Started out kind of meh, but things got better.
As you can see here:
I think I may go shopping tomorrow. Especially if it’s like this.
Truth be told, I’m not really feeling the whole Unicorn Chaser phenomenon, but it’s fucking Wednesday so here you go with the kyoot kittehs and assorted adorbz shit.
Snuggie-clad ProtoGay Performs Beyonce:
Seriously, The Thuggie should give that kid some money and backup dancers from Glee and shoot their own commercial. 105,000 views in ten days isn’t scruffy.
If that wasn’t gay enough, let’s have a Kiki!
Okay, your unicorn chaser cutemeister is officially outta here.
Time to get real. IF this internet will let me (Starbucks, we’re gonna have words, I tell ya; when Wind mobile is faster, you KNOW you’ve got a problem).
So, what did your intrepid blogger do yesterday, you’re all wondering? Yes? Put your plausible faces on, audience, I like a little effort on your part.
Which reminds me it’s time to get off the internet, jam some food down my gullet, and get my workout in for today. What did I do today? Pitched four stories or five, can’t remember, wrote up the John Young interview, revised it, waited…waited…waited, went and got my other blog posts up.
because I’m too tired to look it up, having been awake since Tuesday. And why? Well, part of the reason was that I started a new job at the Daily Dot (and another part of the reason was that my laptop and iPod both conked out on me at the same time). But I got one if not both of them working again and got my story filed and another two to boot, one of which is doing so well the YouTube counter is stuck, which means it’s going up faster than YouTube can count at the moment, which is yay, go me for featuring such a charming and powerful video of Occupy Vancouver.
Which I shall do again here:
It was a bit of a relief to spend so long NOT dealing with trolls, concern or otherwise. But you know what they say…
So, just to double-check, as there is every possibility I may be headed to LA to house-sit for a friend, come February which, I don’t care what April says, really is the cruellest month. Have I made the right choice of career (all others having rejected me out of hand, but that’s their loss HATERS GONNA HATE AMIRITE)?
Let us ask the almighty Interweb:
You Should Be a Script Writer
You are verbal, witty, and expressive. You have probably always had a way with words.
You are intellectual and brainy. You are well read, and you will read anything you can get your hands on.You have a vivid imagination. You can create a whole new world inside your mind.
You love challenges, especially when they involve learning new things. You love to step outside your comfort zone.
via Vicki McLeod
I had the best costume today, even if the mask didn’t fit very well.
The best part was that when people at, say, Starbucks looked surprised and alarmed (and they did) I just said, “Well, we TOLD you to expect us!” and they’d laugh.
Didn’t get the pumpkin carved in time (Elvish characters are a bitch to make without a proper Elven Pumpkin Carving Dagger) so I guess I’ll be eating a lot of curry, soups, and pie [holla, Oxford Comma] in the near future. And even though I had no jack o’ lantern and the porch light was out, I did get a few kids showing up: one four year old Super Mario, one six year old witch, a three year old um something vampiric I guess, and two older kids around twelve, one dressed in civvies and the other at least halfheartedly tried with a boy scout uniform. I rooted through the kitchen in desperation and ended up giving out all the apples. Super Mario Boy, “Oh goody, I LOVE apples!” By the time I remembered the lowfat caramel dip (what do you dip in it, Jenny Craig?) I was all out of Trick or Treaters for this year.
Then the cats and I spent four hours watching the fireworks in the park behind the house. Yes. Four. Hours. Every time there was a pause the black cat would freak out and start frantically pawing at the glass to make it start again. The bizarre thing is, it worked Every. Single. Time. The other cat expressed himself more directly, by expressing himself over the rug which is, thank god, machine washable.
In other news of unholy manifestations, I see that He is risen at last.
That’s right, bitches: Cthulhu is back!
As you can clearly see from these before-and-after pictures of the Chao Phraya river, He has returned…to Thailand. Great, do you have any idea how much the airfare will be?
HE could be a little more considerate, knowmasayin’?
Keep your shoes on. You’ll see why.
In Vancouver, when we go into someone’s house, we generally take our shoes off; it’s something we probably picked up from Asia, and for those of us who don’t enjoy vacuuming, which is all right-thinking people if you axe me, it makes a great deal of sense.
Not in Yellowknife.
Judging completely by my own experience, for I cannot judge by anyone else’s, not being anyone else (except for icecoaster) and thus not having had their experiences, I would say not only don’t take your shoes off, but you might want to keep that jacket handy as well, and not just because it’s getting chilly lately.
In case you’re unfamiliar with the history of my Great Yellowknife Adventure, here is some background which should fill you in, right up to the present moment. You may want to keep a sick bag handy as well; I don’t make up the facts, I just report them.
So…in Vancouver I live in a co-op, which is both extremely well-situated and extremely affordable, my earnings since I got sick last fall being of the minimal variety, and co-op rates being tied to income. When people ask why my earnings have been minimal, I explain that being self-employed and having to take several months off for health reasons, then, while recovering, jumping back into a market where social media trainers outnumber social media students by a ratio of about two to one is precisely what I believe Forbes defines as your basic “challenging business environment.” So, earnings being minimal, and Vancouver being somewhat less enchanting of late for various and sundry (although, alas, not tawdry; that would be more entertaining) reasons, I cast my eye abroad. Or along. Or above.
And ended up in Yellowknife. My friend Nancy, whom I met on Twitter, sent me a message that Kellett Communications was looking for a digital project manager. We chatted via Skype, they checked me out on LinkedIn, and after a few back and forths they came back and said they’d hired someone with more direct project management experience, but would I be interested in coming up and learning it while they built up the social media side? Well, given the chance to start basically the first social media agency in the NWT, I said Yes! Well duh, of COURSE I did. There’s nothing someone who’s good at something hates so much as not doing that thing, and god knows, I wasn’t doing it in Vancouver, but Yellowknife was like stepping back to, say 2002 in Vancouver in terms of social media: everything was just about to start happening. An awesome opportunity, and while I was up there, I could get involved with a nonprofit or even start my own, bringing the power of the digital revolution to remote communities just as I had to the homeless and the marginalized on Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside.
I got a start date (which I managed to miss by a day: my own damn fault for not allowing enough time at the airport, yes, even at 5am) and a sublet; the sublet was amazingly handy. Four blocks from work, fully furnished, and (for Yellowknife) a good price. I should explain something: a good price for Yellowknife is approximately what a Yaletown condo would cost. This is not a place that one could describe as “reasonable” by any means. Or on any level: read on.
The sublet was courtesy of a commenter on Crasstalk, and she’d be gone from June through to the start of October, which was perfect, as I’d know by mid-September whether or not the job would be a go; after you’ve been self-employed since the last century, going back to working for someone else is a big adjustment, and so it proved. Over and over and over again, but more of that anon…
All was going swimmingly for a couple-three weeks, or as swimmingly as anything can go when it involves me waking up before the crack of noon, when I got an email from the woman from whom I was subletting: things weren’t working out down South, she was coming back. Hokay then: we briefly considered her subletting my co-op in Vancouver but:
So. Back she was coming and what was I going to do about it? Well, as it happens I stayed on the futon in her living room till, with Nancy‘s help, I found a shared house with a sympatico-seeming hippie type at a wicked good price for Yellowknife, and arranged to move in August 1. When we parted I said, “So, unless I hear something from you that everything’s gone sideways,” for lo, I am way cautious, verily dudes. For that carpet has been pulled out from my feet already here in YZF, as you can conclude from the above and if you can’t, take some smart pills and read it again, but where was I? Oh yes, “we’re on for the first of August, right?” She nodded and said, “right,” and we were in business.
There I am, trundling up the walkway to the door. There Nancy is, leaning against her mother’s car, ready to help me with my things. And there the hippie is, walking out the door towards me with a shit-eating grin on her face…take it away, icecoaster:
Oh, guess what. Sorry I didn’t get back to you. I’ve been offline. Camping, actually. So you couldn’t have gotten in touch with me but, anyway, when I didn’t hear from you I just, you know, sort of figured I’d just go ahead and change my mind. Sorryyyyyy. So, yeah.
It’s a good thing I’ve been scouting out charities to volunteer for, because at least I am well-informed about homeless shelter options in Yellowknife.
There I am, beavering away (does not mean what you think it means; you have a dirty mind. That’s why I like you) at Kellett, doggedly learning that Project Management isn’t my favorite thing in the world but oh well, it must be done. And there I am, doing it. Right there on the lunch table. Because I don’t really have a desk, but that’s another story; well, I have a desk, but it’s in the boardroom, which is down the stairs, down the sidewalk a couple of doors, up some other stairs, and down the hall, but that’s neither here nor there, not either desk which I have.
Make that had a desk.
I get an email from the boss: could I come and see him for about 15 minutes? Sure, of course I can; I may be newish to this “employment” thing, but if there’s one thing I know it’s when the boss says, “could you” you say YES. So I said Yes and was even on time when I got there and when I got there he laid me off.
“Not enough social media work, sorry.”
And then he clarified that, no, he wouldn’t be getting me a ticket back to Vancouver.
Being efficient-like, I went back and packed up my lunch supplies and papers and such (although dammit, I did forget that fresh new case of mini-yogurts in the fridge, and when you’re homeless anything you don’t have to heat up is bonus points) and went back to the place I was couch-surfing until I found a house-sit, and emailed the co-op, figuring, not unreasonably, that they would revise their estimation of the housing charges.
No such luck: because I was employed on August 1 (the holiday) I had to pay over $700 for the Vancouver place. Which wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t also had to pay $1400 for the Yellowknife place in July. Between the two of them, my housing charges for the four weeks I was employed exceeded my net pay by a significant amount. And that’s why I can’t just buy my own ticket back to Vancouver.
Today I got an email that because they don’t yet have the ROE from Kellett proving that I was laid off, my housing charges for September are also over $700.
Ah, but there’s more, if you’re still with me. And if you’re not with me, you’re agin me, as old people with single tooths in their heads are wont to say. Why would anyone wont to say that, though? I ask yez.
So. Thanks again to Nancy, I got a really good house-sitting gig for most of August: handy to stores, three stories, jacuzzi, cushy sofa, big tv, lynxes walking down the driveway. Sweet. After that gig ended, the deal was, I stay with Nancy a few days, house-sitting while she was down South, and then on September 1 I crash on my friend’s futon; this was the place I’d originally sublet. She felt bad enough for me to let me crash there for a few weeks until I fly back to Vancouver on the 18th for Social Media Week.
Cut to today.
I open my email and there, in #000000 and #FFFFFF, it is: the email that says Sorry, you can’t stay here.
Indeed. Apparently I cannot.