Cave Cuniculum...

Latin. Means "beware the rabbit."

Friday, May 18, 2007

Hiatus...

Blog is going on hiatus. I need time to work on more important things (i.e. job and apartment hunting, and not going bat-shit insane).

Selah...

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

To fill up, or not to fill up; that is the question

Today is May 15th; the day that many hope will live in infamy. This is the day that we're all supposed to not buy gas in the hopes that the large oil corporations will get the message, and start moving to decrease how much we're forking over at the pump.

Will this work? Very, very difficult to say. After all, the oil companies don't get the revenue from their operations on a daily basis, so they may not even notice for a couple of days or a week. Even if they do notice, how big of a difference will it be? Don't forget, these are the guys that clap each other on the back and celebrate billion-dollar profits by lighting cigars with $1,000 dollar bills. Repeatedly they've demonstrated that they care little for the plight of the "little people" (i.e. you and me), and are more concerned with stuffing their Armani suits with more of our money. With gas prices rising to nearly $3.50/gallon in some areas, this won't be a problem. You see, they truly have us by the short 'n' curlies. We need their product to function; without it, getting to work, the store, the beach, etc. becomes a massive chore. We are a society of drivers; our legs are used for little more than pushing the pedals to make the car go and stop. Walking has become recreational; not something used for traveling.

That being said, I'm all for this type of action. Don't fill up today. Avoid the gas stations. Save some money. But don't be surprised if nothing happens. After all, it's just one day of you not buying gas.

Take it a step further. Make a greater impact. Take action for more than one day; do something to make a lasting impression. Start walking or biking more. After all, do you really need to drive one mile to the video store? Walking or biking would help save you money on gas and, as an added side benefit, help you improve your health.

This is, of course, just my two cents worth. That, and another $3.28 will buy you a gallon of gas...

Monday, May 14, 2007

Post-Graduate Over-Educated Out of Work Blues...

(title for this post is a song title by Wally Pleasant)

On Friday of last week I received the first F.O.D. letter from an Ann Arbor company. For those of you not familiar with F.O.D., it literally means "F*ck Off and Die." Usually you get one of these in response to a job application, and - although the verbiage may differ - they all say essentially the same thing: "We're not hiring you. Piss off."

The letter I got on Friday took this a step further. While still pleasant in tone, it is the first F.O.D. letter I've received that had a scanned signature. Not just scanned, but scanned poorly. And at a low resolution, probably around 100-150dpi. The end result? A hard to read, pixelated, low-quality image on a letter that's already bad news. Not only does this say that they don't want to hire you, it says that they can't even be bothered to take five seconds to sign the letter telling you that they're not hiring you. In essence, this says: "We're not hiring you. We'd rather hire a three-day's dead yak in a bustier rather than hire you. In fact, we're so against hiring you that we're going to make this as impersonal as possible, in the hopes that you'll refrain from sending any more crap our way."

This from a small printing company in the Ann Arbor area. Not a large corporation. Perhaps they have aspirations of being larger and more impersonal, hence the F.O.D. letter of doom. After all, anyone can create a form rejection letter that pulls information from a database and spits it out onto a laserjet printer, but it takes a certain je ne sais quois to put a poorly processed signature image on it.

Now, I'm not turning up my nose at them and saying that they should hire me; that they don't know what they're missing; that I'm better than sliced bread, spaceflight, and three-day weekends all rolled into one. All I'm saying is this: How about a little compassion? Take the extra time to actually sign the rejection letter. You're already going to make the poor bastard (or bastardette) feel bad because they're not getting a shiny new job; why make it worse by telling them that they're not even worth the time it would take for you to apply pen to paper? Leave the impression; the little ink smear. That shows that someone actually looked at their submission; that it wasn't mechanically evaluated and spat remorselessly into the nearest circular file.

I can only hope that this is the last F.O.D. letter I get...

Friday, May 11, 2007

Brother, can you spare a job?

In this blog, I've posted more than a couple times about my need for a new and better job. Something in my field, preferably, but something better than where I'm at. Until recently, it wasn't imperative that I find something. While the current job sucks more ass than an extreme corporate brown-noser with middle-management ambitions, it paid the bills and kept food on the plates of the cats.

Times have changed, however, and a new job needs to happen. Soon. Very soon. Within the next two and a half months, to be precise.

You see, that's when my wife and I will be relocating to Ann Arbor. She will be attending the University of Michigan this fall, starting in their graduate program to get her MFA in sculpture. I, on the other hand, will be working for a living - provided I can find gainful employment, that is.

In the past two weeks, I've submitted applications to over twenty places, humbly requesting - and sometimes begging - for a job. The majority of these places have been design or advertising firms, but there have also been run-of-the-mill office places, too. While I want (and need) to work in my field, I'll take stability and the ability to pay the rent over endlessly searching for a graphic design job.

And herein lies the conundrum. I need to work in my field. Not want. Need. I'm too old to have a "job;" I need to have a "career." I'm a graphics geek. I love mucking about with Illustrator and Photoshop. I can identify nearly every typeface I see. I spend more time looking for widows and orphans in the paper than I do actually reading it. To relax, I'll put together comps and mockups. Sounds strange, doesn't it? But that's what you do when you have that kind of passion for something; it becomes part of your daily life.

Would Ohio have presented better opportunities? Maybe. Wisconsin? I don't know. I do know that Michigan is where I am, and I need to make it work in Ann Arbor. Or Brighton, Detroit, Farmington Hills, Novi, etc. I'm not picky.

All I ask is that if you visit Ann Arbor, keep an eye out for me. If I'm looking slightly bedraggled and sitting on a stoop, throw me a buck or two. If I'm looking really bedraggled and holding a mug of what appears to be very strong coffee, then I'm working in my field. You'll know by the slight smile in my bloodshot eyeballs.

Thursday, May 10, 2007

Ow.

Yesterday I got to experience something that I hadn't in thirteen years. I got to go to the dentist.

While not a pleasant experience, it wasn't horrible. They did chastize me for not coming in sooner, forcing me to play the "I didn't have insurance/too expensive" trump card. I was complimented on my oral hygiene, but I did have some tartar buildup and a couple of cavities - not bad for thirteen years of dental malfeasance. Not good, either, but certainly not as bad as something you'd find in the Big Book of British Smiles.

The appoinment began with the dental hygenist rubbing some cherry flavoured goo on my gumline. This both numbed my gums and left me with a pleasant Nyquil™ cherry-death flavour in my mouth. After they randomly selected a time, I was given several injections of novacaine from a syringe roughly the size and heft of a California redwood. After several minutes, the entire right side of my face - including my right nostril - went completely numb. For the cleaning, they brought out what amounted to an ultrasonic water-pik. This procedure - while not painful - did produce a constant buzzing inside my headbones.

After this, it was time to move on to the filling of the cavities. After moving me to another chair, the drill was fired up and the attack on the decaying enamel began. There was a tense moment where, when the novacaine started wearing off, it began to feel as though they were drilling directly into the nerves in my jaw. I raised my hand and waved to get their attention:
Me: "hrghfph!!!!!" (hey, it's hard to talk with two hands and assorted tools in your mouth)
Them (calmly, as they remove their hands): "Yes?"
Me: "I think the...ow...novacaine's wearing off..."
At this point, they looked at each other briefly - a hint of malice glinting in their eyes - and once again foisted the syringe and gave me another shot. This time, the sucker skipped my soft tissues completely, and went directly for the lower mandible. Various epithets, slurs, and vague insinuations went through my head but I couldn't vocalize them. It's damned impossible to speak when half your face is numb and two dental hygenists have their hands stuffed so far in your mouth that they're tickling your uvula.

But I survived. I arrived home with a face full of novacaine, and a dull ache in my jaw. Once the novacaine wore off the ache intensified to a throb, waited for a bit, then went straight into intense pain. I attributed this partly to the freshly patched holes in my teeth, but mostly to the stab to the jawbone.

The good news is that my teeth are a little better off than they were two days ago. The bad?
I get to go back and do this a second time in late June...