Every now and then, I find myself hunched over the laptop keyboard looking like a gigantic ‘C’ from Sesame Street, inches away from the screen like I was panning for gold, wondering, “I really need to get out of the house.” Yes, part of networking is actually going out and talking to people. Email has become so impersonal that you can never have that wonderful human contact that speaks volume. When you are actually speaking to someone, they can’t hit the delete button (although, if you had the super power of mind reading, you might come across some folks who wish they did have a delete button).
So recently, I found myself at a BBQ, surrounded by folks with alcohol in hand and burgers on flowery paper plates, ready to launch my own autobiography to anyone who would listen; and hopefully they would not hit the delete key. Well, the damn Universe which I have spoken about so harshly in other post’s, was up to his old tricks again. The Universe also put an alcoholic drink in my hand as well.
Nicely played, Universe.
Well, instead of talking about possible employment or job leads, the World Cup was a captivating conversation (grown men running and kicking a ball) as well as the status of my next oil change in my truck (riveting, I know). And the evil drink that the Universe Bartender supplied me was putting me in la-la land (good ole Sam Adams).
Curse you Universe.
I know that this has to be all part of the hazing ritual from the Universe, but those patriotic beers were going down, well, like patriotic beers at a BBQ. And the next morning (actually, afternoon) I went and got the oil changed in my truck while I watched the World Cup on the TV in the ‘lounge’ (I wouldn’t exactly call it a ‘lounge’ with the torn vinyl seats and last year’s Motor Trend magazine laying around but that’s what they called it). It was at that point I wish I had my own delete key.
I will see you again, Universe.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
May the beard be with you
During the course of my recent unemployment, I have sent out resumes, I have networked, I applied to volunteer, all the things one should accomplish. And lastly, I decided to grow a beard. Yeah, just like the movie Mr. Mom. Remember this classic conversation?
Ron Richardson: Yeah? Are you gonna make it all 220?
Jack Butler: Yeah. 220... 221, whatever it takes.
My decision to grow a beard was, I admit, driven by one part laziness’ and one part financially. The laziness’ was obvious. Every morning, I go to battle with the hair follicle’s that cover my face with musky smelling soap and a razor that holds five scalpel styles blades to do their work. Sure, there are always some casualties (nothing that a little toilet paper can’t heal), but morning ritual had grown stale. On the weekends I would teas my chin, not shaving until early Monday morning, giving my neck and cheek hairs some life before I mercifully hacked them down. Then, to add further punishment, I would dose them with a stinging after shave. They were not amused.
It was then, that the beard began to plot its revenge.
The beard has always wanted grow. Knowing that if I could just get through the awkward sandpaper and patchwork phase it would all work out (we won’t talk about the ‘grey’ phase). So, after conferring with the wife and kid, we all agreed to give it life. I felt reborn. I felt strong. I felt like I was giving back. The beard was all for it.
My immediate friends all had their initial opinions – from ‘must be not feeling well’, and ‘hasn’t he ever heard of Gillett?’ to ‘what the hell is that?’ and ‘is he trying to be a Civil War reenactment actor?’ but I’ll damn society and I’ll break the trend. The beard would not only enhance my fire side chat sweater but it would make me stand out amongst all the men. Goat-tees are trendy. Mustaches are too old school. And I mean like old school from the Normandy beach invasion days. Not for me.
So, the beard progressed. It became fuller and richer as did my attitude. “I am a real man” I shouted to myself, “I’m not afraid of growing a beard’. Other men sensed my cockiness and suddenly would change direction in aisles in stores or move over to another urinal.
But quite suddenly, the questions began. And just like any person who is on top, there are folks looking to knock them down. And they usually don’t have beards. I would hear things like ‘going hiking this weekend?’ and I would have to summon the energy to look at them, still with my confidence high and answer ‘no. I’m going to a butterfly exhibit with my daughter’.
Agh!
What was happening? I gave the beard life and it was now turning on me. For all the years that I sub consciously just butchered the follicles under my thought process of ‘routine’. I sensed the beard laughing at me and I needed to keep it under control. Other bearded men were on to my facade. Non bearded men still held me in esteem. I was caught in the middle. Like between an admiral beard (the big chin strap) and the Grizzly Adam’s (full on ‘can’t find your own mouth on your own face’ beard). I needed to make a decision. I could go out a buy real hiking boots and some flannel shirts or a new pack of Fuzion razors and some exfoliating soap. Me and the beard, well, we’re going to have it out.
So, the beard grew. And grew; and grew. Its fullness started to become a hazard. Its maintenance became all too consuming. Here I was giving my full beard its own life and it was starting to turn. The beard began to itch. It was at that point I dreamed about being able to scratch my face with my hind legs, like my dog, just to alleviate the discomfort; although if that were the case, I would never leave the house. I was now discovering food hidden away in tiny nooks and crannies of the beard map. The upkeep was now battling with the status, and I was growing tired.
Monday morning I wiped the steam off the vanity mirror and announced to no one in particular that I was ready to rejoin the beardless society. Ten minutes later, I surveyed the flotsam and jetsam that was floating in the pool and decided not to second guess. Too late for that! The five extra sharp Schick blades did their damage and soon I was just another guy mowing his lawn in the suburbs with white toilet paper clinging to his face. I was blending in. I was sad.
Maybe if I lived in a more rural surrounding like New Hampshire or even Colorado would my facial hair look be more approving. Hell, I would chop wood and take hikes knowing that my beard and I were joined at the cheek. With this experiment now over, I take with me the joy of having been one of them. The non societal crusaders whose lust for finely trimmed facial hair was not met with disdain or prejudice. Now, all I need to do is get out of this non beard state and find employment in a non beard free zone in the comforts of a small home town. Somewhere in the woods. Near a hiking trail.
May the beard be with you.
I really need to get out of the house.
Ron Richardson: Yeah? Are you gonna make it all 220?
Jack Butler: Yeah. 220... 221, whatever it takes.
My decision to grow a beard was, I admit, driven by one part laziness’ and one part financially. The laziness’ was obvious. Every morning, I go to battle with the hair follicle’s that cover my face with musky smelling soap and a razor that holds five scalpel styles blades to do their work. Sure, there are always some casualties (nothing that a little toilet paper can’t heal), but morning ritual had grown stale. On the weekends I would teas my chin, not shaving until early Monday morning, giving my neck and cheek hairs some life before I mercifully hacked them down. Then, to add further punishment, I would dose them with a stinging after shave. They were not amused.
It was then, that the beard began to plot its revenge.
The beard has always wanted grow. Knowing that if I could just get through the awkward sandpaper and patchwork phase it would all work out (we won’t talk about the ‘grey’ phase). So, after conferring with the wife and kid, we all agreed to give it life. I felt reborn. I felt strong. I felt like I was giving back. The beard was all for it.
My immediate friends all had their initial opinions – from ‘must be not feeling well’, and ‘hasn’t he ever heard of Gillett?’ to ‘what the hell is that?’ and ‘is he trying to be a Civil War reenactment actor?’ but I’ll damn society and I’ll break the trend. The beard would not only enhance my fire side chat sweater but it would make me stand out amongst all the men. Goat-tees are trendy. Mustaches are too old school. And I mean like old school from the Normandy beach invasion days. Not for me.
So, the beard progressed. It became fuller and richer as did my attitude. “I am a real man” I shouted to myself, “I’m not afraid of growing a beard’. Other men sensed my cockiness and suddenly would change direction in aisles in stores or move over to another urinal.
But quite suddenly, the questions began. And just like any person who is on top, there are folks looking to knock them down. And they usually don’t have beards. I would hear things like ‘going hiking this weekend?’ and I would have to summon the energy to look at them, still with my confidence high and answer ‘no. I’m going to a butterfly exhibit with my daughter’.
Agh!
What was happening? I gave the beard life and it was now turning on me. For all the years that I sub consciously just butchered the follicles under my thought process of ‘routine’. I sensed the beard laughing at me and I needed to keep it under control. Other bearded men were on to my facade. Non bearded men still held me in esteem. I was caught in the middle. Like between an admiral beard (the big chin strap) and the Grizzly Adam’s (full on ‘can’t find your own mouth on your own face’ beard). I needed to make a decision. I could go out a buy real hiking boots and some flannel shirts or a new pack of Fuzion razors and some exfoliating soap. Me and the beard, well, we’re going to have it out.
So, the beard grew. And grew; and grew. Its fullness started to become a hazard. Its maintenance became all too consuming. Here I was giving my full beard its own life and it was starting to turn. The beard began to itch. It was at that point I dreamed about being able to scratch my face with my hind legs, like my dog, just to alleviate the discomfort; although if that were the case, I would never leave the house. I was now discovering food hidden away in tiny nooks and crannies of the beard map. The upkeep was now battling with the status, and I was growing tired.
Monday morning I wiped the steam off the vanity mirror and announced to no one in particular that I was ready to rejoin the beardless society. Ten minutes later, I surveyed the flotsam and jetsam that was floating in the pool and decided not to second guess. Too late for that! The five extra sharp Schick blades did their damage and soon I was just another guy mowing his lawn in the suburbs with white toilet paper clinging to his face. I was blending in. I was sad.
Maybe if I lived in a more rural surrounding like New Hampshire or even Colorado would my facial hair look be more approving. Hell, I would chop wood and take hikes knowing that my beard and I were joined at the cheek. With this experiment now over, I take with me the joy of having been one of them. The non societal crusaders whose lust for finely trimmed facial hair was not met with disdain or prejudice. Now, all I need to do is get out of this non beard state and find employment in a non beard free zone in the comforts of a small home town. Somewhere in the woods. Near a hiking trail.
May the beard be with you.
I really need to get out of the house.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
The Unemployment Fifteen.
The Unemployment Fifteen is a title for several topics. First, it is my purpose to network with at least 15 new people this month. Second, it will be my determination to send out at least 15 resumes for the next month. And thirdly, I will do my best not to gain fifteen pounds sitting in front of this evil laptop eating M&M’s (plain) and cold pizza (plain again). My quest has for networking with new folks is kinda like standing on a long line at the grocery store, eagerly waiting for another register to open. It’s all about being tactful, maybe a tad restrained, then, when the opportunity presents itself, launching a personal salvo - ‘I’m unemployed, please, talk to me!’ At that point, they will either A) reluctantly talk with you or B) call the police. I always hope for A.
As for the resumes, I have sent out about five already so I am one third of the way to my goal. That of course does not include anyone who may have glanced over my resume on one of the many online websites that I have posted to. I should probably do an inventory of just where my resumes are (Me – No, I did not post my resume on the Mary Kay site; I think you may have the wrong number. Thanks though.).
And now for the last installment of the Unemployment Fifteen, this is about hopefully not gaining fifteen pounds. Listen, I know we’ve all been there. Sitting in a non ergonomic chair with bad lighting, breathing recycled air while staring at a bunch of Excel spreadsheets that make no sense, all the while getting the 1024 x 768 pixel tan while chowing down on vending machine Snickers and Mini Muffins; and don’t forget the cube walls that surround you with their awful sterile fabric that the manufactures’ assumed would make you more productive, right?
Well, it’s the same scenario except now, I’m home. Albeit, I’m sitting in a more comfortable chair and the windows are open, but the fridge is 14 steps away and it’s located carefully next to the microwave which sits above the coffee maker. And that is only to my immediate right. If I look to my immediate left, it’s the 46 inch flat screen TV with the remotes just sitting there on the couch cushions screaming, ‘Channel 570 is SportsCenter and it’s on right now! And it’s in High Def!!’ Ouch.
This might be the Universe hazing me (Me – Universe!! You and me, we’re not done here, you hear me?!?!).
I can get through this.
The Unemployment Fifteen is a title for several topics. First, it is my purpose to network with at least 15 new people this month. Second, it will be my determination to send out at least 15 resumes for the next month. And thirdly, I will do my best not to gain fifteen pounds sitting in front of this evil laptop eating M&M’s (plain) and cold pizza (plain again). My quest has for networking with new folks is kinda like standing on a long line at the grocery store, eagerly waiting for another register to open. It’s all about being tactful, maybe a tad restrained, then, when the opportunity presents itself, launching a personal salvo - ‘I’m unemployed, please, talk to me!’ At that point, they will either A) reluctantly talk with you or B) call the police. I always hope for A.
As for the resumes, I have sent out about five already so I am one third of the way to my goal. That of course does not include anyone who may have glanced over my resume on one of the many online websites that I have posted to. I should probably do an inventory of just where my resumes are (Me – No, I did not post my resume on the Mary Kay site; I think you may have the wrong number. Thanks though.).
And now for the last installment of the Unemployment Fifteen, this is about hopefully not gaining fifteen pounds. Listen, I know we’ve all been there. Sitting in a non ergonomic chair with bad lighting, breathing recycled air while staring at a bunch of Excel spreadsheets that make no sense, all the while getting the 1024 x 768 pixel tan while chowing down on vending machine Snickers and Mini Muffins; and don’t forget the cube walls that surround you with their awful sterile fabric that the manufactures’ assumed would make you more productive, right?
Well, it’s the same scenario except now, I’m home. Albeit, I’m sitting in a more comfortable chair and the windows are open, but the fridge is 14 steps away and it’s located carefully next to the microwave which sits above the coffee maker. And that is only to my immediate right. If I look to my immediate left, it’s the 46 inch flat screen TV with the remotes just sitting there on the couch cushions screaming, ‘Channel 570 is SportsCenter and it’s on right now! And it’s in High Def!!’ Ouch.
This might be the Universe hazing me (Me – Universe!! You and me, we’re not done here, you hear me?!?!).
I can get through this.
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