Where working out meets rocking out.

Unemployment took away my last excuse not to go to the gym… work. And for that I will never forgive it. If you’re reading this, unemployment, consider yourself out of the will. The cats now get my ever-shrinking pile of assets. (Wifey will have to take it up with the furry ones.) My gym membership is cheap and paid through some time next year. All that prevents me from going these days is laziness and achiness (by which I mean laziness).

My gym has three reasonably convenient locations and many more totally inconvenient locations. One is in midtown, across the street from a previous employer and a short subway ride from home. Working out was so convenient until layoff #2. I still go there sometimes in the late morning to avoid the lunch-time and after-work crowds. Another location a few stops further downtown in Chelsea is bigger and better, but also more crowded. Working out during off-peak times is still perfectly pleasant. And then there’s the Elmhurst location within walking distance of my apartment, where I go if I’m pressed for time or – like today – just don’t feel like riding (or paying $4 to ride) the subway. That place is a madhouse.

I left for the gym at about 9:30 this morning. It was drizzling and sunny, and the sky threatened thunderstorms, portending another day of confusing weather. There was also a 30% chance of snow, a 20% chance of tsunami and 10% chance that the atmosphere would solidify into some sort of jello-like substance making it impossible to do anything. I crossed underneath the subway tracks as the 7 train rumbled overhead, and wound through Elmhurst past the hospital and the park. I turned down through a neighborhood of houses, most of which have been converted into apartments, judging by all the doorbells and Direct TV dishes. A few have been remodeled or torn down and rebuilt into some blocky, tasteless monstrosity. Many more are just kind of drab. At Queens Blvd., I crossed over to the gym.

The one-story box of a building sits right on the boulevard of death next to an LIRR overpass, some used car dealerships and a few hotels that probably rent rooms by the hour. One dealership I’ve watched shrink over the last year from two lots and 60+ cars for sale to half of one lot and about ten cars. And one motel I’ve watched go up right next to it; all they forgot was a sign big enough for passersby to actually see. A huge billboard on the overpass advertises Big Macs at McDonalds with the words, “Sobrang masala may kasamang extra bun.” Who knew that “two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions” could be boiled down to four words? A huge public intermediate school sits behind the gym, and buses line up next to it. If I go around 8:00 or leave around 3:00, I inevitably end up following a group of 13-year-olds and looking like a total perv.

The gym was packed, because it’s always packed. Every person in Elmhurst is required to hang out at this gym for two hours each day; working out is optional. I signed up for a couple aerobic machines at the front desk. The earliest available was in an hour. Every machine looked to be occupied when I got inside. Some people were working out, some were talking on cell phones, and some were trying to do both. I jumped on a recumbent bike when one opened up.

As if the crowds weren’t bad enough, the noise levels were just ungodly. Pumping club music covers of 80s songs blared from the aerobics room, as the instructor yelled instructions into her headset microphone. Some of the TVs played corporate music videos of beautiful, disaffected white guys rocking out in construction sites and on the tops of buildings. The accompanying audio came through the club’s speakers. Other TVs tuned to CNN played the news. People yelled into their cell phones over all of this and to their friends across the gym. I hoped my head wouldn’t explode.

I moved from the bike to a cross-trainer when my turn came up, kicking off the woman who tried to take my spot and putting my towel in the drink holder not lined with hardened bubblegum. The air conditioning wasn’t really on, and I was sweating profusely. Soon after, a 40-something-year-old woman busting out of her stretchy black and white gym outfit took the machine next to me. She was all silicon and botox, and damn proud of it. I glanced over, and she flashed me a smile through her lipstick, at least what amounts to a smile for someone who can’t move her face. Distracted from a New York Times Magazine article about aesthetically unpleasing construction, I looked over again a minute later. The Williamsburg Bridge may be ugly, but who could possibly ignore a living, breathing disaster two feet away? She smiled again. I cringed.

When construction lady was done, one of the two people I know at the gym – an unemployed engineer – took over the machine. We chatted about what would happen once unemployment insurance ran out. He has his eyes on a job at McDonalds. I’m thinking Starbucks. My reasons are simple… I don’t want to get fat, and I’d much rather be scalded by coffee than grease. The conversation moved on to the situation in Iran and places to play ping-pong in Flushing. I finished up on the cross-trainer and went for some water.

By the water fountain in the locker room, I ran into the one other person I know at the gym – a heavyset retired guy who enjoys science fiction and Broadway shows. We met many months ago when he commented about The New Yorker magazine I was reading. He was surprised to see it in a gym where no one even speaks English. We chatted briefly about the drag cabaret show I saw over the weekend and what movies we wanted to see.

My time on the elliptical trainer was uneventful, except for the OK Go’s brilliant orchestrated treadmill dance routine video, which came on. Someone programming the music videos for Big Gym TV has a sense of humor, or not. It seemed appropriate either way. The old Jewish guy who works out like he’s on a mission was nowhere to be found. Nor were his right-wing buddies, whom he greets by yelling political nonsense across the room. The Tourette Syndrome guy who spouts off randomly in Italian wasn’t there around either; I think he comes in evenings. The stretching area was unusually quiet. The crew of old ladies who sit around telling dirty jokes was noticeably absent. I finished up my workout in relative peace.

Leaving the gym, I passed an employee returning from her smoke break and waited at the corner for the traffic light. I was tired and had the beginnings of a headache. It had been a relatively quiet workout, but I was still less relaxed than when I arrived. Tomorrow I’ll spend the four bucks and go workout in peace.

Don't hate the playa, hate the game.

I started the unemployment blog Jobless and Less to get back in the habit of writing everyday, improve my marketing skills and stay off the streets. My thinking was (and is) that beefing up the resume with relevant skills could only help in the job search. Months later I’m still unemployed and finding companies to be a tad unreceptive – hopefully a product of the local job market and not my resume. Otherwise, things are moving along quite swimmingly. I’ve gone from semi-illiterate neighborhood tough to erudite man about town. I even managed to understand my first New Yorker cartoon, though it still wasn’t funny. And I’m fast learning the ins and outs of the crazy world of online marketing.

Last week was Search Engine Strategies New York (SESNY), one of the major search marketing conferences and an important learning and networking opportunity. I attended with open ears and an open mind and walked away with a notebook full of helpful information. This week I launched a nationwide search for someone to implement all my notes while I watch South Park DVDs.

The conference started with notable industry expert and personality Guy Kawasaki‘s keynote presentation about the social media tool Twitter. For those not familiar, Twitter is essentially the status field from Facebook, divorced from all the addictive games and inane questionnaires. Users “follow” (Twitter-ese for a one-way connection between users) and attract followers with whom they communicate through short messages (limited to 140 characters) called tweets. Some of the exchanged info is useful, and some of it’s just babble… kind of like everything else in life. Here’s the Jobless and Less Twitter page for you curious types.

Being a Twitter newbie, I learned tons from Guy. Apparently – and this shouldn’t be surprising – there are many tools to automate (abuse?) elements of Twitter. SocialToo, for example, will automatically follow anyone who follows you. (If only the police had a real-life version they could use on stalkers and paparazzi…) Power users and aspirants no longer have to click through countless “Joe Schmo is now following your updates…” emails to return the favor. They just set up this service and let it run. Other sites provide similarly useful functionality, though Twitter purists see such gaming of the system as detrimental to the micro-blogging community. They have a valid point.

Perhaps the most meta moment of my life to date occurred during this presentation. As Guy presented juicy tidbits on how to game Twitter, people in the audience tweeted about it. He pulled up those tweets on Twitter a few moments later and highlighted them for the audience on the big screen. His new comments were tweeted again. A great vortex then formed and actually sucked a third of the audience into the Internet, where they now live a Tron-like existence. For your reading pleasure, I will attempt to condense the whole occurrence into one sentence, without getting sucked in myself. Please don’t try this at home; I am a trained professional. (If I don’t survive, please tell wifey I love her.) Here we go…

In a session about Twitter, audience members tweeted Guy Kawasaki’s comments about Twitter with their own comments, which he then found on Twitter and commented on to the audience, leading some to tweet about those.

Wow, I think I just tore a hole in my cerebral cortex with that stunt. What’s my name again? Where do I work?

SESNY covered a wide breadth of other search marketing topics. A panel called “Meaningful SEO Metrics: Going Beyond the Numbers” immediately followed the keynote and featured the crazy-looking Ray “Catfish” Comstock of Business OnLine. This guy really knew his stuff, and seemed to bubble over with useful tips from the Search trenches. I couldn’t take notes fast enough. Site Logic‘s Matthew Bailey was also quite enlightening in his presentation “Advanced SEO Strategies: Integrating Analytics, Usability, Persuasion, & Journalism,” though after my last stunt I lack the brainpower to explain exactly how. Just take my word for it; he was good. Other sessions were generally useful, though some more than others.

The exhibition floor was very hit or miss, as they tend to be at conferences. A lot of small companies advertised and offered services that were indistinguishable from each other. They may have been different, I just couldn’t tell from the booths. One thing is for sure, many companies at SESNY don’t know much about graphic design; some of the signage was just brutal. I guess expertise in one area of marketing doesn’t guarantee expertise, or even a working knowledge, in another. Still, I managed to have a few meaningful conversations – the folks at Google were very helpful – and leave behind a few business cards. Quality is always better than quantity in these situations. We’ll see if anything surfaces.

One pleasant surprise from SESNY was just how much I knew already – that progress I mentioned at the outset. Months of reading and slaving over Jobless and Less are starting to pay off. Whether this elevates my unemployment blog into the Search stratosphere or leads to gainful employment remains to be seen. For now a little progress is reward enough. Tomorrow I may not be so positive about my situation.