As a point of reference for this blog post, let me give you a list of jobs* I’ve held over the years.

(*Jobs as in I actually got paid)

TIMMY JOBS: THE SHORT LIST

Paperboy
Lifeguard
Greeter at The Warner Brothers Studio Store
College Box Office Student Employee
Camp Councilor
VIP Car Wash . . . guy who drys the car at the end of the wash.
TEMP at EVERY FUCKING PLACE YOU CAN THINK OF
Waiter at Upstream Brewing Company in Omaha
Administrative Assistant to the Vice President of Finance and Administration at Teachers College Columbia University
Administrative Assistant to the Vice President of Academics at Teachers College Columbia University
Bartender, Polistinas, NYC
Tony the Tiger
The Cool Aide Man
Box Office Assistant Manager at Second City
Administrative Assistant to the Director of International Finance, Prudential Capital Group
Administrative Assistant to the Vice President of International Finance, Prudential Capital Group
Team Assistant, International Finance, Prudential Capital Group
Teachers Assistant, Columbia College Chicago Screenwriting Center
Guy Handing Out Flyers, Snack Samples, stuff in general — multiple times

THE END (SORT OF)

This list goes on and on like a breakdown of side effects caused by prescription drugs. Or just some torture list devised by a man without a soul. It pains me to see this. The point is, do you see the pattern? THERE ARE VERY FEW JOBS I WANT OR REALLY HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH MY CHOSEN CAREER. I mean, yes, I have done some theatre and improv for money, but it’s never fully sustained me.

Of course, there are some artists who’ve had to acquire money in a lot worse ways.

So, Ugh. Especially ugh to the long part in the middle with the awful words “Administration” and “Assistant.” That whole period in my life makes me want to jam a letter opener in my eye.

Today, however, could not have been a greater moment in the comedy of errors I call my career . . . I was offered a job by Conan. Not THE Conan.  Just the show Conan.  And while it’s not glamorous or high paying — it doesn’t even have benefits.

First and foremost . . . I might see a monkey. So I have that going for me.

First, I get to continue being a monologue intern — as that is the creative path I’m pursuing, this is perfect.  I’ll get to keep contact with the writing staff and creatives while I go make money in the afternoons being a PA.  And the PA job is an outside job for some of the day. Can anyone say tan?!

Okay, can anyone ELSE say “tan”?

Most of all, As my new boss, Lisa, described it, this is the “half-way house” of Conan: people eventually move up from there. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m actually on some upward mobility.

See, it’s hard to believe you are going anywhere when it doesn’t feel like it. It’s like getting car sick when you’re reading. Your eyes trick you into thinking that your not moving because you’re so focused on a stationary object. But subconsciously, through equilibrium, you’re ears know you are moving. So, mixed signals get sent to the brain . . . one says your stuck and the other says you are hurtling through space . . . and you throw up.

That’s been my career. I’ve been so focused that I’ve never felt much forward movement. Except when I looked around up from my routine every few months or so . . . The car sickness equivalent of having to go to the bathroom.  I just honed in on as many projects as I could, trying to learn and keep busy.  Eventually, I got sick and threw up.  Which is the real life equivalent of spewing out emotional garbage: anger, fear, frustration, crying, sadness, rage, apathy, cynicism . . . sometimes actual vomit.

Today, though, having been offered a job makes me feel really good. Like I don’t have to keep watching others get promoted in life while I slave away in their wake. I think this is the beginning of some cool stuff. And the magical thing is, the day I start this new job is also Megan and I’s anniversary. One year ago an adventure began . . . a year later, another one starts.