I Don't Mean To Go Off On A Rant Here...

In my experiences over the past five months, I have found that Chicago is an incredible city and the ideal inhabitancy for my own particular disposition. I thouroughly enjoy the elation of living in a bustling metropolis. Only in a city of Chicago's magnitude can a resident fulfill their desire for Vietnamese cuisine, have their hair attended to by an Italian barber and pop-in at a Mexican grocery to obtain a weeks supply of carnitas and tamales- pivotal components to a proper diet (consult the food pyramid)- all on the same block. Whether it is the diversity or out of necessity, this city has been maticulously designed for the lazy and the picky, two characteristics that define my existence.

However, Chicago's strengths can often double as weaknesses. Take for example Chicago's mass-transit system.

The trains, buses and cabs all operate for one simple purpose- to take you where you need to go. They are in business to make our lives easier. For this reason I am grateful to have a system like this in place. It is a convenience to not be required to own and operate a motor vehicle, it is a delight to have reliable transportation during unreliable weather and is it a god-damned thing of beauty to have a cab waiting for you as you exit/stumble from a bar. Unfortunately, it is when the system complicates matters and fails to keep me happy that I question its convenience.

Briefly, this is what annoys me most about the mass-transit system:

I cannot understand the people who pay over two dollars to take the bus less than three blocks. This is incredible. My own personal research has found that the bus is the preferred method of travel by Chicago's overly-obese population. Not only should the overweight be required to walk to and from the grocery store to obtain their Snickers bars, they should have to take it one step further (literally) and walk a lap or two. Try strolling around without a purpose or destination, it's been known to happen. Take it slow for now, we'll talk jogging later.

When people eat on the train, why is it always McDonalds? I'm already trying to ignore the stench of the homeless guy eight rows up, I don't need your whatever-piece McNugget meal thrown into the mix.

If an Ethiopian cabbie ever tries to explain to me the proper method for hailing a cab and then scoffs at the tip he receives ever again, I am worried that my reaction may warrant handcuffs. You pulled over when I flagged you down, did you not? You benefited monitarily from my travel, did you not? You were the one that initiated the verbal assualt, I just decided to finish it.

Those are my complaints, for now. How therapeutic.

The Thanksgiving

The game has drastically changed. The other week, with no bluff required, I confidently decided to go all-in. Since my last blog posting the ante has officially been upped.

The interview that transpired on the eighth floor of a highrise along East Ontario Street apparently faired me well. I boldly and definitively say this because, as it happens to be, I write this particular posting from the comfort of my very own cubicle. I cannot begin to express how fulfilled this internship opportunity makes me feel. Although I will be taking on several important tasks and putting in many hours staring at the cubicle walls around me, I have peace of mind. I am at ease because I realize that much like the views of the Chicago cityscape outside these office windows, my future is equally attractive. I cannot complain. The work is rewarding, the clients are interesting and the lunch is free-that's one hell of a hat trick.

I look forward to other opportunities that this internship may bring. Everyday that I take the train downtown I know that things are looking up.

As for now it is time to jet. In honor of the short workday, I have decided to cut this posting short as well.

You gotta' love the corporate pre-holliday half-days.

The Transplant Makes His Move: Part Deux

Within the past hour I have checked my gmail account nearly 100 times.

Now ask me why.

I am looking for what nearly nine and a half percent of the population of the United States are looking for. I am hoping to find, boldly displayed in my inbox, an e-mail which reads, "Congratulations. You're Hired!" Only a notice of such magnitude could motivate a man like me to check his e-mail account at such an alarming rate. I am not wasting my time. I should note that unlike most unemployed Americans, I could potentially receive an e-mail much like the one previously mentioned.

Yesterday, around 1p.m., I took the Red Line south into the heart of the city. On the eighth floor of a high-rise somewhere along East Ontario Street I put my future on the line. Yesterday, November 10, 2009, I sat down to my first career-minded interview. I attended this absurdly important consultation in hopes of becoming the newest intern at a certain boutique public relations firm. Donning a sharply pressed shirt and sweaty palms, I fired off the answers to all the usual questions. At the time of the interview, I did not realize the significance of the situation. While I sat in an unfamiliar surrounding, I failed to grasp the fact that this could finally provide entrance to the real-world. As I collected my thoughts and carefully mapped out the direction of my responses, I did not comprehend where this process could take me. It's only now while looking back on the ordeal that I realize I did well. Whew.

Though the internship opportunity may go to someone else, I am thankful to have gotten that first oh-so-important interview under my belt. The excitement of the interview has rejuvenated my ambitions. It has reminded me why I, along with my loving, intelligent, dedicated, funny and beautiful girlfriend (and our lazy, clumsy, crack-head-of-a-Neapolitan Mastiff) moved to Chicago in the first place.* We three moved to the Third Coast to begin the rest of our lives. If I actually performed half as well as I thought I had at that office on the eighth floor of a high-rise along East Ontario Street then it can be ascertained that the rest of our lives will be fulfilling, adventurous.

As for now I must complete this blog posting. After all, I need to check my gmail account for the 101st time.

*Actually, our lazy, clumsy, crack-head-of-a-Neapolitan Mastiff just came along for the ride. He's easygoing like that.

The Transplant Makes His Move

I had a revelation the other day. It was not a good one.

This past weekend, as I apathetically combined Heinz57 bottles in a effort of consolidation, it was sadly revealed to me that I was dissatisfied with my life. Scratch that. I was not bothered with my life, but rather my career. I needed to make a healthy change. I felt as though I were waist deep in quicksand. I knew I had two options-I could freak-out and suffocate on sand and earth or I could calmly reach for that conveniently placed tree branch. I decided on the latter. This blog is my conveniently placed tree branch.

Nearly a year ago I put college behind me. Armed with nothing but a Bachelors degree in Journalism I set out for battle. My formidable opponent (economic recession) clearly had the upper-hand, or so my commencement speaker persuasively informed me. My plan was to hit the ground running, take no prisoners, you know, that sort of thing. After all when the going gets tough, the tough gets going, right? Wrong. I did nothing for months. I waited tables, I slept in and I grew dissatisfied. Then I realized I had had enough and I moved to the greatest city in the midwest-Chicago.

For almost three months things were grand, or so they appeared. It wasn't until the great Heinz57 incident of '09 that I realized I had been demoted. No longer was I waiting tables, I was bussing tables. Instead of pouring wine I found myself pouring water. I was no longer serving salads and steaks, but instead dishing out baskets of bread. As a certified journalist by the state of Missouri, I felt under-worked and under-appreciated. Then I realized I could do something about it.

On that day a fire was re-lit in my stomach. I made a promise to myself to stay sharp and stay focussed. I decided to begin searching for different employment and internship opportunities. I vowed to begin writing more frequently, even at times when I know that no one will read my work. At one time I yearned to write for an advertising or public relations firm. Today I know that my ambitions can be reached.

Soon I will prove my worth. Not long from now I will be where I belong. And as a safety precaution, I write this blog to keep me out of the quicksand.