work.

talking about book projects is as dangerous as talking about, oh i don't know, the story behind your tattoos. that being said:

i've been trying to map how a collection of essays about "work" could become some sort of scrapbooked memoir. you know: bartending at sixteen. running a trainwreck of a day spa. seven days at victoria's secret. teaching. but the idea of work. work and collaboration. (for example: morgan became my friend because she was my boss at said day spa.)

so, i took myself out to dinner with a copy of labor days, an anthology of fiction about work that was put together by david gates. anyway, the bartender asks what i'm doing. i tell her. she says:

did you see rachel ray yesterday?

me: of course not.

her: 52 JOBS IN 52 WEEKS!!!

she's yelling this. i swear. so i googled, and it turns out some guy named sean aiken spent a year working a different job every week...due to the fact that he doesn't know what he wants to "do" with his life. all the proceeds go to charity.

http://www.oneweekjob.com/

this is a cool, proactive idea. this is also why i hate rich people:

when i walked into my parents' house the other day, my mom was sitting on the couch with every single issue of garden & gun magazine. ("god. it sounds like an intervention," hannah said.)

mom says, "you should intern at garden & gun for six months. just say, 'you don't have to pay me. just give me a job.'"

me, fuming: "mom, if i had fifty thousand dollars in savings, i'd intern for a whole year. but i don't have the funds to get my foot in the door, as it were."

you don't have to pay me. just give me a job.

you know. for the experience.