Thursday, May 11, 2006

A Quickie, But Not the Way I Like

I'm off to my job interview in about an hour -- second interview, this time with the President & CEO, the VP of Development & ER, and the HR rep. It struck me as odd that I would be meeting with the President, when this is not a VP position -- it's not even a management position -- and after some thought, I realized they must be scoping me out for something else. I am really overqualified for the position that I am applying for, but I do actually want the job, because it combines stuff I'm really experienced in with stuff I'm not and want to gain more experience in. Sorry for that awkward sentence construction.

But I also want this job, and not a director-level position -- which is actually where I should be, career-wise -- because this is my first foray back into any kind of office job since 2001. I don't want a 60-hour-a-week, manage-5-people kind of job at this point. I'm not serious about climbing the corporate ladder right now. But I'm wondering how to phrase that without sounding like, "This is just a fluffy little job that I'm going to slack off at," because I really don't see it that way.

Well, we'll see how today goes. I have my suit all pressed and waiting and I have my writing samples all together in tidy packets like the good little dorkette that I am. I guess I should have lunch and shine my shoes.


How weird and sad yet cool is this? Last month a hunter shot what turned out to be a polar bear-grizzly hybrid in Canada's Northwest Territory. It's not cool that the bear is dead, but cool that he existed in the first place. Except that the reason he existed is because his father probably couldn't find food in his own natural habitat. And what with the global warming and the ice melting, it's possible his mother was moving farther south looking for food.

Heavy sigh.


My friend Splooey e-mailed me this morning:

The New York Times has proclaimed "Beloved" as the best in American fiction in the past 25 years!
You can go here to read the story and the 1987 book review (by Margaret Atwood, no less). It is, no doubt, an incredible book, but I'd forgotten how truly heavy it is. The excerpt makes me a little queasy with remembrance.

All right, chickadees, I must fly. Cheerio!


* George Carlin.

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