Employment, un-

I quit Metropolis today. That one day a week was just too much for me. Really it's because of the now intolerable amount of unprofessional bullshit that is inherent in arts administration. I've encountered it every where I go, from Flower to Windy City, and thought that I would escape it in a fucking NPO school, but even though I am only putting in 6 hours a week, I still cannot get away from it. It's just an inherent facet in the arts industry. And of course, it's driven from the inability for these organizations to actually make a decent buck. So, whenever some program or some individual overly invested in their position reduces their professionalism to dressing relatively nicely every day but is not above debasing a "lower" employee, swearing or even crying, these even relatively meager cash cows (calves, really) are placated to any requested degree by the other individuals in the organization so they can protect their own interests. These companies are entirely run by some of the most selfish and individually-oriented people that this American world can manufacture: the failed actor/dancer/musician turned teacher turned administrator. It's every fucking man for himself and any considerate dedication or motivation for the betterment of the organization or just simple kindness from normal people is considered a weakness, and is thoroughly exploited.

I have, for a year now, made a 40 - 90 minute commute twice every day to put 40+ hours of hard and creative underpaid work without any health benefits at all only to never get a raise and then eventually get laid off. And then, when our fiscal farm animal discovers they really need that extra administrative help that was shouted out of the office, is this dedication rewarded? Is karma consciously realized? No. No matter how much rope I extend to this company, how much benefit of the doubt I suffer, how much fucking time and concentrated effort I shit into this flushing toilet, I receive nothing but a giant dick-covered middle finger in my face. Because entitlement is worn like skin in arts administration and the dollar gets whatever it wants. Because the inability of others to remain professional in an entirely business situation is something I have to pay for. And I'm supposed to still come in every fucking Saturday at nine in the morning to answer the phone four times in six hours. Remember this kids, in arts administration, working hard and caring about what you do and trying to make a difference means absolutely dick. Unless you bring the bling, you're just another douche bag kid with a BA and tattoos. Yeah man, good fucking luck.

Oh, but weren't all these well-connected and integral individuals supposed to get me a job elsewhere within this industry? Oh, does that just mean once a month you send me a link to an administrative assistant position that I already applied for three weeks ago? Oh, you don't know anyone who works anywhere else within the industry? You just have a computer? Cool. Me too.

I got a job at a dog kennel. Because I used to work with one of the guys who works there. This is my hook-up. Javier, who taught me to swear in Spanish and calls me "Yefferson Park". Who looks exactly like Cheech. Who saw me driving one day, pulled up next to me and said, of our old boss, "Maureen, (makes gun with forefinger and thumb and puts it to his temple) she blow her brains out." This is who is helping me. This hilarious, kind-hearted, dedicated individual who loves working with dogs. Fuck my education, my talent, my experience, my motivation, my dedication, and all the fucking hours that I wasted trying to contribute what I know I can to the industry of the one thing in the world that I can't live without: music. All because I'm not someones brother's cousin or take it in the ass. All because I'm a fucking professional. I'm just going to surround myself with a bunch of stinky-ass shed machines owned by those self-important assholes because they have better things to do that clean up dogshit. But those constantly-grinning tongue-faces wouldn't want anything else, so at this point, surrounding myself with unconditional love instead of self-righteous disrespect might be a welcome change.

Mom, I'm sorry that you put so much money into an education that means about as much as a second dick. I'll give this poetry bullshit a go, but chances are I'm going to be one of those really weird dog-people for the rest of my life. God dammit. Those are such gross, sad people. I definitely need to get married before that happens. To anyone. Just so I won't be so terrifyingly lonely.

So, who's up for it?