Tuesday with Thalia: The Job Hunt

In the last 6 months, I have sent about 105 resumes. Figuring for my powers of exaggeration, but factoring a forceful and concerted attempt at accuracy, call it 97. I have a file full of resumes; one page summaries of my teaching and of my orchestral experience, two Curriculi Vitae, and dozens of cover letters. I write professional but personal emails to all and sundry. I provide these people with everything they could possibly need to know more about me than my stand partner. (Which is an odd position in an orchestra. They’re not always friends, but they know your quirks and habits as well as your family does.) I give a pretty clear picture of who I am, even before I walk into an interview.

I have had 7-10 interviews for my trouble. It’s not a great rate of return, but it’s a tough market. Everyone needs a job, and everyone is hiring, but nobody is hiring…me…. which is peculiar, but there it is. Perhaps companies are being choosy and I am too quirky. After all, I have deep purple nails, burgandy sparkly glasses, and a haywire sense of the ridiculous. Well, it’s no use crying over spilled milk, or 8 hour interview days that administer math tests and then don’t hire you.

The thing is, all these interviewers ask the Dumb Thing. Now, I have been an interviewer too. Some questions get you lots of helpful information, and some questions get you nothing you didn’t know by looking at them. But after asking questions that led to dead ends and misrepresentations one year, I changed the questions the next year. Seems a logical thing to do. Nevertheless, from these people who work for much larger corporations than I did, I get the silliest question.

Tell us about yourself.

Grrrrrrrrrr…..

I try reversing a lot. “What would you like to know?” Because really. I mean to say! It would be much easier to tell them them who I am not, than who I am. So I have made a list of the things I am not. I think it narrows the field considerably. You know the story of the sculpter who was asked how he created such a beautiful marble elephant? He said “It’s easy! I just chip away all the marble that doesn’t look like an elephant.” So that is how we shall sculpt an idea of me. I’ll show up like a negative on film.

I am not an entymologist.

I am not a herpetologist either.

I am not neutral. (hehehehehehehe)

I am not dull, bland or narrow.

I am not fond of mathematics, but arithmatic might be ok occasionally.

This is really working! So, my friends, who aren’t you?

Ye Anciente Books of Face

Have you ever wondered what classical stories might look like if they were written in modern terms?

Have you ever meditated on the phenomenon of “micro-verse”, so-called because it stays within the character limit of such modern conveniences as “twitter”, and “facebook”? (Oh, the creative outlet, it never withers!)

Have you ever wondered if this technically advanced society could create – in its particular voice, approach, and form – as nuanced, universal, and delicate an art as the past ages.

Well, wonder no longer!

Recently, archeologists have uncovered several very telling artifacts that depict the Ancients as being much more similar to us than we think! Upon deciphering and restoring, the artifacts are revealed to be something altogether unexpected and amazing, and might even rewrite the cannon of literature as we know it.

Now, solely at the behest, scheming, and brilliant power plays of the Muses of the Egotists Club, here is a sneak peak of these awfulsome relics!

 

 

 

 

 

 

So, there you have it.

Enjoy!

~Melpomene, the Muse of Tragedy

Created with the wonderful powers of time-traveling telepathy, and the Wall Machine

Shelob in the Bathtub

I am many things, but I am not an entymologist. I am brave, but not where insects are concerned. I will face snow and ice, wind, rain, monsoons, tornados. I am one of the 5 people in a room of 100 who would not panic if a gun wielding lunatic were locked into a small room with me. But. I am not a fan of spiders.

I’ve always known that if I have Alzheimers when I am old, I will hallucinate spiders. It’s not good news. My sweet brother (M.S.B.) has always taken care of me in this regard, killing the monsters that attack me. Once, in an effort to provide my subconscious with some relief, we caught a very large spider in a paper cup, poured cheap vodka over it, and lit it. Sadly, the spider was still living when the cup burned to the ground. It was inebriate and cringing, but it lived.

So my vendetta grew to consume me.

Well….at any rate, the world of Arachnia owes me, and not just because it has 8 creepy legs instead of 2 or 4.

One day in December, I was cold. Obvious, perhaps, but it was extreme. Drafts poured in from my bedroom window, my electric outlets, my air conditioning vent and my patio window. I was keeping my heat down to try to keep my bill down. In the past, I have suffered, or gone to bed. This day, I chose to fight back. I lit some candles, drew a very hot bath, prepared a book nearby and turned on my mini laptop to play nice music. I kept my phone nearby to keep track of time.

My grandparents called me. Guilt assailed me. They had just paid for my ticket to Arizona to visit them on their anniversary. I’d better answer. I figured it was grandma. Usually, I’d have been right, but I was wrong. Ok, so talking to grandpa in the bathtub…ok…yeah. I considered ways to wrap up the call fast.

Fate put an end to the call.

My eyes were drawn to the movement. Where the showerhead attached to the wall, there is a screw hole without a screw in it. To this I idly looked. Horror grew as, leg by leg, a GIGANTIC spider emerged. It was as surprised as I was, for it lost its balance and fell. Falling, falling. 4 feet of air and it hit the water, MY water, my BATH water. I exited the tub in a flood of water and vulgarity. The phone was left behind, drowning in the bubbly water with the evil beast. Fishing out the phone, I stared at the wriggling nightmare. It was sectioned. It had too many legs. It was hairy! It was as big as….as big as…. as…a nickel!

That was not how I meant to hang up. I dragged my bottom to the clubhouse where I get internet to email my grandparents that I was ok so that they wouldn’t worry. So much for warming up.

My phone, sans battery, called my grandparent’s number dozens of times in the next hour.

So I say to  you, Arachnids all, you owe me the following.

1) a phone

2) a warm day

3) peace of mind

4) the internet in my house

5) NEVER TO SHOW YOUR HAIRY LEGGY PARTI-BODIED FACES IN MY HOUSE AGAIN!

Love,

Thalia