Day 360-- How to make a copywriter's portfolio

This entry is still a learning experience as there seems to be little clarity in what a copywriter's portfolio should actually look like.  So far I have gathered:

1.) There should be a hard copy portfolio

2.) There should be about 12 pieces

3.) You should only show your best work.

Well that's helpful.  Is the outside of a portfolio like a fancy binder?  Should all of the examples of writing be in protective sheets?  I read something about rationals; (a) what are those, and (b) where do you put them?

So for now my current outline of my portfolio is something like this:

I. Resume

II. Corporate writing

III. Publishing

IV. Design work

V. Advertisement and Reviews

VI. Letters of recommendation

Tasks this weekend: spruce up the resume and cover letter, make more copies of my corporate writing, figure out how to convert a indd (indDsign) files into pdfs even though I know longer have inDesign, print out my best review and advertisement I did for the publishing house, print out my business cards, and buy a portfolio binder.

Then there's there's the issue of picking out a new interview outfit because I feel like close-toed shoes are appropriate and mine are torn up, plus I'd rather have a light gray skirt than my dark one.  Oh, and I also have to you know, apply for a job.  And hopeful get that job knowing I'll probably have to take 8 days off if I go on the family vacation (or possible get fired from my current job since they don't give out vacations in July).  Whatever!  I'll figure it out.  Time for bed though.  Three days of 7am shifts in a row are killer.  Night!

Day 359-- San Diego in pictures, a local's perspective

San Diego in pictures from a local's perspective, aka, my camera.

Day 357-- Friends are the people who take you pole dancing

[On my way to Sacramento via the train]
J: "Do you want to go to a dance class?"
Me: "Sure."
(30 minutes later we're hittin' the poles.)

Friendship; a noun, but a place.  A place where you feel happy, peaceful, safe, and inspired.   

Going back to the Bay and simply walking with friends.  Just walking.  I do so much walking alone these days, and while I don't mind the solitude most of the time, I do miss the simple action of being with people who love you and love back and at any moment you're ready to joke with or tease or cry with them. 

I feel healthy after my trip.  Calm.  Like it's all going to be ok, because it will be, and energetic to try new things in San Diego.  Yes, I've more or less decided to stay in San Diego for a while to build up my weak resume and to really give it an honest shot.  I feel like I've been asleep most of this past year and I want to make up for it, and get that awesome tan, do some yoga, go downtown for drinks, and all and all.

First stop A--, a friend from college who's been doing grant writing for a non-profit environmental service, unfortunately without, you know, pay for her writing.  I love her apartment, so open to the trees and grass outside.  I also loved her homemade pizza and am so very jealous of her adorable retro green mixer.  She's doing well if not a little anxious for things to get moving in the job market, and as she said, 'How are you supposed to know the exact name of what you want to do?'. Word.  I'm not worried about her though; she has a killer resume she's build in preparation for a sincerely successful and meaning career and life.

Next friend stop via the train to Sacramento, watching the tall yellow grass and watery bay pass by as the hours rolled by swift and ready.

J--- picked me in her sports bra and her little red car full of stickers calling for Namaste, peace, and activism. I was ordered to wear slip off shoes, loose shorts and a tank for our dance class and together you couldn't miss the fact that we're Californians.

Over some chai and boba we talked about things in the writing scene.  What are our plans?  What are our long-term dreams?  What of grad school, Hawaii, Seattle, Portland, DC, Sacramento, San Jose, San Diego, the private sector vs non-profits, the feminist twist of the concept of "The Talented Tenth" which was W.E.B. Dubois's idea that the top 10th of the race must rise the rest of the 90% (apply this to women), or the feminist twist on "The Gospel of Wealth" which was Andrew Carnegie's idea that the richest and most successful people have the responsibility of giving back to the community (apply to successful women helping young women entrepreneurs/writers).  

But enough talk and more pole dancing.  Due to a groupon deal, J---- goes once a week to pole dancing and once or twice a week to yoga.  It's not for anything or anyone but herself, and we made each other laugh with hip warm-ups and "I got this," whenever the teacher showed a difficult move.  For the record, pole dancing is actually pretty fucking athletic on the arms and abs, and a fun way to burn calories.  And I was inspired to look for some groupon deals and a gym member in my area back home.  I've gotten myself into a rut of A-to-B all day and I need mix it up.  Plus my thighs and stomach are not as tone as they were a year ago and it's been freaking me out.  I'm still skinny, but I don't like not being tone.  

Off to the airport to pick up S---- flying in from Virgina.  What a wonderful sight.  Luggage, too warm of clothes for hot Sacramento, and such a radiant genuine smile of finally being back home.

First stop Lush and loading up our baskets with lotions and potions to restock our bathrooms.  Check out Lush if you have the chance.  All of their stuff is organic, non-animal treated, feels and smells amazing. 

Off to lunch at Fanny Ann's Saloon which is all dark woods, crazy signs, and hot food.  Over burgers, wings, and fries we got to talking about the crazy shit and not so crazy shit this year has brought us. 

--"This has been the realist year of my life."

--"You keep paying for everything, I feel like I'm going to have to put out at the end of the night."

--"When it rain it pours, so get better rain boots and a coat."

--"I think we are soaring, we're just at low altitude right now."

--"It was a bubble.  I miss the bubble." [the suburbs]

--Discussing the important of simply respecting humanity coming from 1 Catholic, 1 Muslim, and 1 Atheist.

 

--What the economy has done to our lives and families ie not great jobs for us, and parents relocated and either losing houses or about to (my mom is thinking about foreclosing her investment home).

--Future plans of travel to the Philippines, DC, and Seattle 

--The love of our friends and the importance of love for ourselves.

--FOOD.  Lots of good food in our favorite places.

We walked around town to the river, to a unique olive oil tasting shop, a tiny ice cream parlor, and checked out this large costume shop and picked out the sexiest outfitters and were all stumped in how anyone could fetishize a clown outfit, but hey, where there's a will....

  

And time to leave.  Time to drink a Lemon Drop cocktail before my flight with 30 4th graders who all liked to scream, kick, wiggle, and freak out about crashing.  I loooooooove being over 21!  Weeeeeeeeee!

And I miss my friends, I truly miss them so much already. But on the bright side, for the first time in a few weeks I feel really good, I feel really positive.  Things are going to be alright, ya know? Yes, it's taken us much longer than we anticipated and we still have a few more years to go, but in the end I'm confident that we will find what we seek--adventure, truth, education, love, whimsy, and success in a field we're proud to be a part of and help others. We will be powerful women.  Pencil skirts and heels.  Perhaps one or two professors, an editor, and a high-powered PR consultant.  Giants.

And it makes me realize, the best of friends are the ones you laugh with, complain with, network with, and of course, can talk about your vibrator with. I <3 my friends.

Day 354-- Mobile homes, shoplifiting, and mansions aka Coming Home

I had been off the plane for all of ten minutes when I found myself in the dark at a mobile park home sitting in a car with the windows down waiting for my aunt as she argued with my uncle who lives there.  Ah, welcome home.

Away from the mobile homes and into East San Jose, which is made up either of the hood or old old people.  This place used to be an orchard decades ago during my mom's childhood and it's been overrun by one-story dusty concrete shopping plazas every since I was a kid.  But in a little house looking out to the slightly green, more yellow foothills is where my grandma lives with the rest of the old timers or the old timer's offspring--all which moved here during the babyboom of the early 50s.

And Grandma.  The monarch.  Now bent and unsure of herself in her aging 84 year-old body, and everyone is whispering that this is a little too familiar with the downside of time and life.  But then, when her strength is up, she starts talking as her usual ramblings go and suddenly she's recalling, "My mom always asked me why I was so busty.  Louie [my grandpa] would say, "Tell her it's because I play with them,"" and Grandma does that laugh with the little wink, and I'm shaking my head and laughing too.

Time.  Things seems to have long memories in San Jose.  Neighbors and families tend to stay put, as does the clutter in this house.  Tons of paperwork, hats, cat toys, dark wood furniture, tiny American flags, Grandma's paintings, old trunks, ect.  Everything has a place because there is no space.  And I admit that I snapped at my mom for digging around my stuff and taking inventory when I just have a simple backpack in a tiny corner and a package of socks and cards she handed me.  Everyone touches everyone's stuff around here, whether it's moving it or adjusting it, and it's a weird pet peeve for me.

And Mom.  We are a family of too many Chiefs and not enough Indians and she too bosses them around like they boss her around.  She's been happy to be here on this trip; getting out of the lonely house in the desert with her husband away, and here where people need her and love her.  It's been really nice to see her and I see that spark of my mom that seems to be around more when she's back in San Jose.

We, my mom, my grandma, and I, went to the local lake where my family lived and farmed (when there wasn't a lake) about a century ago.  The long grass, the windy hills, the gossip Grandma restates of gamblers, cheaters, and bums--which she talks about with a hint of glee.  And everything seems less complicated here.  Just natures and the smell of horses and the long memories of farming, playing cards, and living with pride or scruples.  These are the roots.  When I say I come from farmers who wanted a better life I literally mean farmers who lives 15 minutes away from my Grandma's house.  A long memory.

And it gives me pause to think about life and my own desires from it.  The farmers wanted a home and they moved up into them.  They wanted an education (my grandpa only finished 8th grade) and their daughters got some college, and the grandchildren got college degrees.  A long history of wanting more. 

But there is pride in the middle class and blue collar.  I'm more unhappy with my progress than they are.  They're simply happy I'm paying my bills.  We come from stock of department store workers and cannery workers, and when it comes to what is viewed as successful, my grandma only cares if a person, (1) "had money, but they worked hard for it," (2) if they were "clean" as in, clean shaven, clean clothes, neat and tidy, (3) were are are "intelligent".  

After the lake day my mom and I drove around old San Jose and in a moment of spontaneity we ended up at the Hay's Mansion.  We had my grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary there, but it's been awhile. My mom and I looked around, tried opening the doors, and enjoyed the richness of it.  

I have written extensively in this blog about my want of wealth, and I want to take a final note to define it.  I can't stand opulence.  I can't stand people who are disposable of things that work because they need things that are new.  I can't stand people who won't have a conversation with me or are condescending towards me because they think what they do is too complex for me to understand. I love for people to travel and I am genuinely happy for those who get the chance to see things, and go places, and get to be in the world.  But I can't stand people who make you feel inadequate because you've never been to Paris or Europe.  And don't get me started on people who have fine China and white couches.  Why the fuck would anyone ever buy a white couch? 

Opulence, condensation, and snobbery.  That's the type of wealth I don't want.  The wealth I want is opportunity.  The opportunity to pay for gas and the dentist.  To argue about which movie or musical to go to, not argue about whether or not we have the money to go.  To have health care and air conditioning. The opportunity to travel to the little places and stay for a long time.  The opportunity to not be afraid of how to pay bills and still live a life.  I want to go into Anthropologie and buy a few candles instead of agonizing over one $16 candle that I don't buy.  I always want to show up with flowers for my grandma or little gifts for my friends that comes from the heart.  I want to be able to donate to museums, to artists, to humanitarian projects. Hell, I just want to eat 3 square meals a day, which I haven't done since Easter.  When I say I want more wealth what I'm really saying is that I want more life, more living.  

End note on money and wealth for this blog.

Back to Grandma.  

She is getting older.  But despite the hysteria, no I don't think she has early Parkinson's, no I don't think she had early Alzheimer's, and it FUCKING PISSING ME OFF the panic my Aunt Weez puts onto my grandma that something is wrong.  Yes, she's having more trouble walking and she tires a little more and she talks a little softer.  She's 84.  It's called getting older.  And maybe something is wrong, but I'd rather get the results from the neurologist before Dr. Internet Says freaks her out.  

My Grandma.  In her words:

--"Always carry water with you.  You never know when you'll need to take a pill."

--"You have a nice figure.  I used to be as skinny as you but busty.  And my mom would ask me, "Why are you so busty?" and Louie [my grandpa] would say, "Tell her it's because I play with them."" (Grandma laughing with that twinkle wink in her eye).

--"With faith I take on life's challenges."

--Grandma: "I need an envelop" [grabs one and hands it to me]

Me: "Grandma, we have to pay for this."

Grandma: "It's ok, just hold it.  I shop here all the time."

[Me shoplifting for the first time ever.]

--Grandma: "Look at the ducks.  Are they Canadian geese?"

Mom: "I don't know, I haven't seen their visas."

--[Mom finding a $10 bill in the armrest]

Mom: "I always like finding 10s."

Me: "I always like finding 100s."

Mom: "Me too."

And so that was family.  Lots of pot roast, sweets, walking around the old neighborhood which still lacks sidewalks, and hugs goodbye.  I love those ladies.  And it's always hard to leave my Grandma and her stories of the ugly cousin who married the prostitute with no teeth, how her sister Ramona would sneak out the house and got knocked up, how so and so was so ugly/clean, all the good food she's eaten, the dancing her and my grandpa did throughout their lives, about her family being high on pills at the cannery, and our own little conspiracy/secret of writing letters to Regis Philbin.

I love that crazy broad.  

Well, on the train!  Friend entry tomorrow.

Day 352 (b)-- Chicago, The Musical review

Pending

"5,6,7,8!"

Day 352--Venom and spice

There was plenty of fire of venom a few days ago in one of the best fights I've ever been in.  There was broken property, yelling, literal screaming, and every single awful hurtful and honest thing you could say or want to say was said.  And there is was. My boyfriend and I, two depleted bodies with all the spite out.  And what is left but two people who for better or worse really do love each other. 

It's always been tricky for me to write about love or to talk about in person.  I suppose love is too personal and individual of a thing, and in a strange way a very very private thing.  Like owning a secret just for you two.  But there is was.  And after it all, we hugged for a long while on the sidewalk and kissed fully; surrender.  And where to go from here? I'm utterly lost in figuring out my life and every day a new idea or interest or city or date comes into view, and he's been in between jobs and promises of jobs, and it's all so in between.  His biggest argument to me is that if I'm planning on moving then at least be certain about it and have research and a plan to back it up, otherwise I'm going to find the same problems I found in San Diego.  And my argument to him to to get his shit together which he is trying to, but the people he's trying to work for are flaky as shit. So in betweens.

I guess the heart of the matter between us is uncertainty.  Uncertainty of his employment, and uncertainty of his finances, and his uncertainty of if this 4/20 industry is something he wants to stay in, and uncertainty of progressing with me with living together or moving together when he's not in stable place to launch from.  And obviously my uncertainty--for the past fucking year-- is what exactly do I want to do in my life?  What do I want to pursue, career-wise?  Because that job determines everything of where I want to live and the lifestyle I want and the time and debt I need to put into it.  There only thing that is certain is love, and we love each other.  It would easier if we didn't, but we do.

Whenever he walks into a room I'm happy.  When he touches my back or calf or feet, all of the chaos and depression of my stress eases away.   I like fighting and debating with him because it keeps my mind sharp and words precise.  I like laughing with him, and I do it often.  He's more goofy than most people know, especially his silly dancing when no one's watching.  And he's one of the most polite people I've ever met, and he's gets annoyed (like me) when people talk while yawning, or interrupt a deep conversation to answer the phone, or when girls don't pay their share at a group dinner and don't think they have to, ect.  He likes learning about the world, and while he laughs whenever I say my frequent, "Have you heard what Hillary Clinton did today?" he actually does know what Hillary Clinton did today.  

I do love him.  And he loves for a lifetime.  Young, broke, and in love--it's not quite as charming as Dickinson would like you to believe but c'est la vie.