We take a short break today from the regular scheduled programming -- that is, the forever-delayed posts about the Inca trail -- to instead write about being unemployed. Because hopefully by the time I have written about the remaining three walking days of the trek, I will have a job again and have no witty observations to make on this sort of thing.
Last week, I was sat in the benefits office. Waiting my turn. Smiling to myself every time someone sat down without taking a ticket first. They'd be told they needed to take a ticket, from the machine. But the machine appeared to have no tickets. There would be a moment when you'd see people hover on the edge of getting angry and mouthing off to the claims assistants, or getting more confused. You could almost see them physically teeter on the thin line between them, at which point one of the assistants would instruct them to open the top of the ticket-dispensing machine and find where the roll had curled up inside. Some needed further guidance as to where the end of the roll was. I suspect these people also have a note attached to their clothes for the morning which says "Remember: trousers first, then shoes".
Waiting patiently, if not quietly, one young lady was talking to her friend about the sickness epidemics at her child's school. She told her friend quite earnestly how one child at the school was sick with "the neuro-virus". Why nobody had told this particular young lady just to refer to it as the "vomiting bug" like most mainstream media does, I don't know -- because confusing the norovirus with something that sounds like a brain disease is going to surely cause more harm than good.
They went on to discuss "the swine flu", and how "they say the swine flu might be like the plague, and kill loads of people". It wasn't clear in what sense it would be like the plague, whether it was in total number of deaths or fatalities as a percentage of the population. Nor did she elaborate who "they" were in this case, though I suspect it was either The Sun or The Daily Mail. What she was saying wasn't exactly wrong, there has been media speculation about how many deaths from the virus could be expected this winter, and of course there are conspiracies about eugenics (like those espoused by the rather wonderful David Icke). Just the same, these young ladies didn't seem especially concerned about the possibility of the plague.
Today, the freak brigade were out in force in the post office. I wasn't paying attention at first when I heard raised voices, but after a little while with the counter clerk was explaining to me how long I could expect a first class letter to take if I posted it today (off topic; this is an interesting development in customer service -- I am sure it is only in the last couple of weeks they have started mentioning this and checking you are OK with it) I started listening to what was going on in the line behind me.
From what I could gather, an older gentlemen was having a heated discussion with a much younger man about the younger man's child stroking his cat. What made the argument stranger was that the older gent insisted on calling the younger man "youngster", which coupled with a unique-sounding voice, made you wonder at first if it was someone pretending to be much older and stuffier than they really were. Either way, the young man was getting more enraged and kept telling the older gent to "f***ing turn around and mind your own business". And as I say, there was some argument about stroking his cat -- the young man apparently being angry the older gent hadn't let his child stroke the older gentleman's cat, and the older gent clarifying something along the lines of anybody was welcome to stroke his cat who asked. Perhaps the strife was over not asking permission first -- is it bad manners to touch someone else's cat without seeking permission first? -- or perhaps the child had gone into the man's garden to stroke the cat. I couldn't tell how this related to the older gent being told to mind his own business, perhaps there was a second, more private argument going on at the same time?
A concerned counter clerk shouted over to ask them if everything was OK, they seemed to dismiss her at first, but then the older gent -- whom I then got to see was dressed like a rambler and was carrying a hiking pole, much like the ones I used in Peru (and which don't actually do the same job as a walking stick) -- approached the counter clerk and told her he wanted to make an official complaint. I'm not sure complaining about another member of the public is really very effective. But despite her asking helpfully if everything was OK, she admitted to not having any kind of authority to be able to do something to help, such as calling security or taking the details of the complaint. Instead, he was instructed to go to the Bureau de Change desk for that. Which makes complete sense.
I'm going to be extra careful about stroking other people's cats now, it's clearly a minefield.
In other news, I have a job interview this week. A job doing communications within the public sector, and for which the recruitment process has been ponderously slow -- I was first contacted about it weeks ago, while I still had a job. I have mixed feelings about the job, part of it seems much too junior for me in terms of admin duties and placing stationery orders, but it would be in London and on more money than I was on before, and a job is a job right now.
While I'm out of work, I am trying to see what training I can get on to. I have expressed an interest to the powers-that-be in learning web design, graphic design, digital marketing and while we're learning stuff, I'd like to speak Spanish. It's not often you have the opportunity for free training, and I could potentially come out of this better qualified. On top of all of that, I am also looking at volunteering opportunities -- some local charities need PR, I need something to do. And finally I am looking at giving some time to volunteer at the hospital, being nice to people who need visitors and that kind of thing. It's a role I could potentially keep on even if I get a job quickly. I think I need to do more and be less self-involved.
Showing posts with label karma. Show all posts
Showing posts with label karma. Show all posts
Monday, 20 July 2009
Tuesday, 13 May 2008
More adventures delivering meals
Sunday being one of the hottest days of the year so far, it seemed an appropriate time for me to deliver meals in London again.
To be fair, I knew perfectly well what the weather would be like -- but the sick and needy of east London don't all suddenly get better because the weather is nice. So I set out in my car without air conditioning, and unable to roll my window down very far through fear of getting one sunburned arm. It wasn't pleasant, but the incredibly-awesome mix CD I had made the day before helped a great deal.
Each time, I hope secretly for a hottie for a navigator. Instead this time I got a guy named Andy, whom I've shared the route with on a number of other occasions. He's a very amiable sort of chap, he wants to be a teacher but works in factories from what I can gather -- when he is working at all. He's very bright, and knows a lot about science, but he struggles with telling left from right. It gets to the point where we now have a code between us; he says "turn left" and I have to ask "left-your-side or left-my-side?" -- it's quicker than him holding his hands up in front of him to check.
We had many interesting conversations, like the one about mirages in the desert. He remarked on noticing the heat haze -- like you get in the desert, he said -- and I wondered out loud if people in the desert see mirages of ice cream vans. I concluded that probably not everyone in the desert would, since I expect there are many people -- Bedouin and such like -- that have probably never seen an ice cream van. This prompted us to discuss what it would be like if you had hallucinations of things you had never seen before. I think perhaps we were a little delirious with the heat ourselves.
Another quirk of Andy's is that he has always just assumed I must be gay, perhaps because he is himself, or maybe because The Food Chain is a very gay-friendly charity. He was actually quite surprised -- first confused, then surprised -- when he found out this week I'm not. I told him that for the most part I don't much talk about these things as I don't think it's anyone else's business who I sleep with, but also that people can get a bit funny about it when they find out you're batting for both teams. Which is why most of my best friends don't know.
I wheeled out the old story of the girl in a gay bar telling me I just "hadn't met the right man yet", and how I wonder if I would have got out of there alive should I have suggested the same thing to her.
We went on to have a particular fascinating conversation about sexuality and pubs. We were slightly lost at one point -- as a navigator he's usually pretty good, but he has his poorer moments and doesn't do very well concentrating in warm weather -- and I asked him if he recognised any pubs. Usually, he comments on various pubs we pass, perhaps that they have amateur pole dancing competitions or if they're just places he knows. This time, no such luck -- he said he wasn't really familiar with "straight pubs".
Apparently, for some time he thought on Eastenders the Queen Vic pub was meant to be some kind of "theme" pub, perhaps in the style of some grotty, bygone age. Then he went to a straight pub and found that no, that's actually quite common an atmosphere. I laughed and said, yeah, I've been to pubs like that -- but there's lots of nice "straight" pubs, too. I also shared my opinion that of the gay venues I have visited, I am yet to find one with what I would call a decent jukebox. A good jukebox is very important to me -- the right selection of music can see me spending more on the tunes than on beer of an evening. He conceded that he does get sick of hearing "Dancing Queen" every over song. When I spent time with the LGB group at university it was the first time I'd ever been to gay pubs, but I wished we could meet in my favourite "straight" places where the music was good.
Despite taking longer than we would have liked -- due in part to my slightly concentration-impaired navigator -- the deliveries themselves went without a hitch, with all the "service users" being home and waiting for their meals. A word of warning though, to anyone driving in central London on a hot Sunday afternoon. Do not attempt to go anywhere near Columbia Road flower market.
I was going to end by saying that the next time I sign up for a shift, I am looking at who the navigators are first... but thinking back over navigators I have known, a disturbing number of them struggled with left and right, one had to be gently shown how best to hold a map, and one guy whom I have remained friends with had a very unfortunate stutter when trying to give directions... so maybe it's best to just take pot luck, and hope for a hottie. Or a benevolent and independently wealthy millionaire art collector...
To be fair, I knew perfectly well what the weather would be like -- but the sick and needy of east London don't all suddenly get better because the weather is nice. So I set out in my car without air conditioning, and unable to roll my window down very far through fear of getting one sunburned arm. It wasn't pleasant, but the incredibly-awesome mix CD I had made the day before helped a great deal.
Each time, I hope secretly for a hottie for a navigator. Instead this time I got a guy named Andy, whom I've shared the route with on a number of other occasions. He's a very amiable sort of chap, he wants to be a teacher but works in factories from what I can gather -- when he is working at all. He's very bright, and knows a lot about science, but he struggles with telling left from right. It gets to the point where we now have a code between us; he says "turn left" and I have to ask "left-your-side or left-my-side?" -- it's quicker than him holding his hands up in front of him to check.
We had many interesting conversations, like the one about mirages in the desert. He remarked on noticing the heat haze -- like you get in the desert, he said -- and I wondered out loud if people in the desert see mirages of ice cream vans. I concluded that probably not everyone in the desert would, since I expect there are many people -- Bedouin and such like -- that have probably never seen an ice cream van. This prompted us to discuss what it would be like if you had hallucinations of things you had never seen before. I think perhaps we were a little delirious with the heat ourselves.
Another quirk of Andy's is that he has always just assumed I must be gay, perhaps because he is himself, or maybe because The Food Chain is a very gay-friendly charity. He was actually quite surprised -- first confused, then surprised -- when he found out this week I'm not. I told him that for the most part I don't much talk about these things as I don't think it's anyone else's business who I sleep with, but also that people can get a bit funny about it when they find out you're batting for both teams. Which is why most of my best friends don't know.
I wheeled out the old story of the girl in a gay bar telling me I just "hadn't met the right man yet", and how I wonder if I would have got out of there alive should I have suggested the same thing to her.
We went on to have a particular fascinating conversation about sexuality and pubs. We were slightly lost at one point -- as a navigator he's usually pretty good, but he has his poorer moments and doesn't do very well concentrating in warm weather -- and I asked him if he recognised any pubs. Usually, he comments on various pubs we pass, perhaps that they have amateur pole dancing competitions or if they're just places he knows. This time, no such luck -- he said he wasn't really familiar with "straight pubs".
Apparently, for some time he thought on Eastenders the Queen Vic pub was meant to be some kind of "theme" pub, perhaps in the style of some grotty, bygone age. Then he went to a straight pub and found that no, that's actually quite common an atmosphere. I laughed and said, yeah, I've been to pubs like that -- but there's lots of nice "straight" pubs, too. I also shared my opinion that of the gay venues I have visited, I am yet to find one with what I would call a decent jukebox. A good jukebox is very important to me -- the right selection of music can see me spending more on the tunes than on beer of an evening. He conceded that he does get sick of hearing "Dancing Queen" every over song. When I spent time with the LGB group at university it was the first time I'd ever been to gay pubs, but I wished we could meet in my favourite "straight" places where the music was good.
Despite taking longer than we would have liked -- due in part to my slightly concentration-impaired navigator -- the deliveries themselves went without a hitch, with all the "service users" being home and waiting for their meals. A word of warning though, to anyone driving in central London on a hot Sunday afternoon. Do not attempt to go anywhere near Columbia Road flower market.
I was going to end by saying that the next time I sign up for a shift, I am looking at who the navigators are first... but thinking back over navigators I have known, a disturbing number of them struggled with left and right, one had to be gently shown how best to hold a map, and one guy whom I have remained friends with had a very unfortunate stutter when trying to give directions... so maybe it's best to just take pot luck, and hope for a hottie. Or a benevolent and independently wealthy millionaire art collector...
Friday, 22 June 2007
What you are
It's been a while since I've had a post on karma. There's been posts on girls and saying yes more and posts on music and posts trying to find out who still reads this, but it's all been quiet on the karma front. Until today.
Karma affects a lot of things I do, and while there is a lot I need to explore and discuss about it, that's not a post for today. However, one of the questions I sometimes have regarding it is if -- like wealth, perhaps -- karma is its own reward? If like Earl Hickey you do good things because you want good karma, does it still count? Is doing good deeds with good intentions acceptable, even if there is a selfish motivation? Does taking a vow of universal compassion count less if you are motivated by the prospect of freeing yourself from the chains of the ego?
I like to think not -- because karma isn't a being, it isn't a sentient thing, but instead more of a natural law of the universal. There isn't some cosmic desk clerk of karma ticking off on a sheet of paper your actions and motivations, rather it is more a kind of extension of Newton's third law -- that every action has a reaction.
If all this is twisting your melon don't fret because I'm going to get to the point.
For some time, I have been considering volunteering in a soup kitchen. Working in marketing -- and the consumer side, at that -- I have felt that I needed to balance the scales. I sometimes feel that marketing, like advertising, is encouraging people to spend money they don't have on things they don't need. If you don't use this toothpaste or wear these clothes people won't like you as much. Naturally, this could be considered a "bad thing" and so for the sake of redressing my karma I need to be doing a "good thing" -- and this good thing I decided should be helping the homeless. I don't believe giving money to people in the street helps them, rather that if you want to help these people then feeding them is a good start.
It was just an idea I'd been kicking about in my head like a half-deflated football when in the spirit of saying yes more I met a group of people calling themselves the First Time Club, and took my clothes off for an art class. Each time they did something for the first time they would sit down afterwards and decide what to do next -- I had to catch a train home after the art class and I missed out on that discussion, but as coincidence would have it they decided on volunteering in a soup kitchen.
For one reason or another, I didn't meet them a second time. I forget why, maybe I was out of town that weekend, or maybe it was because the people I chose as my personal referees for the soup kitchen application didn't ever return the details. Either way, I didn't meet the "club" again and I didn't get to volunteer in the soup kitchen.
Until one day I got an email from the kitchen organiser, asking if I was still interested in volunteering -- now I was working in London again, I told him I definitely was interested. And the subject of referees was brought up again, so I dutifully contacted the people who I'd nominated and asked them if they would mind actually filling in the paperwork this time. They both told me it was absolutely no problem. Weeks passed, and eventually I heard that this time only one of them had returned the reference. So a change was needed, I had to say goodbye to the weakest link (a former employer) and replace them with someone reliable, my friend Calvin. If I'd used him the first time round it would have been a lot quicker, since he received and returned the reference request in a matter of days.
Next weekend I had been planning an impromptu trip up north to England's rainy city Manchester, to see fellow blogger The Wee Italian Chick and crash her birthday party. I'd been looking online at cut price train fares and bus tickets and budget accommodation and was all prepared to go ahead and book it - but I held off when I was reminded next Friday is Jon's birthday. It would be incredibly rude to be out of town on his birthday, so I was holding off for a few days until I knew what plans he was making to celebrate. Then I stumbled across my bank balance. I'm a believer that your bank balance, like your personal potential, is always a lot less than you like to think it is -- and the trick is not to look at it. I looked at it only to see if I had been paid yet, when I discovered that only had I not been paid yet but I was haemorrhaging money -- and had to give up on ideas of going to Manchester.
Rather than lavish her with gifts, Ivonne has asked her friends to instead do three things to make the world a better place. Today I got an email to say my references have been received and I am invited next weekend to attend a training session to work in the soup kitchen -- something I wouldn't have been able to do if I was in Manchester. It seems my karma has worked out there -- instead of partying I will be doing something to make the world a better place. The important thing is, I'm trying to be a better person.
Karma affects a lot of things I do, and while there is a lot I need to explore and discuss about it, that's not a post for today. However, one of the questions I sometimes have regarding it is if -- like wealth, perhaps -- karma is its own reward? If like Earl Hickey you do good things because you want good karma, does it still count? Is doing good deeds with good intentions acceptable, even if there is a selfish motivation? Does taking a vow of universal compassion count less if you are motivated by the prospect of freeing yourself from the chains of the ego?
I like to think not -- because karma isn't a being, it isn't a sentient thing, but instead more of a natural law of the universal. There isn't some cosmic desk clerk of karma ticking off on a sheet of paper your actions and motivations, rather it is more a kind of extension of Newton's third law -- that every action has a reaction.
If all this is twisting your melon don't fret because I'm going to get to the point.
For some time, I have been considering volunteering in a soup kitchen. Working in marketing -- and the consumer side, at that -- I have felt that I needed to balance the scales. I sometimes feel that marketing, like advertising, is encouraging people to spend money they don't have on things they don't need. If you don't use this toothpaste or wear these clothes people won't like you as much. Naturally, this could be considered a "bad thing" and so for the sake of redressing my karma I need to be doing a "good thing" -- and this good thing I decided should be helping the homeless. I don't believe giving money to people in the street helps them, rather that if you want to help these people then feeding them is a good start.
It was just an idea I'd been kicking about in my head like a half-deflated football when in the spirit of saying yes more I met a group of people calling themselves the First Time Club, and took my clothes off for an art class. Each time they did something for the first time they would sit down afterwards and decide what to do next -- I had to catch a train home after the art class and I missed out on that discussion, but as coincidence would have it they decided on volunteering in a soup kitchen.
For one reason or another, I didn't meet them a second time. I forget why, maybe I was out of town that weekend, or maybe it was because the people I chose as my personal referees for the soup kitchen application didn't ever return the details. Either way, I didn't meet the "club" again and I didn't get to volunteer in the soup kitchen.
Until one day I got an email from the kitchen organiser, asking if I was still interested in volunteering -- now I was working in London again, I told him I definitely was interested. And the subject of referees was brought up again, so I dutifully contacted the people who I'd nominated and asked them if they would mind actually filling in the paperwork this time. They both told me it was absolutely no problem. Weeks passed, and eventually I heard that this time only one of them had returned the reference. So a change was needed, I had to say goodbye to the weakest link (a former employer) and replace them with someone reliable, my friend Calvin. If I'd used him the first time round it would have been a lot quicker, since he received and returned the reference request in a matter of days.
Next weekend I had been planning an impromptu trip up north to England's rainy city Manchester, to see fellow blogger The Wee Italian Chick and crash her birthday party. I'd been looking online at cut price train fares and bus tickets and budget accommodation and was all prepared to go ahead and book it - but I held off when I was reminded next Friday is Jon's birthday. It would be incredibly rude to be out of town on his birthday, so I was holding off for a few days until I knew what plans he was making to celebrate. Then I stumbled across my bank balance. I'm a believer that your bank balance, like your personal potential, is always a lot less than you like to think it is -- and the trick is not to look at it. I looked at it only to see if I had been paid yet, when I discovered that only had I not been paid yet but I was haemorrhaging money -- and had to give up on ideas of going to Manchester.
Rather than lavish her with gifts, Ivonne has asked her friends to instead do three things to make the world a better place. Today I got an email to say my references have been received and I am invited next weekend to attend a training session to work in the soup kitchen -- something I wouldn't have been able to do if I was in Manchester. It seems my karma has worked out there -- instead of partying I will be doing something to make the world a better place. The important thing is, I'm trying to be a better person.
Sunday, 17 June 2007
Jazz clubs
On Friday night, me and Calvin went to a jazz club at the restaurant where I kind of work. The operations manager had got me complimentary tickets, so we enjoyed some good food and great music. What amused was towards the end of the night I politely asked our waitress for the bill. She replied that she had been informed my table was complimentary, and there was no bill. Sure this was a mistake, I told her I was under the impression the table was booked free of charge -- but that was as far as it went, and if she wouldn't mind checking again for me.
It might seem ridiculous to talk your way into paying for your meal, but I am sure now I was correct -- and if I had allowed them to mistakenly not charge me for the meal, I expect it would have caught up with me. I know it would have done, after all -- copies of complimentary bills have to go to the press office where I'm working, and I would have got into trouble if it was thought that I had acted improperly. It's like how I will contact people I've wronged in the past to try and make things right, part of being sure to at least try to do the right thing.
It might seem ridiculous to talk your way into paying for your meal, but I am sure now I was correct -- and if I had allowed them to mistakenly not charge me for the meal, I expect it would have caught up with me. I know it would have done, after all -- copies of complimentary bills have to go to the press office where I'm working, and I would have got into trouble if it was thought that I had acted improperly. It's like how I will contact people I've wronged in the past to try and make things right, part of being sure to at least try to do the right thing.
Saturday, 16 June 2007
Interview fun times
In between the usual work this week, I had two job interviews -- which as ever were a whole world of fun times. Because I didn't want them to interfere with my actual work, I arranged them both for 8.30 in the morning -- though on different days, I'm not a complete idiot. Despite some suggestions to the contrary.
Thursday morning's interview was in the B2B Technology (BizTech) sector, for an up-and-coming, hot new agency. Because they're still just starting to blazing their trail through the industry, they're looking to take on a whole bunch of people. One of those people could have been me.
The agency weren't too far from where I'm working, and I found the building without too much trouble, and was on time. Go me. I pressed the buzzer to be let in, waited, and just as someone answered about 10 buses all drove past so I tried to shout above the noise. Something must have got through as they buzzed me in. As the door clicked shut behind me I remembered how I'd been told to take the lift entrance because the office was on the fifth floor. No lift here, maybe I have to go up the stairs a bit first?
Let's rethink where I said I wasn't stupid, as I merrily trooped up the stairs, all the way to the fifth floor. I got the agency, the door was locked, but somebody inside noticed me and let me in -- they probably had been waiting on the other end of the office, by the lift. I was slightly early, so I sat and pretended to read a newspaper while they prepared themselves for me. And note when I say "pretended to read" I don't mean I mimed reading a paper, there actually was a real paper I was holding, I just wasn't really focusing on what it said.
The interview itself was pretty short. The nice interviewer lady admitted she couldn't find my CV and just asked me to tell her about myself. What bugs me is when I'm trying to tell them all succinctly about my history to date and they keep interrupting and taking me off on tangents.
Let's skip ahead, we don't need to hear about all the question and answer bullshit. The interview itself was incredibly shot, since after telling them about me and them telling me about who they are, it seemed quite clear they had never read my CV. Because I had no previous tech experience -- especially not any BizTech experience -- there was nothing there for me. Nothing. If I even had some consumer experience in the tech field they might have been able to work with it, but they pretty much told me straight out they had nothing for me. It seems they only interviewed me because I came highly recommended.
Sure, I'm a great guy. I'm funny, I'm smart, I'm spectacular in bed. But what the hell does a recommendation mean if they are going to waste everyone's time interviewing you for a job they have no intention of considering you for? On the positive side, they were very nice to talk to -- I had been worried that although I'm like a frigging Jedi master of PR these days, I didn't know enough about tech. It wasn't a problem there. I also think that should I ever be in a position where I do have some experience, they would probably consider me and meet me again.
I took the lift back down. It was one of those old wire cage lifts, where you heave open the doors manually and shut them behind you. I wished I had taken my camera. And that was Thursday. I was out of there within 30 minutes total.
Friday's interview I didn't even want to go to. I didn't want the stupid job. It was an interview for a position working in the financial services sector, and was going to last two hours because they also wanted me to take part in an assessment. It was for as junior position as it is possible to be, yet they still want you to do an assessment first. I only agreed to have my CV sent to them in the first place because the recruitment consultant rang me up while I was trying to work and I just wanted to get him off the phone.
So anyway, again Friday I find the place and am on time. This might sound obvious, but it doesn't always happen, so I'm pleased when I can get it right. Ran into a girl in reception who was also there for an interview, she asked me if I was there for the graduate program too? That explains all the assessment bullshit then. Before too long, we're taken upstairs to our respective meeting rooms.
I was interviewed separately by two different people, both quite pleasant. Same old question and answer about my experience, what I've done where and all the rest. Second interviewer explained how junior the position is -- no contact with either press or clients, or presumably the outside world -- and asked me with my background would this not be a step backwards? I'd already worked out for myself that this time I really was over-qualified. If they're only recruiting let's say 10 people -- they are going to take the 10 with degrees in marketing or whatever but no actual experience, looking for their first jobs.
Nonetheless, I assured them that because I was changing industry sectors and leaving the consumer side of the force behind me, what I wanted really was a junior, entry-level position where I could prove myself, work my way up through the ranks with my hard work. I don't know if they went for it. I did mean it though -- unlike some agencies, they claim to promote on merit. With previous jobs I've missed out on for being apparently over-qualified there has been an understanding that promotion would come only after 12 or 18 months -- which is not the case with this agency, and that could work out well for me.
The assessment side of it was a bunch of tests -- organise a bunch of tasks in order of priority, reformat a table to make it suitable for a client to see, fairly straight-forward stuff. And that was pretty much it.
I got lost after leaving the offices -- probably because I was talking to my Dad on my mobile, trying to give him tech support on why the broadband wasn't working. I kept walking for a while, in the hope it would magically transform itself into the right place or a tube station, but when it didn't I gave up and took the bus. I like bus journeys. You can't be in a hurry and they're no good if there's like any traffic, at all, but I like being able to sit by the window and stare out at the world going by.
Thursday morning's interview was in the B2B Technology (BizTech) sector, for an up-and-coming, hot new agency. Because they're still just starting to blazing their trail through the industry, they're looking to take on a whole bunch of people. One of those people could have been me.
The agency weren't too far from where I'm working, and I found the building without too much trouble, and was on time. Go me. I pressed the buzzer to be let in, waited, and just as someone answered about 10 buses all drove past so I tried to shout above the noise. Something must have got through as they buzzed me in. As the door clicked shut behind me I remembered how I'd been told to take the lift entrance because the office was on the fifth floor. No lift here, maybe I have to go up the stairs a bit first?
Let's rethink where I said I wasn't stupid, as I merrily trooped up the stairs, all the way to the fifth floor. I got the agency, the door was locked, but somebody inside noticed me and let me in -- they probably had been waiting on the other end of the office, by the lift. I was slightly early, so I sat and pretended to read a newspaper while they prepared themselves for me. And note when I say "pretended to read" I don't mean I mimed reading a paper, there actually was a real paper I was holding, I just wasn't really focusing on what it said.
The interview itself was pretty short. The nice interviewer lady admitted she couldn't find my CV and just asked me to tell her about myself. What bugs me is when I'm trying to tell them all succinctly about my history to date and they keep interrupting and taking me off on tangents.
Let's skip ahead, we don't need to hear about all the question and answer bullshit. The interview itself was incredibly shot, since after telling them about me and them telling me about who they are, it seemed quite clear they had never read my CV. Because I had no previous tech experience -- especially not any BizTech experience -- there was nothing there for me. Nothing. If I even had some consumer experience in the tech field they might have been able to work with it, but they pretty much told me straight out they had nothing for me. It seems they only interviewed me because I came highly recommended.
Sure, I'm a great guy. I'm funny, I'm smart, I'm spectacular in bed. But what the hell does a recommendation mean if they are going to waste everyone's time interviewing you for a job they have no intention of considering you for? On the positive side, they were very nice to talk to -- I had been worried that although I'm like a frigging Jedi master of PR these days, I didn't know enough about tech. It wasn't a problem there. I also think that should I ever be in a position where I do have some experience, they would probably consider me and meet me again.
I took the lift back down. It was one of those old wire cage lifts, where you heave open the doors manually and shut them behind you. I wished I had taken my camera. And that was Thursday. I was out of there within 30 minutes total.
Friday's interview I didn't even want to go to. I didn't want the stupid job. It was an interview for a position working in the financial services sector, and was going to last two hours because they also wanted me to take part in an assessment. It was for as junior position as it is possible to be, yet they still want you to do an assessment first. I only agreed to have my CV sent to them in the first place because the recruitment consultant rang me up while I was trying to work and I just wanted to get him off the phone.
So anyway, again Friday I find the place and am on time. This might sound obvious, but it doesn't always happen, so I'm pleased when I can get it right. Ran into a girl in reception who was also there for an interview, she asked me if I was there for the graduate program too? That explains all the assessment bullshit then. Before too long, we're taken upstairs to our respective meeting rooms.
I was interviewed separately by two different people, both quite pleasant. Same old question and answer about my experience, what I've done where and all the rest. Second interviewer explained how junior the position is -- no contact with either press or clients, or presumably the outside world -- and asked me with my background would this not be a step backwards? I'd already worked out for myself that this time I really was over-qualified. If they're only recruiting let's say 10 people -- they are going to take the 10 with degrees in marketing or whatever but no actual experience, looking for their first jobs.
Nonetheless, I assured them that because I was changing industry sectors and leaving the consumer side of the force behind me, what I wanted really was a junior, entry-level position where I could prove myself, work my way up through the ranks with my hard work. I don't know if they went for it. I did mean it though -- unlike some agencies, they claim to promote on merit. With previous jobs I've missed out on for being apparently over-qualified there has been an understanding that promotion would come only after 12 or 18 months -- which is not the case with this agency, and that could work out well for me.
The assessment side of it was a bunch of tests -- organise a bunch of tasks in order of priority, reformat a table to make it suitable for a client to see, fairly straight-forward stuff. And that was pretty much it.
I got lost after leaving the offices -- probably because I was talking to my Dad on my mobile, trying to give him tech support on why the broadband wasn't working. I kept walking for a while, in the hope it would magically transform itself into the right place or a tube station, but when it didn't I gave up and took the bus. I like bus journeys. You can't be in a hurry and they're no good if there's like any traffic, at all, but I like being able to sit by the window and stare out at the world going by.
Monday, 1 January 2007
Prom for grown-ups
I told Sarah that I was going to quote her on this one. In discussions about New Year, she said she hated it -- that it was like "prom for grown-ups". It was such a succinct and apt description that I had to steal it for this post title.
This year, Luisa -- the mullet-haired Italian hottie -- flaked on me. I am now taking it personally and will no longer bother to reply to any mass-mailed missives from the mullet-headed one. Weeks and weeks ago, I got such a missive from Luisa -- letting everyone know she would be back in London from the 29th. Just in time for New Year, I told her we had to meet up and I wanted to see her for New Year. She seemed enthusiastic -- "I'll let you know when I'm back!!!!!" she said, or something over-punctuated to that effect.
I started to get a bad feeling in the last couple of weeks when I forwarded her a link to something for New Year and she told me she already had plans. What about me? I asked. Are we still meeting up? I never heard anything in reply. I emailed her on the 30th to ask if she was back, and what was happening, but again -- nothing. So it was no surprise that I continued to hear nothing yesterday. I have since remembered something similar, before she left London to go back to Italy there was some talk of a party or everyone getting together before she left. I thought I was included in everyone, but in the end it seemed I wasn't -- since I never heard anything more about the where or when. The two incidents together have shown me that she appears to have no interest in seeing me. And you know what? I don't care. I never really worked out if I fancied her, or just wanted to, so I'm hardly heartbroken.
But I got to think about New Year, and the previous years I've had. And I figured I'd summarise them, so here goes -- starting with the first year it was remotely interesting, with Fiona in 1999/2000:
1999: The "Millennium" whether it "technically" was or not, what with not having a year 0 AD, and Jesus not being born until about 5 AD anyway, it was the year the date changed. It wasn't a thousand years since anything, but we and the rest of the populace couldn't have given two shits -- it was an excuse to party.
And so 1999 I spent with Fiona, at a kind of street party in Shropshire. I was slightly apprehensive about Y2K perhaps causing nuclear warheads to self-launch, but I was with the one I loved.
Somewhere Fi might still have a photo of me from that night -- in some sexy blue shirt, black eyeliner (yeah, I was emo before even emo), grinning to the camera and holding a bowl of goldfish. Among the street party there had been various carnival stalls, including hook-a-duck-and-win-a-prize. I found quickly to hook a duck all you needed to do was hold the hook out and a duck would float onto it. So I won four goldfish, a goldfish bowl, some fish food, and a "police action set" which included a badge, whistle and plastic handcuffs.
As you might have noticed, the world didn't end that night.
2000: Not one to shy from commitment, I was still dating Fiona a year later. This time she came to my place for New Year, and we went to a bad house party with my friends. The party was truly awful, but we drank a lot and left almost as soon as the clock struck 12 to go to a party at Jon's brother-in-law's house.
Shortly after arriving at this party, Fiona felt unwell and I spent the rest of the night holding her hair as she threw up.
2001: After I left the country in January for 8 months, Fi and I were no more by the time New Year rolled around. But despite the intervening drama, I had started seeing San and we had just made the transition from friends that sleep together into an actual couple. In a pub in Camden we saw in the New Year with her friends, let off party poppers and drank champagne in the street. Then because her Mum didn't know we were going out, we decided to get a taxi to San's university. I don't know if anyone knows the distance between Camden and Uxbridge, but it was a long fucking way. In a taxi, after midnight, on New Year. I don't remember what the cabbie charged, but it was a hell of a lot. But we were together. The next morning San had to go to work as a waitress, but she felt rough and came back early. I don't think I was out of bed yet at that point.
2002: Not unlike 2000, San came to visit me and I took her to a house party. The details of the party itself all seems quite vague now, it was our friend Mike's party which as these parties seemed to involve hosted his whole extended family. We spent most of the night talking to people in the garden, and I think somewhere San has a picture of me from that night with a big, happy smile and cheerfully giving the middle finger to the camera.
2003: In the spirit of fairness, I was back at San's in London (and yes, we were still together -- it seems incredible now). We went to the academy in Islington, with her friend Jill and Jill's boyfriend, Ben. That was a weird one, since San almost left me for Jill once, and I had a bit of a crush on the girl myself for a while. But the night was just shit. The venue had only one bar open, and as result the queues for a drink were ridiculous. When the clock struck 12, I was still buried in a crowd of people at the bar. San and I tried to be enthusiastic, but we weren't feeling it at all.
2004: They say what goes around, comes around. Despite a year practically living together when we were at university together, San had started her second year and I'd completed my course. Since then things had got weird. San was increasingly distant and cold to me, and she was now the one leaving the country in January. That day I got to London early, bought a new shirt to wear that night, and checked out some venues we could possibly go to. I remember sending San a text saying "I'm making my way back to you, babe" to say I'd finished what I needed to do and was about to catch the tube. I stopped at a flower stall to buy San something to cheer her up -- remember, distant and cold -- and found I'd lost my wallet. I retraced my steps and got some items I'd just bought refunded in cash, then had to resign myself to reporting it as lost to the police. San didn't get her flowers, and we ended up staying in because I had no money and she didn't feel like going out. Over the course of the evening, San warmed to me a little. When the clock struck midnight, we took the stairs to the top floor of her flats and watched the fireworks over London. We watched St Paul's Cathedral illuminated in the flashes, picked out the telecom tower, and in the bursts of light were able to make out people, several streets away, sitting on roof tops. I held her close and told her "Everything's going to be okay. You've met me at a very strange time in my life." That night we agreed to take a break, and within days we were breaking up. Happy new year.
2005: With San back in the country, but the two of us no longer couple, I had nobody special to see the new year in with. It felt a little alien to me, so I volunteered to work behind the bar -- after all, I had suggested the Casino night for the entertainment. With live music and a casino I thought it would be a great night. The music was a disaster. The usual singer for the "band" we had booked was unavailable since she already had plans, so they drafted in a replacement. Who was too stage-shy to sing, so they had a series of special guests resulting in it feeling more like a bad karaoke night. The clock struck 12, I knocked back a double vodka and figured I had nothing to lose with trying to kiss Deb, whom I'd had a crush on all year. She didn't go for it, and that pretty much sums up that whole night.
Which brings us to last night -- with nobody special to spend the night with, and not even a mullet-haired Italian to save me from another night down the pub, things were looking desperate.
2006: With my parents now owning a flat on the coast, it seemed like a great place to spend the new year. A new city, different people, what better way to start the new year than in a place totally outside our comfort zone? I invited a few friends and mentioned I'd have to keep tabs on the flat with my parents since it didn't yet have the little touches that were important, like floor or furniture. When I found out that both were in situ, and was given a go-ahead to use the flat, the only people left interested were me and Jon. It didn't seem worth it. My parents suspected Jon and I might be a gay couple, and so we scrapped the whole idea. In the end, 2006 was met without a party or a pub or a sig oth -- it was greeted by myself, along with Jon and Calvin, sitting around in my house having a very quiet but very civilised night with a few drinks and some music.
And that's how it was. It might not have been exciting or meaningful, but it sure beat working, or being dumped.
This year, Luisa -- the mullet-haired Italian hottie -- flaked on me. I am now taking it personally and will no longer bother to reply to any mass-mailed missives from the mullet-headed one. Weeks and weeks ago, I got such a missive from Luisa -- letting everyone know she would be back in London from the 29th. Just in time for New Year, I told her we had to meet up and I wanted to see her for New Year. She seemed enthusiastic -- "I'll let you know when I'm back!!!!!" she said, or something over-punctuated to that effect.
I started to get a bad feeling in the last couple of weeks when I forwarded her a link to something for New Year and she told me she already had plans. What about me? I asked. Are we still meeting up? I never heard anything in reply. I emailed her on the 30th to ask if she was back, and what was happening, but again -- nothing. So it was no surprise that I continued to hear nothing yesterday. I have since remembered something similar, before she left London to go back to Italy there was some talk of a party or everyone getting together before she left. I thought I was included in everyone, but in the end it seemed I wasn't -- since I never heard anything more about the where or when. The two incidents together have shown me that she appears to have no interest in seeing me. And you know what? I don't care. I never really worked out if I fancied her, or just wanted to, so I'm hardly heartbroken.
But I got to think about New Year, and the previous years I've had. And I figured I'd summarise them, so here goes -- starting with the first year it was remotely interesting, with Fiona in 1999/2000:
And so 1999 I spent with Fiona, at a kind of street party in Shropshire. I was slightly apprehensive about Y2K perhaps causing nuclear warheads to self-launch, but I was with the one I loved.
Somewhere Fi might still have a photo of me from that night -- in some sexy blue shirt, black eyeliner (yeah, I was emo before even emo), grinning to the camera and holding a bowl of goldfish. Among the street party there had been various carnival stalls, including hook-a-duck-and-win-a-prize. I found quickly to hook a duck all you needed to do was hold the hook out and a duck would float onto it. So I won four goldfish, a goldfish bowl, some fish food, and a "police action set" which included a badge, whistle and plastic handcuffs.
As you might have noticed, the world didn't end that night.
Shortly after arriving at this party, Fiona felt unwell and I spent the rest of the night holding her hair as she threw up.
Which brings us to last night -- with nobody special to spend the night with, and not even a mullet-haired Italian to save me from another night down the pub, things were looking desperate.
And that's how it was. It might not have been exciting or meaningful, but it sure beat working, or being dumped.
Sunday, 24 December 2006
The year, in 25 points or less
An idea stolen from the captivating Madame Boffin, who used this formula to mark her blogiversary about a month ago. I don't remember when my blogiversary is (I think maybe February), so I'm just doing this now since it seems as good a time as any. The year, in a random order.
1. Last Christmas day I was working in a pub. By Easter, I had quit my job and gone to work unpaid in London for a multinational PR company, in the hope of bettering myself. Whether it paid off remains to be seen.
2. In February, bored and restless, I bought a snowboard and took myself off to the French Alps. I suck at snowboarding -- only slightly less than how much I suck at surfing -- but I'd never been to Switzerland or France before. Highlights included travelling by bus from Geneva to Le Arcs, in France, while listening to Johnny Cash and getting pissed with a couple of other guys I had vaguely spoken to on some snowboard forum in a bar above the clouds and thousands of feet above sea level.
3. I saw Pearl Jam play the Astoria in London, after Jon managed to beat the odds and get two tickets. I took the day off work, stating I had "family commitments".
4. In August for the first time in years I camped at the Reading festival, and, yes drank a lot. I rocked out to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Twilight Singers and the Arctic Monkeys -- but Pearl Jam were unrivalled in their brilliance. I am still wearing my weekend wristband pass, four months later.
5. I spent the whole year free of any medication for depression. I don't see any shame in taking the medication if it's needed, but at the same time I like not having to take any. I like the lack of side effects the most.
6. I started going to the gym a lot, and started to look and feel better for it. I then stopped going altogether when I changed jobs and could no longer make it. I'm now probably more unfit than I was this time last year.
7. I went on a couple of dates with girls. I went for noodles with a cute Kiwi girl named Philippa, then I took her to the hospital. She always had excuses not to see me again and eventually stopped replying to me. I also met Jade, by all accounts an Oxford-educated lawyer doing pro-bono work for the disabled until her high-powered job started in the Autumn. We met for mohitos on Brick Lane, and funnily enough she too had excuses not to see me again.
8. Via the miracle medium of the internet I started talking to a girl who lived vaguely locally and was really eager to meet me. After only a couple of days I decided she was way too eager when she was planning picnics in the park and telling me she cared. I'm still not sure if I sabotaged a good thing, or had a lucky escape -- because needless to say we didn't meet.
9. I met Fiona for the first time in years, managed to avoid making a twat of myself and though I was left with a vague feeling of longing, think I handled it all reasonably well.
10. A statement that can not be applied to my friendship with San -- it's pretty incredible we remain friends at all, when we seemed to think that carrying on with some sort of quasi-open-relationship over the summer wasn't going to end in tears.
11. Aside from Pearl Jam and various bands at Reading festival, this year I have also seen Juliette & The Licks, Twilight Singers, Incubus, Foo Fighters, Motorhead, Terrorvision and probably some I'm forgetting.
12. I left my job in PR in London to work in a call centre in Essex. This was not necessarily through choice.
13. I have been to countless job interviews, and have been rejected for more jobs that I can count. There were at least three jobs as trainee assistant managers for three separate pub chains, about five different PR agencies, and an assortment of other jobs including junior photographer, picture desk assistant, a couple of newspaper feature writer positions and one media sales job.
I have met even more recruitment consultants, and am even still in vague contact with a couple of them. Even though I don't think any are still looking for work for me.
15. I have taken ownership of a skateboard, even though I can't skate. I haven't decided yet if I might learn, but I think it's nice to look at.
16. I have tried and failed to sell my snowboard. I successfully sold my widescreen tv and surround sound dvd player to my parents for their new flat, because I was broke. I have considered selling my body to get a job in marketing. I have wondered if working in marketing equalled selling my soul.
17. I have failed to sell my art, even to my parents. I wanted a print on canvas for their flat so I had something tangible to show for what I am doing with my life -- especially since my brother has laid the floors and plastered the walls. They decided it was too expensive.
18. I have proved myself free of any sexually transmitted infections or disease, and bought a new book with the gift voucher I was given in payment for taking part in a clinical trial on the day.
19. In a continuing exhibitionist theme, I have taken off all my clothes and posed nude for an art class, along with a group of strangers all also doing it for the first time.
20. I have discovered a new passion for live ice hockey. Having had a passing interest in the sport for years, I started going with my friends to see our local team play.
21. Posted various personals ads online, quoting various songs, attempting to be funny or just be "myself": all to varying degrees of limited success.
22. Inspired by Jason Lee as Earl Hickey, I started on a campaign of my own to be a better person. I apologised to a guy in the pub who I was a dick to at school, he said he had no memory of it and brushed it off. I also emailed a girl I went to school with, she said she forgave me years ago. In a similar vein, I was inspired by Danny Wallace to "say yes more", I can't report of anything particularly life-changing coming out of either episode. A self hypnosis CD managed to convince me for a few days I was the warm little centre that the life of this world crowded around. The effect wears off if you don't keep listening to it.
23. I rubbed shoulders with overpaid and overexposed celebrities at a PR event. I tried to think of something interesting to say to Natalie Imbruglia, I'll let you know when I have come up with something.
24. I have been drunk many times over the course of the year. But it was the work Halloween party with the vodka luge that really takes the crown for drunk and disorderly. I have only very hazy memories of buying Burger king, hiccuping on the train, losing my travelcard, and throwing up in someone's hedge. Classy.
And number 25: I started blogging here permanently, after diary-x died. I also came to think of this as my new home online and not a temporary measure. This is in no small part to some of the great friends I have made through my blog.
1. Last Christmas day I was working in a pub. By Easter, I had quit my job and gone to work unpaid in London for a multinational PR company, in the hope of bettering myself. Whether it paid off remains to be seen.
2. In February, bored and restless, I bought a snowboard and took myself off to the French Alps. I suck at snowboarding -- only slightly less than how much I suck at surfing -- but I'd never been to Switzerland or France before. Highlights included travelling by bus from Geneva to Le Arcs, in France, while listening to Johnny Cash and getting pissed with a couple of other guys I had vaguely spoken to on some snowboard forum in a bar above the clouds and thousands of feet above sea level.
3. I saw Pearl Jam play the Astoria in London, after Jon managed to beat the odds and get two tickets. I took the day off work, stating I had "family commitments".
4. In August for the first time in years I camped at the Reading festival, and, yes drank a lot. I rocked out to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Twilight Singers and the Arctic Monkeys -- but Pearl Jam were unrivalled in their brilliance. I am still wearing my weekend wristband pass, four months later.
5. I spent the whole year free of any medication for depression. I don't see any shame in taking the medication if it's needed, but at the same time I like not having to take any. I like the lack of side effects the most.
6. I started going to the gym a lot, and started to look and feel better for it. I then stopped going altogether when I changed jobs and could no longer make it. I'm now probably more unfit than I was this time last year.
7. I went on a couple of dates with girls. I went for noodles with a cute Kiwi girl named Philippa, then I took her to the hospital. She always had excuses not to see me again and eventually stopped replying to me. I also met Jade, by all accounts an Oxford-educated lawyer doing pro-bono work for the disabled until her high-powered job started in the Autumn. We met for mohitos on Brick Lane, and funnily enough she too had excuses not to see me again.
8. Via the miracle medium of the internet I started talking to a girl who lived vaguely locally and was really eager to meet me. After only a couple of days I decided she was way too eager when she was planning picnics in the park and telling me she cared. I'm still not sure if I sabotaged a good thing, or had a lucky escape -- because needless to say we didn't meet.
9. I met Fiona for the first time in years, managed to avoid making a twat of myself and though I was left with a vague feeling of longing, think I handled it all reasonably well.
10. A statement that can not be applied to my friendship with San -- it's pretty incredible we remain friends at all, when we seemed to think that carrying on with some sort of quasi-open-relationship over the summer wasn't going to end in tears.
11. Aside from Pearl Jam and various bands at Reading festival, this year I have also seen Juliette & The Licks, Twilight Singers, Incubus, Foo Fighters, Motorhead, Terrorvision and probably some I'm forgetting.
12. I left my job in PR in London to work in a call centre in Essex. This was not necessarily through choice.
13. I have been to countless job interviews, and have been rejected for more jobs that I can count. There were at least three jobs as trainee assistant managers for three separate pub chains, about five different PR agencies, and an assortment of other jobs including junior photographer, picture desk assistant, a couple of newspaper feature writer positions and one media sales job.
I have met even more recruitment consultants, and am even still in vague contact with a couple of them. Even though I don't think any are still looking for work for me.
15. I have taken ownership of a skateboard, even though I can't skate. I haven't decided yet if I might learn, but I think it's nice to look at.
16. I have tried and failed to sell my snowboard. I successfully sold my widescreen tv and surround sound dvd player to my parents for their new flat, because I was broke. I have considered selling my body to get a job in marketing. I have wondered if working in marketing equalled selling my soul.
17. I have failed to sell my art, even to my parents. I wanted a print on canvas for their flat so I had something tangible to show for what I am doing with my life -- especially since my brother has laid the floors and plastered the walls. They decided it was too expensive.
18. I have proved myself free of any sexually transmitted infections or disease, and bought a new book with the gift voucher I was given in payment for taking part in a clinical trial on the day.
19. In a continuing exhibitionist theme, I have taken off all my clothes and posed nude for an art class, along with a group of strangers all also doing it for the first time.
20. I have discovered a new passion for live ice hockey. Having had a passing interest in the sport for years, I started going with my friends to see our local team play.
21. Posted various personals ads online, quoting various songs, attempting to be funny or just be "myself": all to varying degrees of limited success.
22. Inspired by Jason Lee as Earl Hickey, I started on a campaign of my own to be a better person. I apologised to a guy in the pub who I was a dick to at school, he said he had no memory of it and brushed it off. I also emailed a girl I went to school with, she said she forgave me years ago. In a similar vein, I was inspired by Danny Wallace to "say yes more", I can't report of anything particularly life-changing coming out of either episode. A self hypnosis CD managed to convince me for a few days I was the warm little centre that the life of this world crowded around. The effect wears off if you don't keep listening to it.
23. I rubbed shoulders with overpaid and overexposed celebrities at a PR event. I tried to think of something interesting to say to Natalie Imbruglia, I'll let you know when I have come up with something.
24. I have been drunk many times over the course of the year. But it was the work Halloween party with the vodka luge that really takes the crown for drunk and disorderly. I have only very hazy memories of buying Burger king, hiccuping on the train, losing my travelcard, and throwing up in someone's hedge. Classy.
And number 25: I started blogging here permanently, after diary-x died. I also came to think of this as my new home online and not a temporary measure. This is in no small part to some of the great friends I have made through my blog.
Sunday, 5 November 2006
Say yes more
I keep thinking I need to update more, but then I think I need more things to update about and I hate writing my disjointed "here's everything that's going on" posts.
I've been reading "Yes Man" by Danny Wallace, the book that people are always saying changed their life. In a way, not unlike The Dice Man, but without the rape and the murder and stuff -- it's a lot funnier, a lot more positive, and actually true. He just follows the advice of a wise stranger on a bus who tells him to "say yes more".
Parts of it strike me as slightly dumb -- when he's saying yes to everything it seems like it could get really out of hand. Sometimes you can't walk down the high street without being stopped by several different charity muggers, and who has the money to say yes to them all? Every day? And every time they ring you up and ask for a one-off donation or to increase your payments, you say yes? And that's nothing compared to when he gets emails from Sultans needing his bank details... But there is something positive coming out of it, and taking his lead I am trying to say yes more. I won't say yes indiscriminately, and won't say yes to things I can't afford -- expensive foreign holidays, charity muggers, more credit cards -- but I want to be open to more things.
Speaking of being open to more things, I agreed with Jon to go out on Friday night. I gave some thought to things we could do that didn't involve just going to the pub, because I knew if I said I didn't want to go he'd ask what else there was. So I was prepared, and suggested a few other things -- an indie night in London, or a random night in one town or another locally. All too expensive, he said, and not enough people were out. So it was never going to be anything else. The really funny thing was I had asked San the night before if it was the first Friday of the month that was the club night we liked. She had replied yes, and then decided it was worth having an argument over. Apparently, she thought that by asking her about such things, I was rubbing in her face that I was going out and having fun without her and trying to make her jealous. I didn't bring up our conversation earlier in the week about her confused feelings for my replacement and the fun things they do together.
For a week or more, San's attitude to me has been noticeably shit. Or else she has just been in a bad mood generally. She sent me a message the other day to ask if I thought she shouldn't go on holiday. I replied with something like "What the fuck? You're starting an argument about something we talked about yesterday?" but yeah she was. Then later in the week -- when she responded to a message I sent -- I made a comment like I didn't think she was talking to me. Apparently, this was a bad thing to say because if she didn't think I was talking to her then she would be bothered enough to find out why.
I think I more or less managed to defuse both disagreements, or whatever they were. And continue to try and keep her at a distance -- which is never easy because if she doesn't hear from me then she takes offence and doesn't talk to me, and then if I mention that she's been quiet then I'm bad for not caring enough to ask why. But she's got an interview for some thing teaching English in Japan. I asked her if there's something about this time of year that makes her hate me and want to leave the country, since it was this time two years ago she was a bitch to me, broke up with me, then went to college in Maryland. It wasn't personal at the time, and it probably isn't now, either.
So I'm browsing the usual places like Gumtree and Craigslist looking for volunteer work for some good karma credit ratings, and something to keep me out of trouble here and there if nobody is going to give me any actual, paid work. It's not quite the same as saying Yes more, but it's close. I might volunteer my time for all sorts of things -- teaching a Colombian girl English, in exchange for learning Spanish; or volunteering my services to hospital radio in East London, or doing DIY work for a charity despite having no previous DIY skills at all. Actually, the Colombian girl has got me thinking -- I could try something like "Wanted: hot foreign girl who wants to learn English in exchange for being my hot foreign girlfriend"...
I've been reading "Yes Man" by Danny Wallace, the book that people are always saying changed their life. In a way, not unlike The Dice Man, but without the rape and the murder and stuff -- it's a lot funnier, a lot more positive, and actually true. He just follows the advice of a wise stranger on a bus who tells him to "say yes more".
Parts of it strike me as slightly dumb -- when he's saying yes to everything it seems like it could get really out of hand. Sometimes you can't walk down the high street without being stopped by several different charity muggers, and who has the money to say yes to them all? Every day? And every time they ring you up and ask for a one-off donation or to increase your payments, you say yes? And that's nothing compared to when he gets emails from Sultans needing his bank details... But there is something positive coming out of it, and taking his lead I am trying to say yes more. I won't say yes indiscriminately, and won't say yes to things I can't afford -- expensive foreign holidays, charity muggers, more credit cards -- but I want to be open to more things.
Speaking of being open to more things, I agreed with Jon to go out on Friday night. I gave some thought to things we could do that didn't involve just going to the pub, because I knew if I said I didn't want to go he'd ask what else there was. So I was prepared, and suggested a few other things -- an indie night in London, or a random night in one town or another locally. All too expensive, he said, and not enough people were out. So it was never going to be anything else. The really funny thing was I had asked San the night before if it was the first Friday of the month that was the club night we liked. She had replied yes, and then decided it was worth having an argument over. Apparently, she thought that by asking her about such things, I was rubbing in her face that I was going out and having fun without her and trying to make her jealous. I didn't bring up our conversation earlier in the week about her confused feelings for my replacement and the fun things they do together.
For a week or more, San's attitude to me has been noticeably shit. Or else she has just been in a bad mood generally. She sent me a message the other day to ask if I thought she shouldn't go on holiday. I replied with something like "What the fuck? You're starting an argument about something we talked about yesterday?" but yeah she was. Then later in the week -- when she responded to a message I sent -- I made a comment like I didn't think she was talking to me. Apparently, this was a bad thing to say because if she didn't think I was talking to her then she would be bothered enough to find out why.
I think I more or less managed to defuse both disagreements, or whatever they were. And continue to try and keep her at a distance -- which is never easy because if she doesn't hear from me then she takes offence and doesn't talk to me, and then if I mention that she's been quiet then I'm bad for not caring enough to ask why. But she's got an interview for some thing teaching English in Japan. I asked her if there's something about this time of year that makes her hate me and want to leave the country, since it was this time two years ago she was a bitch to me, broke up with me, then went to college in Maryland. It wasn't personal at the time, and it probably isn't now, either.
So I'm browsing the usual places like Gumtree and Craigslist looking for volunteer work for some good karma credit ratings, and something to keep me out of trouble here and there if nobody is going to give me any actual, paid work. It's not quite the same as saying Yes more, but it's close. I might volunteer my time for all sorts of things -- teaching a Colombian girl English, in exchange for learning Spanish; or volunteering my services to hospital radio in East London, or doing DIY work for a charity despite having no previous DIY skills at all. Actually, the Colombian girl has got me thinking -- I could try something like "Wanted: hot foreign girl who wants to learn English in exchange for being my hot foreign girlfriend"...
Friday, 28 April 2006
Retracing my karma
"My party piece:
I strike, then from the moment when the matchstick
conjures up its light, to when the brightness moves
beyond its means, and dies, I say the story
of my life -
dates and places, torches I carried,
a cast of names and faces, those
who showed me love, or came close,
the changes I made, the lessons I learnt -"
(extract from untitled poem, by Simon Armitage)
Sometimes I talk of regrets in my life; mistakes in judgment, lapses in concentration or just decisions made that I have in hindsight felt were made wrongly. However, it occurred to me lately when I talk of these things that there are parts I am leaving out.
Months ago, late on a random Saturday night I ended up sitting in a pub with Deb and some assorted other people, including a very quiet guy that worked in the kitchen of the pub I worked in, and a friend of his who happened to be a boy I went to school with. We went to school together, but I'd probably be safe in saying we were never friends -- in fact, I would go far as saying I bullied him. From the age of 11 to probably about 16 or so, I was a dick to him. Most people were, and I guess I didn't think for myself -- he was just the kid whose clothes didn't fit, who had a bad haircut, but it wasn't only that. I think part of what annoyed me is that sometimes if you were talking to him individually, he could be okay. You could have a normal conversation about music, but in public -- if there were other people around -- he acted weird, played up to it. Perhaps he wanted the attention, even if it was negative attention? I don't know. Anyway, the point is that I believe I treated him badly. Although in the years since we left school our paths have crossed on several occasions and we have been friendly and polite to each other, it's nagged at me.
Then this one night, someone went to introduce us and he stopped them and said we had gone to school together. I agreed, we had -- and I turned to him and said that I was sorry for being such a complete arse to him at school. I told him that I had no excuse for my behaviour, that it was inexcusable, and for what it was worth I was sorry.
He said it clearly couldn't have been that bad, since he couldn't remember it. I don't believe it, I didn't believe it, and I think his eyes said something different. Either way, he said he remembered I made him a compilation tape of something or another and we had talked about music. I figure if he clearly doesn't hold a grudge against me, and I have told him I'm sorry, then I can consider it closed. Resolved, you might say. And like Earl Hickey I can cross him off my list.
In a conversation with Charley last weekend, the context I don't recall now, I remembered a girl I had gone to school with -- someone else treated badly. I decided to carry on with crossing people off my list, and sent an email to the address I thought I could remember for her -- just asking if it was still her address, because I wanted to reach her.
After almost a week I got a reply confirming it was indeed her address, and asking who I was.
I wasn't sure -- and to be honest, still aren't entirely convinced -- I was doing the right thing, but I emailed her clearing up who I was, and laying out exactly why I was emailing her. I apologised for messing with her head and generally behaving badly towards her for years, and hoped she would forgive me. I didn't honestly expect her to still harbour bad feelings about it, but I have never before apologised to her either.
For what it's worth, she says she forgave me years ago -- water under the bridge and all of that. Now I have to decide if I want anything further to do with her, since I had no desire to try and rekindle any friendship, but am wary of just disappearing again.
The whole concept of karma in Buddhism troubles me. I sort of get it -- every action having an equal and opposite reaction, the illusion of separateness, and so with it what you do to someone else you are doing to yourself, in a way. But I have always had issue with when bad things seem to happen undeserved to a good person -- the old lady who gets knocked over by a fleeing shoplifter, maybe hits her head or breaks something, what did she do to deserve that? But just the same, when I look back, I think of bullying a boy at school and wonder if it has anything to do with why my own life was later made miserable. I look at the girl who I treated badly and would never give a chance to, and consider if it has any relation to my failed relationships.
I don't believe it does, but I also think it's important to recognise bad things you have done and trying to make amends. It's a step towards universal compassion.
I strike, then from the moment when the matchstick
conjures up its light, to when the brightness moves
beyond its means, and dies, I say the story
of my life -
dates and places, torches I carried,
a cast of names and faces, those
who showed me love, or came close,
the changes I made, the lessons I learnt -"
(extract from untitled poem, by Simon Armitage)
Sometimes I talk of regrets in my life; mistakes in judgment, lapses in concentration or just decisions made that I have in hindsight felt were made wrongly. However, it occurred to me lately when I talk of these things that there are parts I am leaving out.
Months ago, late on a random Saturday night I ended up sitting in a pub with Deb and some assorted other people, including a very quiet guy that worked in the kitchen of the pub I worked in, and a friend of his who happened to be a boy I went to school with. We went to school together, but I'd probably be safe in saying we were never friends -- in fact, I would go far as saying I bullied him. From the age of 11 to probably about 16 or so, I was a dick to him. Most people were, and I guess I didn't think for myself -- he was just the kid whose clothes didn't fit, who had a bad haircut, but it wasn't only that. I think part of what annoyed me is that sometimes if you were talking to him individually, he could be okay. You could have a normal conversation about music, but in public -- if there were other people around -- he acted weird, played up to it. Perhaps he wanted the attention, even if it was negative attention? I don't know. Anyway, the point is that I believe I treated him badly. Although in the years since we left school our paths have crossed on several occasions and we have been friendly and polite to each other, it's nagged at me.
Then this one night, someone went to introduce us and he stopped them and said we had gone to school together. I agreed, we had -- and I turned to him and said that I was sorry for being such a complete arse to him at school. I told him that I had no excuse for my behaviour, that it was inexcusable, and for what it was worth I was sorry.
He said it clearly couldn't have been that bad, since he couldn't remember it. I don't believe it, I didn't believe it, and I think his eyes said something different. Either way, he said he remembered I made him a compilation tape of something or another and we had talked about music. I figure if he clearly doesn't hold a grudge against me, and I have told him I'm sorry, then I can consider it closed. Resolved, you might say. And like Earl Hickey I can cross him off my list.
In a conversation with Charley last weekend, the context I don't recall now, I remembered a girl I had gone to school with -- someone else treated badly. I decided to carry on with crossing people off my list, and sent an email to the address I thought I could remember for her -- just asking if it was still her address, because I wanted to reach her.
After almost a week I got a reply confirming it was indeed her address, and asking who I was.
I wasn't sure -- and to be honest, still aren't entirely convinced -- I was doing the right thing, but I emailed her clearing up who I was, and laying out exactly why I was emailing her. I apologised for messing with her head and generally behaving badly towards her for years, and hoped she would forgive me. I didn't honestly expect her to still harbour bad feelings about it, but I have never before apologised to her either.
For what it's worth, she says she forgave me years ago -- water under the bridge and all of that. Now I have to decide if I want anything further to do with her, since I had no desire to try and rekindle any friendship, but am wary of just disappearing again.
The whole concept of karma in Buddhism troubles me. I sort of get it -- every action having an equal and opposite reaction, the illusion of separateness, and so with it what you do to someone else you are doing to yourself, in a way. But I have always had issue with when bad things seem to happen undeserved to a good person -- the old lady who gets knocked over by a fleeing shoplifter, maybe hits her head or breaks something, what did she do to deserve that? But just the same, when I look back, I think of bullying a boy at school and wonder if it has anything to do with why my own life was later made miserable. I look at the girl who I treated badly and would never give a chance to, and consider if it has any relation to my failed relationships.
I don't believe it does, but I also think it's important to recognise bad things you have done and trying to make amends. It's a step towards universal compassion.
Tuesday, 28 March 2006
Sorry is the fool who trades his love for hi-rise rent
I'm tired and slightly hungover and my legs hurt from going to the gym yesterday, so it's probably not the most coherent time for me to try and update. But I will anyway.
Work is just the same as ever, largely uneventful. I don't hate my job, but I know it's time to move on -- and as quickly as I can. I don't know what -- if anything -- will come of my interview with the media sales agency tomorrow. I've heard stories of these places making you take tests, then later claiming not to have any vacancies and being left hanging. But we shall see. I need to make a list of other options, or like in High Fidelity make a list of my ideal jobs. I think I can cross "astronaught" off the list these days.
On a personal level, I'm fine. Not exactly happy with where things are in my life, but they can be a lot worse. I'm just restless and bored. The more observant among you will notice a distinct lack of the name Lyndsay. Since she moved out of her apartment, I haven't heard a peep from her. She warned me she might not have internet while she stayed with friends, and I forget now how long she was staying with them for. This is why previous to her relatively recent reemergence in my life there's not been any mention of her -- she vanishes entirely for months, and with no diary to read or emails or...anything, feelings for her just get shelved. Of course, they're still there in the background, but life just goes on day to day without much thought.
Heard nothing from Expedia, but still hope each day for a letter or a phone call. A woman at work was saying the other day how her daughter is travelling through Thailand and Viet Nam on a moped, or something. It made me think of how I told Expedia the perfect blue sky I'd seen was in Phuket, I've never been to Asia but now I want to travel it on a motorbike. A sort of Asian take on Ernesto 'Che' Guevara's motorcycle diaries... I do fancy myself as a revolutionary, even though I'm about as revolutionary as a carrot.
It bears some thought, though, if you can follow my train of thought -- I've been reading my "Teach Yourself Zen" book lately. On Sunday on my break at work, I went outside and sat in my parked car. It was raining, but I wanted to get out of the pub for just a short while -- so I sat in my car, listening to the radio and the rain and read a chapter about meditation and concentration. Along with a page I recently stumbled upon -- Field Notes on the Compassionate Life -- I'm reminded of Guevara's quote, that the true revolutionary should always be guided by feelings of love. Maybe these things all tie together, in a way.
And entirely of topic, while searching google for today's title I found this instead. I can't decide if this is something I should read, or something I abhor.
Work is just the same as ever, largely uneventful. I don't hate my job, but I know it's time to move on -- and as quickly as I can. I don't know what -- if anything -- will come of my interview with the media sales agency tomorrow. I've heard stories of these places making you take tests, then later claiming not to have any vacancies and being left hanging. But we shall see. I need to make a list of other options, or like in High Fidelity make a list of my ideal jobs. I think I can cross "astronaught" off the list these days.
On a personal level, I'm fine. Not exactly happy with where things are in my life, but they can be a lot worse. I'm just restless and bored. The more observant among you will notice a distinct lack of the name Lyndsay. Since she moved out of her apartment, I haven't heard a peep from her. She warned me she might not have internet while she stayed with friends, and I forget now how long she was staying with them for. This is why previous to her relatively recent reemergence in my life there's not been any mention of her -- she vanishes entirely for months, and with no diary to read or emails or...anything, feelings for her just get shelved. Of course, they're still there in the background, but life just goes on day to day without much thought.
Heard nothing from Expedia, but still hope each day for a letter or a phone call. A woman at work was saying the other day how her daughter is travelling through Thailand and Viet Nam on a moped, or something. It made me think of how I told Expedia the perfect blue sky I'd seen was in Phuket, I've never been to Asia but now I want to travel it on a motorbike. A sort of Asian take on Ernesto 'Che' Guevara's motorcycle diaries... I do fancy myself as a revolutionary, even though I'm about as revolutionary as a carrot.
It bears some thought, though, if you can follow my train of thought -- I've been reading my "Teach Yourself Zen" book lately. On Sunday on my break at work, I went outside and sat in my parked car. It was raining, but I wanted to get out of the pub for just a short while -- so I sat in my car, listening to the radio and the rain and read a chapter about meditation and concentration. Along with a page I recently stumbled upon -- Field Notes on the Compassionate Life -- I'm reminded of Guevara's quote, that the true revolutionary should always be guided by feelings of love. Maybe these things all tie together, in a way.
And entirely of topic, while searching google for today's title I found this instead. I can't decide if this is something I should read, or something I abhor.
Wednesday, 17 December 2003
Ever read your junk mail?
Every once in a while, junk email slips through the yahoo bulk mail filter and ends up in my inbox. Normally, I just tell them it's spam without opening it, and it's gone. Sometimes I open it, for the sake of it. I always check my mail in my bulk mail folder in case something I want has ended up in it. Sometimes I open mail in that, usually if I want to delete something but I am reading on WAP and don't have the link to just empty the folder.
Do you ever open your junk mail? Because something very strange is going on in mine,
There will be an email like "Jay! Rates fall for the third week running!" or "Slash your debt by 70%!", and nine times out of ten the email matches the subject. But every once in a while, it doesn't. I appear to be getting emailed what I can only describe as extracts of essays. In an email the other day with a subject about interest rates was part of an essay about the poet Alderman. Today in an email with a subject telling me I can slash my debt, I have an essay about what the deforestation of the Amazon is doing to indigenous tribes.
They aren't whole essays. They aren't public appeals for something to be done. They aren't mailings from charities. They can only be described as extracts. Someone is seriously trying to fuck with my head.
I was reading my Zen guide the other night, rather than working. It's difficult to get your head around -- but it could be the answer to why I get strange things like this going on, because none of it is actually real.
-- and own up -- who has been reading through the archives? I'm not complaining, I just like to know who is reading what...
Do you ever open your junk mail? Because something very strange is going on in mine,
There will be an email like "Jay! Rates fall for the third week running!" or "Slash your debt by 70%!", and nine times out of ten the email matches the subject. But every once in a while, it doesn't. I appear to be getting emailed what I can only describe as extracts of essays. In an email the other day with a subject about interest rates was part of an essay about the poet Alderman. Today in an email with a subject telling me I can slash my debt, I have an essay about what the deforestation of the Amazon is doing to indigenous tribes.
They aren't whole essays. They aren't public appeals for something to be done. They aren't mailings from charities. They can only be described as extracts. Someone is seriously trying to fuck with my head.
I was reading my Zen guide the other night, rather than working. It's difficult to get your head around -- but it could be the answer to why I get strange things like this going on, because none of it is actually real.
-- and own up -- who has been reading through the archives? I'm not complaining, I just like to know who is reading what...
Wednesday, 19 November 2003
I would settle for a decent meal
I'm going to stop my complaining now, as I'm sure you kids will all be glad to hear. I am not even going to bother to comment on if things are improving, or how far they are going one way or the other. I'm bored with the subject now.
It's nearly 3pm and I haven't eaten yet today. I didn't have time for breakfast, but figured I'd have lunch without a hitch since my law class would be over by about 1. Even including a little extra time to my course leader how I am feeling, I didn't expect it to be so very late when I got round to eating something. That would actually involve turning off the computer and leaving the library, and I seem to be obsessed with checking my email at the moment. If I wake up in the night, I find my phone and use the 'mobile internet' to check my yahoo. First thing in the morning, I turn off the alarm and check my email. If I could check my diary I would probably never leave the thing alone.
Today is a grey day in Leicester. It seems to be that the rain has over the past few days have warmed up the city, which is always a good thing. Looking over at the window, it doesn't appear to be actually raining -- but it's certainly threatening it. I can't explain why exactly, but I love the patterns that rain makes on the window. Sometimes I lie on my bed (which is alongside the window) and stare up at the falling rain. The best thing is watching snow fall at night -- standing out in the middle of it, and staring up at the snow at all different heights. It can be very Zen -- which is something I need more of in my life. But first I need the discipline for it properly.
Today I would settle for a decent meal, some cold Mexican beer and knowing where the hell the swimming pool is. Because there isn't a pool in the city itself -- only in a suburb/town place that involves catching a bus.
Hardly the most life-changing of updates -- but it beats my incessant complaining.
It's nearly 3pm and I haven't eaten yet today. I didn't have time for breakfast, but figured I'd have lunch without a hitch since my law class would be over by about 1. Even including a little extra time to my course leader how I am feeling, I didn't expect it to be so very late when I got round to eating something. That would actually involve turning off the computer and leaving the library, and I seem to be obsessed with checking my email at the moment. If I wake up in the night, I find my phone and use the 'mobile internet' to check my yahoo. First thing in the morning, I turn off the alarm and check my email. If I could check my diary I would probably never leave the thing alone.
Today is a grey day in Leicester. It seems to be that the rain has over the past few days have warmed up the city, which is always a good thing. Looking over at the window, it doesn't appear to be actually raining -- but it's certainly threatening it. I can't explain why exactly, but I love the patterns that rain makes on the window. Sometimes I lie on my bed (which is alongside the window) and stare up at the falling rain. The best thing is watching snow fall at night -- standing out in the middle of it, and staring up at the snow at all different heights. It can be very Zen -- which is something I need more of in my life. But first I need the discipline for it properly.
Today I would settle for a decent meal, some cold Mexican beer and knowing where the hell the swimming pool is. Because there isn't a pool in the city itself -- only in a suburb/town place that involves catching a bus.
Hardly the most life-changing of updates -- but it beats my incessant complaining.
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