finding work in the new age depression

So, scouring the internet for work is not only a massive effort of

placing correct "keywords" in search engines and hoping for
the best. The journey itself consisting of how many jobs out
there necessarily don't adhere to what you studied four years
in college for. While I do consider myself a Jack-off-all-trades
(yes I do note the second 'f')
I find it a complex nightmarish plunge into the unknown.
When 90% of the time you get work based on who you know
(and that's basically the template of my monetary gain for
some reason) I hardly know anyone anymore
because I do work so much.

Stuck as a corporate goon, not wanting to raise up
in one's position because time will be lost and there
will be no creative fulfillment is a hell i wouldn't
want to wish on anyone. So where do we go from here?
Daily visits to craigslist (and by daily I mean, by seconds
of each day) to scour work, that would be feasible as
compared to winning the lottery.

I scour the 'Arts and entertainment' as well as
the 'writing' positions, but in all honesty both are scarce.
The writing section you need to have a masters
in language, even though, clearly they can see that you
write well. It's not legitimate unless you
have that BFA in that field.

So on I search, banging my head against my keyboard.
Luckily enough, in times of desperation I've
begun to learn editing skills on my new Imac,
complete with Final cut pro. With that,
I have to purchase a new digital camera,
as well as new fire wires to complement the process
of new found skills. So there's that to look
forward to, but, the filming process
is a looming beast that's also problematic.

The main motivation right now is a mix
of two things, well, maybe three.
Justification for my BFA from Fashion Institute,
my artistic gratification, as well as my
unabashed desire and love for money.
I don't care, I like money, having money,
spending it and smoking cheap cigars and
acting obnoxious with my friends as we do it.
So I ask the many gods of this world to
set me on the right path so I can get back to
the fiendishly reaganesque levels of
debauchery.

But back to reality.

So where am I stuck looking? Well,
craigslist
simply hired
myspace jobs
monster

and those are the low rung of finding work in this world.

But as I build my pesky portfolio, that I have the worst
patience with. Books on Dreamweaver piled
upon my desk, I question myself, what am I
doing at this moment? Where have I gone wrong?
I realize, I was writing this post instead of
looking for new work.


byeeeeee!

i am not spartacus

So this weekend was pretty uneventful, due to major storms,
boredome, poordome, people canceling, general lack of interest
of what I do and so on and so forth. How's that for a run on
sentence.

I find myself amazed at how much my A.D.D. affects me in
general situations, it's like a shark let loose in a fiesta,
constantly moving. I have to keep going or I'll just start
spiraling down in boredom and the creepy black hole of
depression starts to soak up my brain.

Anyways, this friday, hung out with some people that know
people that I hardly know. Which always makes it completely
uncomfortable for me. I always feel like I have to be on,
when in actuality no one really gives a shit.

That is a tale for another time. What's more important, is the
introduction to that tale. So i was summoned to RADEGAST beer
hall, in Williamsburg Brooklyn. Where forearmed sized mugs of ale
will set you back about 14 bucks. It's a nice little spot to chat
with friends, get to know knew people, oggle the beerwenches.

So as I make my way to the bar, my friend, has not arrived yet, and I
circle the two areas about two times. Later on I would find
out that the people I was supposed to sit with were already laughing
and joking, completely oblivious to who I was and
vice versa.

So on one go around, I head to the bathroom, and take out my
illegally opened container of alcohol and ... oh nevermind.

SO, I'm waiting in the restroom waiting for any available slots.
Some inebriated guy comes by, and he's looking nervous.
I'm just avoiding eye contact. Then he does that usual, dance of
anxiety. So I try to give that reassuring nod of, "I know. I know."

He's like "My friends in the stall, but I see four feet"

So I look closely at the bottom of the occupied stall, and sure enough,
there were two people inside, or a shaved deer with vans.
I was like oohhh, snap.. there's a hook up going on. I realize how
terribly empty my life is... then the door jolts open.
The most zestiest man with light eyes, orange-iest tan and
bleached hair steps out...
and announces

"Hello my name is SPARTACUS"

I can only assume he was homosexual because not only
was he dressed better than I (which is not hard to do)
He twinkled like those vampires from TWILIGHT.
the anxious guy had a look of fear on his face, and I figured
there was no chick in that stall. I promptly spun around, because
magically I didn't have to go anymore. Stepped out the restroom and
hightailed it.

Back into the brouhaha, I finally met with some people,
was already drunk, but due to my A.D.D. and lack of
women, and the prospect of early work the next
day, I dejectedly called it a night.

Lest you people think I am homophobic,
I am not. I'm just not cool with dudes
that call themselves after 1950
Kirk Douglas films.
(My gay friends will agree to this)

So godspeed to you, Spartacus, whomever you are,
you had more action than I got, I will think twice
about going into any stall from now on.
To affect my life is like to affect others
on the heels of rosa parks, J.F.K.,
Neda and Obama.