Tips for Your Interview With a Celebrity

Hiking here? Expect a fly-by from a LAPD chopper

Twice now I've interviewed to work for a celebrity, and I've learned a few things. Maybe you'd like some pointers for the next time you interview for a job working for a celebrity?

Be prepared to sign contracts before you even start talking about the job. For example, in preparation for my first interview with a celeb, I signed a stack of NDAs and vowed I would never speak about the movie star working next door. Nevermind the fact I never met the movie star next door nor would I ever. But, ya know, oaths of silence are the norm 'round these parts.

Be on time and ready to wait. The unofficial motto of the entertainment industry is "Hurry Up And Wait." It's a statement so heavy with truth, it's likely to be found on the backside of the world famous Hollywood sign.

While you're waiting, look pretty and KEEP YOUR PHONE STOWED AWAY. Why? Odds you're being filmed while you're waiting, especially if said interview is taking place in the celeb's home. Now is not the time to upload a photo of your potential new boss' coffin coffee table (true story!).

Don't expect a handshake. Or eye contact. Or a smile. A lot of celebs ain't into reaching out and touching the common folk. For example, on my last interview, I rose to greet the celeb and was immediately told, "Don't get up." Whatevs. I prefer to sit anyway.

Do expect some trash talk. But don't you dare be the one dishing it. This is a tough town, and people are amazingly candid with their opinions--positive and negative--of others. Your celeb may talk a little smack about your former employer; you, however, should just smile and nod. That's what I did, and it worked like a charm.

Whatever you do, remember the universe revolves around them.

Now, go get 'em! And please report back to me with stories. Goodness knows I've got them in spades.

Truth

I started a new job yesterday. And, as you might expect, it's brought up a whole host of questions. My last job started with much potential and hope, yet it ended in a cul-de-sac. I made good friends and learned that, despite my prior desires, I do not want to spend the rest of my days as a copywriter. So that was a much-needed experience.

Back to the new gig. The people are so incredibly lovely. I can't imagine my good fortune at working with such smart and kind people, including my boss. On paper, my boss really is all you could want for a boss. I say on paper because I hardly know my line-manager at this point. Oh, sure, I know things like children's names and after-work plans. I know frequent flier numbers and credit card details. I know that we drive the same car and share the exact same birthday (odd). But that's about it. How my boss reacts to stress? Not sure yet. To my mistakes? Thankfully I have to learn that one in the coming days. To disappointment? Nada. So it's a paper trail and a handful of conversations I have to go on. So far, my boss seems to be Wonderboss.

May I break for a short disclaimer? You won't mind, I hope. I've no idea of this blog's readership. I hope to increase it...maybe. But for now, it's a purely personal space, one that is admittedly self-indulgent. I'm not aiming to meet deadlines so that I can share the latest finds from the glorious Internet; I'm just writing. And I hope now that I'm in this new job--in this new lifestyle--I'll write here more frequently. So, with that in mind, I'm keeping some things very vague. I'd be devastated to air someone else's personal struggle here.

Anyhoo, the weeks leading up to my first day, I had a few nightmares about my new job. The most common issue my sleeping mind struggled over was how cool I am. Seriously. You'd think my mind--sleeping or awake--could tackle more pressing issues, but that's what bothered me. To many, my boss is ultra "cool," and this intimidated me. I could go into detail, but I'll just say when I got access to Wonderboss' rolodex, all my suspicions were confirmed: Wonderboss is the ultimate tastemaker for some, the supreme last word on matters of music for others, and a bit of an idol for a handful. I, on the other hand, am the walking antithesis of Wonderboss.

WB--may I call my boss that?--is a grounded person. Case in point, upon my arrival at the office yesterday, I was given WB's desk...by WB. Where did WB sit? On the desk adjacent to mine because, you guessed it, I was sitting in WB's chair. WB is proud to drive an older Honda Civic. WB flies coach. WB is a hands-on parent. All of these things, WB does with a manner of humility.

I, on the other hand, am wrestling with humility. And it is Wonderboss who has unknowingly pointed that out.

You see, I am sometimes ashamed when I pull up to a valet stand in my 2002 Honda Civic. I blush when people figure out I am 33 and not married/not a parent/not even in a blasted relationship. I want to rush through the conversation when people ask me what I do for a living. Somehow, I've become embarrassed of my life. Yet I chose, and continue to make choices, to live this life. I chose to stay in LA, which led to forgoing a job writing for someone else, which led to taking an executive assistant job with Wonderboss. I asked for this. So why am I blushing and coveting Audis?

In the end, I can only answer by acknowledging I have put my faith in the backseat. Maybe something else drives you; for me, faith in God is my true north. And I can assure you that God doesn't care one bit about the car I drive or what my title is.

We're all struggling to fit in our own skin, I suppose. Some just hide it better than others.

Photo is from the album cover, "All Is Wild, All Is Silent" by the band Balmorhea.

A Loaded Question

I've been thinking about this blog a lot lately, specifically how my current schedule keeps me from it. I'd like that to change. So I'm looking into making a major adjustment in my life. Stay tuned.
Image found here.

About to Take a Leap of Faith

Somehow I stumbled across this post on the world wide web, and I am delighted. As a reader, I applaud Penguin for their creativity when it comes to cover artwork. It is exciting to see artists given freedom to create, and this project is just that. I hope to have that freedom for myself very soon.

Work has been tough lately. Not because of workload or because of the actual work, but because I am stuck. I feel taken for granted, overlooked, and it is painful to know I have been lied to by people I trusted. As for my next step, I am not certain. 4 of the 5 schools I applied to have sent rejection letters (or emails. how tacky). Sigh. Tomorrow is another day!

Photo belongs to the talented Jillian Tamaki, an illustrator and cartoonist. Image used with permission.

Significance

Last month I took a trip to Scotland to visit my dear friend, Katherine. One sunny afternoon, Katherine and I visited a used-book shop near her flat in St. Andrews. Here I found a beautiful leather-bound volume of John Keats' poetry.

One of the poems, "Walking in Scotland," caught my eye as I flipped the old letter-pressed pages during my first night as owner of this book. Keats captures an aspect of Scotland--and Ireland and England and Wales, for that matter--that is hard for a visitor to articulate. Well, it's hard for this visitor to articulate.

"There is a charm in footing slow across a silent plain,
Where patriot battle had been fought, where glory had the gain..."

The poem, to me at least, articulates the feeling of significance that seems to quietly rise up from the shores of these tiny bits of land that once seemed to conquer every corner of the world. Each castle and stone bridge has a long memory of battles fought and love won and adventures sought.

Lately I've been feeling quite the opposite--very insignificant. I feel as though I will always live hand-to-mouth each month. I am discouraged in the departments of love and looks. I am tired and bored. I feel invisible.

But I know I am not alone in these fits of melancholy.

Today I spoke with three friends. One was fearful about an upcoming change in jobs, another was full of regret for her decision to enroll at a particular school, and the third was discouraged about learning that a guy she hoped would be was actually not to be. In all of these conversations, I wanted to say, "Woe is I! Listen to my pathetic lot! I'm eternally dateless! I'm earning less than all of my friends! I drive a Civic that is covered in dust and dents! I'm so selfish lately I can hardly stand to be around myself!" But I didn't.

Instead I listened in amazement at the words of encouragement that came from my mouth. In this dark place I seem to have taken up residence, I somehow saw light. As with many people, I presume, depression a loyal friend to me. But I am glad to know that this friend, very much unwanted, is not making the decisions around here like it once was.

All of which reminded me of something Katherine said over a pint back in Scotland, the gist of which was: "It's not what we dream that matters. It's what we do when we wake up." Very wise words.

And now for a few photos:

New Work Digs

The company I work for, VEVO, recently moved into a new office. A new office that has a koi pond, a policy that allows pups to roam the grounds as they wish, and a bamboo forest. Well, it's sort of a forest.

Here's a glimpse of the kitchen. And some crazy chick named Elisabeth.

Week In Review

Whew! What a whirlwind the past 7 days have been! The week started on Monday, as weeks usually do, with me *technically* starting a new job. I still work for the same boss, and I still drive to the same building I did last week, but this week the company signing my checks changed. More on this development later.

I've been a busy little bee with my beloved iPhone the past few days. Aren't you lucky to enjoy the proof here:

I've discovered a new place to walk after work. The view reminds me of how glad I am to have quit the gym.


The dog: Lady. The house: my fave.


I wish I could post the smell of these peonies online. The best smell in the world. With one exception--the smell of a huge wad of cash in my hand.


Lunch at In-N-Out with some peeps from work. Yum.


Artichokes in bloom. Yes, that's what happens when you just leave artichokes to do what they will.

I've Arrived. But Just Where Am I?

A couple of weeks ago (or was it 3?), I went to see Matt Hale perform at The Hotel Cafe in Hollywood. Matt usually goes by the moniker Aqualung, so if you're shopping around for some new albums full of well-crafted songs, look for that name.

When he took his seat behind his upright piano, he announced to us all: "I've arrived." We clapped, of course, and enjoyed 40 minutes-or-so of songs and banter.

I've been thinking about that announcement these past few days. I've arrived. Usually you tell someone you've arrived at a destination as in, "I'm outside your house now," or "I landed at the airport." But we can also arrive at ideas or stages of growth. And those places aren't easily located on a map.

The place I've arrived at recently doesn't come up in any GPS system or on Mapquest. I hardly know what to call this place at which I've arrived. Instead, I find myself frequently (as recently as this morning, in fact) telling people that I'm here in LA for now. Or I'm here at this job for now. I seem to be focusing on "now" a lot, now that I think about it.

A couple of friends recently challenged me to be more aggressive with my career aspirations. For the record, I climbed off the corporate latter a long time ago with no intention of ever getting back on that blasted thing. Well, this place I've arrived doesn't really seem concerned with career aspirations. Instead, this place I've arrived is more concerned with the intangible: relationships, education, experiences. These aren't things usually scored on employee reviews.

While this place may be difficult to describe or locate, I know exactly how I got here. By way of a life-changing year abroad and a challenging year at home. One year gave me opportunities to work with magnificent people who thought and operated completely differently than any of my former colleagues. The other gave me opportunities to work with people I had literally known since my infancy. Both were challenging. Both gave me perspective. And from where I sit now, life seems especially fragile and resilient all at the same time.

This past week my sister completed a long and grueling program that will hopefully right her course. Next week she moves into a new home. In many ways she begins a new life next week: a new job, a new return address to write on letters, a new set of challenges. But I am praying fervently that she savors this moment. For such a time as this, she has arrived at this this season of new relationships and lessons to be learned.

For such a time as this, I am in Los Angeles working alongside incredible people in an incredible field of work. For such a time as this, I am living in a small apartment with a big kitchen and neighbors from far away cities. For such a time as this, I've arrived at this time of uncertainty full of routine.

And I am determined to make the most of it.

I Made It.

Dear Internet:

This post is woefully overdue, so my apologies are very much in order.

As you can tell from my subject line, I did in fact arrive in Los Angeles safely. In fact I not only arrived safely, I arrived tired and well after dark. Meghan and Joe were very kind to not only let me sleep on their comfy couch for a week but also to store my suitcases and tote bags in their living room.

Here's what it looked like when I crossed the California state line:


What a strange experience this move has been. As I left the unfamiliar, dry landscape of Arizona and entered a state I once called home, the terrain became recognizable and reassuring. All of the hallmarks of a California freeway welcomed me back: highway patrol cars were the usual black and white sedans with officers dressed in brown uniforms; blue call box signs marked the way down Interstate 10; drivers changed lanes without using indicators or their rear view mirrors.

As I headed west through the desert, the intense California sunset faded into whispers of pink and blue and yellow until all the colors bled into indigo. The desert sky was littered with more stars than I had ever remembered seeing out there.

During my first week here I found a very small apartment near work, I bought new tires because two of the old ones split, I enjoyed a lovely lobster pot pie while watching the Oscars with Meghan and I tried a breakfast place called The Waffle.

There will be much to write in the coming days, I suspect. This place feels more like a foreign country to me now than another state.

Who Says Vodka's Just For Breakfast?

When you look over your work history, is there one job that you wish you could just blot out entirely? Maybe go back in time and tell your former self, "Pass this one by. Don't take it. You'll thank me later."

There is exactly one job on my CV that I wish I could blot out. It wasn't all doom and gloom in the trenches of this job -- I did make a great friend out the experience -- but for the most part, it was hell. The reasons for such a sour outlook on my experience can be detailed later, but for now I am focused on the idea of learning from past mistakes.

So, yesterday, I had a 2nd interview for a job that was pretty much administrative and required loads of computer time. The company is one that evokes warm and fuzzy feelings as it does good work throughout the county that neighbors the county I live in. (trying to be cryptic here) While I would have enjoyed about 2 months of this job, I saw yellow flags somewhere around the 3 month mark. Early mornings. Long commute. Very formal office attire. Upping the prescription level of my eyeglasses from all the hours in front of a monitor. I saw these warning flags after the first interview and voiced them to my "employment peeps," but I was encouraged to go on the 2nd interview anyway.

Before my second interview, I thought long and hard about how to strike the balance between blowing the interview entirely and subtly suggesting that I might not be the best candidate for the job. Here are a few things I came up with:

1. Laugh like Janice from Friends
2. Eat blue cheese and roasted garlic just prior to the interview
3. Curse
4. Talk about drinking, specifically mentioning that Vodka isn't just for breakfast anymore. No, I love it right after lunch!

I did none of these things. I did, however, turn the job down. Today I send out emails looking for more freelance work and wonder, but only for a half-second, if I made the right choice. Then I sip my after-lunch martini.

When I Grow Up, I Want To Be A Riter.

When I was about 6 or so, I sat down on my bed with a Hello Kitty notepad determined to choose the course my life would take. I made a list of possible occupations that included:

- Teacher
- Nurse
- Vet
- Riter

Then, I asked my dad to review my choices and tell me which he thought would be the best choice. I'll haven't forgotten his reply after reading over my options: "Well if you want to be a writer, you should probably know that writer begins with a "W" and not an "R."

Tomorrow I head to an interview for a job that I really could care less about. It's a position with a company that does good work so it's not like I am interviewing for a job in a chicken factory or something horrific like that, but it's been a long time since I felt excitement about a job. I blame this on my decision a few years back to stop allowing my job to define who I am as a person. It's hard not to fall into this trap when you live in the States. One only needs to attend a dinner party to see what I mean.

"Hello, nice to meet you so-and-so. And what do you do?"
"Oh, I'm an advertising exec."

See? Right there this person has said, "I read 'Vanity Fair,' wear edgy glasses probably made in Germany and listen to Joy Division in my Audi. (OK so maybe the Joy Division thing is more graphic designer than ad exec, but you know what I mean). We all put people in boxes according to information we receive about them -- their profession, the car they drive or the church they attend. It's normal. It's healthy. But for some reason, I don't want to be defined by a job anymore.

Back to that list I made way back when. I don't know if I'll ever become a "riter," but I did join a writing group recently. I am currently working on something that provides a necessary escape from the often-mundane life I now lead, and this project promises to provide a creative outlet even if my job does not.

Now, let's hope that bit about my terrible spelling doesn't come up in a session with the writer's group.

Three Decades Worth of Thought

For a lot of people, the start of a new year is cause for reflection. You know the drill - regrets, achievements and resolutions all washed down with a thin glass of bubbly. I've never been huge on resolutions, though. Sometimes I consider declaring the upcoming year to be the year I will try to learn more French or I will learn piano. While I may say these things to myself, I never say them out loud to other people. I treat such statements as guidelines or a gee-that-would-be-nice goal. Life is too short to stress out about resolutions made while a stereo blasts Prince in the background and you wear a paper tiara.

But birthdays are another matter. To be completely honest, I've been dreading this year's birthday (30) for over a year. Now, I know what you're thinking, 30 isn't such a big deal! In fact your thirties are the time in your life when you finally come into your own. It's not the number that fills my stomach with dread but rather where I am in life.

Before I moved to Belfast, I thought about what I would do once my year abroad ended. Would I return to L.A.? Would I move to another city? Or would I move back home to S.C. I felt that I had missed too many things in the lives of my sister and brother and that I would welcome a holiday that didn't involve LAX, so I chose to move back to S.C. While I am glad to be near my family, I feel completely like a fish out of water in my hometown. It seems that no one wants to hire a girl from L.A. who worked in the record industry for a time. And they certainly don't want to hire a girl who volunteered for a year for Habitat for Humanity in a country that, to them, doesn't really seem to need a lot of help. This market is too small for event planners and youth marketing specialists and guerilla marketing agencies. It is a round hole and I am a square peg.

In just under two weeks time I will turn 30. I will be living in my brother's old room in my parent's house. I will probably have no new freelance work lined up and, since my temp agency seems to be M.I.A., no temp work on the calendar. My dwindling savings account will continue to dwindle and the maintenance-required light will still be shining in my Civic. I will celebrate without my brother and sister because they are in the habit of doing other things on August 29th.

But honestly, who needs a house of one's own at 30 or a corner office or a picture-perfect family sitting like ducks in a row on the front pew of church? Who needs a BlackBerry bedazzled with crystals or a Polo-clad boyfriend driving a Range Rover? Not me.

No, I will enjoy things they way they are because I know this is exactly where I am supposed to be right now. I am thankful for the opportunity to get to know my parents even better that I could have living 3,000 miles away. I am thankful for the wee bit of freelance work that has come my way. I am glad to be rid of selfish and unkind friends. And I am so very honored for the incredible friends I have scattered across The States and Northern Ireland.

Besides, I hear 30 is the new 19 or something like that.

The Wall That Sue Built

Yesterday I received this photo from a friend I shall call Sue. The arch is feature of a wall Sue is building as part of a dry-stone-walling symposium. You may see a bunch of rocks cleverly stacked to form a pretty wall with a curved opening. I see courage and ambition.

You see, a year ago Sue decided to pursue a rather obscure hobby called dry stone walling. In the States we don't see much of this art form outside of New England and pastoral parts of Kentucky. Most of our stone walls are held together with mortar and usually conceal a row of neatly placed cinder blocks. And you won't see lots of stone walls establishing the perimeter of ranches or gardens - that's what picket fences are for. But in the UK and Ireland, stone walls rule. And many of these walls don't require a drop of cement to stand tall and strong for hundreds of years. Instead, stones are stacked in such a way as to prevent the occasional cow from tipping the whole thing over.

Sue, it turns out, has always had an eye for stone masonry and a fire in her belly for running her own business. These two things haven't always been at the forefront of her mind, though. Right after university she pursued another hobby as a career and had a terrific run at that for a long season of her life. That season has now ended and she hopes to continue working in a field that she is passionate about even if the odds are, pardon the pun, stacked against her.

So this idea of pursuing a unique hobby isn't a new one. And certainly the idea of turning a hobby into a career isn't a novel idea, either. But it is a rare thing indeed to see someone dig up the courage to leave their home in a beloved city and move back to their childhood home in an effort to to pursue what they really want even if that means starting over. Since she made the decision last year not to settle for just any career, Sue has attended several conferences and symposiums where she has built a large ramp, created a diving wall to keep sheep in place and restored an old cemetery wall.

Sue and I both know that the business of being self-employed is not an easy one - we have our mothers' examples to teach us that. But I am so thankful to have a friend walking the exact same road I am taking at this time. It seems that when either of us is, again pardon my pun, at a wall, we have the other to lean on.

Clock Watcher

Well thank goodness it's called "temping."

Not that I didn't thoroughly enjoy manning a switchboard dotted with 80 or so buttons connecting me to every single person working at a massive car dealership for two days last week. In between the dozens of calls for the service department, detail crew and body shop, I counted down until the very minute that I could fax my time sheet and get the heck outta there.

As far as temp assignments go, this one was not without its crazy cast o'characters. The salespeople alone would make for a great line-up on a reality show. Each had his or her own tactic and yet each seemed completely untrustworthy. Some were very friendly and approachable while others were tough guys armed to intimidate. A few spoke to me, the lowly temp, and others barked their schedules at me from across the showroom floor. "I'm Earl and I'm going to lunch." "Sam. Hold my calls."

Oh, and the paging. Like a lot of people, I'm not a huge fan of the sound of my voice. Sometimes I am startled to hear a recording of my voice - it sounds so completely different from what I hear in my head. So to hear your voice squeeze out of tiny speakers manufactured when the nation was wondering who shot J.R. isn't a fun day at the office. And when I learned that not only did people across 3 car lots hear my voice but also that the people in the Wal-Mart parking lot across a 6-lane road could hear my voice, I was not thrilled about hitting that page button on the switchboard. Even after paging several people that first day, I was asked several times if I knew how to use the paging system. (Just so you know, in case you find yourself with the need to page, simply press the "page" button and speak into the receiver)

It seems that temps all over the world are regarded in the same light, and that light is almost always unflattering. In this light we temps look dull, slow and extremely unreliable. It is only when we receive word from our temp agency that we have been requested by a specific employer for a repeat performance that we are able to throw our hands up into the air and shout, "They like me! They really like me!" I am happy to report that the car dealership liked me for last week's job was my second appearance on that shiny new car salesroom floor. Now, let's hope it was my last.