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Mike's Unemployment Semary: A Week in My Jobless Life
[an asterisk (*) marks those anecdotes of more than passing interest]

Tuesday, 1 Oct___

Paper Chase. Spent the morning watching Psycho Beach Party (it's so good, it defies description) and sifting through the many piles of papers that have piled up in my room. In piles. I tend to bring home every single sheet of paper (fliers, newspapers, cookie fortunes, etc.) I acquire throughout the day and rarely throw anything out, so it gets to be something of a mess. My roommate Dawn came in at one point and immediately noticed the still-sealed bills in my "important" pile. "You don't open your mail?" she asked, shocked. No, I don't. It's a bad habit. I come home late, I'm tired, I check the mailbox, everything goes on the pile. I get to it later. I recently missed a wedding shower and missed a credit-card payment due to this heinous practice. End of story. But rent Psycho Beach Party, available only in independent video stores.

Housecleaning. It was my turn. As much fun to describe as to perform.

Email Purge. Related to the aforementioned lazy tendency, I have a backlog of 600 messages in my Yahoo! account and have been precariously close to my 6 MB limit. So I've been going through and deleting everything that is no longer of any importance, concurrently updating my address book (I always meant to...) with various people's announcements. Have we established I am lazy, shiftless, and inclined to procrastinate? Good. Let's move on.

Sangria. Met my co-concertgoer (see below) and some of my ex-coworkers at Andalu, a (fairly schmancy) tapas bar for happy hour. Nothing really remarkable, except that the hostess muttered "Table for six, without reservations!" after we walked in. Oh, honestly: it's 6 o'clock on a Tuesday and the place is empty. Please. The sangria was great. Go for the drinks, ignore the service.

Bottom of the Hill. Went with Marie to a smallish concert headlined by +/-, which those of you who have been reading know is a spinoff of Versus, recent holder of Most Favored Band status in these here parts. The opening band, eE, were unremarkable apart from being composed of fairly meek-looking Asian guys--at the end of their set, the bassist yelled "Support the Asians! Buy our album!"--and having the hardest-working drummer this side of Cowboy Mouth (whom I did not see yesterday, but whatcha gonna do?).

*Homeward Bound. The show ended just after midnight, and I happened to get to the BART station two or three minutes after the last East Bay train left. I will never understand the logic in the BART schedule (everything must end by 12:30!), which effectively eliminates transbay transit after midnight and virtually ensures that drunk drivers are on the Bay Bridge every weekend. Luckily, I guess, there's one other option: take Muni to San Francisco's Transbay Terminal (TT, baby!) and wait for the hourly AC Transit A-line bus, which then deposits passengers in downtown Oakland to find the rest of the way home for themselves.

Whereas daytime buses stop inside the Terminal, the A-line stops in a crescent-shaped driveway out front...the better to underscore your late-night misery. Pass by the TT between 1 and 4 on any given night, and you'll see a dozen or two forlorn-looking creatures waiting for that bus. It's cold. Everyone's tired. Not a pleasant milieu. With half an hour to wait, I elected to go inside to look at the transit maps. Yes, I am both a transit nerd and a map nerd; I am quite aware of it. Thank you.

Returning outside, I was greeted by three police cars, an ambulance, and a large pool of blood on the sidewalk. The bus arrived a couple of minutes laterand the woman across the aisle filled me in: "This crazy man, white or Hispanic--I couldn't tell--was sitting on the bench with a whole load of stuff and a bicycle next to him. This other man--black guy--comes up to him and asks whose bike it is, since he wants to move it aside and sit down. The first guy flips out and pulls a knife from out of nowhere and stabs the other guy in the neck!" I froze, yet continued to listen to her talk about how, if she's out walking late at night, normally she goes out of her way to avoid passing black men but will walk right by a white man without a second thought, though she knows as a black woman that it's not right. (I later relay this tidbit to a black female friend who immediately concurs.) She and I ended up sharing a cab from downtown Oakland to our respective homes. I try to watch Happy Together.

Wednesday, 2 Oct___

Movietime. It takes me an hour to bike from my house to downtown Berkeley, drop off videos, and bike back home.

*Contra Costa Times. I had arranged to spend the afternoon with my friend Gary, who is interning with the City of Pittsburg. We had, until my resignation, been employed at very different places in the urban planning spectrum and I was curious to see what he was doing and had learned. We met at Concord BART (ah, BART) at noon, and for the next six hours he showed me around Concord, Pleasant Hill, Martinez, Pittsburg, Bay Point, and Antioch, delivering a seemingly unending stream of information about what was going on where, who the major players were, what sneaky deals were being made, and what he'd seen and dealt with. Simultaneously I'm amazed by how much information he has absorbed over the past year and annoyed at how little I felt I'd learned in my position. Partly it's the nature of consulting, where one's attentions are divided among many clients (City of X; Y County; Metropolitan Z Authority), none of which one can feel proprietary about. But part of it is also that as a lower-level consultant, I was rarely the one in contact with the community. Crunching abstract numbers and making up descriptions of locations I had not seen did nothing for me. It makes more sense now, but in college I majored in geography with the idea that I would be out in the field, observing for myself.

Still, we had a good time. We stopped at an Afghan bakery, where he paid $1.50 for a loaf of bread the size of...well, an afghan. We rolled through new subdivisions still under construction, feeling the bizarre unwelcomeness of an uninhabited-yet-exclusive-"community." We sat in a new railroad station and discussed our experiences taking the overnight train in various locales. A good time was had, in the name of planning.

Evening. Bad TV was watched, including the New NEW Twilight Zone. Oh, Ione.

Thursday, 3 Oct___

Brunch. Cat came by to take me out for pizza at Arizmendi and ask me to edit her residency-application essay (she's hoping to practice orthopedic surgery). So I did. My fabulous life. We talk for a moment about how this commercial area is full of people midmorning on a weekday and each realize that we'd assumed that just about everyone works an office job. They could be police, we said, or professors, or freelance tech workers, or unemployed tech workers, or just well off. So many non-9-to-5 options!

Art Opening. The California Council for the Humanities is sponsoring a big push through local libraries around the state to get people to read and discuss The Grapes of Wrath. I'm down for it. The Oakland Public Library has assembled an odd suite of events around this project, one of which was a photography exhibit of the work of two black Oaklanders. The artists' reception was today, so seeing as I'm drawn to art + artists + free food, I gave it a look-see. There's something very tiresome about being surrounded by middle-aged pretentious-yet-aware white people at "ethnic" events, and I hope to God I don't ever become one of them.

Iyengar Yoga. My first class ever (thank you, free Club One membership!), and what did we attempt? Vertical splits. [Stand with your back against a wall. Lean forward until you can put your hands on the ground. Now put one of your feet up where your head just was. Easy, isn't it?] The terms "downward-facing dog," "sit-bones," and such have already enriched me.

Two Men, One Name. Coming home from yoga, I had a message from Rick and Ricky, my pals from the improv class I took last spring. Apparently they'd invited me to see a play with them and I'd never responded. Yes, this is another example of my horrible, horrible email habits.

Friday, 4 Oct___

Email Purge. I am so not done yet.

Hiking. My fellow D&B unemployee Heather and I went off to Tilden for an afternoon of hiking and merriment in the sun. When we met, she had spilled coffee on her shirt and I had cut myself while shaving. It's nice to start the day on even footing. I then proceeded to give her Very Bad Directions on the way to the park, getting us lost three or four times. We celebrated the day with Zachary's pizza, and it was good.

QYP. I went to the Queer Young Professionals group at the Pacific Center and listened to other people talk about not being certain about their jobs. Felt better. Had a couple of Snicker Doodles. Went out to Bison Brewing Co. afterwards and tried french fries seasoned with ginger (yum!).

Saturday, 5 Oct___

Fun. Spent the day riding rollercoasters with John, Mel, and Wayne at Great America, then went to see my absolute favorite immensely-desirable singer (and raving nutbar), Grant-Lee Phillips, at the Great American Music Hall with Marie. I did not notice the nominal coincidence until afterward. (Kristin Hersh and John Doe [from LA punk outfit X] also performed, and they were good.) Good day. Came home, watched the season finale of The Shield, slept happy.

Sunday, 6 Oct___

Mass. I've been aware for a while that I haven't been completely spiritually fulfilled by my life, and I've started taking steps to work on that. I went to reconciliation for the first time in...oh, six years? and poured out my confusion and frustration. I'm trying to go to Mass more often now, to get back into the swing of regularly taking time to reflect, to ask for help, to face other people who believe in something. So we're getting through the homily (normally the midpoint, for those of you keeping score at home) and I'm not feeling well. Kind of dizzy. Maybe I should go. No, I'll stick it out. Oh, wait, what's going on? A baptism? Shit. For twins. Mother of mercy. Maybe I'll stay for the Prayers of the Faithful. Maybe the Lamb of God. I'll just slip out after the Eucharist. Ahhh, transubstantiated wine and bread. I can wait for the Closing Prayer. Or the Sending Hymn. Oh, look, I'm still here. I'll just swing by Albertson's on my way home. Whew! Finally home. What time is...oh, crap! It's after 1 already? I have to be at the Castro Street Fair (estimated travel time: 45-60 minutes) at 2!

*Castro Street Fair. Volunteered for the Harvey Milk Institute. Stood at the gate, yelling "Three dollar donation! Gets you a dollar off all drinks all afternoon! Benefits 23 community organizations!" (If Joe Public donates, he gets a sticker to present at the drink booths. Simple. Fun.) Of course, that gets pretty boring over the course of three hours, so I added some other stuff to see if people were paying attention.

"I don't know how else to love you!"
"Because puppies shouldn't have to die!"
"Little Timmy's operation was going so well!"
"It hurts me not to yell!"
"I'm single, unemployed, and I live in Oakland!"
"Exposed midriff tax!"
"Three dollars gets you a dollar off all drinks, a classy orange sticker, and brief but satisfying human contact!"
"I refuse to believe you can just walk on by, you heartless hussy!"
and so on.

Some got it, smiled, and plunked money in the bucket. Time passed more quickly. Perhaps someone will remember me for my wit and squire me away to an enchanted new life.

*After Party. When I finished my volunteer shift, the fair was almost over. I moseyed about for a bit, then stopped to consider whether to head home. (It's Sunday night! There is good TV to be watched!) The moment I was about ready to get up and go, I ran into Bret and Brian: more friends from the improv class (and a damned cute couple). They invited me into a bar with them for drinks. I was a little reticent, since I don't really do bars, and they're a couple, and it would be awkward, but...what the hell. Two of their other friends (whom I also thought were a couple [fifth wheel alert!], but thankfully weren't) were there as well. I tried to strike up conversation with the less friendly-looking one (because I love a challenge?) by commenting on his resemblance to a certain movie star....

First lesson: Being physically likened to John Malkovich is not universally considered a compliment.

Oh, well. Conversation at a standstill. Maybe I'll just make my way over to the bathroom for a minute....

Second lesson: drunk guys in a crowded bar setting will seize on any defining characteristic (say, wearing a fishing hat [I was standing in the sun for three hours earlier, if you'll recall] or... having a butt) to touch you while you're passing by. (Yes, this is a new lesson; I normally never get hit on. Don't know why; never bothered me.)

I come back over to where my group is and sit down. The guy on the other side of me (we'll call him E) begins chatting immediately. We discuss the economic plight of Humboldt County's working class (he lives there; I was just recently working on the County's General Plan)...

Third lesson: Apparently, one can make small talk out of anything.

...and E tells me about how his friend F (who was in the bathroom at the moment and whom I had thought was attractive until seeing him up close) gets violent when he's drunk because he's Native American...

Fourth lesson: I will never be amazed at people's capacity to spout prejudicial non sequiturs.

...and eventually guesses that I am 32 years old. Later, after E and F leave and I am talking to G and H (other strangers)...

Fifth lesson: Though besically meek and introverted, I grow emboldened in bar settings and can draw strangers to my side for conversation.

...they guess 28 and 36....

Sixth lesson: Bad lighting and drunken interlocutors can make this 24-year-old feel much, much older than he needs to.

H (an architect/urban designer) and I talk about his hometown, my vision of an urban services nightmare: New Orleans...

Seventh lesson: Fine. Everything always comes back to urban planning. This is why I need time off.

...and throughout the conversation he makes highly unsubtle attempts to paw at me...

Eighth lesson: I really need to put my foot down harder, sooner.

...and blames it on being drunk....

Ninth lesson: Bullshit.

Bret, Brian, Mike (Malkovich), and I all claim to want to head for home, then wander over to another bar, where we have a rather engaging debate about Kate Bush, Tori Amos, and Parker Posey. The night ends. I have consumed one beer and some ketchup-smothered fries, and I am quite relaxed as I take Muni to BART to the downtown Oakland taxi stand....

Tenth lesson: Taxis are addictive.

Monday, 7 Oct___

*DMV. I had made an appointment to get a replacement driver license, since (a) I've tried fruitlessly to update my address via internet and by mail, with no results, (b) I'm tired of having to show a picture of me-at-16-years-old to ID-checkers, who squint and stare at me to establish a resemblance, and (c) it's preferable to doing any grad-school/career/cleaning work at home. I take a bus to the DMV, which I'm sure has a vein of irony shot through it somewhere, but let's not dawdle.

As I'm sitting on the bus, the man in front of me puts his elbow atop the back of the seat next to him and scratches the back of his head with his (rather long) nails. Right in my face is a...giant wound--like someone stuck a meat cleaver between his radius and ulna and the resulting damage is just too wide to even consider stitching up. Of course I stare. It's grotesque, but not crippling. Suddenly, he turns around and asks "Do you have the time?" (It's 11:15.) He reeks of alcohol and sweat (I notice a paper-bagged bottle of something-or-other in his lap) and I wait for him to disembark. (The smell!) Thankfully, he does...but one stop before me. I get off and walk toward the DMV. At the last moment, I turn and see him lumbering toward the building. I feel weird.

After I take care of business, I head for the bus stop (preparing to go home at fix myself a nice, cheap unemployed lunch), then notice the Temescal Branch Library not 100 feet away. I capriciously make it a mission to see all the Oakland libraries in the near future, then head inside. Later, I wander out, sit of the bench, and crack open The Grapes of Wrath (you know already). A large form sits down on the bench next to me. "Do you have the time?" Same oddly singsong voice. (It's just after noon.) I can't look at him. When the bus comes, I make it a point to sit in a row not directly behind any open seats. I feel weird.

Afternoon. Watched TV and laid on the floor. It's so good.

Yoga. Went again. Much easier routine this time. Could see myself doing this more often.

Recursive? Spent the evening thinking about my week and sketching this thing.
peachy as always, Mike at 3:48 AM