Thacker's Miscellany

I'm at home for a bit in good ol' Hamilton, NJ before flying to Minneapolis for a visit with Cait and subsequently moving up to Park Slope sometime next week. I've basically been splitting my time between sitting on the couch, reading with my dad, and making excursions to Philadelphia and New York. I'm also looking for a job—I had a promising interview last week for a project coordinator position at this place, and I should know within the next few days whether or not they'd like to hire me.

Some (potentially) noteworthy occurrences and observations:

• My in-house interview with TransPerfect consisted of two parts. After a telephone interview with an HR woman called Cj [sic] last Monday, I went to their office at the top of a skyscraper in midtown on Wednesday morning. I spoke with Cj for about forty minutes, and it seemed to go really well. Normal protocol dictates that a lower-level management person then comes in to speak with Potential Hiree, but this lower-level management fellow was out-of-office at the Honolulu branch, so in parades Mark Peeler, VP of Global Production. It was kind of intimidating. ----->
  So you know when you're a kid and you go to the dentist? The dental hygienist comes in and actually does all of the work—polishes your teeth with that terrible device that you always try to avoid with your tongue, administers the Fluoride Rinse, delivers a sermon about the Virtues of Flossing—before the dentist, Dr. Cozzarin or whoever, waltzes in and flashes you a (damn, actually quite startlingly white) smile. He whips out his mirror-thing and gives your teeth the once-over, maybe asks you how Little League season is going and perhaps even calls you sport ("Heyyy, sport, how's it looking?"). "Alright," the dentist is then wont to say, "you're all set, bud." As quick as he came, he's gone again. This was the image I couldn't get out of my head throughout my interview, which was kind of unfortunately distracting. The HR woman was the hygienist, and ("Heyyy, sport") Mark Peeler would be the dentist. Despite my mind's insistence on this connection, the metaphor didn't really hold. The VP actually sat there and talked with me for a good thirty/forty minutes. Again, pretty intimidating, but I think it went well. Time will tell.
• I went to Philly this past weekend to visit Elliot Smith. Gerard and Phil came as well. On Friday night Elliot took us to a young professional bar in Manayunk, just outside of the city (Andy, have you ever been to Manayunk? It SUCKZZZZ). It was really terrifying. They had a band playing Panic at the Disco and Nickelback covers, and everyone had their going-out shirts on. People were like shouting along to the lyrics, the beer was very expensive, and I hated my life.
• On Saturday night we wanted to go sing karaoke in Rittenhouse Square. We were on our way there, had, in fact, almost made it, when Elliot hit seriously the biggest pothole I've ever seen. This thing could comfortably accommodate a grown man clenched in the fetal position at ~ 1' deep x 3' x 4'. Elliot got two flat tires on the driver's side. They were very, very flat tires. We got out of the car and just heard "SSSsssssssssss." Needless to say, we didn't make it to karaoke. Elliot got the car towed to a Firestone place near his house, and the next morning when the technician came out to take a look, his reaction was a slightly stunned "whoa."
  

Books, music, etc.

• Zeno's Conscience, Italo Svevo
• "The Arm" from Arm's Way by Islands
• Let It Be, The Replacements
• "Cigarettes and Coffee," Otis Redding
• "Photocopier," from Transparent Things by Fujiya & Miyagi