What a surprise, the company I interviewed with that promised to contact me and let me know one way or the other, that asked would I be reachable by phone until 8 pm or as early as 7am so they could set up a final interview on basically no notice and would I please hold Friday's schedule open so they could call me in....didn't even bother to send me an email saying thanks but no thanks.
Perhaps they don't put a high value on professional courtesy. I could understand not responding to resumes they were not interested in after the first eyeball review. But this far into the evaluation process, after a preliminary phone screening, a formal phone interview, contacting professional references, an in-person interview, and telling me they would let me know, that does surprise me. I'm glad I had the professional courtesy to promptly send them a post-interview thank you letter. I maintained my professionalism even if they didn't. Cold comfort, but there it is.
Well, I'm back to actively sending out resumes and looking for job ops.
It's a real bitch that the job offers I've had have all been from the UK. Can't get a work permit there for love or money.
Wednesday, September 29, 2004
Monday, September 27, 2004
Search Order
by Raúl Rivero
What are these gentlemen looking for
in my house?
What is this officer doing
reading the sheet of paper
on which I've written
the words "ambition," "lightness," and "brittle"?
What hint of conspiracy
speaks to him from the photo without a dedication
of my father in a guayabera (black tie)
in the fields of the National Capitol?
How does he interpret my certificates of divorce?
Where will his techniques of harassment lead him
when he reads the ten-line poems
and discovers the war wounds
of my great-grandfather?
Eight policemen
are examining the texts and drawings of my daughters,
and are infiltrating themselves into my emotional networks
and want to know where little Andrea sleeps
and what does her asthma have to do
with my carpets.
They want the code of a message from Zucu
in the upper part
of a cryptic text (here a light triumphal smile
of the comrade):
"Castles with music box. I won't let the boy
hang out with the boogeyman. Jennie."
A specialist in aporia came,
a literary critic with the rank of interim corporal
who examined at the point of a gun
the hills of poetry books.
Eight policemen
in my house
with a search order,
a clean operation,
a full victory
for the vanguard of the proletariat
who confiscated my Consul typewriter,
one hundred forty-two blank pages
and a sad and personal heap of papers
—the most perishable of the perishable
from this summer.
Note: Cuban poet and journalist, Raúl Rivero, is serving a 20-year sentence. He is one of the dissidents Václav Havel and Elena Bonner are supporting in their campaign of solidarity. The police confiscated Rivero's books and papers at the time of his arrest, but the poet's wife, Blanca Reyes, was able to rescue the manuscript of a poem describing an earlier police raid on his home. Letras Libres published the poem in Mexico.
by Raúl Rivero
What are these gentlemen looking for
in my house?
What is this officer doing
reading the sheet of paper
on which I've written
the words "ambition," "lightness," and "brittle"?
What hint of conspiracy
speaks to him from the photo without a dedication
of my father in a guayabera (black tie)
in the fields of the National Capitol?
How does he interpret my certificates of divorce?
Where will his techniques of harassment lead him
when he reads the ten-line poems
and discovers the war wounds
of my great-grandfather?
Eight policemen
are examining the texts and drawings of my daughters,
and are infiltrating themselves into my emotional networks
and want to know where little Andrea sleeps
and what does her asthma have to do
with my carpets.
They want the code of a message from Zucu
in the upper part
of a cryptic text (here a light triumphal smile
of the comrade):
"Castles with music box. I won't let the boy
hang out with the boogeyman. Jennie."
A specialist in aporia came,
a literary critic with the rank of interim corporal
who examined at the point of a gun
the hills of poetry books.
Eight policemen
in my house
with a search order,
a clean operation,
a full victory
for the vanguard of the proletariat
who confiscated my Consul typewriter,
one hundred forty-two blank pages
and a sad and personal heap of papers
—the most perishable of the perishable
from this summer.
Note: Cuban poet and journalist, Raúl Rivero, is serving a 20-year sentence. He is one of the dissidents Václav Havel and Elena Bonner are supporting in their campaign of solidarity. The police confiscated Rivero's books and papers at the time of his arrest, but the poet's wife, Blanca Reyes, was able to rescue the manuscript of a poem describing an earlier police raid on his home. Letras Libres published the poem in Mexico.
SHAUN of the DEAD
This film is fucking hilarious! It's the absolute perfect send up of all the George Romera Night of the/Dawn of the Dead films. A warning, it's very anglocentric humour. But, if you get the Brit lifestyle thing, you will be creasing up as you watch and screaming in laughter by the end.
I'm not a horror fan, but this film is just brilliant.
I'm not a horror fan, but this film is just brilliant.
Sunday, September 26, 2004
GOODBYE LENIN
Go see it! Awesome film. Awesome. Thank you, Andrew for loaning me the DVD. Awesome film. It brought tears to my eyes. Awesome.
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