So it's been a few days since receiving the news that I am being laid off in six weeks. My emotions have run rampant across the board....sadness, anxious, anger, frustration, depression, fear and pessimistic. Basically, everything you learned in college about How To Find A Job is completely obsolete. One can no longer walk into a place of business and ask to speak to the manager. There are Affirmative Action regulations involved in the recruiting process and most places can't even speak to you. Calling the HR to inquire about your resume submission is no longer acceptable as the applicants have probably quadrupled in size since the dawn of internet job applications. I have been relaxing with a glass of wine each night as I sit down to my computer to type away my job prayers after each eight hour shift and two hour commute at the current job.
I am trying to navigate my way through LinkedIn, only to find that my heartfelt hello message accompanying my connection request to former colleagues is shoved away into an e-file of lost messages as I see the former colleague has over 500 connections and OBVIOUSLY doesn't have time to shoot back a quick hello to me. Or I guess I should have been participating in this LinkedIn game all these years. And there is a part of me that cannot help but think some of my former directors, while giving me big bear hugs when they see me in person, have all avoidance when it comes to connecting to me professionally after bearing witness to my various medical leaves mandated by psychiatrists. I feel like I have a big black X through my name in any organization that shares an affiliation with these former colleagues. Discrimination? Yes. But nothing that I could ever prove in any way. But I tell you what, it makes me A-N-G-R-Y and makes me think I ought to pack up and move to a land where nobody knows me.
And so I am putting one foot in front of the other as I strive for something that suits me best. I know a lot about music...a lot about movies....a fine taste for interesting and artful wares...a supporter of arts, culture and education....an awesome force of genuine, sweet, old-fashioned customer service...a smile...prompt....a hard-worker...patient...fair...firm....creative....passionate shopgirl with so much to offer. Now how do I roll that all up into one fine package for the next hiring manager I encounter?
I am squeezing in all my doctor's appointments in the event that I won't be able to afford health insurance, which, sadly, is highly likely. I also need to stock up on cheap red wine to get me through these days. There's a liquor store right by my psychiatrist's office. Think he'd hear my bottles rattling in my recycled wine tote as I ask him for a year of Seroquel and Ativan? Do you think he'll be concerned??
I have an interview tomorrow with a boutique. I have prepared my ensemble and organized my portfolio. However, my finest Ann Taylor tunic has a loose hem which I have no way to fix except with thin slices of packing tape. Will this make me or break me?
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Thursday, April 25, 2013
low blows
Well, my vacation was great. While it lasted. Texas is an enormous place filled with so much history and culture and fantastic sites to see. And great record stores. And great food. And there is just so much about the South that I love! Strangers smile at one another on the streets. Everything is 'Yes, ma'am.' and 'Yes, sir.' But the highlight of my trip was seeing my dear grandpa Louis. He is 92 and my last surviving grandparent.
Work, however, was disastrous today. After a 2 hour morning management meeting, I was called into the office at 10am and was informed that I am being laid off. My last day is June 15th. I was offered a very small severance package, or a transfer into a heavy sales position at a larger location. WORST FIRST DAY BACK FROM VACATION EVER!!!!!! My emotions were across the board all day today, and still are at this moment. The thought of messy unemployment procedures and expensive COBRA insurance and my $900/month prescription gives me terrible anxiety. My stomach has been in knots.
Needless to say, I poured myself some wine tonight.
Terrible terrible day.
Work, however, was disastrous today. After a 2 hour morning management meeting, I was called into the office at 10am and was informed that I am being laid off. My last day is June 15th. I was offered a very small severance package, or a transfer into a heavy sales position at a larger location. WORST FIRST DAY BACK FROM VACATION EVER!!!!!! My emotions were across the board all day today, and still are at this moment. The thought of messy unemployment procedures and expensive COBRA insurance and my $900/month prescription gives me terrible anxiety. My stomach has been in knots.
Needless to say, I poured myself some wine tonight.
Terrible terrible day.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Howdy from Texas...
Oh Lordy, Lordy. I have done my fair share of supporting independent record stores over the past few days. My brother, mother and I have been driving around Texas supporting local businesses as far as the eye can see. We hit Cactus Records in Houston, Waterloo Records in Austin, Superflys Lone Star Music and Hastings in San Marcos and there will be more. So far, I've picked up Wavves, Big E's Lone Star Record Hop compilation of today's best Texas Rockabilly, Rock Rock Rock French Rock 1956-1959, Wayne Hancock, used Jesus & Mary Chain, Jim White, Peter Tosh, an old Love and Rockets, Chill Arabia. Richard Ashcroft, France compilation, Paul Weller, Los Amigos Invisibles, and Los Straitjackets. Whew! We hung out at Gruene Hall, have wandered Austin and all bought Have A Willie Nice Day Willie Nelson t-shirts, ate lots of BBQ and are now headed down to the Gulf of Mexico to visit my dear grandpa. Time always flies by so quickly on these trips. Sniff!
Thursday, April 11, 2013
The 25 children of Quanah Parker
Around the time this book, Empire of the Summer Moon, came out, something strange was unfolding in my mother's quest to learn more about her family blood lines. She was adopted in Oklahoma in 1950 after her birth mother, unwed and afraid and alone, gave her over to my grandma Beth to raise. We knew only a little bit about mom's birth mother....that she was part Indian, had reddish hair and was a nursing student alongside Grandma Beth, who was one of the instructors. Nothing much was known about my mom's birth father, except that he was supposedly Indian and he was a musician.
So as everything in the information age percolates with each year, my mom turned to the internet in the 2000s and put a brief posting on an Oklahoma adoption board with what little information she had about her birth mother, leaving an email if anyone had any more information. In about 2006, a random man stumbled upon my mom's message and knew exactly whom my mom was looking for. It was his aunt. Of course, nobody knew about this hidden pregnancy, and when the birth mother was approached about it, she flatly denied ever such thing happened. She laughed, we were told, and exclaimed, "I never had a child out of wedlock!" So my mom, understandably let down, didn't pursue it any further.
But my mom's new-found cousin did anything but shun her. He connected her with other relatives and told her that her birth mother is from the line of Parkers made famous by Quanah, the half-breed Comanche chief, and his white mother Cynthia Ann Parker and her stand-out story of native captivity in American history. You know, the story The Searchers is based on:
Weird, right? So a customer came in looking for The Searchers DVD. I located it for him and asked if he's read the new book out on the Searchers. He says he has, and that he and his wife are just fascinated by this story! I asked him if he read Empire of the Summer Moon. He says he has, and that his wife is currently reading it, too. He just can't get over what a neat story it is. And so I decided to tell him my strange new news, that I recently found out I am a descendent of Quanah Parker. That I am just now slowly learning more about it. He was so enraptured by this story of American history and he immediately became infatuated with my connection to it and asked me a few questions. I explained what little I could, and reminded him that Quanah had at least 25 children by a number of wives. But he thanked me and I wished him well.
Apparently, his wife came in looking for Quanah Parker's great great great granddaughter the next day. Um, if she meant me, it was my day off.
It truly is an interesting discovery, as are so many of our rich family tapestries we continue to weave with each generation. Sadly, my mom received word that her birth mother has passed away. Their connection was never realized. It's heart-breaking to me that a woman held on to her values of 1950 and denied the existence of a baby she carried in her womb for nine months. How can a woman simply block that from her consciousness? How could she just forget? What was her story? Who was my mom's birth father? So many unanswered questions which will remain dormant for eternity.
Family histories can be as convoluted and twisted as our nation's own history can be. I feel proud to be part Native American. I just wish there was a way to celebrate it more, in a more communal fashion. In a place where I would be accepted.
No wonder my mom has always liked that Half-Breed song by Cher.
So as everything in the information age percolates with each year, my mom turned to the internet in the 2000s and put a brief posting on an Oklahoma adoption board with what little information she had about her birth mother, leaving an email if anyone had any more information. In about 2006, a random man stumbled upon my mom's message and knew exactly whom my mom was looking for. It was his aunt. Of course, nobody knew about this hidden pregnancy, and when the birth mother was approached about it, she flatly denied ever such thing happened. She laughed, we were told, and exclaimed, "I never had a child out of wedlock!" So my mom, understandably let down, didn't pursue it any further.
But my mom's new-found cousin did anything but shun her. He connected her with other relatives and told her that her birth mother is from the line of Parkers made famous by Quanah, the half-breed Comanche chief, and his white mother Cynthia Ann Parker and her stand-out story of native captivity in American history. You know, the story The Searchers is based on:
Weird, right? So a customer came in looking for The Searchers DVD. I located it for him and asked if he's read the new book out on the Searchers. He says he has, and that he and his wife are just fascinated by this story! I asked him if he read Empire of the Summer Moon. He says he has, and that his wife is currently reading it, too. He just can't get over what a neat story it is. And so I decided to tell him my strange new news, that I recently found out I am a descendent of Quanah Parker. That I am just now slowly learning more about it. He was so enraptured by this story of American history and he immediately became infatuated with my connection to it and asked me a few questions. I explained what little I could, and reminded him that Quanah had at least 25 children by a number of wives. But he thanked me and I wished him well.
Apparently, his wife came in looking for Quanah Parker's great great great granddaughter the next day. Um, if she meant me, it was my day off.
It truly is an interesting discovery, as are so many of our rich family tapestries we continue to weave with each generation. Sadly, my mom received word that her birth mother has passed away. Their connection was never realized. It's heart-breaking to me that a woman held on to her values of 1950 and denied the existence of a baby she carried in her womb for nine months. How can a woman simply block that from her consciousness? How could she just forget? What was her story? Who was my mom's birth father? So many unanswered questions which will remain dormant for eternity.
Family histories can be as convoluted and twisted as our nation's own history can be. I feel proud to be part Native American. I just wish there was a way to celebrate it more, in a more communal fashion. In a place where I would be accepted.
No wonder my mom has always liked that Half-Breed song by Cher.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Divisionism
I haven't seen all of Woody Allen's films, but I am slowly catching up thanks to my local library. I have absolutely fallen in love with Purple Rose of Cairo and it's crazy descent in breaking the fourth wall. We live in such a silly time of celebrity and illusion and this film from the eighties makes us think about it all over again decades later. So much fun and whimsy in this one:
(RIP)
I am someone who definitely gets lost in movies, books, plays, even a song from time to time. My life is so ordinary and mundane and anything that allows my imagination to soar brings me such extreme joy. There have been times where imagination has gotten the best of me and I can't even begin to describe those times in simple unsung English. But when healthy doses of imagination curtail sadness...well, those are some pretty powerful sentiments. Harnessing imagination is an art in and of itself, and as I continue to write and create stuff of my own I seek this type of knowledge and ability. I want to be that adventurous writer. It's in me....buried somewhere beneath the medication I take...
Have you ever been thrown into a moment of surreality that somehow similarly breaks the fourth wall? I can think of a few instances in my life where imagination and reality have been blurred. One happened at a concert many, many years ago, when its star approached me in a crowded audience. (I'd drop his name if this weren't the big bad internet and I knew fanatical fans of his keep his name locked down on widespread google alerts. They can be pretty scary...) As the spotlight followed him and he moved closer and closer to me over in the corner, I remember looking down at my feet, as if I needed to firmly plant my feet on the ground. I guess he wanted me to jump up onstage and dance around and put on a show for him and everybody else in that crowded theatre. I guess that's what he expected. But that wasn't (and still isn't!) my personality and so I think I might have embarrassed him or something by rejecting such an advance. The whole incident only lasted half the length of a song, yet here I sit all these years later reminiscing about it and the impact it had on how I view and accept my confidence, or lack thereof I guess I should say. I once told a therapist about the incident and she turned it into something sexual about it being my first big sexual encounter and yada yada yada. But it was more than just that. It was a reality-infused swan dive (or cannonball depending on how you view it) into the imagination. And how we perceive stage folk and their glittery shining hologram-like suits. And how so very different 'celebrity' and 'real folk' can be. A curator once suggested the term 'divisionism.' Like there is a great big wall dividing our worlds...
Interesting stuff to ponder.
(RIP)
I am someone who definitely gets lost in movies, books, plays, even a song from time to time. My life is so ordinary and mundane and anything that allows my imagination to soar brings me such extreme joy. There have been times where imagination has gotten the best of me and I can't even begin to describe those times in simple unsung English. But when healthy doses of imagination curtail sadness...well, those are some pretty powerful sentiments. Harnessing imagination is an art in and of itself, and as I continue to write and create stuff of my own I seek this type of knowledge and ability. I want to be that adventurous writer. It's in me....buried somewhere beneath the medication I take...
Have you ever been thrown into a moment of surreality that somehow similarly breaks the fourth wall? I can think of a few instances in my life where imagination and reality have been blurred. One happened at a concert many, many years ago, when its star approached me in a crowded audience. (I'd drop his name if this weren't the big bad internet and I knew fanatical fans of his keep his name locked down on widespread google alerts. They can be pretty scary...) As the spotlight followed him and he moved closer and closer to me over in the corner, I remember looking down at my feet, as if I needed to firmly plant my feet on the ground. I guess he wanted me to jump up onstage and dance around and put on a show for him and everybody else in that crowded theatre. I guess that's what he expected. But that wasn't (and still isn't!) my personality and so I think I might have embarrassed him or something by rejecting such an advance. The whole incident only lasted half the length of a song, yet here I sit all these years later reminiscing about it and the impact it had on how I view and accept my confidence, or lack thereof I guess I should say. I once told a therapist about the incident and she turned it into something sexual about it being my first big sexual encounter and yada yada yada. But it was more than just that. It was a reality-infused swan dive (or cannonball depending on how you view it) into the imagination. And how we perceive stage folk and their glittery shining hologram-like suits. And how so very different 'celebrity' and 'real folk' can be. A curator once suggested the term 'divisionism.' Like there is a great big wall dividing our worlds...
Interesting stuff to ponder.
Friday, April 5, 2013
random acts of kindness, etc.
I survived April Fools Day unscathed. WXRT got me last year good with that ELO brunch business. D'oh! I was really looking forward to an Electric Light Brunch every Sunday after Breakfast with the Beatles. I had a nice chuckle, though, over the email from Redbox advertising the launch of new lunch meat dispensers and also the maxi tube dress offer from Urban Outfitters. It didn't have a place to free one's arms and they were kept under wraps under the dress. Silliness. I wonder how many folks fell for it?
A young lady approached me at work today and said, "I just wanted to give this to you and say thanks." It was a little card. I thanked her and she smiled and walked away. I opened it, and it was a bouquet of Hallmark flowers that said "Thank you" and inside was a handwritten note that read, "Thank you for your service! You are appreciated!" There was no signature and I did not recognize the girl who handed it to me. It was rather sweet, actually. A random act of kindness that I will be sure to pay forward somehow. I do wonder what the story is behind it, though. Hmmmm.
I am missing a friend DJing at a local bar tonight. The thought of sitting in a bar right now sounds so dreadful to me. Will I ever shake this funk of being a homebody?
On a far-out stretched note, I have been listening to this song again recently. I think it may just be the most perfect rock-n-roll delivery. Optimism, fun chord changes, and an explosively positive ending chorus:
'How does it feeeeeel to be loooooo-ooooo-oooooved?
How does it feeel to beeee looooo-oooo-ooooooved?'
Perfection.
A young lady approached me at work today and said, "I just wanted to give this to you and say thanks." It was a little card. I thanked her and she smiled and walked away. I opened it, and it was a bouquet of Hallmark flowers that said "Thank you" and inside was a handwritten note that read, "Thank you for your service! You are appreciated!" There was no signature and I did not recognize the girl who handed it to me. It was rather sweet, actually. A random act of kindness that I will be sure to pay forward somehow. I do wonder what the story is behind it, though. Hmmmm.
I am missing a friend DJing at a local bar tonight. The thought of sitting in a bar right now sounds so dreadful to me. Will I ever shake this funk of being a homebody?
On a far-out stretched note, I have been listening to this song again recently. I think it may just be the most perfect rock-n-roll delivery. Optimism, fun chord changes, and an explosively positive ending chorus:
'How does it feeeeeel to be loooooo-ooooo-oooooved?
How does it feeel to beeee looooo-oooo-ooooooved?'
Perfection.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)