Posts Tagged ‘Work’

You graduated. Now what?

Tuesday, June 29th, 2010

Dear Graduates,

You have reached the end of a journey, about to embark on a brand new one. Maybe you are graduating from college and are about to claw your way to the top of your daddy’s company. Maybe you were a philosophy major and are planning the only career for which you qualify: graduate school. Maybe you are wrapping up high school and are just glad to be done with that wretched hive of scum and villainy. In any case, pull up a chair and let Old Grandma Dirty Hooker give you some advice.

1. No matter what your mother told you, you can’t be anything you want to be when you grow up. Just like you have natural talents, there are things you naturally suck at, and it’s important to know the difference. If I’d decided to be an engineer when I was in college, there would be a lot more shit breaking and blowing up today, which is why I fix sentences for a living.

2. Be practical. It’s great to love what you do, but it’s even better when what you do comes with a paycheck. Being broke is fine when you’re 19 and rotating cots with 27 of your closest friends, but it gets old fast, much like you. If you’re going to take a risk on a high-poverty career (for example, theater, art, writing), be realistic about your own talent. Again, don’t ask your mom for her opinion on this (unless your mom is a bitch and willing to tell it like it is).

3. Don’t fall into whatever happens. It’s easy to explain why you had three jobs in two years when you’re 23. People expect you to be a flake, so try new things now. If you’re switching jobs twice a year at 40, people will assume you have a drug problem.

I’m sure there’s lots more to say, but this is a blog, not a dissertation, so I guess you’ll have to sort out the rest yourselves. Good luck with all that.

Print: BP is dropping

Monday, January 25th, 2010

This is hard to write considering I earn my paycheck from the profit fumes of the newspaper industry, but there comes a time in every adult’s life when she needs to suck up an unpleasant truth: Print is dead, and it ain’t coming back.

Print doesn’t know it’s dead yet. Its zombie corpse is still flailing about, threatening to eat our brains, but I have accepted the loss and moved on. I expect my job will disappear within the next few years as newspapers take their last gasp, but you know what? I love my nook. Love it, love it, love it. (Don’t tell the Amazon ads all over this blog, but the nook was wearing a tight skirt, and well, you know how it goes.) I love having my news and books delivered straight to my nook and not having to deal with piles of dead trees. I love getting my news online instantly. I love seeing photos and reading reports from people who live where the news is happening.

I’m sorry, print. We had a good ride, but I’ve met someone else. It’s not me, it’s you.

I’ve been accused of blasphemy by my peers and friends who still love the feel of pages turning. I admit to a certain fondness for stacks and stacks of books, with all  the promise held within. When I learned to read, it was like I’d been given access to a magical language. I used it to read a lot of Choose Your Own Adventure and Encyclopedia Brown books, but still.

I’m filing my affection for paper books and periodicals into the part of my brain that longs for a return to the use of calling cards and proper handkerchief etiquette. I’ll be sad they’re gone, but it’s time.

I am less pleased about the related death of invegstigative journalism. It’s expensive and doesn’t bring in the readers, which means we get endless stories about the latest freak-show Octomom-Balloon Boy-Kid Who Got Suspended For Bringing Utensils to School. I’m clinging to the hope that we’ll figure it all out eventually.

‘Crap yourself in a blanket to keep warm’

Friday, January 8th, 2010

As an editor, I love reading what other editors are doing. As a jerk, I love it more when I can point and laugh at those editors for being retarded. Check out these “11 Most Painfully Obvious Newspaper Articles Ever.” Then crap yourself in a blanket, if you still want to.

A book a week? Am I on crack?

Wednesday, December 2nd, 2009

Many have tried. Many have failed. But here I go: I am going to try to read one book a week. It shouldn’t be hard, in theory: Until I graduated from high school,  I sometimes read three books a day. Social awkwardness is made, not born, kids. But somewhere in adulthood, I got distracted by other things, and now reading is a struggle.

That’s not quite right. I’m literate, I promise: Making time to read is a struggle. I keep getting distracted by shiny hobbies, like cooking and crafting and cleaning up dog shit. And I read things all day long for a living, so reading outside of work is like a janitor mopping floors for kicks. But much of what I edit is deeply terrible, and I need to rediscover the love.

So I’m going to set some ground rules for myself:

1. No books that suck. If, 50 pages into it,  I want to spork my eyes out, the book is gone. This ain’t high school, where I HAVE to wade through “Moby Dick.” There is absolutely no reason I have to subject myself to Ann Coulter. I’m a grown-up: I bought the book, I can burn it if I want to.

2. No book is off limits. It doesn’t have to be great literature, it just has to have words. I’ll even allow for audiobooks. I don’t “read” many of them, because my sleep circuit fires when people read me stories, but they will do just fine.

I should be able to do this. I’ll review the books I read and let you know how it goes. What books do you recommend? Any I should stay the hell away from?

Dead chick walking

Thursday, November 12th, 2009

Like I needed to give Devon another reason to kill me.

I was updating my medical insurance info, and I got to the part about “insurance beneficiary.” My company offers 1x base salary in life insurance at no charge to employees. Let’s just say that, should I accidentally shoot myself three times in the back of the head, Devon stands to make enough money to…throw a slammin’ pizza party. Maybe.

In other news, my future killer did me a huge favor by driving my dad’s car, which we animated temporarily by putting in a new battery, back to Queens. It can die a horrible death there for all I care. Good riddance.

I am disgusting and frighten off commuters

Wednesday, October 7th, 2009

I have a cold.

I know, this is not unprecedented in human history. It isn’t even a bad cold, at least not yet. But my throat is sore and my nose is runny.

A more together woman would have brought tissues on the train, or maybe a nice lace hanky with her monogram in the corner, but I am not one of those women. So I spent the ride sniffling intermittently, which seemed better than letting the snot run down my face and cling to my chin like baby food.

I guess the woman next to me had enough. She said, “Get a tissue! God!” and stormed off to the magical part of the subway car where everyone brings tissues and little plastic bags for proper disposal.

Dear Subway Lady:

I am sorry I was revolting. I did not think to bring a tissue. If it makes you feel any better, I also forgot my lunch bag. I did not mean to have an unplanned-for cold in your presence. A tissue would have been nice. Maybe you could have offered me one, if you had one. That would have been nice, too.

Life in New York City must be very hard for someone with your delicate sensibilities. You are too good for this world.

Love, Tissue-less Dirty Hooker