The Monstrous Experience of Monster

Perpetually applying for jobs through Monster.com, et al is extremely frustrating. Here is how it goes:

You find a job post you hope that: a) it isn't just a protocol post because they have actually already filled the position within or with a buddy, b) they are really sincere about the EOE thing, c) by seeing the job 5 hours after it posted, you aren't already too late.

Next, you go to your "Linkedin" page and see if any of your "connections" currently work there, have worked there, or are less than two connections from someone who works there. If you are unfamiliar with "Linkedin" it is structured like any other social media network but it focuses on your business contacts. Instead of "friends", as they are called on Facebook, you have "connections". It operates under the "6 degrees of separation" theory, letting you know if you are 1, 2, 3 or more "connections" away from someone you want to get in front of. But let's face it, if you want to see the VP Sales of XYZ company, a recommendation from a "connection" to a "connection" to a "connection" ain't gonna help you at all. I have over 100 "connections" and so far they have been of no use. Aside from actually being my friends - for the most part.

As it happens, I am appallingly lacking in "direct connections" to businesses I am applying for. It is, however, directly attributable to the fact that there are still no jobs in my industry. SO for the most part, my resume and a cover letter go out - into the great black hole of the world wide web and presumably eventually reach their destination along with uncountable others who are applying for the same job in the same manner. And sadly, I must say, that is usually the end of it. Which means I am available to watch "The Bonnie Hunt Show" by noon. Or exercise.

Hi Bonnie!

You learn to "read" between the lines on these job posts as well. "Entry level" or "2 years experience in (fill in the blank) or related field" means: "This job doesn't pay what most people in this field are willing to work for so we're taking a look outside". "Salary: $40,000 to $250,000" means: "This job pays $40,000. Period. You might make $250,000 if you have magical powers". Health benefits means: "For you. If we offered coverage for your family, we would have said so". "Aggressive go-getter who likes to be his/her own boss" means: "Commission only". "4 year college degree or equivalent job experience required" means "4 year college degree required". And you really hope that "EOE" doesn't mean "so long as you match the image we are carrying around in our heads".

Once you click "apply" for a job, you usually are directed to a questionnaire that asks all the questions that can easily be answered by reading your resume - which they have asked you to attach. Then you move on to more specific questions. Even if the job description says that a college degree is not required, you are asked which college you graduated from (in my case I have to put "N/A"). I am then directed to a question that asks what level of education I completed and it always says "High School or GED" which really bothers me because there has always been a stigma attached to "GED" and to have "High School" thrown in with it makes obvious that there is now a stigma attached to High School as well. But it is where I fall, so there I go.

Now here is where they get sneaky. It is against the law to ask someone how old they are in the application process or interview. It is especially important for me because there can be erroneous and pre-conceived notions about what a "seasoned" applicant can bring to the table and you want a chance to get an interview before they know how old you are. This way you have an chance to dazzle them with your charm, if not your expertise, and get them to forget that you could easily be their mother. SO I get really ticked off when they ask the YEAR you graduated and asterisk it by saying that providing this information is mandatory. How do they get away with that? I am so tempted to fill in that blank by saying "1975 which means I am 52 and the AARP keeps calling me and I have to dye my hair because I have so much grey and I am in menopause so I am very gassy as of late and I may need thyroid medication and I'm not available for interview this Thursday because I have to attend my fourth funeral this year and you would probably rather hire my daughter".

The final section is the section where they tell you "by law, you are not required to answer the following questions". This is where they ask your sex and your ethnic background. But if you don't answer, you fear that they will assume you have an attitude or that you have something to hide. As far as ethnic background, I want to check all of them because I really have a bit of everything, save possibly, Asian. But I am recognized as "white" and my legs surely attest to that - so that is what I check.

Then you attach your resume and fret over a cover letter which they probably won't read anyway and then you hit "send". Bye bye!

Now every so often, they respond. They respond by sending another questionnaire via email, which you fill out and return via email. Then you hope to get a call, where they will schedule a phone interview (which I always ace) and then they schedule a face-to-face. And hopefully you move up the ranks to employment nirvana. A place I still aspire to.

So in the meantime, I am starting pilates, I have lunch with friends, I volunteer, and I blog. Nice work if you can get it.

Introduction to Pilates

Here's a tip: if you think you are going to need your legs for anything - like, say, walking - on a Monday, don't start pilates training on Sunday.

My friend Julie is a certified Pilates instructor and has all the equipment in her home and she was kind enough to offer to show me the "basics" so that I would be ready for a class. I should tell you that Julie, a health and nutrition fan, has a body that is nothing short of aspirational. She is a couple of years younger than I am, but she looks half my age. Her posture is amazing - I have never seen a back so straight. Looking at her provides incentive. I should also mention that another friend of mine, Linda, similarly into health and fitness, is equally perfect looking - there must be something to this...

But I digress.

I cannot remember the name of the machine but to me it looks like one of those Nordic Trac machines turned on its side. I am familiar with the Nordic Trac system. I have owned three of them and I found them very useful for hanging clothes and such on.

Julie got on the machine and demonstrated some basic exercises, all the while telling me what she was going to be teaching me to do. It looked absolutely graceful and effortless when she did it; instinctively, I knew this was a lie from the pit of hell. I told her that. She admitted: "Oh, you're going to be thinking about me tomorrow!" She was right. Julie has not been off my mind since I got out of bed.

Here's the thing about pilates. It requires more focus than I am currently capable of. You must keep your hips square, your shoulder blades square, your breathing focused (in through the nose, exhale through the mouth at exertion and "knit" your ribs together as you exhale), lift your legs (in various positions) in complete isolation from the rest of your body, and slowly put them back down (as though you are "moving through peanut butter") and concentrate to insure that both legs are exercising with equal effort. My left side, it turns out, is stronger than my right side and this was particularly difficult. As a person whose feet roll inwardly as I walk, I had to add the task of keeping the ball of my feet centered on the machine to my list of focus challenges. So the upshot of all these multiple things I needed to keep in mind was this: to lie flat on my back with my hands at my side, one foot resting on the bar while lifting the other (straightened) leg straight up and then back down, took a full 15 seconds to mentally prepare for and another 15 seconds to execute. 30 seconds. One leg lift. This was going to be a loooooooooong class. Fortunately, Julie was understanding so I did the best I could but I can tell you honestly that the first part of my body that started to hurt was my brain.

I can tell you that there is a lot of stretching in pilates. It is designed to strengthen your core muscles which is something I am in real need of. And the stretching feels so good. At first. Today I met some of my muscles for what is apparently the very first time in my life and they are absolutely rude with all the screaming they are doing.

Julie also introduced me to this long, dense, styrofoam-y tube. It was to be used for the outer thighs, otherwise known as - well never mind. Julie explained that the muscles in the outer thighs get very tense and gnarled and it is important to massage them. Now you must understand that when I think of a massage, I think of the soothing, relaxing, ecstasy of Swedish massage. Julie, I came to understand, meant deep tissue. So when I balanced myself against this tube on the floor and rolled my body upward, I experienced a whole new kind of tortuous pain. I can only liken it to being hit across the thigh with a wooden baseball bat - it honestly brought tears. I could not believe that I was not black and blue when I got up off the floor. Julie said I needed to go out and buy one of these things. Oh yeah - I'm gonna run out for that one.

By the end of this instruction, while I had not done anything particularly strenuous, I was sweating and shaking like a wet puppy. It was embarrassing. But this darling girl was very encouraging and patient with me and when I stood up she asked me how I felt and I have to tell you, I felt better! I felt straighter and I truly felt lighter. And that felt sooooooooo good!

So I go back for more tomorrow. And while I am fearful of what it is all going to feel like this time, I am anxious for that endorphin rush. It will be worth it. Even if I'm on crutches on Wednesday.

Thinking

I think that if God wanted to say anything to us right now it would probably be to rest. I think He would say that we have learned to run like mad though our lives, conditioned ourselves to win, win, WIN at any and all cost and that we have totally lost the point. I think He would say to take this time in history to stop and think about not so much what we have gotten ourselves into and how we're going to get out of it, but why we care so much about all the wrong things.

I think He would say that being comfortable is close to being dead - that life is about what can be done without having to look backward to make sure all your stuff is still there.

I think He would say to stop worrying, that anxiety and stress will rob you first and kill you next. I think He would say to go back as far as you can in your memory and find Him in all the places He was - and realize how it is that you're still here to think about it.

I think He'd ask us why we doubt His existance, when we don't doubt the wind. We can't see that either - but we can see it's effects and feel its power. I think He'd ask if we know how many shades of green there are.

I think He'd tell us that if we were quiet and trusting, with very little effort we would actually see Him everywhere around us. He would tell us that if we paid attention, we'd see miracles, even supernatural ones, every day.

I think He'd tell us that its not what happens here, but what happens next that counts. I think He'd tell us that we can learn a lot by watching ants.

I think He'd tell us that not only do we not know everything, we don't know anything. I think He would tell us not to limit his love and his mercy or his understanding. I think He would tell us that we are going to be surprised by what the entire story of His truth is - because we really can't grasp it. I think He'd tell us that we would be surprised at who and what has disappointed Him. I think He would tell us to leave judgement to Him. I think He would tell us to really try to get the compassion thing right. I think He'd tell us to remember that Jesus didn't just die for Christians.

I think He'd tell us to say thank you because this may be all there is and it has been a lot. I think he would tell us that we should not be fearful of talking to others about Him - He wants to be on people's minds so that He can ultimately be in their hearts. I think He would ask us how we could be embarrassed to talk about Him when nothing would or could exist without Him.

And I think He'd ask me, personally, "why do I need to keep repeating myself?"

The Nerd Within

I've been thinking a lot about my fear of putting myself "out there". It is strange. When people describe me, for the most part, they use adjectives like "confident" and "funny" and "smart". And I don't feel like any of those. I feel like I play at being those things - but I am not those things.

Now how is that? I have to consider the fact that if I "play" smart and funny and confident all the time, chances are, I am that. So why do I feel like such a "faker"?

In thinking this through, fifth grade flew into my brain and I had my answer. There is a really geeky girl that still lives inside. I can feel her now - Valri Jay Jackson, 5th grade, Mrs. Zahtilla's class. I remained a geek through Jr. High school (See actual un-retouched geek photo from 7th grade below.)

On the playground of Patterson Elementary, I began my tenure as a nerd. Nerds invariably begin their careers in P.E. class. I was always the last one to get picked for school sports. And while you've heard many people say that about themselves, what they don't tell you is that the humiliationisn't about being picked last. You can deal with that. It was the knowledge that when it came down to you and that one other tragically uncoordinated person, the captain who got to choose the lesser "loser" of the two of you always smiled triumphantly - the unspoken sentiment being: "At least I didn't get stuck with her!" Occasionally that smile was accompanied by the self-satisfied laugh of a real bully. Then as if the knife weren't deep enough, the remaining captain would always groan dramatically as if he had just lost a million dollars on a stupid bet. And you were left standing there with nothing to do in your own defense but smile like an idiot as if to say: "I'm glad I'm on your team" - as though you were oblivious to the fact that you were the very last person left and no choice could be made instead of you. All you really wished was that the P.E. teacher would just cut you a break and let you play hopscotch by yourself. Worse than that though, was when it was your turn to be captain, and every kid was screaming at the other captain to please take them. In the face of a mob of kids begging not to be paired with you, there is no idiot smile to cover the embarrassment. You can do nothing but apologize sheepishly to every kid you picked, as they throw you dirty looks for having ruined the game for them. I remember meeting those looks with the same repetitive phrase: "Its just a game." That mantra did not save me. Yes indeed, nerds are born - and broken - in P.E. class.

But it does not end there. (Uh-oh. I'm on a roll...)

I became a play yard pariah and let me tell you, if you can't make it at recess you are stuck being pals with yard duty. And once the kids see you chatting it up with yard duty staff, then its set in stone. You are a geek and you may as well be walking around with cat-eye glass frames held together by a bandaid at the nose bridge and braces with head gear. You are faced with having to carve out your own kind of nerd-ism. In my case, I became teacher's pet. I was the good student and good girl. There, with my knobby knees and unshaved legs and undershirt instead of training bra (which every other girl in the school got to wear), I stood straight and awkwardly tall for good citizenship awards, and spelling bee champions, for fine penmanship and raising hands for knowing the answer to every question the teacher asked in class. I stood for dressing like my mother told me to dress (like an idiot) and doing what I was told to do, even when I wasn't at home. I stood for hiding in the bathroom stalls and running to the teacher for protection. I stood for pixie haircuts and for panties showing on the monkey bars. I volunteered to help serve hot lunches so I wore a hair net and put milk cartons on trays and then scraped uneaten food off dirty trays all during lunch hour - for the sole purpose of keeping me occupied and off the playground for the longest free-period of the school day. And I made the mistake of telling my teacher that I looked up a new word in the dictionary everyday. There after, the teacher would use me as a shining example of industrious dedication to educating myself and would ask me daily to share my new word. My recitation of 5-syllable words and their definitions were met with snickers and rolling eyeballs. I seemed helpless to do anything to change my situation.

Once, for a science project on insects, I had to catch a bug and watch it for a week. I caught a spider and put it in a shoe box with holes in the lid. I decorated my shoe box colorfully and labeled it with pride: "My Incest Box". Upon discovery, my parents (with stifled laughs) made me make a new box and correct the spelling. I kept asking them what the word I accidentally misspelled meant. They wouldn't tell me. So when I got to school, seeing an opportunity to strike up a conversation, I asked a bunch of 6th graders what it meant and they made fun of me all week. I finally looked it up - and was still unclear of the meaning (as I'm sure the 6th graders were too), but the realization of my dorkiness stung as if that spider had crawled out of my "incest box" and bitten me.

And then there is the self torture of constantly comparing yourself to the most poplar girl in the school. I remember her SOOOOOOO well. She was cool and she stood up for herself and all the boys were crazy for her and all the girls wanted to be her best friend. When she was out with her family, she always walked 10 yards ahead of them. When she went out for Halloween, she dressed like herself and said she was going as "a hippie". And she had boobs. And she kissed boys. Her name was Linda. And she was my sister.

(Are you weeping for me yet?)

In 6th grade, I ran against a new kid for class president and won. (They like me! They reallylike me!! - uh, not so fast.) My new position didn't help my status and I remained unpopular and nerdy until mid 8th grade year. The last straw came when I was invited to the beach for this girl's birthday. Her name was Paulette. Once we were there, she said: "I invited you because you're not very popular and I'm not very popular so I thought we could be friends". I resolved at that moment that I was not going to be a geek anymore. I knew I was unpopular but I was not going to listen to someone else - sitting at the bottom of the barrel as I was - tell me I was unpopular. Paulette had clearly resigned herself to it. Not I! I did not become friends with Paulette. I moved on.

I pecked my way out of my ugly duckling shell and eventually emerged a swan of sorts - because I was fortunate to find something I loved and was really good at. Theatre. And the theatre department is nothing more than a group of former (or still evolving) nerds and misfits. Paradise. I became popular within my circle and ultimately in broader circles until I guess I became free to become who I wanted to become. And so, many years of a wonderful and blessed life later - here I am.

My years as a nerd (age 10 through 13) clearly still reside within me though, and sometimes hold me back a bit. The experience of walking so long outside the circle can sneak in without warning and get in the way of moving forward or taking risks or putting myself out there to do what I need and want to do. I'm fairly adept at overcoming the self doubt at this point of my life although each time I face it, I have to start from scratch.

I will say that on the positive side of things, my years of exile to "outcast land" in school made me very sensitive to the underdog. I can spot the inner panic of social insecurity a mile away. And whenever I saw it in my girls it caused me pain nearly beyond my ability to endure it. My darling Christine dealt with it all through school and I prayed like crazy for her. But knowing that pain also gave me the ability to say the right thing to her from time to time and I remember one evening in my bedroom, sharing my memory box with her and taking her through my painful years. She opened up and told me she wanted a friend too. We prayed together that God would send Christine a good friend. We bonded that night. (And by the way, God came through for her!) And when I pick Grace up from school, if I see a child (sometimes even Grace) standing on the outside of a circle peering in, I make a point of finding things to praise about that child in the presence of the others: "Oh my goodness, you look so beautiful today. You know, you could be a model. Have you ever thought of that?" or something as simple as "Every time I see you something inside me has to smile!" I don't know if I'm actually doing any favors - I hope I'm not adding to the trouble. But I am compelled.

Oh man, I've gone on a long time about this. But for all the many who walked in my shoes once upon a time, you know the experience is rich in drama and comedy, right? We never completely lose the memory of the pain and so we periodically have to go back and try to embrace it. The stuff that books and plays are made of. We'll call it "The Nerd Within".

Oh, can the Pulitzer be far away?

A Matter of Relevancy

Okay. I really need to get a job. I mean Really. Need. A job.

I am going to be frank. It is blowing my mind that I don't have a job yet. A job that I want. That offers benefits not only for me but for my family as well. Not because I deserve to be working after relentlessly searching for a job, but because I have not been employed for monthsand that has never happened to me before.

So, in all this free time, what have I become? A superlative housekeeper? A gourmet cook? An avid reader of the New York Times best seller list? No, no, no. Have I become thin and fit? Hell no! I have enjoyed having a break and it has been nice to be busy doing nothing for a while but in the end, I do not know how to do unemployment and it is stressing me out.

As I fret over the length of my absence from the work force, I wonder why so much of our self-worth is wrapped up in our jobs. It is interesting that I continue to read advice to the unemployed and see that, in fact, the longer you go without work, the likelier it is that a prospective employer will think there is something wrong with you. Evidently, you have to get snapped up in a jiffy to retain any of your shiny value. Even in this economy. If you don't, you just look like some old rusty can on a shelf in the garage.

But yesterday, I met with a woman who is just getting started in my old career and I offered to help her "learn the business". She is getting no salary or benefits, only commission (a new and unholy phenomenon) and so I was happy to lend my expertise for free. Besides, how can you charge a consultation fee for something that takes all of 30 minutes to fully explain? A cup of coffee at Peet's seemed a more than adequate compensation and I was happy to have somewhere to go after dropping Grace at school.

It wound up being a very good experience for me because what I thought was something any monkey could do (print ad sales) isn't so easy to grasp after all. There is a learning curve and definite strategy involved. In the two hours we had together, I realized we'd only scratched the surface. I had taken my success and knowledge for granted. I had assumed luck was the driving force behind me. But in fact, my knowledge of the industry, and my years of experience in it, is of value. And while I have been told this for a long time, this was actually the first time I really believed it.

Not that it matters. The magazine industry is a dead man walking. There are virtually no jobs in it. Anyone still in print ad sales is holding on to their job for dear life while trying to get trained in some other, preferably "emerging", media. Gone are the days when you can switch from one magazine to the next. Even the head hunters who specialize in media sales have zero jobs for magazines. And if one does crop up, there are 100 qualified candidates of excellent repute with an advantage over me: A college degree (and that is a whole other topic to write about soon).

Still, it is encouraging to know that I didn't just float through a career.

So, as I write this, I am bringing myself back from the proverbial garage and into the house. I may be gathering rust but while I wait for opportunity to knock again, perhaps I can learn to cook after all. And the house could use some real cleaning. And we know about the thin and fit issue. The point is, I have been validated. If the professional industry at large cannot see that - you know what? - eff 'em. (Well not really, because you know, I would love for you to hire me and I would be a great and loyal employee, and I would...).

But really, I refuse to be irrelevant.

My Funeral

Grace is in a community theatre production of Cinderella and yesterday was a mandatory work day for all parents. Bob and I went to strike the set of the show that just closed and did as little as possible while still trying to look "involved". The truth is, we are too old for heavy lifting. I was never so grateful for acrylic nails as yesterday when they rendered me helpless for some of the icky work. Still, we came home sore.

However, we did have a very interesting lunch break. Bob and I drove to the Denny's around the corner for a quick "Grand Slam" breakfast/lunch and as we were eating what is certainly the stuff that heart attacks are made of (and perhaps because of it), Bob blurts out: "I know what I'm going to do for your funeral - I've got it all planned".

This statement completely caught me off guard. I thought he was joking and then I realized he was not. I wondered if he also had my murder all planned out.

I asked him WHY he had given any thought to it, let alone have the whole thing planned and he explained that when he and I recently sang at the funeral of a friend's mother, one that had some very lovely elements, he got to thinking what he would do for me. I thought it presumptuous that he would assume I was going before he was, but since I would certainly prefer it that way, I decided not to quibble about it. I asked him, what, then, is my service going to be like.

First of all, it is going to be held in a beautiful church with lots of stained glass - which he knows I love. Our church is a wonderful church but it is of the modern architecture variety and not only does it not have stained glass, it has no windows. So good - he's considered my feelings about the venue.

Next, he says that once everyone is seated, he will open with the theme to "On Golden Pond" which is one of my most favorite pieces of music in the entire world. I will often play that ten times in a row for the serene and happy place it takes me. I hadn't realized that Bob had paid attention.

He went on to describe that he would show a montage of video and photos from my life and break it into three parts, starting as me as a girl and moving through my life. For the section showing my youth, he will play the Beatles (yeah!!) song "In My Life", and select other music that I love to represent other times. There will be Broadway show tunes.

The pastor will speak, the family will speak, and then he says that he will tell everyone who wants to - in advance - that they can speak - but he must know in advance because he doesn't like that moment when the pastor says "if anyone would like to say a few words about (blank) they are welcome to come up now" and then no one comes.

He will end with a recording from one of the speeches I have given that is inspirational and then he will have hired a choir to come in and sing my absolute favorite hymn ever. It's called "Here I Am". And then he will open the doors and it will be over.

Can I tell you how unbelievably pissed I am that I will not be there?

The only down side was that I tried to listen to "On Golden Pond" in the car today. I'm afraid I couldn't. I couldn't hear it without crying for myself. (Such a pity!) He may have ruined it for me in this life.

So here's the thing. This conversation was very bizarre but it made me absolutely love that man all over again because he knows me. He knows me enough to know exactly what I would have wanted my funeral to be like. He loves me and he wants it to be nice. For me. And so now I guess I have to plan his. It will begin with Jimmy Durante singing "Make Someone Happy". I have to figure out the rest.

This is certainly the weirdest, darkest, morbid, bizarro, love letter exchange ever. And what can I say? We're the bizarro Smiths. I guess that explains it all.

And Don't We Love Kanye?

You know, I really do have to love him because there is nothing more fun than watching a celebrity who loves himself so much that it never occurs to him that he is nothing more than a complete ass. It has been done before. (Think Tom Cruise and his "Matt you're glib" comment to Matt Lauer - misusing the word and acting as if he was some sort of expert in the field of psychology by virture of being a follower of the ever creepy L. Ron Hubbard.) Yes, its been done before - but never so well.

My blackberry went wild with FB notifications - all about his obnoxious rant - I hadn't been watching so I had to google it. I have watched it at least 10 times since then, in utter amazement. I tried so hard to get into his head to try to imagine what level of "god" he must believe himself to be to just interrupt an acceptance speech with his "better idea" on national television? Can you spell N-E-E-D-S-I-M-M-E-D-I-A-T-E-I-N-T-E-R-V-E-N-T-I-O-N? It was like watching someone jump off a cliff, to prove he could fly with no idea he was just falling. And oh what a joy ride it was for the rest of us.

As for Ms. Swift - I feel bad for the public humiliation but this will probably do more for her career than the stupid award ever could. I mean - why are they even giving awards for music videos?

Anyway, I'll admit to shallow - but there is nothing more shallow than these endless award shows designed for nothing more than ratings boosts anyway. I had a really fun time watching those 3 minutes of it. And I LOVE that he was asked to leave. It just doesn't get any better than that.

I know. Shame on me.