Learning Curve

Sitting here at L.T. a few minutes before I begin a shift. Yesterday I completed my first shift at the Hotel W., from 10am to 6pm. All I can say is: Oh. My. God. I never thought it would be this complicated, never thought there would be so much to learn. A whole new computer system. Of course every new job there is a learning curve. The people behind the desk have been there 5 or 6 years, but it is just overwhelming to consider all the stuff I have to learn. I was training during the busiest time, with about 30 check-ins and 30 check-outs, but the phone is always ringing, and there's a checklist of like 30 or 40 things to do on every shift. So my enthusiasm and relief at finally getting a full-time job is going to be seriously tempered by the stress and pressure I am feeling to get at least the nuts and bolts of the job down by a certain time. The good thing is the 11pm-7am shift is never going to be as busy as the period I will be training in. I return tomorrow and Friday to continue training.

Of course, now that I am busy with the Hotel, all the proofreading jobs are calling A. asking for my services. The agency even used the word "beg" -- as in J. from S.Communications is begging for me to show up and edit an important job. I feel really bad that I had to sort of blow off Select, my favorite of all the proofreading jobs, yesterday, because they have been so nice to me and seem so appreciative of my work. Maybe I should have chosen them instead of L.T. today, although L.T. did call first. So while it's nice to be wanted, it is still impossible to be in two places at once. However, I am having doubts about my ability to catch on with all the stuff I need to learn at the Hotel. I am going to stick it out but I hope that by the end of this week I can gain confidence in my ability to master at least the rudiments of the position. I can't tell you how stressed I am. But I remember the same stress when I started the market survey job as well as when I got promoted to production editor at the Transcript. The difference is the people at the hotel are unfailingly polite and understanding, so all the pressure is coming from me. But that's of little relief, because stress is stress, and I can hardly breathe, at the risk of sound overly melodramatic.

Interpersonal Interaction & Interconnection

Just returned from a five-hour assignment at S.Communications. They also said they would need me next week. I talked to someone there who freelanced at the same agency I'm registered at and was just hired full-time. Of course, it's a slightly different animal in that those are all Web designers and graphic artists while I can best be described as an old-school proofreader, portraits a specialty. Odd Couple reference, people. But it would be a nice place to work full time, I think. Who knows, people change according to different circumstances, and there is some...if not yelling, then some degree of friction, usually the result of deadline pressure. But the people there have been nothing but cool to me. They all pass me around from person to person, interacting interpersonally all the while. And at the end of the day, isn't that what it's all about? Of course it is, jerky. And there are some really hot young wimmens I'd like to...interconnect with, shall we say.

Still haven't heard from the Hotel Wales regarding my starting date. I thought R. said someone would be in contact with me regarding beginning my training. I am anxious to start. Hopefully I can juggle the training with the freelance assignments that are coming my way. All of a sudden I am in demand. I worked four days this week, three at S. and one at L.T. It went well at L.T. yesterday, I was there from 10 to 5:30 and met a lot of different people who all promised they would be sending me work. I got the same grateful vibe there that I get at S. One person said they were glad i was there that day after i caught a bunch of stylistic inconsistencies in a promotional letter. That's what i do, people. However, I realize that i am just one of maybe 3 or 4 freelance proofreaders on their list. And with no Internet capability at home, I would have to shoot to the library or the internet cafe to send edit the stuff and then send it back. If i start getting a shitload of work I will have to get something at home. AOL Dialup sucks, though, but it may be my only choice.

I may look into a new apartment soon. If the Hotel gig works out and i can juggle the freelance stuff and the catering when that comes, i will look for something at the end of the summer, beginning of fall. I need a change of pace. But it has to be a significant upgrade at the same rate before I even consider it. I really need wood floors at this stage of my life. Is that too much to ask?

Welcome To The Hotel Wales, It's Such A Lovely Place...

Yesterday, June 21, year of our lord 2006, will go down as one of the BEST days of my short, happy life. I landed two prime gigs, one a fulltime job and the other a choice freelance assignment. First, I got the Hotel Wales job. R. called and told me I got the job. He actually said, Welcome to the Hotel Wales. Those were some sweet words to hear! He said J. from S. Communications, who I used as a reference, said glowing things about me. I will begin training during the day, possibly as soon as tomorrow, and then switch to the 11pm to 7am shift, known as the graveyard shift for obvious reasons. But I am an off-peak kind of guy, yes, someone who has tired of the whole 9-5 world after doing it for years and years. Never mind the mainstream. The job has excellent benefits, including a 401k, health benefits, vacation time, etc.

Secondly, I am now a freelance proofer for L. TV over on 49th and 8th . L.T. is the cable network that reruns shows like Golden Girls and Frasier around 20 times a day. Check the listings, I'm not making this up. I will go work on premises at their offices a few times, but then they will send me the work to do at home, and then i can send it back online. Best of all possible worlds. And not a moment too soon.

Yesterday and Tuesday I worked down at S. on Varick. I love that place. And everyone seems to like me. They're alway saying things like, we're so glad you could make it, and thanks so much for going over this stuff. God bless my freelance agency, especially K., who has been incredibly helpful and nice at a time when I was down and out. Thanks to them I now have three very good freelance accounts. I hope to keep all of them them indefinitely and then procure even more assignments. These gigs range from 22 to 25 bucks an hour, but of course the work is usually sporadic. L.T., however, seems to be promising a steady stream of work. So things are looking up.

Well, just wanted to get this on the record. Thanks to all who were there for me during the darkest hours: my brother, sister, Bob & Holly, Chrys, Tony, my Aunt Vickie, and to all who listened to me bitch day after day. I had to stay mentally tough during this long hard slough. At times I felt on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The low point had to be the horrible market research job on Irving Plaza. One of the worst jobs I ever had -- and I once worked in the garment district, as a messenger, as a roofer, as a truck loader in a warehouse in beautiful Secaucus, New Jersey, along with many other horrible jobs. Also horrible was the shipping and handling job I had, stuck in a freezing cold garage for hours all by myself, with only a radio for company. And then to be let go by a supposed friend with no prospects. That was tough sledding. At least I had the balls to walk away from the market survey job. I always tried to take the high road, although there are some people out there who deserve my wrath. But that would serve no positive purpose, even to those who claim Revenge is its own Reward. But as John Cooper Clarke once said/screamed in the 1977 punk non-hit Innocents: "Revenge is a strong emotion, friction is the mother of pearl; it's a disappointing, disapproving, disappearing world ... NOW WHAT'S THIS!"

This week continues to just fucking rock! Just seconds ago got another call from A. informing me that S. needs me back yet again tomorrow. That's four solid days of freelancin' this week! I have no idea when I will draw my first paycheck from the Hotel, so this will give me a nice check to pick up next week until the new job kicks in. Peace...

Not Looking Back, Preferably

It's been a busy few days. No I didn't hear from the hotel yet. Robert the manager who interviewed me left a message for me yesterday afternoon, saying the other guy applying for the job who canceled his interview Friday apparently canceled again yesterday and would be in today. So it's b/w me and a guy who has already postponed his interview twice. It's already past 4 today so I expect to hear something soon.

Worked for S. Comm. today, and found out they want me back there again tomorrow. That's good, but it's still not the best news of the day. That honor would go to the news that L.TV wants to see me tomorrow, and it looks like they already have some work. If i wasn't tied up with S. I could have started there tomorrow, but as it is they want to have a meet&greet at their place. I have an 11:00 appointment with them and then it's back downtown to S. by 1:00, where at this point everyone really does know my name. If everything works out, it looks like I will have 4 days of work this week, and not a moment too soon.

I spent part of yesterday bemoaning to myself the fact that I publicly bemoaned in this space my lack of money -- you know: green stuff, cabbage, pesos, dinero. I really don't need anyone's pity, and so I was almost going to delete that post. But let it stand as a monument, perhaps a benchmark, in that I hope to never again have to sink so low and wallow in self-pathos, if that's what it came off as. i don't know, i never read over my posts, or hardly ever: i just forge ahead. And, like some freakish amalgam of Bartleby the Scrivener, Bob Dylan and Satchell Paige, let the record state that I would prefer not to look back, literally or figuratively, because what good it would do. Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune...

I just did a Google search for Billy Loes, a pitcher for the Yankees and Dodgers and some other teams in the Fifties and a fellow Greek who was born here in Astoria. An All-Star in 1957! My Aunt Vickie said she knew him or went out with him back in the day. She wanted me to find out about him. She's become a huge baseball fan, following every Mets game religiously. You're able to print 20 pages at a time here at the Library. How great is that? I never knew about it. Beats the hell out of the Internet cafe, which I will save only for emergencies in the future, until I get internet service at home, whenever that day comes. Noticed over the weekend that the Orioles have a Greek outfielder, the name gave it away: Nick Markakis. A few years ago my cousin Linda wrote to George Stephanopoulos, that's her name too, and it turns out we're related however distantly to the diminutive newsman.

In terms of being embarrassed by my heritage, this morning I saw a stupid ass speeding in his SUV, talking on the cellphone of course; not really a news flash, but what made it, oh, somehow sadder and more comical at the same time, I saw the guy's license plate: 1BDGRK. In other words, ONE BAD GREEK. Yeesh! You realize we're sharing the planet with these people. I think his next license plate should read PATHETICDUMBASS.

Speaking of pathetic, I saw a girl with a tatoo on her shoulder with the words RICHIE and SAMBORA surrounding a star. See Above for her next tatoo.

The topper of the day comes from a vendor I saw on Canal Street. This guy is putting out his merchandise this morning, wheeling out a rack of tee-shirts. One of them, probably his biggest seller in this modern age of vulgarity, reads: FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING FUCK! I couldn't keep my mouth shut, so I said, "C'mon! You gotta sell a shirt like that?" I didn't wait for an answer, just kept on walking.

I recently saw a young girl with a tee-shirt carrying the pithy slogan: I FUCKED YOUR BOYFRIEND. That's it, simple and to the point. Great parenting out there, folks. This is an age when vulgarity passes for comedy. I guess that's why I like The Simpsons, but find South Park totally unfunny and depressing.

So the lesson for today is, I don't want your pity, but if you feel the need to proffer it, I will begrudgingly accept.

About Time

Sitting here at local library in midst of heat wave. Haven't put in my AC at home yet. Wanted to wait until July, or at least until I gainfully reached real fulltime employment. I have to report that my hopes are high based on an interview I had last Friday at the Hotel Wales, a posh upper east side hotel. They're looking for what's called a night auditor, for the hours 11pm to 7am, slightly offpeak, no? but right up my alley because it would allow me to still do my freelance proofreading as well as the catering gigs that I've become so famous for when that deal picks up again after the summer. The night auditor basically goes over the books for that day; I talked to my friend Paul and he had the exact same gig years ago and called it a proverbial piece of cake, altho the hours take some getting used to, obviously. I thought I really hit it off with Robert, the guy who interviewed me. He said he had one more interview and then would call and make me an offer, his words, but I would accept any reasonable offer considering the plethora of benefits he outlined. It would be sweet to report some good news for a change. Amen.
Moments ago got a call from Artisan, bless their pointed little heads. My presence is requested by the boys and girls at Select down at Varick for tomorrow, where my proofreading expertise is needed. Also got a call from Artisan last week regarding a possible freelance assigntment at Lifetime Television. The key is to get several accounts going so that I'm always busy and there are no long periods between assignments.
I won't dwell on the negative here but my finances are in a state of serious disrepair. It was good to get the Select call for tomorrow, but I am behind in a big way and thus on the precipice of despair. I have to stay mentally strong because no one will save me but me at this point. Oh yeah, feel free to send large sums of cash to me, consider it patronage if it makes you feel any better. Well, my time is up. Even time has a price these days.

Captain's Pay

Okay, here goes. Had two parties the last two nights. Last night I was the sole bartender, indeed sole catering staff, at some alumni meeting where a bunch of privileged 18-year-olds were heading off to the old folks home at the college. That's a Dylan reference that probably only my brother will get. I stood behind the bar for about two and a half hours while listening to these kids' parents and former teachers tell these kids how special they were. Maybe they are, who knows? Anyway, I more or less got captain's pay for setting up a bar, pouring water & soda, and then breaking down said party. Relative piece of cake, but it's very boring when you're the only person on the business end of a catering event. No complaints here though. Who would listen? That's a Goodfellas reference that only my friend Paul Scarsella down in Florida is likely to get. I did get to go home with about a dozen spinach pies and slightly more chocolate chip cookies. It's the little things, people, the little things.

Night before was a cocktail par-tay for around 200 lost souls, aren't we all, celebrating a teacher or two retiring. I've seen enuf of the private school culture to know what bullshit underlies the whole mythos, and remember I went to a private high school, albeit a West Side school and therefore not one as snobbish as your typical East Side school, fresh from 9 years of public school -- talk about your culture shock. So let's say some righteous bitterness remains just below the surface. Anyway, we had 12 people on staff for that party -- me, Theo, Isiah, Wendy, Mike, Dean, some crazy Israeli guy whose name I can never remember. The time goes quicker when you can commiserate and bust each other's chops.

I sit here a-bloggin' from the Internet cafe, where as you know time is money. I tried the friggin' library but of course the computers are down. But I felt a strong urge to blog, so here I am.

You know what I hate: people who say so-and-so really gets me, as if they're so fucking deep and mysterious. You hear this kind of crap on dating shows, as well as in real life. The truth is they're usually totally mainstream and bereft of originality, and like most people are clone-like in their behavior, speech, attitudes and sensibilities.

You know which quote is helpful to remember when you're in any kind of service business: Nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent. Noel Coward said that. That's really all I know about Noel Coward. But that's enuf for now.

You know what never made sense to me: When you hear a news report about armed gunmen. I mean, aren't all gunmen armed? Do you have to add armed? Are there a bunch of unarmed gunmen walking around? Are you always a gunman even if you leave your weapon at home that day? Are there business cards made up that say Jeff Conroy, Gunman? Just thought I'd ask.

Did anyone see the cover of the recent New York magazine about how New York real estate is gonna look in 10 years? Now, I only read the thing when I'm in a doctor's waiting room, but I'm convinced New York's whole raison d'etre is to make people feel inferior, because everything between its covers is a celebration of the rich, famous & young, no matter how they got that way or how shallow they are. But I think a new low was set with this issue. Is this the kind of city we want, nothing but endless glass skyscrapers and high rises, like something out of a science fiction novel? I was disgusted. There, I said it.

I thought a great metonym for the age we live in is that Ashlee Simpson, convicted lip syncher and general mediocrity, has an album called I AM ME -- and the fucking album is totally written by someone else!! Imagine the insight these songs must contain! Yes, the singer-songwriter confessional genre has come a long way since James Taylor and Joni Mitchell. I guess every generation gets the entertainment it deserves.

I saw where Charlie Rose was really sick, near death even. I say this only to note that the guest hosts were dreadful while he was away, as were the choice of guests. I tuned in once to see the show hosted by some sychophant from Entertainment Weekly, a truly awful abomination of a periodical that gives a critical free pass to most of the crap that passes for pop culture these days. Another night I think it was hosted by Peter Travers, a dweebish sort who writes for Rolling Stone. Does anyone even read Rolling Stone anymore, and if so, why? It's like People magazine now. Look at the advertisement for the latest multiplex overhyped formula movie and you're sure to see his name next to a breathless recommendation of it.

Remember, a sunshower is just God having a happy cry. I'll leave you with that because my Internet meter is at 33:34 and I only wanted to spend a dollar. Fuck. I hope you all appreciate what I'm doing for you here.

Warm Up The Virgins

I'm back at the Internet cafe today. Tried the library today but there was a long wait for a free machine. Had an argument with some woman there who tried to cut ahead of me. She sees me standing there and tries to talk to the librarian. I said I was next and she said she didn't see me, but I don't play that, so I asked her if I was invisible and she says I guess so. I said something back and she comes back with, your mother would be proud of you. I'm not making this up. First of all, my mother would be the first to stick up for herself if someone tried to treat her rudely, so wherever she is looking down on me today, I'm sure she wishes I had given twice as much back.
I'm on my way to a gig tonite, have no idea if it's an easy or difficult one. You know I'm hoping for something easy, but if it goes longer than 5 hours I get more money, obviously, and since my rent is due Thursday, I need all the help I can get. But as usual I am dreading the whole deal. It's a beautiful day today, with something called the Sun out, which we haven't been seeing a lot of lately.
Was in the laundromat the other day and someone had left a New York Post there. It was the day after we killed Zarqawi, and on the cover was his bloated, beat up face, with a balloon caption coming out of his mouth. "Warm Up The Virgins" it said. Inside the running story was called "Rest In Pieces." This is the kind of grown up commentary you can expect from a garbage right wing rag. I would never buy it, even tho it cost a quarter. Now you see why.
Well, gotta go. Wish me luck.

Post Double Shift Friday

Decided to try the local library for internet service since, a, you'll remember i have no home online capacity at the moment; and b, it's free, and thus cheaper than the local internet cafe, which by the way has been a waste of time the last few times i tried to use it. You get a half hour here, you just have to sign up. The guy on computer 5 didn't wanna leave just now! I made a comment about how he must be special, loud enuf for him and everyone else to hear. Now he's moving! I must have my internet access, youdig? Only problem is the library here in Astoria is closed, at least the one nearest to me. Isn't that great, to live in the richest city in the world and the fuckin library is closed on Saturday & Sunday. It's a workers' paradise I tell you. No library, but thousands of overpriced little cafes and boutiques and spas... that's where our priorities are in this meaning-bereft society. Anyway...

Worked a double shift last night, so I'm dragging a little today. Wanted to sleep a little later this morning, but helicopters hovering all morning, seemingly outside my bedroom window, made more zzz's implausible. We did a teachers luncheon at one school from 9:30 to 2:30, and then a retirement dinner at another school from 3:30 to 9:30 -- 11 hours or so of work. We did eat good, though, when it came time to break. I was passing appetizers at the beginning of the second gig, so i made sure to sample each and every one. The second one was much harder than the first, as dinners are typically more work than your average luncheon. Three of us worked both parties, so there was a lot of fucking around during the last few hours, in between busting your ass breaking down the party so you can get the hell out of there at a decent hour.
Have 3 days off and then I'm working Monday & Tuesday. But then it slows down considerably from what I'm told. I am trying to get on a summer party list, work the Hamptons or something. I received two major recommendations in the last week or so for what that's worth, some woman named Regina i think who runs another catering company. We will see. Haven't worked a proofreading gig in a week, which really sucks. I have to get the job search in high gear pronto, but for whatever reason I've hit a mental roadblock.

Returning a book I just finished called Oh What A Slaughter -- Massacres In The American West: 1846-1890, by Larry McMurtry; yes, that Larry McMurtry, author of Lonesome Dove, among many other books, and of course the screenplay for Brokeback Mountain, as well as the dad of criminally underrated folk rock troubadour James McMurtry. It doesn't cover Little Bighorn, only those "skirmishes" where under 200 folks died. Here's how he describes massacre: "The image of a meat shop seems apt to me, since what massacres usually do is reduce human beings to the condition of meat, though the bits of meat will be less tidily arranged than the cuts would normally be in a decent butcher shop." In addition to well known ones like the Fetterman Massacre, there's the story of a Mormon-led raid on white settlers in Utah. Someone is hovering over my shoulder now and my time is up, so let me post this sucker and continue from the internet cafe later... I have 5 minutes so I wanna quote from an eyewitness to the Fetterman massacre on what brutality the Indians wrought that day: "Eyes were torn out and laid on rocks; noses cut off; ears cut off; chins hewn off; teeth chopped out; joints of fingers, brains taken out and placed on rocks with other members of the body; entrails taken out and exposed..." and you get the idea. Myself personally, i always root for the Indians, since you can make the case that no matter how brutal an Indian attack, in some manner it can ultimately be justified as self defense. Outta here!

Little Blue Pills, Little White Pills & Smoking At Pravda

Well, the easy catering gig I was hoping for on Saturday night was not to be. Instead, it turned out to be a bitch; as much of a snap as Friday's affair had been, that's how difficult this one turned out to be. There were no elevators, so everything had to be taken up multiple flights of stairs -- plates, racks of glasses, bins of silverware, trays of food, ice... you name it. It was a sit down dinner for about 180, buffet style, plus smaller cocktail parties on two other floors. The logistics were daunting, to say the least. But we had a real good crew, including myself, Sarabelle, Theo, Isiah, Dean, Daniel and Jean as the captain. We earned our money that night. But the harder you work, and the more there is to do, the more you bond with the rest of the staff.

After work a few of us went out for drinks. Jean had a few, how shall we say, little blue and white pills that go a long way toward relieving any aches or pains you might have, if you get my drift, someone had a joint, and by the time the Stellas were going down, we were feeling no pain. Jean even said I've come a long way and would have no problem recommending me for other gigs, unlike a few months ago, when I was a disaster, even if he didn't use that word. So that made me feel pretty good. However, the season is winding down, at least for the school events, so I have to hook up with something for the summer. Me and Tony ended up at Pravda, where on the second floor you can smoke with total impunity, I have no idea why, but it's a nice little secret. Plus the drinks are made good and strong. By the time I stumbled home it was 5:30 am.

I have two parties this week, in fact they're on the same day, Thursday, plus two more next week, Monday & Tuesday, and that's it as far as I know. I hope the proofreading jobs come through; I'm gonna need at least two a week this month. I have about four parties set up thru early next week. I need dough like anyone.

Lucky Dime

Funny thing. I had just finished up at the Internet cafe on Thursday, checking my email, editing my blog, when I found a dime in the street. A lucky dime, because like a minute later my cell phone rings and it's my freelance agency. First I thought they were gonna need me on Friday, because it was already 3:30 in the afternoon, but I had a catering gig Friday afternoon, and I was figuring there's my bad timing again! But it turns out that S.C. needed me that very day, as soon as I could make it down. So I made it downtown by 4:40. I guess I'm an in-demand player. The only downside was missing The Office marathon that night, which I was really looking forward to. Oh well. I stayed till almost 9:00, proofing a few press releases, catalogs and style guides. The word jewelry was spelled wrong throughout the press releases. I caught a myriad of mistakes and pointed them out to the proper authorities, justifying my rather lucrative rate of 25 an hour. About an hour before my shift was over, I watched an incredible lightning storm forming from the 11th floor loft window, then the rain started coming down in biblical proportions. Before I left, I asked Jonathan if there was an umbrella I could borrow. He found one on someone's desk, a really nice one. The only umbrella I ever had that I could say I liked I lost about a week after I got it. That was like 20 years ago. I honestly don't think I bought one since. You can't overestimate the power of A Really Good Umbrella; somehow you don't mind if it rains a little if you can whip one out. An umbrella, I mean.

Did a catering gig last night on the upper east, worked with one other caterer, Linda, who I found out was a big Lucinda Williams fan after I heard her singing 2 Kool 2B Forgotten in the elevator. We made a bet on how many people would show up from a maximum guest list of 20 alumni and put 5 bucks in a pool; I said 13, Raul 14 and Linda 11. I was actually gonna revise upward at the last minute to 16, because I thought the heavy rain would keep more people away, but I stuck with 13. 15 showed up. I ate good anyway: a ton of appetizers: jerk chicken on a plantain, filet mignon with mango chutne on a cucumber slice, etc. Turned out to be another easy gig: passing trays, pouring drinks, badabing badaboom.

Have another catering downtown tonite, on Varick Street near the ad agency where I worked the other day. Hoping for something not too taxing. Gotta check my email now. More at 11.
One other thing. Not that he's ever gonna read my blog, Who Does After All, but I may have been a little harsh on N. in my last post, titled Human Downers for your convenience. I meant every word I said, but maybe picking on his enormous pot belly and know it all manner was slightly over the top. Maybe belittling someone else's physical shortcomings says more about me than him. Maybe it is a character flaw on my part. Well, I never said I was perfect. Now go home & get your Fucking Shinebox!