factory angles

I never blog about work... hell, I never really write about it in general.

Anyone who reads this blog is probably reading it from work anyway, so why remind them of what they want to forget?

Work is something you do, and unless your work is highly interesting (photojournalist, political campaign manager, rogue archaeologist with a bullwhip and a fedora) no one should ever have to read about it.

Any and all ruminations should be shared for interaction with people in the flesh and possibly over the phone. If not for work, what would married couples have to talk to each other about at the end of the day? If not for work, how would I ever find out about my female friends' co-workers and their attempts to sabotage them? If not for work, would I even be able to carry on a conversation with anyone else that I marginally know?

Talk about it, share it with others, laugh it off... Just don't write about it.

It's unlucky, I guess. I learned a long time ago not to write about work, out of fear of jinxing my gigs. I may seem rational and enlightened in print, but I've got some weird superstitions regarding the workplace.

How many times did I ever mention my work in this blog or in the blog before this one? Less than you can count on one hand, I suppose. Usually it was because I had a crush on some girl I worked with and I had to paint a picture for the benefit of my readers. Otherwise, I stay away from that well-- there's nothing to draw from it.

As I continue to finalize my adjustments to this new gig, I feel like I can write a little bit about it. But I won't go into detail, and if I do it will be in private.

You see, I still haven't found my angle yet. To write about something, you always need an angle, a perspective, a slant that is unique.

The angle can be a tried-and-true formula too, just so long as you remember to make it distinctive. I write about my love life often, and we all know how beaten that horse's corpse is, but what I choose to emphasize determines whether or not it is readable and enjoyable. If (for example) I decided to bore you with the more mundane aspects of my past relationship with Eve-- the grocery shopping trips, the standing in line at Blockbuster, the uneventful minutiae of our shared days --the impact would be dulled and no one would be receptive to the highlights I choose to focus on: the romance, the misunderstandings, the tiffs, the humorous instances, the glorious occasions that resemble normalcy...

This new job is hard to nail down, but I feel that I should at least give you an idea of what I do for a living.


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I work for a company whose name I will not divulge, and they specialize in architecture and furniture. Their products are very modern, usually prefabricated, and exceedingly high-end.

Their headquarters is in Santa Monica, but I work near Downtown Los Angeles, where the offshoot factory has been set up. This location is a mix of blue-collar steel/wood workers and the office staff, of which I am a part. The attitude is casual and mellow, with a hint of the lowbrow that always appeals to my Everyman instincts.

The Santa Monica office seems to me like some vaulted mausoleum, staffed not with flesh-and-blood humans but cybernetic architects that barely move or make noise. I am positive that having a stick lodged in one's anus is a prerequisite to working there. Luckily, I don't have to see or even speak to anyone in Santa Monica unless I have to, so I can't really complain.

Obviously there are pros and cons to each office environment: The factory is great but the air is bad, seeing as we are only a stone's throw away from a meat-packing plant and many landfills; Santa Monica is nice and breezy but the yuppies in the area make me want to vomit, and I hear they've banned smoking in most of the city.

(Funny that I should be concerned with the bad air in one location and the lack of permissible smoking in the other...)

The money is swell but I am working ten hour days, and the overtime pay I receive is calculated by hours in the day, not hours throughout the week. My first full-time paycheck was a shocker because of the amount of taxes Uncle Sam jacked me for, but I made a few adjustments on my W-4 and that made a slight difference. The overtime is responsible for the increase in taxes but at least I'll get money back next year... That is, if I don't forget to re-adjust my W-4 before the end of the tax period.

I sit at a desk in the upstairs office. It is not a conventional desk-- it was made by the carpenters in the Wood Shop. I like it because it is as far from corporate chic as we can get. The office seems like more of a clubhouse than a place where people make phone calls and use computers.

I talk on the phone (sometimes I answer if the receptionist is gone), send e-mail correspondence to liaisons, fax quotes back and forth with vendors, collect invoices, draw up work orders, run light errands, and basically do whatever I am told. I have no experience in this field and I truly do not belong here, but thanks to the wonders of graft I am employed here gainfully based upon a reference from my friend Nina's current beau, who has worked for the company for a while.

The factory is all new, and they needed to hire anyone to help. I would have never had a chance at this place if not for that stipulation. The foreman, the supers, everyone knew I was greener than a baby's booger, and yet they hired me.

I am now approaching the end of my 90-day probation period, and I don't know what to expect, but I suspect it won't be too bad. Even if they let me go, it was nice while it lasted. I like the people here, and the work is challenging because I know NOTHING... and that's the way I like it, I am finding out.

Still, the guys at the radio station have been calling me, asking if I want to do weekends here and there. I said I'd think about it, because the extra money would be too hard to turn down. Who knows how it will all turn out? All I know is the main reason I left the station was that they were moving to Anaheim at the end of the year, and that is a commute I am not willing to make.

So maybe I will just work my ass of with both places until the end of the year, around the holidays. I'll surely have enough money for Christmas presents, and if I have enough money saved up by then I can put it down on a new car, or maybe a used car in tip-top condition that isn't too old.


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I went to the gas station this morning to buy cigarettes and fill up my tank. It dawned on me, as I put money back into my wallet, that my wallet is never empty these days. I slid the change between the 20s I withdrew from the bank ATM two days ago, which hasn't whittled away by very much.

It is insane to actually have money in my pockets. I still cannot get over how my lifestyle has improved over my financial situation a mere four months ago. I was scrounging for change in couch cushions, borrowing money from benefactors, selling DVDs and CDs for gas money, and I always ran out of funds two days before my next payday.

No more sliding into home plate every two weeks-- the paycheck-to-paycheck days are over. And what's more, I'm not spending money the way I used to when I was in my twenties. Except for one or two occasions when I truly went overboard, I have been pinching pennies and putting them in my savings account.

Of course, I am spending tremendous amounts of money on gas, but that's nothing new. Besides, the gas prices are just so ridiculous now-- of course I'm going to bemoan what I'm spending on gasoline... but at least I don't drive an SUV.

In the past three months I have bought some much-needed gadgets and doodads for my home studio along with some new clothes, especially new shoes and boxers. Other than that and a few pricey dinners and bar tabs, I've been as frugal as can be.

I haven't even bought a new CD since June, which leads me to believe that I only buy music when I am stressed out concerning my income. When I'm depressed, I don't buy anything new. Instead, I go back and listen to old stuff. Sometimes that old stuff is formerly new stuff that I never got around to hearing until I got sad.

When I receive a paycheck and I know that all the money is already spent and that I'll only have a few bucks to my name after the bills get paid, my attitude is that I deserve a little something for myself to keep me happy. That's the only way I can explain how I have resisted the urge to go to Tower or Amoeba or Second Spin and drop some serious doll on some muse.

Speaking of Second Spin, according to my last credit report I owe them $50 from four years ago. All I have to do is pay them and it's off the books. I owe less than $750 total, to various creditors and banks. This debt has been slowly attended to over the course of the past five years but I've only made real progress as of late.

Add all this together with the fact that I am eating healthier and actually started running laps again, and you get a man who is mostly happy... That is to say, as happy as I can get at one time.

That's not a bad thing.

What is bad is that I am still human, and I fall prey to wants and needs and moods and phases. But I'm also working on the novel again, and that is good. That novel is a monster but I am whipping it into some semblance of a coherent vision.

Plus, Mercury will leave its retrograde state a few days after July ends, which means that things will get slightly easier.

After five years of ups and downs, I am finally making the money I should've been making all along. A Bush in the White House, 9/11, a tumbling economy and the unemployment blues all contributed to me taking a mighty big fall, but I got up, dusted myself off, and kept on moving.

In the process, I started up some new projects and rekindled some old works. I'm going full-steam ahead right now, and I can't say I love it or hate it-- it just is.

I work in a factory but I'm not a factory worker. Regardless, I am continuing forward like a machine, and nothing will stop me from getting where I have to go.

Nothing.

Have a beautiful weekend.