Tag Archives: Facebook

My Doppelganger Drives a Mercedes

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Last year, I found my doppelganger.

On a lark, I had typed my not-exactly-common name into the search box on Facebook. I was curious to see if there were other Mark Petruskas out there in the world, and if so, what they were like. To my surprise, there were several of us. Enough, as a matter of fact, to comprise the starting lineup of an NBA team. Granted, we would probably suck if the other Mark Petruskas are anything like me. I wasn’t exactly blessed with the tallness gene and about the only thing I can slam dunk is coffee, but that isn’t really the point. I was rather surprised that there were so many of us out there, having always figured I had a unique name and was, therefore, one of a kind. My bubble that day was burst.

Curiosity quickly overcame any lingering animosity over the fact that I was merely another John Smith, and I decided to send a friend request to the Mark Petruska who appeared to be the most like me. He is a year or two younger, married, has two kids – a boy and a girl – and lives in Connecticut. He’s a liberal who was fervently pushing the passage of Obama’s health care plan, even. Granted, he’s a Steelers fan, but nobody is perfect. I included a personal message that said simply Why not? and was thrilled when he accepted my request that same day. Suddenly, I was friends with myself. How cool!

Commenting back and forth was fun. Some of our friends were understandably confused, thinking we were adding comments to our own posts. Hell, I was confused sometimes when I’d log in, find a status update from myself, and not remember posting it. Especially when it talked about doing something with the wife (I don’t have one) or the job (again, don’t have one). My heart would race, and I’d panic momentarily, wondering how much alcohol I had consumed the previous evening, before I realized the update came from Mark Petruska v. 2.0 and not me. Whew! The funny thing is, over the past year and a half, he and I have sort of become real friends. We follow each other’s updates, look at posted photos, comment on important life events. If I were in town and he was hosting a barbecue, I’m sure he’d extend an invitation to me. And the steak would be damn good, too. He is a Mark Petruska, after all. I have long ago gotten over the fact that he’s probably the bastard who stole the gmail address I coveted.

There’s just one thing I didn’t bargain for. His life is far more glamorous than mine.

My brother from another mother drives this car. (Courtesy of northtexasautoleasing.com)

My first inkling of this came a year ago, when he posted pictures of his shiny, gleaming, brand new silver Mercedes Benz E350. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy with my Santa Fe. But it is almost ten years old, has 107,000 miles on the odometer, is pockmarked with hail damage, and is…despite its dependability…still a Hyundai. Nobody talks about fine Korean engineering (though in all fairness, those Germans can’t make kimchee worth crap). Did I mention that his wife looks like a freakin’ supermodel? I’m happily in love now, but at the time my personal life was hell, and this just seemed like one more stab in the eye. I searched for possible chinks in their marital armor – surely nobody’s life could be that perfect, even with such an awesome name - but between all their sweet-and-sassy back-and-forth Facebook chatter and the numerous photos of their happy, smiling nuclear family – could find none. They were, naturally, living the American Dream.

A week ago he posted, {Wife} surprised me and planned a weekend in New York City. Just finished lunch and now shopping. 

Shut up.

And then, yesterday. On the plane to Aruba. Can’t wait to hit the beach!!!

Really, Mark? Really?!?!

Aruba doesn't look *that* nice. (Courtesy of robinsoncrusoe.org).

I suggested we switch lives for a few days, but I don’t expect a response. He’s no doubt too busy frolicking in the sand and surf and enjoying some rum-based beverage complete with a slice of pineapple impaled by a plastic sword and a tiny folding paper umbrella sticking out of the top. Is it wrong of me to hope he comes back with a bad sunburn? Homeboy is showing me up something fierce.

I kid, of course. I like the guy, and I’m glad somebody as deserving as a Mark Petruska is living such an awesome life.

And the truth is, as we head into Thanksgiving week, I am in a very good place myself. I’ve never been happier, and have much to be thankful for. This has been a year to remember – one for the ages – and I feel incredibly fortunate. Honestly, I wouldn’t switch places with the other Mark Petruska even if I could. As great as his life is, I know that mine is better.

I’d still take the keys to that Mercedes, though…

How Tweet It Is!

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I’m currently reading Bram Stoker’s Dracula, a novel that has been sitting on my bookshelf for five years. I have this obsession with Powell’s Books, see, and I can’t ever leave without buying something. Often books sit around, unread, for lengthy periods of time (though I’ll admit, 5 years is a bit much). I was still married when I bought it, and that was a lifetime ago. Better late than never, though. I love the story (but hate that it’s responsible for the whole Edward-Cullen-is-so-dreamy-and-he-glitters-in-the-sunlight “Twilight” series). On the other hand, we’ve also got True Blood, so some good came out of the original vampire saga. What’s unique about Dracula is the way the story unfolds, shifting from multiple points of view through diary and journal entries, newspaper clippings, etc. It allows the reader to delve into the minds of several main characters, something that isn’t possible in either a traditional first-person or third-person narrative. As a plot device, it’s very effective.

All that nineteenth-century British eloquence is rubbing off on me, though. I find myself talking differently as of late. I’m spouting off things like “from whence he came” and using words like “hitherto” and “henceforth” a lot. This is making my text messages look really weird, almost as if they were typed out by somebody with a split personality. I’ll be like, “OMG, The Hangover 2 made me LOL. For a while sheer humor mastered me; there was delicious irony in the Wolf Pack’s continued ineptitude in all manner causally related to the imbibing of illicit substances yet again. I was ROFLMAO when Chow asked about the monkey. He is uncommonly clever, if one can judge from his face, even in the absence of clothing. The Russian gangster scene was off the hook! Whilst I ramble on here there is but one thing to hope for, that I have not dropped too heavy a spoiler upon you, and that you shall hence enjoy this comedic gem. Peace out.”

What can I say? I’m like a sponge. I soak things up.

Here I am! Come and stalk me! (Courtesy of mynewplace.com).

I am also, it turns out, a hypocrite. Because not long ago I wrote a blog entry about the silliness of “check-in” apps. So what have I been doing these past few days? Checking in to nearly every place I visit. I can’t really explain my sudden change of heart, because when you boil it all down, does anybody care that Mark is at New Season’s Market? Of course not. All this does is makes it easier for a person to either A) Stalk you, or B) Rob you. However, A) If anybody wants to stalk me, go right ahead – I could use the excitement!, and B) I find it hard to believe there are criminal masterminds sitting around the computer randomly scouting Facebook to see who is not home, and besides, even if there were, these guys would have no idea whether I’ve got a hungry Rottweiler or an expensive alarm system. In the overall scheme of things, it’s harmless. Plus, check-in apps are trendy, and more and more companies are rewarding their followers with discounts or coupons, an idea that intrigues me. From a social media and marketing perspective…my line of work, and a lot of jobs I’m applying for…it’s a unique and fun way to promote your business. I figure, I’d better get on board if for no other reason than to expand my marketing knowledge.

/justification.

Also, I finally “get” Twitter. For a couple of years now, I’ve poked fun at it and never really understood its purpose. I figured it was nothing more than a poor man’s Facebook (with a stricter character count). Where were the games? The photos? How inane does “tweeting” sound? But I have come around recently and gotten to the point where I actually embrace it. For one thing, it’s an excellent source for breaking news. I no longer get a daily newspaper and rarely catch the news on TV, but many times throughout the day I’ll spot an interesting headline on my Twitter feed and follow the link to the full story. Sports scores, weather alerts – those come in handy, too. I’m a fan of Portland’s food trucks, and many of them – due to their mobile nature – move around to new spots. How do you know where they’re going to be on any given day? Through their Tweets, of course. Also, you can (theoretically) engage in a conversation with a celebrity – Rainn Wilson, Michael Ian Black and Neil Patrick Harris are all notoriously prolific Tweeters with often-hilarious status updates – and, it’s a great forum for posting blog updates to, promoting your novel, etc. In many ways, Twitter is better than Facebook, because it’s easier to cut through all the crap.

Roll with the changes, right? Presently I came to this conclusion, and it shall henceforth be considered – by none other than this very author – as a just and fitting motto forevermore.

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The Demise of TMI

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There’s a new phenomenon sweeping through cyberspace, and maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I just don’t get it: on Facebook, seemingly all my friends are “checking into” places using Apps like Foursquare.

I’ll see status updates that say, John Smith is at Red Robin or Jane Doe is at Target. Every night, one of my friends updates his status to show he is at warm, comfy bed with my wife. I have two questions:

  • Do we really need to know your whereabouts every minute of every day?
  • Is it wise to announce to the world that you aren’t even home?

I mean, we’re all guilty of this already, I suppose. My Facebook status yesterday read, Mark needs a break. Feels like a good day to stomp around Powell’s Books for awhile. Which means I essentially told the world “I won’t be home for a few hours – now would be a good time to come rob me!” Right? Anybody who has even a passing knowledge of my life knows that I’m divorced, share custody of my kids, and they aren’t with me this week. So I guess taking it one step further with Foursquare isn’t really a big deal, unless you’re obsessive about it and update every time you set foot outside or close the bathroom door. Which, umm, some of my friends do. It’s interesting, when you think about it: in the 21st century, we have witnessed the demise of TMI.

How different would the world have been if social media had existed centuries earlier? Think about some of the status updates, tweets, and Foursquare check-ins we would have been privy to!

Ben Franklin thinks a storm is approaching. Now would be a good time to go fly a kite. 

Hannibal is at Pyrenees with army and elephants. 

Julius Caesar The @Colosseum is packed today. Looking forward to the #gladiator games. I give them a thumbs up! Or thumbs down…LOL.

Our historical figures didn’t bother sharing their every thought or move with the rest of the world! Probably a good thing, too. George Washington might never have made it across the Delaware. Not that the British would necessarily have been ready to stop him on the other side, though. They might’ve been too busy playing Angry Birds.

I give this one a thumbs down! (Courtesy of historylink102.com).

I got to thinking about all of this yesterday because, when I went to Powell’s Books, I brought along my iPod Touch. I had downloaded this cool new App called Meridian, which presumably allows you to type in the name of any book Powell’s has in stock, and it will guide you directly to the book through step-by-step directions. You might think this sounds silly, but Powell’s is no ordinary bookstore. It encompasses an entire city block in downtown Portland and is several stories tall. It’s considered the world’s largest independent bookstore, with over a million titles stocked on its shelves. To a book lover, it is Heaven, Paradise and Nirvana all rolled into one, a glorious collection of new and used books covering every topic under the sun. The cavernous rooms are all color-coded: the Gold Room contains mysteries and thrillers, the Blue Room houses literature and poetry, the Orange Room contains cookbooks, and so forth and so on. Having this App, with turn-by-turn directions, would definitely be a boon!

Only, when I fired it up, it wasn’t working. I have no idea why – the WiFi connection worked fine, but the App showed me nothing. For a few brief moments, I panicked. What am I going to do now? I wondered. How will I find the book I’m looking for??

And then I remembered that I’ve been shopping at Powell’s for fifteen years and have always been able to find what I needed. There are computers scattered throughout the store, and an army of helpful employees who can hold your hand and walk you to the right shelf if you ask them kindly. And I realized right then and there how soft we, as a society, have become.

I remember when you walked into the library and had to use the card catalog. Ahh, the Dewey Decimal System – how antiquated. And yet, it worked just fine! I imagine my ancestors (who may or may not have been Austrian) thought the Abacus was a perfectly satisfactory counting tool, as well. Don’t even get me started on mimeographs. Remember the way the paper was all limp and damp and blue and had a certain smell when it came off the machine? Ahh, the good ol’ days! Sometimes I long for simpler times. But then I turn on my LCD television and scroll through the programs on my DVR and I get over it.

On a final note, you can probably tell that I changed to a new theme. I like this one a lot – Mystique’s got a bunch of really cool features, and I like the colors. All that grey was starting to get me down. I like the different post formats – I can just post an image, or a quote, or an aside, rather than a 1000-word rant, if the mood strikes. Which is, oddly enough, pretty much just like a Facebook status update. Ahh, the possibilities.

TMI? There’s no such thing anymore.

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Swimming With Sharks

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Before my kids left for Florida, I gave them three simple rules to adhere to.

1. Be good.
2. Listen to your grandparents.
3. Don’t get eaten by a shark.

So, imagine my dismay when I checked Facebook yesterday and found the following status update from my son:

Rusty almost got attacked by a shark today (not joking).

That’s the problem with kids these days  (especially teenagers) – they never listen to their parents. They think nothing of skipping homework assignments, slipping in past curfew, and swimming with sharks. This generation, I tell you.

I told the kids to stay away from these guys, but did they listen?! (Courtesy of recordsharkfishing.com)

I immediately picked up the phone and called Rusty. Maybe this was all some twisted post-April Fool’s Day joke he’d concocted in order to get a rise out of his friends and family? If so, it was working.

Me: What’s this about you almost getting attacked by a shark?
Rusty: Yeah, I couldn’t believe it.
Me: You’re making this up.
Rusty: No, it really happened. Ironic, huh? After you told us not to get eaten by a shark.
Me: Yeah…that’s something, alright. Let me talk to your grandmother.

The phone then switched hands, and my mom came on the line.

Me: What’s this about Rusty almost getting eaten by a shark?
Mom: How’d you know about that?
Me: Through the power of Facebook. What happened?
Mom: Oh, it was no big deal. The kids were swimming in the water and your father spotted a shark. He hollered, and they all got back to the beach in plenty of time. The weather’s fantastic, by the way.
Me: The weather’s fantastic. Great to hear. Can we get back to the close encounter with a shark?
Mom: Like I said, it was nothing. The shark was a good distance away, and they were able to scramble to safety in time. Hey, we had a delicious key lime pie for dessert tonight!

I’m just glad my kids survived long enough to enjoy that key lime pie, although I might need to ground them when they return for so blatantly disregarding the rules and nearly getting eaten by a shark after I expressly forbid that. My mom went on to reassure me that they wouldn’t let anything happen to the kids and I shouldn’t worry, but if a run-in with Jaws occurred on their first full day in Florida, and they’ve got five more to go, there’s no telling what other sorts of Facebook posts I may see this week. I also warned them to watch out for alligators, so you never know.

Near-shark attack notwithstanding, I’m glad they’re having fun in Florida. The kids would normally be with their mother this week, so I wouldn’t see them anyway, but they did leave my care two days early and, surprisingly, I missed them when they left. I say “surprisingly” because we share custody evenly, the kids with me one week and with their mom the next, a routine we’ve been doing for over four years. I’m used to my kid-free weeks and I enjoy the quiet and freedom. But I’d had my parents over on Friday night for a big send-off Italian feast (bruschetta, Caesar salad, homemade ragu) and they left with the kids after. The moment everybody was gone, it was like somebody flipped a switch. All the noise and hustle and bustle were replaced with silence, and it took me a little while to adjust. We missed out on our normal Saturday night stovetop-popcorn-and-a-movie ritual, and that felt weird, but I drank some wine and got over it pretty quickly.

The rest of the weekend I ran errands and hung out at home. Sunday, I finally bit the bullet and did my taxes. Normally I’m finished by mid-February at the latest, but this year I had an almost paralyzing fear that I might actually owe money, so I’d put off the task much longer than usual. Actually, I’m always afraid I’ll owe money, but this paranoia is unfounded; I’ve gotten a refund every year now since the mid-90s. Still, there’s always the chance that I might owe, especially with the change in my employment status, and last year my refund was a whopping $18, so yeah…I was nervous. I even played Enya on my iPod while toiling away, in the hope that her lilting, ethereal Celtic melodies might make the whole occasion less stressful. It seemed to work. Somewhere between Caribbean Blue and Only Time that dreaded red box in the top right corner of the Turbo Tax screen – indicating I owed the Feds dough – switched to a more soothing shade of I’m-getting-a-refund green. Because I started working on a freelance basis in December I had to complete a Schedule C and figure out the square footage of my home office and add up my utilities for the year and yadda, yadda, yadda – bottom line is, Orinoco Flow came on as I hit the e-file button, and I was $379 richer for the experience. Whew! If I’d known I was getting money back, I’d have filed a long time ago!

Next year’s going to be a bitch, though. With all the freelance work I’ve done and no more childcare expenses to deduct, I bet I’ll wait right up until April 14th to do ‘em.

I hope Enya puts out a new CD by then…

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The Universe Has a #$%! Sense of Humor

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Eventually, it was bound to happen: I found myself on a job interview yesterday. First one since I joined the ranks of the unemployed a little over three months ago. I initially had mixed feelings over the whole thing. The opportunity sounded fantastic – a copywriting position with a local company close to home. There was one big drawback, however…my ex-wife works there.

Thank you, Universe.

I mean, seriously. Out of all the companies in the Portland metro area, the first one interested in me – and, I might add, one of only a handful of jobs I’ve applied for that actually appealed to me – happens to be the same one where my ex works? What are the odds? Is somebody upstairs toying with me for fun?

I would never have applied for the position had I known it was with her employer. But, it was a blind posting through Craigslist, one of those anonymous ten-digit e-mail addresses you encounter quite frequently when replying to an ad. It wasn’t until they called and left a voicemail message stating they wanted to interview me that their true identity was revealed. What followed was one of those dramatic moments where I stared at the sky, arms stretched out and head tilted back, and screamed, “Whhhhyyyyy???”

OK, not really. But I was bummed out, and faced a dilemma. Do I return the call and schedule an interview, or pretend it never happened?

According to the state of Washington, I would be in danger of forfeiting my unemployment benefits if I didn’t set up an interview that was offered unless I had compelling reasons. I don’t think “awkwardness” applies. Here’s the thing: I don’t hate my ex. On the contrary, I have been the one who has constantly attempted to keep the lines of communication open and flowing. After a falling out, I extended the olive branch. I try to be positive, friendly, and level-headed despite the fact that she is now married to a man who is not only responsible for our ultimate demise, but doesn’t seem to like the idea of my existence very much. After all, we had a lot of good years together, and ended up with two kids to show for our troubles. Things weren’t exactly rosy that last year or two, but until then, we got along pretty well. High school sweethearts and all. (As romantic as that sounds, I don’t really recommend it to anybody – you simply are not the same person at 37 that you were at 17. Change is inevitable, and a slow but steady drifting apart seems to be the end result. I would rather meet somebody who is 40 39 38 37 a few years younger than me but still mature enough to know who they are and what they want and not suddenly turn into a completely different person one day. That’s the basis for a lasting relationship).

Anyway, the point is, even though we kind-of sort-of get along because of the kids, working in the same building as my ex-wife is not something I would ever feel comfortable with. I can’t imagine running into her at the water cooler, or sitting across from her in a conference room, or bumping into one another on the way back from the mailroom. I would be on edge every minute of every day, waiting for the inevitable and regularly-occurring crossing of paths. That’s no way to live. Productivity would suffer, not to mention my mental state.

However.

One positive thing about this company is, they’ve got eight different buildings spread out over a couple of locations. There was a chance, at least, that we might not end up working in the same office – or even the same city.

Dressing up for a job interview.

I despise wearing ties. Can you tell?

Plus, I am locked in a battle with the state of Washington currently over my freelance work. Back in December, before I set forth on this venture, I contacted the unemployment office to make sure that I would still be able to collect unemployment benefits while doing some freelance writing on the side. I felt it was crucial to have all my ducks lined up in a row, just in case. They replied that not only was it allowed, but it was encouraged. My weekly checks would simply be reduced by whatever amount I earned for the week, allowing my benefits to actually last longer, since I am drawing from a specific amount that was approved when I filed my claim. Win-win for everybody. But when I checked YES next to the question about earning income through self-employment when my first paycheck came in, all sorts of flags were automatically raised. I had to call them, answer a bunch of questions, and then they sent me a ten-page form asking all sorts of additional questions about my self-employment. How many hours I’m devoting to it, how much income I’m anticipating, the number of employees I have working for me, what I’d do if offered a job, yadda yadda. I filled everything out with a copy of the e-mail they sent to me stating that freelancing was just fine and dandy with them, and now have to wait 6-10 weeks (!) for a “decision.” In the meantime, they’re still paying me, but it’s considered “conditional” and I might possibly have to give it all back to them. Plus, every week when I file my claim, I am prompted to call in and talk to somebody and go over the whole song and dance. To say it’s frustrating is an understatement. I would love to be earning enough from my freelance writing to be able to drop the unemployment thing entirely, but I’m not there yet.

So I decided to go ahead and call these guys back to set up an interview. It was scheduled for yesterday afternoon.

Even though this was my first job interview in almost seven years, I didn’t feel the slightest bit nervous. Maybe because I felt I had nothing to lose? I figured, in a worst-case scenario I’d just delete this contact from my job search log. Erase its very existence and move on. I felt very uncomfortable dressing up and wearing a tie, but otherwise, I walked in there brimming with confidence. And then I saw my ex’s car parked in the lot and the butterflies came calling. I quickly dispelled them, and spent about twenty minutes with a person from their HR department, going over my qualifications and learning about the job opportunity. Turns out they are actually interviewing for two different positions, and while I was initially interested in the Copywriter job, their Social Media Specialist is actually a better fit for me. I’m seeing similar jobs posted quite often these days.

“What does a Social Media Specialist do?” I asked.

“He maintains our corporate presence online by frequently updating our Facebook accounts and sending Tweets,” she replied.

Sounds too good to be true, huh? I know a thing or two about social media. I have a blog (duh), a Twitter account, two Facebook accounts (one personal, one for my freelancing business), and I’m LinkedIn. I’m perfectly qualified for the position. Plus, the salary is exactly what I am looking for (a fair amount higher than what I was earning before). And, best of all, the position is located at their other office, meaning no uncomfortable vending machine chitchat with the ex.

Suddenly, I was intrigued. And glad I didn’t skip out on the interview. She said they’ll be making decisions on who to call back for second interviews within a week, so my fingers are crossed.

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How YOU Doin’, Snow Bunny?

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I learned yesterday that my DVR mysteriously un-programmed all my series recordings. This is not an insignificant number, by the way; I have come to detest watching TV shows “live” and dealing with commercials, so I’ve got everything programmed. Take Thursday night, for example: I love NBC’s comedy lineup, but I won’t start Community until, say, 8:25. That way I can zip through that, plus The Big Bang Theory on CBS, The Office, and Parks & Recreation without being bothered by ads. Ironic, considering I majored in Advertising in college. Do you suppose technology has made us all a little bit ADD these days?

Apparently, this bizarre memory wipe happened sometime last week, but I failed to notice until yesterday afternoon, and only because my dad started talking about an episode of Hawaii Five-O that I had not seen – and I watch that show religiously. Then, a Facebook post mentioned Ricky Gervais‘s guest appearance on The Office. Hmm. I’d checked my DVR’s scheduled recordings at the beginning of the week and saw there was nothing programmed, so I’d assumed all the shows I watch were repeats. Oops. Dismayed by this turn of events, I went in and had to manually reprogram all my series recordings again, while wondering what I may have missed along the way. I did catch that Hawaii Five-O ep my dad mentioned. Thank goodness for On Demand.

I’m left wondering how this could possibly have happened, though. I’ve had a DVR for years now, and it has always worked perfectly fine – as punctual and reliable as an alarm clock. Must be some glitch in the flux capacitor. Oddly enough, strange things have been happening around my house for over a week now.

One night last week, the smoke detectors went off, screaming and wailing at 4:30 AM. There is nothing more frightening than being roused from a deep sleep by the sound of a smoke detector. I leaped out of bed in a wild panic, sure that my townhouse was burning down. Before I could make it to the bedroom door, the alarm quit just as suddenly as it started. Six long, very loud beeps and it was done. Satisfied that it had been a weird malfunction, I pulled the covers up and went back to sleep. Or tried to, anyway – but two minutes later, the same thing happened again. I was more annoyed than scared now, and figured it must have been a dying battery in one of the units – although that’s a hell of a way to let you know it’s time to change it. I resigned myself to having to fetch the ladder from the garage and figure out which smoke detector was acting up while bleary eyed with sleep, but fortunately that was the end of that and the alarm never went off again. Eventually I fell back asleep. The next morning Rusty and Audrey asked, “Did you hear the smoke detectors last night?!” as soon as I came downstairs. Children, folks in Idaho heard those damn things. I suppose if I were a good father I’d have checked on them afterwards – or, you know, at least felt the door to see if it was hot, thereby ensuring the alarms were really false ones –  but my down comforter was calling for me something fierce.

And then, a couple of nights ago, I awoke with a jolt because my bed had been shaking. So hard, I assumed we’d just had an earthquake. I noted the time – 11:53 PM – and nearly got up to check the news online, but I figured it could wait until morning. When I got up the next day, I immediately powered up the laptop and Googled Portland earthquake. There were links to a few past earthquakes, but nothing relating to the previous night’s temblor. How odd, I thought. I went directly to one of the local news station’s websites to find the story – but again, came up blank. Finally I accessed the USGS itself, and was forced to come to the bizarre conclusion that there had not, in fact, been an earthquake the night before. Which I guess means I imagined the whole thing. Well, isn’t that comforting! Or maybe I was having a really bad dream – or a really good one. If that’s the case, it sucks, because I can’t remember a thing about it.

I guess I’ll just file it all away into the Weird Happenings bin and see if anything else unexplainable goes down in the near future.

Oh, something else did happen last week, but it was humorous more than anything else. There’s a 50s-themed burger joint/diner down the street a ways called Boppin’ Bo’s Malt Shop & Grill. I had a coupon for $4 off per burger, which is a pretty good deal, so I decided to splurge and take the kids out to dinner. I figured, unemployed or not, if I can feed the three of us for $15 that’s too good to pass up. Better yet, I became a fan on Facebook right before we left, and they were advertising the following on their page:

Boppin’ Bo’s Malt Shop and Grill Become a Fan of Boppin’ Bo’s on Facebook and receive one free Ice Cream Sundae with your meal (one per tableup to $6.95), just say the key words “Snow Bunny” to your server. Check back monthly for more specails for all of our Facebook friends new and old!!

Joey Tribbiani

I felt like I was channeling my inner Joey Tribbiani. (Courtesy of studentsoftheworld.info).

So we got there and enjoyed our meal, and then I told the kids that I knew “a secret password” to get us a free ice cream sundae. They looked at me skeptically, but I assured them it would work. It had to. Facebook told me it would.

Our waitress arrived with the check and asked if there was anything else we wanted. I looked at her slyly, nodded my head in a fashion befitting Joey Tribbiani from Friends, and said, “I would like something else, snow bunny.“

“Oh, really?” she replied with a nervous little chuckle. “A snow bunny…like a little figurine?”

I assumed she was just yanking my chain for show, trying to make me look bad in front of the kids (who by now were on the verge of all-out laughter).

“I think you know what I mean, snow bunny,” I said again, and this time may even have thrown in a little wink for good measure.

Only she had no idea what I meant and, clearly a little creeped out by my sudden and inexplainable dastardly flirtations, laid the check down and began to excuse herself.

“Wait!” I said, ignoring Rusty and Audrey, who were now flat-out laughing over my seemingly embarrassing miscue. “I’m supposed to say snow bunny to you and get something good!”

Ice cream sundae

Not our actual sundae, but a pretty good replica. Ours had more whipped cream. (Courtesy of memphisflyer.com).

Well, that didn’t help matters and came out sounding all sorts of wrong, so I quickly filled her in on the restaurant’s Facebook page and the free offer it promised. She looked mildly relieved that I hadn’t been trying some lame come-on by calling her by a cute pet name when our relationship had not even progressed beyond server/customer yet, and said she’d go check with the manager. A minute later she returned to say that, yes, the deal was valid, and remarked that it would have been nice to have been informed of the special considering she was an employee and whatnot.

Five minutes later, armed with three spoons, the kids and I devoured the most gigantic and delicious ice cream sundae this side of the Mississippi absolutely free of charge. It was worth a little bit of embarrassment. The truth is, our waitress – my snow bunny – was pretty cute. I don’t mind that I accidentally flirted with her. She can be the Rachel to my Joey any old day.

Still, for my troubles, I made sure to eat the cherry on top before the kids could get to it.

Rolling The Dice

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Due to the unusual circumstances surrounding my departure, my coworkers threw a farewell potluck for me today – a week early, as my last day isn’t until next Friday, the 22nd.  Not that I blame them; up until a couple of days ago, I had no idea myself how much longer I’d still be here.  I’d only been promised two weeks initially, so they were right on the money in guessing that today would be the day. 

By the way, it’s hard to believe that I’ve known about the impending layoff that long now.  At the same time, it feels like I’ve had one foot out the door forever.  I don’t know quite what to make of that.

It’s been awhile since we’ve had a potluck at work.  I usually haul in my crockpot and contribute something hot, like meatballs.  For some reason, a bag of frozen meatballs heated up with a jar of barbecue sauce is always a big hit at these shindigs.  It’s hardly gourmet, but there’s just something about ‘em that people love.  Cocktail weiners are similar crowd pleasers.  And yet, you never once see them available as appetizers on restaurant menus.  I suspect there’s a great, untapped market for miniature hot dogs out there.  Hmm…food cart idea # 2…

Anyway, as I was the guest of honor, and the potluck was kinda-sorta (but not really) a surprise, all I had to do was show up.  Which was easy, considering it took place in the cubicle right next to mine.  I couldn’t have taken so much as a single step without finding myself knee-deep in turkey wraps and fried chicken and Frito corn salad and bean dip and – wonder of wonders, be still my beating heart – an honest-to-goodness mojito cake baked by one of my thoughtful coworkers who knows that I am a lush enjoy the occasional mojito (probably based upon an ill-advised,  half-drunk Facebook status update or two, oops!).   The cake was awesome.  Actually, everything was.  We all agreed that we should have potlucks more often, although they’d probably be less somber affairs if they didn’t signify somebody’s imminent departure. 

Mojito cake, a/k/a the best potluck dish ever.

I actually like the fact that this happened a week early.  Let’s face it, my mind will be elsewhere next Friday.  I doubt I’ll even make it through the day.  If I check out a little early, what are they going to do – fire me?!    Now that we’ve got the business of saying goodbye out of the way, I can get back to the real business at hand.  Which, admittedly, has largely revolved around me planning a strategy for my unemployment.  I’m not saying I haven’t worked – I have, plowing through various projects as they’ve come up – but I think that a loss of motivation under these circumstances is unavoidable.  Plus, I’ve got to take care of myself, because nobody else is going to do it.

Taking care of myself has meant a few things. 

  1. Making sure my resume is up to date.  Fortunately, it is, though the layout could use a little polishing.  This is an easy-enough fix.
  2. Figuring out what LinkedIn is all about.  I joined a couple of years ago, because my other coworkers were all on there, but I never quite knew what to do with it.  On the surface, LinkedIn is kind of like Facebook for the career-minded, without the distractions of Farmville and Mafia Wars.  But I guess it’s more than that…it’s supposed to be a networking site.  Might as well use it as such – I’ve got nothing to lose.  So I filled in a lot of missing blanks, updated my profile, sent out connection requests to a whole lotta people I wasn’t yet hooked up with, and even sent out a couple of requests for recommendations.  We’ll see where this all leads.
  3. Having personal business cards printed up.  Somebody I know (a couple of somebodys, actually) made me a generous offer to print cards for me, for free.  The idea had actually never crossed my mind, but some internet research showed that personal networking cards are in vogue these days.  Hmm, who knew?  So I came up with a nifty title for myself (Writer & Creative Strategist) and a catchy little slogan (Mark my words…I’ll do the job “write”!), found a colorful image to include, and – thanks to another donation (free card stock), am now the proud owner of 500 business cards.  These will be useful for interviews, and passing out to colleagues, and maybe even posting in random places.  Like grocery stores and strip clubs.  OK, scratch that last one.  I’ve even got a link to this-here blog, so I’d better keep it (mostly) clean!  The point is, they’ll help keep me focused on my #1 goal – to be a writer.  And if nothing else, at least now I’ve got something to drop into a fishbowl and, hopefully, snag a free lunch or two.

I’ve still got a lot of work to do, but now it feels like I’ve at least got a head start.  A lot of people are telling me they feel confident that I’ll find my dream job before too long, and while I’m not sure if they’re just being polite or truly believe in my abilities, I have to admit, I continue to feel very upbeat and positive.  The thing is, I probably could have stayed with the company.  There’s a customer service position opening up, and I was encouraged to apply.  This would make sense for a number of reasons, most notably my lengthy experience in customer service (fourteen years) and the fact that I began here as a customer service representative.  I’d pretty much be coming full-circle. 

But it doesn’t make sense for the biggest reason of all: it’s not what I want to do. 

“It isn’t your passion,” the VP in charge of that department told me, cutting me off when I needlessly began to explain my reasoning for not throwing my hat in the ring.  “You’re a creative guy.  It’s too easy to get pigeonholed into doing jobs you don’t love this way.”

‘Nuff said.  He’s exactly right.  Sometimes, in order to make your dreams come true, you’ve got to take a chance.

This is me, rolling the dice.

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The Devil Hired A Chef

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Image representing Facebook as depicted in Cru...

Image via CrunchBase

Every creation myth needs a devil ~ Marylin Delpy, The Social Network

I took advantage of a rainy Saturday afternoon to go see The Social Network.  This film hadn’t even been on my radar before its release; I’d heard of it, of course, usually referred to as “the Facebook movie.”  How uninteresting, I thought.  Who’d want to go see a movie about the history of a website?  But it was released to glowing reviews and strong word of mouth, and suddenly, my curiosity was piqued.  I don’t necessarily think movie critics are always to be trusted, but when so many of them said such positive things, the accolades became impossible to ignore.  Plus, I really like Facebook.  So I decided to check it out.

And boy, am I glad I did.  The Social Network is nothing short of incredible.  The plot is full of drama and suspense and humor.  The acting is great.  It’s fun to learn the background behind what is arguably the biggest website in the world (sorry, Google).  I learned some things.  And I was wildly entertained the entire time.

Most importantly of all, though?  I was inspired.  Mark Zuckerberg may have been an asshole (or, as one character in the movie states toward the end, not an asshole per se, but somebody who spends a lot of time trying to look like an asshole.  There are glimmers of humanity here and there, despite his attempts to hide them), but he was also a real go-getter, and look at the result.  He is the world’s youngest billionaire.  Love him or hate him, you’ve got to admire his chutzpah, if you will.  Rebellion is glamorous (just ask Holden Caulfield).  The opening quote sums it up well.  Every creation myth needs a devil, and who better to serve as the symbolic Satan than the founder of Facebook himself, a person who clearly twisted the moral code of ethics to suit his own lofty ambitions?  Be that as it may, Mark had a vision, and he stopped at nothing to ensure that he achieved success.  That I admire.

Mark Zuckerberg, a/k/a My Future Boss. (Image courtesy of Wikipedia).

Being immersed in that world for two hours made me crave it.  I am at a crossroads in my life, and as such, am in a unique and rare position to seriously self-assess my life and decide what I want to do about it.  Where I want to go next.  This isn’t the first time I’ve been laid off.  It happened once before, in 2002.  I was shown the door after putting in ten years with a company that manufactured pneumatics.  I was eight years younger then, and I viewed what happened to me as a minor setback, a brief hiccup in my career, but no reason to stray from the path I’d set out on.  I focused my energy on finding as similar a job as possible, and wound up eventually with a company that manufactured pressure washers.  Now, a little more than six years later, I find myself in the same boat.  This time, that hiccup feels bigger and noisier.  Harder to deny.  Do I want to end up in yet another similar job in yet another similar corporation and find myself once again in this position three or five or twelve years down the road?

Hence the career reassessment.  The dreaming big.  The anything-goes-and-the-world-is-my-oyster philosophy.  I have some ideas of things I’d like to do, and I’ll talk about them in future posts.  But you know which company I’d love to work for?

None other than Facebook.

Curious after the movie, I brought up my Facebook page.  Satisfied (yet disappointed) that I hadn’t been poked, or asked to water anybody’s crops or to like some asinine cause such as Save the ostriches (My head must be stuck in the sand, because I didn’t realize they’re even endangered?) or Give a serviceman a hug (How about extra ammunition or, better yet, a ticket home?), I scrolled to the bottom of the page.  There’s an About section.  I clicked on Careers.  And then, just for fun, Benefits & Perks.  By all accounts, Facebook the corporation is a pretty generous employer.  They offer a great healthcare plan.  4 months of paid parental leave if you have a baby – plus $4000 cash.  Holy crap, let me get this straight: you do the deed, knock up your partner…and get paid for that?  In addition to gobs of time off?  Sex never sounded like such a good investment before.  But there’s more.  They reimburse you $3000 a year for daycare or babysitting expenses.  21 days of paid vacation.  Unlimited sick days.  Plus 11 paid holidays.  Their most awesome perk, though?  Food.  Their website says, Facebook provides microkitchens and lots of great, free snacks at just about all its major worldwide locations. At our Palo Alto headquarters, we also offer free breakfast, lunch and dinner at our Cafe. Whether you’re looking for healthy salads, hearty world cuisine from countries such as Belize and India, or just a couple slices of pizza, Chef Josef and his team of culinary geniuses make it happen every day.

International cuisine?  Chef Josef?  Culinary geniuses??  I’m just thankful for free coffee where I work.  And there’s more.  A free laundry service.  Drop your dirty clothes off at the start of your shift, and they are delivered back to your desk, clean and pressed.  Famous guest speakers, discounts with big companies like Apple and Dell, complimentary shuttle service.

There’s a company I could see myself working for!  Too bad their headquarters are in Palo Alto.  Been there, done that (the Bay Area), thanks but no thanks.  They do have offices around the world, though.  New York and Chicago and Seattle (hey, that’s close!).  London and Paris.  Dublin.  Hamburg.  To name but a few.

The world may indeed be my oyster.  And I think I just found my pearl.  My shiny, gleaming, white-letters-on-blue-background logo of a pearl.

Hey, Mr. Zuckerberg, you listening?