Carnegie Hall

02-27-00

Each of the past three days I've begun an entry, only to shuck it and go to bed. I've posted a bit for yesterday just because it was funny.

It seems like every entry I write begins with "Gee, sorry for not updating in the last three days. I'm a big loser, huh huh." I need to cut that out.

The truth of it is, I haven't been feeling all that well this weekend. I've begun to hate my job. I hate that. This time is really bad; the dogs just bark bark bark and tiny things irritate me. I almost walked out yesterday. And I ate some Chinese food Friday (leftovers Saturday morning) that didn't sit well with my digestive system. I feel gross.

I did have an interview Friday, but things aren't as good as they originally sounded. I don't have the job yet, but the owner wants to hire someone as an independent contractor. Her reason? Since it's an organizational position, it would include payroll duties. And the person hired would be the only person on the payroll, it would be less hassle just to pay the straight wage and let that person take care of the taxes on their return.

The problem? She wasn't planning to hire someone whose father is a tax specialist. I know all about her little "hassle." It's called Social Security. Social Security taxes are something like 15.3%, half paid by the employEE and half paid by the employER. As an independent contractor, I'd have to pay the entire amount myself, as well as regular income taxes and a few residual taxes that are normally covered by the employER. That would be around 25% of my income, smacked right to the good old IRS. Ms. Financial-Service-"It's Such A Hassle!"-Owner would pay nothing but my hourly wage. If it was a great job that I really wanted, I could deal. If I really needed a job, I could take it. But this is just another stop on my railroad-train-to-something-better. If she calls me with an offer tomorrow, we'd have to renegotiate. Raising my hourly wage by ten percent would just about cover the slack.

In any case, I had to tell her that I have three vacations/out-of-town jobs planned in the next few months. I'm going to Florida and Michigan in April, and I'm headed for Oregon in the summer, if the airfares can be worked out. Interviewers don't really like to hear that you're going to be taking four weeks of vacation within the first five months you're employed. So if she calls me, fine. If not, I'll keep looking. I can't do the dog thing much longer without killing a dog, a boss, or myself.

Besides the barking and the shit, I'm getting really frustrated at work. By little, anal things. I am in charge of laundry. I do laundry all day. When it's clean, I fold it and stack it (obsessively) in an empty dog cage. I stack all the big towels separately from the little towels, and the sheets are folded neatly (let's talk about a pain in the ass!) I am very picky about my laundry stacks. Every time Sherrie or Aida comes to the back for a towel, which is roughly every half hour, they tip over at least one of my stacks so they can get to the towel they want. Which is, invariably, on the bottom. They don't fix the stacks when they leave. Sometimes they'll accidentally knock one onto the floor (and leave it there,) where it soaks up hose water and various doggy germs and has to be washed again.

When they drop off dirty towels to be washed, they don't put them in the basket. They drop them on the floor. Sherrie usually piles them by the washer. I think that's what she did when my job was hers, so I haven't let myself get too upset by it. But Aida will open the door and toss the towels just inside, where they're in the way and likely to get sprayed with the hose. I'm going insane. I stopped picking up the wet towels; I leave them on the floor where Aida threw them.

That will last about half a day, until she notices them and asks me to pick them up. Well, fuck this job. I hate it. Fuck it.

John and I went to see Wonder Boys yesterday. It's fun watching movies that are set in places I recognize. I suppose if I lived in New York or someplace I'd be used to it. As it is, I have a blast watching ER, since it's set in Chicago; I've sort of considered Chicago to be my city. Growing up in lower Michigan means you don't see your hometown on the screen too often. Movies with Detroit are interesting, but Detroit's not the most appetizing place to hang out. Pretty ugly. But Pittsburgh, ahh. I love Pittsburgh. Most of my dad's family lives there, and John went to college there, so both of us know the city pretty well. Pittsburgh rules.

Parts of Wonder Boys were shot in Carnegie Music Hall. That's pronounced "car-NEG-ie." Don't ask me why—CarNEGie Music Hall in Pittsburgh and CARnegie Hall in New York were named for the same person, but Pittsburghians are kinda weird in the accent department. Many of them refer to Pittsburgh as "Picksburg." No kidding. They live there.

Carnegie Music Hall is a gorgeous auditorium where many of the local high schools and universities stage their music concerts and awards ceremonies. My dad sang in choir in high school, and likes to tell people that he's performed in Carnegie Hall. John is telling me right now that he played a euphonium concerto in Carnegie Music Hall. (Ahem...so?) I heard one of the bands at Duquesne University rehearse there one afternoon, but I've never performed in CarNEGie Music Hall.

I have, however, performed in CARnegie Hall. The Symphony Band at UofM toured the east coast my senior year, and we finished up in New York. Now that's a hall. The lighting is soft and warm, not harsh like so many spotlighted stages. The music chairs are comfy. The stands stay up. The dressing rooms are quiet. Half the band members—including John—called home from the dressing room phones, just so "Carnegie Hall" would show up on their caller-ID. The sound was gorgeous, the balance was perfect, and the karma was unbelievable. Professor Reynolds, the conductor, amused us all by buying hats and T-shirts in the gift shops that said, "I've Played CARNEGIE HALL!!!!!" and "You haven't made it until you've played CARNEGIE HALL!!!!!" That was easily the best performance of my life. No kidding.