Grown Ups Talking

Well, the Actual Job didn’t come through. A pity, it would have been nice to get hired while the rest of the world is getting fired. But no, uncertainty and potential dissolving clients await. A nice daydream while it lasted.

So back to reality. The reality is that the slipper and I are going to his family for Christmas—that is to say, we’re flying out on Christmas night to save on the airfare. Since Christmas has been getting me down lately, why not schlep instead? It’s making me festive already, particularly the not-very crowded part.

When we return in the jolliest of all possible New Years I’ll have to figure out what my next move will be.

Politics is like freelance work. You get voted in, and unless you are a senator, you eventually get voted out and have to scramble around for your next gig. Some cling on to their office for much too long (see Blogojovich) and others step lightly into office as if by royal decree (see C. Kennedy-Schlossberg-Kennedy).

I have occasionally stepped lightly into a design gig, but so far I haven’t had people throwing shoes at me as I’m leaving. Poor old P. Bush is looking incredibly lame at the moment, I’m not sure his corporate buddies will really want him on their board of directors any more, if they even still exist.

The landscape has changed so much since he lightly stepped into power. He’s a little pathetic now, nursing his wounds in the knowledge that his government has precipitated the worst economic nightmare of America’s history.

I mean think about it: during the Bush years war, torture, environmental devastation, economic madness, educational stupidity were all fostered, encouraged and celebrated.

I think there are probably one or two more shoes on the way. Imelda, where are you?—Pomerol

Another Friday night, another freezing day. Christmas season is slowly coming into focus. We went out amid the tentative shoppers, but only to buy enough groceries for a week so we wouldn’t have to keep leaving the building.

All around the market people were examining prices and snapping up Manager’s Specials. In the wine shop the cheapy wine section, our usual haunt, had been cleaned out by other would-be recession buyers.

People are broke. Well actually a lot of them aren’t, but they feel broke. And if they are not broke now, they think they will be soon. And they are right.

My interview for an Actual Job happens next week. I’m fretting about deportment and appearance and trying not to laugh like a horse. But the real shame is that chances are the job will disappear before I can start. Sigh.

So I’m not going to be taken by surprise. I will elbow my way in and sing and dance and recite Shakespearean sonnets, if that’s what it will take. But if they hire me, then fire me in a couple of weeks, I won’t be surprised.

Tis the season.—Pomerol

Frankly, I’m relieved that the election is over. It was like mediocre sex: endlessly trying every possible technique, even nasty ones, to achieve relief, and now the American orgasm is over and we can collectively smoke a cigarette and bicker over who takes the garbage out.

And what garbage. The world economy is imploding, Obama is hiring a load of economic hacks, smug liberal opiners are shocked (shocked? shocked?) that he is hiring so many familiar faces.

The arguments go on: “he needs to hire experienced people who know what they’re talking about!” (like Robert “what meltdown?” Rubin, formerly of Citigroup, that stellar example of creative thinking and economic stability; and Larry “Women don’t have the brainpower to be good at math,” Summers), versus “why don’t you find someone new who will not be part of the problem and know how to fix everything?”

The problem is, nobody knows. They still haven’t figured out what went wrong in 1987. Why on earth should anyone know how to deal with the sub-prime black hole? Besides Obama isn’t even President yet. I say wait til he really screws up before we start attacking too hard.

So like I said, I’m relieved it’s over. I’m enjoying a welcome rest from being aware of the problems of the world, knowing the personlities involved, and being utterly powerless to change anything.

Financially so far the slipper and I are hanging in there, peacefully mulling over various get-rich-eventually ideas, along with everyone else in the country.

But for the next five months I think we’re ok, which is more than a lot of people can say.—Pomerol

Sitting and waiting for edits to come through so I can finish off my latest spectacular piece of tomorrow’s litter. Graphic design is a bit like war: you negotiate, parlay, strategize, tacticalize (new word!), then wait around for battle to commence. There’s a flurry of intense activity, then you wait around again. So, exactly like war. Except for the whole carnage and rending of society thing.

Work is getting complicated (what else is new). I am presented with the prospect of maybe getting a full-time job doing something I love, but it probably won’t pay off the bills each month. I could continue to freelance, but now I’ll have less time to do it. Can I lever these conflicting income streams into a plausible living without working 18 hours a day? Will they even offer me the job?

Difficult. But as I’ve said before, business as usual for us freelance types.

Thanksgiving went off splendidly with a huge gathering of buzzing relatives. I realized how difficult this must be for the kids. By the third hour they were reciting I’m-in-eighth-grade-I-don’t-like-my-teacher-but-I’m-doing-well-in-sports-I’m-going-down-stairs-now every time you tried to talk to them.

The reality is that I’m not sure what to talk to them about, just like they don’t know what to say to me. I love them, in an auntly way, and they accept me as a familiar, friendly grownup who turns up from time to time and asks them personal questions. But each time you see them you kind of have to start the relationship all over again.

Hopefully I wasn’t too irritating, and I managed to avoid pinching anyone on the cheek—except for the slipper of course.

The holidays take one’s mind off one’s complicated work life. My current job dilemma will hopefully be resolved in time for Christmas.—Pomerol

A Tuesday morning with blue skies, and weirdly, flurries of snow. I’ve been scrolling through job sites trying to wrench my future into a modicum of temporary safety. As a freelance this is life as usual, but now that everyone else is in the same boat I’m feeling like I’m walking across an icy pond in rubber boots.

The thing is, graphic design is fundamental to human society but it isn’t fundamental to human survival. As we are thrown out onto the freezing sidewalk, clutching our unused pilates machines, we don’t wail,"Bodoni is over-used! Make it Caslon and tighten the leading!”

I can’t help noticing that Americans are still living in a dream world. Even while the stock market is scraping the bottom of the ocean, economist Irwin Seltzer poo poo’d the idea of holding a European economic summit. “What’s the point?” he said on the BBC,"Bush can’t make any decisions. We Americans like results. You Europeans like process. And this is the last thing a new president wants on his plate.”

You think? Does he honestly believe we can afford not to start the process of re-rigging the international economy? The rest of the world needs to wait while Bush quacks through the final 63 days and Obama chooses bedrooms?

This just shows how naive so many “economic leaders” are. We will sort it out, the market will sort it out, we need to diddle and fiddle and eventually the market will start its upwards climb.

I think that’s true. I also know that if we’re not careful, many millions of value-creating, tax-paying, credit card-using citizens will stop and be thrown on the mercy of a broke government.

So far we’ve had sunshine and snow flurries, rubber boots on ice, homeless people with pilates machines, quacking ducks, diddlers, fiddlers, and an unemployed population.

Care for some graphic design? Anyone?

Oh yes, Happy Thanksgiving.—Pomerol