IS ANYONE HAPPY?





So here's a little group participation project for my readers (as well as a good way to determine if I actually have any). Simple question - how many of you out there are truly happy with your career right now? I ask this because it sure seems like the 'angry freelancer' ain't the only pissed off one out there. After reading my Ed blogging cohorts (a special welcome to my man Factwell), I started to wonder if the only time most of us are truly content in this profession is when we're in the naive, er, beginning stages of the journey, like our enthusiastic friend on the hunt. I can count at least four friends with EA or Asst. Ed jobs at big-name magazines who, after a year or two on the job, are pretty miserable with their 9 to 5 (or should I see 9 to 8). But what about the number of senior editors who are in the same boat? People who will actually went through the grind and came out to realize ten years later that they're still not making enough to live well in this city and that the perks of the title aren't worth the stress. And don't get me started on the freelancers - for every story or project I feel proud to put my name on, there are plenty I accept because I don't want to see my byline on an eviction notice.
We're in a cutthroat industry that's contracting titles every day, with the most profitable publishers still being so cheap that they rotate a constant stable of basically well-paid temps in and out of the door rather than - god forbid - pay anyone benefits. Do the highs make up for the lows of this profession? So why do we do it? I guess I know my own answer. I've tried sales, PR, even working for a shady Wall Street firm for a year thinking that I'd be able to save enough money to subsidize my writing (FYI, if they make you an "Assistant Vice President" within six months of you coming in as a temp making $15 an hour, it's probably not the most reputable operation). After it all, I came to the conclusion that this is what I'm supposed to be doing. And being certain of that is why all of the other contributing bullshit tends to get me so angry.

Reactions, Edsters? Feel free to offer your thoughts in the comments box or via e-mail to angryfreelancer@yahoo.com. This'll be the last actual earnest industry related post for awhile, I promise.

DEAR JOHN MAYER:

I thought we had a deal. After having to review the latest steaming pile of crap that you've unloaded on unsuspecting sorority girls and soccer moms, I was happy taking a little bit of a break from each other. I've begrudingly admitted that you're a pretty decent guitarist and think you'd probably make a comfortable living as a session musician who didn't open his giant marble filled mouth. But you probably wouldn't get to bang Jessica Simpson that way. And I guess I can appreciate that to an extent. So I've done my best to find a compromise, avoiding any radio stations that might play your latest "Give Peace a Chance" wannabe drivel, programmed my Directv to avoid VH1, The View (well, that's not entirely on you) and even that episode of Chappelle's Show where you tried to convince black people you were cool - before you did that whole unfortunate standup thing - by playing bass in a barber shop. So imagine my surprise during an afternoon of football viewing yesterday when you and your stupid scrunchy shut-eyed "I'm channeling Jimi" face showed up on my screen every damn commercial break (and in HD, no less) to pimp the new Volkswagen. While I'm thankful that you weren't playing any of your new 'material,' I really didn't think VW could make a more horrifying ad then the ones where all those random people get smashed to pieces. Unless you plan on standing on the 50 yard line at the Meadowlands and letting the entire Giants defense hit you at full speed, please do not appear on screen during football again. I don't disrupt you when you watch the Ghost Whisperer or attend support groups for men with three nipples (so legend has it) or whatever it is you do in your free time. Don't interfere with my hobbies.

Sincerely,
Angry Freelancer

GREETINGS FROM THE ANGRY FREELANCER




So how about this for an icebreaker. I once offered to wax my balls for a story. Not exactly my proudest moment as a journalist but hey, I was young and needed the money. While thankfully no one took me up on that smooth idea - I believe I pitched it to several women's mags with the offer to be a guinea pig in the brave new world of spa sanctioned manscaping or something like that - I have to imagine an unnaturally shiny scrotal sac would've been much more pleasurable than a torturous assignment I reluctantly accepted earlier this summer. On a Sunday morning in early June, I fielded a call from a frequent client asking if I'm free to head up to a small town upstate for the day for an assignment. Desperate for cash but clearly not the full details, I accept it quicker than you can say NAMBLA. The gig - a 12 hour concert sponsored by the area's raddest Top 40 station featuring the dulcet singing of a former boy band member and a bunch of other one-hit wonders performing in centerfield of the local minor-league baseball stadium. My assignment - find out if the sensitive balladeer is traveling with any new possible romantic interests. While I certainly appreciated the humor in watching slovenly parents shrug it off as their five-year-olds sang rapper T-Pain's "I'm in Luv With a Stripper," word for word, it wasn't exactly the cleanest feeling being the only grown man in a crowd of preteens. I think the highlight came when a cotton candy toting nine-year-old asked me in glee, "Isn't this the best day ever?" Um, yeah, if I was John Mark Karr. So after ten hours of listening to frosted hair coiffed DJ's with names like Scotty Mac and the Woodman ask the crowd if they were ready to 'get their groove on with [said entertainer],' the man himself finally takes the stage. I'm nearly trampled by an avalanche of screaming TRL viewers and their obese, bad perm, jean short sporting moms while I try to determine if any of the lovelies on the side of the stage are ready to help him get over his recent breakup. Even though the lothario came and left alone, I did find out that T-Pain and his crew were trying to pick up mad hoes at the KFC post-show. Yep, this is why I got into journalism.

So how bout 'it fellow freelancers? Which assignments made you want to rip out your short and curlies? Hit me at angryfreelancer@yahoo.com. Until next time....

LOREM IPSUM, BITCH!