 Butts.” Sample lyric: “I wanna save a kangaroo from a life in a zoo / I wanna own a llama/ I want less drama in my life / I think I really want to be a happy housewife.”
While I could go on and on expounding her virtues, I know what you all want—Black Barbie. Here it is, for your viewing pleasure:
Can Sojourner Handle his Truth??
I went out on a date with a comedian on Friday night, after meeting him Tuesday night at the Village Lantern. He is really fresh-faced and could be on a CW drama, but has decided to make his way in comedy. He’s pretty funny (he’s no blacktress, but he can hold his own), and I saw him perform again last night. As those who have seen my stand up can attest, I put the whole truth out there on stage. It’s a no-holds-barred, adrenaline-fueled thrill ride—much like Bad Boys or Point Break. I appreciate a funny slice-of-life story, so when this new boy made some joke about how he meets so many girls after his shows, I found myself surprisingly nervous, unable to separate the gag from the TRUTH. Should I really be surprised if that is true (Did I forget to mention he’s fresh-faced)? Should I really be taken aback if he decides to put that truth on stage even if I’m in the audience? It may be that Sojourner can dish it, but can’t take it!
Celebrity Has-Been Sighting
Last night, before supporting the new gentleman caller’s comedy, I hung out at 99 Below, a west village bar with cheap dranks and a bartender who is destined to be my baby’s daddy. Here’s why: he’s Irish, 6’5”, gay as the day is long, and cute as a button on a baby’s blouse! He is, to me, heterosexuality’s greatest loss. But, what he lacks in the desire to procreate with me, he makes up for in the desire to get me wasted on the Lord’s Day (Sunday FUNday!). It was just a few regulars/alkies in the underground bar, and we all turned judgmentally when new people entered. One blondie looking for shots comes in, followed by two middle-aged dudes. Just when it couldn’t get any more random, in walks ANDREW KEEGAN, who joins the girl with the elderly!!!
Yes, folks, Andrew Keegan, the middle school crush of so many. He often played the snotty hot guy in such films as Ten Things I Hate About You, O, and, my personal favorite, Camp Nowhere. Tell me you remember this man:
He looks exactly the same as back in the day, only he’s much greasier. He was wearing a shiny black vest and pinstripe pants, and he is not giving up his signature shaggy hair for nothing. They only came in for a minute, then headed out—I guess, in search of a hipper scene, perhaps one where someone would pay attention to him. Nonetheless, it made my day.
Guess Who’s Going to Dinner?
My boss invited me to dinner at his home, with his wife and kid!! This happens tomorrow! I’m totes freaking out. First of all, I have really serious rules about mingling with work people outside of the office. I feel like I can’t really be myself or discuss most topics because my sheer hatred for the workplace will somehow be accidentally revealed. I don’t know what questions to ask or how to keep up a conversation that’s both interesting and non-incriminating. Even though I only have 8 days of work left (holla!), I feel like I should still be on my best behavior and not burn bridges. What should I bring as a gift? Will a bottle of wine simply reveal my budding alcoholism? I’m thinking a bottle of wine for the adults, and a 6-pack of juice boxes for the youngster. Yes? No? Obviously I will fill you in on how it all goes down.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Baby's First Cover Letter
Guys, this is the real deal. I am showing you an unedited cover letter sent in to our offices. My boss handed it to me as he passed by, saying, “I think I’m gonna need coffee before I finish this.” Here’s why:
To Whom It May Concern:
Have you ever had such passion, such a burning desire to accomplish something that others could almost see the fire raging in your eyes? If there was fifteen-foot brick wall that fell in between you and your goal, you’d grab the nearest rope and start climbing. Obstacles, feel my wrath; you won’t be in the way for long. Allow me to introduce my way of accomplishing goals; they just get done. I’ve applied this method at work for a year now. My co-workers call me an animal. I reply, “Jason’ is just fine, thanks.”
Greetings! I cannot stress enough the interesting and anticipation I have for obtaining this position at your magazine. What I bring to your company is a consummate work ethic and a detail-oriented approach to writing. Although my official title may be “staff writer,” I’m a jack of all trades…
[I’m going to skip the bit about the magazines he’s worked for, cause it’d probably get me in some sort of internet trouble]
I am also familiar with Adobe software such as Photoshop and Acrobat reader, and possess a basic knowledge of HTML. A fast, efficient web browser, I usually find what I’m looking for within minutes. I’ve also assembled my PC from scratch—twice.
I’m a proactive learner who plans carefully and performs efficiently. My writing passion radiates throughout my work. It would be a privilege to apply my skills as an editorial assistant at your magazine.
Cordially,
Jason Newton*
OH MY GOD. This is too good! I think my favorite line is, “Obstacles, feel my wrath; you won’t be in the way for long.”
No, no, I think it’s, “A fast, efficient web browser, I usually find what I’m looking for within minutes.”
Um, I think it’s called “Google,” Jason.
*Names have been changed to protect the innocent.
To Whom It May Concern:
Have you ever had such passion, such a burning desire to accomplish something that others could almost see the fire raging in your eyes? If there was fifteen-foot brick wall that fell in between you and your goal, you’d grab the nearest rope and start climbing. Obstacles, feel my wrath; you won’t be in the way for long. Allow me to introduce my way of accomplishing goals; they just get done. I’ve applied this method at work for a year now. My co-workers call me an animal. I reply, “Jason’ is just fine, thanks.”
Greetings! I cannot stress enough the interesting and anticipation I have for obtaining this position at your magazine. What I bring to your company is a consummate work ethic and a detail-oriented approach to writing. Although my official title may be “staff writer,” I’m a jack of all trades…
[I’m going to skip the bit about the magazines he’s worked for, cause it’d probably get me in some sort of internet trouble]
I am also familiar with Adobe software such as Photoshop and Acrobat reader, and possess a basic knowledge of HTML. A fast, efficient web browser, I usually find what I’m looking for within minutes. I’ve also assembled my PC from scratch—twice.
I’m a proactive learner who plans carefully and performs efficiently. My writing passion radiates throughout my work. It would be a privilege to apply my skills as an editorial assistant at your magazine.
Cordially,
Jason Newton*
OH MY GOD. This is too good! I think my favorite line is, “Obstacles, feel my wrath; you won’t be in the way for long.”
No, no, I think it’s, “A fast, efficient web browser, I usually find what I’m looking for within minutes.”
Um, I think it’s called “Google,” Jason.
*Names have been changed to protect the innocent.
Monday, September 8, 2008
From B.A. to Pay Day
Right now, there are currently 280 people who want my job.
Basically, that's like, 280 people who want to be me.
Craziness.
In the four days that my boss posted the job opening, he's gotten over 280 responses. Part of the beauty of giving one-month's notice is that I get to be part of the hiring process--sorta. After going through the first batch of resumes and cover letters, I get to look through them and give my 2 cents. This definitely makes the last year-and-a-half worth it, because, as you know from my past experience as a grader for an undergraduate film class at my alma mater, there's nothing I love more than judging!! In fact, I'd like to think of myself as Judge Karen--the newest addition to the roster of daytime judge shows. Her tagline: Judge Karen-- she has a flair for justice! I mean, just look at her:
She's a judge, dude! Look at her blonde hair--that's a page from the Beyonce book of flair!!*
Anyway, I digress (I can't get over Judge Karen, I had to share).
As I look through some of these cover letters, it utterly baffles me how many people lack a solid foundation in writing--or, at the very least, presentation skills. I had to learn just as much as any beginning woman of color and writer, but until I got my skills down, I wasn't afraid to holla at some spell-check or have mamadukes look it over before I handed it to the massa!
Check out the top five real excerpts from cover letters sent in to the big boss. As you read, keep in mind that this a position for a writer/editor at a magazine--which makes the mistakes even more of a hot mess!
1. "I'm a recent college graduate interest in starting a career in publishing. I am especially interested in being an editorial assistant."
5 . "In addition, I'm a grammar nerd, I organize my life like a crazy person and I seeing a project from beginning to end. Whatever you throw at me, I'll pick it up quickly and immerse myself in it."
For a "grammar nerd" he totally dropped the ball on this sentence.
Unless, by "grammar nerd," he meant, "really big fan of Frasier actor Kelsey Grammar," in which case, I'd like to call him in for an interview.
*(To watch more of Judge Karen's sass, check out the promotional clip here. Do not let a man validate you--holla!)
Basically, that's like, 280 people who want to be me.
Craziness.
In the four days that my boss posted the job opening, he's gotten over 280 responses. Part of the beauty of giving one-month's notice is that I get to be part of the hiring process--sorta. After going through the first batch of resumes and cover letters, I get to look through them and give my 2 cents. This definitely makes the last year-and-a-half worth it, because, as you know from my past experience as a grader for an undergraduate film class at my alma mater, there's nothing I love more than judging!! In fact, I'd like to think of myself as Judge Karen--the newest addition to the roster of daytime judge shows. Her tagline: Judge Karen-- she has a flair for justice! I mean, just look at her:
She's a judge, dude! Look at her blonde hair--that's a page from the Beyonce book of flair!!*
Anyway, I digress (I can't get over Judge Karen, I had to share).
As I look through some of these cover letters, it utterly baffles me how many people lack a solid foundation in writing--or, at the very least, presentation skills. I had to learn just as much as any beginning woman of color and writer, but until I got my skills down, I wasn't afraid to holla at some spell-check or have mamadukes look it over before I handed it to the massa!
Check out the top five real excerpts from cover letters sent in to the big boss. As you read, keep in mind that this a position for a writer/editor at a magazine--which makes the mistakes even more of a hot mess!
1. "I'm a recent college graduate interest in starting a career in publishing. I am especially interested in being an editorial assistant."
Note to any young, blog-reading, job hunters: if you say you're interested in something, at least make sure you spell "interested." Also, if you don't mention the title of the magazine you want to work for, and simply say you want a foot in the door anywhere, it doesn't look to hot. And I don't know about you, but this opening line does not make me feel special at all. She just wants to use us as a foot in the door--ew. I feel like the ugly girl the guy talks to in order to get to the hotter friend.
2. "During this time I also worked in human rights founding a Gender Studies Club, the goal being to work towards equality and understanding of all individuals."
So what, you think you're better than me, kid?
Um, guys, what is a counterparty?
Um, is it just me, or do we think she may be applying for this job to make daddy happy? I feel like their relationship is fraught with tension, and she just wants nothing more than to be loved in her family of artists.
5 . "In addition, I'm a grammar nerd, I organize my life like a crazy person and I seeing a project from beginning to end. Whatever you throw at me, I'll pick it up quickly and immerse myself in it."
For a "grammar nerd" he totally dropped the ball on this sentence.
Unless, by "grammar nerd," he meant, "really big fan of Frasier actor Kelsey Grammar," in which case, I'd like to call him in for an interview.
*(To watch more of Judge Karen's sass, check out the promotional clip here. Do not let a man validate you--holla!)
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Picture Day and Randoms
Today is Picture Day on the plantation.
I kid you not.
For some reason, these people won’t just let me leave in peace. I was hoping to slip out, undetected and escape with several padded envelopes and letterhead. Instead, they want us to take some big group photo or something.
I've been scoffing at the youth as they return to school this week, but it turns out it is the blacktress who is now a student! I thought my days of unflattering photos in poor lighting against a tacky backdrop ended when I left Catholic school—I was wrong. Here’s the email we got from boss man:
I would like to publish a group staff photograph, so I thought that before our meeting tomorrow I would take head-and-shoulders photos of each staff member near the window in my office and then a group photograph by the fireplace.
Please let your stylist know you will be photographed tomorrow.
Oh my god, this is going to be so awkward. Just to give you a sense of the setting, my boss’ offices is covered in dark-wood panel and over his inactive fireplace hang some landscape paintings he’s done himself. It’s got a sorta 1970s-Texan-oil-baron-meets-the-Elk-Lodge vibe.
My attempts to look picture-ready today failed, just I did in my youth. Even though I spent much time achieving a buoyant, adult, and professional anchorwoman hairdo, I forgot to put on my contact lenses, so I’m totes looking like the girl in She’s All That. I’m going to have to take them off for the photos, which will end up with me trying hard not to squint, looking blank-eyed and confused in the general direction of the camera.
Good times.
In other news: The Kiwi I dumped texted me yesterday!! Yesterday afternoon, I get a text from a number I didn’t recognize (cause you know his ass has been deleted!), which says the following:
“Lunch tomoro? We will do subway this time.”
Um, is he slower than Trig, the youngest Palin baby?
What part of “let’s stop this foolishness” didn’t he understand? I mean, I naturally assumed he was catching what I was throwing, seeing as I hadn’t heard from him in the TWO WEEKS since that conversation.
And even if he did want to talk about it or actually try to be friends, what sort of incentive is lunching at Subway? I have never once led him to believe I frequent or enjoy that establishment. I don’t want to sit there and watch him eat a $5 footlong on my off time! He’s so out of control, I can’t handle it.
Can you imagine if a woman did that after a guy had dumped her? What if I just called up The Teacher fellow and was like, “Hey, I got two tickets to a UCB show that I you said you wanted to go to back when we were boning. Meet me outside the theater at 7:30?” I would be instantly branded as a PSYCHO CHICK, and the world would know. It would just NOT be acceptable.
I swear to you, the men have gone mad. This also comes on the heels of the IM I received from the texter. It went something like this:
HIM: Are you ignoring me now?
ME: Your text messages weren’t appropriate, and certainly not worth responding to.
HIM: What, you wanted more romance?
Um, if by “romance” he means “respect,” then yes! I love how my lack of a response to the query “why haven’t I fingered you yet?” somehow implies that I’m high-maintenance, or a romantic.
Between these fools and BabyGate ’08, I may never return from Down Under.
I kid you not.
For some reason, these people won’t just let me leave in peace. I was hoping to slip out, undetected and escape with several padded envelopes and letterhead. Instead, they want us to take some big group photo or something.
I've been scoffing at the youth as they return to school this week, but it turns out it is the blacktress who is now a student! I thought my days of unflattering photos in poor lighting against a tacky backdrop ended when I left Catholic school—I was wrong. Here’s the email we got from boss man:
I would like to publish a group staff photograph, so I thought that before our meeting tomorrow I would take head-and-shoulders photos of each staff member near the window in my office and then a group photograph by the fireplace.
Please let your stylist know you will be photographed tomorrow.
Oh my god, this is going to be so awkward. Just to give you a sense of the setting, my boss’ offices is covered in dark-wood panel and over his inactive fireplace hang some landscape paintings he’s done himself. It’s got a sorta 1970s-Texan-oil-baron-meets-the-Elk-Lodge vibe.
My attempts to look picture-ready today failed, just I did in my youth. Even though I spent much time achieving a buoyant, adult, and professional anchorwoman hairdo, I forgot to put on my contact lenses, so I’m totes looking like the girl in She’s All That. I’m going to have to take them off for the photos, which will end up with me trying hard not to squint, looking blank-eyed and confused in the general direction of the camera.
Good times.
In other news: The Kiwi I dumped texted me yesterday!! Yesterday afternoon, I get a text from a number I didn’t recognize (cause you know his ass has been deleted!), which says the following:
“Lunch tomoro? We will do subway this time.”
Um, is he slower than Trig, the youngest Palin baby?
What part of “let’s stop this foolishness” didn’t he understand? I mean, I naturally assumed he was catching what I was throwing, seeing as I hadn’t heard from him in the TWO WEEKS since that conversation.
And even if he did want to talk about it or actually try to be friends, what sort of incentive is lunching at Subway? I have never once led him to believe I frequent or enjoy that establishment. I don’t want to sit there and watch him eat a $5 footlong on my off time! He’s so out of control, I can’t handle it.
Can you imagine if a woman did that after a guy had dumped her? What if I just called up The Teacher fellow and was like, “Hey, I got two tickets to a UCB show that I you said you wanted to go to back when we were boning. Meet me outside the theater at 7:30?” I would be instantly branded as a PSYCHO CHICK, and the world would know. It would just NOT be acceptable.
I swear to you, the men have gone mad. This also comes on the heels of the IM I received from the texter. It went something like this:
HIM: Are you ignoring me now?
ME: Your text messages weren’t appropriate, and certainly not worth responding to.
HIM: What, you wanted more romance?
Um, if by “romance” he means “respect,” then yes! I love how my lack of a response to the query “why haven’t I fingered you yet?” somehow implies that I’m high-maintenance, or a romantic.
Between these fools and BabyGate ’08, I may never return from Down Under.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Not My Day
If you happened to be walking on 6th Avenue between 58th and 57th street at around 8:47 am this fine Tuesday moring, you would have had the good fortune of seeing my pink-and-blue striped underwear.
Congratu-fuckin’-lations.
If you were a construction worker on the corner of 7th avenue and 59th street, you would have been lucky enough to get a full-frontal view.
This day is not starting off well.
First of all, the children are back in school. Nothing displeases me quite like the return of loud, inappropriate youth to my already painful morning commute.*
SIDEBAR: I don’t know if this shocks you, guys, but the blacktress is quite the curmudgeon. I fully anticipate being that old lady who sits on her porch with a shotgun, telling playful imps to “Stay off my goddamn grass!!” I’ll be living in a house on the end of the block, and on Halloween night, children will dare each other to ring my doorbell.
Anyway, I manage to get a seat and start reading my latest book on Oz when, at 86th street, the underground railroad is brought to a halt. That voice comes over the loudspeaker—oh, I mean unintelligible speaker--and tells us there’s a “sick passenger” and we can’t move until they “get help.”
Listen, sickie—don’t ride the train if you think you might vomit your small intestine!!!
I’m sorry. I’m bitter.
I get in to work--surprisingly only 4 minutes late--and I try to turn my grimace into a smile. I check my work email and receive the following heartbreaking news brief:
Australia Suffering ‘Man-Drought’
I think I know how Sarah Palin must have felt about her prego daughter (BabyGate ’08—never forget!).
Apparently, it is the cities on the coast that are suffering the man-drought (which is pretty ironic, if you ask me). This comes as a blow to the blacktress because I have great plans to be based in one of the major metropolises. Apparently, all the fellas in my target demographic have been LEAVING THE COUNTRY (take, for instance, my dear friend Wally Balls). It is not, in any way, raining men.
Dubai, here I come!!!
Luckily, the higher-ups are helping a blacktress get it together. Check this:
Demographers have compiled a so-called "Love Map" that shows how the various clusters of unattached men and women are distributed across the Australian continent.
I’m assuming this "love map" will be available at all major tourist information centers, and I will use it to track down my one true love—and Bindi Irwin.
As you may know from my previous post on the state of men in Australia, all the hearty blokes are in the outback, and there they outnumber women significantly. I guess this means I’m going to have to face my fear of nature, natural predators, and potential sexual predators, and head to the country for some bush living—and some bush loving. I thought that watching “Bindi the Jungle Girl” on Discovery Kids would help prepare me for my upcoming adventure, but I could barely understand a word she was saying.
But I love her anyway.
*Did I mention I hate my job?
Congratu-fuckin’-lations.
If you were a construction worker on the corner of 7th avenue and 59th street, you would have been lucky enough to get a full-frontal view.
This day is not starting off well.
First of all, the children are back in school. Nothing displeases me quite like the return of loud, inappropriate youth to my already painful morning commute.*
SIDEBAR: I don’t know if this shocks you, guys, but the blacktress is quite the curmudgeon. I fully anticipate being that old lady who sits on her porch with a shotgun, telling playful imps to “Stay off my goddamn grass!!” I’ll be living in a house on the end of the block, and on Halloween night, children will dare each other to ring my doorbell.
Anyway, I manage to get a seat and start reading my latest book on Oz when, at 86th street, the underground railroad is brought to a halt. That voice comes over the loudspeaker—oh, I mean unintelligible speaker--and tells us there’s a “sick passenger” and we can’t move until they “get help.”
Listen, sickie—don’t ride the train if you think you might vomit your small intestine!!!
I’m sorry. I’m bitter.
I get in to work--surprisingly only 4 minutes late--and I try to turn my grimace into a smile. I check my work email and receive the following heartbreaking news brief:
Australia Suffering ‘Man-Drought’
I think I know how Sarah Palin must have felt about her prego daughter (BabyGate ’08—never forget!).
Apparently, it is the cities on the coast that are suffering the man-drought (which is pretty ironic, if you ask me). This comes as a blow to the blacktress because I have great plans to be based in one of the major metropolises. Apparently, all the fellas in my target demographic have been LEAVING THE COUNTRY (take, for instance, my dear friend Wally Balls). It is not, in any way, raining men.
Dubai, here I come!!!
Luckily, the higher-ups are helping a blacktress get it together. Check this:
Demographers have compiled a so-called "Love Map" that shows how the various clusters of unattached men and women are distributed across the Australian continent.
I’m assuming this "love map" will be available at all major tourist information centers, and I will use it to track down my one true love—and Bindi Irwin.
As you may know from my previous post on the state of men in Australia, all the hearty blokes are in the outback, and there they outnumber women significantly. I guess this means I’m going to have to face my fear of nature, natural predators, and potential sexual predators, and head to the country for some bush living—and some bush loving. I thought that watching “Bindi the Jungle Girl” on Discovery Kids would help prepare me for my upcoming adventure, but I could barely understand a word she was saying.
But I love her anyway.
*Did I mention I hate my job?
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