Consider it a gift

Ho Ho Haiku

"Shopping-mall Santa"
Seems resume-worthy, but
I am a short girl.

It's a girl!!

The Journal of Unemployment Studies is proud to announce that it is now a book. More importantly, it has an ISBN: 978-0-557-53508-8. For a person who spent 30 years working in a book company, there is perhaps no greater thrill than to have purchased an ISBN. An ISBN of one's own! Unbelievable!

This ISBN does not, however, do anything yet. Well, maybe it does, but since it doesn't do anything on Amazon, it is a bit of an ISBN-falling-in-the-forest.

Ostensibly, in 6 to 8 weeks, it WILL be on Amazon. For now, it is on Lulu (http://www.lulu.com/).

I loved having the blog, but it seems somehow foolish to have the blog displaying the entire contents of the book. So I've left the Ionic Hairdryer Study, some pictures, and a few favorites. (I left Myth for Paul, because he liked it.) Also, the book has an honor roll in the back, listing way over 200 people who helped me out. If you think you are on the honor roll - and chances are, if you ever read the blog, you ARE on the honor roll - drop me a line, and I'll send you a book. It's the least I can do. No, really. (If you aren't on the honor roll, buy a copy, and give it to an unemployed friend. It would be a great kindness.)

Thanks!

Theme song under credits

Cue the Chiffons! They're gonna want me for a backup singer!

(Revised words below. Link to the original, which will really make your day, is at the top of the column on the left, above the two spirits/two people picture. If that doesn't work, here's another way to get there.)

wwww.youtube.com/watch?v=J8LmTaVrPl8

One Fine Day:

One fine day,
You'll look at me,
And you will know our love was
Meant to be.
One fine day,
You're gonna want me for your
(fill in the blank - your desired job title here).

The doors I longed for
Will open wide,
And you'll be glad to have me
Right down the hall!
One fine day,
You're gonna want me for your
(synonyms for your desired job title).

Though I know you're the
Kind of workplace
That only wants to explore options....
I'll be waiting and
Someday, darling,
You'll come to me when you
Want to Try One of Them Out!

One fine day,
We'll meet once more,
And you will want me like you
Never did before!
One fine day,
You're gonna want me for your COLLEAGUE!

(Shoo be doo be doo be doo be dooo wop BOP!
Shoo be doo be doo be doo be dooo wop BOP!
Saxophone solo!)

One fine day,
You're gonna want me for your COLLEAGUE.
You're gonna want me for your
One fine day,
You're gonna want me for your COLLEAGUE
(Fade out....)

Where You Sit Is Where You Stand (And Wag) Haiku

When I'm back to work -
When I get up, shower, leave -
The dog will be sad.

Hire Him

This guy has posted a bunch of flyers all the way up a local phone pole which also has a giant DEAD END sign on it. But if I get the DEAD END sign and the flyers, it's a really ugly shot.

How do I know he's a guy? If you check out the flyers, there's a url. He's a graphic artist with a lot of talent (and a lot of prominent clients). So the DEAD END thing is just a visual joke, and it appears he's doing quite well.

Myth

On Friday, I had an informational interview at a prestigious local private college. It was a miserable day, with slashing rain and hail, but I left with so much extra time that I was able to stop near the college, have a cup of coffee, and mentally prepare. Then I drove over and discovered, when it was time to buy a parking permit, that my purse was left at the coffee shop.

Oops. Back, grab purse, back to college, park blocks from where the permits are sold, never mind, risk the ticket because being late to an informational is rude, race all the way across campus through the rain and hail to the President's office, drippping and bedraggled but still, miraculously, on time.

And the President is grace personified - finds a spot to hang my dripping coat, seats me in a big brocade chair in front of her fireplace, which is merrily dancing away, offers me tea, and spends an hour helping me imagine how I might serve higher ed. The President and I have two friends in common, which is how I have managed to meet her, but I don't deserve this luxury, this kindness, and all this time. It's lovely. It's the hidden treasure of job-hunting - sit in beautiful offices and talk to fascinating people about what they do - and this time there's a fireplace.

When I left, it was 11:30, and I realized if I tried, I could make it to a noon Good Friday service at my church. Why not? I raced back through the rain and hail, all warm on the inside, and drove across town.

Four blocks from the church, I was lined up to make a left in an intersection, and on the sidewalk was a man holding a cardboard sign. He was wet, dirty, and no doubt very cold, and his streetcorner misery in the weather was far from my residual fireplace warmth, or even just my dry car. I felt sad, and guilty, and unfairly lucky. And then there was his baffling sign, which read, "MYTH."

I had to think about that. The sign had not always said "MYTH." It had once been bigger. In the rain, the carboard was disintegrating: the bottom had fallen off, as had the sides. There was part of a letter buried beneath each of his hands. At some point there'd been a word with "MYTH" in the middle of it.

I couldn't think of one.

I made my turn, and got to church. I lacerated myself as a lousy Samaritan, in the bitter certainty that Jesus had been pretty darned explicit about not wanting anyone to drive past a cold, wet, poor man in order to go to church. I realized I'd misread the first letter. The sign had once said: ANYTHING.