Validation
In the last two days I have received a couple of private complimentary emails from faculty members in the JMC department. They were in regards to the public email debates that I had recently on the JMC email reflector. It's nice to know I'm not alone.
Last night I also met the girl with whom I had the previous email spat regarding my office door politics op-ed. We have a class together, but I was not aware because I was sick last week and missed class. I don’t know if she likes me as a person—nor do I really care, although I prefer to be liked than disliked—but as usual I made a few humorous comments in class last night, and she found one of them particularly funny. While she was laughing we looked at each other and I said softly, “See, I’m not so bad.” She kept laughing and nodded her head.
Currently I am working on my column. It’s about the Hamas victory. I will also be sending in a photograph of myself along with the article, so by next week I’ll have my very own column—a long time desire of mine—with a (hopefully) nice picture of me next to it. Again, it will be called “Hoc et Illud.”
I submitted my application for a general assignment reporter position for a nearby small-time daily newspaper. Last Friday I had the interview and I think it went well. If I am offered the job I will have to take a drug test within 24 hours. I stopped smoking pot since a week from last Sunday, and I purchased a supposedly reputable cleansing product. But I am at peace with the possibility of failing the drug test. I think drug testing is a despicable, anti-American policy. It is a total invasion of one’s privacy. The irony is that should they offer me the job above all of the other candidates—and should I fail the drug test—the company will end up getting the second best person for the job. Just because I smoke a joint on Tuesday nights with my buddy, or have a bong hit after bar-time on the weekend, has no barring on my ability to be a good journalist and employee.
Oh well. We shall see. If I fail the test I might consider aggressively pursuing a “career” of freelancing. Then I’ll be my own boss. But I won’t have health insurance, and it might take some time before I can earn a living wage doing it. For some reason, though, I feel impervious to any setbacks; I feel like other than learning that a loved one is dying, or that I am terminally ill, nothing can get me down these days.
Drug testers of America—FUCK YOU, you invasive pigs.
Last night I also met the girl with whom I had the previous email spat regarding my office door politics op-ed. We have a class together, but I was not aware because I was sick last week and missed class. I don’t know if she likes me as a person—nor do I really care, although I prefer to be liked than disliked—but as usual I made a few humorous comments in class last night, and she found one of them particularly funny. While she was laughing we looked at each other and I said softly, “See, I’m not so bad.” She kept laughing and nodded her head.
Currently I am working on my column. It’s about the Hamas victory. I will also be sending in a photograph of myself along with the article, so by next week I’ll have my very own column—a long time desire of mine—with a (hopefully) nice picture of me next to it. Again, it will be called “Hoc et Illud.”
I submitted my application for a general assignment reporter position for a nearby small-time daily newspaper. Last Friday I had the interview and I think it went well. If I am offered the job I will have to take a drug test within 24 hours. I stopped smoking pot since a week from last Sunday, and I purchased a supposedly reputable cleansing product. But I am at peace with the possibility of failing the drug test. I think drug testing is a despicable, anti-American policy. It is a total invasion of one’s privacy. The irony is that should they offer me the job above all of the other candidates—and should I fail the drug test—the company will end up getting the second best person for the job. Just because I smoke a joint on Tuesday nights with my buddy, or have a bong hit after bar-time on the weekend, has no barring on my ability to be a good journalist and employee.
Oh well. We shall see. If I fail the test I might consider aggressively pursuing a “career” of freelancing. Then I’ll be my own boss. But I won’t have health insurance, and it might take some time before I can earn a living wage doing it. For some reason, though, I feel impervious to any setbacks; I feel like other than learning that a loved one is dying, or that I am terminally ill, nothing can get me down these days.
Drug testers of America—FUCK YOU, you invasive pigs.
posted by semite1973 at 10:06 AM
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