The Unemployment Diaries

(Hill)arious 30.04.10

Well hello dawgs.

Hope everything is going swell on this lovely Friday.

Because nothing so (Hill)arious happened in yesterday’s committee meetings, I’m making it short and sweet.  Content-wise, these meetings are starting to drag. Yesterday we had NFB, and some dudes from interactive companies who said the same shit about funding high-risk innovative companies, understanding free isn’t always bad (because of video streaming NFB audience has grown 1000%) and giving Canada faster bandwidth. I’m not knocking the witnesses, whose presentations are only boring because I’ve heard the messages before. It’s the Government’s fault: stop holding the freakin’ meetings and draft a GD policy.

Even committee members seemed to be getting restless and were either walking in and out of the room or staring intently at their blackberries.

Two (hill)arious awards go out today: one to a person, one to a thing. The person is the oldest MP, a French-speaking Conservative who wore his Habs jersey to the meeting, and raised the roof when this was pointed out. Awesome. And funny.

The thing is time. The time restrictions on committee meetings are a constant battle for the Chair to navigate and lead to some funny moments. Officially, witnesses are supposed to speak for ten minutes each, followed by five minute question rounds from MPs. Some witnesses blab on for 15 minutes. Some MPs never even get to their questions before the five minutes is up. It’s a constant juggling act in the Chair’s mind on who to shut up and who to let speak. I’d say yesterday, he dropped the ball.

On Tuesday’s meeting, the committee Business, whereby MP’s pass motions to change stuff, was postponed because the Chair opted to let witnesses blab on. That meant yesterday, the last half hour had to be left for Committee Biz.  Even still, the Chair let the NFB witness dude wax poetic for a good 12 minutes. By the time the second round of witnesses did their presentations, there was no time for questions, this being the entire point of bringing the witnesses in.

“I’m very sorry,” the Chair said. “But we really have some committee business to get to.”

“Well that was a waste of time,” said the guy from a company called MoboVivo Inc. as he grabbed his jacket to leave after presenting.

Well done Chair. And congratulations “time restrictions.” You are funny.

(Hill)arious 28.04.10

Yesterday in Parliament, the claws came out. I’m not referring to Guergis/Jaffer snorting blow or Harper trying to flush Afghan detainee papers down the toilet. No my friends, things got heated over the Heritage Committee’s favourite topic du jour: The World Wide Web.

The  guest speakers were two university professors working with new media, two reps from Alliance of Canadian Cinema, Television and Radio Artists (ACTRA), and the founder of openmedia.ca, a website dedicated to online innovation. He basically just looked pissed and hung-over the whole time.

The university professors pled for government funded digital literacy programs, ACTRA reps said the Gov can’t allow Canadians to sell our communications companies to US big wigs and argued for an extended collective license agreement so creators are better compensated (opposite of expanding fair dealing so that more copyright material is available for free). Openmedia.ca said the Gov needs to fund high-risk innovative companies and the bit torrent must live on!

Nothing revolutionary was said, but there was a committee meeting first (for me, anyway), where a history professor from Brock University used powerpoint to show a 3-D program he invented  to re-create historical buildings. He showed the committee Ottawa’s Sparks Street in 1878, but not before he was given grief by a Bloc Quebecois MP because the powerpoint slides weren’t in French (even though hard copy versions of the slides had been provided in both official languages).

I spoke with the professor before the meeting got under way, and he told me it was a challenge getting the committee, that remember, is developing their digital media strategy, to accept a powerpoint presentation. Was Bloc Quebecois really mad about the language, or is this some Parliament ploy to make sure nobody becomes too technologically advanced before they put out the strategy? Michael Moore? Do you smell a documentary?

Now for the juicy part: all hell broke loose when NDP member Charles Angus (who apparently is a two-time Juno nominee and been a member of the bands L’Etranger and Grievous Angel) asked the ACTRA rep if he thought it was logical the Heritage Minister, James Moore, did not support artist levies, whereby musicians receive money every time their music is copied (i.e. those blank CDs you buy (well, used to buy) include a tax that goes to the artist).

Angus has proposed bill C-499 that would extend the levy beyond blank CDs to digital audio devices such as ipods and MP3′s. The proposed tax has become affectionately known as the “itax.”  The issue has been chewed over in the media, and Angus even used his appearance at last week’s Juno awards as a platform to talk about the bill.  Apparently last month Minister Moore “tweeted” he did not support this amendment (oh, look at me! Government speak!) but on the bright side, showed he was capable of using new media.

ACTRA-man, a good-humoured silver fox answered “no”, he didn’t see any logic in the Minister’s thinking to not support the levy and gave Angus a knowing smile.

“I totally reject the statement that the Minister of Heritage is attacking artists,” said our Conservative Trekkie (hill)arious winner from last meeting when given the next turn to speak. “The Minister of Canadian Heritage has fought for the most significant budgets of any Federal Government for all forms of arts in the country in this nation’s history.”

He went on to explain the reason the Minister opposes extending the levy is not because he doesn’t support artists, but because digital audio devices are more complex than blank CDs. Since something like an ipod doesn’t just play music, creating an additional tax means artists could be compensated for someone uploading photos or using a calendar.

“What do you use your Ipod for Deaner?” taunted Angus to the Trekkie MP, whose actual name is Dean Del Mastro.

“We’re not proposing a levy on your Calendar,” said ACTRA-man, dryly. “The primary use of these devices is for music.”

“Deaner” ranted about how the levy is becoming murkier as technology advances and that the consumer is bearing the brunt of this until he was red in the face.

When it was ACTRA’s turn to respond, he said, cooly: “I’m just checking to make sure the sky wasn’t falling.”

This comment was not appreciated by one of the older Conservative MP’s who locked eyes on ACTRA and said evenly: “Cheaps shots will get you a

The award

lot of friends.”

This is the moment where everyone stands up and yells, FIGHT!!!!!!

A Liberal MP metaphorically shoved his way through the onlookers to break up the punches. He reminded everyone around the table to berespectful and sent the boys to their respective corners for a time-out.

The (Hill)arious award goes to silver-fox ACTRA man with the sharp-tongue. Trekkie may have you beat on size, but on the Parliament playground it’s all about launching verbal grenades.

Uniforms (25.04.10)

Happy I-have-nothing-more-clever-to-say-than-Sunday readers!!

Hope the weekend has treated you well and you’re charged for work tomorrow. Me and the Sens will be lying on the couch eating chips.

Here’s an anecdote I wrote about my job interview last week. It’s in the form of a recorded monologue, which I’ve never tried before.  Couldn’t be that hard, could it? It is. Ira Glass just makes things seem easy.

Anyway, enjoy my trial and error and excuse me for not being able to find anything more original than Sexy Thang for one of the stings (that’s radio speak for music clips, thanks jschool!). Also, it’s in two parts because garageband can’t handle my shit.

Enjoy, and feel free to rip off or pass on to people of power.

The outfit in question

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(Hill)arious 20.04.10

It’s always great when the Committee injects a little pop culture reference into an otherwise dull meeting.

“To steal a phrase from Star Trek,” said one Conservative MP in his question period, admitting it was his favourite show growing up as a kid. “How do we boldly go into a new universe and leverage all the opportunities there?”

He’s talking about the internet.

Today’s meeting was a continuation of the Committee on Canadian Heritage’s (CHPC) never-ending saga to develop a study on new media. This is supposed to help them create laws that foster and protect online Canadian content but problem is, most of the Committee members start their sentences with: “I’m a little new to this internet thing, but…”

Today’s witnesses ranged from publishing company representatives, a freelance photographer, a rep from a Quebec theatre society and a woman from Access Copyright. Access Copyright hogged the mic most of the time, but it didn’t matter who was talking because all were in agreeance: Expanding the fair dealing clause in Canadian copyright law so more people can use more stuff for free= bad (see previous entry for more in depth explanation of fair dealing).

The main arguments tossed around being that creators will lose more money, too many exceptions will make an already complex law more confusing, and suspect cases will be left for the Court rather than Parliament to decide (the argument being Canadian courts aren’t equipped to deal with the complexity of Copyright law cases, though they have the capacity to figure out if someone is guilty of murder. Hmmmmm. This one went over my head).

This is the exact opposite of what last week’s witness, documentary-filmmaker Brett Gaylor most famous for his film RiP! on mash-up artist Girl Talk, argued. I wish they had mixed up the place cards a little and had Gaylor sitting beside Access Canada. Instead, this was like being at a debate where everyone agreed.

The debate is interesting after all. I’m for the new media. I do the blog thing and love the platform it gives me to say whatever and someone feel connected to you people. However, I have the luxury of being able to spend three hours a week writing unpaid content. I’d rather be getting paid, and the dream is that one way I will be and make a living from it.

New media has undoubtedly opened doors to incredible innovation, but at what cost to those trying to survive off profits from their creations? Now that could potentially have all the drama of a Star Trek episode if witnesses on opposed sides could duke it out. Instead, it was like an entire episode of Captain Kirk looking in the mirror and telling his reflection how good it looks (Anchorman, anyone?).

As our Conservative Trek buff continued his vocal voyage of asking for the hundredth time how the Committee can make their bill more adaptive to changing technology (um, stop talking, take out a Macbook, and learn how youtube works), the feisty Bloc Quebecois MP interrupted to say the French translation wasn’t coming through her earpiece.

“It’s just as illogical in French,” said Conservative Trekkie, self-deprecatingly.

The embarrassed translator behind the glass window pushed a button and order was restored.

“Start over Deaner,” called out an NDP MP, affectionately using the Conservative’s schoolyard name.

“Beam me up Scotty,” chimed in a Liberal MP, and everyone laughed.

Today’s (Hill)arious award goes to Conservative Trekkie, for bringing his passion for Sci-Fi to the room, and showing how quickly an official meeting can dissolve into playground banter at the mention of Captain Kirk.

Free Ball part 2 (18.04.10)

Happy Sunday frenemies (you’re both my friend and enemy if you have a job. I need your help, but I hate you)!

To continue last week’s conversation about internships: to pay or not to pay, I’ve enlisted the help of Emily Conner, a good friend who dropped out of school after getting a job from her summer internship.

Her story is a contrast to last week’s tale of Sara Thaw, who almost died from exhaustion trying to pay the bills and juggle a free internship. Both stories take place in New York City, the city where you make it or get broken.

Thanks for sharing Em, and remember this little piece of promotion (I mean, fairly-balanced journalism) when you’re hanging out with the rich and the famous (read on: she actually does this!).

“I’ve actually never done an unpaid internship,” admits Emily, when I call her to talk about the subject. “I’ve always been paid at least $100 a week or something.”

One hundred bucks, which turns out was really $250 a week, still isn’t much to survive on in New York City, where typical rent is $1,000/month.

Money?

Emily loves a good internship. By the time she was 20, she’d done three. Now, at 23, Emily has worked at a publishing house, for a literary agent and an off-Broadway theatre company; all jobs she credits to one word: INTERNSHIP.

Emily and I met at King’s College, and at that time were equals: consuming the same amount of wine and philosophy. The summer after our third year of University, things started to become less even. I was waiting tables in Ottawa and Emily had traded in her sweatpants for high heels which she wore to her internship at Samuel French Publishing house in New York City.

It must be noted that Emily’s American, and therefore has the mentality that New York is just the place young people go to “make it” rather than as a place that’s really expensive, really cool, but virtually impossible to legally get work. It’s Canada’s Toronto, people. No B.D. for her.

When I called Emily during this period, it was like talking to someone in a fantasy land (apparently New Yorkers at the time thought Halifax was a fantasy land because of the recent popularity of Ellen Page). New York was always in the background: its wind blowing, horns beeping and people yelling. Everything is louder there, and I pictured Em constantly darting through traffic to a martini bar to meet sexy strangers. I don’t think I was that far off…

Though Em’s internship didn’t pay exceptionally well, she was given a lot of responsibility. She was always seeing off-Broadway plays, writing reviews, and

Ain't a thang.

deciding which scripts should be included in the company’s catalogue. I was grating parmesan onto tortellini. She never felt gyped throughout her experience, in fact, Em sees low-paid or unpaid internships as being a completely necessary part of the job-finding process (she sent me this article last week that also makes the case).

“It’s important to pay your dues and be humbled,” says Em, in her faint Boston-accent from her Brooklyn apartment. “In a job you’re paid based on skills and as an intern you don’t have those skills yet so it makes no sense to be paid.”

She admits to being lucky. Upon being hired for her internship, Em’s boss asked her about living arrangements. When she answered with a shrug, one of the girl’s working for the company took her in for cheap rent. She also admits to having been financially dependent on her parents and because of that not having to get a second job.

Still, Em doesn’t think that for people without financial support, an unpaid internship is any more unfair than having to pay tuition.

“You can make that argument about education in general,” she says. “Where expenses are exorbitant and people who are financially incapable could have more trouble succeeding.” In other words: tough balls. Make it work. Not the company’s problem.

She does say the company has a responsibility to provide interns with structured responsibilities and ample learning opportunities. They do not, however, need to provide a guarantee of hiring you after the internship is over.

“There should always be a suggestion of the possibility of getting a job,” she says. “But you have to make yourself stand out and show you’re capable. It’s not something you’re entitled to.”

She says with unpaid internships there are “abstract benefits” to take into consideration, like making connections, going to events, and getting recommendations.

After working at French for a summer, Em was hired full-time, and she never came back to Halifax to finish her degree. The next year, she was hired at William Morris Agency, a talent and literary agent in New York that represents people like David Byrne, Whoopi Goldberg, and productions like the Bronx Tale and River Dance. One time, Leo DiCaprio came in to bitch about how Sam Mendes gave Kate too much control in Revolutionary Road. Just another day at the office.

Em says without her Samuel French internship and job, she wouldn’t have ended up at William Morris. From there, after realizing she wasn’t interested in agency work, she landed a job at the Flea, an off-Broadway theatre company where she worked until last winter producing plays. There, her home-boy Leo was replaced by her home-girl Sigourney Weaver, who was involved in one of the theatre’s productions.

Now, things have come full circle and Em’s back at school taking an MFA in playwriting at Brooklyn College. She says if she ever achieves the “grand scale dream of being a successful playwright,” she’ll use her experience developing contracts for playrights at her Samuel French internship to make sure she’s raking in on the proper royalties. That’s experience you can’t buy.

Here are some songs inspired by Emily’s attitude on money:

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Stay tuned next week for a special guest contributor’s views on finding a job…

Hill(arious) 13.04.10

Today was Christmas on Parliament Hill. They like to follow one holiday with another, Easter, then Joyeux Noel (if this job has taught me anything, it’s how extremely bilingual Government is).

It’s a big deal when Minister’s show up at meetings, and today, the Minister of Canadian Heritage and Official Languages graced the Heritage Committee with his presence for an hour.

“How come you’re only here for an hour?” asked the first Liberal MP allowed to speak, bitterly. Quite the welcome.

The reason for the meeting  was a review of the “Main Estimates for 2010-11.” Basically, going over a document that states how the Government plans to preserve Canadian culture for the next two years. Personally, I think all the culture you need happens on Parliament Hill.

In sum, a bunch of pissed of Liberals, Bloc Quebecois and NDP members grilled the Minister about why he cut CBC funding (not true, the Minister claims they received record funding this year), what plans for future funding in 2012 (“I’m glad you’re looking past this year’s budget and already enthousiastic about next years but we’ll let you know when we get there”) and whether he’d override laws that ensure Canada’s ownership over it’s own companies to Big Wig foreigners if the deal was juicy enough (“I can’t answer hypotheticals”).

The Conservatives took their question time to volley high-balls the Minister could hit way out of field. It must have been a good day for the portly man, who had his pillow fluffed by his own party, sassed the opposition, and somehow, walked away with a gift.

The prize for most (Hill)arious MP goes to a feisty Bloc Quebecois woman, who started off her five minutes by saying she had brought the MP a present. Sure enough, while letting loose a rapid stream of French she started waving around a DVD by Fred Pellerin, a well-known Quebecois artist.

“I’ve already seen this DVD,” she said. “But I’m giving it to you. Except the artist himself really won’t get what he deserves in terms of Copyright. You’ll probably download it and not pay any royalties. I’ll still give it to you but think about this artist who will have royalties cut and stolen.” That doesn’t even make sense but bear with me for narrative purposes.

“Perhaps I should buy this DVD?” said the Minister, with awesome comedic timing.

Bloc spent the next five minutes stringing together non-sensical thoughts about her love of Pellerin, how she wants him to make royalities, and how the Government’s Digital Strategy is erratic. Is this woman hearing herself talk????? Before she had time to ask an actual question her time ran up.

It was quite the performance that lived on for the rest of the meeting. When the mic was passed to a Conservative member, he started off by staring down the opposition and slowly saying he really appreciated the minister’s presentation.

The Minister laughed and said, “He’s just saying that, because I promised him Carol’s gift.” Drumroll in da house? If anyone’s looking to launch their stand-up comedy career, Parliamentary Committee meetings are one hell of a platform.

Upon reflection, the most Hill(arious) MP without a doubt goes to our Minister of Canadian Culture (or should I say, of COMEDY). But special mention does go Ms. Bloc Quebecois. Every comic needs a solid heckler to get laughs.

Free Ball 11.03.10

Happy FUN-day!

That work week flew right by. Oh, right. I didn’t work. Not because I don’t have a job, but because those whose job mine depends on, Government MP’s, took the week off for Easter (if you’re new to this blog and wondering how the title relates to what I  just said, go to my first entry to see my definition of “employment”). At this point, they might as well take the 40 days Jesus took before going back to heaven and honour him proper.

Anyway, for those of you Hill(arious) fans (I know you exist!), that’s why you’ve been deprived of my twice weekly updates you rely on to stay current and in-the-know. It’s not because I’m lazy (did you even see my last photo shoot?!?). It’s because they are.

Luckily, me being chronically unemployed and sarcastic is something that never takes a vacation.

This week, I’m talking ’bout internships.  Yes, the unemployed person’s entry point into the working world. We’ve all done them or tried to do them. Though every good internship includes the line “and you won’t be getting us coffee”, more and more, even the good ones are starting to include the line “and you won’t be getting paid.” Some in the U.S. even have interns paying THEM.

Would you rather be paid to get coffee or not paid to have real responsibility? It’s a dilly of a pickle that I’ve asked my good friend Sara Thaw to defrost by way of her experience working as an unpaid intern in the big iPad.

Here it is, and thanks for sharing Sar!

Sara looks flustered. Her curly hair looks even more tightly wound than the last time I saw her a couple months ago. Maybe it’s her new technique of not washing it regularly. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s living in New York City, doing an unpaid internship and supporting herself by working under the table at a cupcake shop. Hmmmm.

Sara landed an internship at a non-profit organization that uses videos to shed light on human rights issues, after going to visit a friend in New York and staying on a whim. She has a degree in Contemporary Philosophy Studies and Anthropology from the University of King’s College, and this kind of thing is right up her alley.

When I first started interviewing Sara, she put on her rosy lenses.The first couple days seemed great. Her intern supervisor was “awesome” and she had free reign to do what she wanted.  “The learning experience paid off,” she said on the phone long-distance from Halifax. “I got professional experience and made personal connections.” She was even sympathetic about not being paid, saying the organization had “zero money” itself. But as our conversation continued, more colours started entering the picture.

Money: a thing?

Sara soon realized having an internship that’s unstructured as it is unpaid wasn’t necessarily a good thing. She was working for the newly developed North American chapter and her supervisor, who ended up gone traveling most of the time, barely knew what her own role was, much less what Sara should be doing.

She had access to everything: equipment, archives and attended the regular staff meetings. Though she was in charge of a section of the website, and worked on a PR video for a woman’s campaign, she still spent a lot of time wondering what to do. “I felt there wasn’t enough responsibility,” she says. “Or that everything was just a suggestion of what to do.” The rest of the time she spent wondering how to make money.

“I would spend two hours a day on Craig’s list trying to find a job,” she says. “I was trying to finish all these spreadsheets about human rights issues but I was constantly distracted and upset about money.” That week I bought her some book about how to live for pennies in New York. I probably should’ve just given her the twenty bucks.

The poor girl was completely over-worked and practically falling asleep in her salad (the only menu item she could afford) when we got together at a restaurant. She started working at her non-profit three days a week, and at either the cupcake shop or a coffee shop every other day. Free time was travel time between places. Soon after starting she cut down her hours at the non-profit to ease her mind. “It’s like people who pay cellphone bills and taxes at the office,” she says. “It weighs you personally.”

Sara also didn’t prioritize her internship in a way she would’ve if she was being paid.  “I would’ve showed up on time because it would have mattered,” she says. “If it was sunny outside, I wouldn’t show up at nine because they weren’t paying me.”

By the end of our conversation, Sara’s picture was more complex: She thinks free internships are fine, but they work best when the intern is given many clearly-defined responsibilities, or, is self-disciplined enough to create their own structure. Doing a free internship in New York was a physical impossibility for her. Only take one on if you can financially handle it, otherwise, you’re wasting time that could be spent making money.

Finally, an honorarium never hurts. At least to pay the subway there and back. “When time is money and freedom is both of those things an honorarium at least gives you monetary recognition you are helping them and they are helping you,” muses Sara, showing off that philosophical logic she paid good money to learn. “If not, it’s just confusing.” Kant would agree.

Then she looked at her phone, realized she had just spent 40 long-distance minutes speaking with me, and rushed off to her babysitting job. Time is still money, even when you’re living in Halifax with a job.

Author postscript: On the subject of internships, I should mention I’m in the later stages of landing one that would end this blog. It’s not at a newspaper, but another form of publication that I have decided has to qualify if I’m going to finish this blog before I die.

If all goes well, this blog is dunzo in a few weeks. I know. You can’t even use real paper to mop up those tears.

In the meantime, listen to these artists who agree money matters.

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Then, sit down and read this very depressing NY Times article on unemployment.

Stay tuned next week, for when my friend Emily Conner argues why free internships ain’t no thang.

Warming up 04.03.10

Happy Easter Sunday to all!

When you’re unemployed statutory holidays are nothing other than meaning you have to fake-agree with employed people that “it’s so nice to have another two days off” and a crude reminder you have no schedule, purpose, prospects, etc…

Sitting in my backyard this evening, I eavesdropped on two neighborhood moms having a conversation about the long weekend.

Mom #1: “How is your Easter going?”

Mom #2: “Great. We didn’t plan anything and it was so relaxing.”

Mom #1: “I know. Isn’t it great? Having the whole day to do whatever you want!”

I felt like pulling a Wilson, peeking over the gate and saying, “that’s underrated.”

So thanks Jesus for making me have to stock up on wine Thursday instead of Friday and canceling my fitness class tomorrow. Sure glad you came back for another peek…

Speaking of exercise, here’s a story of how I now fill my 8:30-9:30 a.m. time slot. For those of you who have requested more pictures, prepare for regret.

Enjoy!

The woman facing me is at least 30 years my elder, with a body I’ll never have.  Her platinum blonde ponytail bounces as she moves her turquoise spandex-clad, hard-as-finding-a-job body. Next time I’m wearing make-up to fitness class.

Game face: ON

Today’s instructor, Jeanette, is a spitfire of a woman with a slight Quebecois accent and a dark tan. She teaches fitness on cruise ships, makes work-out videos, and once had a boyfriend who hooked me up with tickets to 50 cent’s after party when he played in Ottawa (no word on whether fiddy showed up. I was too busy puking in the club parking lot).

I’m at the 8:30 class at my local community centre, which most employed people can’t make it to. My parents are on a trip and I suddenly feel inspired to use my mom’s fitness pass. Though I usually groan and pull the covers up at her attempts to coerce me into joining her, doing aerobics through my own initiative feels adult and desirable. There’s also something about watching my mom bounce up and down like she’s wearing moonboots when mine feel attached to bricks that doesn’t taste good for breakfast.

Most of the twenty people taking the class are middle-aged women (ladies with home offices who make their own schedule, or housewives) and older, retired women. I’m the odd-ball, along with the lone guy with the skinny legs who’s always smiling. He knows the odds are good.

I take a spot towards the back as Jeanette cranks the electro music.

“There’s no mic today so pay attention to the choreography” she pipes. “I want my voice for the weekend so I’m not gonna yell.”

Choreography? How hard can it be? The answer is me flailing my arms trying to keep up with swift, flight attendant-like instructions Jeanette makes to indicate a different move. I’m tripping over my own grape-vine and during a break Jeanette asks me with a concerned look if I’m doing okay.

Most of the women follow without blinking an eye. It’s their religion. The woman with a blue top and short black curly-hair, who I recognize from every class I’ve ever been to and always stands right beside the instructor, barely breaks a sweat or a smile.

Jeanette keeps yipping like a yappy dog to get our energy up and all I can think is how I could actually curl up in the corner and fall asleep instantly.

We spin around and I notice the woman behind me is having the time of her life. She’s thin and lanky, with pigtails, googly eyes, and slightly crooked front teeth. Her smile is wide as a boat.

She starts yipping along with Jeanette, and someone in the bank lets out a sustained “whooooooooooooooo” while we’re holding a squat.

I wonder why I’m not in bed.

I come to these classes because it gives me a sense of purpose, a schedule in an otherwise improvised day. It’s something to check off the list just in case I do nothing for the rest of the day.  It’s a chance to have a boss for an hour and blindly follow instructions, or a “workplace” where I feel like I’m working hard towards something with other people.

Today, I’m the wet-blanket employee not pulling my weight and wish I’d called in sick.

Somewhere between running circles around the room and gathering tight in the centre to do those small football-player like steps, I catch the team spirit. Maybe my endorphins are kicking in. Maybe this is a breakthrough. Another “aha” moment.

We resume our spots facing the front of the room and that Love Inc. song called “Superstar” comes on. I’m singing along, shaking my head, air-mouthing lyrics. It’s like I’m on ecstasy at 9 a.m. with a bunch of my mom’s friends. This is the hottest club in town.

Jeanette tells us to grab a sip of water (they say to stay hydrated when taking amphetamines) and I bump into my friend’s mom I’ve been avoiding eye contact with.

“Hi! Are you here on vacation?” she says.

“Um, no,” I say. “I’m living here.”

“Oh,” she says, sounding a little surprised.

Then I proceed to explain life is pretty laid back:  freelancing here and there, and taking care of my grandpa while my parents are gone.

“Good,” she says, trying to be encouraging. “You don’t want to be working hard when the nice weather’s coming!”

“ACTUALLY I’M DYING TO WORK HARD,” I felt like screaming. “I COME HERE TO FEEL A PART OF SOMETHING! DO YOU KNOW OF SOMETHING I COULD BE A PART OFF? ANYTHING!!”

I guess every drug experience has its erratic come down.

Game face: OFF.

We move to the wall and start doing butt exercises. I bond with the middle-aged woman beside me as we struggle to hold our feet in the air while sweat beads commit suicide off our faces.

The boss is working us hard, and that team-like feeling is restored in the office.  I’m never taking drugs at work again.

To feel a little ecstasy of your own, here’s Love INC’s Superstar.

For the comedown, here’s a depressing article about the growth of unpaid internships  from the New York Times (If you have a good story about an unpaid internship, let me know for your chance to be featured on the Diaries!)