Everyday opens up a new opportunity to learn, love, and support, and I promise to evolve in all three areas. I am humbled and hopeful and that's all I can ask for.

No Reservations

I just got done watching No Reservations: Chicago. I'm fairly pleased at how accurate Chicago was portrayed. I thought it was fair. I thought it touched on everything that is Chicago-why it's the "Second City" (no one, including Bourdain, was able to think up a reason), the greasy, fried, and hearty delicacies that blue-collar clientele enjoy, and the upscale, culinary creativeness that many restaurants have. I thoroughly enjoyed it, but I love anything Anthony Bourdain touches because he's one of my many culinary and linguistic heroes. I have felt that the years have softened him up. He's married, he quit smoking, and sometimes I miss his cynicism. But he's still as intuitive and appreciative as ever- and damn funny! One of my favorite shows in recent years. If you haven't seen his show on the Travel Channel yet, tune in on Mondays. It's great for the travelers-at-heart.

Times, they are a changin'

I went to apply for 3 new waitressing jobs today. I'd like to work full-time while I hunt for and track down my elusive career. Almost every restaurant I walked in today was completely empty, which got me thinking...maybe everyone in the restaurant industry is hurting for more tips, hours, and customers. I thought only the country club was flopping, but it seems that a considerable amount of higher-end restaurants are also feeling the burn. These restaurants are located in the heart of Orland Park- I'm talking shopper country. Granted, it was between 4-5 p.m. when I went into these different establishments, but the grim scene that unfolded at each and every place made me feel a little pessimistic about picking up any kind of full-time work. I'm hoping that with the holidays coming up I'll be singing a different tune, and I will be gainfully employed at 2 fine establishments raking in the tips.

I can't hold my breath too long, so I'm hoping one my career aspirations comes through for me. I've sent out countless resumes and cover letters, and enough writing samples to make Moby Dick look like a quick, efficient read. Maybe Chicago isn't a good market for writers, but I refuse to believe that. I think more than half of the jobs are hidden, waiting for someone to apply that knows someone that knows someone else. I am more than qualified to fill the positions that I apply for, yet I can't help picturing my resume landing in somebody's inbox, looking like a black and white monotonous piece of junk mail. With each and every job I apply to, while clicking the send button, I literally cross my fingers, hoping that not only will my email go through without a hitch, but that it will actually get read and evaluated. Hell, I'd be happy if they even read my resume. I wish there was a way to know for sure...

I've been on one job interview since April. It was for an internship with a small public relations firm in Chicago. I underwent a rigorous process just to receive an interview. After submitting my resume, cover letter, and writing samples, I was then asked to complete a timed public relations test which included editing sentences, writing "fake" press releases, and brainstorming a make-believe pitch to one of my favorite columnists. After completing the test, I finally landed an interview. I went to the interview and was told I was one of 8 candidates being considered. They told me that I had impressed them with my experience and writing test, and I was lucky to be called in for an interview because I was one of over 200 applicants world wide. I nearly fell over after hearing this. Maybe this is why I can't land a job, let alone an internship in Chicago. This company didn't divulge how much they would pay their intern on the job posting, but merely stated that it was a paid internship. For all anyone knows, it could have been $8/hour. I was hoping it was more like $12. Alas, they found an intern better suited for the position, and presumably, they worked for 12 weeks alongside a handful of public relations professionals for 12 weeks with meager pay after enduring a marathon of tests and evaluations. I shortly thereafter dismissed the idea that that internship was the one for me.

And there you have it, the only interview I have landed since graduating with honors from an accredited university with a double major. Perhaps I'm 0ver/under qualified for the positions I am applying for. Or maybe I'm just another faceless name among the pile of other hopefuls. Either way, at this point, I'm willing to settle for restaurant ghost-town in hopes of making a couple bucks so I can buy my folks some nice presents for Christmas. After all, they are putting me up until I can get back onto my own two feet.

Shit my dad says

Modern day phenomenon: Shit my dad says. I just read on a blog that the Twitter page, Shit My Dad Says, is getting picked up by CBS for a sitcom deal. No shit! The guy that started this blog, 28-year-old Justin Halpern started this blog after moving back home with his 'rents. His 73-year-old dad has says some pretty profane and hilarious..shit, such as:

"Nobody is that important...They eat, shit, and screw, just like you. Maybe not shit just like you, you got those stomach problems."

"I like that dog. If he can't eat it, or fuck it, he pisses on it. I can get behind that."

"Does anyone your age know how to comb their fucking hair? It looks like two squirrels crawled on their head and started fucking."

Justin Halpern now has a book deal with Harper Collins!

A few weeks ago, after perusing the book section of Urban Outfitters, where the painfully emo and scene kids shop (and read, apparently), I saw an entire section of books published like the soon to be Shit My Dad Says. We all know what "fml" means. A large, canary yellow book entitled F My Life was made after the website where people send in a sentence or two of why their life fucking sucks. Then there's the many Postsecret books, crafted after the website whose mission it is to "devulge" strangers' secrets on the interwebs (Shameless, yet tactful and enticing. I'm a big fan). I'm not sure what conclusion to draw about Catch 22 sitting next to What's Your Poo Telling You? (There was bathroom reading material when Catch 22 was written, wasn't there? I'd hardly guess it would question what your bowel movements are trying to tell you) I guess I'm astounded, amused really at what sort of material can be considered literature.

This isn't an entirely new concept though, that concept being cultural sensations, compiled by many authors transpiring to print media. Books that are compilations of letters and comments like The Best of Dear Abby have been around forever.

I guess what I'm most confounded about is that through the median of the internet, one can compile a book of similar interests and comments whether it be hilarious (SMDS), pathetically irresistable (FML), or genuinely heartfelt (Postsecret). Definitely not a new concept, but because of the internet, these books are an evocation of cultural progression. We see shorthand sentences and phrases compile a book of disappointments and crafted postcards compiling a book of shame, wonderment, abondment, wealth, joy, etc.

Just goes to show you how diverse, consistent, and prestigious print media still is. Why make these internet sensations into print books? Isn't that the end all be all of achievement? To me it would be. As Thomas Tipp in Vanilla Sky once said, "People will read again!"

We could all be writers. You don't need to admire great literature or high art. You don't need to be a beatknick. You don't have to write the tale of the White Whale. You can just muse about any fanciful idea that pops into your head and post it for the world to see.
Some writers must be rolling in their graves because some hadn't received recognition for their work until long after they died. Blogging, though, is instantaneous. Anyone can log on, become a reader. Everyone's an author. The world's story is just waiting to be written.
Most writers I admire didn't crave fame, fortune, but identity. They yearned to express themselves through the median of writing, and usually to ease the pain, burden, and obscruity of their existence. I'm thinking Emily Dickinson, Virginia Woolf, Allen Ginsberg.
Maybe that's what this blog is for. I want to create it to sort out my identity, making observations along the way. I'll be using this blog for personal reflection, communication, and contemplation which will involve areas including: professional growth, music, art, and movies, family, friends, popular culture, and news, focusing of course on the written word and how it affects the culture of everyday.
(At first, I was going to use this as a blog to chart only my professioal aspirations, but I feel like that subject is too narrow.)
So, here goes nothing. Comment if you'd like. Suggestions, comments, and concerns will be gratefully considered.