GRRRRRRRR

I’m here again because I’m fire-pissed. I HATE applying for jobs online. It’s time-wasting, it’s insulting, and it’s unfair to judge a person based on preconceived notions of what an employment history is supposed to look like. Employment history is not a bunch of little boxes you fill in. When it comes down to actually hiring someone, those little boxes have absolutely nothing to do with a) who you are, and b) how you’re going to perform on a day-to-day basis. Great, I got paid X dollars/year in Tampa Bay…that is in no way indicative of the kind of performance I’ll provide to you, dear employer. It’s not like you’ll see that figure and go, well, we’re changing the salary for this position.

The current application I’m filling out wants me to account for 10 years of employment history with three employers. No one under the age of 30 can claim to have had only three employers in the last 10 years. It’s not possible in this economy. I think I’ve worked for over 20 organizations, not counting freelance. Let’s list them, shall we? Then I shall continue with the application process.

1. Birmingham Country Club 
2. Meijer
3. Produce Palace
4. KMart
5. Waldenbooks
6. Metro Beach
7. The Almanian
8. Alma College Library
9. WQAC
10. Alma College Public Relations
11. Thrifty Florist
12. Illawarra Mercury
13. Kohl’s
14. US State Department
15. Safeway 
16. Detroit Free Press
17. Georgetown University
18. Barnes & Noble
19. Carolina Mudcats
20. Tampa Bay Devil Rays

Obligatory Weather Post

I was just telling Schultz about the silly weather here. Please note: I’ve kept the Wii set to believe it’s still in St. Pete so it tells me the temp’s 70 or so. And sunny and clear.

Here: Snow. Sleet. Slush. Gray. Clouds. Fog. No palm trees. Silver lining: No driveways to shovel. Score yet another reason to live in an apartment…

The Soccer Overlords

In one of the weirder moments since I’ve been unemployed, this morning I came across a posting on teamworkonline for the exact same job I applied and interviewed for back in December and was not awarded in early January.

This baffles me. It’s literally exactly the same, except applications are due by February 29, which means they’re in no hurry to fill the vacancy that they supposedly filled earlier this month.

Oh, USSoccer, was it me? Did you hate me? Was asking the salary before the offer letter what set you off?

And so, the confusion about Corporate America continues. More of my motivation to do it myself is to become Corporate America and find out how companies think so weirdly.

No “cks”

The greatest thing about the Chicago Shamrox is the spelling. The “X” means they are Hip and With It and don’t want to inflict more “cks” on the world, instead opting for the best Scrabble letter that gets you 8 points.

(On Scrabble: I am a firm believer in making your own words despite the dictionary’s limitations. So if I wanted to make “Viewsonic,” let me. The rules are from like 1940.)

Anyway, I worked my second Shamrox game last evening, further confirming my belief that the market is oversaturated with niche sports teams that don’t draw very well. Hockey in Lincoln, Nebraska is a good bet because of the lack of other pro sports in Lincoln, Nebraska. In Chicago, we have 454 pro sports teams. Not all will draw well.

Even worse: None have the distinction of being very good.

About 2,500 people came out to see the Rox beat the Rush in an overcharged atmosphere I’d despise if I was a player. Announcements for ticket packages during action! If major league baseball taught me one thing, it’s this: Let. It. Breathe. People like fewer options. That’s why Apple does so well. Here, you can buy an iPod. Not iPod with Rhapsody that might play WMV and AAC without DRM and AVIs but no MOV. It might be why the Cubs do so well, despite their terribleness.

But, the Rox won, the contestants I selected were happy, and I might have made $5. Investment banking: Why aren’t you more fun?

The Mighty Have Fallen

The saddest thing a once-sweet band can do, I believe, is play a show in a sports bar in a strip mall. First, you’re opening for Live at the glorious State Theatre in Detroit, and then: It’s the ‘burbs of Chicago in a place that does karoke on Wednesdays.

The band, in this case, is Eve6, one of my favs from high school and the first year or so of college. This is like Silverchair playing at Ferg’s.

I must gives props to Wifey and KO, who sweated out the first two terrible bands to get to the once-famous trio, who seemed, sadly, uninspired, at best. The lead singer, Max, looked like a Wall Street broker who’d had a bad week and then had a fight with his wife before strutting up to the stage (in a jacket and tie) with a “do-I-really-have-to-do-this” list of nonverbal cues.

I dunno: I like when rock bands move. Smiling once in a while is usually good too.

When the band finally took the stage at 12.30 or so, they played a mix of new and old, plowing through the setlist like they needed to get to bed. Inside Out was clearly the crowd favorite, although Max ruined it by throwing in some minute-long blabbering no one understood. Here’s To The Night, like the rest of the evening, came off as dull, and while my favorites, like Promise, On The Roof Again, and Bang came out, they came out flat.

Perhaps it was the venue, not built for a multiplatinum rock band. Deep Blue Something is coming in a few weeks; Breakfast At Tiffany’s, anyone?

UnBelievable

I hate this. I’m pissed. I’m angry. I’m rarely like this. But here’s a system error if I’ve ever seen one…

To apply for a part-time position at a local library that requires you to do nothing more than have eyes and read, you need the following:

• cover letter
• resume
• reference list (at least 3)
• proof of education (in this case, diploma)
• 5-page application that includes a list of former employers and schools, all of which are already on my resume

I can’t wait for the background check, drug test, 42 interviews, credit report, proof of renter’s insurance, license and social security card copies, marriage certificate, and fingerprints.

Goodnight. Tomorrow will be better.

The First Visit

This weekend, our third in Chicagoland, will involve two things we’re not used to: a high temperature of 8 degrees, and my parents.

The Strike

Is is possible that the WGA strike will result in an onslaught of creativity once the writers go back to work? The ideas haven’t gone on strike; they’re still there, and no doubt accumulating by the day. Bored, temporarily out-of-work writers are indeed writing…that unfinished novel, the screenplay from the salad days, treatments that were dorm room dreams from years ago. I predict some good, high-quality entertainment in the years ahead (as if we don’t have enough now).

You should try this

The greatest thing I’ve done in the last 30 days is create a goal checklist. This isn’t Big Picture Stuff, like Go Skydiving or Visit the Pyramids (oh wait, that’s a bucket list)…it’s one piece of paper featuring a table of six columns and a row for each day of the month. Each column lists a goal–in my case, sudoku, email, blog, birthday, work out–and I just put an X in each box when said goal is accomplished for the day. It’s cool to see it laid out and visualize the things I’ve done. The Blog column is pretty barren of X’s, hence this post. On the other hand, Work Out is totally full of X’s. Hoorah.

This isn’t my idea; Jerry S*infeld seems to be generally credited with it.

Movies of ‘07

An end-of-the-year treat (or in this odd case, a beginning-of-the-year treat) is Slate’s Movie Club, where a bunch of critics I haven’t heard of get together and talk movies. They perch uncomfortably with their higher-than-thou tastes on the pixels of a popular magazine and ask if they should feel guilty for seeing the new Indiana Jones next summer; in that way, and the way too little time is spent on one subject, the whole show is galling for the reader, but in the same manner, it’s gloriously real…like talking with your friends about the films they’ve seen over the last two months.

That being said, I was discussing with Chris the fab movies of the year, and I admit to not really liking many. I watched about as many as the average person…

Ocean’s 13 (a little bland), Transformers (too unbland), I Am Legend (it ate itself with the horrid third act), Ratatouille and Michael Clayton (both pretty but both dull), Blades Of Glory (sorry Jenna Fischer), The Simpsons and Knocked Up (funny, but not hysterical), Pirates 3 and SpiderMan 3 (overdone, like a burnt pizza), and Fracture (the mini roller-coaster for the marble was neat).

I liked, in no particular order, Superbad, The Bourne Ultimatum, Zodiac, The Mist and Meet The Robinsons, the latter the best film from Disney or Pixar since Finding Nemo (better than the Incredibles) and featuring the best line in an animated movie since “The claw chooses who will stay and who will go.” I give you: “Okay, talking frog: Not a good minion.” That’s the kind of year it’s been.

The great Jesse White

The first thing a visitor to the Secretary of State’s office here in Illinois is how much Jesse White wants you to know that he is, in fact, the Secretary of State. His name is even on my driver’s license, which seems somewhat egomaniacal, but perhaps necessary, given that I know nothing of state government. Except that’s it’s not really built for customer service.

Let us recap the visit from last Friday to the office in Naperville. In chronogical order, with notations:

Good: Short line upon walking inside. Friendly greeter to direct us to proper counter. Friendly employee who informed us of the office’s needs.
Bad: The office’s needs. To get a license plate, you must provide SecState with your VIN, insurance carrier, mileage, dealership from where you purchased the vehicle, proof of lien, previous registration, and a lamp. Not the lamp. This seemed excessive.

Good: Upon returning with our biographies, we were whisked through the first counter to the second counter, where we provided all of this useful information.
Bad: The woman who handled all of our paperwork told me I had too many copies of my lien. This seemed odd, considering the amount of data I had to provide.
Amusing: Large man sitting behind the counter reading the Chicago Sun-Times. Tax dollars at work.

Good: Smooth process, then onto Desk #3…the Cashier.
Bad: It’s $143 to get a title and plates in Illinois, which again, seemed excessive considering Florida’s price was $46 and the states have a similar number of people.

Good: Thanks to the fact that we brought our entire file cabinet of Important Information, we had the 76 documents needed to get a license, including social security card, passport, and previous license, as well as proof of residency.
Also good: At this counter, our fourth, you could also register to vote.
Bad: The highest thing on the way were the words “Jesse White.”

Now it just gets silly.

It’s onto an eye test and a road test! A road test? I just moved from Florida. I’ve been driving, almost without fault, for 10 years, and I need to tell you what a stop sign looks like? The woman administering this test was, in a word, horrible, and I can only hope the government is recruiting people who are not mean to 55-year-old men who were given wrong directions.

All of that falls under Bad.

Good: Onto counter six, where photos were taken.
Bad: My photo.

And finally, counter seven, where you pick up your license. Ah, Jesse White, there you are again, on my document for which I paid $10.

The Florida SecState is as anynomous to me as the Milwaukee Brewers’ bullpen, but Jesse, you’re my tiger (even though you were almost a Cub).

This process took about three hours, including filling out the forms. Pretty nice little Friday.

Naperville

Holly and I landed in Chicagoland on New Year’s Eve Eve; greeted by snow flurries, we unloaded the vehicles with great haste, and I found that our amount of goods did not magically decrease over a 1,200-mile trip. We don’t even have much stuff, yet we do. It’s odd. It’s the accessories, I think: A decent home theater requires a lot of cabling and a lot of power. Surge protectors and RCAs. Which need drawers.

Anyway. It’s cold here. And Naperville looks like a freaky combination of Auburn Hills and Sterling Heights (the north side). Both observations depress me, but I like our apartment, especially because we turned the overly gigantic master bedroom into a playroom/guest room, which is, really, better for everybody. (The other bedroom is where our bed lives.)

Thursday was nice; we trained into the city to Phil and his friends; who else could introduce me to the film critic for Time Out Chicago? I love Phil; he was here for Olympic Stuff. That’s how he rolls. He’s that good. I want to give him a radio show, but I don’t really have airspace to provide.

Today’s my first (of ten) day(s) with the Chicago Shamr*x, which should be interesting. I’m Jamie, circa 2006, although perhaps with bigger crowds (ooh, Rays dig).

All for now.

Tampa Bay < Chicago (?)

Ten days from now, Holly and I are exchanging the warmth and sunshine of Tampa Bay for Chicago and all the treasures and glories that come with living in an unapologetic midwestern city that shares a lake with our home state.

This relocation comes about 34 months since I hopped on the Devil R*ys’ bandwagon and began work for an industry legend on one of the worst pro sports teams in American history in a beautiful but sleepy metropolis in the great state of Florida.

Allow me, if you will, a quick look back on some of the highlights of this chapter:

• 24 straight hours of work on the ‘06 media guide alongside J-Lat and Nino. It was both a terrible and rewarding night that resulted in a custom-made putt-putt course and 500+ pages of info on a nine-year old baseball team.
• The first time I met Franz0ne, who, jaded but ultimately hopeful, introduced me to Tropicana Field by telling me the faults of the sound system.
• Billy throwing a CD from his area in the front of the control room toward the back after an exchange between him and Franz0ne so hilarious that it made me cry.
• Chuck’s voicemail messages, particularly the one about him giving me moment-by-moment updates on his driving progress.
• Jon saying “How is that a common myth?” after Jeff mentioned something about pet rocks. Again, I cried.
• The people applauding after viewing one of the few videos I put significant work into creating. Effort equals rewards, I guess.
• Parking Lot Dancing with Stef, Nicole, Jon, Jeff and Vince. Music created by Cascadia and supplied by the Bug’s stereo.
• Nino putting on a Lakers’ jersey for Halloween and calling himself the second-ever Cuban draftee.
• The Professor’s hot dogs. And Schultz going down to get them.
• Schultz telling me that a Tiger was a Hawk. The Hawks were has fantasy baseball team, and just about everyone on the team, no matter how good a player, was bad if Schultz picked ‘em.
• Golick dancing. Well, moving his arm anyway.
• Harrison and his cup at Ferg’s.
• Rebecca teaching me how to dance to rap music. Worst. Moves. Ever.
• Becky’s laugh. Still one of my favorite sounds.
• The Tiff/Scott Photo Session. Again, at Ferg’s.
• Holding a conversation with Jays0n Stark.
• Richie always picking Nick Green in the illegal nightly control room pool.
• Visiting the bar with the bull in LA with the guys from the White Sox and seeing some girl from The Real World.
• Franz0ne’s description of D0ug upon finding him asleep in their hotel room in LA. It looked like a murder scene, and still makes me laugh.
• The woman in Brookings driving Steve and I to Wal-Mart so we could buy shorts we ultimately used to sit in the hot tub with the Red Sox kids and talk about life.
• Speaking of Brookings, Ter#y Pugh calling me and knowing what restaurant I was in. That’s amazing because there are about three restaurants in that city.
• Playing dradle with Phil.
• Stef’s cookies. Very nice treat.
• Getting pizza on College Football Saturday and eating it in the control room with Jeff, Doug and Steve.
• Jamie visiting one morning and uttering the now infamous words: “What’s a biscuit?” (For the record, she was being fascious.)
• The time Schultz said “Whose bra do we think that is?”
• Yelling DEEEETROIT BASKETBALL with Shirk nearly every time we were in a public place together.
• Poor Sean Gelinas, just trying to help, and ultimately getting his hand sliced which resulted in an instant sober-up, clinic visit and me sleeping in my car for an hour.
• Stef, again: Singing Scotty Doesn’t Know.
• And the last moment has to go to Franz0ne: In St. Louis, we were in a party tent next to Busch. The song One More Night came on, and while I was caught up in the moment (it is a pretty sweet tune), I went over to John to see his reaction, and him, only him, would be writing himself a note to put it into gameday rotation.

More than anything, that last moment may have epitomized my Rays’ experience: Often stuck in a haze of fun (possibly fueled by alcohol), in the shadow of a baseball stadium, the smallest details can become the most important.