Prangster in Chicago

This is effective planning

I just confirmed with Chicago that I'll start my first day of work on May 21.

May 28 is a public holiday, something called Memorial Day.

So after my first week of work, I'll have a long weekend.

I didn't plan this on purpose, I promise.

:)

Yo, this tree is red

No time to write idiotic reflections this post because I have so much work to do my brain is sweating and has already asked for a nap three times. Here are some photos from a Sunday spent in the Blue Moutains last weekend.

Better photo of the view from Jess's camera. Her camera unfortunately fell off a rock and landed on more rocks. It's still taking good photos though.

No going back

This morning I had an appointment (I use this term very loosely) at the U.S. Consulate at Martin Place to interview for my E3 work visa. Obviously it was approved otherwise this post would be called "Not going at all". I'm totally ecstatic. Like really happy. I think I even smiled at one point. Oh that's right. I was so freaking tired and sleepy from having to wake up at 7am this morning that my face was physically unable to form expressions. It was completely Botox'ed from fatigue. If you're wondering why I can't simply wake up and function like a regular person, my response to you is, yes, my life is still ruled by my masochistic sleeping routine. I am an owl in pyjamas. Shrug.

Getting my work visa approved makes me realize I still have a lot of shit to do. I made a to-do list a few weeks back (I am an organized owl in pyjamas!) and it turns out that none of the errands I took care of this past week are even on that list. And some of the stuff is pretty ambitious. Get this: the final thing I wanted to take care here in Sydney is "teach Mum the internet". WTF? It would take less effort to convert her to Judaism and throw a bat mitzvah party before I leave.

P.S. This is so fantastic. I just came across something called the HP Presto Service. It lets you send emails and photos to people who don't use a computer, i.e. my grandma, my mum and also my dad (but he has an assistant). The special HP printer, called the Printing Mailbox (nice, old school name) prints out emails on regular paper like a fax machine. It would be so ingenius and perfect and awesome...IF ONLY IT WAS AVAILABLE OUTSIDE THE U.S.

Eyes open, ears closed

From this weekend's Washington Post Magazine, a fantastic social experiment:

Pearls Before Breakfast

Joshua Bell is one of the world's greatest violinists. His instrument of choice is a multimillion-dollar Stradivarius. If he played for spare change, incognito, outside a D.C. metro station, would anyone notice?

An excerpt:

"No one knew it, but the fiddler standing against a bare wall outside the Metro in an indoor arcade at the top of the escalators was one of the finest classical musicians in the world, playing some of the most elegant music ever written on one of the most valuable violins ever made. His performance was arranged by The Washington Post as an experiment in context, perception and priorities -- as well as an unblinking assessment of public taste: In a banal setting at an inconvenient time, would beauty transcend?"

Extreme blogging

Something interesting happened last night. I was visiting my usual list of blogs and I came across the latest entry on Brazen Careerist, a career advice column by Yahoo! Finance writer Penelope Trunk. The weird thing about this entry is Trunk attacked a female writer she didn't agree with -- a woman named Leslie Bennetts -- by saying that as a baby boomer, Bennetts is unqualified to tell Gen X women how to take care of themselves because Bennetts is "incredibly fat". Trunk also linked to a photo that indeed confirmed Leslie Bennetts is (or maybe was) overweight and puffy.

Actually let me be more specific. Trunk used capitalization and exclamation points and red lettering so it read, "SHE IS SO INCREDIBLY FAT!!!" Good thing she didn't go one step further and italicize the word FAT because that would have really crossed the line.

The moment after I finished the post I knew I had to write a comment because I had a pretty strong reaction to what Trunk said. But not only that, it was how she said it and why. The post was out of character for Brazen Careerist, it was a very strong personal attack and the tone of voice was weird. Usually Trunk is a great writer and the blog is insightful and relevant. I like it so much I've introduced it to friends.

In my comment, I wrote that it was bizarre for Trunk to speak on behalf of not only a generation of women (Gen Xers), but also to make generalizations about their marriages, husbands and community values. Yes, that's what she does in the post. I wrote it seemed like the target readership for the blog was suddenly very narrow. And thin. And I felt like I was reading the wrong blog.

By the time I had come across the new post, I noticed there were already three comments up. In the fifteen minutes it took me to write and rewrite my comment (I wanted to be succinct -- this takes time!) another four comments went up. One of them was Trunk herself saying she was "shocked at the uproar" the post had caused. But she stood her ground, defending what she had written. I went to sleep in the early morning knowing Penelope Trunk was in trouble. INCREDIBLY DEEP TROUBLE!!!

This afternoon I woke up (yes, afternoon, quit judging me) and I went to Brazen Careerist. I found that Trunk had taken the original post down and replaced it with this one, explaining why she had taken it down. What she did was extremely brave. She admitted to making a mistake and fixed it as best she can. And I think she did a good job of patching things up. Then I checked my email and I found Trunk had written me three times. In the first note she thanked me for my comment. In the second she wrote she had replied to my comment on the blog. And in the third she wrote to say she had decided to take the post down. Unfortunately I didn't get a chance to read her response to my comment.

What happened last night goes to show how dangerously fast the blogosphere is. You write something, you post it, people read it, react and give feedback straight away. And if it goes awry, well, too late. Sometimes it takes me hours to write a post on this blog because even though it's just a personal blog, I know very well that what I write and how I express myself is important. Not least because I'm a writer and if you Google my name this blog will come up.

I also want to say that I did have reservations about how incompetent I portrayed myself and my jobsearch back in the three-part "How not to look for a job" series. But then I realized that what I try to do on this blog isn't put on my best face. I just want the blog to be entertaining. And I try to have fun writing it because I write seriously when I work and this blog is recreational for me. So in most of my posts I use the word "freaking" and I do things like "shake my fist" and I say other extremely silly things I don't do (so much) in real life. Having said that, while I have no hesitation about making fun of myself, I'm also careful not to cross the line between the personal and the professional. Well I like to think so anyway.

Perhaps I'm lucky so few of you bother to write comments!

Lazy Sunday

It's Sunday. I just finished reading the papers. I'm drinking a cup of tea and eating a piece of toast with avacado. I'm in my PJs still. All is well in my Pluto-like world. Last night we were at Janice's house for a DVD and some Wii. Three of us decided on "Trust The Man" at the video store but when the movie started playing, everyone realized they'd seen it already. It took Jess 20 minutes to be sure. And it turns out that Jan, Moe and I actually saw it together last year. I honestly have no recall. We should've rented the French thriller instead.

This coming week I'll start working long-distance for Chicago. They're sending over some reading materials on Monday or Tuesday. The IT guy emailed me a bunch of PDFs on Friday night about company email policy, my work email address, how to name files, and the FTP server. Reading all that stuff made me feel something strange. I felt very employed. Yikes.

And I've already booked my appointment at the U.S. Consulate for my work visa interview. It's for Friday the 13th and I honestly don't care about any superstitious crap. In fact, I challenge the Superstition Gods to mess this up because they're going to have a freaking tough time of it.

Photo breakdown: Tommy Lee Jones in a Japanese ad for instant coffee. The question isn't why. But more, why not. And when they had to decide which photo to use, the question wasn't why two photos. But more, why not two photos? In the first photo, TLJ is like, "Where the hell is my instant coffee?" but in the second, he's thinking, "I look forward to my next instant coffee."

Look, it's Ryan Joo!

We went to visit Lucy, her husband Aaron and their brand new baby, Ryan Joo, last night. Ryan is so cute and a great little boy. We all took turns holding him, except for Janice who was too chicken. Here's Ryan and his mum:


When all our arms were tired, we put him back into his cot. There you go, Ryan...sleep tight.

How NOT to look for a job: Part 3

The final chapter of my snail-paced job search.

12/06 continued
With a tiny egg still in the Sydney basket, I make the decision to give Chicago a shot. I fly out of Sydney for Taipei on the 28th, with the Taipei to L.A. leg to come on January 2. No one apart from very close friends and my parents know about my interview in Chicago, which is just as well since my head is close to caving in.

1/07
I spend two weeks in the States. I first hang out with family in L.A. to adjust to the time difference. Ironically the jetlag gives me perfect morning person hours. I wake up at 6am and I'm ready for bed at 9pm. The next day my sleeping routine grows more advanced -- I split my eight hours of sleep in half! I wake up at 6am, then take an afternoon nap from 2-6pm, then go back to sleep for another four hours at 2am. It's like I'm morning and night person rolled into one. So innovative. (Really, this sleep breakthrough deserved its own post.)

On top of great sleeping patterns, the Chicago interviews go really well. Being January, the weather is terrible. Terribly exciting, I mean. It's never cold to the point of pain in Sydney or Taipei! When I get back to Taipei I prepare my parents for the worst.

The next week, I'm e-mailed a four-part writing test from Chicago. I have a week to deliver. It takes my brain a few days to warm up and come out of hibernation but I make the deadline. No math calculations this time. The same day, I get an e-mail saying they'll get back to me "next week". Woo, exciting!

With the writing test sent, I check on the egg in my Sydney basket. I write to the Scottish guy and ask what's up. Where's the writing test, man? He says he's decided to look for a senior writer instead. There goes the backup plan.

2/07
I wake up every day expecting news, expecting to log into my e-mail account and get some news. But every day I hear nothing. There's never any news. The only e-mails I get are from friends asking "Any news yet?" Offline, my parents say "What's news?" twice a day. "Nothing," I tell them. The only e-mails I get from Chicago inform me they hope they'll have some news soon and that I have to "hang in there". In return, I send them "When do you think I'll get some news?" e-mails. I must be annoying. They too are annoying. But my parents are happy. "Ignore them! They're too slow!" Mum says. "It's very strange," says Dad. Oh, and Chinese New Year happens. Big freaking deal. (Relax. I'm kidding.)

3/07
By now, six un-newsworthy weeks have passed. Mum and I have gone back to Sydney. Dad has stopped calling to say, "What's news?" Instead one day he tells me, "I hope you have eggs in other baskets, as the foreign people say." I assure him I do and then I make a face. I have no other eggs! It's potentially tragic.

Two months and one week after I interview with Chicago, and two months after they first tell me "next week", I get an e-mail saying they'll call me in Sydney at 11pm (7am Chicago time). I write back and say they can call later, at least when they get to the office.

That night, at 11pm, the phone rings.

"Calling from Chicago!" my dad says in an exaggerated American accent.
"Get off the phone, Dad! I'm expecting a call."
"I know. Mum told me. So what do you think they'll say?"
"Oh my god. I'll call you later! What if they're trying to call right now?"
"Okay fine, call me later. I'll be at the office."

When Chicago finally calls, I chat with the head of the interactive department who I didn't get to meet when I was there. "I notice it's been a while since you left your last company," he says. "What have you been doing since then? Freelance stuff?"

"Yep."

Then he offers me the position. I'm so happy I actually punch the air, like a teenage boy who just found out he made it onto the baseball team. And I'm glad no one is around to see it. While we continue to discuss next steps, I can't help but wonder why it took so bloody long to get to this point. But then I start to hear the beeps of another call coming through -- it's Dad again.

How NOT to look for a job: Part 2

The next three months of my excruciatingly inefficient job search, otherwise known as the period during which I developed severe narcolepsy.

10/06
Despite being chuffed about hearing back from Chicago, I look into advertising as a career sidestep. I sign up with an ad recruitment agency that has an espionage-themed name (all the good ones do) and get a call to meet with the director. I leave the meeting that day with two things: the name of a young art director to contact and a huge blood blister on my foot. (Click on link for photo of blood blister.)

The next week I meet up with the young art director. He ties a plastic sword to his beltloop "in case of street ninjas" because he's so creative. We talk about advertising so I can figure out if it's what I want to pursue. He buys me lunch and gives me some briefs to practice with. He also suggests AWARD school, a popular short course for ad writers and art directors. What a nice guy.

Once the house has been sold and we've found our St Leonards apartment, Mum and I move to my aunt's townhouse in Marsfield for five weeks. During this time, I take Sword Guy's advice and try my hand at writing some ads. It doesn't take long for me to come to the conclusion that maybe advertising is something I'm really interested in, but not something I should do full-time. Like watching Roger Federer play tennis.

11/06
I continue to keep an eye on the local job websites, but nothing makes my pupils dilate. This dearth of hope in Sydney makes me seriously reconsider the Chicago lead. To test the waters, I email Chicago and tell them I'd like to fly over to interview. Those sons of bitches call my bluff.

For the next few weeks, my insides are a mess. I call my ex-coworker Matt in Taipei for advice. I wonder how I'll present this idea to my parents. I consider the possibility of actually living in Chicago, Illinois, U.S.A. It occurs to me I don't even know where it is so I promptly look it up on the Lonely Planet site.

I weigh up my very limited options and ask myself two fundamental questions:

1) What's the point of flying (all the way over) there to interview if I'm not 100% committed?
2) If I don't give Chicago a shot, is it something I will regret down the road?

I sleep on these very important questions. And sleep, and sleep.

12/06
During the first week of the month when my average wake-up time is 14:00 hours, I miss a call from the tiny brand copywriting agency I applied to back in September. (SEPTEMBER!!!) They leave me a short note: "Come in for an interview!"

Oooooh, sure. No problem. Just let me change out of my PJ's and rub three month's worth of sleep from my eyes. Except there's a problem. The Scottish guy can only meet me on the same day as our big move to St Leonards. But hang on, this gives me a reasonable excuse to wear thongs (flip-flops) to the job interview. "I have no idea where I packed my impressive interview shoes," I tell him. "Don't worry about it," he replies. I look down and see that my interviewer is wearing thongs too. That's Sydney for you.

So the interview goes well. Finally I get to see someone flip through my portfolio and pull out the corporate profiles and point at stuff and ask me questions. (The advertising guy didn't give a rat's ass.) It's too bad the company isn't exactly what I'm looking for.

-----

To explain, I'd already set three basic requirements for my second job:

1) I wanted to work at a larger company
2) I wanted to work and learn from more experienced writers, and
3) I wanted to work in an English-speaking country.

-----

So this tiny brand agency is out because it only has two people, which despite being cute is really too small. Nevertheless, I tell him I'd be happy to do a writing test. I do this for a bunch of reasons, the main ones being he's a nice Scottish person, I want to be agreeable, and I should really have an egg -- even if it's a tiny egg -- in the Sydney basket too.

December to be continued.

How NOT to look for a job: Part 1

Because I can look back on it now and not feel like a huge loser, here is a timeline of my slow and extremely inefficient job search over the past eight months.

7/06
I finish up at my first full-time job. I sleep like a princess every day.

8/06
I apply for the copywriter or "creative maximiser" position at Google Sydney, seduced by the idea of a casual dress-code and free lunches. They call me in Taipei for a phone interview, then send me a writing test to do. I have 48 hours to send it back. I spend 18 of those 48 hours celebrating my 25th birthday then sleep for four hours in recovery. With three hours til deadline, I wake up to finish off the last part of the Google test. Unfortunately, the last part involves a ridiculous amount of math calculations and my birthday hangover is not conducive to working the Windows Calculator. Or a mouse. Or a keyboard. I fail the test. Der.

I begin work on an online writing portfolio: I upgrade my Typepad account, I pick out a domain name, I register it, and I put the whole thing together. It takes two, maybe three weeks to finish and costs around US$50.

9/06
I head back to Sydney to help Mum sell off our house in Pymble. I also start my research on local brand agencies. After putting together a list of about ten places, I send out enquiry emails to some small companies and also some huge international ones -- none of which are actually hiring. In the weeks that follow, rejection emails trickle in.

In the same month, I apply to four writer openings: a magazine of some kind, a tiny brand copywriting agency in the city, and two awesome brand companies in the States -- one in San Francisco, the other in Chicago.

I only hear back from one (Chicago, obviously):

"Can you send over some writing samples?" Chicago asks.
"Absolutely," I say.
"Nice work. But you're in Sydney. That makes it hard to organize an interview."
"Yeah."
I shrug.
Chicago shrugs.

To be continued...