Professionally Numb

While I was sitting waiting for a friend at a local restaurant in Midtown, I overheard two older gentlemen discussing their jobs over lunch. They sat casually nibbling on the pre-made sweets and seemed to be venting to one another about their work environment. Both were unkempt fellows with a subtle scientist-aire to them-- Einstein had no time for vanity. 

I overheard one of the gentleman say: "This has got to be one of the worst places I have ever worked." It was evident he had had a number of occupational transitions over the years and he knew what he was talking about. However, his adamant dismissal of his current professional make up mirrored almost verbatim what a colleague of mine who works full time at the agency I am freelancing with said. "This is probably the worst place ever." 

So, it got me thinking about my current professional situation. I recently went on a second interview for a strategic communications firm and have been probed by my current strategic communications agency for a potential opportunity with the firm. I am thinking it is a full time position they have advertised on the career sites. Truth be told, both jobs have the very stale, dry and mundane "corporate" taste I was so passionately trying to rid myself of. 

Given the current state of the environment, have we all been reduced to simply remaining content with what we've come to accept as the norm? Are people to remain confined to their cubicles and ride this wave until 2010; secretly praying they won't get laid off, but wishing they were somewhere, anywhere else other than there? Because disrupting the status quo is far too frightening when remaining what I am dubbing "professionally numb" keeps things on par. 

The economy is messing with people's minds. I blame the media for perpetuating the situation and reporting only the stock markets continuous plummets. I'd imagine consumer confidence would see some rebound if the current state of affairs didn't plague our every move. Perhaps letting the dust settle, taking a page out of foreign countries' books (closing down the stock market for a week), would allow Americans some much needed rest from all of this dooms-day news. 

Given that the fate of my career remains unwritten, I have to ask myself what is the most important thing for me moving forward right now. Chairman Bernanke seems to think the economy will rebound in 2010... wow, we're only 3 months into 2009 and we've already fast forwarded to 2010? Quite frankly, predicting an economic rebound is about as useful as predicting the weather two months from now... useless. So, is it wise for me to take a job that will leave me bored, unchallenged and quite frankly unhappy simply to rid myself of the burden of continuing to find something in this treacherous economy? Or, should I ride it out, continue my graveyard freelance gig and hope that when I fall, I fall where I truly want to land? 

Sometimes it is difficult to make a decision without thinking about the fiscal aspects of the decision. I think it is this outlook that has brought America to where it is. So much is wrapped up in our wealth, money and financial success that without it, we're lost, crumbled and sadly desperate. Perhaps if we valued, as the Europeans do, more substantial things rather than material possession and worth based on 'stuff'. 

It is not fair of me to generalize all Americans, as it would be hypocritical of me to point a finger when I am just as guilty as my neighbor. It is easy to blame others or find someone to take the fall, but when it really comes down to it...we're the one's who ultimately decide what is best for us. I'm still trying to figure it all out and I have found that my starting point has been with what I don't want-- to feel numb. 

East Village Bath House

nestled in the east village exists a landmark of relaxation proportions that serves as the perfect oasis. it was one of those experiences you find difficult to not enjoy for every ounce of sweat that beads off you in your choice of steam room, russian sauna or turkish sauna. surprisingly there is a difference, but neither will leave you high and dry. 

it is a therapeutic detox rich with some cultural traditions and a new york establishment since 1892. the front desk men, who i could confidently speculate were aptly named boris and ludvig, were not the friendliest of men with their heavy russian laden english, but this is not your regular day at the spa. 

it is your "diva-like" spa day stripped down to its barest of skivvies. it's simple. clean. and one could only imagine typical of bath houses. but you can only speculate. the place is filled with your regulars and novices. your pores have never felt so open (they will thank you) and apart from getting a 30 minute shiatsu massage-- you will probably never feel more relaxed from sweating out the toxins you absorb (read: stress, alcohol and tension). 

come armed with your smart water bottles (shameless plug). bring your favorite pair of flip flops and hope you ascend those white concrete stairs on 10th street at a time it is a co-ed session (i am just saying is all). the aroma of the banyan leaves, of which you can choose (for an additional fee) to get literally whipped by as a form of massage, stings your nostrils in the purest of forms (channel the smell of mint leaves). it is both refreshing and relaxing all warped in the white tiled hall of the russian/turkish baths of the east village. 

your senses will thank you and you'll leave feeling ten pounds lighter. most likely from all the sweating you'll do. no doubt you could use a little escape to regain some clarity.

"a day in the banya, is a day without aging." - russian proverb

judge not the dated (read: amateur) web site, but if you are interested in a peak click here

be forewarned... you will want to come back for more.

sidebar: i just realized banya is a derivative of "bathe" in spanish. 

Confessions of a former Collar Popper

i think it is about time i start having a little more fun with this blog. for starters, i will begin by no longer using capitalization as a form of defiance to the grammatical gods and an extended middle finger to the english teachers whose principle satisfaction comes from the power wielded in a red magic marker. 

as a former collar popper and self proclaimed yuppy, i am happy to report it is much harder to shake the habit of keeping my beloved neck warm these cold winter months. plus, a blue peacoat just doesn't look as rad with the collar flat as it were meant to be. the popped collar adds a flare of bad ass to the get up and by "flare of bad ass" i mean air of douche bag (should this be a compound word?). 

i have recently become enamored with the idea that i can find solace and temporary eclipses of absolute euphoria by either a) a small impulse purchase b) a simple act of kindness c) acknowledgement of my own unregarded stupidity. 

scenario numero uno: water is no longer just water after drinking glaceau's smart water. call me a consumer. call me ridiculous. but the silky smoothness of the vapor distilled, electrolyte packed water is unlike any other refreshing source of known to me in my current state. 

part deux: you know the feeling you get when you buy someone a gift you know they have a) wanted or b) would absolutely love? it almost beats actually being the recipient of a gift (depending on the gift--hence the almost). i am totally the person who gets so anxious to give the gift that i can hardly contain myself and have to give the gift far ahead of its anticipated date of delivery. seriously-- finding joy in someone else's happiness -- the moments can be few and far between so i try to revel in them.

mona je tua: no doubt a threesome would be fun, but that's not where i am going with this. can we just talk about spontaneity for a moment? does anything beat the unhinged and blatant disregard for time only to escape in a clouded moment of desperation for what seems like a change of scenery or exhilarating breath of air. are you following me here? you know the in the movies there is always that heroin who seems to embrace every facet of life as if it were the first time she were seeing it through her own eyes? you know-- the girl the guy falls head over heels over because she opens his eyes to the world he has somehow seemed to have written off so casually....... well, i feed off that spontaneity. bring on some of that disregard and sense of adventure. uncensored. unhinged. unplanned and for the love of everything that is good -- completely uncontrolled.

almost four: so i make lists. i know what i don't want. struggle to figure out what i do want. have begun to thrive off my uncertainty with a smile. i laugh at myself because sometimes i am just all kinds of stupid. a friend said today in response to my comment about once being 21 and stupid... 'now you're 24 and less stupid' (the comment in this frame of context sounds malicious, but i assure you it was not). truth be told, he is right. i am not talking about intellectually stupid, but the other kind of stupid. the kind of stupid you look back a few years down the line and say 'wow -- i was stupid for thinking that way, for saying that, for being afraid of doing that, for not going there, for holding back' -- that is the kind of stupid i am becoming less of or working on becoming less of. 

so lets loosen up the skinny tie. unbutton the top button. it's time i have a little more fun with some of the adventures and lessons i come across in the busy streets of new york. just don't expect me to pop the collar of my lacoste polos any time soon. at least not while i am rocking my aviators. that would just make me... well, you already know. 

Round 2

Ding! Round 2. 

Gotta keep your hands up. Be light on your feet. Protect the head. Nothing below the belt. I said, nothing below the belt. Well Hell...this graveyard b-lls*!t is like getting hit below the belt considering my sleeping patters are all kinds of sucker punched. 

I am seeing stars people! The little birdies that use to circle above our beloved cartoon character's heads when they were about to go down for the count...are sh!tting on me. My days--are short because I am so K.O.-ed from the weekend shift that I can never seem to wake up before 1 p.m. 

To add to the brutality, the days have been absolutely amazing in Manhattan lately. It's roughly 40-45 degrees and sunny. A welcome change from the stark cold winter we've been experiencing, thus adding to my already sucker-punched demoralization because I am too exhausted to even try and be productive on a gorgeous afternoon.

I remember learning in psychology that you can't ever really catch up on sleep. I am living proof that my former statement is in fact a scientific fact. No matter how long I sleep or for how many days...it's never enough. I fend off the impending illness by drinking water and Pom 100% Juice, oh yea and a sh!t ton of coffee...when I retreat to my corner for a pick me up. 

In all honesty, it's my second week pulling the weekend graveyard shift and so far Friday night has not been the title championship round...I'm getting through it. No hard blows to the gut just yet, but then again it is still early. Gotta stay light on the feet. Keep the head up and keep moving, but don't close your eyes hoping for that bell to ring...I still have 6 hours to go.

Fight the Urge

It's 3 a.m. on Monday and I am sitting in one of the world's largest financial institution's offices alone. I sit in a quiet conference room surrounded by televisions streaming Bloomberg News, CNBC, Fox Business Channel. There are white erase boards with grids outlining media opportunities, strategies and laptops scattered about the giant pinewood desk the sits in the middle of the room.

The office building itself spans the length of a New York Avenue (roughly 10 city blocks). It is stark like the inside of a dated hotel lobby. The cubicles are made of a pinewood that looks as though it was recently polished with Pledge. It is quiet and I sit alone. 

I am exhausted. It is the third day of this graveyard shift and my eyelids have never felt heavier. Except for that one time I stayed up for roughly 32 hours for Children's Miracle Network in college. I think that had to be worse because I was on my feet the entire time, but this certainly doesn't feel any better. I'm fighting the urge to just lay on the floor and close my eyes contently. The problem being that I wouldn't be doing my job...that can't happen. 

I don't have a remedy for staying awake. I've tried splashing cold water on my face, but that is only temporary relief. I've found myself chugging cups of water just to keep me occupied. I've become OCD with checking the news sources (as my job description entails) for any mention of said financial firm...there hasn't been a relevant news story in almost an hour. 

I try not to look at the clock, but it's hard when you're counting down the hours, minutes and seconds until you can just collapse on your bed, under the soft down comforter and finally rest peacefully. I jacked myself up on caffeine before starting my "shift" at 11 p.m. I felt my eyelids jittering back and forth for a bit when I tried closing my eyes for a 15 minute power nap. Needless to say, I didn't get to nap. 

I've paced the room a couple of times as I peer out the glass windows that make up 1/2 of the room and overlook Lexington Avenue. The occasional taxi will whiz by. I watched a homeless man make his bed for the night just beyond the scaffolding of a not-yet-constructed building. He made the bed so delicately on the concrete floor that I envied him for a split second at the thought of him actually getting to close his eyes. 

I thought about doing cart wheels down the empty hallways, but I refrained out of fear the periodical floor sweeping by the rent-a-cops would catch me in the act. Plus, I'm a 24-year-old man, not a 7-year-old girl with a skip it. 

I also thought about doing hand stands, but my head already feels a little light from the lack of sleep, slight hunger and over caffeination. Caffeination is underlined in red right now because the dictionary on my computer doesn't recognize it as a word. Lack of sleep causes you to make up words and evidently ramble on about your current induced insomniadic (another made up word apparently) state of mind. 

I dread the fact that this is merely my first weekend of doing this shift. I have to do it next weekend, but the weekend after that (which seems like light years away) I get a break. Maybe I will learn some tricks of the trade and the second time around it won't be so God awful. My eyes feel really dry right now.

The only thing that will legitimately get me through this is the fact that I booked a plane ticket to Florida for the first weekend in March. I could not be more ecstatic at the thought of a beach, flip flops and escaping Manhattan. 

I would love to run down the hall right now...sprint even, but it is just out of the question. My pants are too corporate. Yes, I am wearing pinstripe dress pants that I just referred to as corporate. Just look at this stream of conscious. This is what my thoughts have been reduced to at this hour. Short. Curt. Sentences... and Paid Programming on the plasma television. 

I just caught my reflection in the window. All it says to me is "You look dreadfully tired" in a British accent. I can't even do a good British accent...

The Graveyard Shift

Nearly two weeks to the day that I was laid off, I forwarded my resume to MA, an old high school friend who then forwarded it to a colleague of hers, who in turn forwarded it to his old strategic communications agency. As luck would have it, not one hour before receiving my resume, the CFO of said strategic communications agency was asked to find freelance workers for a major project. He immediately wanted to meet with me, and I could not be more ecstatic about a paying opportunity.

I met with the CFO and a few of the associates running the project. I then took a writing test and was offered a freelance position at $45/hour. I was asked to make a 6 week commitment with the understanding that I would be working the graveyard shift.

Lets evaluate what exactly is meant by the graveyard shift. The time now is 3:40 A.M. on Friday (or Saturday) depending on how you look at it. I am sitting in a large conference room in one of the most highly recognized financial firms in the world. For confidentiality purposes, I am not allowed to disclose who it is I am working for, but simply know that it certainly a financial institution you have heard of (without question).

My shift began at 11 p.m. and does not end until 7 a.m. on Saturday. It is an 8 hour shift tonight, a 9 hour shift tomorrow and another 9 hour shift Sunday that ends at 8 a.m. on Monday morning. I accepted the job knowing these stipulations becuase quite frankly my current economic and financial situation does not afford me the luxury of getting picky with what jobs I can and cannot do. To be frank, the money is not bad and besides the fact that my social life will suffer slightly for the next couple of weeks-- it is work and I cannot complain.

So what do I do for these graveyard shifts? Well, the financial institution has asked for 24/7 media monitoring of any and all mentions of the company. I spend my shifts pulling all references of the firm in major media outlets including television broadcasts. It is not a particularly grueling job, it requires me to remain on task as it is imperative that all news be sent in real time, so there is little room to slack off....which sort of makes time fly (sort of).

The good news is, I can afford my rent for another couple of months. I can afford to stay in NYC. I have ample during the week and the days to search for full time positions, and once again-- I am employeed in a time when unemployment rates in NYC are at an all time high of 10.5 percent (versus the U.S. at 7.5 percent). The situation (to say the least) is freightening. There remains an immense amount of uncertainty, but if I've learned anything it is to roll with the punches.

As much as we'd like to think we have some say in what direction we take-- we rarely do. Three weeks after getting laid off, I am remain surprised at how well I have managed to 'bounce back' from what I thought would certainly ruin me (or at the very least knock me down).

I've spent my days sending out the periodic resume to the monster postings, I continue to reach out to friends and explore new avenues (including possibly interning again) in order to steer my career down a more desired path. That said, and I am weary of saying too much, but I have secured an interview with a major PR firm this coming Monday and once again-- I am ecstatic at the possibilities that lie ahead.

Needless to say, for a young professional, I have managed to somehow take a series of unfortunate events and work them to my favor. I have firmly believed that the cards will fall as they are meant to and my experience as of late could not be a larger testament to that theory. I seldom believe in luck. It is all about timing because luck is simply when preparation meets opportunity.