Hugh MacLeod's "Ignore Everybody: and 39 other Keys to Creativity"
Ford R. Meyers "The Ultimate Career Guide"
Reza Aslan's "No god but God"
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Deadly Game: the Job Hunt...tribute edition
Before I started looking for my job in corporate America, I was a day laborer. I was a dishwasher, landscaper, even a bouncer. I can't say that I'm a blue collar worker though because I never made a life out of it. I never depended on these grueling jobs for my sole source of income, and I never reached a level of skill that would distinguish me in any of those professions. What I can say is that I gained a strong sense of admiration for those who spend a lifetime doing jobs that most of us would prefer to farm out to other people. Some of them hate their jobs, but a majority of the people I've met in these professions do it with a profound sense of passion. I admire the guts, the resolve, and the determination that alot of them possess despite the fact that they don't bring home massive paychecks. Also, to be truthful, they take alot of crap from a lot of very annoying people. So today I am paying tribute to them in one of the few ways I know how. The manly art of poetry...it's manly damn you! Don't judge me!
Working-class people Hang out in working-class places You can tell them by the wear On their working-class faces Working-class people Who gave up on dreams Work for new reasons And the working-class seems To be just working for tomorrow And maybe another chance Waiting for someone To give their working class a glance They’re tired of the working-class struggle Taking place from pole to pole And they’re tired of the working-class shovels That dug them into their working-class holes They don’t want a new world Maybe one with softer beds And they won’t let a stylist Touch their working-class threads There is no working-class botox No necessary chemical peels Ain’t no beauty in the pain That the working-class feels There’s no working-class poetry Their time is quite spoken for Leave at dawn, return at dusk Stumbling back through working-class doors Yet they are the vanguard The advancing front line of mankind Who eat all the artillery While the rest, rest behind The factory workers and auto repair men The miners, landscapers And bouncers who scare men The tailors, the day laborers The dishwashers and cooks Those that toil in freezers Hanging meat through metal hooks Grave diggers Construction workers Dock workers and dredgers Ah, the mere infantry of life, Poor beggars.