This says "stats." If you had eyes, you'd know. (courtesy of http://www.recruitingblogs.com/)

Three recruiters contacted me last Thursday, all within about an hour of each other. The stars must have aligned just so, creating a world where my resume springs to the top of every job board search for “digital marketing professional.” Does this signal the end of the famine, or the beginning of the famine? I’ll let you know when I eat, or die. Maybe it just means I should buy a lottery ticket.

The first recruiter was filling an in-house search engine marketing position, but expressed concern about my extended unemployment. His clients – potential employers – think there’s a problem when a candidate’s unemployment stretches past six months, horrible job market notwithstanding. Skills deteriorate; people get lazy. The long-term unemployed guy, the thinking goes, must be spending all his free time watching “Roseanne” reruns and inhaling Little Debbie snack cakes by the the pallet. Why hire someone who can barely remember how to bathe himself?

But a job search takes a month for every $10,000 of expected income. If my second grade math skills hold up (it has been 30 years), anyone expecting to make over $60,000 a year (6 X 10,000) may want to reexamine their options. A lower salary may be preferable to perceived obsolescence. I understand the recruiter’s point. I don’t like it, but he’s probably right. The burden is on the job seeker to prove continued relevance in an ultra-competitive job market. It’s nice to know the job of finding a job is that much harder.

I wasn’t really qualified for the opening anyway. We both knew it. I tried to talk my way into a meeting anyway, because that’s what I have to do. He backpedaled away from any sort of firm commitment, like a juggler on a unicycle. Recruiters are good at that. The call ended with his promise to run my resume by the company. Even if he actually does, nothing will come of it.

The second email came from an HR person at a reputable company. I would happily work at this place; I’d even hang out in their cafeteria just to make people think I work there. My qualifications line up nicely with the company’s needs, upon first glance. I followed up by phone but couldn’t get through, not even to a voicemail. So I expressed my interest via email, twice. I’ve yet to hear back, though my fingers and toes are crossed, and crossed again. Typing is painful. I’ll follow up once more, by phone and email, before writing it off. It’s frustrating to fail before actually getting a chance.

The third recruiter left a voicemail message while I was cleaning the kitchen and blasting old Rush albums (Power Windows, Hold Your Fire and Moving Pictures, for those of you who were teenage boys in the 1980s). Following up on an email I never received, he invited me to interview for an account manager position. I don’t remember applying. Nor could I find any record in the vast Excel spreadsheet that tracks my job search exploits. Many open positions don’t include the company’s name or identifying information. So I didn’t think much of it. He left a phone number but no name.

I called back later that afternoon to inquire. A frazzled receptionist who only spoke in rapid fire confirmed the company was interviewing for an account manager. She asked a bunch of questions and then put me on hold. Upon picking up again, she had me repeat everything. She then put me on hold again, picked up again and asked for another recap. We eventually arranged an interview for 10:30 the next day. The company forwarded directions via email later that evening. The email stressed that I should “…dress professionally, and to bring a copy of your resume.” A call confirming the meeting came early the next morning.

The initial phone message and followup email both seemed weird at the time. What recruiter calls and doesn’t leave a name? And when does a company ever remind someone how to dress for an interview? The phone conversation soured me some, but didn’t seem that unusual. Having just wrapped up a stint answering phones, I know all to well that people can be distracted at work.

I researched the company as I always do, reading the website and Googling what I found there. Grammar mistakes and misspellings aside, the website was fine for what the company seemed to be – a small marketing agency. It only contained a few pages and didn’t say much of substance, but many are like that. The Flash elements on the site were pointless and annoying. All in all, though, I’ve seen much worse.

The lack of additional info beyond the website concerned me too. Besides a few online press releases, which anyone with a PRWeb account can post for free, there was nothing. Maybe I didn’t dig enough. But a search on any company name should yield tons of stuff. My name brings up pages and pages of results, not that I ever Google it. I especially don’t search for “Norm Elrod” in my pajamas, late at night, while listening to “Juke Box Hero” on repeat and pining for the fame and fortune I so desperately desire. That would be dysfunctional.

And I am anything but dysfunctional. I may have forgotten marketing and basic math, as far as recruiters are concerned. But I am not dysfunctional. I am desperate however. So I went through with the interview. As my next post will reveal, that was a complete waste of time.

Read Job interview, aka complete waste of time

Behold the mullet, feel the mullet, be the mullet.

An old buddy of mine texted me last night. He’d been listening to the first Tears For Fears album, The Hurting, from forever ago. You may remember “Mad World” and the great cover of it that scored a Gears of War video game trailer. His favorite song from the album – “Suffer The Children” – starts out like the opening of a sex scene in an 80s porno. At least that’s what he tells me. I wouldn’t know. I was too busy studying and doing community service in high school to have viewed such unwholesome debauchery. But one 80s music reference was all it took to put me on an extended high school/college music jag.

It started yesterday, and I kind of thought it would end yesterday. These things generally run their course in about a day. But I heard this insidiously infectious song at the gym today, one that owes Toni Basil of “Mickey” fame an enormous debt of gratitude and has probably been adopted by every high school cheerleading troop between here and California. Maybe you’ve heard it. Maybe you’ve sung it to yourself. Maybe you’ve told your daughter to turn it down or you’ll disown her. It goes a little something like this…

They call me hell
They call me Stacey
They call me her
They call me Jane
That’s not my name
That’s not my name
That’s not my name
That’s not my name

They call me quiet girl
But I’m a riot
Mary Jo Lisa
Always the same
That’s not my name
That’s not my name
That’s not my name
That’s not my name

It isn’t my favorite song ever. But it also doesn’t make me want to jam plastic sporks in my ears until blood washes away the pain. The Ting Tings song (like the name of the artist matters) is rather catchy actually, and it put me right back in 80s mode. Playing evil scientist and implanting that song in your brain is just a nice ancillary benefit. Some the stuff that made the playlist is still great, and some of it, well, isn’t and probably never was. All of these albums could use some serious remastering. I’m sure the music industry will get to it right after they figure out the whole digital thing. I’ll start holding my breath now.

So without further delay…

The Church – Gold Afternoon Fix
The Church is one of my favorite bands ever, still. They had one hit – “Under The Milky Way” – 20 years ago, and have been ignored ever since. I discovered this album on a friend’s dorm room shelf freshman year of college.

Tears For Fears – The Seeds Of Love
I couldn’t find The Hurting, so I went with this one. It’s got a little too much of that 80s over-produced thing going on. But how can you not love someone named Roland Orzabal?

The Stone Roses – The Stone Roses
This album indoctrinated a generation of anglophiles and holds up well to this day. Everything else they did kind of sucked.

Rush – Power Windows
I was a teenage boy. Is any more explanation needed?

New Order – Technique
A Korean friend of mine insisted that only Asian people could like New Order. I thought that was ridiculous. It’s not like New Order was The Communards or some other such band. Besides, I always turned up “True Faith” to some insane volume whenever it came on the radio. So I bought this album on cassette – as one did then – pealed away the shrink wrap, breathed in that glorious new-tape smell and put it into heavy rotation.

Catherine Wheel – Ferment
This is one of those albums that influences my tastes even today – Early Day Miners, The Black Angels, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club and so forth. And it still f**king rocks! I saw Catherine Wheel at the HFStival in 1992. It was about 100 degrees with 90% humidity that day… real outdoor weather. Heat stroke only made the music better.

The Charlatans – Some Friendly
Ever worked ground crew on a golf course? Ever cruised the empty fairways in a golf cart at 7:00 in the morning blasting British shoegazer music through ratty headphones? You should try it sometime.

The Ocean Blue – Cerulean
Ok, so they’re a little dippy. I can accept that. I’ve come to terms with my love of jangly pop made by Pennsylvanians trying to sound British. I suggest you do the same.

Mr. Big – Mr. Big
Not sure what I was thinking back then. The mullet, no doubt, drastically affected my judgment, and not for the better. I can’t tell if this album is so bad it’s good, or so bad it passes good on its way back to bad. We’ll just go with the latter.

Living Colour – Vivid
This album was my psych up music for the SATs, or maybe it was the PSATs. Either way, I can still picture cruising in my orange 1981 Chevy Citation to my high school early that Saturday morning. And wouldn’t you know it, it still holds up.

And an unfortunate, last-minute, post-jag entry…

Micheal Jackson – Thriller
Ma Ma Se, Ma Ma Sa, Ma Ma Coo Sa, Michael. Ma Ma Se, Ma Ma Sa, Ma Ma Coo Sa.