I own a business. As a result, I routinely hear from people who wonder if we're hiring. Problem is, most of them don't have the slightest idea how to search for a job, and as a result they do it quite wretchedly.
Some of the lowlights include:
•The person who walked in, looked around, said, "They still make this shit?" And then in all seriousness came up to the counter and said "Are you hiring?"
•The fellow who asked "Are you hiring? My parole officer said I need to get a job."
•The surly young man who said, "You wouldn't hire me, would you?"
•The flighty young woman who came in with her coterie of friends (all of whom rearranged merchandise for us), asked if we'd hire her, and then said, "If you do, all of my friends will come in with me every day!"
Here's the basic fact, folks: If you're applying for a job, you need to realize that you already have a job, and that job is selling yourself. If you don't make yourself as desirable an employee as possible, you've already failed at your first job.
Try dressing for the job. Don't come in wearing dirty clothes, offensive clothes, trashy clothes, exercise clothes, wifebeater shirts, baggy shorts, risque clothes, or with garish piercings or tattoos evident. It says, right off the bat, that you value your comfort and your personal statement more than any job.
Tell me what in the world you have to offer that might make you worth cash. A business isn't a charity; I need to know how I'm going to make money on my investment in you.
Have some idea what we do.
Don't make demands prior to even being given an interview. "I don't work weekends" is an exit strategy, not a entrez into a job interview.
Don't assume that telling me I have the best comic shop on earth is going to get you a job or even an interview.
Identify yourself. Sending me an email with an address like perv3000@hotmail.com or bigsexy@yahoo.com isn't going to win me over. It's even less likely to win me over when that email is my first contact with you, and you don't even fully identify yourself in the email.
Another hint: I don't ever hire from an email.
If you're not following these rules, it's no wonder you're not finding a job.
Tuesday, February 08, 2011
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Why I'm not driving an Equus today...
First off, I wasn't allowed to drive it. Since they had only this one for sale and had not gotten a demo car yet, I could only sit in the parking lot and test out various aspects of the vehicle. I've never bought a car that I wasn't allowed to drive at all prior to purchase, so that was off-putting, to say the least. Perhaps if I had insisted, I would have been able to drive the car, but I definitely go the feeling that it would have taken some pushiness on my part to get that car moving off the lot, and I didn't feel like being pushy... wasn't really sure that I should have to, either. It goes against the customer-oriented luxury nature of the vehicle.
I did get to test out the driver's seat, passenger seat, and rear luxury seat. The driver's seat was fine (although a headrest angle adjustment would be nice... all it has now is a headrest elevation control), although the massage feature was less soothing than aggravating--almost as bad as having someone slowly pressing on the seat from behind. Didn't do anything for me.
The passenger seat does have height adjustment as well as angle adjustment and forward/backward movement (there was some rumor out there that the height was fixed), but it does not have lumbar adjustment or leg support adjustment.
The rear "luxury seat" is, to be kind, an absolute disaster. Unless you earn your living pointing at the sky and saying "zee plane, boss, zee plane!" or questing for the one ring to rule them all, then this seat is entirely too cramped to be of any comfort with the legrest elevated. I tried pushing myself as far back into the seat as possible, but even with the front seat moved forward to its maximum, I either had to bend my feet sideways or press them against the back of the front passenger's seat and leave dusty footprints. Even then, it wasn't at all comfortable. The features are nice, but the seat simply doesn't work in the space allotted for it unless you're about 5'2" or less.
The iPod control is improved but I'd only give it a B-. You can connect an iPod, then say "iPod" and "random songs" to randomize on the fly. However, if you change input to anything else (XM, FM, etc.) and come back, you have to randomize again. The DIS displays an iPod symbol and the track number on the center of the dash when you're in iPod mode--not the title, mind you, but the track number, which tells you nothing. And as is the case with the Genesis, if you leave the iPod display (to go to map, for instance) and come back, it no longer shows you the artist/album/song info about the current track playing--you have to go through a cumbersome system of finding the playlist once again, then looking at the screen for the track number and maneuvering your way to that track. Since I was randomizing an 800 song playlist when I was testing it, I found that the track being played was 534, and it would have taken way too long to maneuver my way through that many tracks.
The bass seems stronger and punchier than on the 2009 Genesis--but conversely, the treble seems a little more subdued, giving it almost a Bose-like sound quality (and I'm aware that Bose isn't well respected by a lot of audiophiles, but I"m not saying that as a negative--I don't mind the Bose sound in the Acura RL, for instance--but I didn't feel that this system had the full resonance of the Lexicon in my 2009 Genesis). Surround separation and processing was superb except for one little glitch. I have an Acura TL demo disc that begins with a Doobie Brothers Song--first in two-channel sound, then in 5.1 surround DVD-A sound. That disc plays fine in the Acura, plays fine in the 2009 Genesis, plays fine in the 2011 Genesis they had loaned me at one point... but on the Equus, it would NOT play the stereo track. It went dead silent on that track, even though the timer was counting down. Once it got to the 5.1 version, the sound came right back on. Led me to wonder if I might have similar problems with other discs.
No A2DP streaming bluetooth audio--an odd omission that underscores the general impression that the audio, NAV, and DIS tech is years old. It contradicts the contemporary, cutting-edge luxury attitude that Hyundai seems to be trying to convey with its iPad owner's manual and other touches.
The doors definitely do not have auto-closing feature, as I had been warned would likely be the case. That's a shame; they actually had to remove this feature for the American market, since it's included in the Korean version of the car.
Nav system looked like the Genesis system--although since I couldn'td drive the car, I didn't get a chance to put it through its paces. I also didn't have time to check out voice commands in the manual to determine it destination entry is any easier. Wish that Hyundai would include that part of the manual in their iPad app--the audio and DIS/NAV system section is totally missing, however. I'd need more time to explore the NAV interface, and that would require being able to drive the car. Right now, the NAV interface in the Genesis is so cumbersome that it's almost unusable.
Front camera had a good field of vision; I could see objects well not only in front, but off to each side. Not sure how useful this would be, since I've never had a driving situation that led me to think, "Boy, I wish I had a little camera mounted on the snout of my car."
Coolbox is very compact; I suspect it would hold a six-pack of canned beverages, but didn't have anything with me to test it out. There are two storage compartments between the two rear seats that seem a bit too high to be comfortably accessible, but they're still nice to have.
The rear DVD has to be moved into position manually--an oddity in a field where most DVD screens automatically raise and lower themselves. All in all, the picture was fair to adequate--but the display on various Acura, Honda, Toyota, and Nissan vehicles I've sampled with rear-seat DVD screens was brighter and more vivid.
Motorized rear sunshades worked nicely, but that's not a feature that means much to me. If it's important to you, you'll be happy.
Fit and finish quality seemed very respectable; at first I thought the paint had an orange-peel look, but that turned out to be the play of light off the heavily-metal-flaked paint finish.
What led me to pass on the Ultimate? Well, not driving it was a big factor. Having to wait for a half an hour to see the car after having made the appointment five days earlier was an inconvenience since I was on a tight schedule, but not a deal-breaker; I do hope that the vehicle prep team can keep to schedule a little better in the future, though, because it's always disappointing to wait a half an hour when you have a specific appointment time.
Ultimately (no pun intended) I just didn't feel that there was $65K+ of car there. Since the stereo system/DIS system is under a 3 year warranty, it would cost from $689 to $1700 to extend that to 5 or 10 years--and with the many problems that DIS has had for Genesis drivers, I wouldn't feel comfortable without that extension. (Woodstock Hyundai threw that in at no charge on my 2009 Genesis.)
The price differential was made even more noticeable by a very low trade-in offer on a 2009 Genesis with 10,500 miles. The car has been garaged continually when not driven and is in impeccable shape, but the offer came in at almost $5000 under Kelly Blue Book trade-in value.
The absence of a Hyundai Circle discount (which was once rumored, but was confirmed by Hyundai as NOT being offered for the Equus after all) left me in a situation where I was going to have to write a check for almost $10K more than I would have hoped. And even at the price I had originally hoped, I just didn't feel that I was going to get my money's worth. I could not have seen myself closing this deal unless the drive-out price after trade-in had been $10k less than what was offered to me, including a warranty on the DIS. That sounds like I'm pipe-dreaming, but bear in mind that if I had been offered Kelly Blue Book trade-in value and had the Hyundai Circle pricing been offered as many of us thought it was going to be, I would have had the car for $10,000 to $11,000 less than what was quoted to me at Ed Voyles.
I haven't cancelled my deposit with Ed Voyles; I've asked them to let me know when they have a Signature edition that I can actually drive, and then I'll see how I feel about it. But right now, The Equus strikes me as a missed opportunity; had Hyundai actually designed a luxury car for the American market rather than shoehorning a Korean car (with Korean-buyer-focused features) into the American market, it could have been a real winner.
(One more piece of advice, Hyundai: you might want to avoid announcing improvements to the Equus and the Genesis even before the current Equus is available. I saw the announcement that the Equus would get a 5.0L V8 and an 8-speed transmission even before the first Equus went on display in November; I saw just last week a report that the 2012 Genesis with the same engine and transmission might be available as early as the first quarter of 2011. It makes your very expensive flagship car seem tired and lackluster out of the gate when buyers are already told that both the Genesis and the Equus will have improved engines and transmissions but no, there will be no Hyundai Circle discount or other incentive to encourage early adopters to buy, drive, promote, and support the line.)
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Spin Is Job One
Comics have reflected political viewpoints pretty much as long as there have been comic books (Little Orphan Annie strongly reflected the Rooseveltian Depression-era politics of the 1930s, books such as Captain America captured the patriotic fervor of the war years, Superman always supported the American ideal). For the most part, though, the comics existed to tell an entertaining story, while the politics were secondary.That's not the case with Erich Origen & Gan Golan's The Adventures of Unemployed Man. The raison d'etre for this book is entirely political: Origen and Golan want to present a very left-slanted view of current economic conditions, and everything else is secondary. They're not telling a superhero story--they're presenting propaganda clothed in superhero tropes.
The result is a book that is so ham-fisted and unyielding in driving home its one-sided points that it fails to entertain. Even energetic artwork from such creators as Ramona Fradon, Rick Veitch, Michael Netzer, Thomas Yeates, and Shawn Martinbrough can't salvage a story whose only purpose is to perpetuate one-sided political views. The tone is overly strident throughout, and any opposing views are set up as paper tigers designed to be immediately knocked down.
In the hands of someone skilled at combining wit and history (Larry Gonick, for instance), Adventures of Unemployed Man might have had a chance. As it is, this is a book that can only appeal to those who agree with its politics--because ultimately, that's the only content that matters for the book's writers.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
A Man of Letters
It's no secret that I have been a comic book fan almost my entire life. Problem is, comic book fans are pretty widely scattered. While I knew people in West Rome who read comics (Gary Steele, Bobby Wear, Phil Patterson, John Ball, to name a few), few of my fellow comic book readers were as addicted to the medium as was I. Soon, though, I realized that many of those letters in the comic book letters columns had names and addresses attached, and I began writing to a few of those letter-writers whose opinions intrigued me. Even better, they wrote back.
By the time I was 13 years old, I had at least a dozen regular "pen pals" across the country with whom I exchanged letters regarding comics that we both enjoyed. These correspondents helped introduce me to the world of fanzines--amateur fan magazines published in small quantities for sale or trade to fellow fans. Many of those fanzines would send a free copy to anyone who wrote a letter that was published in the fanzine, so I began writing even more letters.
By 1968, it seemed like I was getting more mail at my parents' house than they were; rarely a day went by that I didn't have at least one or two letters in the mail. I even remember my amazement and excitement when, in 1969, I actually received a Sunday mail delivery from a correspondent who was so eager to get me a sample of his artwork that he paid huge sums to have some artwork and a letter delivered via whatever was 1969's precursor to Express Mail.
I would get very frustrated when I didn't get any mail at all, because the letters I wrote and received had become very important to me. One day, I became so aggravated that a letter I was awaiting had not arrived that I punched the door to my room--and imagine my chagrin when I discovered (the hard way) that the doors in our house were hollow! Lo and behold, I had punched a hole in the door! I tried to put a sticker over the hole to cover it up, by my sister Kimberly saw the hole before I covered it, and she poked a hole in the sticker to ensure that my parents saw the hole in the doorway. (My nephew and his wife now live in the house where I grew up; when they replaced the interior doors, they cut out that door panel with its hole and sticker fragments and gave it to me as a relic of my childhood).
Through the remainder of the 1960s and into the 1970s, I was a voluminous letter writer (or should I say "letter typist," since I always preferred to type letters rather than handwrite them). After Susan and I were married, we both continued to correspond with science fiction and comics fans, and remained involved in fanzines. As a result, we were pretty much on a first-name basis with the staff at the post office--not a surprise, considering how much of our disposable income was spent on postage!
Many of the fellow fans with whom I corresponded in my younger years have gone on to become professionals in the comics and/or SF field nowadays; it's surprising to realize that many of those correspondence friendships have outlasted a lot of my in-person friendships!
I write very few letters nowadays, though, preferring to use email. I still have a tendency of rambling on in my emails as if I were writing a regular letter, though; I never got the hang of short, pithy emails, I guess. Old habits die hard, though: I still rush to see what came in the mail each day (and thanks to my role as editor and publisher of a newsweekly in the comics field, I still get a lot of mail), and I spend too much time sorting through the 150-250 emails I get each day. Like regular mail, about half of those emails are junk or ads, but the others serve as a link between me and many of my correspondents!
I don't think that too many people today understand how important letters were in the pre-internet days; they served as my link to a much larger world made up of people who shared my interest, and helped me to feel a lot less isolated than would have otherwise been the case.
By the time I was 13 years old, I had at least a dozen regular "pen pals" across the country with whom I exchanged letters regarding comics that we both enjoyed. These correspondents helped introduce me to the world of fanzines--amateur fan magazines published in small quantities for sale or trade to fellow fans. Many of those fanzines would send a free copy to anyone who wrote a letter that was published in the fanzine, so I began writing even more letters.
By 1968, it seemed like I was getting more mail at my parents' house than they were; rarely a day went by that I didn't have at least one or two letters in the mail. I even remember my amazement and excitement when, in 1969, I actually received a Sunday mail delivery from a correspondent who was so eager to get me a sample of his artwork that he paid huge sums to have some artwork and a letter delivered via whatever was 1969's precursor to Express Mail.
I would get very frustrated when I didn't get any mail at all, because the letters I wrote and received had become very important to me. One day, I became so aggravated that a letter I was awaiting had not arrived that I punched the door to my room--and imagine my chagrin when I discovered (the hard way) that the doors in our house were hollow! Lo and behold, I had punched a hole in the door! I tried to put a sticker over the hole to cover it up, by my sister Kimberly saw the hole before I covered it, and she poked a hole in the sticker to ensure that my parents saw the hole in the doorway. (My nephew and his wife now live in the house where I grew up; when they replaced the interior doors, they cut out that door panel with its hole and sticker fragments and gave it to me as a relic of my childhood).
Through the remainder of the 1960s and into the 1970s, I was a voluminous letter writer (or should I say "letter typist," since I always preferred to type letters rather than handwrite them). After Susan and I were married, we both continued to correspond with science fiction and comics fans, and remained involved in fanzines. As a result, we were pretty much on a first-name basis with the staff at the post office--not a surprise, considering how much of our disposable income was spent on postage!
Many of the fellow fans with whom I corresponded in my younger years have gone on to become professionals in the comics and/or SF field nowadays; it's surprising to realize that many of those correspondence friendships have outlasted a lot of my in-person friendships!
I write very few letters nowadays, though, preferring to use email. I still have a tendency of rambling on in my emails as if I were writing a regular letter, though; I never got the hang of short, pithy emails, I guess. Old habits die hard, though: I still rush to see what came in the mail each day (and thanks to my role as editor and publisher of a newsweekly in the comics field, I still get a lot of mail), and I spend too much time sorting through the 150-250 emails I get each day. Like regular mail, about half of those emails are junk or ads, but the others serve as a link between me and many of my correspondents!
I don't think that too many people today understand how important letters were in the pre-internet days; they served as my link to a much larger world made up of people who shared my interest, and helped me to feel a lot less isolated than would have otherwise been the case.
Sunday, November 07, 2010
Things Are Different There...
Yesterday, I found myself in the area of Phipps Plaza in Buckhead. How long has it been since I last went to Phipps Plaza? Well, the last time I was there was when Susan and I joined Lanny, Brett, Charles, and some other friends at the showing of the Tim Burton Batman film...
Where most malls hosting auto shows have a new Cadillac or Lexus or Chrysler or the like in the mall area, Phipps' display of autos for possible gift-giving included a Bentley, a Lotus, an Aston-Martin, and a Maserati. That pretty much underscored the idea that this isn't a typical mall.
Then, at one end of the mall, I saw a familiar store: Belks. So I wandered in--and the first thing I saw was a shoe display. And that, too, underscored the fact that everything--even Belks--is different at Phipps Plaza.
No, that's not a cage-match fighting shoe--it's a fashion heel from Belk's shoe display. And yes, those are solid metal conical spikes all over the outer edge and the heel of the shoe. And yes, they hurt if you tap 'em against your hand--I checked.
I found myself wondering if the fashion-conscious woman who buys those shoes has the same tendency I have to occasionally scuff one's ankle with the side of one's shoe when walking. When I do it with my Rockport shoes, it's a minor annoyance. For the unfortunate wearer of these shoes, though, it could be a debilitating mistake...
I was looking for one item at Belks--a quilt that was featured in their most recent ad. I asked someone about it. "We don't carry home goods here," the sales staffer said with more than a little disdain. "We're not that kind of store."
And apparently I'm just not the right clientele for Phipps Plaza...
Where most malls hosting auto shows have a new Cadillac or Lexus or Chrysler or the like in the mall area, Phipps' display of autos for possible gift-giving included a Bentley, a Lotus, an Aston-Martin, and a Maserati. That pretty much underscored the idea that this isn't a typical mall.
Then, at one end of the mall, I saw a familiar store: Belks. So I wandered in--and the first thing I saw was a shoe display. And that, too, underscored the fact that everything--even Belks--is different at Phipps Plaza.
No, that's not a cage-match fighting shoe--it's a fashion heel from Belk's shoe display. And yes, those are solid metal conical spikes all over the outer edge and the heel of the shoe. And yes, they hurt if you tap 'em against your hand--I checked.
I found myself wondering if the fashion-conscious woman who buys those shoes has the same tendency I have to occasionally scuff one's ankle with the side of one's shoe when walking. When I do it with my Rockport shoes, it's a minor annoyance. For the unfortunate wearer of these shoes, though, it could be a debilitating mistake...
I was looking for one item at Belks--a quilt that was featured in their most recent ad. I asked someone about it. "We don't carry home goods here," the sales staffer said with more than a little disdain. "We're not that kind of store."
And apparently I'm just not the right clientele for Phipps Plaza...
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Subject-ive Commentary
My friend Jim Moore passed along a galley of his upcoming young adult suspense-thriller Subject Seven, and I just got a chance to read through it. I try to avoid hurting friends' feelings, so I don't write about books I didn't enjoy.
I'm writing about Subject Seven.
The book follows a group of teens who are the results of a program to create genetically engineered sleeper assassins. The plans are simple: keep trying until the program is perfected, destroy the failed experiments.
Then things to wrong. Subject Seven escapes... and in doing so, reveals that he possesses the very skills they've been hoping to instill in their subjects. He's so good, in fact, that even though he's only ten years old, he's able to best his captors and disappear from the program.
Jump ahead five years, and a seemingly unrelated group of teenagers comes together at the behest of a mysterious caller. Once they assemble, they learn that each of them is a failed experiment, and those responsible for their existence want them dead. But that's not as easy as it sounds...
Subject Seven is a fast-paced young adult novel, filled with insightful glimpses into the lives of teenagers who feel that they don't quite fit in. That's normal, of course--and it's the commonality of that makes this such a strong young adult novel. Every teen feels like there's something different about him or her--but in the case of Hunter, Cody, Gene, Tina, and Kyle, there's a good reason to feel that way. The novel takes the commonality of the adolescent experience and uses it as a launching point for a compelling adventure novel that's the kickoff of a potential series.
Moore's writing is taut, lean, and fast-paced. The prose is vivid and energetic, and the storytelling is sufficiently strong to propel the reader through its 300+ pages. As is the case with many young adult novels nowadays, Subject Seven leaves the door wide open for a sequel; hope that we don't have to wait too long! I'm eager to hear more about the true purpose of the program and how Seven and his teen comrades-in-arms find a place for themselves in a world that seems to want them dead and gone.
Look for it in a Razorbill paperback edition in January.
I'm writing about Subject Seven.
The book follows a group of teens who are the results of a program to create genetically engineered sleeper assassins. The plans are simple: keep trying until the program is perfected, destroy the failed experiments.
Then things to wrong. Subject Seven escapes... and in doing so, reveals that he possesses the very skills they've been hoping to instill in their subjects. He's so good, in fact, that even though he's only ten years old, he's able to best his captors and disappear from the program.
Jump ahead five years, and a seemingly unrelated group of teenagers comes together at the behest of a mysterious caller. Once they assemble, they learn that each of them is a failed experiment, and those responsible for their existence want them dead. But that's not as easy as it sounds...
Subject Seven is a fast-paced young adult novel, filled with insightful glimpses into the lives of teenagers who feel that they don't quite fit in. That's normal, of course--and it's the commonality of that makes this such a strong young adult novel. Every teen feels like there's something different about him or her--but in the case of Hunter, Cody, Gene, Tina, and Kyle, there's a good reason to feel that way. The novel takes the commonality of the adolescent experience and uses it as a launching point for a compelling adventure novel that's the kickoff of a potential series.
Moore's writing is taut, lean, and fast-paced. The prose is vivid and energetic, and the storytelling is sufficiently strong to propel the reader through its 300+ pages. As is the case with many young adult novels nowadays, Subject Seven leaves the door wide open for a sequel; hope that we don't have to wait too long! I'm eager to hear more about the true purpose of the program and how Seven and his teen comrades-in-arms find a place for themselves in a world that seems to want them dead and gone.
Look for it in a Razorbill paperback edition in January.
Comics in Bad Taste
My current idea for a comic in such bad taste that no one would ever publish it (or would they)?
A young Jewish girl hides from the Nazis. For many months, she keeps a chronicle of her life in hiding. Then she is found, sent away, and dies in a Nazi concentration camp...
...at which point a scientist finds a way to bring her back to life and turn her into an engine of destruction against her Nazi tormentors.
The title?... Wait for it...
The Diary of Ann Frankenstein.
(Yes, I know it's in wretchedly bad taste.)
A young Jewish girl hides from the Nazis. For many months, she keeps a chronicle of her life in hiding. Then she is found, sent away, and dies in a Nazi concentration camp...
...at which point a scientist finds a way to bring her back to life and turn her into an engine of destruction against her Nazi tormentors.
The title?... Wait for it...
The Diary of Ann Frankenstein.
(Yes, I know it's in wretchedly bad taste.)
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Giving in to my Plebian Pizza Tastes
I've mentioned from time to time that I have fairly plebian tastes (probably developed during my childhood--I think we often grow to like those foods that remind us of our favorites from the first sixteen years of our lives). I'm about to demonstrate that once again.Susan and I succumbed to the urge to sample a Pizza Hut Big Italy pizza--and I enjoyed it quite a bit!
We'd barely finished our first piece when we both remarked that the pizza reminded us of the Village Inn pizza we used to enjoy when we were dating and when we were newlyweds. The crust was thin but not cracker-like in texture; the sauce was well seeasoned and thick (a necessity on a thin crust pizza, or else it'll soak right through), the cheese was flavorful but not too heavy, and the sausage, pepperoni, and mushroom were savory and plentiful.
Over the years, we've moved on to a lot of other pizzas, from the multi-storied construction of the Upper Crust (oh, how I wish that Galleria restaurant was still there!) and Chicago's (the best pizza restaurant in the old Parkaire Mall area) to the sizeable, loaded Mellow Mushroom to the hearty, heavy-crusted Everybody's to the spicy, piquant, full-flavored Rosa's to the distinctive, refreshing Bellacino's... and none of those pizzas are thin crust. I didn't even know if I would enjoy a thin crust pizza any longer--but I found it to be a refreshing change to the heavier pizzas that we normally prefer.
Don't look for this one to last for too long--at $12 for a large three-ingredient pizza, I look for Pizza Hut to retire it or modify it very soon. I think we'll probably try it another time or two before it goes away, though--where else can we get a full pizza meal and culinary nostalgia for such a low price?
Friday, September 10, 2010
February 1, 1964
Fun with numbers...
As of today, I have been alive for 3810 days since my heart stopped beating for seven minutes on April 7, 2000.
That works out to a little over 10 years, five months.
As it turns out, February 1, 1964 was 3810 days after my birth. So I've lived as long in my second time around as I have had been alive my first time around on 2/1/64.
Yeah, I know it doesn't mean anything to anyone else, but it's the sort of numbers games that I love to play. I can remember a great many details of my life in early 1964, and have even written about some of those details in other blog posts.
It's been a great 3810 days...
(And to complete the calculations, I've been around for a total of 20,839 days...)
As of today, I have been alive for 3810 days since my heart stopped beating for seven minutes on April 7, 2000.
That works out to a little over 10 years, five months.
As it turns out, February 1, 1964 was 3810 days after my birth. So I've lived as long in my second time around as I have had been alive my first time around on 2/1/64.
Yeah, I know it doesn't mean anything to anyone else, but it's the sort of numbers games that I love to play. I can remember a great many details of my life in early 1964, and have even written about some of those details in other blog posts.
It's been a great 3810 days...
(And to complete the calculations, I've been around for a total of 20,839 days...)
Thursday, September 09, 2010
A Life in Four Colors (Part Thirty)
1965 was also the year that I began junior high school. West Rome Junior High was radically different from West End Elementary, Elm Street Elementary, or Garden Lakes Elementary; suddenly I was expected to take responsibility for myself, and it seemed that the focus of the subject matter became more focused and more caefully honed.
And I loved it.
I learned a multitude of things in elementary school, but all in all, I thought of that phase of my education as a six-year preparation of the foundation by which I could really begin to learn. I learned to read--and not just to read basically, but to read well, and to read well. I learned basic mathematical skills of addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division. I learned to spell. I learned to write clearly and readably (a skill that my elementary teachers would be dismayed to learn that I squandered in my later years--I blame too many hastily written hall passes and hastily jotted notes for the loss of any penmanship skills I once had). I learned how to find facts and reorganize information. I learned to alphabetize, to prioritize. I learned social skills.
And then I moved into junior high school, where I saw immediately that everything I had learned up until that time served as tools for the learning I would do next. I had done summarizing book reports in the past; I now was expected to do analytical writing on characterization and themes. I had drilled on basic math fundamentals previously; I learned to do proofs and solve complex equations. I had memorized geography and natural resources; I now compared governmental structures and historical movements. did rudimentary literary analysis; I discerned symbols in what I read; I recognized the difference between simple drawing and artistry. It was a remarkable time, and I felt like I was truly where I belonged.
That doesn't mean that I didn't love school holidays and teacher workdays and snow days and weekends; like very adolescent, I thought that school could be too demanding. But I still enjoyed it enough that, when Mom and Dad wanted me to accompany them to Callaway Gardens for some spring press event--a trip that would mandate that I miss two days of school--I wouldn't agree to go until my parents talked to my junior high guidance counselor and he personally told me that it would be acceptable, that my absence would be excused, and that I would have no trouble making up the work.
I also learned to type. That's a little bit deceptive, of course; I had learned the basics of typing from my parents, both of whom were skilled typists. Dad was a newspaperman, so we had typewriters at home--two Royals, in fact, both worn and black and heavy as anchors. I wanted to be like Dad, to sit at that typewriter and make words appear on the page as fast as my fingers could move. Dad taught me the basics--where to put my fingers, where the keys were located, what keys to hit with which fingers.
But I wasn't good at it. That's where junior high typing class came in; I learned to type for speed, to improve my accuracy, to listen and type at the same time. And I also learned how to lay out type on a page. We did numerous exercises wherein we designed letters, prepared newsletters in two columns, left space for an illustration,justified type, and even used typography to design graphics.
I don't know how many other junior high students found this fascinating, but for me, it opened the door to new opportunities. You see, 1965 was also the year that I discovered fanzines. In response to an ad in the back of a comic book, I had ordered my first fanzines while I was in the 7th grade. And in those days before computers, before printers, before word processors, fanzines were generally produced with typewriters, designed by people like myself who used typing skills to produce amateur magazines that were ambitious in scope--amateur magazines with illustrations around which type had to be designed, magazines laid out in two and three columns per page.
It was as if junior high school knew of my growing interests in fanzines and my newfound desire to produce my own publications, so the junior high powers that be determined that I should be given those skills.
Junior high also taught me to be more discerning in what I read--to tell the difference between what I enjoyed and what was good literature. And it taught me to find the good elements and the weak elements in literature. I learned many of those skills from Miss Kitty Alford, one of the most quirky, delightful, and demanding junior high teachers I ever had. She loved what she did, she loved to read, she loved music, and she loved learning. And she helped me to love all of those things even more.
And I loved it.
I learned a multitude of things in elementary school, but all in all, I thought of that phase of my education as a six-year preparation of the foundation by which I could really begin to learn. I learned to read--and not just to read basically, but to read well, and to read well. I learned basic mathematical skills of addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division. I learned to spell. I learned to write clearly and readably (a skill that my elementary teachers would be dismayed to learn that I squandered in my later years--I blame too many hastily written hall passes and hastily jotted notes for the loss of any penmanship skills I once had). I learned how to find facts and reorganize information. I learned to alphabetize, to prioritize. I learned social skills.
And then I moved into junior high school, where I saw immediately that everything I had learned up until that time served as tools for the learning I would do next. I had done summarizing book reports in the past; I now was expected to do analytical writing on characterization and themes. I had drilled on basic math fundamentals previously; I learned to do proofs and solve complex equations. I had memorized geography and natural resources; I now compared governmental structures and historical movements. did rudimentary literary analysis; I discerned symbols in what I read; I recognized the difference between simple drawing and artistry. It was a remarkable time, and I felt like I was truly where I belonged.
That doesn't mean that I didn't love school holidays and teacher workdays and snow days and weekends; like very adolescent, I thought that school could be too demanding. But I still enjoyed it enough that, when Mom and Dad wanted me to accompany them to Callaway Gardens for some spring press event--a trip that would mandate that I miss two days of school--I wouldn't agree to go until my parents talked to my junior high guidance counselor and he personally told me that it would be acceptable, that my absence would be excused, and that I would have no trouble making up the work.
I also learned to type. That's a little bit deceptive, of course; I had learned the basics of typing from my parents, both of whom were skilled typists. Dad was a newspaperman, so we had typewriters at home--two Royals, in fact, both worn and black and heavy as anchors. I wanted to be like Dad, to sit at that typewriter and make words appear on the page as fast as my fingers could move. Dad taught me the basics--where to put my fingers, where the keys were located, what keys to hit with which fingers.
But I wasn't good at it. That's where junior high typing class came in; I learned to type for speed, to improve my accuracy, to listen and type at the same time. And I also learned how to lay out type on a page. We did numerous exercises wherein we designed letters, prepared newsletters in two columns, left space for an illustration,justified type, and even used typography to design graphics.
I don't know how many other junior high students found this fascinating, but for me, it opened the door to new opportunities. You see, 1965 was also the year that I discovered fanzines. In response to an ad in the back of a comic book, I had ordered my first fanzines while I was in the 7th grade. And in those days before computers, before printers, before word processors, fanzines were generally produced with typewriters, designed by people like myself who used typing skills to produce amateur magazines that were ambitious in scope--amateur magazines with illustrations around which type had to be designed, magazines laid out in two and three columns per page.
It was as if junior high school knew of my growing interests in fanzines and my newfound desire to produce my own publications, so the junior high powers that be determined that I should be given those skills.
Junior high also taught me to be more discerning in what I read--to tell the difference between what I enjoyed and what was good literature. And it taught me to find the good elements and the weak elements in literature. I learned many of those skills from Miss Kitty Alford, one of the most quirky, delightful, and demanding junior high teachers I ever had. She loved what she did, she loved to read, she loved music, and she loved learning. And she helped me to love all of those things even more.
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