Blame My Love of Calibri

By the time you read this note I’ll very possibly be a great aunt (or is it grand aunt) for the second time. Thinking of it just now, I daydreamed embracing my niece-in-law and neph in warm congratulations and ruminating on how their lives are now changed. The universe of worries and frustrations and joys will expand exponentially, unpredictably, suprisingly. I thought of the disbelief and awe I nearly drowned in on the day I returned home from the hospital with infant Isaiah: they just let you leave with your kid and good luck! How can it be? Where’s the owner’s manual?

That first day back—that first hour—I was alone in my apartment and desperately needed the bathroom. I put Isaiah in the dead middle of my bed, praying he didn’t possess a preternatural ability to roll at mere days old, his skin mottled that newborn rose color, his eyebrows formidable, dark and defined as they are still.

I’m so glad for some good news. There's been too much bad, given the stage of life I’m in where a parent of someone I know dies, it seems, at a rate of once a week, and then there’s word of all the terrible diagnoses hither and yon of people old and young and in between among both those I know well and those who are but acquaintances.

Still, there is good news of lesser import, too, that feebly strives to balance the scale. I have three little cherry tomatoes in my garden doing their darn tootin’ best to reach maturity. I swam in the bay off Long Island twice this past weekend and it was supremely refreshing and delightful, as I know in my bones it always is. That floating feeling, the water socloselytenderlycradling the perimeter of my body, lapping gently against my skin—it’s a feeling of sublime, bracing surrender. My definition of invigoration and spiritual restoration.

I heart the ocean.

We were cat-sitting Kenny and Scout, and Suzi stayed in Brooklyn with Max and his mom. Isaiah’s friend joined us. Getting away is a gift.

Yesterday morning I applied for a job as an editor for a non-profit. I saved my letter as a PDF, closed out, and then reopened it to re-read it. I like Calibri as a font. It’s tidy and slightly sleek, efficient with a soupcon of flair. It glitches out, though, when saved as PDF and words like “communicating” morph into “communiGOn.” Is that why I’ve gotten so few interviews? Barely a bite on my lure? Have I sent spammy job applications into the wide world? Does it matter? Is anyone even going through the inbox?

A shift-command later and voila! My doc was dressed in grey lady, a font which declines tweaky improvisation.

Still, it’s not quite accurate to say I’ve had no interviews. (Take the girl out of fact-checking, but not fact-checking out of the girl.) Last week an AI bot interviewed me; it was my first time having such an interaction. It had a female voice and spoke in that halting manner which gives it away as non-human. Pauses slightly mis-timed between words; slight upspeak. Parroting back my own phrases, much the way job applicants are advised to weave the terms used in a job posting into a cover letter. Me, for instance: “I pruned the essay, cutting out extraneous detail.” AI: “I understand. It sounds like you pruned the essay. You got rid of the extraneous detail. Good to know.”

I didn’t get a call back. I suppose that’s okay, as the job was to edit text in an LLM, so arguably it was work that would lead to making human editors obsolete. Working myself out of work.

Also, I had a video interview with a human being. Can you imagine? What a world! People speaking with people!

They were young and confident and when I suggested I could talk about my background some to make my case, they responded “Dazzle me!” which I found off-putting on account of the entitled and arrogant subtext I inferred. So I channeled my best Billy Flynn with jazz hands and everything.

Maybe I’m reactive, an impulse stemming from generational norms wherein women were riddled with self-doubt and under-confidence and “dazzle me!” screams the exact opposite. I envy the young’uns their unflappability even while I bristle.

Razzle. Dazzle.

What will happen? I wondered to friends on a text about the market for 50-something prostitutes. That would make a good premise for a novel/movie option/media mogul, I think. Could my throw-away joke be the beginning of my next chapter? I want Mary Bronstein to direct and I’ll settle for nothing less! Well, I’ll also settle for Sean Baker. Or, sure, Ryan Coogler. Boots Riley (Oaktown represent!) too.

Speaking of books, I’m reading The Sympathizer right now and it’s incredibly engrossing. I like the pacing, sort of largo for the musicians in the house. And speaking of food, there’s a kosher bbq joint in Crown Heights we went to the other evening with some friends. It’s called Izzy’s and it’s off the goddamn hook. The pulled beef was exceptional.

Jessie and I are embarking on a road trip next month for eight days. Destination Charleston, SC for a relative’s wedding celebration. We’re going to hug the coast—you know how I feel about salt water, after all—so if you have tips for places to stop for a great meal, share! Now is not the time to be stingy with your knowledge. Never is that time.

Onward into this new day.