Idle Livers are the Devil's Playground

When we last left our heroine (And who, may I ask, left heroin lying around?) she was in the midst of networking and interviewing. Which I still am, admittedly, but I've also been dodging hurricanes and inventing new cocktails. What? Idle hands are the devil's playground. Gotta stay productive.

Several years ago, DV and I were IM'ing (some things never change) and he instructed me to call him IMMEDIATELY as he had something of GREAT IMPORTANCE to discuss. I was sitting at my desk at work (ah, I remember work) and yet I dropped everything to help a friend in need. Once a voice connection was established, he said, with all the sincerity in the world, "We need to establish what my signature cocktail is going to be this summer." Clients be darned, I got right to task on this important subject. Signature cocktails, while not necessarily having to be the ONLY thing one drinks, help to indicate to friends and family what sort of hooch to stock in the house should you stop over for a nooner, and what they should buy you when they are able to wedge themselves closer to the bar when you go out on Saturday. (Note: the latter is only important if you live near an area where there are crowded bars or actually go out, neither of which apply to the authors of this blog, BUT WILL SOMEDAY SOON.)

Where were we? Oh, yes. Signature drinks.

I suggested to DV that for summer I always enjoy a nice Vodka Lemonade. He immediately retorted, "Oh, yeah. You know why I don't drink those? BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE A VAGINA." (I believe I hung up on him.)

Since we've only had about 2 whole weeks of summer, it's tabula rasa time: we turn our thoughts to the beginnings of Autumn and how to make New Transitions. Not quite ready to give up my sunshine and unemployment tan, however, I am still clinging to the clear spirits and need to table the brown liquor cravings for another few weeks. That said, I added a few Autumnal elements to a vodka lemonade this past weekend, am happy with the results overall (even though my liver may not be) and share it thusly:

Step One: Make a simple syrup (1.5 cups sugar, 1 cup water, combine, boil until clear, let cool) with several sprigs of rosemary in the liquid through the cooling process. Remove the rosemary sprigs and discard.

Step two: In a pitcher, combine:

2 cups freshly squeezed lemon juice
2 cups rosemary simple syrup
2 cups sparkling water or seltzer

Step three: Fill glasses with ice and vodka to, um, taste. Pour lemonade mixture over and stir. Garnish with rosemary sprig and clever smile.

(Note: have pre-made or store bought lemonade on hand, as your will to freshly squeeze lemon juice will diminish after first pitcher.)

Not to be consumed prior to composing cover letters, feeding one-year-olds, or going to spin class (unless you are prepared for excitingly negative results.)

Another day, another segue

So, I had a job interview today (hold all applause until the end, folks) and spent the rest of the day with a great old friend who is essentially a genius. She has directed some great television shows, is a gifted photographer, has an Ivy League education. She, too, is Out of Work. We did what Unemployed People do - cheap/free things. In this case, we sat in Bryant Park and watched the world go by, discussing exciting new ways to save money.

We talked at length (as good friends are known to do), and caught up on the important people in our lives. This gifted soul is out of work. This other gifted soul is miserable in her job...but is petrified to quit due to the sour market. This one just got let go. This one (oh my God, HIM?) has been out of work since last year. The stories, it seemed, were endless.

What is going on? In what country, on what planet, are some of the most incompetent schlubs (and you know who I'm talking about) sitting gainfully employed at their desks, playing computer card games, skating by whilst utilizing emoticons in business emails, and generally satisfied with status quo as long as it comes with a decent health care plan and a requisite two weeks of vacation? Meanwhile, on a seemingly epidemic level, some of the most gifted and talented folks languish in search of The Perfect Opportunity and a Greater Challenge.

I feel, at my core, there is a distinct similarity between choosing career paths and dating. (Sad but true.) There are options out there, sure. The interview I had today was one that I nailed - I almost felt bad doing so well. Like shooting fish in a barrel. It's a position at a big company with a big benefits package and, well, all the soul and interest of its bulk of male employees sporting pleated khakis and button down shirts from Gap. Available, bountiful, and flat-out boring. But there, available, and within grasp- in all of its/their instantaneous gratification glory. And as I winced while pulling out a few dollars from my wallet (THAT SHOULD GO INTO SAVINGS, DAMMIT) for a measly lemonade and salad, I had a fleeting thought:

"I could do that job. It would be *fine.* Growth opportunity, decent sized cubicle, sure. I could have a regular paycheck again within 4 short weeks. Why the hell not?"

I sat and laughed for a bit. My friend and I solved the world's problems, and came up with fabulous ideas that manifested over lemonade. A distinctly attractive gentleman walked through the park, stopping even my happily married friend in her tracks (extreme bonus points for the Ramones pin on your briefcase, sir.) Finally, I realized - you can date someone who is there, and you can take a job because they want you. And it will be fine for now. But perhaps there is something to be said for aiming at a higher rung on the ladder, something that doesn't force a sense of dread when the alarm goes off, or a date that understands that Chekov is not necessarily a Star Trek character. The search is painful, long, and tempting to abandon at almost any cost.

Just not yet. I may not be young, but apparently I'm a hopeless idealist for the time being.

Here's hoping the bounty at the end of the search pays off the expense.

Pants

During this Interregnum I thought I would take on a few home-improvement projects.

(Oh yes, Mrs. Vu and I had a baby in late summer, bought a house in early fall, and I lost the job in the winter. All during the Great Recession. Who says I don't have timing?)

I'm not really that handy, so today the plumber is here to fix an outdoor spigot. But now at least I'm not the only man in the house thoughtlessly showing his buttcrack.

As if, AS IF I needed something else to worry about.

The trusty interwebian forums confirm that due to recent upgrades in iPhone software, along with massive AT&T failures, iPhone users are not receiving some calls or voicemails.

Great.

If you need me, I'm going to go sit near a tower and pray even harder for the job of my dreams to call. IF THEY HAVEN'T ALREADY AND I JUST MISSED IT.

(Thanks to techcrunch for the link.) I am sick to my stomach.

Mantra for Friday

Today, I will clean my house...and all that implies.

Today, I will run for 5 more minutes than I did yesterday.

I will go to Pilates.

I am not going to sleep late.

I'm certainly not going to go take the September Issue of Vogue to a local coffee shop and lounge.

And I will absolutely not get sucked in to the "free manicure with pedicure" offer at the local spa.

I will not yield to the temptation of a refreshing vodka lemonade before 5 o'clock this evening.

Ok, maybe 3.

Wow, it's afternoon already?

...Amen.

Everything I Ever Needed to Know...

As I am not only a pure Diva, I'm an Optimistic Diva, and generally attempt to look on the bright side of things. For example:

As I am currently unemployed I can watch all the Project Runway I want. In real time.

As the last person I know that not only doesn't get HBO but doesn't have DVR, TiVo, Satellite Anything, and still utilizes a VCR from time to time, a constant travel schedule and a lack of cable (as dictated by my building) prevented me from viewing this fabulous show in real time the past season, which was a crime against me that I am still reeling from. But today...today. Today, Season 6 of PW starts. (And no, that is not a typo - have you HEARD Heidi Klum speak?)



Project Runway is not Reality Television. Reality Television, to me, is a skank fest dressed in gutter rubbage yielding a nation of wasteful, vapid trollops and douchebags that pollute otherwise rational minds and sully my US Weekly with stops of "Who the F--- is that?" Project Runway is a big ass Job Interview, narrated by Career Counselor Extraordinaire, Tim Gunn. Contestants show up EVERY DAY and bust themselves to get a JOB at the end. I love this idea. Best of all, most life lessons can be extracted from the show. Don't believe me? Keep reading:

"If you're going to cry, you better cry AND cut." (Pick your sorry ass up and keep going.)

"Don't bore Nina." (Get creative people. Innovate or get out of the way.)

It doesn't have to be in quotes, either. I think viewers of PW will agree with me that the show is a walking PSA, telling America to not name their children Detroit (or get that tattooed on your neck), avoid using hot glue on couture, and Quality and Talent will always win.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take my inspiration and write some cover letters. Because, after all -

"I can't want you to succeed more than you do." - Tim Gunn

The Job-Search Sidecar

The Optimistic Diva and I are snobs: wine snobs, beer snobs, foodie snobs; you name it, we can look our noses down at someone's choices.

All of which would make it particularly galling that we're pinching pennies these days were it not for the fact that we have always subscribed to the same philosophy of life that Pauline Kael brought to the movies:

"Movies are so rarely great art that if we cannot appreciate great trash we have very little reason to be interested in them."

So when I confessed to buying a more "economical" bourbon in these times of financial hardship, the OD replied, "You're unemployed, not DEAD[.]"

But I stand buy downshifting from Maker's Mark to Ezra Brooks.

Especially since it's fun to refer to it as Ezra Pound.

But let's get on to the recipe.

The Job-Search Sidecar

• 1 small clementine orange, peeled and sectioned, put a flat-bottomed, old-fashioned glass
• 1-2 tablespoons fine sugar (resist the urge to use simple syrup; the next step is much more fun)
• take a muddler and go to town on the oranges and sugar
• fill glass with ice (crushed is preferred)
• fill to brim with bourbon
• stir
• sip
• smile