Hell, Yes.

I totally scored the job I wanted.

After 5 months of hard-core job searching in and around Portland, Maine, I found what seems like a perfect job. I'm still in shock, and I'm technically working there on a trial basis to see if I fit well with the firm. But I have a job! And it's not shitty! My coworkers are a couple of nice and like-minded ex-New Yorkers. Stylish, even-keeled, intelligent, and definitely not anal IT Nazis. They didn't run a credit check on me, they didn't even call my references. We drank beer at the conference table during the interview!

The first thing I did was to quit my bar job. It felt really good. I'll have one more weekend there starting Friday, then that's it. The next thing I did was to tell my landlord I got a real job and that we won't have to move out of our apartment. That also felt good.

I still feel like I shouldn't let myself get too excited or feel too relieved because what if they hate me or I somehow fuck this up? For now, I just have to remember to get up earlier, shave more often, make a smaller pot of coffee and turn the heat down when I leave the house.

Minstrels and Charlatans.

I've mentioned Martin Seligman's book, Learned Optimism here before.
Seligman says that the pessimistic mind, governed by permanent, pervasive and personal explanatory style is also keenly realistic. He says (Page 109) "There is considerable evidence that depressed people, though sadder, are wiser."

I've been feeling sad and wise lately. Say, for the past 8 years or so. This wisdom keeps me from enjoying the dumbed-down blissful ignorance that is my right as an American and it pisses me off. TV, of course, is the lowest common denominator and I expect anything I switch on to be offensive and insulting. Only lately have I realized that this includes public TV too.

Apparently some people have no trouble believing the crap that comes out of the mouths of the Wayne Dyers of the world. But me, I watch "doctor" Wayne Dyer on public TV purely for comic relief. In fact when he came to my town (Seattle), I got some friends together and went and saw him in person. Try as we might, we couldn't keep from laughing out loud during his overly earnest presentation. Why can't everyone just get that any jackass who has written 18 books (not to mention all this other bullshit) is a complete charlatan.

Another thing I see on public TV a lot are these weird doo-wop concerts featuring all-star lineups of old-school doo-wop acts like The Penguins and The Drifters. First of all, these people are minstrels and their acts should be treated the way Sambo dolls are treated these days: preserved for reference of an early, ignorant time in our culture. Not trotted out in front of fat, bearded, Cosby-sweater-wearing crackers.

Secondly, if you've ever seen one of these concerts on PBS, the editing is truly unsettling. Swells of cheers and applause come from seemingly nowhere, at illogical times during the performances and the audience is never shown along with the stage performer, i.e. the audience was most likely shot by itself reacting to prompts rather than having shared time and place with the act they're supposedly watching. You know, the way the America's Funniest Home Videos audience is filmed.

Why do I have to be on guard constantly? Because someone's always trying to trick me. Every day. At least I'm not completely alone.

It ain't.

Joblessness is depressing. You can't pay rent and have to ask the landlord to put you on a payment plan. When it's your girlfriend's birthday, all you can afford is a card. And even the money for the card has to come from the change jar.

I spent my last money on a trip to Boston on Monday to meet with an IT recruiter. I knew she didn't have any jobs and that it was basically an informational interview, but I figured I could use a break from lying at home on the couch combing the Internet for jobs.

What I hadn't thought through was that the trip out there would cost me, and not just the four hours in the car. After all the tolls, gas and parking, the trip cost $90. On Sunday, I did some fluke freelance work before my bar-tending job and made $120 in three hours, the same money as three bar shifts. I was excited because I thought it meant I could pay my phone bill. Today my phone was shut off.

Having recently read Learned Optimism by Martin Seligman (recommended by my last therapist), I know that in order to save myself from the flat-spin of depression, I need to monitor my internal monologue . My explanatory style, says the book, determines how my circumstances effect my state of mind.

If I tell myself that I'm still unemployed because nobody wants me, or that I'm worthless because I'm broke, I'm going to start taking a whole lot of naps and getting into fights with strangers down in the town. The book calls those thoughts "permanent, personal and pervasive." Permanent because the attributes (e.g. "worthless") are not changeable, pervasive because the badness bleeds into other aspects of my life (e.g. 'broke = worthless'). Personal because I'm not recognizing other, external, circumstances that could cause my being unemployed (i.e. it's my fault).

Since finishing Learned Optimism, I have struggled to put the theory into practice. When my cat started sneezing, I imagined the other pets getting sick and the inevitable vet bills. When the recruiters didn't call me back or return my emails, I jumped to the conclusion that they were scam artists and that there are no jobs, only phony postings designed to harvest resumes and personal information. At least that's externalizing.

I'm hoping that the bank pays my bad rent check this month. If so, it will leave me $544 in the red, but at least rent will be paid. It will take me six weeks to make $544 at my bar-tending job. This is the kind of situation where credit cards are probably good to have. I can't get one though because my credit is so bad.

When my friends say they're broke, I get the feeling they mean they're cash-poor, but that they ultimately have savings, credit cards and/or relatives to fall back on. I have none of these. I already owe my best friend $1,500 since last year and my dad $500. I owe three years of back taxes to the IRS, $60,000 in student loans, and about $10,000 to a debt management company. My phone, gas and electric are frequently shut off. My girlfriend is sick of bailing me out and I don't blame her. In four months, she'll need to stop working to have the baby. Then it's all up to me.

And I wish my fucking eye would stop twitching.

Poor Little Fool.

About the time I started college I began to not believe in things. I had an Ancient History teacher at Augsburg College named Rick Nelson who often cautioned against accepting historical "facts" at face value. There were so many points of failure when attempting to learn about history: political revisions (including lies), details lost in translation or interpolated incorrectly from incomplete records (or even from paintings or other physical artifacts), technology used in dating that can be less than accurate; the list goes on.

Then came other courses: Logic, Argumentation, Media Ethics, Public Speaking, each with its own new way to pick and sort facts and formulate interpretations. Each teaching a strange new precision: precision in the Humanities.

Since receiving my Journalism degree in the winter of 2000 (at age 26), I've been unable to believe in much that can't be proven. I must have been in the perfect malleable, freshman state when I walked into that Ancient History class and I'm sure Rick Nelson knew that. He was an incredibly nice old man, loved all around campus, but sometimes I think he ruined my life.

It was like I was suddenly cursed with the ability to see in another dimension. Like those irritating Magic Eye illustrations in the 90's that suddenly popped out at me when I finally learned to dislocate my eyes.

Magic Eye flap copy:

"Stare into these seemingly abstract fields of color, and an enchanting 3D image will materialize, all from an abstract, seemingly random field of color!

Once you discover your Magic Eye, a whole new world of experience will open to you. You will be astounded by the depth and clarity of the totally hidden image that develops before you like an instant photo! Discover and train your gift of deep vision!"

I discovered my co-worker in the college's A/V department was a pathological liar. And so was my friend Matt who I'd met that year. Everyone had ulterior motives, nothing was as advertised, everything was a trick, nothing deserved to be taken at face value unless it was undoubtedly simple and true. Like hobos, 78s, my Navy pea coat, and my Polaroid camera.

I became extremely critical of everything, especially advertising and art. I spent hours at the Hard Times Café on Riverside Avenue taking a Hi-Liter to my hard-back copy of the Warren Commission's report on the assassination of JFK. I scribbled little notes in the margins like "why?" and "doubtful."

I'd take breaks to play backgammon with homeless guys while they blew smoke everywhere. The large windows out to the street were foggy and icy against the Minneapolis night air. I drank lots of strong coffee even late at night and I had dread-locked hair.