7.17.2007

A new job...a new life?

Now, I'm not into divulging or indulging into personal schtuff here at the LK. This occasion, however, deserves a nod:

Got a new job!

Some notes on getting a new job at age forty-whatever-the number is-it's-late-in-the-game:

1. It's much more difficult to squeeze in interviews around a tough work schedule. I used to be able to scam a doctor's appointment or sick day, sparkle like new money at a grueling interview and return perkily to work without turning a hair. Now, I go on a job interview, and I'm wrung out like I've run a marathon. Geez, how many more times will I have to go through this?

2. Try not to get into a car accident a few hours after your first interview. Okay, it was just a fender bender and it was SO NOT my fault. (Stupid SUVer rammed into me as I waited for a traffic light to change.) However, I recommend spacing semi-traumatic events slightly further apart.

3. Try to get the job offer in hand before your current boss meets with you about ways you can handle your heavy workload. (Fun fact: LK has worked on more than 640 Creative Services projects since mid-2005 and now. That doesn't count the jobs that don't relate to Creative Services. Those number in the kerjillions.)

4. Try to get the job offer in hand before you have to attend a two-day interdepartmental soul-sucking meeting about all of the projects you are not going to have to worry about. Oh, and try not to get two big public awards for your job performance. It's kind of embarrassing to have to resign a day later.

5. Try to get a decent vacation break before all of this occurs. (At least, I am still going to Spain in November.) Now that events are rolling forward and there's no going back, I am desperately trying to figure out how to leave gracefully and yet avoid those daily meetings my boss has set up for the next two weeks, during which she undoubtedly will try to whip me into finishing as many of the kerjillion projects I have. 'Cos I'm a wee-bit tuckered.

New job will be in the education field (not teaching, but at least at a university). I'm excited. Or, I will be, once I get a little rest. Oh, no, I'm pretty excited now, actually. Doesn't seem quite real.

Very sad, too, as I really really really loved all of my coworkers.

You have to take chances in life, sometimes. This is one of those times for me.

7.16.2007

Monday, Monday

Oh, folks, it has been quite a ride the past few weeks. I STILL can't reveal details (not quite YET), but I am about 5-1/2 pounds heavier from all the stress eating. (If it's not deep fried, it can't soak up enough of the stress, you see.)

I am quite far behind in my posting about reading. I did manage to finish two books: Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee by Dee Brown and, as part of Neglected Books reading, Miss Lonelyhearts by Nathanael West.

I will (I hope!) be able to comment in depth about each. Suffice to say, Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee is devastating but brilliant -- a must-read! Sadly, part of America's heritage is ruthless exploitation of people and resources. This book charts one aspect of this -- the treatment toward the Indians by white settlers -- so affectingly.

Miss Lonelyhearts is also brilliant, in a quirky, odd way. At first, I was quite put off by this book; I found the characters distasteful. But the work grew on me. Quite a feat of writing. I am eager to read the other novella that accompanies this edition, Day of the Locust.

In lieu of analysis on Miss Lonelyhearts (to come later), I want to share something I found on the author, which is quite fascinating:

By a bizarre coincidence, (F.Scott) Fitzgerald and West died on the same weekend in December 1940. West was killed in an automobile accident on December 22, near El Centro, California, with his wife Eileen McKenney. He was recently married, with better-paid script work coming in, and returning from a trip to Mexico. Distraught over hearing of his friend's Fitzgerald's death, he crashed his car after ignoring a stop sign. Eileen McKenney become the subject of a book, My Sister Eileen (1938), written by Ruth McKenney, her sister.