Writing is like a sport. Without proper training and practice, you really start to suck at it. The only type of written work I’ve completed since graduation in May has been along the lines of: “Attached you will find my resume, cover letter, and writing samples. I may provide references upon request.” I have been applying to various jobs like crazy ever since moving to New York about a month ago, which is really a full-time job in itself. It’s a tedious and winding road, but it’s also the only route to my final destination. So here I am–hopefully on my way.
For those interested in knowing (and I’m assuming you are, otherwise why would you be reading this?) I have begun my editorial internship with NYLON and have started waitressing at this quaint pizzeria in Brooklyn not far from where I live. For the moment, holding my breath, life is good. I’m busy and tired, but I deposit my singles into the bank the following day with a pride that only servers and strippers can understand. I say to myself: Bitch, I earned my money! Of course I then go and buy some frock to don. Some people, like my father, may think of this as an unnecessary expense. You’d be wrong though. It’s like I tell people, such as my father, that clothes are just little investments into my future career. More importantly though, above all else, new clothes just make me feel better. I could have a worse addiction. Am I wrong here?
I have several more things I want to talk about right now but can’t because I have to go to work in thirty minutes. I’ll give you a quick “dirt sandwich”-like preview though (only in writing and not by video): man shaving on subway, new Russians: a.k.a “my family”, one-eyed cab driver, first Brooklyn Heights experience=a good one.