freelance vs. nolance

I've been lookin' for work lately, and it's been a long process. I'm doing a couple side projects while I search, and the more I do this, the more I wonder if I need (or even want) a long-term, full time gig. There's something awfully nice about being able to do what I want for a couple days, whether that "what I want" is drawing, writing, loading up on 1930s UFA films, traveling, or ... watching ... more 1930s UFA films.



And it's come to the attention of everyone who uses money that the economy's for shit at the moment. So employers are less likely to hire someone on as a salaried employee, anyway. Which means I might be in the perfect spot to freelance. I certainly amn't going to thank any stars that my 401(K) won't cover my credit card debt, but said shitty economy might help me get a freelance gig that otherwise wouldn't be freelance. So yay.

The other option, as proposed by some dude from Ohio, is to get a job, not necessarily in my previous career path, and spend my off time (which I will have, because I don't sleep, which worked out well for me in advertising) doing what it is that I do. Drawing, writing, drawing-and-writing, makin' stuff. Fearsome! This option has a very strong appeal, despite the fearsomeness, which is to say I just might do it. Wondering if I HAVE to do it, now that I've written it down and now that I've told you three about it. Now that I've climbed the ladder to the diving board.

In sum: No ad-job means some other job means doing what I really want until what I really want pays. I find myself chasing a dream I didn't realize I had. It's almost as though the universe is conspiring to get me to do what really makes me happy. And that's neat.

Thanks, universe. I owe you one.

competitive cycling

If I ride bikes like an asshole, and don't wait for my slower biking friends, and pass people every chance I get just to see if I can, can I put down that I'm a "competitive cyclist" on my resume?

Yeah?

OK cool.

exciting julys

Weird stuff happens to me in July. I used to think July was unlucky or something, but this last one got me thinking maybe no. Here are six things in five Julys over 11 years:

JULY 1997
I decided not to pursue a career in classical and contemporary ballet after 13 years of training and performance. This was not an incident but a decision -- it didn't happen to me, I happened to it. It was hard. It was the right decision. No luck involved.

JULY 2001
A summer job at an architectural antiques showroom was cut short when the building fell down owing to dodgy construction. The owner had not gotten the proper permits and, in fact, had been told to cease construction twice. During the collapse, I was on the roof (which was unaffected). I was supposed to be on the 3rd floor (which was very much affected and would have meant a three-story drop alongside and under marble mantlepieces, ceramic bathtubs and sinks, and glass chandeliers). After I gave my statement to the police, I stopped to get a cup of coffee, realized I'd left my bag (with my wallet and paycheck in it) on the roof, broke down into tears, and discovered that the person behind me in line was a psychologist specializing in post-traumatic stress disorder. My aunt, herself recovering from a spiral fracture in her femur, said I was the luckiest person she knew.

JULY 2003
After being in Cambodia for over a year (drawing comics, tending a bar I co-owned, and freelance architectural drafting), the Assistant District Attorney of New York rang me up. He was finally bringing the building-collapse case to court. (The original court date was scheduled for September 12th, 2001, a.k.a. The Day After 9/11, in the courthouse across the street from the World Trade Center.) In a third-world country with limited phone and e-mail access on the other side of the world, I was the only employee they could find. "Where the hell did the other ones go?" I asked the D.A.. It got me thinking about going back to the States and provided the beginning of an exit strategy. I told them that I would testify if they would pay my airfare to New York. They agreed. Lucky.

JULY 2003
On a four-hour taxi ride from Phnom Penh to Sihanoukville, Cambodia, the driver fell asleep at the wheel. The taxi hit a guard rail, flipped forward twice, and landed right-side-up again. I was in the passenger seat with no functional seat belt. The seven (7) people in the back seats were not injured; they were packed in too tightly to have room to bang around. I broke my arm, fractured my shoulderblade, and broke two toes, one of which was later amputated. On my flight back to the States, already booked for the court appearance, I got an automatic upgrade to first class, which was 14 hours of loveliness on Thai Airways. But I should never have agreed to travel four hours in a car with no functional seatbelt in the first place. No luck involved.

JULY 2004
Will, my sister's ex-boyfriend and at one time my good friend, died of a drug overdose at the very end of the month (he was found in the first days of August). I was sad and angry. This complicated, brilliant, troubled person who had acted very, very badly towards my sister, the sister who is my hero, who has saved my ass on many occasions, who is smarter and kinder and more everything than I will ever be ... he was suddenly a saint in the eyes of many. And I couldn't tell him how mad I was, hold him accountable for all the shit he'd pulled in the last months of his life. HOW DARE HE. No luck involved.

JULY 2008
I went on vacation. An old friend confessed his undying affection. I was laid off after two years to the day. I went to the ER with a kidney infection. All this happened in the space of two weeks. (The undying affection did die, after I pointed out we have nothing in common, including but not limited to values, humor, tastes.) It forced me to re-assess what I do, what I'm good at doing, what I want to do, and where. And why. Still doing all of that, especially the "what I want to do" part. Good luck, mostly, though I can't say anything good at all about a kidney infection.

Five Julys, six incidents. Three were lucky, and three were luckless -- neither lucky nor unlucky. I netted out lucky, and I have some good stories. I think I'm ready for some boring Julys, though. Maybe for a long time.

what i would have twittered: flight edition

WHAT I WOULD HAVE TWITTERED, IF I COULD HAVE TWITTERED, ON FLIGHT #6084 FROM PORTLAND TO LOS ANGELES ON FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 26TH, 2008:

"This plane is smaller than the plane I took to Portland back in July. And that plane was totally wee."

"This plane is full of golfers. Or people who want to look like golfers. Giant golfers. #weeplane"

"Dude. I can't believe I scheduled a flight during the Obama/McCain debates. DUDE."

"O, grate! Loud-talker immediately behind me has decided to give life advice to his row-mate."

"Ever decide you just don't like someone on very little evidence? I do. #lifeadviceguy"

"My iPhone thinks I really REALLY like the following bands: Copy, Pistolera, The Dismemberment Plan (always with the Plan!), El-P."

"Turns out Christopher and I have nothing in common, including but not limited to values, humor, tastes. Go figure."

"Feels like wheels of plane made contact with tarmac, yet we're several thousand feet above ground. Worrisome?"

"When I decide to cut my hair, I want it cut nownow, so I often cut it myself. Want to cut it now. Resisting cutting in airplane bathroom."

"#lifeadviceguy taught Mexican row-mate to say 'yes' like an American (i.e., not 'tchess' but 'yes'). Life advice guy really proud of him."

"Actually plugging my ears so as to not hear #lifeadviceguy. Plane taxiing = no portable music devices allowed."

"It's hot and humid, and everyone has perfect teeth, and I'm within 20 minutes of my bike, and I smell doughnuts. It's good to be home."