And So On

Listen:

I met Kurt Vonnegut yesterday. I high-tailed it from Gloucester, MA to Stamford, CT in about 4 hours to catch a train back to NYC, and went straight to the studios of WNYC by City Hall.

It was a BBC World BookClub interview, specifically about Slaughterhouse Five, and I was among 20 people who got to be part of the audience and ask questions. Not everyone asked a question, but I was the first, and once they post the show on the internet, I'll be sure to link it. It was amazingly fun and enlightening, and while I didn't get my book signed, as he left I shook his hand, looked right into his eyes and simply said, 'Thank you.'

And he answered, 'Ok.'

I have to say this is by the best experience that New York has afforded me, and pretty much I should probably just move away right now, as it can't get much better. But then again, I start my new job tomorrow.

When it Rains, It Pours

On Monday, i had two interviews in a row. they were entry-level assistant positions at Court TV, which would do well for my future as a litigator/pundit/talking head cum Simpsons writer. a friend got me in the door, and i couldn't be more grateful, because i am at that point now where if i don't land something in my field of interest, i'll take anything and the last time i took anything, i was a bouncer for 18 months.

my 3 o'clock was peculiar and i can only relate it to you in the following scenario.

INTERVIEWER
(Shaking hands rather limply)
Have a seat.

NICK
It's a pleasure to meet you, thanks for taking the time.

INTERVIEWER
(Turns to his computer, works on the design of his business card)
What the hell is going on with this font?

Interviewer proceeds to damn his computer and Mircrosoft Word as he can't find the right design template or get his spacing just right on the outlay. He then proceeds to email said design to several coworkers, in silence.


During this time I tried to help, making little suggestions here and there. I basically spoke up only after several moments of wondering if this complete dismissal of my presence in his quite small office was hostile or nonchalant. Was this a test? Is his assistant suppossed to take the initiative and offer computer advice or am I to sit there quietly and test my patience and endurance for awkward social situations? If there's one thing I know it's awkward social graces, so I stayed quiet with only intermittent offerings of color and border advice. It was a good 20 minutes of this before he turned to me and the interview began in earnest. We spoke of the evolving job description, and it would basically be a liason position among the different departments at the company. Nothing glamorous nor bold, but then i've never been either of those. He was constantly distracted by incoming emails and employees asking for his signature. A small gnat had found its way into the office and chose to spend 30 minutes of it's short lifetime buzzing in my face, which made me all the more attractive with my constant light blowing of air and subtely waving my hand in front of my head.

The subject of news viability on television and media in general was broached, and the interviewer proceeded to lambast the very industry in which he has worked for 20 years; he denounced journalism in general; noted I have no experience in news or media per se; called NPR a "bunch of communists;" and took the last ten minutes of our time to show me what he'd been working on for the online promotion of his network, which for technical and karmic reasons beyond my comprehension took forever to upload and display; and we seemed to have come full circle with our awkwardness, just waiting there in silence. his legs and left hand shook the entire time, leading me to ponder about his medical condition, and if i should ask him about his obvious palsey. i stood up and offered and thank-you, he showed me to the stairs and thanked me for time as well. i left him and wondered if he could recall my name if i asked him, or if he even remembered what position i was interviewing for in the first place.

my 4 o'clock was by all measures a better interview, on both parts. the interviewer looked to be a Kennedy descendant, with admirable hair and skin tone. it was obvious to me that i was out of my league when, having been seated on one of his leather couches, my mouth went dry and fumbled for proper diction and clarity of voice. he was ever so polite and made me feel better about the interview process as a whole and i left wondering what life could be like at Court TV.

Tuesday I had yet another interview at an advertising firm. they are looking for proofreaders for all the copy they handle, and this was the mother of all interviews. the interviewer made me feel at ease, we talked earnestly and thoroughly about writing and work, the city and the industry. i took a proofing test and she was impressed, and since there is plenty of room for growth there, this is the job i am hoping will come through.

i am also waiting to hear from a major cell phone company about a newly created position in their newly created editorial department. i also have an interview on monday with Kaplan Test Prep and Admissions, as a student advisor. this job would entail lots of fun things, none of them in the scope of my career as space cowboy. so with all these things on my plate and really great feelings about the aforementioned interviews/jobs, it behooved me to actually TURN DOWN a job offer as a proofreader for WebMD. the pay was livable, but not as much as these other jobs, and i would have had to start Wednesday...which for a myriad of reasons didn't work. one reason: i didn't want to start a job only to have to quit it after a week, should i get accepted as a proofer elsewhere. another reason: i am attending the wedding of one Bryan O'Connor this Friday, and leaving Thursday for it, in Massachusettes.

A funny thing about this wedding weekend extravaganza, i had planned to stay away from New York for an obviously extended weekend cavorting with various friends. but then i got the following email...

From: listenerservices

To: Nickmcdowell@gmail.com

Date: Apr 25, 2006 2:57 PM

Subject: WNYC-BBC Book Club with Kurt Vonnegut

Dear Mr. McDowell:

We attempted to contact you by phone, but the number we have listed for you is incorrect (917.583.2680). We have you listed as our first alternate for the April 29 taping of the BBC Book Club with Kurt Vonnegut. One of our confirmed participants has canceled and we would like to offer you the chance to attend the taping, details are below:

BBC’s World Book Club with Kurt Vonnegut on Saturday, April 29, 2006.

World Book Club Taping with Kurt Vonnegut, author of Slaughterhouse 5

Your hosts: Leonard Lopate and the BBC’s Harriet Gilbert

Location: WNYC New York Public Radio

1 Centre Street, 25^th Fl. (directions and building security information are below)

You should arrive at: 4:00 p.m.

Taping begins: approximately 4:30 p.m.

You must arrive with a question in mind about Slaughterhouse 5 for author Kurt Vonnegut

If you can attend this taping, please reply to this email no later than 4pm on Wednesday, April 26. If we do not hear from you by then, we will have to offer the reservation to another listener.

Thanks for listening to WNYC Radio.

Kind Regards,

Lorraine Mattox

WNYC Listener Services

Needless to say, as Vonnegut has been my hero for sometime now, i immediately answered in the affirmative. this means, though, that saturday morning i'll have to high-tail it back to New York instead of hanging with friends. but it's more or less a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and if i didn't go, i'd just die.

so it goes.

Oops, I Crapped My Pants

This is embarassing to admit, but I was just watching that Maury Pauvich show. You know: that man whose soul purpose is to perform DNA tests to determine who is your baby daddy? I swear to god, the copy during the teaser read as follows, "If He's Cheating, Their Getting a Divorce."

I just about shat my pants.


I'm losing it!

Long Long Long

it's late now, but not as late as i was once used to, not as late as i wish it was, not as late as it could be, not as late as it needs to be, but just as late as it can be.

a lot of people have implored/inquired/demanded inquiry as to why i haven't kept up on this blog, despite numerous promises i've made to keep this alive like johnny five. the thing is: i wanted to blog about my triumphs and curious goings on in this new city and life, but all i have at the moment is failures. still unemployed and dangerously close to bankrupt as a result of recent tax filings. i've been interviewing at many a company and every time i seem to get my hopes up only to have them dashed by the thinly veiled message (veiled, that is, in the technical jargon of human resources professionals like, 'why do you even bother,' or 'everything you say is wrong,' or, 'you, sir, are worse than hitler!') that every choice i've made in my life regarding my employability has been wrong.

there's a very small roach that lives in our parlour (ie, tv room/office) which i've only seen once (and to which i am the lone witness) and which i've just now pounced upon with a wadded ball of tissue, only to retrieve a mere twitching leg, and now i am sure it is recouperating, very pissed off and what's more, knows whom to blame for it's new gimp.

i'm watching conan obrien reruns, in the state of new york at 1am, which seems to imply very little has changed for me since high school. this is an intriguing hypothesis, and brings to mind such evidence as my current list of friends which includes people with whom i went to high school, i am unemployed, i am up late and wondering about this life and what i've done to impede it.

i am so stunted by my own lack of talent, it's staggering. i used to write. i used to write well. i used to have ideas, and what's more, i used to have the balls to write when i didn't have ideas. but that's probably not even true either. i don't think anything i've ever done has been worthwhile and that's stopping me from doing anything else. this is the most depressing feeling in the world.

i'm amazed at anything written down on a page. that is: anything printed, which took countless people countless man-hours to print and set and edit and proof and receive in the mail and write at all. that people have ideas which other people will find intriguing and worth their time is a stupefying situation. i am amazed, in particular, with jonathan safran foer. his career and celebrity seem to be this exalted example of what i aspired to in my former days as a would-be fiction writer, and now i am just a fan in awe of someone very near to my age who has made it and is set for life. his first novel, Everything is Illuminated, was and is amazing, and what's more, was an amazing best seller. in this sense, he never has to go to another interview in which a man with a job asks him, 'if you were alone in a commerical airliner, and you had one ping pong ball in your hand, how would you go about estimating the number of ping pong balls needed to fill the volume of the aircraft?' he wouldn't have to stammer for an answer aloud and in his mind wonder what the hell is the point, and what's the real answer? he'll never have to wait for days to hear the bad news that he'd been passed over, yet again, and that he'll have to start all over again by rewriting his cover letter.

and now that i am older, a very homely 26, all i want to do is be able to sit and write something worthwhile about life which someone somewhere will ponder someday. a majority of writers are older, did you know that? a majority of them have daytime jobs. what makes you any different? probably sloth. sloth and envy.

i have ideas for plays, and this is a good city to have such ideas. but the correct response is this is a good city to write such ideas. plots have very little to do in literature, as you may know, the real story is what lies underneath the words: the message, the meaning, the revolutionary thing that evolves into philosophy and questions. the thing that will justify celebrity and best sellers.

plus i've been sick, which feels and looks awful. we have received a new couch, though, so that's cool. the cats outside are making love and sound worse than my parents did in their heyday, but not as passionate. the sirens outside my window are all unmistakable signs that someone somewhere is suffering, possibly because they can't write, and when they do, they might as well be failing another one of life's job interviews. but i'm not sad, just pensive and hungry for rice krispies.