So I've been busy playing the game for the past few weeks. A couple clutch plays here and there, an ankle-breaker every so often, maybe a few timeouts. But when Thanksgiving was fast approaching, I realized this game had been over for quite some time. Now I was in overtime. Sudden death. I needed to get off the court and back in the locker room, this game was starting to mess with my skills.
Everyone calls the entertainment industry "the game." Well, if this is a game, then I'm going to play it and I'm going to play it well.
My new job, and subsequently what my life has become, is as if someone took notes on everything I hate and rolled it into one big monster. It's a nightmare. Every day.
Today was my first day at what better be my very very last internship (for real this time).
Not too long after I posted that blog last Thursday, I applied for just one more job. I've been battling with this "to intern or not intern because I'm not an intern anymore" dilemma. I applied for one last internship. The description said they needed someone to do data entry fast. I'm your girl.
I grew up listening to a lot of music. Some of my earliest memories are of listening to Bing Crosby or Nat 'King' Cole Christmas records. I have fond memories of sitting in the backseat of my father's maroon Pontiac, windows open as he drove to drop me off at cheerleading practice, listening to the classic rock station spinning The Who and Queen. I always talk about digging through my older sister's cassette tapes, looking for the latest mix of Hip-Hop dubbed from the radio. Most of all, my mother instilled in me this deeply sincere love for the Motown Sound. I don't even recall when or how it came about, I just know these records have always been near and dear to my heart.
You know how when you have a job, all you want to do is stay home, sleep, relax, maybe read the paper?
I've failed.
My introduction to the music industry at my 1st internship was liquor in the filing cabinets rather than real files, executives rolling into work, hungover and passing out on the leather couch, and errands that involved buying underwear, coffee, cologne, and jewelry for my boss. But there's one errand I will never forget.
I swear to Claire, this morning on my walk to work, cement dripped from the construction site I was walking past and landed on my face. Not just anywhere on my face, right near my lip as I was eating my breakfast.
When I was in high school and my Italian teacher would teach us a new concept, she would finish it by saying "It is going to be this way 99% of the time. Why? Because that's the way it is!"
Remember when I wrote about the Artist From Hell? I am thankful everyday that I don't have to put up with him anymore, in the office at least. We got the interview we needed to get and that was the end of it, or so I thought.
I'm going to take a step away from me battling my apartment and list here a few things that I truly love about my new home. Here we go!
(Unfortunately for me, this will probably end up being a series)
Last night was my first night at my new apartment. I got to New York Sunday afternoon and was dreading the whole ordeal. I packed my suitcase, resenting each shirt or pair of pants I folded and stuffed into it. My mom and I did a little decorating, part of which involved an attempt at turning a king & queen size duvet into a slip cover for a sofa (a work in progress, I assure you.) After my mother left, I closed the door behind her, took a deep breath, and turned around to face my fears.
Well I'm exhausted! I've spent the last 2 days in record label hell. Needless to say, I'm not ready to talk about it. Here's an overview of the past couple of days, and maybe I'll write about it later:
-Artist shows up 2 hours late for first interview of the morning
-Said artist strolls into the office with a drink in one hand and has so much weed on him you can smell it as he walks past.
-Artist (we'll call him ABC from now on) brings everyone he has probably ever met, in life, everywhere he goes with him (we will call them "entourage" from now on)
-ABC is so high he can't answer questions straight during interview
-Entourage smears cupcakes and juice all over my boss' desk (guess who got to clean that mess up?)
-Camera Man from 2nd rate website pees all over the walls and floor of the bathroom of a first rate store
-Disgruntled staff at first rate store now refuses to sign the release form unless 2nd rate camera man cleans the bathroom (yea, right.)
-ABC is the father to probably half the children running around the Southern coast, he brought a 3rd of them with him to the office
-Artist escapes the office for over half an hour while various press outlets impatiently wait to interview him (guess who gets to explain his whereabouts to angry press)
-Intern Chick must then engage in a search & rescue to find artist (although at that point, I could have cared less)
It’s a beautiful night in New York City tonight. The thickness that’s been in the air for the past few weeks has subsided, but that comforting warmth of summer still wraps around you the moment you step outside. Most nights when I get out of work I practically run to the train station so that I can get home and get in bed. Tonight, though, I lingered a little. I left the office later than usual, and I walked through Rockefeller Center to get to Grand Central. Usually I avoid tourist attractions at all costs, but there was something calm and peaceful about it tonight. Maybe because it was almost 9:00 on a Tuesday night, and the only people still wandering around don’t have to travel to far to go home. I almost wanted to stay even longer, just to walk around the city and take everything in. I realized that pretty soon I’ll be living just a few blocks from work and I can linger all I want. I realized that when that day comes, I’ll probably just want to get away from New York.
I’m getting pretty close to the day where I will have no more excuses as to why I have not moved in to my apartment yet. The shelves have been cleared, the floors scrubbed, I’ve broken every last nail on my fingertips lifting boxes and washing walls. Even the thick smell of incense that hits you as soon as you unlock the front door has subsided. What was once a dark space filled with chaos and bits and pieces of memories long gone is now a bright yet serene apartment, filled with the scent of a fresh start.
Perhaps its because usually I have a set date that I’m moving out of one place and into another, and I have time to mentally prepare. It could be because I am truly terrified of what I’ve waited my whole life for, but I just don’t think that’s it. Whatever it is, I can say something inside me is just not ready to live in that apartment. I don’t think it’s the actual living there that’s getting to me either, I think its what it will mean for me.
My mind is racing with what-ifs. What if I’m not good at it? What if I never find a job? What if I don’t have enough money? What if I want to go home? What if I don’t want to? What if I just plain can’t do it? I feel like I have to grow up overnight. Everything else was just temporary and this is semi-permanent.
Last night we held a listening session for one of our debut artists. Usually we have events like these at a club or a bar with plenty of alcohol but this one was held at a recording studio. Since the artists are under 21, the refreshments were kept to water and soda and I think some of our attendees were a little upset about that. We got to the studio at 6 and immediately began setting up. Once again, I was instructed to work the door (I should say elevator) and I was keeping my fingers crossed it was nothing like the last event I was supposed to work the door at. I stood at the front of the studio while everyone else was in the back, laughing and munching on chicken fingers and wings. As people slowly filed in I had to mark them off (I was told that we needed a good record of who showed up) and hand them a press kit (I’d like to give myself a pat on the back that I stuffed all 100 of them in under 15 minutes!). We had a few fan contest winners that were invited and we had autographed posters to give them. Seeing their faces light up at that was priceless. I was a little upset that I had to stay by the elevator while they played the album but as the night wore on I moved myself closer to the control room and further from the elevator.
I noticed a name on the list that looked familiar. I realized that this person had randomly requested me on Facebook and after accepting his request, I then proceeded to delete him because his status updates were annoying. I was hoping he wouldn’t show up, and when my boss told me she was good friends with him, I was REALLY hoping he wouldn’t show up. I had no idea what he looked like, so when a balding middle aged man walked up to me and that name fell from his lips to my ears, I shoved a press kit at him and hoped he would continue on his way. That would be too easy. He was staring at me. He peered closer into my eyes and said, “Do I know you?? “ I told him he didn’t (that’s not a lie, the internet doesn’t count). He persisted, “You look so familiar, are you sure we haven’t met before?” By that point, I had to let him know. “Your name is familiar to me, we used to be friends on Facebook.” He mumbled something and walked away. I guess it could have been worse, right?
After the album was done playing I set up a line for people who wanted autographs from the guys and took pictures for the fans that were there. The event was mostly for press people so once the autographs were through we shuffled the artists into a different room to do 5-minute interviews with anyone that wanted something for their website/magazine. My boss’ boss told me to get down everyone’s information that did an interview so I talked to all sorts of people while they waited their turn.
Everything went well, except for one thing…
Most of the press were men, and most of the women working or attending were older. Cue shameless flirting by press with young, bubbly intern. I haven’t yet mastered a polite way to let industry men like this know that I’m here to work and furthermore, I’m not interested. It’s easy when you’re at a bar or walking around the city, you can be mean and no one will bat an eyelash. You can’t do that when you know you’ll see these people at the next event (in my case that next event would be Wednesday night!). I managed to weasel my way away each time but I know there’s an easier way to do it My boss told me to say, “I don’t date industry dudes.” I’ll have to try that out next time…
Time flies when you're hauling garbage from your new apartment to the side of your mom's house.
Two weeks ago I made my first trip to "the apartment." I came with 4 of my friends and my mother, armed with a granny cart full of Fantastik, Clorox, Lysol, 4 pairs of rubber gloves, sponges, buckets, pledge, etc. We split up into teams, one team tackled the bathroom and the other got started on the kitchen. You can imagine how small a kitchen and bathroom can be in an apartment in New York. It took all day. Since I am cleaning out the whole apartment and can't throw the garbage away in the basement, I've been loading it up into my mother's car and then unloading it on the side of the house.
After that first weekend, I couldn't convince any of my friends to come back. My mom and I went Saturday morning and spent 12 hours on the bedroom alone. We dusted light fixtures, scrubbed the windows, polished furniture, sorted through costume jewelry, and threw out loads and loads of useless crap (I'm convinced that when you turn 65, it is a rite of passage to begin a collection of plastic bags that are at least 10 years old). The car was stuffed to the brim with garbage bags and Sunday morning I added them to the pile collecting on the lawn. Sunday night my mom and I went back to take more garbage. We loaded up a granny cart with a few bags, and I carried three out to the street. We stopped for a moment to rest, and the cart started rolling down the street. I ran after it and we tried to collect ourselves despite the flock of people walking by staring at us in disbelief. It took us three tries to bring the garbage to the car, after many attempts at stacking it every which way and it toppling over every time. The end result was me running bags back and forth amid confused stares from passersby. My favorite was the trip where my mom carried a bag with a bright orange pool noodle popping out the front and I paraded down the street with an enormous ebony carving of African elephants and a Hoover vacuum circa 1950. Bag after bag we carried, into the steamy hours of that Sunday night. You cannot fathom how much crap an 85 year old woman can aquire in her lifetime. Some if the things are gems, just waiting to be uncovered. Unfortunately, most of it is crap. We arrived home and proceeded to add more garbage to that ever growing pile.
That night, I dreamed (or should I say nightmare-ed) of the pile of crap growing on the side of the house. Garbage at a barbeque. Garbage at work. Garbage in the rain. Garbage. Crap. More garbage, more crap.
At this point, you just have to laugh, or else the crap will kill you.
You know how sometimes, you don’t mind talking to strangers because your iPod is dead and you can’t call your friends because they’re at work? Or how sometimes you meet somebody and think they’re perfectly normal, and then you see them a 2nd time and you can’t believe how many red flags you missed during the first meeting? And then you realize they are certifiably crazy?
A while back, I was riding the train home and a businessman sat down next to me. He seemed upset and agitated, and all it took was one connection of eye contact and he opened the floodgates on me. He was blabbering about which cars platform at which stops and was he in the right car. I can see all too clearly now this was a trap. I assured him he was in the right place and thought I’d done my good deed for the day. But no, he wants to talk.
He’s in his 40’s. He has kids my sister’s age. A boy and a girl.
Oh, so he’s a dad? Dad’s are totally fine, you can’t be creepy when you’re a dad, it’s in the rule book!
He’s divorced. His wife got the Barbados timeshare in the divorce.
You can definitely be creepy when you’re divorced and you tell people on the train about how it went down. Kids or no kids.
By this point it was time to get off the train so I said goodbye and thought that was it. But that would be too easy. You know how in college when you’re roommate hooks up with the crazy frat boy you’ve never seen before, and then you guys see him all over campus and at all your favorite bars? I keep seeing this man on the train. Sometimes I’m lucky and he doesn’t see me, other times I swear he’s been standing there all day waiting for me. God has been good for the past month, though, and I haven’t seen him. I’d hoped he’d stopped riding the train and was seeing someone about his creepy-ness. For all I cared he could be in Barbados with the wife and kids, working on a reconciliation.
So when I strolled into Grand Central at 10 PM last night the last thing I was expecting to see was this guy, standing there in his glasses and suit, goofy smile on his face, holding an umbrella in one hand and his briefcase in the other, arms outstretched for a hug he’ll be waiting for forever. I just stood there, dumbfounded. I was convinced that an aspiring Ashton Kutcher would pop out and tell me I’d been Punk’d, Grand Central style. No such luck. I continued to stand there, and I thought about my options. I could make a run for it. I could stare blankly and pretend I was Intern Chick’s evil twin. Before I could make a final decision, the words “What are you doing here” shot out of my mouth. I had about 15 minutes before the train was leaving, so I stuttered out some story about buying a water and going to the bathroom and see you later. I took my seat on the train and hoped for the best. I put my iPod on and shut my eyes, praying he’d walk right past me. I opened my eyes to see him getting ready to sit in the seat next to me, panting, sweat dripping down his freckled face. I told myself I just had to get through an hour and a half of nonsense, maybe I could just let him talk and nod my head every once in a while.
But of course, he wanted to talk up a storm—he had a hurricane of questions for me. He wants to know if I’ve been ignoring him. Can you do that when you have only ridden a train together and don’t have each other’s phone numbers or e-mails or anything? He says he was hoping we could be friends, he told his work buddies about the day we were on the same train but different cars and I literally ran to my car to avoid him. He let me know he was upset.
I sat up and looked around for that camera crew and Ashton Kutcher wannabe. Still no luck. There’s no way this guy was for real. Maybe he had me mixed up with some other girl he’s bothered, I mean met, on the train. So I asked him. Hey, I had nothing to lose at this point. That was a mistake. Apparently he does this all the time; he had a stock pile of stories to tell me about people he’s met on the train, to and from work. Why is it that all the creepers latch on to me? I’m not even that nice.
As we got closer to my stop I realized something. It was nearing midnight, the parking lot is pitch black, and this guy was probably parked near me. I weighed the two evils, do I ditch this guy and walk alone in the parking lot, hoping he won’t go crazy and come after me, or do I play nice so that I’m not alone. I should clarify here that this guy isn’t creepy as in criminal creepy. He’s more like creepy as in he is a fumbling mess and doesn’t know the social signals for, “I don’t want to chat anymore.” There was no way for me to get away, so we walked to our cars. He was blabbering so much he walked right past his own car, unless that was another one of his ploys, I can’t say I doubt that. I unlocked my car doors and sat down and shut the door as soon as possible, waving from the inside with a smile on my face. Score 1 for Intern Chick. Seriously, what are the chances?
I was dreading the train ride home all day today, hoping I wouldn’t have a repeat of yesterday. I got on a late train again, sat down in my seat and turned my back to the aisle. I watched each passenger walk by and counted down the minutes until the train would leave. I busied myself on my laptop writing this blog and kept my head down. I breathed a sigh of relief when someone sat down next to me, and can happily say I have not seen him today. I’ve decided next time I see him I’m going to tell him some crazy story, I haven’t decided what yet. Maybe that I’m getting married, or that I’m taking a vow of silence for the next three months, or that I’m wearing a bug and the government will come after him if we converse. I can say I’ve learned my lesson and your parents had good reason for it when you were little—DON’T TALK TO STRANGERS!!
Yesterday was my first day going into the office without my boss, Eva, being there. I checked her messages and called to check in with her. She asked me if I’d want to work an R&B event later that night, and made it sound like it was going to be painfully boring. Boy, was I eager to volunteer myself for that—not. I asked what she thought and she told me it’d be dumb for me to go so I declined her invitation, even though it sounded like a grand ol’ time.
I had a few assignments to get done and then I promised myself I’d suck up my shyness and ask some people around the office if I could help them. About 20 minutes after I started my work, the President/CEO’s assistant asked if I could cover her phones. Eva told me about interns covering those phone lines before--the exact phrase she used was “only special interns get to do that.” I was a little scared but the assistant said she just had to run down the hall for a second and no one would call. I sat there nervously and finally she came back. Have I made it into the special intern group??
Eva told me at 5:00 that I now HAD to work the event and that I would be out by 8. I wasn’t excited or mad. I had no idea what to expect. We left the office at 6 and got to the venue to find complete chaos and a bunch of people standing around not knowing what was going on. I was told I’d be working the door but everything was so hectic I ended up standing around holding Eva’s phone, kicking myself for wearing jeans and a t-shirt that day while everyone else was dressed to the nines. I met some interesting characters standing outside the club, holding two cell phones and two purses.
At one point, Eva’s phone rang. I stared at it and debated if I should answer it or not. Mistake. It went like this:
Me: Hello??
Him: EVA! I need you to get DJ a bracelet, he’s standing outside. Do whatever you have to do.
[silence]
Me: Um, this isn’t Eva…I don’t know where she went, but I can try to find her.
Him: Eva needs to get him a bracelet, he’s been standing outside for a long time.
(I should mention here that EVERYBODY was standing outside and there was nothing anybody could do about it)
Me: Okay, well, I’ll see if I can find her.
Him: Do you know who I am??
Me: Yea.
Him: GET IT DONE
[click]
These type of conversations used to upset me. Now they irritate me to no end. I don’t care who you are. And for the record here, the person on the other end of the line was no one important, and this was not his event. I did, however, take pity on the poor sucker who clearly suffers from some type of identity crisis, and found 2 bracelets for him and escorted him right past security. Eva handled most of the line at the door, and my shining moment of the night was when she said she was dying of thirst and I handed over my half empty warm bottle of Dasani. It was pretty much all downhill from there.
I finally got to leave at about 9:30 and caught a train at 10, and that proved to be a mistake all on it’s own.
I’ve been at my new internship (read: 8th internship) for about a month now. The artists are different but the work is the same work I’ve done in the past. Most days the only thing I learn is where the copy machine is or that we actually do have ice in the kitchen. Other than that, everything else is pretty much the same stuff I’ve been doing. A few weeks ago one of our newer artists were coming in to the office for us to film an interview of them. I went with the other intern to the artist lounge to learn how to set up the video equipment and all the lighting. Then she went to get some drinks for the guys and it was just me and the creepy A/V guy. You know the type…I don’t think I have to re-hash old stereotypes on this blog. But he was that guy you don’t want to be left alone with.
Well apparently, someone’s gotta test the white balance right? Cue Intern Chick awkwardly sitting on the couch (you know the kind that you sit in and it just envelopes you to the point where all you can do is sit back and accept the fact that you might be stuck?) holding extra large legal paper, staring blankly into the camera. A/V Guy didn’t indulge me in the fact that he was testing the white balance, and for all he cared I probably could have held that paper in front of my face. It would have made me feel more at ease! Then I had to test out the two mics we had set up. I’ve never had the opportunity to be “that lady” testing out mics, shouting CHECK! TESTING 1-2! Those people always concern me. To me its usually apparent after the first time they say it that the mics are working just fine, and they continue to just stand there, repeating it. Both of the mics tested out fine and eventually our artists came to do the interview. At one point I got to film part of the interview (and by this I mean, press the record button and then press it again once it was over).
Its been awhile since I’ve learned something new so I enjoyed setting this up and was glad when I knew how to disassemble everything too. Then last week another one of our artists came in and this time the other intern and I had to set up the same equipment in the recording studio in the building. It was her last day so I was told that I would have to do it and she would just supervise. I set up all lighting and the tripod just fine, but when it came time to put the battery pack and the tape in the camera I couldn’t figure it out. It’s always funny (read: really annoying) to me when what seems like the most counter-intuitive thing is done with a flick of the wrist by your peers. This time I tested the white balance—no more awkward moments in front of the camera for me! I got to film the back up camera once the interviewing started rolling and took the tapes over today to a film company to be edited.
Every morning before school, my father would always shout behind me “Learn lots of stuff!” Then while seated at the head of our dinner table that night he’d ask, “What’d you learn today?” If I said nothing, I’d get the same spiel about what a waste it is to send me to school if I’m not learning anything. Sometimes it feels nice to go to work and actually learn something new. And I’ll admit, last time I talked to my father, he seemed pretty happy I’m learning something. You know, until he brought up the inevitable question, “Are you still working for free?”
I have three months to turn this internship into a job opportunity. It seems so impossible to me but I'm so determined and committed to making it happen.
Last summer, while living in the hell hole that was "student living at a fabulous New York hotel," I wrote about visiting a cousin of mine. To refresh your memory, this cousin has been living in Manhattan since my own mother was younger than me, and yes, it is rent controlled. On Monday night, we found out that she will be giving up this apartment. It was like the loss of a piece of living history, knowing this place would now only be a family legend. My mother asked my sister and I to go to NYC this week to pick up a few of her things that we would like to keep. I pictured all the African masks coming off the walls, her jewelry boxes emptied of costume pieces bought in countries I will never see, and all her records coming to a halting stop.
Go to college. Intern. Graduate college. Get a job.
I grumpily got on the train Friday morning, armed with my iPod and the newest edition of VOGUE. My interview was scheduled for 1:00, the earlier train got into New York at 11:40, the later train got in at 12:40, which wasn't enough time to get to where I needed to be. So I got to Grand Central at 11:40 and sat for almost an hour until it was time to head over to the West side. I arrived at the office building about 10 minutes early, and stepped off the elevator on the 5th floor, taking the twists and turns until I found the suite I was looking for. I noticed that all the other offices had fancy gold plates with their company name on it. The one I was interviewing for just had the company name printed on a piece of computer paper (at least it wasn't hand written, right?). This is where I'd like say that Red Flag #1 was waving wilding in my face.
My dad is a mad scientist. He loves science like I love music and even though they're on opposite ends of the spectrum, I can understand a love that strong for anything. When my parents graduated college the economy was about as bad as it is right now and the job prospects were, well, non-existent. My dad, like myself, had a specific degree with a specific field in mind. You don't go through 4 years of college to take just any job. The problem with knowing exactly what you want to do (unlike most of the world) is that there's little room for improvising.
So its been over a month since I promised a Part II to "Things You Should Never Do," but better late than never!
A few weeks ago while on spring break I checked my e-mail. Expecting to just clear out some junk before it got out of hand, I was surprised to see an e-mail from someone named Dallas Dymes and the name of my last internship as the subject. I opened it and was two paragraphs in before I figured out that this kid goes to my school and wants me to help him get an internship at this specific company. I wanted to write back one simple question, "How the hell did you get my e-mail??" I decided to be a little nicer that that--I was once a sophomore, desperate for an internship in Hip-Hop and surrounded by professors and advisors who had no contacts to help me. I told him more about what I did on the internship, asked him where he'd been applying, and told him to try googling things like "music internship" or to add "hip-hop" to it. I really thought that would be that and I'd be done with it. I don't even know this guy and I don't remember signing up for any program to be this kid's mentor. Not that I'd mind, but really....how the hell did he get my e-mail?
Me: Hello??
I realized that going to school is not nearly as interesting as being an intern. The highlight of my week when I'm in school is when class gets out 30 minutes early...and I'm pretty sure no one cares about all that! But, since I am graduating in a month, I am looking for a job. That's not exciting either. Especially when your job search consists of pages and pages of jobs that could only be relevant to your qualifications on Opposite Day and message strains of me shamelessly promoting the fact that I am in need of a job.
I'll admit, its funny every once in a while. You know the kind of humor I'm talking about. The kind where you spend thirty minutes filling out an online application only to find that there's an error in the website and in the part on your application where it says "position applying for" yours is blank. Which means yours goes right in the garbage. It was funny the first time, and all around hilarious the second time. Or, its pretty laughable when after asking all your contacts if they know about any job openings they all inform you about the same one at the one company you interned at where you got a horrible evaluation for no reason. Ahh, don't you just love humor like that?
Well, one day last week, I decided to up the ante a little and turn the whole job-hunting thing into an even bigger joke. I made my facebook status say something like, "If I were in your shoes, I would DEFINITELY hire myself" Ha,ha,ha...it's all so funny. I did get a chuckle when someone in a very good position wrote, "If I had the money...," you know the kind of chuckle that brings tears to your eyes?? Right. But yesterday when I logged into my facebook account I had a message from an A&R that I know through a mutual friend. All it said was, "Give me a call when you get a second...I want to seee what you're doing now" I just so happen to know this A&R is in the market for an assistant. This job hunting thing just got serious. The laughs just turned into that queasy feeling you get when you get called into the prinicpal's office and you don't know why.
Does anybody have a Rolaid on hand??
Every Tuesday, I have a 100 minute senior seminar class where we talk about, hmm, pretty much nothing. Sometimes I take something valuable away, like last week's lecture but most of the time, I end up BBM-ing my friend next to me. Today we talked about our plans for after graduation.
"Don't ever let somebody tell you you can't do something. You got a dream...you gotta protect it. People can't do something themselves; they wanna tell you you can't do it. If you want something, go get it. Period." - Pursuit of Happyness
The company where I spent my very first internship was a little less than just unorganized. Our filing cabinets were stuffed with oversized promo t-shirts, Jiffy envelopes, candles, and snacks. The lone assistant desk was a mess, covered with receipts from the year before, old Starbucks cups, and random post-it notes of messages left weeks before. This was my first experience at a record label, and with no prior expectations, I just accepted what was presented to me.
Something's in the air, and no its not Cupid-pixie-dust-residue. It seems everyone is extremely worried about where they're headed in life. I've had my share of hysterical late night phone calls to my mother about where I'm going. But when my professor felt the need to spend half of today's lecture discussing it, I realized just about everyone in my class is worried. Maybe it's because of the instability of the music industry, or the instability of the economy all together, but it seems everyone is struggling with this.
