“The blurry lights and careful angles of ‘Somewhere’ are stylistically reminiscent of ‘Lost in Translation,’ but the two characters at odds with each other are the intimate father-daughter duo Marco and Cleo. ‘Somewhere’ contrasts the ethereal innocence of Cleo with Marco’s surreal celebrity lifestyle, embodied within the Chateau’s old Hollywood extravagance.”—Me!
While enjoying a brisk walk to a local sandwich joint for lunch, I neglected to notice a woman sitting outside the entrance. Upon settling into my lunch routine (napkins, sitting near the window, in a corner—if possible—scowling) I was rudely interrupted by movement and screaming outside the window.
It was then that I discovered a woman, (or what was once a woman) wailing on the sidewalk. Kneeling, she spit and writhed in a circle like a cursed snake, occasionally falling over for attention from bystanders. Naturally, the good people of San Francisco are immune to everyday zombie attacks from local crackheads; nevertheless, people freaked out. Mainly because the woman was cuddling TWO MICE. One black, one white. She kept moving them all around in her hands, lifting them to the sky, and forcing onlookers to acknowledge them.
As if this scene isn’t grotesque enough for you, the woman suddenly notices an abandoned sandwich and soup in the outdoor seating area of the sandwich shop. Upon this foodsighting she jumps up—mice in hand—hastily grabs the sandwich and soup, and slings food all over the sidewalk.
At this point, one would think the hungry homeless lady would be thankful or proud to have come across such treasure. Not crazy mice lady. As she settled back into her kneeling position, she took the remains of the sandwich and sacrificially smeared the food all over the mice, hoisting them into the air. She then delicately took a soup spoon, and poured vegetable soup all over the heads of the mice.
Naturally, I look to my fellow human beings sitting near me for some sort of explanation or understanding as to how and why a homeless woman would dump a sandwich and soup onto her two mice pets.
Alas, the soulless inhabitants of the Financial District did not notice this spectacle, nor how she lifted her shirt and placed the foodcovered mice into the safety of her pants, for travel.
And in case you weren’t grossed out enough, you can also rub cheezy goodness all over your lips any time you want with this:
Dangerously, Grossly Cheezy.
So here’s what happened:
In a fit of fury at work, after everyone else had gone home I decided to venture down to the basement and search for the mysterious vending machines. Keep in mind, I’ve worked here since September, and I’ve yet to see them. The basement in my building is a labyrinth. You open one door, there’s a wall. You open another, there’s a weird cafe with no windows. Another leads up a ramp and into a set of lockers. It makes no sense. And after everyone has gone home on a Friday, it gets a bit spooky.
Needless to say, after my stressful day dealing with model reservations, Photoshopping and InDesigning the hell out of giant banners and textile photographs of too skinny clothing models, I decided to de-stress a bit with some sort of salty goodness. Little did I know these beauties lay in wait for me. And while I’m canonizing my Cheetos memory, (like so many other people on the internet) I did note that while googling pictures of Cheetos in my MSG frenzy, I discovered an interesting disturbing site that featured a Cheetos montage. Scroll down to see what I’m talking about.
And yes, that bed woman really IS in a bathtub full of Cheetos.
My friend Alex Henderson is a freaking awesome writer, who just had his short story Zorion published by HarperCollins. I met Alex through my best friend Parker Smith, and I just know he’s going to be a really great writer someday. Congrats Alex!
I spent the past hour writing a post that didn’t save and disappeared into the INTERNET. This has happened to me before, and yet I still will never learn to save.
So, since all of that energy has been wasted on nothing, I’ll try to briefly recap with way less words, way more apathy and way less gusto. I’m surprised at myself for even trying at this point. I’ll be brief:
I didn’t get the awesome sales and marketing job at Wired Magazine. The entry level job went to a person with 5+ years experience. This means that everyone applying to entry-level positions are competing with people who are way overqualified. Great.
I’ve been networking with a few publishers in the area including HarperOne (HarperCollins) and Chronicle Books. Now what?
I was offered a job at American Eagle Outfitters, which (today) I politely and graciously declined. Over 200 people applied for that position, six people were called back for second interviews, and all of those six were offered the job. To fold clothes. I can fold clothes with my Master’s degree.
I’ve applied to a lot of jobs, including retail and selling fancy European chocolates.
I’ve been contacted by very few. Maybe I should have taken the job at American Eagle.
It takes forever to hear back from any job.
I’ve been to three interviews for two different jobs in the past four weeks at the Academy of Art Institute in San Francisco. The Academy’s School of Fashion is offering me a full time job as an assistant with their department. Currently I am residing in Round Four of the interview process, called "Pre Employment."
WHAT DOES THIS MEAN: while the university leisurely conducts background checks and reference checks over the next week, I am going through an intense waiting process which involves daily emotional breakdowns that question my self-worth and belittle my existence as a semi-functioning human being.
Moreover, my physical home that surrounds me is falling apart. My apartment’s old foundations have led to severe plumbing issues the past two weeks, causing water damage to four other apartments. My tub barfed up black soot. My ceiling is caving into the bathroom. Water is leaking from the upstairs apartment into mine. And my building manager refuses to call me back after all the complaints I’ve issued.
I’m moving the first chance I get.
But I’m trying to focus on the positive:
If I get the position at the Academy, it will be a full time job with benefits.
I will be able to fully support myself.
I will finally have health insurance.
I will be able to go to the doctor.
I will be able to move to a new apartment after one paycheck.
I will be able to save money so that I can work toward getting into the publishing industry.
When looking for jobs after graduation it’s easy to feel sorry for yourself. Endlessly applying to jobs and never hearing back from anyone is depressing and self-defeating. Some days it feels that it has taken me this long to figure out that I don’t want to be a professor or teacher. And that while I would be good at it—I have no passion for any of it. I’m glad that at 23 (almost 24) I have a better direction of where I want to go.
On a happier note, Joseph and I discovered some fishes on Fillmore the other day, walking to the N-Judah.
I’m starting to freak out. It’s my last week in New York and Bananafish in New York will no longer be in this big city, but will be headed for San Francisco after a short recovery period in North Carolina.
I’m getting excited about the prospect of leaving the world of school and homework and assignments that never seem to end. It feels like time for a change again, and I’m hoping that is one in the field of publishing.
I know for a fact I want to be in this field, I’m just not really sure what it is within publishing that I’m capable of doing. Ideally, I would be working for a book publishing company—but starting out—I honestly will take anything. Which is why I’ve got an interview with Wired Magazine on Wednesday over the phone. SCARY.
I have a backlog of photos to post soon. Devin and I ventured to Coney Island this weekend while he visited, and it was pretty gross. I ate a funnel cake, saw a lot of gross people, and got bit by bugs. It was a fun weekend, I’m just not prepared for anything happening this week, like 1) finishing up our book imprints, 2) the stressful interview Wednesday morning, or 3) the career fair with all the major book publishing companies in New York. YIKES.
There’s a lot in the works. I hope I can deal with it all.
I have something very important to communicate immediately: This weekend I discovered that:
Magnolia Bakery is overrated.First, the air conditioning was broken in their store—therefore the cupcakes were all melty: i.e. butter and grease dripping everywhere. Second, their flavors lacked any pizzaz. While their color choices for icings were beautiful, the flavors of all of their cupcakes this holiday weekend were awful.
Not to mention, instead of having a cupcake connoisseur select a cupcake for you, while safely placing the delectable treat into a proper container—Magnolia allows their customers to FEND FOR THEMSELVES. So I butted and nudged my way into what can be pathetically called a line, to find a whole bunch of cupcakes mislabeled, mashed up and melty. I grabbed the ones I could and got out of there. But not before I smushed the lid onto a lilac icing colored cupcake, salvaging a light green cupcake and awful 4th of july cupcake that I placed precariously on top of my cupcake box.
As I left the store in a huff, I crammed a 4th of july cupcake hastily into my mouth only to be shocked at the abundance of sugar crystals lurking within. It tasted like they weren’t mixed into the cake properly. It could have been the sugar overload I had with the sugar-star-cutout that was tackily placed atop the ugly cupcake, but I I don’t know. Something was off. Not to mention $10 bucks for three smallish sized cupcakes. I would have gladly paid this amount for three amazingly wonderful cupcakes, like the ones Magnolia’s claims to carry—but I’m afraid this was a ripoff pure and simple.
Magnolia’s 4th of July celebration cupcake was quite possibly the worst decision in cake decorating history I’ve ever seen. Too many sprinkles, too many sugar cutouts to lay on top. Not to mention the tie-dye/smeared blue and red icing choices made me want to throw my cupcake on the ground. Bleh. I don’t think I will be partaking in their cupcakery again any time soon.
After resting for a day from sugar/gross overload, I decided to take my friend Sarah’s advice and visit Two Little Red Hens for the best cupcake experience I could ever ask for. And boy was she right.
First let me say, not only do you get more bang for your buck (three jumbo-large sized cupcakes for $8) they were very careful in handling these cake babies. They made it all the way home without getting destroyed.
First, the marble cupcake was quite possibly the best idea ever conceived for a cupcake. The idea is simple, mixing vanilla and chocolate—but in cupcake form—it is sheer heaven. Not to mention the black and white frosting…well this reminded me of a black and white cookie.
(I had eaten half of this one before I realized I needed to document the deliciousness)
Next up was a Red Velvet Cupcake. Perfection. The creamcheese/buttercreamish frosting was the best I’ve ever had. There were no bullshit sprinkles hidden in there either. Just great creamy frosting.
The third cupcake is a vanilla Cupcake is superb. Their icing is buttercream silk. By that I mean: the icing tastes like silk looks. A word of warning: those eating must love vanilla. It tastes like there is extra vanilla (or extra-strength vanilla) incorporated into the batter and icing to give the cupcake an extra kick. Be warned. It takes a little while to finish.
Finally, let me say that what’s most important in a cupcake is the actual cake itself. Two Little Red Hens have got the cake part down, and I hope they keep churning those cupcakes out. Because they are fantastic.