Time for Timer

Late Baby Boomers and early X-Genner’s might remember a certain Saturday morning cartoon character who looked like a chunk of cheddar cheese with spindly arms and legs. He appeared in between shows like Scooby-Doo and The Super Friends, filling up what would otherwise have been dead air. I’m sure his producers claimed he performed Public Service Announcements, but neither myself nor my cohorts were ever very convinced that we couldn’t live without his recipe for “Sunshine on a Stick” or the dietary recommendations of his virtually eponymous “Hanker for a Hunk of Cheese.” But this we did know: when the previous show was over and you heard his scratcy voice, it was defintiely “Time for Timer.”*

I never really knew what that meant, but after hearing it a few thousand times, it took on a meaning of its own. I came to view it as a moment of reflection. A time out. A chance to learn something new that I could potentially put to use in my own life.

So even to this day, whenever I sense the need for a moment of reflection, I hear that little bugger’s scratcy voice, and if conditions prove right – I take Time for Timer…

There is less than a week left in March, 2005 and I have no idea what I am going to do with my life. Sure, I’ve got ideas, but they’re muddy. They’re mired in uncertainty, ignorance and self-doubt. The uncertainty relates to my inability to be sure of any course of action, as in, “Do I really want that?” The ignorance pertains to my being new in NY, and not knowing whether I can earn enough per month with any given plan. The self-doubt needs no explanation. It’s the same-ol’, same’-ol’ that’s haunted me all my life. [Insert parent-blaming, pseudo-sociological and/or homosexual oppression psycho babble here? I’d rather not, thank you. I’ve been around all those blocks enough times to realize I’m responsible for my life at this point.]

I realized, during a meth-induced self-therapy session in the bathtub a few days ago (the water having been drained but my naked self still sitting there, pondering out loud… some people sing in the shower; I process in the tub), that I was holding back from even imagining my perfect life here in NYC, as if I’d finally become irrevocably convinced that I didn’t deserve anything remotely close to it. The four months of partying had been my subconscious saying, “Live it up now, ‘cuz when the Unemployment runs out in May, you know you’re just going to have to land yet another crappy Admin job to make ends meet…”

BLECH! Talk about “stinkin’ thinkin’!

Truth is, if I had some sort of plan – one that I actually believed in – to put into action right now, then it wouldn’t be too late to have at least part of my ideal NYC life up and running by the time the UI runs out. The key right now would be to find some form of self-employment (that needs little start up capital) or some freelance (e.g.: 1099’d) gigs. Or something completely under the table. But what do I have to offer?

Say “hello” to self-doubt.

This much I know: between the market being flooded, having recently turned 40 and just plain being over it as a lifestyle, sexwork will not serve any purpose other than an extra $500+ per month. Which is great. I still enjoy it on a part-time basis, and I can mold my lifestyle so that “pocket money” comes from that source.

So, where’s the other $2,000 – the minimum I need to stay afloat – going to come from?

Can you believe I can exist on that little? Can you believe I’m having trouble figuring out how to manifest it??? (Did you already meet my friend, self-doubt? Sorry. Busy party here in Demon-hood.)

The possibilities include: bartending, teaching ESL, tutoring, or taking some 30K per year Editorial Assistant job somewhere back in publishing (10K less than I earned on the sales end).

And what of combination platter options? What about $1,000 per month bartending combined with $1,000 per month teaching/tutoring? Sounds OK, but I think the scheduling would become nightmarish… The thing about bartending is the schedule it throws you onto. I’m OK with it, but only if I’m doing nothing but it and whoring (and taking writing workshops and fostering that aspect of my life).

Hmmm. This is the same conclusion I came to during that bath tub therapy session: bartending is the answer. That + whoring = the lifestyle Greg would really like and could really use AT THIS TIME. It doesn’t have to be a career plan or a long-term solution. It doesn’t have to be the feature show. But for now, it would keep the party going – safely – and it would keep the bills paid. And the party I’m referring to isn’t the chaotic ride we’ve been on these past four months; it’s the steady one that introduces me to NY nightlife and the gay, theatrical contacts I so desperately need to meet.

Wait, wait: I think I hear a scratcy cartoon voice saying, “Hey, kid! Whip up a bartending resume and hit list, before time’s up!”

OK, Timer.



[*Go to http://www.angelfire.com/retro/gartwo/ if you want a peek.]