Change from the Penny for My Thoughts

For those of you that have perused my son’s blog, last week he addressed the issue of looking out for ol’ number one. With that in mind, allow me to bear my soul. My friend Cynn (still getting used to that) Chadwick, the novelist/professor, told me that your mood most definitely affects what the storyteller tells. So today my mood is good, but what weighs heavily on mind is similar to the weather outside, cloudy and raining. Be forewarned, what follows is not the usual acid-tongued lambasting of some faction of big business, or some wordy diatribe aimed at the political process and those that work in the confines thereof. Or, a candid look at something on the sports landscape, there’ll be no poking fun at some level of incompetency somewhere rearing its ugly head. No, today I wallow. It’s my blog, and I’m allowed. So don’t read any further if this isn’t what you’re up for.
I was encouraged to start this blog by a friend of my son’s, Jesse Moskowitz. I got to spend some time with him while doing research at the Jimmy Carter library in Atlanta. Jesse was a student at Emory University, and he decided to take me to friend’s apartment where other fellow students were gathering. Immediately upon my arrival I felt comfortable in the company of a room full of strangers half my age. The conversation varied, and I had an opinion on each and every topic. Though I was completely sincere in my passion, my dialogue was colorful and irreverent. There’s something to be said for having a few years experience under you belt, all the while maintaining relevancy. It was then Jesse suggested starting a blog. I was suspect. Who’d want to read what I have to say? He said he would, several of his friends agreed. That was how this weekly exercise in word play began, albeit two years after the fact. Alas, as you can tell by this blogs home page, other than Jesse, none of the other Emory faithful have signed on as “followers.” Initially, I was distressed at the poor showing for those who’ve signed on as such, now I just hope one day everyone I’ve begged, pleaded with, cajoled, threatened, will get the idea how important this is to me.
My pitch went something like this.
“Could you do me a favor please?” “I’m starting this blog, and if I can get enough people to sign on as “followers,” perhaps one day I can sell ad space. I think I’ll need at least fifty, that’s what I heard. You don’t have to read my tripe, just sign up. It doesn’t cost anything, and it would help me out a lot.”
I was assured by one and all, that yes, sure, they’d be delighted to sign on. My son sent not one, but two mass e-mails to his friends exhorting them to sign up, and no, they didn’t have to read it. Weeks passed and very few of the hoards of “supporters” bothered to take the few minutes to sign up. Almost weekly, until I realized how annoying I was becoming; I approached each and every person I knew to once again, please help me out by becoming a “follower.” Did I tell you this small act was free? Did I tell you that these individuals never had to read one fucking word? Still, I wallow in obscurity. Christ! no wonder why I struggled so selling cars here in SoFla, I can’t even get people to do something for me that’s free. How the hell could I expect to get money out of people? It’s a good thing I write in the hopes of entertaining or enlightening. Though, I wouldn’t mind earning some sort of pauperish living off my work.
In an effort to increase exposure for this blog, my son Cory suggested back in December, that I sign up for Facebook, and put the link to my blog there. So every week I post the link in the “What’s on my mind” space on my Facebook homepage. This has resulted in exactly one; let me repeat that, one, new follower. Now, ten months later, I have thirty-nine followers. My son started a blog three weeks ago, he has 110 followers. He taunted me when he launched his blog that he would get fifty followers before I would. I laughed, but it stung. Now, it stings even more.
I also write my blog in the hope that maybe someone, somewhere, will stumble across it, think it’s cleaver, or well written, and offer me some freelance work. Or, someone post it on their web page, and I will gain more exposure that way; a new fangled way of getting one’s foot in the door, if you will. All that I’ve gotten, aside from the psychic remuneration generated from the writing itself, is a foot up my ass. At least that’s how I feel.
I have been in the job market for nearly two years, yielding little results, but I don’t despair. I understand that I’m looked at as being too old for entry level work, though I’d be happy to do it, AND as handicapped, I'm a tax write-off if I'm hired. I understand that I may be over-qualified for many of the positions I’ve sought. I understand that I don't have all the qualifications for some of the positions I've sought. But what I don’t understand is the utter lack of courtesy by those to whom I’ve inquired or solicited. However, the most important thing I do understand is it’s not what you know, but who you blow. I've kissed so much ass these last twenty months, my lips are chapped. Sadly, I guess I just don’t know the right people who’ve tried to open doors for me. The Chancellor of the Florida State University system, and ex-lieutenant governor, Frank Brogan has written a letter of recommendation on my behalf. So has legendary football coach Howard Schnellenberger. There is a letter from a fellow student half my age. There’s another from a former student whom I tutored for several classes. There are many letters from former professors. There’s also a letter from Jesse Moskowitz. Still, there is little work for me.
I thought teaching high school students would be a wonderful way to pass on the knowledge I’ve acquired; not just academic knowledge, but life skills knowledge. But, I can’t pass the Florida State background check because of something I did thirty years ago. Everyone that speaks to me for any period of time has insisted I should write a book. So I have. It has garnered little interest thus far. When I do get odd jobs that I feel I’m well-suited, everyone of my clients beats me up over price. So much so, that a friend recently said I’m whoring myself. Hey, any port in the storm right?
I thought I’ve been a good soldier, and doing, before our President even asked, what he feels will be for the betterment of society, and that is return to school. I did. For six years. And by the way things are going, gainful employment is not the result for which our President is hoping. Is that because so many incompetent people already have positions of such authority, that if someone of advanced education were to be allowed a position within their company, it would jeopardize their job status?
I’ve been told I have a story to tell. Hell, in even in the query for my book I say imagine Pursuit of Happyness on steroids for a frame of reference. So I tell whatever story I can conjure up on a week to week basis for a handful of individual’s kind enough to support me. No one said things were going to come easy just because I got a couple of degrees. I didn’t expect them to. I knew there would be a lot of hard work, toil, and rejection. I was prepared for that, just not nearly two years worth. You know things could always be worse, but I’d prefer not to find out how much worse. At least I’m not selling cars anymore. There, now I feel much better. And no, I don’t want any cheese.