Yes, I was (f)unemployed for week ending 7/11/09

Apologies to loyal readers for the delay between posts. I have just learned the word for my distraction: funemployment. This video explains it succinctly.  "She decided she would be funemployed and started a blog." 

That's me! Am I a cliche or are we starting a revolution?

I've been spending my funemployment in sunny Los Angeles. I save cash by using my no longer valid but still legit-looking student ID to gain free and reduced entry to art exhibits, eating from taco trucks and earning my keep by doing my friend's dishes so he doesn't grow tired of my lurking presence on his futon.  This will go on as long as possible.

The labor of my ilk is clearly dispensable. Falling off the radar a bit = no harm done to our already screwed economy.

Rich White and the Lost Boys of Sudan

Today was my second day on the job. Yes, I am employed. Well kinda. Insofar as I will receive a paycheck I am employed. Insofar as I am engaged in doing something for the dough, I am not employed by any stretch. The job I have acquired entails breathing. Additionally it entails all the other involuntary activity that is needed to sustain life.

I am a professional linestander. This means, I arrive on Capitol Hill at 6 am and stand in line outside a congressional hearing to spare a big shot corporate lobbyist that indignity. I'm a mercenary and don't know who I'm working for each day. The Salvation Army, the NRA, the Nazis, it's all the same to me.

Yes, that's right folks, at the nation's legislative seat there exists an exchange of money ($10/hour) and power (a coveted seat in a hot hot hearing) that is far from ethically pristine. With the exception of a 2007 attempt by Missouri Senator McCaskill to quash this practice, linestanding is a thriving business that is an accepted and legitimized norm.

The beauty of the work is that you are given a chair and the rest is yours to make of it what you will. Supply yourself with a book or a notepad or a newspaper or an ipod. Beyond breathing and sitting, how you employ yourself is up to you.

Well you can imagine the rag tag crowd such "work" draws. We are misfits, laid off NGO workers, bike messengers, homemakers and the homeless. We are also Sudanese refugees. At least today we were. Today our boss introduced us to three African men and explained that they were among the 27,000 boys who were displaced and/or ophaned during the Second Sudanese Civil War. They escaped the horrors of one of the deadliest wars of the 20th centuy, crossed the Atlantic, made a new life for themself in the United States, and today they would be working alongside us.

I saw a black man in the line holding up a sign that said "Rich White." I was kind of like wtf? until I realized thats the name of his client. Rich White needs a spot in a hearing. As it turns out there are a lot of rich whites in Washington that need a spot in a hearing. Fear not, we got your back.

El desdentado

Today I watched Alejando Jodorowsky's 1970 cult class, El Topo (The Mole). The film begins with the title character addressing his naked son, "You are seven years old. You are a man. Bury your first toy and your mother's picture."

From the outset, I couldn't help but notice the striking parallels of this narrative with that of my own life this week. For one, my mother, who has been calling me frequently ever since the layoff, while never explicitly instructing me to bury photographs of herself, reminds me frequently how old I am. I suppose she, like El Topo, means to encourage the maturation process of her progeny with this factual update.

Two, the extraction of my wisdom teeth. Most notably I would like to discuss blood. Blood played as large a role in the symbolic realm of the desert world of El Topo, as it did in my reality, a post-operative drool-stained pillowcase this morning. El Topo sets out to destroy four great gun masters. Four is the number of wisdom teeth I had removed.

And lastly I would like to discuss the title of the film and the accompanying voice-over narration:

"The mole is an animal that digs tunnels underground searching for the sun. Sometimes his journey leads him to the surface. When he looks at the sun, he is blinded."

This is noteworthy because I believe we have a rat living in my basement, and while it is a walk-out basement, it is a lot darker down there then on the main floor due to a lack of overhead lighting. Though food operations take place upstairs, the rat seems to prefer the darkness. Why is this the case? Perhaps the rat's ambitions extend beyond the conventional desires of his furry philistine friends in search of a free lunch. Perhaps he fears what truths he might encounter should he make his way toward the light.

Monday's child is fair of face, and not at work

One might suppose being jobless would afford me time to update my blog on joblessness daily, but unemployment is itself a time consuming circumstance. Suddenly, saddled with carpe diem expectations from my working peers, I find myself all over town viewing collections of curated visual art.

Also I'm learning how to hustle for free shit. The fruits of this endeavor to date and how I went about it:

- two gin and tonics (bartender disappeared for ever, and thusly so did I with my beverages)
- bagel sandwich, espresso (for bagel and caffeine, was nice to barista, for lox, slept with barista)
-Coffee (did you know that the Portrait Gallery has complimentary coffee on the third floor? Not hustling per se, but worth noting)
- enchilada and margaritas (For the food, I took slow periodic bites off my friend's plate such that he did not notice the extent of my helping myself. For the beverage, I just smiled.)
-Vicodin (This narcotic was not free but almost with the copay. Am squeezing the last drops of my comprehensive health and dental to get my wisdom teeth removed this week.)

The lesson here is to stay on your toes, and keep yourself kind and cute and the world is your oyster. Now I'm off for a jog (free workout)

The only lifesaver I desire right now is round and made of cornstarch

I open my inbox to discover that yikes, the world would like to express their pity for me by forwarding me job postings and networking listservs. The word "networking" makes me feel sick inside.

Fucking around and be a boho hobo takes all day, and allots me almost no time for reading the depressing descrips for these positions but I feel guilty for not even looking the ads over. So I do.

My mother assured me today that if I need "help" she's there for me. Help = money obviously. The offer sounds tempting but it throws cold water over my romantic hardship scenario. I wish she would let me slide into poverty in peace and with grace. Hasn't she heard there's a recession? Even the trustafarians are an endangered species the New York Times reports.

"I know it may not be very fun for your blogging thing, us helping you, but if you need it, it's there."

grrrrr...to be mocked, by my endearingly nerdy Mom sure makes me feel nerdy too.

Fist Pump in the Elevator Down

It was generally known amongst the non-decision makers that the layoffs we were forewarned about would be announced Wednesday morning as we walked in the door. I had been at work for almost half an hour, click-clacking away, and I was beginning to feel nervous I would not be amongst the chosen to go.

The U.S. unemployment rate hit an all time quarter-century high in May. It is offensive to some that I should actively have felt my place is with the 9.4% of Americans out of work, but I won't apologize for my feelings. To some, there is no justification for feeling that way.

So why?

Simply put, I wanted to see what it would feel like. I've lost all feeling in routine and I know it sounds trite and Office Space-ey to say that, but I've genuinely regained a sense of who I am by not having to do anything specific. Such as wake up.

Money. My ends have always been more modest than my means and I never went without. But what I wanted was dumb. Now I wave goodbye to things like rich man's Gatorade, at a savings of about least $40 monthly. I'm learning resourcefulness. This excites me.

And I can learn all kinds of other things. Now I have time. Tomorrow is a surprise. This excites me too.

----------------------------------------------------

A fatalist, I was just beginning to breath an ambivalent sigh of relief as the clock ticked and I remained at my desk when the HR contractor they have to handle these matters placed a gentle hand on my shoulder and apologized for a recession. The hours following that awkward meeting are a surreal blur but I do recall that the unneeded waves of support I received from friends and family were pregnant with the question, "What now?".

What now? Let's see. It's 10 am and I am out of work. What am I going to do?

1. I'm going to buy one final last hurrah bullshit Vitamin Water!
2. I'm going to go find the boy I like who has afternoons off and I'm going to have what I learned this week is called a "nooner"!
3. I'm going to have just your typical lazy Wednesday afternoon with a beer.
4. I'm going to put on a bathing suit and go to the pool where my friends have gathered to celebrate my good fortune!
5. I'm going to wake up late the next day. I'm going to smoke and go bowling!
6. I'm going to have more nooners!

Look at all those exclamation points. So far I notice that there's a lot more exclaiming when you're unemployed. Alas, I realize, this is the honeymoon phase. The severance runs out, the savings run out. I'm realistic. But I have some things I need to do in this life. I couldn't bring myself to make them happen without that push from Fate.

Boyfriendless now. Jobless, finally, I may finally get my lazy, fraidy cat-ass out of this town.

I'm thinking L.A.

For those looking to take bolder action, please view this inspiring tidbit