terminator

i had a dream last night that arnold schwarzenegger was a really good guy. We were stuck on a mountain together, not like stranded in the forrest, but there was a ski lodge and chair lifts, but we couldn't leave...because of some sort of like non nulear holocaust...nothing to destroy the world, ore even us...but there was a bad reason we couldn't leave. He was wearing a t-shirt that said something about saving mt. hood, and i said, "yeah, we should." The whole time, me and arnold we're partners in crime, we went everywhere together, and i made fun of him a lot, and he had a really good sense of humor about it. I would say, "it's rediculous you are a governer." and he would say, "yeah i know it seems funny, but i really feel right doing it." cheesy stuff, but i could tell it was coming from his heart. He also skiied, and we were riding a chair lift, talking about skiing, and we had a really really strong bond...me and arnold. I woke up thinking, "maybe republicans aren't all that bad." and i wanted to tell Rose, "you know...republicans aren't all that bad." but i didn't, because most republicans do suck...just not arnold...although he is still rediculous.

unemployed/unemployable

I spent the summer after my freshman year of college back in Portland. With my dad hounding me to get a job, and no dignified employer willing to hire me when they knew I was leaving in two months, I started working at a cookie factory. When I got there they supplied me with a white jacket, blue latex free gloves, a hair net, and a face mask. A skinny middle aged woman with meth burns on her neck showed me the ropes. "Stack them five high, slide them to the edge of the belt, and the next person down there will put them in the box. They go kind of fast, if you fall behind yell for help." I stood posed over the white conveyer belt...my hands were up in the ready position like they tought me in elementary school P.E., a bell rang, the belt started, and cookies appeared. I stacked the cookies five high. I was rediculously good at stacking cookies. I would go faster than the belt. I'd work my way up to the plastic bar that seperated the stacking section from the drying section, then I would wait until mass of cookies reached almost to the end of my section, and I would start again, stacking, waiting, stacking waiting. We would rotate between cookie batches, and I would go the boxing station, or the labeling station. after two hours I would get a fifteen minute break, and I would smoke out on the picnic tabel, doing a crossword puzzle. Two more hours i would get a lunch break, where I would drink a V8 and smoke two more cigarettes. One more fifteen, and I was in the home stretch. My body would ache after the 8 hours, and my stomach would feel nautious after smelling warm chocolate chips for a whole shift, but it payed well, and I liked telling people I worked at a cookie factory. By the end of the summer my shift manager was offering me a full time position. 40 hrs a week, $13/hr, 2 weeks vacation, benefits. She didn't quite get the concept that I was going back to college...I was going to get a degree, and a real job, and be successful and artistic. On my last day, when she asked me one last time if i would like to take the full time position, I seriously considered it. I had been plagued by the thought that the cookie factory might be my calling. There are only a certain amount of things one person can be rediculously good at, and boxing cookies was one of my things. But I still said, "no thank you." and I packed my bags and moved back to Chicago.

The cookie factory sounds good right now. I have submitted about fifteen resumes for everything from marketing internship, to coatroom attedant. I've only had one interview, and I don't think i got the job. I have biked all over wicker park/nobel square, and talked to managers, and nodded when they said, "we'll call you if we're interested." I rode my bike in the pouring rain to an about to open organic pizza restraunt, and ruined my Creative Recreation shoes in the process. I said to the manager, "i'm sorry I'm so wet, it wasn't raining like this when I left my house." I held my resume out to him using only the tips of my thumb and forefinger in order to not leave soaking fingerprints on the paper. The man in a blue button up shirt barely looked at me and said, "we might call you later." I rode back home in the rain, almost got hit by a buick making a left turn, and then I ate ice cream.

I want to tell these people, "I was really good at boxing cookies, I was really good at making coffee, I was really good at organizing student intiatives, whatever the fuck it is you want me to do I will be really good at it."

But i don't...i just smile and nod, and say, "i look forward to hearing from you."