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In the coming weeks, there is a possibility I will be laid off (“severed” in corporate lingo, like Marie Antoinette’s head, or a chicken bone). Fortunately I have made it to the level I intended to reach when I started. Unfortunately I have made a lot of friends along the way and will be sad to no longer work with them or see them as frequently (or make fun of other people with funny names who work at the company).
Recruiters are making the rounds with opportunities around the country. None have had really super-cool jobs I’d prefer to think about, so I’ve decided to create my own list. There may be some tweaking required, but I am open to suggestions.
- Adventure travel company tour tester. I am always on the lookout for recommendations for interesting destinations – even if I don’t intend on traveling right away. Sure, there are hundreds of guidebooks out there, and many of them are written by people like me who think they have some discretionary income and a few weeks of vacation. I’d like to be one of those people paid by a travel magazine to take those trips and evaluate the food, the guides, the itinerary, and then give my own personal rating – one “N” for crappy, up to 5 “N”s for amazing.
- Small business owner. There are some caveats here. I’d like to take over someone’s already modestly successful business and make it more successful. Not monstrously so, but just enough to justify some hard work and several years on my part. It could be a cheese and wine shop in a renovated barn in Vermont (my friend R’s idea), or a shipping/distribution company that brings organic produce to schools for lunch programs, or an apple orchard, or publishing company that looks for young authors using a business model that makes money with small production runs…
- Writer. My sister planted this seed in my head. I might go nuts trying to be a real writer, but if there is a way to fake it and still earn a decent living (“decent” is the operative word here), that would be good, too.
- Lobbyist. There is a lot of crap going on in Washington, and I feel guilty sometimes for not really doing anything about it. I live in a Blue state now, and the last 4 places I’ve lived have also been Blue (NY, DC, MD, MN). Prior to that my state was deep, dark crimson Red (OK), but my family was somewhat of an anomaly. The Endangered Species Act is itself endangered, and my own personal dependence on oil are two areas that I could find an easy passion for trying to be a “person of influence.”
- Member of Lance Armstrong entourage. (Presumably there is one. If not, I’ll start one.) When he’s not hanging with Sheryl, I’d be happy to do a little riding with Lance. And when she’s not hanging with Lance, I’d be happy to listen to her play me a tune or two…
If I turns out I keep my job, then jobs 1-5 will continue to inhabit my daydreams, although I should probably get Lance's number, just in case…
NATHAN
Lots going on, friends. My company is going through big changes and creating an environment of nervousness and anxiety in a place I once thought of as (almost) fun. Because it’s where I spend most of my time, it’s hard these days to be the optimistic, up-beat guy I usually am…
I will share with you, though, something I did outside of work that was as funny as it was painful – my first condominium board meeting. Picture, if you will, a small basement room in 5-story brick apartment building. For those of you familiar with church basements and Sunday school rooms, this one was quite similar.
It’s 6 o’clock at night. Several old white men are in the room. Old like 70s and 80s. All are sitting on metal folding chairs around a particleboard table. Near the door is a small spread of what seems to be onion sandwiches, with extra onions on the side. There are detailed minutes from the prior board meeting on the table – with a nice green cover sheet created by one of the members who obviously cares about this kind of thing.
One man is running the show. He’s got a slight lisp and he is fairly soft-spoken. Black turtleneck, skinny, probably the youngest (60) of the bunch. Glasses down on his nose, and he looks over the tops of them to see. Likes to use the phrase, “Don’t go there…” and each time, I’m just waiting for a “…girlfriend!” to complete the statement.
Another man, not at the table but close to the cinderblock wall, is nodding off. He may be the oldest and the least interested in being there (for the first few minutes…until I accept that role). The condition of his bright orange t-shirt suggests a keen interest in crumbly food. It is difficult to read the words on the t-shirt, but it seems to mention something like, “Homey don’t know that.” I would be surprised if this man knew who Homey is or what Homey was supposed to know.
Third man – board secretary – is at the opposite end of the table. Meticulous fellow and a fan of cover sheets for meeting minutes. Has been a resident since 1958, when building was erected. Presents a log at every meeting that details his activities in support of building upkeep. Doesn’t talk much, but does make good comments and suggestions. Seems like the kid in school who runs for but doesn’t win election for Class President…but does the work anyway.
Man number 4 is second oldest and has a nervous habit of leafing through papers for something, underlining it, and then putting the papers back together in a single pile. Over and over and over… When a salesman from a security camera company comes in to talk to us about a proposal, Man number 4 demonstrates his awareness of the technology by asking about camera types, hard drive requirements, system capabilities. All good questions, if they weren’t already on the proposal in front of him….
Fifth man sits next to me, says two words the entire meeting but issues a series of grunts in agreement or disagreement based on the topic. I am unable to distinguish between the two, however, and hope others are better translators.
The evening’s highlight is halfway down the agenda – “L1 A/C Grievance.” Evidently, Steven, the owner of unit L1, legally runs a massage therapy business out of this unit but has a problem with temperature in the massage room. Not yet at the meeting, Steven is described as boisterous and long-winded, and it is recommended that this topic be held to a few minutes. I step out of the room to make a phone call, and when I return, a very large, multiple-chinned giant of a man is sitting in the chair next to mine. He has matching bright blue sweatpants and sweatshirt on – it is difficult not to think of an overstuffed blueberry – particularly with a slightly off-kilter toupee riding high on his head. To be honest, it is painfully difficult not to picture a meaty sweating Steven in this steamy massage room, so I try to pay less attention to him and his complaint and more to the neat stacks of meeting minutes on the table.
Lisping man number One is not helping by nodding and letting Steven babble on and on, unchecked by any of us. Man number 4 seems to wake up, probably because Steven’s booming voice is starting to shake his chair, and Fifth man’s grunting gets louder and louder. At this point, I have lost track of the discussion and the original grievance, but I feel like shouting, “Fix his damn air conditioner and get him the hell out of here!” The old men must have read my mind because a motion was moved and passed to do just that, Third man incorporated this into the official meeting minutes, and I ran out of there as fast as I could.
I suppose now I see why they’re called Board meetings – if it was spelled correctly, no one would show up.
Have a great weekend, NATHAN
I would like to introduce you to my new friend Daniel. He’s not a friend in the traditional sense – he doesn’t talk, he can’t ride a bike, he doesn’t laugh at my (usually bad) jokes and (self-proclaimed) wit. Daniel is a restaurant in New York and a near-perfect stage for famed chef, Daniel Boulud.
I was very lucky to have been invited by a friend to a closing dinner for a law firm and client (evidently this client made a lot of money through this transaction). Daniel is sumptuous, with a golden glow that permeated everything. Deep red velvet and beautiful classical architecture fit perfectly with the haute French cuisine.
The evening started with champagne in glasses that never emptied. French-accented servers walked around with unbelievably delicious morsels. Each was no bigger than my thumb and included: Parmesan baskets with goat cheese and herbs, tuna tartar in a Japanese cucumber cup, tartlet of lobster with avocado purée and citrus, gougères (like savory crème puffs) with Comté and Parmesan, chicken Satay with peanut sauce, and mini crab cake with saffron aioli. This wasn’t unlike an over-the-top wedding reception, albeit with 2 chefs marrying each other.
After an hour of this, we sat down at four tables of ten or so people. With a simultaneous flourish, our first course was served: pumpkin and goat cheese ravioli. While there were only a few on the plate, every bite exploded with flavor, perfect for the cool and rainy night.
Our next course was striped bass with what I thought was a red pepper sauce. At this point, the champagne and accompanying wine were taking their effects. I recall the fish being superb and melt-in-your mouth perfect, however, unlike anything I’d had before.
The main course was a “Duo of Beef” -- braised short ribs in red wine, and seared black Angus tenderloin with root vegetables. So tender. So good. Daniel at his absolute best.
I recall the dessert being primarily chocolate, likely a sort of soufflé, but by now, I was overloaded by the previous courses’ extraordinary tastes and flavors (and the wine). We left almost five hours after we arrived, celebrating both the closing of the legal transaction as well as our introduction to a new friend.
Daniel’s not the kind of person you need to see every day, but someone you’d definitely want to keep in the back of your mind. He doesn’t mind if you stop by only on special occasions – but if you do, your visit won’t soon be forgotten. NATHAN
http://danielnyc.com/daniel/
This weekend I traveled home to visit my parents, a trip that includes at least 4 flights. Next to me on one of those legs was a woman with a story.
Early 20s, red hair and freckles. Thick Texas accent. Married. Had with her a small purse and cell phone. She fiddled with the cell phone a hundred times. Fiddling included opening the phone, wiping off the fingerprints on her screen, scrolling through something-or-other, closing the phone, repeating 99 times -- clearly waiting for a precise time to call someone. That "someone" she called a few minutes before takeoff. The conversation went as follows:
Hi babe. Yeah I'm on the plane.
No, some guy.
Quiet. Reading.
How was rehearsal?
Awesome. Whadyallplay?
I knew it'd be better with more singers. I told you it'd be better. Told you you'd sound awesome. Didn't I say that?
That's awesome. How longdyallplay?
No way. Awesome, babe. That's like when you sang Gonna Take and Run With Him. Member? And ya'll sang like twenty times and that woman told me to hush cuz I was singin so loud in the back that y'all heard me. Dyallsing Let The Spirit Lift Me Up High High High?
(She sings a few twangy lines into the phone.)
Whaddabout Come On Show Me The Way Home Right Now?
(More singing.)
Awesome. I love that. I do.
(She sings again and gets choked up.)
How was Ginny?
(At this point there was a clear change in her voice.)
No.Yeah.
(pause)
Yeah.
Uh-huh.
(pause)
Yeah.
(pause)
Backup?
Oh.
(pause)
Gotta go. They're sayin something. Yeah, she'll be at the airport.
Ok. Love ya. Bye.
(click)
At the end, I wish I hadn't heard about Ginny. I had already put my neighbor neatly into her little stereotyped compartment. Her story made that compartment less clear - and a more real. I feel like I should leave you with some sort of lesson here. But in lieu of one, though... have a good week. NATHAN
