Playing Catch-Up
Monday, December 19th, 2005Long time, no type!
Anyway, figure it’s time to catch everything up on here. I warn you in advance, this is going to be a LONG post. I’m going to try and break it into sections and add some anchors, but if there isn’t a bulleted list under this paragraph, then it didn’t happen. OK, let’s catch up on everything:
Well, by far, most of my time is being spent at Macy’s these days. I’m doing 37.5 hours a week there, almost all closing shifts (3ish to 11:30ish). I wasn’t too keen on closing and opening on consecutive days, so it’s all closings now.
The upside is I’m getting the 37.5 hours instead of the 30 that usually constitutes full-time there. That means Macy’s is paying for rent, at least. It won’t at 30 hours. I don’t think it will last long, though. I think they will want to keep me, but I plan to be gone ASAP.
It comes down to money. I just can’t seem to justify spending that much time away from home/novel and have it NOT pay all my bills. I also haven’t been good about writing while working there. That is mainly due to how my days have been going. It seems to split my day so there is a 4 hour window when I wake up, and another 4 hour window after work. The first seems to fill up with the gym, and odds and ends, and the latter with some decompression stuff for after work like reading, TV, etc.
And then, I go to bed so that I’ll be rested enough for Macy’s. That is a big problem, because it is me putting Macy’s first, like that is my primary job when, in fact, it is my secondary gig. Writing the book needs to come first. So, I’ll just roll with this for another week, and then when holiday hours end, I’ll get on a more normal routine. But the big difference will be that the book will take precedence over my being rested and such for them.
That said, I’m not planning to stay. I may leave them before they get rid of me after the holiday or, alternatively, ask me to stay on full-time after the holidays. Part of me wants to leave sooner, so that some of the other seasonal people get a shot at the job that will go to me, rather than it get offered to me, I accept it, and then leave a few weeks later.
It all comes down to math. I am making 30 cents over San Francisco minimum wage (which comes to $8.92/hr). But on top of that, I am paying for a monthly bus pass ($45) and monthly union dues ($35ish). So, between those two, it seems to bring me down to minimum wage. So, dress code, union dues, commute, and (after the holidays, likely to reduce down to 30 hours) not paying my bills… for less than minimum wage and additional funds coming out of savings to make up the difference?
Sounds to me like there’s no reason to stop looking for a job now. Better to find something that pays higher, with less commute, and that kills off more of my monthly expenses for the time suck.
One thing that Macys has helped is my reading skills. I’ve always been a bit of a finicky reader. I required absolute silence. I never read on the bus, in public. Only at home, with no other sound.
Well, that is all over. Now, I read in the Wolfgang Puck Café in the Macy’s Cellar and don’t even wear earplugs anymore. I read to and from work on the bus. Wherever I am, I’m reading.
The only caveat has been that I am reading only commercial, modern fiction. So a few Grishams, books four to six of Harry Potter, Sandra Brown… my next Nabokov MFA book is Flaubert’s Madame Bovary, and I just don’t see that happening in that setting. But, I have more than enough commercial stuff on my shelves that I haven’t read, so I’ll just burn through as much as that as I can for now.
As of December 1, I’ve been doing Oasis for a decade.
I am curious as to why I don’t really have any concrete feelings about that fact. It seems like I should.
Some wave of pride, reflection… something I’ve learned as a result. But, no, it hasn’t arrived.
I’m glad it’s there, and it’s still relevant. But it doesn’t really seem like it’s mine. It’s kind of everyone’s, you know?
Of course, I’ve never been good at accepting praise for it. This has been constant from day one. E-mails thanking me for Oasis languish in the in-box longer than anything else. Which is strange because it really isn’t vague. I’m not deferring to other people. I really did come up with every element of it on my own. And much of the reason it still works is because a lot of thought and effort went into constructing it. It is also why we have teens of all genders and sexualities interacting, which doesn’t exist on most other sites, where people segregate by gender and then label.
I’m proud it is there, but have some block when it comes around to being proud because I did it. So, armchair psychologists, there you go. Something to chew on…
So, for the first time ever, I’m doing Christmas in SF this year. Mainly due to Macy’s (have to be here for the day-after Christmas and all).
But it really doesn’t seem that big a deal because I already did a big family Christmas thing in Texas in early December. The food, the tree, the gifts, everything. So that, coupled with Macy’s putting me into OD mode on the holidays anyway, and really, it seems like it already happened.
I can’t even get jazzed about writing out Christmas cards. That also has a lot to do with not really wanting to say anything in it, since well, everything I say about my current state of affairs is too easily (and too often) misinterpreted.
Let’s run through those things and their mis-translations:
The book is written: It will be published soon.
I’m really beyond giving book updates, which is difficult because I know people who ask are actually trying to reach out and mean well. But, as I’ve stated here before, the book occupies so much of my mind that when it isn’t at the forefront, it is a rare treat. Bringing it up pulls me out of that moment and shoves me back where I live most often. Not to mention, it usually leads to discussion of publication. And, nothing bores me more than talking about that when I don’t even have a book I consider worthy yet.
Not sure I’ll be living in SF much longer: Jeff is planning to move.
Well, this is energy I certainly put out there. It’s been posted here and, I can only imagine, poorly written. To me, moving is a symptom. I don’t desire to move, necessarily. I just don’t know why I live here.
This is due to my previously making decisions based on being fat and being gay, and not really making decisions based on either of those things any longer.
There are a LOT of other things this affects, and reminders of my past life are everywhere. For example, I see a lot of movies. Whoever is reading this, I probably see more movies than you do. I love movies. I used to let Hollywood dictate my weekend, telling me what my plans were. Last week, I saw Syriana, and used the last of my $50 movie gift card that I received on my birthday. Matinees here cost $8.50 and it is $10 otherwise. So, that means I used the same gift card from early August through mid-December to see all of my mainstream movies. Sure, I saw one or two at a different theater, not to mention independent flicks at different theaters, but it is still a HUGE shift. But part of my MO is that I see every movie and that is so far from true anymore. But, since I still see more movies than most, it doesn’t register.
The basic takeaway is that when you lived your life based on factors that no longer matter, it does put you in limbo finding out who you are now. And part of that is questioning all of the previous decisions of your former self. One of those big questions is why you live where you live. So, it isn’t about moving. It is about everything.
A singular debate about moving would be far more welcome. But I’m not complaining. Changing my life is all for the good.
Working at Macy’s: Jeff has a new job.
I don’t have a new job. I have the same job. I’m writing a book. I just started wasting more hours in my day away from my real job to pay my bills.
Working at Macy’s will make Jeff want to go back to the corporate world.
You really don’t know me that well.
U2… the waiting is the hardest part
So, recently, I saw U2 in concert. Not a big deal. They are the best band going right now, and probably will be for some time. I don’t do concert reviews, if you want to know what they are like live, they just put out a new concert DVD, go rent it.
Usually, I see U2 with Jeremy and we do dinner beforehand, and we have (or used to have), like, jobs, so we never got to hang out and try and meet the band before the show. But, this time, Jeremy was in Japan, and my afternoon opened up (since I got kicked out of Macy’s new hire orientation for being inappropriately dressed for the meeting at which we are told the dress code?!), so… well, I couldn’t resist.
I show up at the arena at like 1:30ish in the afternoon. I know the band arrives for sound check at around 4. The point here isn’t timing it to arrive when they do, but arriving to get a good spot in the queue so that if and when they do show up and if and when they do sign autographs, you are close to the front/edge.
The first thing that happens when I arrive at the arena is I see the line of people snaking around the arena from the entrance to the floor. These are the diehard people who want to be as close to the action as possible. They arrive hours early so that they can touch Bono later.
But here is where everything devolves. When I get there, I check in to see what is going on, and I am given a number. That number is my spot in line, so when I come back later, I can just get in line at that point. Seems simple enough.
Only… if everyone in line has a number seven hours before a concert, and you just have to come back at 6 or so to get that spot in line, why are there nearly a hundred people camped out? What’s the point? I can see if it was some tailgate sort of vibe. If people were playing Sunday Bloody Sunday, and everyone got their chance to put on a mohair mullet and run up and down a fake stage waving a huge white flag, while everyone else cheered, but these people were just reading magazines, sleeping, looking more bored than anything. Go visit Berkeley! See a movie. Go take a nap.
But these people aren’t even trying to meet the band, they are just queuing for position. And, despite having secured their spots, they refuse to leave. I go around to the other side where people want to meet the band before the show.
There are only like three or four people there. Despite the vast sprawl of security fence, we bunch up together at one end, leaving no room between us. As you would expect, we end up chatting while we wait.
One lady holds her CD and a Sharpee at the ready as though she expects Bono to just rush up and surprise us, and only sign things for people who are ready upon his arrival. She tells me that last night, he didn’t sign anything. She was there from 10 a.m. until nearly 7 p.m., and he never even came up to say hi, and then she was there after the show, and he didn’t come out then, either. She seems disappointed, so I try and find the silver lining in her day.
"So, how was the show, at least?"
Turns out she didn’t see the concert. She collects autographs. Sports figures. Celebrities. Authors. Anyone really. She only bought the current U2 CD to house Bono’s signature. She isn’t very familiar with their music. She has about four or five Joe Namath signatures. Hillary Clinton (warmer than she thought she’d be). Bill Clinton (everyone loves him, natch). Goldie Hawn (bitch, barely even looked at the people whose book she signed, was chatting with her assistant the whole time). Will Smith (such a nice guy, shooting a movie in SF, see previous blog entry).
She talks about the websites she goes on to find everything out. How her friend yesterday was there to meet Bono for sound check, then to San Jose to meet Paul McCartney at the airport when he left town after his show, then back up to San Francisco at a restaurant where he thought U2 would be going, but Lisa Marie Presley ended up being there instead, so he waited four hours to try and meet her…
And on my left, there was a mother and daughter. The daughter is the U2 nut, the mother a bit oversupportive. They have met Bono before. When people would ask whether we were wasting time waiting for him to come out, she would give us the rundown from the past week (on the first night in Los Angeles, he only came out for a few minutes; second night in LA, no; vegas; etc., etc.). Her mother would then pipe in as to what a nice man Bono is… and the daughter had more as-yet-unsigned memorabilia for Bono to sign.
It didn’t take long to assess that I was surrounded by crazy people, but also have to admit that by my merely being there, I couldn’t be entirely right in the head myself.
Long story short, Bono never shows up, but the crowd continues to astound me. One guy stands behind me with a copy of the new U2 CD with a Bono signature clearly written on it. He says he has a friend who knows Bono and met with him in the Bay Area the previous day, and got him a signed CD. So, why is he there? To thank Bono in person for signing it, of course!
It was an amazing sea of odd humanity, longing for some connection with someone who has somehow touched us or, for some, something to add to a massive collection or toss up on eBay.
I didn’t even know what I intended to say to Bono. I didn’t imagine it was going to be more than shrill screaming if he appeared, and non-verbal signing and eye contact. But, we’ll never know. Because he never arrived, and I’m never going back.
