Thursday, April 30, 2009

Not Cut Out for Intramurals


Being in the unemployment line allows one to have the luxury of quite a bit of free time. How one chooses to spend this free time depends on the person. Some people might take classes. Others will do volunteer work. I spend my free time playing intramural sports.

That's not all that I do, however. During the daylight hours, I try and accomplish as many tasks as possible. I will write blogs, work out, head to the grocery store, and spend an inordinate number of hours on Craigslist. But once the sun starts to set, I lace up my cleats and head out the door.

Here is a breakdown of my week:

Sunday: San Diego Shockers Kickball
Monday: Team #7 Soccer
Tuesday: Brew Crew Softball
Wednesday: Rest and watch Lost (it's an exhausting television show)
Thursday: Fluffers Dodgeball
Friday/Saturday: Various beach games including smashball extreme, wiffle-ball, and Rock-in-Hole

The best part is, of the four organized intramural teams that I play with, I'm only officially a member of two of them (dodgeball and kickball). The other teams I serve as a replacement player when they need people, which just happens to be every week. I've created quite a nice situation for myself.

My intramural lifestyle was going along quite smoothly. I was playing games, performing admirably on each team, and enjoying my evenings of relaxation. It was perfect...

And then last week happened. On Tuesday, I was playing with the Brew Crew softball team. The Crew has had a rough season. I have been playing with the team since the third week, and have yet to be a part of a victory. I've experienced three ties and four losses. Last Tuesday, we had a chance to comeback from 10 runs down to win the game. It was the bottom of the last inning of play. There was a runner on second base, we just needed one run to tie, and Mighty Vegter approached the plate.

I should point out that, other than 1st grade and a couple of Truman days, I've never spent much time on a baseball/softball diamond. My swing is terrible and I rarely get the ball to the outfielders. I'm more of a bloop single type of person. This did not prevent me from having visions of hitting a home run as I stepped up to bat.

I swung as hard as I could and sent a lazy fly ball to right field. Game over. Brew Crew loses again.

Thursday rolls around and I'm headed out the door again for dodgeball. Our team, the Fluffers, had a fairly decent first week. We only dropped one set on our way to victory, but our competition in week 2 was in a whole different league. They were the defending champs, and arrived to the game in matching knee pads. I'll refer to them as the Terror Squad.

We struggled through the first two sets, but had a chance in the third. We had won the first game, lost the second, and it came down to the deciding third to determine the set's outcome. If we lost, we had lost the match for the week.

I ended up being the last member of the team on the court, trying to take on three or four members of the Terror Squad. I dodged a couple of balls, eventually getting hit by a weak throw that I should have easily avoided. Match over, and in demoralizing fashion.

I didn't think much of the first two events. The Brew Crew really wasn't my team, and I just started playing with the Fluffers. I wasn't completely emotionally invested in the game's outcomes.

This all changed on Sunday. The San Diego Shockers had become an institution in the kickball community for several years before my arrival. They had welcomed me into their 4-time championship tradition with open arms. Throughout the season, I had done fairly well with the team, and was fairly confident in my abilities. The 2009 Shockers had run through the competition, earning a #1 seed for the playoffs.

The semifinal game had gone fine, and we won pretty convincingly. During the championship game, we were in control for the majority of the time, and then the last inning arrived.

The other team had tied the game up in the sixth, and we headed into the top of the seventh deadlocked. They sent their first batter to the plate, and I stared him down from my position in center field. There hadn't been a ball kicked to my direction the entire game, but I remained focused.

Out of nowhere, the guy kicked the ball a mile. I started sprinting to my left, tracking the ball as it arced through the air. At the last second, I thought that I might be able to run it down. As it started to descend, I reached out my arms, cradled the ball, and fell to the ground.

And, suddenly, the ball was gone. It had bounced out of my arms somewhere through the fall and was rolling into deep center field. I got up off the ground, grabbed the ball, and hurled it back into the infield. But it was too late...

I had given up the winning run, but I was going to get a chance to redeem myself. In the bottom of the inning, I approached the plate with two outs, and a runner on second once again. I just needed to get a single and we would tie the game.

I kicked the ball as hard as I could, only to line out to the shortstop, and ruin the Shockers championship run. I was starting to believe in the curse of Mighty Vegter.

My beliefs were confirmed to be true just one night later. While playing with Team #7, an absolutely terrible soccer team, I had a chance to pull off a tremendous upset. With only a minute left to play, we were tied 1-1 with far better team. Team #7 had their first opportunity to not lose during their season.

And then the curse emerged once again. I was marking one of the other team's midfielders, who made a run through the middle, and received a well-timed pass. I thought he was offside, but recovered to steal the ball away. At the last second, the guy stuck his foot out and hit the ball off of my shin. Somehow it caused the ball to bounce perfectly off of me and into a wide open space in the box. He took a shot, scored, and ended the game.

Mighty Vegter strikes again.

It was a rough week on the psyche. I started to question whether I was made for the intramural sports' scene. I may retire from the sport's world entirely. For the reasons listed above and a few others, which will not be named at this time.

More to come...

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Making News


Just a quick link today. This was passed along by one of my fellow hood-tastic friends. This is what makes news in San Diego:

Nothing like creating a new catch phrase. If your son or roommate makes a reference to "stuffing the bear", you will know exactly what's happening.

More to come...

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Stick to the Routine


One of the biggest things that bothered me while I was still gainfully employed was the day-to-day routine. I would wake up around the same time each morning, shower, get dressed, and head out the door to grind away. At my last job, I had specific tasks for each day of the week. Reporting one day, confirmations the next, and constant verification of numbers throughout the week. I would head home each night, hit the gym, and enjoy a couple of hours of relaxation with the roommates to bring the day to an end.

Within the larger-scale routine, I had countless smaller patterns. I had specific work outfits that I would wear each day, I would always get a Diet Coke just after 10 am, I ate virtually the same lunch every day, as well as many others. After a time, I had routinized every part of my life during the work week, making my life a blurred series of tasks and contributing to me feeling like the walking dead.

When I left the corporate environment, I envisioned my life being a series of distinct events. I may try rock climbing one day and writing a book the next. Maybe I would travel around the country on a train, chronicling my events in the next great American novel (If you would like to contribute to this endeavor, I'm still on board).

The problem with this plan is that, after a while, money starts to become a concern. I spent a summer in Chicago, doing virtually nothing. I had a great time, however I earned approximately $0 for my efforts. When I moved to San Diego in October, I told myself that it was time to start getting paid. I needed to start going to sleep earlier, exercising on regular basis, and, most importantly, get a job.

The first step that I took to accomplish these tasks was to create a list. One of the most important life-lessons that my father taught me: Make Lists. I have continued to make lists throughout the winter and into the spring. My list for today looks like this:

9:00 am - Wake up, run
10:00 am - Search Craigslist, apply to three positions
11:00 am - Write article
12:00 pm - Get Diet Coke, eat lunch
1:00 pm - Shower, clean room
2:00 pm - Write blog
3:00 pm - Gym
4:00 pm - Grocery Store
5:00 pm - Write article, emails, etc.
6:00 pm - Make tacos
7:00 pm - Softball

That's all that I have for today. My lists have been similar to this for several months now. If I don't accomplish the tasks that I've laid out for the day, I'm upset with myself. My OCD will start to rear its ugly head.

What I've noticed is that, even outside of the corporate environment, I've created a routine for myself. I'm back into the blur that was my life before entering the Line. My sub-routines are even starting to take shape. I have a specific sequence that I perform my tasks during the day, I eat a very similar lunch every day, and Diet Coke is still a steady part of the equation.

In an effort to add some color to the day to day, I'm determined to try or experience something new each week. Something that I've never tried before in my life, which is relatively inexpensive at the same time. Maybe surfing, or rapping, or mountain biking. Something that I can remember when I look back at 2009. That was the year that I wrote my first movie. Or that was when my successful acrobatic career began.

Hopefully these efforts will make their way into my routine in order to spice things up a bit. I need to shake things up a bit. I will try to note what my new skill of the week is going to be within the blog. It's a life revolution.

More to come...

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Standing Up, Standing Out


In general, I would say that I am a fan of stand-up comedy. There are many comics that are out there whom are extremely talented, and can thoroughly entertain an audience for extended periods of time. They are extremely witty people that provide some interesting perspectives on everyday life. Kissing for the first time really IS like jumping Double Dutch. That's funny.

And then, there are other comedians that aren't nearly as skilled. They certainly try hard to be entertaining, but it's pretty obvious if they aren't going to make it. I was among a group of these people on Tuesday at a place in San Diego called Brick by Brick.

It was here that I made my first attempt at performing stand up. Brick by Brick is normally a concert venue for hard rock acts, but management is trying to put together a weekly stand-up show with local comedians. I responded to an ad on Craigslist that was looking for "Anyone Funny". I managed to convince them that I had some experience, and they gave me a shot.

I walked into the club, and met the manager. There was one other guy that was standing by the bar that I started talking to. He said that he had been performing stand-up around town and we got to talking about different places that offered open mic nights. He was a really nice guy and offered me some advice for my first act.

By the time the show started, there were about 25 people in the audience. There were two performers that went before me, both of whom were pretty terrible. One guy talked about smoking weed and pornography, while the other guy also talked about smoking weed and his teenage son (which coincidentally turned to talk of pornography).

I was introduced by the host as "Nican Nector" and I took my turn on stage. I corrected the host and introduced myself to the audience. I had decided earlier in the day that I was going to focus on telling stories about myself, rather than focusing on jokes during my act. I write stories, not one liners.

So I started talking about how my family and friends thought it was hilarious to make fun of, what I like to call, my "gay tendencies". I stressed that I wasn't gay, but because of my acting, dancing, and gym choices, I had become an easy target for their jokes. I talked about how my grandmother had called me a "poof" over Christmas, the Sammy the Sailor Christmas ornament that I had received from my roommates, and how a girl that I dated told my parents, "Micah is the gayest straight man I've ever met."

I received a few laughs at specific points throughout the act, but there was nothing that got the audience to roll. In general, I was pretty happy with the performance, but I'm unsure whether I will continue to pursue anything within the stand-up format.

After a few more acts, the guy that I had spoken with before the show, stepped up on stage. He introduced himself and said, "Unlike the guy that performed a while ago, I actually am gay. And proud of it."

I silently cussed at myself. After the first two guys had talked extensively about drugs and masturbation, I was the one that was offending members of the audience.

Then, the gay comedian started telling some gay jokes that were super offensive. Jokes about having sex with military personel and getting hit on in gay bars. I would get more specific, but my mom reads this blog, so I'll let your imagination do the work. The crowd was not ready for what they were hearing, and the majority of his bits received stunned silence. He finished up and sat down again.

After the show was over, he came up and spoke to me. I told him that I was sorry for some of the stuff I had said, but he told me that he wasn't offended by any of it. He actually said that he was more upset that I had taken all of the "gay laughter" out of the audience before he got up on stage. I told him that he had some funny material, but Brick by Brick might not be the best venue for it.

In the end, I enjoyed getting up on stage. I've made the conclusion that stand-up is not the most effective forum for me, but I would consider doing it again. I will let you know.

-More to come...

Tuesday, April 14, 2009



The saga of the antiqued room came to a dramatic close last night when I received an email from one of my fellow hood-tastic friends. The email included a link to a news story, which is listed below:

SAN DIEGO – A 43-year-old man recently arrested on suspicion of setting several arson fires repeatedly threatened paramedics for several months before the fires were set, officials said.

Joseph Benenati, of North Park, was arrested Friday afternoon at his home on El Cajon Boulevard near Texas Street.

On April 3, he was served with a court order to stay away from the staff and buildings of the San Diego Fire-Rescue Department and the San Diego Medical Services Enterprise, the city's ambulance provider.

A judge made the order following several incidents in which Benenati displayed irrational and violent behavior, said Maurice Luque, a San Diego Fire-Rescue Department spokesman.

The order will remain in effect for three years.

Authorities said Benenati set 14 arson fires that damaged homes and commercial buildings, vehicles, fences and trash cans in North Park, City Heights and several areas in eastern San Diego on April 4 and 5.

The fires caused at least $10,000 in damage to all the properties, Luque said.

A call to the San Diego County Crime Stoppers and surveillance video from a business near one of the arson fires led to the arrest, authorities said.

Benenati is being held in county jail in lieu of $1.1 million bail. If convicted, he faces a minimum of 50 years in prison.

During at least three encounters with rescue personnel, Benenati yelled threats at medics, chased after an ambulance in another vehicle and at one point “he pulled out a gun,” Luque said.

“It was a stalking situation in at least one of the cases,” the spokesman said.

Authorities are investigating two other incidents that may also involve Benenati, Luque said.

Emergency crews reported that on Nov. 16 Benenati drove up next to an ambulance and pointed a gun at the driver, Luque said.

About two months later, Benenati drove up to another ambulance, verbally harassed the medics and tailgated the ambulance for several miles, Luque said.

Benenati also harassed a receptionist for the ambulance company when he showed up at the administrative offices in Mission Valley on Jan. 28 and “was acting oddly,” Luque said.

Benenati asked questions about an emergency technician and complained that the noise from the sirens of ambulances and fire trucks bothered him, the spokesman said.

“He said he felt police and fire were always following him,” Luque said.

Benenati is scheduled to be arraigned on the arson charges Tuesday at Superior Court in downtown San Diego.

This is the short, squatty guy that my neighbor saw accosting my room. So, Crazy Joe Wolf, who has a history of stalking people, was pounding on my apartment door, yelling my name, and spraying a fire extinguisher into my room on Saturday night, before setting fires in the streets of North Park. Maybe it was the sexiness of my dancing that caused something to finally snap. I'm like a real-life version of Mango.

Such is Mango

Fortunately, Joe is no longer roaming the alleyways of the hood and I don't have to be scared while walking to the gas station anymore. This provided amazing content for the blog, and I think that I might just tell this story during my stand-up routine. Joe was really a blessing in disguise. A crazy, dirty, and potentially violent disguise. Here is our hero:

-More to come...

Monday, April 13, 2009

Mixed Bag of Goodness


Just a couple of smatterings from the line.

-There have been no further updates on the Joe Wolf situation since the last blog. The tenant of an apartment that opens up into one of the local alleyways has placed a mask from the "Scream" movies on his or her doorway. This mask gave me nightmares for several nights when I was younger, which has lead me to the conclusion that this is Joe's residence. I have been carefully keeping an eye on this apartment, and avoiding it if possible.

-A friend from the hometown visited this weekend, which lead to drunkeness for three straight days. Roommate Nick wandered off on Saturday night, ending up in a bowling alley in downtown San Diego. He woke up on Sunday morning in his bed wearing one sock, jeans, a watch, and no cell phone. Luckily, I fell asleep at the bar and could not be lured into his adventure. His actions may have been influenced by the large number of jello shots that were consumed at an event earlier in the day. $5 for 15 jello shot? Okay!!!

-Sunday Fundays do, in fact, live up to their name. They are quite fun, until you wake up Monday morning and realize that you spent your recovery day under the influence of the shampoo effect and the allure of chips and guacamole. I honored Jesus this Easter by damaging my liver, increasing my waistline, and continuing to squander my unemployment money.

-The unemployment line has increased dramatically in the last couple of weeks, due to the inclusion of a couple of friends. Roommate Nick's company is losing their one and only client and are being forced to shut down. Nick has a couple weeks left of work before he is fully in the Line. Another friend received a notice from the schoolboard that they will not be renewing any of the first-year teacher contracts for the next year. He found out about this over his spring break, leading to a wonderful week off for him. Nothing like laying off the new, bright teachers in favor of the higher paid, tenured employees. Way to go school system.

-The personal job front is looking more and more bleak. After thinking that I had employment in the bag, the trail has gone cold. On a brighter note, I spoke with the owner of a bar while drunk yesterday. He told me that they weren't hiring, but gave me an application anyway. Nothing like hearing the phrase, "You never know," when you are desperately trying to find a paycheck.

-Last, but not least, I am doing an open mic standup routine tomorrow night at a local nightclub. I figured out my routine today, but I think that it is going to get polite laughs and maybe a few uncomfortable coughs at best. I'll be sure to update my loyal readers.

-On that note, I'd like to welcome Sissy and T-Money to the readership. Welcome and feel free to make embarrassing comments on blog posts.

-More to come...

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Following Up


A quick update on the blog posting that I made on Monday. I've attached some pictures of the room that Nick took once we got home on Saturday night. See below:

Some nice layers of dust on the ground and on the guitars. You can see a finger mark on the guitar where we may or may not have tried to figure out what the substance was with a taste test.

This is the outline of where my computer had been, open and receptive to receive a nice antiquing. Also you can see the duster that Nick provided, without any dusting covers. Thanks Nick.

Also, we spoke with our neighbor, Marta, yesterday afternoon. She said that she had heard someone pounding on our door, yelling my name over and over again on the night in question. She looked around the corner and saw a guy running between our doorway and my window, which looks out into the alleyway. The guy was looking into my room, calling out my name, and alternatively trying to knock our door down. He was a genuine Big Bad Wolf.

After a bit of time, Marta said that the guy ran into our mail cubby, and came back with the fire extinguisher. Once he started spraying the extinguisher into my open window, Marta said that she yelled at him to stop. Once he saw her, he took off running down one of the adjoining alleyways.

When we asked if she could describe our Wolf, she said that he was a short, squatty, dark-haired guy. Coincidentally, there was a short, squatty, dark-haired man that approached Nick and I before we left for the 80's prom party earlier in the evening.

One of our friends was putting the finishing touches on his outfit for the night, and Nick and I were standing outside the apartment. I may have been dancing a little bit on our front porch, as my outfit looked a little "male-stripper" esque. We thought it was funny at the time, and it caught the attention of two women that were standing down the street, and apparently, the Wolf's attention as well. We all had a good laugh and I went inside to check on our friend.

The Wolf came up to Nick and asked what my name was. Nick replied, "Micah", but this did not satisfy his curiosity. He asked, "What's his last name?" to which Nick replied, "Why do you want to know?"

Good work Nick. Trying to protect my secret identity. I was not so cautious however. As I left the apartment, there was the Wolf, looking all crazy-balls, and asking for my name. He said, "What's your name," and extended his hand. I replied, but he asked once again, "What's your last name?"

I told him and shook his hand. I had seen him creeping around the alleyways before this incident, and always had put him in the harmless category. He said, "I'm Joe. I'm your neighbor."

It was a fairly pleasant exchange and we took off for our party. Nick told me about his interaction with Joe prior to my exit from the apartment, and we agreed that the whole affair was a bit strange. However, our conversation quickly changed direction, discussing our sweet glasses and who we were going to slow dance with at prom.

Little did we know that Joe Wolf would return just a few hours later, desperate to hang out with me. I'm a little concerned about the whole affair, and have been regularly closing my window and keeping the shades drawn. I've been sticking to the main thoroughfares, and avoiding the alleyways since we learned of the incident.

The hood may be getting a little too up close and personal right now. I might have to invest in a set of brass knuckles in case I run into our friendly neighbor once again. I have always wanted an excuse for some knuckle jewelry, so I guess a "thank you Joe" may be in order.

More to come...

Monday, April 6, 2009

Tales From the Hood


My hood never ceases to amaze me. Just when I start to worry about what I am going to blog about, new subject matter just seems to drop in my lap. This tale of wonder started Saturday afternoon, when Nick and I left our apartment to grill out and watch some basketball at a friend's apartment.

We were headed to an "80's prom" birthday party later on in the evening, and we were fully decked out in our very appropriate attire. See picture below:

Pictured left to right: Me (as a member of the Cobra Kai), Ryan Popek (as a vampire, I guess), Nick Isabella (as the chaperon), and Chris Walker (straight out of Miami. He had a mini pony tail)

We had a wonderful time at the party, dancing to Footloose and serenading the birthday girl with the Righteous Brothers. Here are a few choice pictures from the event:

All of us got sufficiently sauced up on some choice beverages and landmine shots, and eventually made our way home. Nick and I walked into our apartment, which we had spent significant amounts of time cleaning earlier in the day, and found a fine layer of white dust covering every surface of my room.

At that time, with my state of mind significantly altered, I was quite confused. I stood in the entryway of my room, slowly trying to put what I was seeing in some sort of a logical order. I had left my room in a fairly clean state. I had put all of the clothes away. I had thrown the empty Diet Coke bottles in the recycling bin. I had even washed my sheets and made my bed, and that never happens.

In that instant, a picture flashed in my mind grapes. I had a vision of Anderson Bauer, covered in flour while he was passed out. This act was performed by yours truly approximately eight years ago, when Anderson and I lived together in college. It was called "Antiquing" and it came in a close second to writing on people as my favorite late-night, annoyingly drunken behavior.

My room had been "Antiqued". Someone had walked past my half open window and decided to hilariously dump a bag full of white powder into it. Fortunately, my fan was on, which spread the white powder throughout every nook and cranny of my room and into some of the other portions of the apartment. Additionally, my computer and printer were in direct line with the open window and the trajectory of the fan's airflow, causing the powder to become concentrated on the only items of value that I own. Hooray!!!

I slept on the pull-out couch for the night, and spent yesterday trying to clean the powder up as much as possible. Nick finally figured out what the substance was when he was getting the mail. There was a fire extinguisher on the apartment's exterior, near our mailboxes, that had been stolen and was most likely used for the "Antiquing".

A very good natured soul, in my very good natured neighborhood, decided to take precautionary measures and put out the fire that may or may not have existed in my room at the time. I guess a 'thank you' is in order.

Today, while still finding large collections of dust hidden in the pockets of my room, I received a chain of emails from my friends who also live in the hood. Apparently there was a man that was running throughout the alleyways of North Park in the late hours of Saturday night, lighting fires. There were 15 fires set, the culmination of which took place when he lit up a parked car.

I'm not sure if the same man sprayed the fire extinguisher in my room, or if there were multiple people involved in the operation. Maybe one man lit fires, while the other one chased after him putting them out. It's splendidly cute game known as "Fire and Seek", or "Fire Tag", or maybe even "Idiot Parade".

Regardless of how it happened, I guess that I should consider myself lucky for receiving the fire extinguisher on my room rather than an actual fire. White powder is significantly less damaging than charred carbon.

Nothing like living in the hood.

More to come...

Friday, April 3, 2009

Degrees of Shadiness


Life in the unemployment line often exposes me to some of the shadier elements of my environment. Instead of heading off to an office setting each morning or going to sleep at a reasonable time, I'm walking through alleyways and staying up into the deep hours of the night.

During these experiences, I have often noticed quite a few people that you don't often run into during normal business hours. It's not just the crazy homeless people or the junkies, it's the shadiest of individuals that operate in this arena.

At the start of my time in the Line, I was taking a late-night El ride in Chicago, when I noticed a man that looked and dressed exactly like Sammy Davis Junior. He was with a couple of other guys, drinking whiskey at one end of the train. There was a boozed up, homeless-looking guy that noticed him as well. He started singing a bunch of Rat Pack songs towards the group, which irritated Sammy to no end. He started yelling at the homeless man, and I was convinced that there was going to be a full out boozy fight.

Unfortunately, the fight never happened, as Sammy was distracted by a group of "women" that entered the train car at the next stop. I put women in quotations, as these persons were obviously transvestites and most likely accepted money for sexual favors. I could see a five o'clock shadow on one of them, and I'm pretty sure that another could deadlift a school bus if necessary.

I'm not sure if it was the whiskey that was affecting Sammy's judgment, but he immediately started saying things to the group of he-she's. He caught the attention of one of them (the five o'clock shadow) and he-she came over and sat next to Sammy.

The entire train was already paying attention to Sammy and his crew because of the homeless man incident. This new development exponentially increased interest in their end of the car. We were sitting on pins and needles, waiting to see what happened next.

While Sammy was sweet talking Five o'clock, his friends were desperately trying to quell their laughter. They knew that he-she was a man, but were on the same playing field as the rest of us. They wanted to see what Sammy was going to do. It may have been when Sammy started tickling Five o'clock, or when he-she started giggling in baritone, that his friends decided that this had gone far enough. The following was their conversation (as best as I can remember).

Friend: Hey, you know that she's a man right?
Sammy: What?
Friend: This is a man.
(shocked looks from Sammy)
Sammy: You think that she is a man?
Friend: I don't think. I know.
Sammy: (Looking at Five o'clock) Are you a man?
Five o'clock: What? (giggle giggle) No (giggle giggle)
Sammy: (to friend) See, this beautiful thing is no man. This is all woman here.

Sammy's friends died in laughter at that point. Sammy shouted a few choice cuss words in their direction and turned his attention back to Five o'clock. I continued to watch their interactions from the corner of my eye. A few stops later, things had progressed enough between the pair that they got up and left the train together. His friends sat and stared at them with their mouths agape, as did the majority of train passengers. The only people that were not fazed by these activities were the other transtitutes that had boarded the train with Five o'clock.

I'm convinced that the late night red-line train was their regular spot for conducting business, and Sammy was just another one of their typical customers. Boozed up and ready for action.

There are a wide array of stories that demonstrate varying levels of shadiness that I've experienced in the unemployment line. I will save them for another day.

More to come...

Thursday, April 2, 2009



It's been over a week since my last post for Unemployment Line, and for that, I apologize. To all my readers (Mom, Dad, and Nick), I will make a concerted effort to avoid this dry spell again. I have no real excuse, other than being extremely hungover.

I'm not hungover from alcohol, or lack of sleep, or even the large meal of McDonald's that I consumed last night. No, it's more of a general process that I've found I experience while living life in the unemployment line. Whenever I experience a slight break from the monotony of applying for jobs and staring at my computer screen, it causes me to remember what life is like on the other side.

I'm eating out at real restaurants rather than eating five dollar footlongs from Subway. I'm relaxing at the beach, rather than huddled over my computer, sifting through the garbage of Craigslist. I'm taking in the sights and sounds of the city, rather than sitting in my smelly chair in my darkened room. It's wonderful.

My family visited this past weekend, and I forgot about the stresses of my normal, everyday lifestyle for a good five days. However, with my parent's flight out on Tuesday night, I quickly returned to reality. I was once again incessantly checking my email and hitting the refresh button on Craigslist.

Whenever something like this happens, I go through a lack of motivation for at least a couple of days. Whether it's someone visiting, or a fun event, or even a series of job interviews, I will always hit the low point of the rollercoaster for a while.

I knew that these low points would be part of my life when I entered the Line. Part of the reason that I left the corporate world was to escape the monotony of the everyday drag, but the ride is much harder to deal with in reality than it is in theory.

I'm slowly on my way back. I have a to-do list right next to me, already did some laundry, and am thinking about making a trip to the gym. Before you know it, I will be sending out resumes and cleaning the apartment.

There may be some interesting events in the next couple of days, but I'm going to withhold information until I hear further news.

More to come.