Tuesday, March 22, 2005


Maybe a week and a half ago, I found myself a new job. I didn't mention it sooner partly cause I didn't have much amusing to say about it and partly cause I got fired from my old job for opening my big mouth. Anyway, I'm working for this guy Ken, who I think is a financial planner or analyst of some sort. I'm not one-hundred percent sure, and now that I've been working for him for a week and a half, I'm stuck in this catch-22: I feel kinda stupid for not asking sooner, so I keep quiet while time passes, which makes me feel even stupider for not asking sooner. If there's a loving God in heaven, he'll make Ken spontaneously explain exactly what he does. Ken's pretty gregarious, so there's an actual chance this divine intervention plan might pan out into something.

I'm mostly working on Ken's website, which you can check out here, should you be in need of any financial planning or analysis, if that is, in fact, when he does.

The good news is I received my first paycheck today, so I'm no longer in the red. Or the black. Whichever's the bad one. Ken would probably know which color I'm no longer in.

The weird news is that on my pay stub, it notes that Ken is paying me for "professional services," which sounds like a dirty euphemism but isn't. What made me stop for a moment is the fact that I certainly don't feel like a professional. Not only do I not wear a button-down shirt or a tie , but I head into my work bookish and bumbling, still sort of figuring things out. It's nervewracking, this guy having professional-grade expectations of me. There's a large part of me that wants to be back in school, where no one gave a damn if my programs didn't work and my papers sucked.

I guess if Shaquille O'Neal can compete as an amateur in the 2004 Summer Olympics, then I can be a professional computer consultant. Of course, Shaq actually played like an amateur, too.