“Meeting the Neighbors”

This is the fourth in an infinite part series about life after college.  You can read the previous entries here, here, and here.

Six months have now passed since the first installment of “Life After College,” and I’m sure many of you (i.e. the beneficiaries in my will) are eager to know how I am progressing.  I am proud to report that – despite numerous setbacks (i.e. an ongoing battle with the California DMV, a debilitating fear of females, and a net worth approaching $5,000 in credit card debt) – I have made some serious inroads into the world of responsible adult living.  For example, I recently traded my garbage bags for a piece of luggage that is allowed on airplanes.  I will now occasionally understand one or two words on CNBC.  And – most significantly – I purchased my first broom and I think I’ve figured out how to work it.

But I’m not here to celebrate.  Never one to rest on my lapels (that’s the expression, right?), I am pressing on to the next challenge of adulthood: meeting my neighbors.  As far as I can tell, interacting with one’s neighbors is a uniquely adult activity.  Sure, I grew up playing with neighborhood kids, but those were fairly one-dimensional friendships requiring only that they (1) not be girls and (2) have an appreciation of the three elements: LEGOs, mud, and fire – preferably all at the same time.  Adult neighbors are different.  They require adult things like common interests, wives, or alcohol. Read the full story

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One: Seriously I Don’t Care.

Dear Mr. Smittenberg,

I guess I’d like to express my interest in the Entry Level Account Manager position I read about somewhere while I was probably doing something awesome. I’ve heard some pretty good stuff about your company from colleagues and friends; we’re talking really cool, powerful people. I’m sure you have probably heard of me by now, as no doubt one of my friends in your company has told you stories about how well I’ve performed at every job I’ve ever had.  Whatever though, it’s not like it matters to me anyway.

So I hear that your company, I forget what it’s called, bought some other company recently and that’s why you’re looking to hire on some help. I have some experience in recent acquisitions,  as my last position with Goldhammer-Brown Investments (you’ve heard of them, right?) dealt with this recent acquisition they had of Washington-Ellis Investments. I’m sure you read about that one in Investments Magazine, it made the cover of the September 2008 issue. I wasn’t there at the time of the article but if I had been they would have probably asked me for an interview. Anyway I’d probably be a huge help to your company during this transitional phase, but I honestly don’t need the job. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.

If you feel like it, go ahead and review the enclosed resume and references.  If not, no biggie.  Just so you know though, the last guy I interviewed with said I was “very impressive.” I’m expecting him to call by sometime next week to offer me way more than the minimum they had posted. Just saying if you want it you’d better put a contract on it. Read the full story

Popularity: 6% [?]

This is the third in an infinite part series about life after college.  You can read the previous entries here and here.

With my recent migration from Chicago to California many aspects of my post-collegiate life have changed significantly.  Not only did I trade gang violence for illegal immigration and political corruption for political incompetence, I also went from living with four guys in an enormous house (read: trash can) to living by myself in a tiny apartment (read: walk-in closet).  This transition has been difficult.  There is no longer an endless supply of toilet paper in the bathroom down the hall.  Quandaries like, “should I eat three of my roommate’s four remaining eggs and be regarded as considerate or eat all four and hope they forget they ever had them?” are no longer relevant.  Since the cable bill is no longer being split five ways, I now have to think twice before ordering “Confessions of a Shopaholic” twice in the same weekend.  The list goes on.

I feel like that old dude in Shawshank who gets released on parole but ends up killing himself because he missed prison so much.  I’m not suicidal or anything, I’m just having a difficult time adjusting to a life of functioning appliances and insect-free beds.  I’ve been institutionalized and I’m sure I’m not alone.  With that in mind, my third post-collegiate survival guide will provide pragmatic rules for navigating the trials, tribulations, and emotional traumas of solitary living.  If you are married (i.e. taking the easy way out) you can go ahead and stop reading now. Read the full story

Popularity: 10% [?]

This is Part 2 of an infinite part series.  You can read Part 1 here.

1)      If (and by “if” I mean “when”) you find yourself in a job you do not love, it is important to ensure your work performance never rises above mediocre.  Doing above average work typically leads to more work being sent your way, and that is just the thing you are trying to avoid.  Also, you want to avoid any company that lists “developing our people” as one of their values.  “Developmental opportunity” is business jargon for “a way to get your underlings to do more of your work without having to increase their pay.”  You just paid $100,000 for a college degree; you’re as developed as you’ll ever be. Read the full story

Popularity: 39% [?]

23 is apparently a pretty good year to be alive.  Over the past twelve months, 23 year-olds have won Grammies, been nominated for Oscars, and collected Olympic gold medals.  They were drafted to professional sports teams, they parlayed sophomoric Youtube videos into movie deals, and they watched their social networking site continue it’s steady march to inter-planetary domination.  If this last year is any indication, it appears the 23 year-olds – not the meek – have inherited the earth.

As some of you have already ascertained, none of these glorious things happened to me.  But, rather than focus on the considerable gap between me and the growing list of 85ers who have arrived, I would like to talk about a few of my own not-insignificant acheivements last year.  Namely, I managed to keep myself alive for almost a full year without the support of an academic institution or my parents.

If this sounds like an insignificant feat to you, consider that our last president and many of my professors could not say the same thing.  Somehow, in a display of resolve and ingenuity nothing short of a Darwinian miracle, I have found ways to clean, clothe, and feed myself  for going on ten months.  A few near-fatal missteps notwithstanding, this world has not gotten the best of me yet, and the future is looking bright as I have food stuffs to last for at least another fortnight.  As one might expect, my epic struggle for survival has brought with it a rich bounty of tips, cons, tricks, and rackets essential to surviving the Desert of the Third Decade.  As an educator and friend of humanity, I would be remiss if I did not pass along the hard-fought wisdom I have acquired in the trenches of the post-collegiate, pre-apocalyptic moonscape we call “The Real World.”

So, without further ado, allow me to present the first of an infinite part series known as “The Beginning of the End: Life After College,” wherein I share tips for surviving the three arenas of the modern gladiator: professional, social, and domestic.  Observe.  Enjoy.  Imitate. Read the full story

Popularity: 55% [?]

-Kent-

If there were any lingering doubts regarding my unfitness for independent living, a quick survey of my monthly grocery bill should quickly put them to rest.  Of course, one can’t really review my bill because I don’t keep receipts and am still unfamiliar with the whole “budget” thing, but you could always look at the selections in my cart if you happen to bump into me at the grocery. That being unlikely, as I only go grocery shopping three times every fiscal year, I’ll just tell you about it.

My main problem with grocery shopping is that I never received any formal training on how it should be done.  The education establishment apparently assumed I would figure it out by watching my mom or through some innate evolutionary hunter/gatherer impulse.  Unfortunately, I – like most young boys – spent my trips to the store with mom whining, throwing tantrums in the snack aisle, and trying to sneak boxes of Gushers into the cart when she wasn’t looking.  This being the case, the art of grocery shopping has taken on a mysterious, almost mythical nature.  I am aware that my mother was able to routinely fill her cart with food that kept me alive, but I wasn’t taking notes on which items she selected.  As a result, I typically find myself wondering the store for several hours before filling my cart with Kraft Mac and Cheese (It’s the cheesiest!) and calling it a day. Read the full story

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After making a three year incursion into the third decade, I can state unequivocally that being a single male between the age of 18 and 30 is one of the most catastrophically unhealthy decisions a person can make. Now please, don’t assume I’m talking about the usual binge drinking, smoking, and sexing depicted on The OC, Gossip Girl, and the news. Yes, these hobbies – along with Tivo and microwave dinners – are destroying an entire generation of Americans, but what terrifies me is an entirely different threat. While much is made of the considerable effort young men invest in shortening their lives, far more dangerous is the stupefying and awe-inspiring laziness that single men are capable of. To put it simply, we will die young because we expend no effort to keep ourselves alive.

It is impossible to overstate the lethargy that my generation is capable of. Truly, it defies credulity and the furthest reaches of the imagination. If it weren’t for the civilizing effects of Christian marriage, I am convinced that none of us would live to see thirty. Temporary fixes like jobs, and visits from mom can force short bursts of exertion, but they do not touch the languid gene that controls the minds and limbs of my peers. Allow me to cite some unsubstantiated, anecdotal evidence to affirm this. Read the full story

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