Jana in New York

The Devil Wears Prada

2010-02-16T09:24:00.001-08:00

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.

Money.

2009-12-11T22:57:00.001-08:00

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.

Epiphany

2009-08-28T06:12:00.000-07:00

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.

A New Start

2009-08-03T22:46:00.000-07:00

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.

Grace in Music

2009-06-29T18:27:00.001-07:00

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. =)

I'm a P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing, as MJ would say)

2009-06-28T21:21:00.000-07:00

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.

Optimism

2009-06-12T12:13:00.001-07:00

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.

Connections

2009-06-09T16:52:00.000-07:00

The city decided to welcome me back from Florida with lovely weather. It stormed all last night, with thunder so loud it woke me up two or three times. At work today everyone was talking about how they thought the city was being bombed and felt their apartments shake. It was still raining in the morning and dreary all day.

I started reading St. Augustine's "Handbook on Faith, Hope, and Love" on the subway this morning. I sat down next to a Hispanic man who turned out to be a fashion photographer. He told me he was interested in my nose ring and gave me his business card so he could do some headshots. He got up to leave then realized he still had another stop to go, and we started talking about books. He asked what I was reading and must have sensed that I found it confusing because he recommended me some reading on chakhras and the Dalai Lama.

St. Augustine's writing, being from the fourth century, isn't immediately comprehensible, and I often found myself re-reading paragraphs and entire pages. I was so engrossed in the reading that I missed my stop, and jumped off the subway as soon as I realized it. Fortunately I was only one stop away from where I normally get off, and walking the extra five blocks did me some good.

I had 26 unread emails from being gone, mostly street team packages to mail and new shows to put in the database. At our staff meeting today, I got signed on to some website projects and jokingly suggested to work with a non-Francophone producer writing songs for a Francophone superstar. I'm secretly hoping they'll make me his assistant or something.

It was really stuffy and I was feeling a little queasy, so I volunteered to run to the post office. I took a detour to Starbucks to get my paycheck and a free drink, and in the process was assigned two more days to work this week. So much for having my weeknights off.

I called the photographer -- he wants to do a headshot session for free. I'm definitely down for that.

Why It's Hard to Do Laundry and Why I'm Glad to Be in New York by Way of Florida

2009-06-01T21:08:00.000-07:00

I've been so busy that I haven't had time to do laundry.

I didn't realize that when you don't have your own washer and dryer, washing your clothes takes up at least two hours of your life - you have to take them to the laundromat and sit there waiting for them so they don't get stolen. Well, I've been busy pretty much from 10-10 the past few days, and the laundromat is only open 7:00 am to 11:30 pm.

I've run out of jeans, work shirts, socks, work pants ... I've been wearing everything dirty. So finally, once my laundry bag weighed more than 20 pounds, to suck it up and drop off my laundry for someone else to wash. Dropped it off at the laundromat at 8:15 am, picked it up at 10:30 pm. Pretty convenient actually, since I don't have to lose two hours of my life, or buy detergent, or fold anything. (Though it was a little complicated since the employees there don't really speak English. I was trying to ask a question last night and other customers had to jump in and translate.) Everything is nice and wrinkle-free, though it does smell a little funny.

I squeezed in a voice lesson at 9 am today. Feel like I'm making some progress -- enough that I want to go back and re-record everything that I've ever done. It's funny that I never realized exactly how to apply what I learned in classical lessons to my pop singing, but since I've already learned those techniques, I can make rapid progress once my new teacher points it out to me. I'm really excited about where things are going.

At UFO today, everyone was gone. My boss's wife just had a baby, the tour marketing lady I work with works from home on Mondays, the president and another top guy went to a conference in Toronto, and most of the other employees work elsewhere on Monday. The office housed only three male interns, a secretary, a retail/distributor lady, and me. The other interns had no work, so I made them help me with mine.

At Starbucks, I've picked up on everything so fast the other employees keep asking if I've worked at Starbucks before. Nope. I don't know, everything's just simple and really similar to my work at Tropical Smoothie. But I've noticed a huge difference in my work and the work of all the New Yorkers -- I'm not rude to the customers.

Being friendly to customers puts me in a really good mood, but the other employees get so frustrated with them. They yell things like, "C'mon people, pay attention when drinks are being called," or angrily defend their behavior to the customers. Acting like that is just completely foreign to me.

Maybe it's because I'm from *gasp* the South.

Jana Fisher and the Quest for a Library Card

2009-05-27T20:58:00.000-07:00

The New York Public Library has 86 branches. A great resource, I figured, since I'm not in school and have time to read on the subway every day.

The first day I was here, I started applying for a card online. Turns out it takes up to a month to process, so I figured I'd go in to the branch a few blocks from my apartment and apply for one there.

On Monday, I got home around 9 and the library had closed at 8.

On Tuesday, I got home around 7, but the library had closed at 5.

On Wednesday, I lost track of time and suddenly it was 8 and the library was closed.

On Thursday and Friday, the library closed at 5.

On Saturday, I walked over to the library in the early afternoon, excited that I finally had a chance to get over there. I pulled on the door and it didn't open. A sign on the door said that it was closed all weekend for Memorial Day.

On Sunday and Monday, the library was closed.

Today, the library opened at 10. I decided I'd go into work a little late so I could swing by and finally apply for my card.

The librarian said that I needed a photo ID and something with my current address on it like a bill or paycheck.

I haven't gotten a Starbucks paycheck yet and my internship is unpaid.

I went home and applied for a library card online.

Why Starbucks is the Greatest Company on Earth and Times Square Tourists are Morons

2009-05-23T17:41:00.000-07:00

Benefits I get from working at Starbucks:

1. Free drinks at the store where I work
2. 30% off everything else (including at other stores)
3. One free pound of coffee per week
4. Vacation days that accumulate based on hours worked
5. Health, dental, and optical coverage for $9/week after 90 days
6. 401K and stock options after a year
7. An employee assistance hotline that can hook me up with a psychologist, lawyer, etc. and pay for some of the expenses
8. A fund to help employees in time of need, such as being behind on rent

Plus as part of my training I have to taste test all the varieties of coffee and tea. Which is fabulous.

I decided to get the ball rolling on this whole making music thing and find myself a voice teacher. Some of the ones I've found have ridiculous prices (such as $46 for HALF AN HOUR) but I found some that were pretty reasonable and decided to meet with them. The first lesson was at noon at the teacher's house in Astoria, resulting in my first and probably last trip to Queens. Queens feels like a dirty suburb compared to Manhattan, and while the teacher was cute, knowledgeable and helpful, something about her rubbed me the wrong way.

The second lesson was at a rehearsal space near Times Square. Pedestrian traffic in this area is absolutely awful. Because it was Saturday, it was almost entirely populated by tourists who decided to make fools of themselves. The pointing and picture-taking is to be expected, but they act like cattle. At one point there was some traffic backed up by a crosswalk, and though we didn't have a "Walk" sign, people just kept running across the road because they saw other people do it, and then got angry with the backed cars for trying to get out of the intersections. I wanted to punch them.

Anyway I got along with the second teacher better but I'm not sure she was helpful. I have several other possibilities but this one is probably the cheapest so I'm not sure what I'll end up doing.

No hablo español

2009-05-22T14:56:00.000-07:00

I am white and I don't speak Spanish. Therefore I am a minority in Washington Heights.

It has some advantages though. For example, when men try to pick me up on the street near where I live, I can't understand what they're saying and can walk on by none the wiser. When I'm in Chelsea, men hit on me in English. It's not rude -- mostly just a sing-songy "Hello, gorgeous. How ya doin', beautiful?" -- but I could still do without it. Hence the appeal of the Washington Heights language barrier.

Day 4 in NYC: The 7-story Macy's has 4 Starbucks

2009-05-20T18:19:00.000-07:00

I just got home 20 minutes ago. Long day, yes, but the past few days when I've gotten home at 8 or 9 I can hardly keep my eyes open. Right now I feel relatively energetic. Time to write.

This morning I woke up at 6:30 am -- I hadn't pulled my curtain all the way across my window and the sun was shining right in my eyes -- to the symphony of car horns that is constantly playing in New York City. (You know the canned sound of cars honking that they play in New York movies? Yeah, it's real.) Normally this would be an unfortunate occurrence, but I jumped on the opportunity to take a shower before one of my three roommates could grab it (usually I have to wait around at least 30 minutes to get in, making myself late in the process). Sadly, I felt accomplished. Then I got to sleep until 8:15 -- 8:15!

(Ah! My eyelids are drooping ... it's only 9:27 ... must stay awake ...)

Job Interview #2 was at 10 am. It was more of a screening, so it lasted about 10 minutes. Short and sweet. I got to my next interview 40 minutes early so I wandered around Borders and read "Wine for Dummies." (Did you know that white wines contain more sulfites than other wines?)

Job Interview #3 was at Starbucks by Penn Station. It took 15 minutes for the manager to be able to talk to me -- all NYC Starbucks are constantly busy. She offered me a drink, went over my application, and since she didn't have open positions anymore, sent me down the street to Macy's (yes, the seven-story Macy's).

I wandered to the Starbucks on the second floor of Macy's, getting offered at least ten fragrance samples along the way, and met with the general manager. He asked me a series of questions and then put me through the standard Starbucks exam, asking me to recall specific examples of work-related incidents so insignificant that my brain had chosen to forget them. At the end of it all, he said he wanted to hire me, and that I'd start training on Friday. $8.75/hour to start, $9.63 after 6 months, $8/week health insurance after 90 days, 10 blocks from my internship. Woohoo. Job search done.

[I find it amusing how everyone says I'm "taking a big leap" moving here, or that I need to be careful living in a big city, or that they're so amazed about how brave I am. To me, this whole thing seems perfectly natural. I feel like I've been living in this concrete land of hustle-and-bustle all my life.]

Ran off to my internship, where Barbara (who's in charge of tour marketing and with whom I have been working) had me make up a street team package (12 posters, a CD, 30 postcards and a set of labels). She had nothing else for me, so I asked Steve the intern coordinator for some work ... and was busy with it for the rest of the day. Initially I was looking up concert ticket sites for Guggenheim Grotto and Enter the Haggis, putting those sites in the database and making sure they were on the artists' myspace pages. Next I made up a promo package for Barbara to take to the Maiysha show tonight (while listening to Barbara console a sick Maiysha over the phone and offer to buy her all sorts of cold medicines). Then I started researching Celtic/Irish/Scottish societies to promote the Enter the Haggis shows to (while listening in to a conference call between Enter the Haggis and an internet marketing guru). In the middle of all this, Peter (the president) called me into his office thinking I was a graphic designer and asked me to make changes to the UFO and Invasion Group websites that were way beyond my skill level. (I'd go home and learn Flash if I had any energy left at the end of the day). I'd forgotten to bring lunch and didn't feel like leaving to buy some for $10, so I drank some hot chocolate.

I finally finished up emailing the Celtic societies and was the last intern to leave the office at 6:30. I guess my stomach must be shrinking -- I stopped at Chipotle for a burrito bowl and couldn't finish it (I'll bring it for lunch tomorrow), then bought myself a cone from an ice cream truck and couldn't finish it (how ridiculous!). I decided to get my shopping for my new Starbucks uniform done -- thankfully 7th Ave where I work (/live? Is there a difference?) is Fashion Ave (or so say the signs) and it was pretty simple. Except that sprinkle crumbs from my ice cream cone fell out of my wallet and got all over my shirt.

I took the 30 or 45 minute ride back to the place where I sleep. On the subway, the woman on my right was reading The Five Love Languages. The man on my left was dozed off, head nodding at all. At his stop, he abruptly woke up and rushed out the doors.