Tuesday, September 20, 2005

WPM (white people musk)

I can type 80 words per minute. I have an excellent grasp of the editing functions of Microsoft word but need further training when it comes to graphics and my excel usage is pretty darn good (but again needs improvement when it comes to graphic elements). How do I know all this? Cuz I'm a tempin.

Yesterday I finally got my ass down to a temp agency that didn't require a previous appointment or levels of obscure screening machinations and filled out an application that asked me if I had skills with photocopying (by george I do!) or a fax machine or if I can file both alphabetically and numerically (I think I can).

Later I met with a guy who said if I am aggressive I may get some work. That means calling in the morning, calling in the afternoon and sometimes sitting for a few hours in their offices to see if something suddenly opens up.

The trip to the temp agency happened a day before I finally sent out my 50th resume (PR Coordinator for Rainforest Alliance -- yeah a bit of a stretch but something that sounds interesting and I have the skill-set for). Today I also dressed all spiffy-like and headed over to a job fair for spouses of faculty and grad students of Columbia. But then I discovered it was tomorrow, and I was all dressed up with no hands to shake. And that's why I didn't call to see if there was any work for me today. And now it'll be another day before I can call to see if there's possibly, please oh please, someone who needs me to answer their phone or deliver some correspondence or, oh could I be so lucky?, get them some coffee.

But what's to complain about? On Saturday I spent a good portion of the day with Clemson students touring "odd lots" of Queens. That's right. There's a joint exhibit at the Queens Museum of Art and the White Columns gallery (sorry I can't seem to do hyperlinks on this mac -- damn that will most certainly reflect in my temp skill scores) of Gordon Matta-Clark's work. Well, not really his work. More like he bought these strange, remainder parcels of land in the 70s, died before he could do anything with them and now things are being resurrected. This is going on the same time that there's a retrospective of Robert Smithson's work at the Whitney (another rockstar artist of the 70s who died before his time, i.e. see spiral jetty), but I've still not visited or caught a glimpse of the tugboat carrying his island he always wanted to create around Manhattan (the Times has a good article to explain the whole thing if that sounds just way too weird). At least I got to see the Clemson architecture grads "lick" the ground with "mechanical tongues" and measure the sites with their body "armor" (also too strange and long to explain) and eat gourmet Argentian cookies instead of a proper lunch.

But that was better than sitting in front of the computer one more day, trolling for job openings, re-formatting my cover letter, my resume, my personality, my self for another possibility at being employed.

At least dead artists are good for something.


At 7:01 AM, Anonymous Suzanne said...

omigod, is that SPAM in your blog comments?

Anyway... hang in there, sweetie. Something's gonna turn up. Besides, temping should be a great source of material for your fiction...

At 7:39 AM, Blogger Jerry said...

Yep, damn spam. I just deleted it...


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