Monday, August 15, 2005
Get a Haircut and Get a Real Job
It's just me, Jimmy, and Mike living here at 23 Boston Ave. Josh, Seth, and Nate will be moving in sometime shortly before September, filling out the roster of housemates. It's pretty quiet here, which is nice during the day. That way, I can do important things like catch up on Entourage...oh, and look for a new job, too.
The unplanned job departure is not a fun experience. I've decided that it's much better when it happens on your terms, so at least you have a clue what you're doing when you stop showing up to work every day. Right now, I play phone tag with potential employers and send out emails that get returned 50% of the time. Slightly frustrating. Sure, I could get a job practically anywhere...grocery store, movie theatre, restaurant...but it strikes me as putting the proverbial band-aid on a gaping wound: a temporary fix for a problem that needs a long-term solution. One of the new roommates was over the house last week and asked me what I did for a living. After thinking about it, I said "Nothing. I don't do anything." He was slightly confused, particularly when I didn't clarify. It makes me feel like a slacker, a mooch, and any other negative thing associated with those who do "nothing" for a living. I'll stop complaining.
I had a fun weekend, playing Shool (or Juul?), a Dutch parlor game, with Jacko and Hufton. After the game we had a long talk about religion and personal finance. I swear, it really was fun. I played golf on Sunday morning with my Dad, Joe Taranto, and Jim McKenna. We played at the Tewksbury Country Club, which is actually a really nice course. Though we almost never take golf carts, I was happy with our decision to use them when I realized that it was about a mile between holes and that the humidity was about 95%. I didn't do very well, and actually ended up coming in dead last. After having one putt hit the lip and pop out of the hole, one chip hit the base of the flag and ricochet 5 feet away, then miss a birdie putt and a par putt on the last hole, I decided that the golf gods were frowning upon me that day. I'm wondering if they'll ever stop doing that.
This brings a whole new meaning to "Going Postal".
If somehow MesteeBlogger isn't enough for you, you can now visit me on MySpace.
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The unplanned job departure is not a fun experience. I've decided that it's much better when it happens on your terms, so at least you have a clue what you're doing when you stop showing up to work every day. Right now, I play phone tag with potential employers and send out emails that get returned 50% of the time. Slightly frustrating. Sure, I could get a job practically anywhere...grocery store, movie theatre, restaurant...but it strikes me as putting the proverbial band-aid on a gaping wound: a temporary fix for a problem that needs a long-term solution. One of the new roommates was over the house last week and asked me what I did for a living. After thinking about it, I said "Nothing. I don't do anything." He was slightly confused, particularly when I didn't clarify. It makes me feel like a slacker, a mooch, and any other negative thing associated with those who do "nothing" for a living. I'll stop complaining.
I had a fun weekend, playing Shool (or Juul?), a Dutch parlor game, with Jacko and Hufton. After the game we had a long talk about religion and personal finance. I swear, it really was fun. I played golf on Sunday morning with my Dad, Joe Taranto, and Jim McKenna. We played at the Tewksbury Country Club, which is actually a really nice course. Though we almost never take golf carts, I was happy with our decision to use them when I realized that it was about a mile between holes and that the humidity was about 95%. I didn't do very well, and actually ended up coming in dead last. After having one putt hit the lip and pop out of the hole, one chip hit the base of the flag and ricochet 5 feet away, then miss a birdie putt and a par putt on the last hole, I decided that the golf gods were frowning upon me that day. I'm wondering if they'll ever stop doing that.
This brings a whole new meaning to "Going Postal".
If somehow MesteeBlogger isn't enough for you, you can now visit me on MySpace.
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