Unemployment, the New Bonding Agent

I've taken a second office in the local dog park. The weather isn't too bad (most of the time), my dog gets to frolic (that's her on the right) and there are plastic chairs. Today, I shunned my normal armory (smart phone and book) and chatted with a woman who owns a beagle. While her dog softly mauled mine in a play match (to ... the ... DEATH!!!) we started the old routine of small talk.

A few observations about people with dogs. Actually women with dogs.

1. Within three minutes, if they have children or a husband it will be stated (or alluded to.) 
2. Expect a majority of your chat to center around the dogs. (Oh, look - our dogs are playing together. I hope they wear each other out.)
3. There will be awkward silences every now and then until you can find another subject in common that you can transition to.

It just so happened that me and the beagle owner were able to transition to another subject. Here were some cues from her conversation:

1. I come here for a couple of hours every day.
2. I've been working out a lot. It helps me stay sane, all the endorphins. 
3. There aren't a lot of jobs out there.

So we tentatively embarked on a new strain of conversation. Mutual unemployment.  And after a bit of a hesitant start, we soon were doing the compare and contrast exchange. Her story: She has to dumb down her resume in order to get some responses. (Who knew having a Masters would be considered dead weight?) My story: The sun will come out ... tomorrow. (But softly. No one likes over-optimism.)  In a lot of ways, it was like finding a kindred soul - finding out that other people have felt the same way I do, are worried, are searching, are rejected and don't have the answers they need.

Funny how complex our reactions are when all we need to do is make a buck. 

Day 36 - Three for Friday

Just when I thought my resume was falling into the same void from whence Heidi Montag's CD was birthed (and subsequently buried), I got a bite. Or three. Bullets follow with more information. Please be sure to put "potential" in front of each description. After all, a bite is nice but it ain't dinner.

• (Potential)(See? I'm helping you out.) gig for an agency, freelance work
• Position for PR/communications for a Fortune 500 corporation (via a recruiter, so I have no idea what company this would be, however I'm fairly certain it is not Enron) and
• Community affairs job for a grocery store chain

Will it play out like a cheesy gameshow?

Chuck, I pick curtain number three! 

What's behind curtain number three? Is it the financially uncertain but fairly boss-free/autonomous  existence? Or the pressure-cooker job with a potential raise? Or the civic-minded detail paying about 1/2 of what you made before? Let's see!

Day 35 - Just like the Negligent Spouse ...

Much like the clueless honey bunny that forgets a loved one's important date or perhaps a manufactured romantic holiday, I forgot my own anniversary. February 22 was my month-mark of unemployment. (What is the gift for a month anniversary? I vote a milkshake.)

Perhaps I'll light some candles, heat up a TV dinner and sift through my work search log. Ah the memories. (I remember applying for that job. Oh, that was a horrible cover letter. Look! An early version of my resume. So cute.) You know, I think it is paper for the one-month mark. Definitely paper.

Day 34 - Experimentation, Organization and Research

Today, after some job hunting, branding and in-general yapping, er networking, I took my productivity in a whole new direction. Allow me to elaborate with one of my favorite writing weapons: My friend, the bullet point(s). (Hello bullet points! So good to see you. Please take it from here.)

• Experimentation: I conducted an extensive search (at least 2 Google search result pages) on neti pots. Upon reading at least 4 separate accounts of its effectiveness, I then determined to find the poor man's alternative (I mean really, do I want to spend $10+ bucks on this?) Upon ascertaining that you can use a rubber bulb in a neti pot's place, I cleaned out an old ear bulb (yes, it is gross but I did clean it first)  and proceeded to inject luke-warm saline water into my nostrils. Results: 1. I looked like an absolute fool with water trickling out of my nostrils and down my face and neck. (Hence, no pictures for this entry.) 2. Perhaps I didn't use enough force when injecting the water. I only felt it trickle into my throat once. I think it's supposed to do that more often. (Perhaps use a garden hose next time?) 3. My allergies actually felt a little better afterward. Conclusion: Poor man's neti pot works.
• Organization: After a nap to recover from the potting, I knocked a tick off my lay off list and organized my food pantry. This is the first time in my life I have accomplished such a feat. First. Time. I now think that should I have a stranger march into my house and declare that he will fix me dinner, he will have little to no problem locating the two cans of beans, tea, cereal, peanut butter and various storage bags now properly housed there. Conclusion: The work actually gave me something that makes me happy about the pantry other than the food itself. And food makes me very happy. Success.
• Research: Dominick Dunne told me today who killed Peter Shellard, an Australian millionaire in 2005. (Sidenote: Thank you, TruTV. I'm becoming quite fond of you despite the misspelling.) He was tortured and killed by two drug addicts and his girlfriend. Intrigued, I decided to Google "millionaire australian murder" and see how our wealthy friends fare down under. Herman Rockefeller met some swingers who promptly murdered him and burnt his corpse on Australia Day. Michael McGurk was gunned down in front of his son, with some believing it was due to a recording he may have had that could devastate (and decimate)  the New South Wales government. Conclusion: Stay the hell away from Australia if you are rich. Just in case.

Now if you'll pardon me, I've embraced the theme of government corruption and am one click from watching Red Riding 1974. TTFN.

The Red Queen Effect

Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that! - Red Queen, in Louis Carroll's Through the Looking Glass.

Even a fictitious queen from 19th-century children's book gets to be snotty about job searches.

It's an endless, full-speed cycle this job hunting business: Network, stalk recruiters, scour job listings, pump hands, pitch, sing and dance like Gene Kelly, take peyote and learn to say your name in Middle English and write it in runes. (Well, that's almost the pattern. But you'd be surprised how often those obscure things can be helpful. Not often, BUT it is great fun to recite the Canterbury Tales intro in Middle English. My ninth grade English teacher had me memorize it. Yeah, I can forget algebra and every bit of science but that jewel never gets burned out of my brain pan.)

Perhaps even more obnoxious (and relevant to job searchers) is the fact that there's a whole evolution theory tied to the Red Queen (the Red Queen Hypothesis). Described as an evolutionary arms race, it basically says, "Oh, you can't reach that? You're arms are too short?* Well mine aren't. And my whole species' aren't. You ain't gonna last long around here." (This is an extremely technical description, so if you have questions let me know.)

And such is the scatter-patter of job searching. Your arms better be longer, your experience better be better, your salary reqs lower and btw, please exhibit the skill sets of five completely different jobs.

There's talk that jobs are opening up, but unemployment continues to rise. There's talk of salvation (and success stories), but there's also talk of frustration.

Me, I'll just push forward with the Red Queen's advice and see where I end up.

* Disclosure: My family calls me stubby arms. It goes over really well during Rummikub games when I can't reach the tiles.

Day 33 - A Cold Day in Austin

It's snowing in Austin. Based on the unprecedented nature of this phenomenon and its big, fat semi-wet flakes, does this also mean I'll get get a job soon? 

Day 30 - Skills Erosion

Is it possible to lose all the skills I've built up during my 10-plus-year career within 30 days? 

What good will I do my new employer (whenever that happens) if I can no longer finesse my way off a conference call that doesn't even need me? 

Or use my powers of good to force a decision maker to make a decision (in writing, of course. Otherwise it just doesn't matter)?   

[Sidenote: Follow the above link, watch the clip. It's worth it. But finish reading this post first. It's going to be riveting. Amazing. The best post this side of the Rio Grande. Mark Twain will get out of his grave and walk thousands of miles to my front door solely to pat my back. Oh wait. That's it. Night.]