So, I'm sitting alone in Wordsmiths, drinking my first cup of coffee of the day in total solitude and listening to the new (read as: oh god so awful in some parts) U2 album, for the last time. I mean, it's not my last cup of coffee-of the day or ever, god no-and I'm far too much of a masochist and a Bonoist to not listen to No Line On The Horizon again (despite its title being the universal statement for "this party's over, folks"). No, this is my last day at Wordsmiths as Marketing/PR director, and in a month I'm gone from Atlanta, too. And I still haven't found a job. Like, I can hear my mom's voice in my head worrying over me-or at least what I imagine would be her voice if she'd ever actually inquired about my well-being.
My trip to New York, my new and future home, last weekend, went well. It was really more of a reconnaissance mission (and her "mission" has to be drawn out in a Bjork-ish voice so that it sounds like "mess-see-awn"), a "must get x, y and z done in a very limited amount of time, on limited funds and with minimal airline fuckups" set of days. And, despite that last bit-the minimal airline fuckups-almost taking a turn for the worst (hey, hey Airtran, I mean Val-U-Jet, I'm talking to you: FOUR gate changes? At six in the morning? That's beyond annoying, that's obscene on par with, like, you having graphic sex with my grandmother while I'm in the next room. And then a delay? I was prepped to have to miss my job interview on Friday and blame it ENTIRELY on Airtran, force them to rebook me for a later flight back to Atlanta from NYC on Tuesday to allot for a rescheduling of said interview that would be missed, and I'd expect a god damned cookie with it, too, but fortunately it didn't come to that. I would have treated that customer service rep as though he or she was a student loans collection agent-and that's *not* a good thing. Are you still out there Miss Blair, my favorite student loans collection agent of all time ever?), I must say that the trip was a success...
I spent my Sunday afternoon with my wonderful internet friend who is now obviously my real-life-friend Kelly, aka the person nice/crazy enough to allow me to crash on her couch for a month while I, um, acclimate to New York. And by "acclimate" what I actually mean is "find a job". And by "find a job" what I actually mean is "holy hell, I am moving like 900 miles and at the moment I am unemployed, so unemployed in fact that I didn't even dare to abbreviate the previously-written 'at the moment' with my usual 'ATM' because 'ATM' conjures images of money and oh my god I have no job".
My first day in New York, though, I was greeted with this:
That's right: now you don't have to separate your beloved popcorn chicken and your awesome large cola!
(Side-note: chicken in a cup reminds me of the now-infamous "chicken in a box in a wok" scene from R Kelly's "Trapped In The Closet". Ok, look, my definition of "infamous" is "constantly cited by my friends and myself". Also, I mean really, "Trapped In The Closet" is a work of genius, a masterstroke only capable of being executed by the master thespian that is Robert Sylvester Kelly.)
Any city that can capitalize on my southern-bred love for laziness AND gross food combinations is a city after my own heart. And my wallet. Whether it's empty or not. Which, at the moment (again, no ATM abbreviations here), is painfully, frighteningly empty.
It's funny, though, because despite having gone on interviews, being jobless and looking out at the bleak market through the lens of someone getting ready to slog to the Unemployment office and say "yeah, I'll have one with everything", I seem to have more projects to work on than ever. However, saying "oh, I'm super-busy" only makes me feel that much lamer when there's no actual money coming in at the moment. AGAIN WITH THE NO ATM. Because "no ATM" is how I'm going to be living my life for the foreseeable future. Maybe I should have listened to my family and gone into, um, "computer repair". There's certainly more money in that than in publishing, marketing and publicity. I think...
Oh, a quick anecdote that makes me feel better: while in NY, I got to listen to a superstar A-list renowned author that I've never read and will never read complain, at a benefit event/museum reading, IN A MUSEUM MIND YOU, AND FOR A BENEFIT, that he didn't get any free alcoholic beverages.
IN A MUSEUM. FOR A BENEFIT.
He then asked for "baby foie gras". You know what that is. Think about it.
I may be poor, but at least I have tact.