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If there were to be a theme for my first week in Dunedin, it would be “Social and Slutty Networking by Zach.” I’ve been talking to everybody and anybody. So far, it’s turned into leads at a few newspapers and other jobs. I had a chat over at the Otago Daily Times, the major daily in Dunedin. My stutter subsided long enough for me charm the pants of those folks. They were quite taken by some of my stock witty one-liners. I took a test to be a copy editor while I was there. I’m not bad at grammar, but damn near garbage at arithmetic.
So as I’ve been networking, I’m holding in reserve an epic amount of hope. This is apparently the way in life: get yourself out there, make friends, and smile and project optimism. Certainly not my cup of tea. Or rather, certainly not the cup of tea I’ve been drinking, bitterly.
But desperation, which is the case here is manifested as a search for a job, can breed different things. In September, I needed a job badly. I had no real prospects. And though I ended up working my butt off running basketball camps and working for a laundry company (LAUGH TRACK) it was depressing. I couldn’t handle the thought of being nowhere and doing such nothing things. But, with equal desperation, I’m somewhere and doing, well, somethings.
IN OTHER NEWS
*Our place is pretty fly. It overlooks Otago harbor, has three bedrooms and just ten minutes away from the city’s social hub, the Octagon. We finally got a third roommate last night. Monica and I laid on the abrasive American charm, which somehow worked. Although, I’m sure we looked good compared to the other New Zealand crackhouses our new friend Ed checked out. One thing you find out: you’re never more your nationality than when you’re nervous. The cloak comes off. I’m a nervous
*It’s been so far so good. The basketball people do seem to like me. I’ll be (hopefully) picking up a company car this week as well as a cell phone from the team.
*On Monday, I came into train with the team. Basically, that’s just scrimmaging. There’s really no cliché to describe how badly these men beat on me. Essentially, I was the second shortest player on the court. There were a few 6’ 10” guys and the rest were ATHLETES. I stuck with these triathletes for a good five minutes or so, but my body started to break, I was huffing and puffing like an emphazemic marathon runner. By the end, near 90 minutes later, my limbs were shaking like an expectant virgin on her wedding night. Now, the challenge here is going to be taking that performance, which all these guys saw, and walking into practice next month saying “I’m your coach, listen to my knowledge.” Yeah, awkward. And by next month, I mean, tonight, Thursday, I’m running my own practice.
P.S. — I want to upload some pictures onto here, but the internet situation in New Zealand is ridiculously slow. So while I work on that, daydream about me frolicking and being (relatively) happy.
