baby sal

This year’s Fierro family Christmas was the first for my nephew, Baby Sal, who stole the show. He is remarkably well-tempered for a three month old and, as you can see, adorable. Bobby and Wendy have proven up to the challenge of parenthood, and are ensconced in the zen-like state of changing diapers, feeding, bathing, etc. that a newborn requires. It was an interesting preview of what our lives will soon (4-5 months) be like.

My mother in law spoke incessantly about this woman, who is apparently the talk of the baby world. Whenever baby Sal would cry or fuss, she would try to interpret the sounds. Skepticism and wisecracks aside (of which I supplied plenty), it is pretty fascinating.

By the end of the weekend I had perfected my own baby whispering, having lulled him to sleep not once, but twice, mid-Christmas dinner, while the aunts, uncles and cousins looked on in amazement. Uncle Justin was definitely in the house, even if he did lose $20 in the annual poker game.

There was much talk of the near future, as well as next Christmas, when Baby Sal will get to hang out with his cousin. On that front, Julia has started feeling much baby movement over the past week and we are counting the hours until next Friday, when we will find out the gender of the future offspring, setting off what will probably be the fiercest, most psychologically manipulative baby-naming debate in recorded history.

filling in the gaps

Hope everyone’s enjoying the holidays. For me, it’s been a pleasant end to a surreal few months or so, during which blogging duties were shamelessly neglected. A couple of weeks ago it seemed like everything was finally about to settle down: Julia’s morning sickness was waning, two weeks of Ibuprofen horse pills cured my undiagnosed chest pain, and I had finally concluded negotiations for the new job. I was of sound mind and body.

Then, two days after blogging about my anti-Christmas sentiments, in the kind of sweet irony that has become a hallmark of my life, I screwed up my shoulder carrying home a Christmas tree for Julia. When I first went to the Chiropractor to get it checked out, he said it was too messed up (he used a medical term I have since forgotten) for him to work on. Basically, I had carried the tree (they were out of smalls, so I bought a medium) at an awkward angle that caused three separate muscle spasms that in turn caused tendonitis and bursitis in my shoulder (yes, you can get tendonitis in a few days). I hadn’t helped matters by using a heating pad on my shoulder for three nights in a row, which is one of the worst things you can do for an injury (dry heat sucks out all the moisture). Everyone I know has delighted in telling me that Jews shouldn’t carry Christmas trees.

So my plans of using this time period to get myself back in shape were derailed. A few days after the injury and subsequent diagnosis, in a late-night, alcohol-induced state, I made the brilliant decision to play a conga at a bar while my friend Ryan deejayed. To my defense, I rarely find myself in that situation anymore (around available drums), and it was just too hard to resist. Plus people seemed to like my playing. Regardless, I woke up in pretty bad shape the next day and was still too banged up to go see my friend Mark’s band perform that night, which was frustrating.

Anyways, I’m feeling better now, and Julia and I are going to join the local gym today (along with millions of other Americans). Since I (fortunately) got my new job for my mind and not my body, I have been doing some crash-reading on marketing/advertising. My favorite bit of information I have come across so far:

"Advertising is a craft executed by people who aspire to be artists, but is assessed by those who aspire to be scientists." – John Ward, B&B Dorland (via Hey, Whipple, Squeeze This, by Luke Sullivan)

Hey, at least it won’t be boring, which is more than I can say for the 74 other jobs I’ve had since graduating from music school. Plus, it caters nicely to my verbal neurosis (in case anyone needs a good blog or domain name, both verbalneuroses.com and verbalneurosis.com are available). In fact, you’d be hard pressed to find someone more excited to join an industry that’s reputedly vapid and soul sucking, with long hours. Bring it on, I say. You’re talking to a man who was once paid to stand in the cold of an Iowa winter, holding a sign for a jewelry store going out of business. I know not where I’m going, but shall never forget where I’ve been. As always, I’m guardedly optimistic©.

Speaking of el nuevo trabajo, my inside man and future colleague, Jason English, has tagged me. At his request, here are five things you probably don’t know about me (which is actually pretty difficult, given the candid and narcissistic nature of this blog):

1. When speed-walking through crowded streets, I sometimes imagine a play-by-play announcer marveling at my moves and replaying them to point out the brilliance and creativity. “Watch right here as he veers into oncoming traffic to avoid the small Ecuadorian man handing out flyers, and then ducks back behind the hotdog cart right before the bus hits him – amazing!”

2. For the last few years I have read the box score online for almost every single NBA game. For some reason the numbers calm me. Can’t explain it.

3. Julia (who danced ballet for 14 years) swears that I could be a professional modern dancer. Seriously. Sadly, now that I don’t drink that much anymore, you will probably never witness my grace and improvisation firsthand.

4. For someone who graduated from music school (and endured four semesters of ear-training), I am an embarrassingly bad singer. But I can remember the exact sound and feel of every conga I’ve ever owned, performed with or practiced on.

5. I once consumed an entire box of Stove Top stuffing.

Five people I’m tagging to do this (but who should by no means feel forced to do so): soapy t, octopus g, fussy rice seeds, chanchow, south oxford.

(It’s good to be back.)

movin' on up

I did it – I got me a real job. On January 2nd I will start work as a junior copywriter for The Renegade Marketing Group. It still hasn’t really sunk in yet. Feels to good to be true, I guess.

As mentioned here before, amidst interviewing for assorted web-production and web content manager positions this summer, I had an epiphany: I needed a job that would allow me to write. Such jobs (at least those that pay decently) are much harder to come by, though, so it took a few months of selectivity and restraint before I found something.

A copywriting position was ideal, but I figured I’d have to build up a portfolio elsewhere before breaking into the field. Fighting earlier inclinations, when on the verge of applying for a job I would ask myself two questions:

1. Would I really enjoy doing this?
2. Will I have to pretend to be someone or something I’m not?

That knocked out many potential positions (including one at this company). Early one October evening I read a recently posted ad on craigslist, looking for a junior copywriter. Experience didn’t matter, claimed the ad, they just wanted someone who was passionate about words. One aggressive cover letter (chosen from the 150 they received), fifteen informal interviews and three well-received answers to hypothetical questions (intended to analyze my writing style) later, I had a job.

The people I’ve met at the company are great and, more importantly, seem to genuinely enjoy working there. It’s a small (60 people), growing company in a nice loft space in the Chelsea Market, where I used to work. Although my world will surely be turned upside down (longer hours, exponential increase in responsibility, a new field in which I have zero experience), I can’t wait.

I was even able to use some writing (the "memories of family cars" entry) from this here blog as a sample for the gig, which feels great, seeing as how that was one of the main reasons I started blogging in the first place.

And so, the prophecy has come true: you really have followed live as I plotted my escape from Corporate America. Any suggestions for a new subheading?