You know how when you were little, and you told your mom you felt bad, and she thought you were just faking to get out of going to school but she took you to the doctor and it turned out you had a strep throat, or pneumonia, or swine flu?
That’s kind of how this recent NYT report makes me feel. Vindicated. Sorry for self. In need of antibiotics.
9-year-olds too smart for publishing
photo credit: bowbrick
OBJECT: To obtain a media job. Any media job, really. Preferably one that has to do with words. [Insert fawning cover letter and 2-page résumé here.]
In case you haven’t heard, there’s a media implosion going on. And by imploding, I mean deflating like a punctured helium balloon tearing through the sky on its last gas. Or maybe a meteor falling out of the sky. Get out of its way. It’ll hit you.
Now, if we were in a media explosion, I would have at least one of these jobs (companies will remain nameless to protect the innocent – me) that I’ve applied for in the last month. I would have at least been called. I know, I don’t always have the right experience. I don’t expect them all to call me. I’m not that egotistical. But you’d think more than one would have gotten in touch, no?
The exterminator just showed up. No sign of the mouse since yesterday, although my sleep was fitful and I woke to some drunk fools singing loudly and badly around 8:30 am. Isn’t that too late to still be drunk? Or too early? Is this a new side effect of the recession? Buskers outside the window? They sounded like mourning cows, honestly. I’m assuming they were drunk. God, I hope so.
As for the mouse, I have a theory he was just passing through; he certainly seemed to want to get out of here in a hurry. There’s nothing for him here – I’m home too much! He probably thought, If only she had a job, I’d have this whole space (“an efficiency,” my 80-something year old exterminator dubbed it) to my mousey self. Instead, she had to lose her stinkin’ job. Jeez. On to the 3rd floor, where that bald guy is gainfully employed 18 hours a day…
The exterminator, who was himself a bit mouselike, came early, shock of shocks. And I suppose the benefit to my being unemployed is that I could sit and wait for him if need be all day long. Yep, nothin’ pressing. I got alllllll day, baby. “When will you be home?” he’d asked. “Um…always,” I replied.
Yes sir! Right away sir!
Here’s your Friday afternoon update from the department of Are you Fucking Kidding Me?:
Apparently the brain trust at the IRS has decided that company-supplied cell phones and BlackBerries are “fringe benefits” and that employees in possession should pay a tax on their use. Cause you’re not only usin’ that gadget for work, you know.
Dear Unemployed, Semi-Employed, Job-Disgruntled, and Freelance Readers,
From time to time, Your Unemployed Daughter hears of a job opportunity from a friend, or a friend of a friend, or maybe someone she used to work with. She can’t always take these gigs – despite what you may think, she’s not qualified for everything – so she’d like to give you a shot at them. She has begun a new page, YUD Job Board, for this very purpose.
Here’s one that just came in, for you editorial politicos with Bond-like propensities:
A consulting firm is looking to find an experienced developmental editor to work as an on-site subcontractor on a dynamic, fast-paced project in the Washington, DC, area.
Qualifications:
• At least 10 years experience as an Editor, with significant experience as a developmental editor
• Demonstrated ability to work in a fast-paced environment with tight deadlines
• Experience with government publications
• Ability to obtain a Secret-level security clearance
Welcome to my office
What’s the most jobless state? (Aside from you in your pjs at 11:33 am?)
Amazingly, New York doesn’t even make the top 10 list, even though when I got home from dinner on Sunday night the streets were packed with roving twenty-and thirty-somethings who seemed, if not unemployed, positively apathetic about Monday. Perhaps that’s just a reflection of job unhappiness? The old Drink-Til-You-Pass-Out maneuver to make your Sunday less painful? Or maybe Monday was a holiday. How should I know? I’m unemployed.
