Status Update

So, it's been a while, and I feel I owe all of you (or maybe none of you, because really who the hell is reading this?) a quick update on my life as of now.

Update Number One: I am still trapped at this sucking-the-soul-out-of-my-life vortex that is my job.  Miss Bitch is still a bitch, my boss still doesn't know how to make his own damn coffee, and I still do pretty much nothing every day.

Update Number Two: I have expanded my "network" to around 20 potential contacts.  I've talked with half of them, some over the phone and a small few in person.  All were very nice, but so far none have gotten me much closer to finding a job.

Update Number Three: I am officially so fucking sick of this job that I sent my mother an email this morning asking her if I could take out a personal loan from her, quit this job and just live off of her until I find a new one.  I even offered to pay interest.

Update Number Four: I'm betting all my money that my mother absolutely refuses to give me said loan listed in Update Number Three.

Update Number Five: I have no money.

Update Number Six:  Fuck.

Rich People Buy Dumb Things

So I've had the pleasure (is it really a pleasure? hmm) of visiting several very expensive homes in the last few days.  Both of them were very nice houses, quite large, and of course, extremely pricey.  They were beautiful, to say the least, with crazy spiraling staircases and fancy backyard pools and top-of-the-line viking stove tops.

But another thing they both had in common was the large quantity of gaudy CRAP that just about covered every surface imaginable.

Take, for instance, fake fruit.  Now, I've definitely seen various homes with a bowl or two of fake pears or apples, and I've never really said anything because I too have been to Pottery Barn or Restoration hardware and have seen how this in moderation might be considered fashionable.  However, this place I went to was like walking through a farmer's market there was so much fruit everywhere - and it was all fake!  Fake cherries and grapes in a silver bowl on the living room coffee table, fake pears in a vase on the mantle over the fireplace, fake apples on a platter in the den - I mean good grief, if you have that much money why not at least buy the real fruit?  I mean after seeing so much fruit everywhere, you kind of start to get a craving for a piece of it, and then you're just left with disappointment when you discover that the pomegranates in the really hideous jar on the kitchen counter are not, in fact, edible.

Another product I can't understand: candles.  In a home I visited a few years ago they had a table in their entryway that was just covered in candles, a few of which were probably about as thick as my body, but not one of which had ever been lit, as far as I could tell.  Now what is the point of that?  Just to show that they are so wealthy they can afford to buy a bunch of ginormous candles that will never be put to use? (Unless, of course, there's a power outage, in which case that one candle could probably light up the place for a good month.)

And then of course there's just the gaudy choices of decor.  Onyx dragon bookends, zebra rugs, marble dragon statues, random magnifying glasses (these things are everywhere - why?), huge fake silk flowers in even larger crystal vases, thick leather-bound books that have obviously never been opened, ginormous ugly paintings that cover every inch of every wall...and in one of these houses the guy actually owned a gold sink.  Like what Marie Antoinette or Queen Elizabeth probably owned.  I mean are you kidding me?

I wonder if, when people have overflowing amounts of money, they just don't NOT buy something.  I mean if I see something I like, I consider it, at the very least, and then decide if it's really worth the purchase or not.  But maybe when you have just tons and tons of money, you just scan your credit card and be done with it - hassle free?

All I can say is, if I ever get to be as rich as these folks are, there's no way in hell I'm every buying fake fruit.  If you ever come stay with me, you'll always be gettin' the real thing.

Film Premiere

So I went to my friend's film premiere the other night.

That's not to say it was some red carpet bash, which it definitely wasn't, but it was a short film that he got to screen at the Independent movie theatre in downtown LA, and there were a lot of people there and it was overall very impressive, especially considering the guy is only 20 years old and has just made a $70,000 short film

So all in all, I'm feeling pretty insignificant as I stand there in the lobby, packed full of people, with a one sheet of the film in the "Now Playing" glass bulletin thingy that all movie theaters have.  Actually I'm feeling pretty envious, to tell you the truth, because I have made no films, even short ones, ever, unless you count a few video montages I did in college, which hardly count because pretty much anyone can figure out how to use IMovie.

Anyways, we go into the theatre after a bit, and Jim, the film's director (my friend was the producer, not director) comes out and gives a really funny speech about the film and how it was made and all the people he has to thank and blah blah blah.  And all the while all I can think about is whether or not this guy is actually sincere, or whether maybe he's already caught the showbiz bug, is a completely full-of-himself-arrogant-asshole.  Is he really a nice guy who is thanking his Dad for helping support the film?  Or is he a cocky little shit and is just saying things he knows the audience wants to hear?  Is he really unsure we won't like the film?  Or is he just saying that but really already KNOWS its a good film, and if we don't like it then we're just not "film-educated" enough to understand it?

And then, after running through a couple more scenarios in my head, I just feel like an asshole, because really the only reason I'm thinking about any of this is because I'm a jealous bitch.

As it turned out, the film was actually pretty freaking good.  The framing was beautiful, and the acting was outstanding.  If it had been me, I might have edited it a little differently, maybe even tweaked the script a little, but what do I know?  I'm just a receptionist at some TV company no one's heard of.  For a 19 year old with only $70,000 to make a film, it's pretty much a miracle Jim made it at all.

Anyways, back to my job.  My boss and a few others are out of town for the week; so far I've read two books.  I'm trying to work in two more before the end of Friday.  That and I've been trying to expand my "professional network" by stalking down every alumnus from my college I can find asking them to meet me for an informational interview.   I'm hoping to get one response, maybe two, and praying one of them will meet me and offer me a way out of this hellhole.

I'll keep you posted.  Ride on!

Overpaid.

Today one of my supervisors sent me and Miss Bitch an email with a bunch of attachments and asked us to print them out.  Naturally, Miss Bitch handed the assignment over to me, and I printed out documents while she ichatted with her boyfriend.

Well, good thing I know how to press "print."  I mean honestly, let's just take a moment and consider this for a second.  WHY did this company hire me?  Here I sit, at my desk, typing on my blog because I have all the time in the world to do so (pressing "print" took a total of maybe ten seconds of my life), and all I can wonder is why my company is paying me an above-average entry level salary (minus benefits, lets not get too extravagant here) to sit at a desk and literally do NOTHING for them.                      

I mean I'll be completely honest, I'm getting way overpaid here.  Fast Food drive-thru hander-outers do more work in ten minutes than I do in my entire 9-6 day, yet I'm making the bigger paycheck.  Why is that?  Not that I'm complaining - I certainly could use the money.  But for how MUCH they're paying me you'd think they'd USE me a little more often than to simply print a document or clean a coffee maker.  In fact, if he were really smart, my boss would get rid of me and hire an intern instead - it'd save him a decent chunk of change.

Note to self for when I'm a rich and famous producer: hire lots of interns.

TGIF comrades.

Ender's Game

Anyone read Ender's Game?  It's a very, very enjoyable book, a book that I've spent my entire 9-6 workday reading owing to the fact that I had nothing else to do and the Harry Potter pirated book website that I often frequent has been temporarily shut down.

I think I'll leave it at that today.  It's already 5:58, and seeing as how I never leave work any later than 6:02 (this way it seems as though I'm not scrambling frantically to get out the door right at 6:00, although I'll let you in a secret, that's exactly what I'm doing), it's time to pack up and get the hell out of here.

Watch out for buggers.

Jobber's Remorse

This morning I arrived at work to find my boss attempting to clean his coffee maker (which, for my super-inept boss, involved him dabbing at the inside of the machine a couple of times before handing the now wet, coffee-ground covered paper towel over to me and telling me to finish the task).  Actually I honestly can't even figure out how he managed to get the thing dirty to begin with - the machine comes standard with a self-cleaning capability.  

And that's pretty much all I've done all day.  My job requires very little of me actually doing anything, so I usually spend the majority of the day reading online - I've learned that as long as I'm staring at my computer, it will at least look as though I'm doing something valuable with my time, even if I am just rereading Harry Potter for the umpteenth time on some random website that should probably be shut down for pirating the books, or blogging here, because I’ve made it a rule that I will only blog about how much I hate my job while I’m sitting here at my job (ironic, right?).

Actually, I also picked up lunch for the office today on Miss Bitch's orders.  Miss Bitch, the Executive Assistant here (and no I won't give you her real name, although if you're really dying to give her a name you can call her Lauren), absolutely loves to tell me to go pick up lunch whenever our PA - who is perhaps the only person in this office with a title smaller than my own lowly "Receptionist" one - is out on an errand.  I swear I can actually see this sort of manic gleam light up in her eyes every time she saunters over to my desk, looking ridiculously similar to a kindergarten teacher in one of her Ann Taylor meets Chicos high-waisted-skirt-with-a-frumpy-looking-button-down-shirt-tucked-in outfits and says “Ummmmmm…Stacy?  Could you like go pick up lunch?  Like now.”  Then as an afterthought: “Please.”  And then she saunters off again.

And, although she is arguably the most annoying person to listen to here at the office, I can hardly complain, because picking up lunch means getting out from behind this desk, and when you’re sitting at a desk all day from 9-6 with nothing to do except read Harry Potter or make a blog that no one will ever read, you jump at the chance to get the hell out of here.

You know that feeling of Buyer's Remorse you get after purchasing something you weren't sure you really wanted?  That's how I feel about my job, only its nonreturnable, so I'm screwed.

Allow me to introduce myself.

Why hello, blogger world.

If you are reading this it is probably because you, like myself, are a fellow bottomfeeder, or perhaps it is because you are old and wrinkly and have chosen to relive those glory years back in the day when you were first trying to find a job in this gloriously insane industry we call entertainment.

Allow me to introduce myself...Stacy Spielberg at your service.  

No, I'm not related to the god himself Mr. Steven Spielberg, although that would be incredibly awesome.  Actually my name isn't Spielberg at all, but I'm dedicating this blog in his name because I find him to be ridiculously cool.  And my first name isn't Stacy either; I just chose that name in an attempt at creating some spunky, alliterative name, although I'm beginning to realize my choice is neither creative nor spunky.  But whatever, that's not really the point.

What IS the point is that YOU, my fellow bottomfeeder friend, are reading this.  In fact, this blog is actually dedicated to you (yes YOU!), to give you some assurance that you are not alone in this crazy industry full of pompous producers and overeager assistants who are all vying to either steal your job or keep you from stealing theirs.

What are bottomfeeders?  We’re the lowest of the low, end of the food chain, dregs of a production company.  We are the coffee-getters, the phone answerers, the lunch orderers.  The nameless interns that fix broken copiers.  The recent college grads that can't find jobs and make cold calls to bored receptionists at an endless list of studios.  We are the nobodies that want to be somebodies so we can pick on the nobodies and thus perpetuate this showbiz circle of hell. 

So welcome, fellow bottomfeeder friends.  A few details on myself: I'm a 22 year old recent college grad working as a receptionist at a reality-TV production company.  I do pretty much nothing all day, with the exception of occasionally answering a phone or listening to an abysmally bossy assistant telling me I'm not allowed to pee without telling her where I'm going.

Can’t tell you much more than that – I’m going incognito for this blog, mostly because if my boss ever read this I’d be fired, but also because I’ve always wanted to have a secret identity.  It’s got a sort of superhero-esque quality to it, and really, who doesn’t want to be superhero-esque?

Anyways.  Here’s to you, fellow underdogs of the entertainment world, and I do hope you’ll enjoy this blog, if for anything else to have the sheer pleasure of learning that there’s someone else in the industry who hates being a bottomfeeder just as much as you do.

So ride on, my comrades.  I salute you.