Self-appraisal. Verdict? Fuck you.

Date: July 21, 2011
Position Title: Copy editor/page designer

1. Position Description
a. What are your main job responsibilities?
Designing pages, which includes writing headlines, deckheads and lead-ins to cutlines.

b. Which job responsibilities do you view as most important? Why?
Meeting deadline because missing one throws things off down the line. Writing strong, accurate headlines because they catch the reader’s attention.

c. Have any new responsibilities been added or removed from your job this year? If so, what?
I’ve filled in as weekend editor more.


2. Accomplishments and Strengths
a. List your most significant accomplishments or contributions during the past year. How do these achievements align with the goals/objectives outlined in your last review?
None. Perfectly because I didn’t list any goals/objectives in the last review.

b. Since your last review, have you performed any new tasks or additional duties outside the scope of your regular responsibilities? If so, please specify.
How is this different from question 1.c? I’ve filled in as weekend editor more.

c. To which of the following factors would you attribute your professional development since last year: off-site seminars/classes, on-site training, peer training, on-the-job experience, better exposure to challenging projects, other. Please describe.
None. I don’t think I’ve developed any further professionally.


3. Areas for Attention and Future Improvement
a. What are your goals for next year and what action will you take to accomplish these goals?
None.


4. Career Interests
a. What are your career interests/objectives?
I’d like to be a presentation editor or chief copy editor at some point in the future.

b. What type of assignment/position would you like next?
Not sure.

c. Are you willing to relocate? Yes

Jump start

I don't believe in signs. I believe I have control over my life.

But they're there. They're small, but they're there, damn it.

Recent developments have made my days quieter and me more prone to introspection. Not a good thing. I've been feeling anxious and down for a while now, and to combat that, I've tried mixing up my routine to do things that might relax me and get my mind on better thoughts.

So I've been watching a lot of documentaries. They take me back to my childhood when the only movies my parents could afford to rent from the video store were the free educational films. My sister and I ate those up, and I'm happy to find that my appetite for them was suppressed but never eliminated. Huzzah!

One night I was watching a movie about a climber who got separated from his climbing partner in a storm, broke his leg and still managed to climb, crawl and hobble his way off the mountain and get back to his base camp. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but he said something in the interview that resonated with me later. He said that while he was stuck in this ice crevasse with a broken leg and no way, it seemed at the time, to get out, he remembered something he was told or had read or had heard before: The only way to survive is to keep making decisions.

Once you stop making decisions, even small ones, you're fucked.

Later it hit me. That's what I've been doing. I've been sitting and waiting for something to happen, for a perfect job to open up or for something crazy to happen to jar me from my complacency. I guess I'm surviving (I'm typing this afterall), but that's all I've been doing. I wake up. I make the decision to get ready for work. I make the decision to eat (sometimes). I make the decision to go to my shitty job. I make the decision to leave, go home and waste time before bed.

It's surviving but it's hardly living. I've stopped making the vital decisions, the dreaded "big" decisions, the ones that might change my life and make me happier.

I woke up one morning and put on my bikini. I was going to work in the yard. The weeds were choking out the lilies I planted last year and overtaking the paving stones on my tiny patio — more green was visible than stone. About 20 minutes into the task, after my usual early-morning worried thoughts subsided, I began to focus on the task at hand. I thought about what I was actually doing. I was killing plants, plants that have been decided through generations of gardeners to be undesirable. I was ripping the undesirables, the ones keeping the sun and water and nutrients from the desired plants, out of the ground by the roots and tossing them aside. Not only was I tossing them aside, I was gathering them together and dumping their limp bodies in the hot gravel next to my house.

I was clearing out the unwanted so the wanted, the intended could take root, gain strength and bloom.

Then there was the dream in which I was pregnant OH BOY. I have many dreams in which my sister is pregnant (something she never likes to hear, can't imagine why), but I've seldom had dreams in which I was the chosen vessel. A few days after the dream, while on the pot, I looked up its possible meaning in a dream journal I own. (I'm not a nut. I once wanted to be a psychologist. My best friend knew this so she got me several books on dreams, the journal and "Man and His Symbols" by Carl G. Jung and that's the reason for the journal so back the fuck off.) The book's limited, abbreviated glossary of dream symbols had three words to say about pregnancy: a new beginning.

So there. My signs: make decisions, clear out the bad and look for a new beginning.

I applied for a new job this week in a city far from this one. Fingers crossed.

Thanks?

One of the papers I applied to informed me today that they have decided not to fill the copy editor/page designer position for which I had applied. I think my last round of applications was sent out in September.

Thanks for the timely response, assholes.

Saboteur!

I was almost sabotaged tonight when I put the suggested head "The Brady grunch" on a sports story about a senior with the surname of Brady who had led his football team to victory this season.

"Grunch" didn't seem like a real word or valid sports slang to me, but I looked it up to double-check. I learn obscure words all the time - who knows, this might have been one of them. It was not. At least, it wasn't according to one of my favorite Web sites, Mirriam-Webster.com. (Drool. I go there about 15 times a night searching for shorter synonyms for headline words.) "Grunch" was, however, on another favorite site, Urban Dictionary.com.

My editor was the one who discovered this.

Quiet.

Quiet.

Burst of laughter from editor 1 and a genuine gag from editor 2.

Possible meanings of "grunch," according to the infallible Urban Dictionary:
1. To reply to an original post on a web forum without first reading the other replies.
Grunch ... I haven't read any of the other replies to your post, but I think you should do XYZ.

Quiet.

2. The hard crusty stuff that glues your eyelids shut in the morning. An indicator that your hangover is going to be so bad that you beg for a migrane instead.
Oh man, after those two (three?) bottles of tequila last night I woke up with some serious grunch in my eyes. Please, kill me now ...

Quiet.

3. The act of self fistation, fisting yourself in the anal cavity.
"Get your grunch on" - the act of a hearty night of "tearing yourself a new one." *may result in bleeding

Understandable burst of laughter from editor 1 and a genuine gag from editor 2.

So basically my headline was saying that this kid, Brady, had his own brand of self fistation.

Joke's on you, idiot sports editor who thought that was appropriate sports slang!

Drying up, drying out

A tune for your reading enjoyment.

I didn't work two paydays ago so I wasn't there when the paycheck fairy made her way around the newsroom. About six days had passed by the time I worked a weekday again, and when I returned, before I could even get to my desk, three people had asked, "Jamie, did you ever get your paycheck?!"

"Yes," I said. "I just picked it up."

The looks on their faces could have melted glass. Why would they care? It's my paycheck. I'm not going to rush out the door and run to the bank like a greedy little piggy the moment the envelope hits my desk, nor am I going to come in on a day off to pick it up unless it's necessary. Don't treat me like I'm unappreciative - believe me, I'm grateful. I need the $650.

Or the $1,300 a month.

You see, it's one thing when you deposit a two-week pay period check the day after you get it, but when circumstances force you, or when you're too lazy to do otherwise, to deposit two at once, things click. You see the $1,300 and BAM - you think about the other things you pay on a monthly basis:

• Credit card (about $500 - I buy everything using my credit card so this is gas, groceries, anything else my consumer-driven heart desires)
• Rent ($350)
• Car payment ($200)
• Student loans ($100)
• Electricity bill ($50)
• Car insurance ($50 -haven't started paying this yet, but I'd like my dad to stop having to)
• Internet ($40)

You add it all up, you check it again and subtract from the total. Did you do your subtraction, girls and boys? $10. I'm left with $10 a month.

I'd be lying if I said I'm not a little freaked. Sure, it's possible, not desirable, to go without Internet at home. I did it for two years and lived, but that was when I had unlimited access to computers and Internet at school and work ...

I can put more things on power strips and turn the heat even lower (check and check). I can be more diligent on how much I'm spending on groceries by getting up early enough to go to Aldi's before work instead of my 3 a.m. trips to Wal-Mart after. I can make a bigger effort to go to the cheaper laundrymat (not the 24-hour one - notice a theme in my habits?). I'll limit how far I drive to get to the good trails. I just won't buy anything.

I have some savings - though not the three months' pay everyone suggests - and I have a dad who is in a position to help me if I get in a pinch. I'm thankful for both, but this is not the point. The point is that I'm disappointed that this is where I am. I'm poorer than I've ever been. I had hoped I'd get some financial relief after college, but things are even tighter now and I can't sigh. I need that air! I paid for it!

So here's what happened during my silent panic attack. I was at the laundrymat and after I emptied my quarter pouch, I hit my wallet where only pennies, nickels and dimes survive. OK, no biggie, just put a $20 bill in the change machine and you'll get to dry your clothes. Both dollar slots are taped over with duct tape, and underneath it says, "SORRY. OUT OF SERVICE"

It might as well have said, "FUCK YOU, LOSER. YOU CAN'T AFFORD TO DRY YOUR CLOTHES ANYWAY."

I gave it the finger. When my laundry was done, I stuffed all 50 pounds of it back into the bags and took it home, where I did the following.

I hung some shirts in the closet and left the door open. It's near the bedroom heater, they'd dry.

I often hang nearly-dry items in the bathroom so I did it this time too.

The hoodies never dry completely so they go on the doors.

The dog bed is an odd shape and has nowhere else to go but on the vent. (His bed was the only thing dry by bedtime. Dry AND warm, lucky bastard.)

Then the kitchen clothesline - a classic. I've done this before, but never a DOUBLE clothesline. (I'm saving about $5 and the planet, people. It's fucking worth it.)

Then the crazy kicked in. Ah ha! These tubes that used to form plastic shelves, which I need to deconstruct anyway! If I taped them together with the leftover packing tape ...

... they could form a bar! It fell twice. You could tell when it was about to go because the crinkling would increase.

Wings like rags or rags like wings. This one would catch the heat and swivel gently back and forth. Peaceful. Mocking.

After the packing tape/plastic tube fiasco crashed the second time, I remembered I had a Swiffer that might be able to support some weight. It did beautifully. (And dusted that spot.)

I got lazy toward the end. I also ran out of string, clothespins, bars and hangers.

I was stretched above my dresser trying to weigh down the improv pole with reams of computer paper when I looked down and saw a quarter - one of two in my possession.

That quarter could have dried my underwear.

Behind the (dull) scenes

Taking photos of The Shoe.

Scout came to investigate after the first photo was taken. I couldn't even get in two shots, I kid you not.

And he got comfortable.

If you can't beat them, shoot them.

I'll tell you what

I had plans tonight, plans to do "grown-up" homework. My homework included:

• find a doctor and set up my health insurance online account;
• enroll in the autopay programs for my student loans and electric bills;
• change my address with Edward Jones and the credit card people;
• find a driver's facility nearby so I know where to go after studying for my Indiana driving test; and
• e-mail friends and family about my work schedule so we can schedule a visit.

Also on my list were some "not-so-grown-up" to-dos. They included:

• find music (cough) and
  
• restart my Netflix delivery.

What did I end up doing? Completely "not-so-grown-up" shit that wasn't even on my pink Post-It. Fuck! That shit included:

• catching up on my daily Web comics,
• updating this blog,
• listening to heads (Talking Heads and Radiohead),
  
• washing the dog,
• ripping my comforter apart so I can requilt it and
• this:

I keep finding baby socks in my laundry. Tonight I found a man sock AND a baby sock. I put the baby sock with the other two I've found. I gave the man sock to my dog to chew on.

TAKING PICTURES OF GODDAMN SOCKS!

I suck at being mature.

Recycling

My ID has been pasted to the top of an old ID … that seems to have been pasted on top of another ID. In my picture I look like I have huge shoulders, my white chest preoccupies the eye, and my cheeks are chubby, but look at me! Doesn’t that smile say, “Happy to Have a Fucking Job that Requires an ID”?

The players

Oct. 7, 2009

My handy dry-erase board.

The extensive notes I took on my co-workers after my first day at work. I will call my co-workers Ariel, Lily, Ron, Agatha, Aaron, Carl and John on subsequent references. Add in Martin (the new guy), C.T. (a female peer) and Maria.

Agatha does not love Aaron.

John is not a love interest. (He's married with a baby on the way.)

And yes, there will always be problems with the ad department, Christian.

Another Q&A please

Oct. 6, 2009

This Q&A sheet I read while trying to decide which health plan to choose was completely unhelpful. I think there was a missing Q&A, one that went between knowing nothing to the one I was given. It’s bad when you’re 22 and the term “deductible” is tripping you up. I don’t have my computer yet and I’m not sure a dictionary would have been any help even if I had one here. (I’ve tried to look up shit like this before without luck.)

So I called my dad.

I love my dad, but I don’t want to have to call him about this stuff. I need to learn it for myself. A friend suggested reading "Get a Financial Life: Personal Finance in Your Twenties and Thirties" by Beth Kobliner, and I think I’ll get it … as soon as I get my library card.

Yet another item on The List.

Whore

Oct. 5, 2009

Martin* has a girlfriend.

Two paces off the starting block

Oct. 4, 2009

I’m telling myself the following: My current job is fine. It’s an excellent starter job in that there is little pressure, low to no standards, it’s not too far from home, etc. The actual look of the publications themselves is unimportant because right now it’s about getting my foot in that door and gaining experience at working with different styles.

When I go to look for my next job, I will choose newspapers that have designs I love because, as it turns out, that shit is important.

I got the feeling by the end of my first week that this job will give me the experience of how to create a carefully crafted turd. For instance, I finished my pages early one night — well, most every night that first week — so I was told to sit with my co-worker Lily* for a little bit. She printed a page and told me to look it over for errors. I’m still getting used to the design styles so I wasn’t much help there. Instead, I looked at AP style, spelling and grammar errors. I found one.

“Isn’t ‘Street’ supposed to be ‘St.’ because it’s with a specific address?”
"Ha ha! Look, guys! She’s actually copy editing!”

I’m not sure how long I’ll last. I know one year is my personal minimum. (May I mention for the hundredth time that moving is a bitch?) It would be ideal to stretch that to two years so I don’t look like a flighty fuck on my resume but …

The tradeoff for slowly killing pieces of my soul is that I get compliments from my chick supervisor, Agatha*: “You’re kicking ass! Here!! Two more pages!!!”

* * *

I spent my day going through the health insurance plans and 401(k) details. In one of the packets there was a list of all the newspapers this media group owns. I don’t think they meant for it to be a shopping list of potential employers but that’s how I interpreted it. I think I even applied to one of them, the one in Michigan.

I know three things about the boy who starts tomorrow: He graduated from a school in Michigan, his name is Martin* and he’s “nerdy-looking.”

I’ve now put together a fantasy future in which he is my married mate Martin from Michigan.

Martin and I hit it off because we’re new, and we don’t know anyone in this area because we were desperate for jobs. (My co-workers gave me blank WTF faces when I said I have no connections to the area, which means they probably don’t know how narrow the market is and how blood-thirsty college grads are getting.) Martin and I designed better pages for our respective college publications, we’re nerdy and horny (I could be projecting here) so we get closer while talking about these things. Fifty-odd weeks later, I pack up my stuff and the kids (Scurry* and Einstein,* cat and dog, respectively) and move north where he’ll follow when he has finished his 52-week stint. We’ll move into our first home together. It’s tiny but we’re in love. We’re happier now because he’s closer to home (he’s a family man, bless him) and I’ve finally landed back in Michigan, a land with a lake, pebbly shores and virgin forests. We’re transferred to the other company-owned newspaper here and we’re a wonder duo. Unstoppable. And so we remain until I grow sick of him, pack up my stuff and the kids (Scurry* and Einstein*) and head farther north because I’m a glutton for the cold — I’m more comfortable when the outside temperature matches that of my heart.

Now it’ll be even more interesting to meet him tomorrow.

*=Not their real names. I’ll get to that.

Killer feet

Let's count the ways in which this photo could have killed me.

1. I'm alone in the car.
2. That's the interstate.
3. That's my right foot (the one a person typically uses to drive).
4. I'm taking the photo.
5. The camera was on its manual setting.

I didn't die. I also didn't get the job. The reason for my foot like that in the first place? It was hour 5 or so and I still had 4 or so to go and my leg was bored ... and my mind curious. Could I rest my foot on the dash? I also had my leg stretched across the passenger seat at one point. Ah, the boredom of the open road.

Nest egg

This is what my dad left me on the kitchen counter one morning. A $20 bill for groceries I couldn't drag myself out of the house to purchase, and the remaining hard boiled egg I had made the day before. It made me want to cry. I remember that much.

Grilled

One of my first meals back at Dad's place. Not sure why I took the picture now ... but it adds some color to this blog, no? I have a backlog of blogs so I'll be updating them in chronological order. I apologize for the delay.

My new place

The kitchen and living room.

The bathroom. Note the lack of a bathtub. No sexy bath times then.

I haven't seen this place in person, but it sounds (and looks) OK:

• 1 bedroom
• 1 bathroom (with washer/dryer hookups)
• Fridge and stove included
• Small yard
• No lease
• Pets OK
• Water and trash fees included
  
• Decent neighborhood
• About 10 minutes from work
  

This is us

Christian
Location: Murphysboro, Ill.
Searching for a job since: August
Applications sent: about 20
Current status: I'm unemployed, broke and living in my parents' basement.








Jamie
Location: Marion, Ind.
Searching for a job since: May
Applications sent: 23
Current status: I start work Sept. 28 for a small newspaper where I'll be paginating for five newspapers a night in a town three hours away from anyone I might call friend or family.





Rebecca
Location: Chicago
Searching for a job since: May
Applications sent: Yes
Current status: Pizza slinger, babysitter, shop girl









Sarah
Location: Urbana, Ill.
Searching for a job since: May
Applications sent: about 15
Current status: Waiting anxiously.

A place to call apartment

Before you read, you must start this song; it sets the appropriate apartment-hunting mood ...

I got the job so now I need to find a place to squat for the next two years. My biggest challenge will be finding a landlord who doesn't mind that my dog, Eiffel, sometimes can't help from crapping on fluffy white carpet and my cat, Scout, talks more than any pet in man's pet-owning history. Leaving my retarded companions behind isn't an option. I love 'em, damn it, and I'll need their company in a town that is three and a half hours from my nearest friends and family.

I began my apartment/house search last night - two days after accepting the job offer and 11 days before I start work.

The first place was an upstairs, one bedroom apartment. The toothless, mumbling man who answered said I couldn't have pets because it was an upstairs apartment. Of course? What was I thinking?

The second place is why I made you listen to the music because that's what I got to listen to while I waited for someone to answer. No one did so I left a message for NANCY who returned the call about an hour later. This apartment is my only lead at the moment. It's $350 a month, has one bedroom, a largish kitchen, a tiny yard and it's on the back of a rented two story house. The area seems OK ...

The area that seems OK.

The third had already been rented.

The fourth sounded nice but someone(s) is(are) going to take it if he(they) can get a refund from his(their) old apartment. Not that it matters, but it is a little green house where I can have pets and a small yard and it's in a decent neighborhood ...

The fifth and fifth and a half places, a small house and apartment, were both rented but that guy will have more places available in a couple of weeks, which sounds dodgy as fuck, pardon my Greek.

The sixth had a full voicemail inbox.

In case you didn't listen to the song - it's country, I don't blame you - here are some of the delightfully coincidental lyrics:

But the struggle makes you stronger,
And the changes make you wise,
And happiness has its own way of takin' its sweet time.

Ain't that charmin'?

WHEN the time comes to decline a job offer (the power of positive thinking, ladies)

Tips for turning it down (found here):
1. Be nice. When you turn down a job offer ...

• thank the person for the opportunity
• tell the person that something about them or their company impressed you
• explain why the job you are taking is a great opportunity for you. Talk in terms of the opportunity, and how it will allow you make a big difference to the business and grow personally. The aim is to show that what matters to you is learning and contributing to the organization because that's what you want the person to remember about you.
  

2. Suggest someone else. If you are someone who is specialized, and it's going to be hard for the employer to find someone like you, you can really endear yourself by referring a friend.


A sample letter (found here):

7 Shawnee Road
Short Hills, NJ 07078
201-555-0303

Mrs. Walter Mellish
Greenley Corp., Inc.
1010 Madison Avenue
New York, NY

Dear Mrs. Mellish:

Thank you for the time and effort you spent considering me for a position as seminar leader. I appreciate your time and effort -- as well as those of your staff. I am grateful for your offer of employment.

Because I was so impressed with Greenley Corp., I had a difficult decision to make. After much thought and careful deliberation, however, I have decided not to accept your offer.

I wish you and Greenley Corp. the best continued success. I hope our paths will cross again in the future.

Thank you again for your time and consideration.

Sincerely,


Jane Oakley

Revelation

I accepted the Hoosier Inquirer job. I'm nervous but I just had a revelation - the money. It won't be much, $11 an hour, but I'll have health insurance and I'll be able to take care of my financial responsibilities. Best of all, I'll get to start saving for traveling, which is something I AM passionate about when my career sometimes isn't.