Happy Times in Stevenland
Thanks for all of the birthday wishes.
I am happier now than I have been on a birthday since 2007, when I was in Vegas shooting models for the Best of the Best TV show and partying at the Playboy Club atop the Palms.
I have good news to report. I GOT A JOB!
The recruiter in North Carolina called on Thursday to say an employer (who I shall not name yet because I don’t want to jinx it) had given the go-ahead to hire me for a telecommuting position as a blogger/aggregator for its web site, which takes trending info from Facebook and Twitter to list for us copywriters what to write about. I’m sure I will have more to tell you soon, but I am sort of in limbo at the moment, hired but not yet put on an assignment. I’m very happy to get back to work — full-time day job work, that is, since my freelance efforts have kept me plenty busy. This new job will have me writing for a readership of MILLIONS. It will take my career to an all-new level, just when I was afraid I was starting over from scratch. Whew!…
This difficult experience has taught me to never stop adding skills, keep at the networking and always be looking for your next job, even if you are perfectly happy with the one you’ve got! This was the first time I was unemployed in my life, so I didn’t know what to expect. The pre-layoff anxiety was actually far more harrowing than the actual time out of a job, just because it’s hard to focus on doing your job when you’re worried about losing it and trying to squeeze in time to find your next gig. I’m grateful that my old bosses at MAV gave me a head’s up they’d sold the TV network to new owners and I needed to start the job search before I was let go two days before Christmas last year. I always keep an emergency fund in savings, just for unexpected crap like this, and I had almost completely exhausted that. Yikes!
To anyone reading this who is unemployed right now… Please keep your chin up. I know how depressed you feel right now, but one phone call literally changed my entire mood, giving me a sense that a weight had been lifted off my back. I was first contacted by the recruiter about this position the week after Christmas (got the call while I was sitting in the New Orleans Coyote Ugly getting hammered, LOL). I took two “tone tests” to make sure I could write in their style, then I interviewed with one of the big guys at the top of the corporation. I hadn’t heard anything from them since March 6, so I had pretty much written this one off as another futile exercise. Just a couple of days before, I’d been rejected by the publisher of a new magazine and a video game company hiring copywriters. So don’t despair. Preservere. You may feel exhausted and weary, but a phone call or email saying you’re hired may be just around the corner. It took them 16 days to call and tell me they wanted to hire me. Don’t give up!
I’m happy to say I’m working on some pretty cool freelance stuff, as well. The BikiniMarketing.com website is coming together nicely, with an expected launch in April. I also had an idea for a new website, which I may describe to you guys later once I have all of my ducks in a row.
Man, when it rains, it pours!
When a vasectomy goes bad
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Just saw this report on CNN talking about how men are going to the doctor to get vasectomies so they can use the recovery time to sit at home and watch NCAA March Madness. The story quotes a Cleveland doctor who says the procedure takes about 10 minutes and there is minimal pain involved.
Oh boy… I’ve been reluctant to talk about something deeply personal that happened to me, but I feel compelled now to share after seeing this and reading so much about women’s contraception in the news.
Here’s the nut: I got a vasectomy last fall. The week after Labor Day, actually.
I asked for the procedure because I have a beautiful daughter who is my everything, so I don’t see myself yearning for additional children out of an insatiable desire to change more diapers.
My 15-year-long marriage ended last year, and I was suddenly dating a variety of women, some of whom I had the privilege of knowing in the Biblical sense. I quickly learned that a newly divorced man with resources can’t always trust what a newly divorced woman in need of a provider says. I don’t want to sound misogynistic, but I don’t think it is a radical stretch to say that unplanned pregnancies have roped more than one good man into an 18+ year commitment he regretted. I took responsibility for my own birth control rather than gambling.
So, to the doctor I went, assured after reading the comic bookish literature that it would be a simple remedy that wouldn’t take away from my routine too much.
My surgeon, Chester C. Hicks, Jr., M.D., F.A.C.S., of Clinical Urology Associates PC, asked me to take my pants off and put my feet down in the stirrups. He injected a needle into my scrotum, then proceeded to use a scapel to splice open my scrotum. That’s when I realized the anesthesia wasn’t strong enough.
Yes, you read that right. Feel free to cringe, boys.
I clinched my fists and instantly let out a loud yelp. Dr. Hicks gazed up from between my legs, a surprised look on his face. He injected more anesthesia, which caused my crotch to go numb. I could vaguely feel the sensation of something going on down there as he severed the vasa defentia and then cauterized the ends. The scent of burning flesh made me sick to my stomach.
He assured me that my scrotum would continue to produce testosterone and other male hormones that are secreted into the blood stream, so while my sexual desire would not be diminished, I would have nearly zero chance of making a woman pregnant once the active sperm were flushed out of my system. Sperm would continue to produce down there, but the squiggly ones would break down and absorb into my body. He warned me not to have sex too soon after the procedure, both to avoid injury and to prevent impregnating anyone with those last resilient sperm.
That wasn’t a problem. You see, there was a pretty major complication that took me out of action for six months.
The soreness didn’t stop after the week or thereabouts I was told to expect. Neither did the swelling. In fact, it got worse. Much worse.
The doctor took a look and diagnosed me with scrotal hematoma. Internal bleeding caused one of my tesicles to swell up to the size of a tennis ball. I couldn’t wear jeans for more than two months (it’s a good thing I was working from home at the time). I also suffered from congestive epididymitis, a mild/annoying pain that felt like tiny stabbings in my testicles.
Dr. Hicks told me I was in the 1% of vasectomies that experience such complications. Why couldn’t I be in the 1% that is filthy rich, instead?!
The woman I was dating at the time was so grossed out by my situation that she stopped seeing me, although she denies that was the reason she started making excuses why she couldn’t spend time with me anymore. And by the time I recovered enough to actually be in a position to have sex with someone else, the other women I had dated had moved on to other relationships. This all happened in a very small, Bible Belt town with slim pickings.
So, the autumn and early winter were not a good time for my mojo. If there’s one positive to this story, at least it didn’t happen in the summertime when I like to get out and do photo shoots and be active.
I’m back to normal down there, apart from the continued stabbing sensation sometimes and one of my testicles having a different consistency.
My point? Guys, don’t assume that getting a vasectomy will be all roses and rainbows. They warn you about the risks for a reason. My experience is rare, they tell me, but after all I went through, I can’t say I recommend it.
If you get a vasectomy so you can watch the NCAA basketball finals, you better hope you aren’t stuck watching half of baseball season as well.
The Mean Season
Let me tell ya, bubba. It’s brutal out there. Far more than I ever imagined.
Last fall, I was given notice that I needed to find another job. Here we are on the cusp of March, and I’m still looking. I can just imagine how disheartening it must be for others who’ve been searching longer or with fewer skills or less experience to offer. I’m told that I’m having far more success getting phone screenings and interviews than many people. I’ve had lots of interest tugging at the bait I’ve set out, but no one is reeling me in just yet. It feels like a repeated kick in the gut to come so close so many times and yet have nothing tangible to show for it. A firm in Chattanooga made me jump through a series of hoops for nearly three months before finally poking a hole in my balloon.
I avoided admitting I am in this situation for months, hoping I could project success and essentially fake it until I could make it. That hasn’t worked, so now I am stepping forward with an attitude of humility and hoping someone I’ve helped or been kind to will return the favor in my time of need. To quote Richard Marx, “When you’re trying to make a living, there ain’t no such thing as pride…”
According to Labor statistics, it now takes about seven and a half months to find a job in the U.S. There are currently an average of six people vying for every job out there. Like I said, brutal…
The American economy has been in the crapper since late 2007. Household net worth has suffered the sharpest decline on record as trillions of dollars have simply vanished in the wake of falling home prices, foreclosures, the lack of lending, and manufacturing shifting overseas.
I’ve seen the decline of American enterprise painfully up close here in Fort Payne, Alabama, which just a few years ago boasted the title of “Sock Capitol of the World” until our own Congressman, Robert Aderholt, voted yes on the Central America Free Trade Agreement (CAFTA) and opened the floodgates for sock manufacturing to flow into places like Guatamala. Now my hometown is littered with empty mills that once housed a thriving industry — all because Walmart wanted to improve their profit margin and you wanted to pay as little as possible for the socks you are wearing right now as you read this.
And, ironically, Mister Aderholt still has his job despite thousands of his constituents losing theirs.
It feels as if I spend all day searching job sites and filling out online applications that end up going into black holes, never to be seen again. I get excited when a prospective employer takes an interest in me, then the days turn into weeks and they either send me Dear John letters or they simply never give any response.
I’m trying to get a competitive edge by taking tips from websites and reading books like Guerrilla Marketing for Job Hunters 3.0. My unique résumé, packed full of eye-catching graphic elements and loaded with desirable keywords, is a reflection of what I’m learning.
My goal, short-term at least, is to find a job either telecommuting (which I’ve done successfully for the last 8 years) or in Chattanooga, which is an hour’s commute, all interstate. I have joint equal custody of a 10-year-daughter. I can’t simply move away and abandon her. She needs me, and I need her to be a meaningful part of my life as well. I’m conflicted, however, because I also feel like a terrible father if I’m not living up to my professional potential to give her the best possible lifestyle. These are the worries that keep me up at night, and I grow increasingly weary for a resolution of some sort.
My friend Dave in Atlanta, a fellow photographer who had a day job in the marketing field, has been looking for more than a year. He’s stopped paying his credit card bills because he only has enough money to pay his car payment, pay for groceries and his cell phone.
He said, “It is very discouraging on many levels. I can’t find anyone willing to pay me for photography jobs right now. I am so frustrated at this point in my life with this entire search, there are days like today when I just throw up my arms and want to say f**k it, I give up. I told my wife that if she wants to take me to court for child support, I’ll go to jail and then she has zero chance of me finding a job there. My daughter is 16. She is begging for a car. Imagine not being able to give your daughter what she wants. She doesn’t come over to visit on weekends anymore because dad isn’t so important. So on top of job loss, add the feeling of being a deadbeat dad…”
My heart goes out to him so much. I don’t know whether to feel relief that I don’t seem to be at that same sad place or dread that in a few months, if something doesn’t break, I may be even worse off than he is.
There are those who say anyone who doesn’t have a job right now is just lazy. I’ve done the whole applying at McDonalds thing, and you get used to hearing managers say, “You’re overqualified. I’m not going to spend time and money training you just to see you leave once the first better job comes along.”
Besides, how am I doing myself any favors taking a $30,000 pay cut if I can focus with intensity to try and get something closer to what my experience and qualifications can earn?
I’m not stupid enough to think I’m going to find a replacement job that pays as much as the job I had. Why would employers offer those kind of wages if the labor pool is full of desperate, hungry people? I guess it is the opposite of those prosperous days when they had to offer perks to fight for the best talent. Now they have the luxury of even their most talented staffer feeling as if his or her job security is on shaky ground. The only downside for them is the Catch-22 of not having enough consumers to buy their products or services.
Yes, I’ve tried seeking freelance work, but even that is coming up empty. I’m going to keep at it, trying to find various ways to set myself apart from the pack, and get additional training through Lynda.com and Northeast Alabama Community College so I have even more marketable, transferrable skills to make myself a valuable commodity to snatch up.
Please someone out there, give me an opportunity to put my skills to work for you. I’m loyal, motivated, intelligent, creative, adaptable, and ready to get to work today!
My skills include photography, art direction, interviewing, blogging, negotiating rights and permissions for publication, communicating with contributors to get content delivered in the appropriate formats, quality control, developing strategic partnerships, SEO, copywriting, copyediting, social media marketing, post-production, video editing, reportage, newsletters, email marketing, content aggregation, web analytics, website development, page layout, proofreading, etc. The software/apps I am proficient using include Photoshop, Final Cut Pro, WordPress, Hootsuite, eCampaign, Pages, Numbers, Excel, QuarkXPress, MasterWriter, and more.
Operation Long Hair: You Be the Judge
Longer hair in September
Eleven months ago, my divorce after 15 years became final, and I had an important choice to make: Motorcycle, tattoos, muscles, or long hair.
Understandably, when you get out of something as traumatic as watching your family disintegrate before your very eyes, you want to reinvent yourself in at least some minor way. Laugh all you want, ladies, but you obsess over your appearance even when you are happily married.
While I wouldn’t recommend the process to anyone, the fact is divorce does afford you new-found freedom to go out and make new friends and do whatever you couldn’t while legally joined with a spouse. You find yourself going on trips simply because you don’t have to answer to someone else anymore (although I do advise checking in with someone in case you end up in the house of that cannibal family from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre).
To emerge on the other side of a marital split as completely the same person is just kind of sad, a missed opportunity to turn heartbreak into the next level of you.
For my obligatory “wild hair” reinvention, I briefly considered the motorcycle thing. And getting a tattoo. And getting bulked up with biceps. Motorcycles may be sexy, but not very practical, plus you have to get an impressive enough hog, which means major moolah dispersement. While I’d love to go riding, I can think of about 20 other gizmos I’d rather own than a Harley.
The main thing preventing me from getting a tattoo was a lack of inspiration about what body art to get, along with the realization that you can’t simply get one or two tattoos to get the maximum bad-ass effect. You have to get the freakin’ dragon across your shoulder blade and down one arm, minimum. If I was only going to get some cliché tribal thing or a little butterfly, why even bother? Again, I can think of lots of better ways to spend my hard earned cash than injecting ink under skin that will eventually fade and sag due to time and gravity.
My friend Kevin
I seemed most likely to transform myself in the gym. I sent off for P90X and started doing those grueling workouts. The only problem was life kept coming up and knocking me off the program, forcing me to start the 90 days over and over. And once you get that first day ache out of the way, you don’t want to go through that again. The nutrition part of it also proved very hard for a renewed bachelor whose cooking skills barely extended beyond heating up Spaghettios. I may yet become a muscle-bound stud, but for the moment anyway, I retain my cute beer gut and average upper body strength. I’m still strong enough to kick your ass.
So I was left with one option: Growing out my hair.
Short Hair Steven
I’d attempted to grow my hair long while I was in college, but the result was more often than not something resembling a white guy’s afro. Not sexy. That was back when the metal bands all had big hairsprayed ‘dos. Even then I thought those guys looked ridiculous. For all practical purposes, my own hair had never gotten any longer than my shirt collar.
My sister Anita, who is my best friend and most trusted advisor, was the primary instigator of Operation Long Hair.
“Grow it out,” she prodded. “There’s nothing sexier than a guy with the audacity to wear long hair. It shows confidence. Plus, you’ll look like a creative person, an artist, rather than a banker.”
That last part was probably what did it. Appealing to my desire to be seen as that sensitive soul seemed to fit my whole motif. I certainly couldn’t out-bodybuild my way to a distinctive look, nor badass my way to a believable look with a Harley that costs as much as my house or tattoos I’d already regret before leaving the parlor.
Short haired Steven
Let’s face it. I’m awesome in lots of ways, but I’m hardly a bad ass. Not in the conventional cartoon stereotype sense. Not yet anyway. I’m working on that, as soon as I figure out how to not care so much what other people think of me.
Sensitive artist seemed a lot more me, more natural, zero pretend factor. Also, I telecommute from a home office and rarely ever see my bosses, so it’s not like I had someone breathing down my neck from the corporate HQ to clean up my look.
The last time I let someone cut my hair was April, nine months ago. I was tempted many times to just hack it off. Early on, when it grew more on the sides than the top (let’s face it, I’m not 20 anymore), I cultivated a bit of the Ben Franklin look. Completely ridiculous. Right about then, I grew extremely pessimistic about the chances of success for Operation Long Hair.
A rough patch in the great experiment
But my sister kept encouraging me to keep going, saying it would look better once it was weighted down. She dangled before me one key thought: That if I cut my hair then, I’d never know how awesome it might look in a month. If and when I cut it short, I doubt I’ll ever let my hair grow this long again, so I have a once-in-what’s-left-of-my-lifetime opportunity to see whether it would look as cool as she suggested.
That tells you how much sway she has on me, considering how many lady friends I have ignored offering their opinion that I look better with short hair. Some have said they like it long, but I’m not sure if they really mean it or they’re just being polite. Most have said it looks better short. And possibly it isn’t what looks best on me as much as their personal preference. She women like guys with the short hair, others dig the long hair they can run their fingers through.
Oh yeah
My ex always had a thing for long haired rocker types. Those guys don’t seem to have any problem having girlfriends and groupies. I wish I knew how to play guitar. I played trumpet in high school. Does that count as a sexy instrument? Not unless I’m Miles Davis? Decidedly not. But I am starting to look like the horn blower from the Muppets.
Now I’m on the prowl for a new job. I’m nervous about the long hair, although I probably shouldn’t be. As long as I shampoo it daily and properly groom myself, there’s no reason to expect an employer would base a hiring decision solely on who had the more conservative hairdo. Then again…
I’m finding the long hair does change you a bit. I move a little slower for some reason. But I also get annoyed pulling apart tangles. Roaming free, I am curl city and the wind blows the hair in my face, which is annoying. When I put some product in it, it actually looks pretty good. I thought it would be harder to style it, but it is actually easier to comb it into place, as opposed to that messy punky look when it is short.
So I’d appreciate your feedback. Constructive feedback. Don’t tell me I look like a dweeb. I already know that.
The End of an Era
Steve Jobs
I have a heavy heart this week for several reasons. I lost a dear friend in an argument, a close family member’s marriage is falling apart (leaving him in a legal battle just to see the faces of his own children), I got passed over for a job I interviewed for that was a perfect fit for me, and then last night, piling on the heartbreak, we got the news I’d been dreading: Steve Jobs had lost his battle with cancer.
I don’t want to sound melodramatic. Life goes on. Perhaps it is stupid to feel such intense sadness over the death of a man I never even met in person. I’ve been around celebrities most of my life and tend to roll my eyes at most celebrity worship that I witness. I nevertheless greatly admired Steve Jobs. He was one of the few people I hold in awe and crave the opportunity to shake his hand. Call me juvenile if you want, but he and Steven Spielberg are two of my heroes — men who share my first name and have accomplished truly great things.
I’ve been a Mac Fanboy since I got my first MacIntosh computer in 1990 or thereabouts. I remember seeing it in the store and thinking that even though other personal computers cost far less, this was the one for me. The graphical user interface, the sleek design of it and simplicity of use made it an intuitive instrument for creativity to flow forth (Before this, I wrote using a bulky text processor with big pixelated green words on a black screen, so a computer that looked more like a TV set than a toaster was a huge evolutionary step). I’ve always prided myself on being adventurous with technology and adopting things early on. I was a Mac guy before the iPod, App Stores and all of that.
There are millions of people who join me today in the sentiment that Steve Jobs and Apple rescued us from a world of blah computing, making it exciting with hardware and software that is, to quote the man himself, “insanely great.” The triumph of the Apple brand is a tribute to innovation, marketing and product design. The face and driving force behind all of that was Steve Jobs, so you can see why I greatly admired and respected the man. Like an amputee incorporating a prosthetic leg to become a marathon runner, I’ve deeply integrated Apple products into my daily life and workflow.
After I heard the news of Jobs’ death last night, I watched YouTube clips of him giving those wonderful Apple presentations. What an amazing showman and presenter he was. Whenever I heard there would be an upcoming program, I’d think, now there’s something to anticipate. He rarely disappointed and usually went above and beyond to produce technology that made life more simple, enjoyable and opened new doors.
I know Jobs did not produce these wonderful machines alone. And I have no doubt Apple will continue to churn out amazing devices under the direction of fellow Auburn alum Tim Cook and people like Jonathan Ives. Mr. Cook has big shoes to fill, but he does so with great momentum pushing Apple forward and runs a company full of people who share the vision going forward. Apple is one of the companies I’d jump at the chance to work for.
It makes me very sad that I’ll never again get to look forward to those presentations and feel that tinge of excitement when Steve Jobs the rock star came out on the stage in his trademark black shirt and jeans, giving me what I wanted and then adding “one more thing.”
My Sweet Oasis 
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