When I was still an intern, I went to a place called Beauty Bar that offers a $10 martini and manicure special. I ordered some girly drink that tasted like Kool-Aid and sat down at the station of a manicurist whose Princess Honeybuns hairdo matched the color of the liquid in my fancy plastic glass.
Like any professional esthetician, she asked me generic questions about my life. But when it came up that I worked for a record label, she became animated.
"Do they pay you anything?"
"Well, I'm an unpaid intern, but they're going to offer me a job soon," said I, youthfully optimistic.
"Listen, working in the music business will make you hate music. My friend is in artist manager. It's like adult babysitting. And it pays nothing. I worked for a record label when I was your age, and they paid me so little that I almost never went out. And when I did go out, it was because the bar down the street had a $2 Budweiser special. And I would sneak in $1.50 Budweisers from the corner store, because I needed the fifty cents."
I was highly incredulous. What better deal could I have landed than to work for an indie record label? "What do you do now?" I condescended.
Smiling proudly and satisfied, she boasted, "I'm a freelance photographer and I have my own accessories line. Plus I do this at Beauty Bar for extra cash."
At the time I thought she was a loser. She must've been terrible at her job to have had such a bad experience. I was going to work my ass off to excel. My work would be greatly appreciated. Poverty was not going to happen to me. But for some reason, that conversation was burned into my memory.
Six months later, I am in her position.
Every now and then, I get an idea for a novel/story/screenplay because my life sometimes lends itself to the cinematic. This conversation is a great example of foreshadowing.
Because I need the fifty cents.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Friday, December 11, 2009
Money.
I have never been so aware of it before.
Every other place that I've lived, the inhabitants are within a relatively narrow spectrum of wealth. Sure there are people living in trailers, sure there are doctors living in fancy new houses up on the hill, but the differences don't really stare you in the face.
Here, like the fast food restaurants required by law to post their egregious calorie counts, you can't help but see its ugliness. There is a man who lives in the subway station near my apartment, sleeping on cardboard with a blanket covering his head, next to two shopping carts full of empty beer boxes. Every day that I pass him, I feel fortunate to be able to have a bed to sleep in.
Yet when I go to Fifth Ave, the tables turn. I pass store after store selling handbags I could buy with a week's salary, or two, or twenty. I see cars parked out in front of apartments right by Grand Central Station, and I know those people only have cars because they needed a hole to pour their excess money into, because they sure aren't using them to get around. Around there, the tables have turned, and the Rich people are looking at me, feeling fortunate that they can afford to buy their sweaters from Saks.
I saw a woman today whose bare legs were so dry that it looked like she was wearing red snakeskin stockings. And yet, my dermatologist suggested $4000 scar treatment as if it were an ice cream cone.
I've never felt like I fit in with Wealthy people. Maybe it's because I don't have the grace, but really I just don't have the attitude. I don't see myself as one of Them. Once I let my Rich (or maybe just extraordinarily wasteful) friend dress me up in her clothes to go dancing. When I saw myself in a mirror, it felt like a joke. "Haha, Jana, small-town-girl-turned-wannabe-rockstar is pretending to be a Gossip Girl." I thought that there was something irrevocably broken inside me that made me permanently Unclassy.
And for a while, the Wealth in the city made me feel ashamed of being "poor." I would feel like a hick if I wasn't properly dressed or I wanted to eat at a chain restaurant I knew was cheap.
Applying for low-income housing has been quite a learning experience. If the friend I mentioned before knew that I was asking a non-profit for help so I could live in a 266 sq ft studio in a building populated by the former homeless living with HIV/AIDS and mental health issues, she'd look at me like a maniac and call me f***ing stupid. I was ashamed to tell anyone that I was applying or ask them to fill out the forms. I had our accountant fill out my employer forms so that my boss didn't have to know. When I had to miss work for my interview, I realized it was really silly to be afraid of telling everyone - they certainly know what I make.
Truth is, life in the city is tough. It eats you up and spits you back out feeling penniless. But in the process, it chews off all your idealism in prejudices until you are left with only your Ambition. The struggle reinforces your desire to stay and succeed.
That's what separates me from the Wealthy. I'm not so concerned with how I dress, or what car I drive, or where I got my purse from. I'm concerned with what I'm making of my life.
If the world falls at my feet, it won't be because I have money. It will be because I did something great.
Every other place that I've lived, the inhabitants are within a relatively narrow spectrum of wealth. Sure there are people living in trailers, sure there are doctors living in fancy new houses up on the hill, but the differences don't really stare you in the face.
Here, like the fast food restaurants required by law to post their egregious calorie counts, you can't help but see its ugliness. There is a man who lives in the subway station near my apartment, sleeping on cardboard with a blanket covering his head, next to two shopping carts full of empty beer boxes. Every day that I pass him, I feel fortunate to be able to have a bed to sleep in.
Yet when I go to Fifth Ave, the tables turn. I pass store after store selling handbags I could buy with a week's salary, or two, or twenty. I see cars parked out in front of apartments right by Grand Central Station, and I know those people only have cars because they needed a hole to pour their excess money into, because they sure aren't using them to get around. Around there, the tables have turned, and the Rich people are looking at me, feeling fortunate that they can afford to buy their sweaters from Saks.
I saw a woman today whose bare legs were so dry that it looked like she was wearing red snakeskin stockings. And yet, my dermatologist suggested $4000 scar treatment as if it were an ice cream cone.
I've never felt like I fit in with Wealthy people. Maybe it's because I don't have the grace, but really I just don't have the attitude. I don't see myself as one of Them. Once I let my Rich (or maybe just extraordinarily wasteful) friend dress me up in her clothes to go dancing. When I saw myself in a mirror, it felt like a joke. "Haha, Jana, small-town-girl-turned-wannabe-rockstar is pretending to be a Gossip Girl." I thought that there was something irrevocably broken inside me that made me permanently Unclassy.
And for a while, the Wealth in the city made me feel ashamed of being "poor." I would feel like a hick if I wasn't properly dressed or I wanted to eat at a chain restaurant I knew was cheap.
Applying for low-income housing has been quite a learning experience. If the friend I mentioned before knew that I was asking a non-profit for help so I could live in a 266 sq ft studio in a building populated by the former homeless living with HIV/AIDS and mental health issues, she'd look at me like a maniac and call me f***ing stupid. I was ashamed to tell anyone that I was applying or ask them to fill out the forms. I had our accountant fill out my employer forms so that my boss didn't have to know. When I had to miss work for my interview, I realized it was really silly to be afraid of telling everyone - they certainly know what I make.
Truth is, life in the city is tough. It eats you up and spits you back out feeling penniless. But in the process, it chews off all your idealism in prejudices until you are left with only your Ambition. The struggle reinforces your desire to stay and succeed.
That's what separates me from the Wealthy. I'm not so concerned with how I dress, or what car I drive, or where I got my purse from. I'm concerned with what I'm making of my life.
If the world falls at my feet, it won't be because I have money. It will be because I did something great.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Epiphany
I had an epiphany last night.
First, I must give you some background to this story. I'm in the habit of having a mini-meltdown the day I play a show. I freak out about how I haven't practiced, how I'm going to be horrible and make a fool of myself ... even if I know that only five people will show up. Such was the case at my Stetson Station shows - where the only people who saw the whole thing were the employees, my boyfriend, and my good friend Amanda - and at my 169 Bar show. (For the Wicked Willy's show, I was too focused on getting my keyboard to the venue to freak out.) Last time this happened, I complained to Dan, "I hate how I fall to pieces before every show." "Then don't!" he replied.
The logical antidote would to be more prepared, yet I've barely practiced in weeks. I meant to squeeze in some last-minute practicing last night, but I was exhausted and went to bed instead. And yet, in my dark cozy cave of a room so conducive to sleep, I couldn't fall into it. My mind was racing thinking about the show I would play tonight, but not in the typical nervous pattern - in an excited one.
It's usually nearly impossible for me to get out of bed in the morning - I have to set one alarm by my bed and one down underneath the loft, otherwise the artificial darkness overpowers my will to start the day.
This morning, I was so stoked for my show that I woke up before my alarm.
I think you can guess what the epiphany was.
First, I must give you some background to this story. I'm in the habit of having a mini-meltdown the day I play a show. I freak out about how I haven't practiced, how I'm going to be horrible and make a fool of myself ... even if I know that only five people will show up. Such was the case at my Stetson Station shows - where the only people who saw the whole thing were the employees, my boyfriend, and my good friend Amanda - and at my 169 Bar show. (For the Wicked Willy's show, I was too focused on getting my keyboard to the venue to freak out.) Last time this happened, I complained to Dan, "I hate how I fall to pieces before every show." "Then don't!" he replied.
The logical antidote would to be more prepared, yet I've barely practiced in weeks. I meant to squeeze in some last-minute practicing last night, but I was exhausted and went to bed instead. And yet, in my dark cozy cave of a room so conducive to sleep, I couldn't fall into it. My mind was racing thinking about the show I would play tonight, but not in the typical nervous pattern - in an excited one.
It's usually nearly impossible for me to get out of bed in the morning - I have to set one alarm by my bed and one down underneath the loft, otherwise the artificial darkness overpowers my will to start the day.
This morning, I was so stoked for my show that I woke up before my alarm.
I think you can guess what the epiphany was.
Monday, August 3, 2009
A New Start
What a wonderful birthday present.
The past two months have gone by in a blur. I was working too much at a job that sucked out my time and energy (Starbucks), living in a creepy area an hour away from everything, and unable to play many open mics because I was under 21.
I have free time now, and I live in a great new area. I walked home from my voice lesson today! Living in Hell's Kitchen (terrible name, great neighborhood) makes New York City feel like a huge college campus. There's so much to do, and much of it is within walking distance.
I'm moved in to my new apartment - my bedroom is basically a walk in closet in a 5th floor walkup (meaning there's no elevator), but for some reason I love it. It's cozy and has charm. Here are some pictures.
Living Room:
Kitchen:
My Room:
It feels like getting to start over. I'm riding an energy high from having Dan here, and I feel like this is going to be a great, productive week.
The past two months have gone by in a blur. I was working too much at a job that sucked out my time and energy (Starbucks), living in a creepy area an hour away from everything, and unable to play many open mics because I was under 21.
I have free time now, and I live in a great new area. I walked home from my voice lesson today! Living in Hell's Kitchen (terrible name, great neighborhood) makes New York City feel like a huge college campus. There's so much to do, and much of it is within walking distance.
I'm moved in to my new apartment - my bedroom is basically a walk in closet in a 5th floor walkup (meaning there's no elevator), but for some reason I love it. It's cozy and has charm. Here are some pictures.
Living Room:
Kitchen:
My Room:
It feels like getting to start over. I'm riding an energy high from having Dan here, and I feel like this is going to be a great, productive week.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Grace in Music
Peter called me into his office again today. I always get excited when he does because it usually means that something cool is about to happen.
PETER: You know my stepdaughter Grace is a musician based in Paris? She's huge over there, and her label does nothing for her. She's playing all these festivals and we need people to hand out flyers and spread the word. You speak French right? Have you done any street team organization? I'll have Barbara give you a rundown of what to do and you'll be in charge of organizing street teamers for Grace in France.
Seems like the folks at Invasion Group are doing their best to use everything in my skill set. =)
PETER: You know my stepdaughter Grace is a musician based in Paris? She's huge over there, and her label does nothing for her. She's playing all these festivals and we need people to hand out flyers and spread the word. You speak French right? Have you done any street team organization? I'll have Barbara give you a rundown of what to do and you'll be in charge of organizing street teamers for Grace in France.
Seems like the folks at Invasion Group are doing their best to use everything in my skill set. =)
Sunday, June 28, 2009
I'm a P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing, as MJ would say)
New York City is still reeling from Michael Jackson's death. The day it happened, everyone at work was freaking out trying to find out news because it was only on TMZ and therefore not so reliable. I still hadn't heard for sure when I left work, but I overheard people talking about it walking down the street, and when I stopped by the Macy's Starbucks everyone already knew.
The radio stations, stores, and passing cars are all playing a nonstop stream of his music. There are Michael Jackson tribute parties everywhere, and T-shirts being sold on the street. I have met so many people who are completely devastated.
I was having a conversation about it in Barnes & Noble with a friend, and a man sitting at a nearby table joined in. We were discussing whether or not it's possible for a really great artist to have a balanced life; in the case of MJ, everything he did was for his art - the nose jobs to sing better, the female hormones to keep his vocal range, the painkillers to numb his aching dance-wrecked knees. "I can see it now - someone's already writing a screenplay about his life," the man said. (Turns out he's a screenwriter.)
I had been thinking about that all day too. His life is a classic tragedy - the gifted and passionate performer who destroys his life through his love for his art.
On a lighter note, it looks like there's a light at the end of the slave labor tunnel. Peter called me into his office to discuss the website with me, then asked me about Starbucks - my hours, my pay, my motivations for working there (i.e. insurance), and then clarified, "I'm asking because we're going to be putting an offer together for you in the next few weeks, since everyone here loves you, and I wanted to know what your plans were." I did my best to hide my excitement, but I told him I'd be happy to quit or scale back my hours at Starbucks if needed.
I'm receiving this news much sooner than I'd ever expected. I thought they'd milk my unpaid status for all it was worth before finally offering the possibility of legitimate work at the end of July. I'm hoping to start getting paid in a few weeks instead of mid-August when my internship ends - I'll move to a new apartment closer to work and stop working 60+ hours at two jobs.
Whenever I tell people my schedule, they freak out. And really, I don't know how I do it either. But my life's always been like that - I maximize usage of my time so that I barely have any downtime, and somehow I pull it off. I don't feel like I'm burning out, though I am more emotional than usual. Time goes by so fast this way that I'm sure I'll be out of it in no time and will be able to devote more time to my music.
The radio stations, stores, and passing cars are all playing a nonstop stream of his music. There are Michael Jackson tribute parties everywhere, and T-shirts being sold on the street. I have met so many people who are completely devastated.
I was having a conversation about it in Barnes & Noble with a friend, and a man sitting at a nearby table joined in. We were discussing whether or not it's possible for a really great artist to have a balanced life; in the case of MJ, everything he did was for his art - the nose jobs to sing better, the female hormones to keep his vocal range, the painkillers to numb his aching dance-wrecked knees. "I can see it now - someone's already writing a screenplay about his life," the man said. (Turns out he's a screenwriter.)
I had been thinking about that all day too. His life is a classic tragedy - the gifted and passionate performer who destroys his life through his love for his art.
On a lighter note, it looks like there's a light at the end of the slave labor tunnel. Peter called me into his office to discuss the website with me, then asked me about Starbucks - my hours, my pay, my motivations for working there (i.e. insurance), and then clarified, "I'm asking because we're going to be putting an offer together for you in the next few weeks, since everyone here loves you, and I wanted to know what your plans were." I did my best to hide my excitement, but I told him I'd be happy to quit or scale back my hours at Starbucks if needed.
I'm receiving this news much sooner than I'd ever expected. I thought they'd milk my unpaid status for all it was worth before finally offering the possibility of legitimate work at the end of July. I'm hoping to start getting paid in a few weeks instead of mid-August when my internship ends - I'll move to a new apartment closer to work and stop working 60+ hours at two jobs.
Whenever I tell people my schedule, they freak out. And really, I don't know how I do it either. But my life's always been like that - I maximize usage of my time so that I barely have any downtime, and somehow I pull it off. I don't feel like I'm burning out, though I am more emotional than usual. Time goes by so fast this way that I'm sure I'll be out of it in no time and will be able to devote more time to my music.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Optimism
Peter, the President of UFO Records, asked for Barbara's bio at the staff meeting yesterday, as well as mine. Barbara runs tour marketing to UFO and said that it was a really good sign that he wanted mine too.
Here's what I wrote for him:
Jana Fisher has a B.A. in Digital Arts: Sound and French along with a minor in Music (Voice) from Stetson University in Deland, FL. After graduating from Stetson in May 2009, Jana moved to New York to pursue a career in the music business. She is currently interning at Invasion Group/UFO Records where she assists in tour and Internet marketing for artist such as Enter the Haggis, The Guggenheim Grotto, and The Abrams Brothers.
He replied, "Let's be optimistic. My changes OK?" and changed "interning" to "working."
Let's hope that actually means something.
Here's what I wrote for him:
Jana Fisher has a B.A. in Digital Arts: Sound and French along with a minor in Music (Voice) from Stetson University in Deland, FL. After graduating from Stetson in May 2009, Jana moved to New York to pursue a career in the music business. She is currently interning at Invasion Group/UFO Records where she assists in tour and Internet marketing for artist such as Enter the Haggis, The Guggenheim Grotto, and The Abrams Brothers.
He replied, "Let's be optimistic. My changes OK?" and changed "interning" to "working."
Let's hope that actually means something.
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