Wednesday, September 3, 2008


One road trip and 40+ electronic resumes later (tangible evidence=0), I finally got an interview at the end of August. The managing editor couldn't resist when I showed up pertly dressed in business formal...probably immediately smitten with my sharp wit, raven-like eyes, the homemade "CONFIDENCE = COMPETENCE" pin on my lapel, and love of artisanal cheeses and anal-retentive workflows. AHA! And so I was offered a job.

(This isn't what happened at all. In fact, one of her interview questions was this: "As a stagnating bean sprout in the primordial pool of the entry-level, how do you sooth yourself to sleep at night through the shuddering sobs of self-denigration and hopelessness?" and I cried a little bit when I told her about a camp song that I sometimes sing)

I did get the job. I've finally moved into my Bushwick (or, in realtor speak, "East Williamsburg") sublet. I have a new home, and a new job. My new grocery store is the Food Bazaar and I can afford Top Ramen every other week. Could it be the American Dream?

So it's not exactly glamourous. But then again, isn't it? You get swept up in the Machine with your well-painted mask of apathy, but it's one that mercifully cracks from time to time. Holy bodega, look at us go. I can see all of Manhattan out my window, and I don't hate it.

What's up, thousands?

("applying for entry level,"

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