When Daddy finds a job...

Two people in my family are gainfully employed. And I'm neither of them.

The reason, you see, is that I am currently "between jobs," which is a polite way of saying I'm unemployed.

I never, ever expected to be out of work. No one ever does, I guess, as that is one of the foremost items on The List of Things That Happen to Other People.

From August 22, 1988, until Jan. 4th, 2013, I always had something to fill in the blank for "Name of Employer." At no point during that quarter of a century was I without a job.

Then, with one bizarre meeting last month in the office of the COO of my former company, my world turned upside down.

I know my story isn't uncommon. And I know that saying "my world turned upside down" borders on the melodramatic. But on the Holmes and Rahe stress scale (which I found on Wikipedia and am going to assume is famous in psychology circles), "dismissal from work" is the eighth most life-changing event that can happen to a person.

In case you're curious, the top seven such events, in order, are death of a spouse, divorce, marital separation, imprisonment, death of a close family member, personal injury or illness, and marriage. I have experienced only two of those things, but I imagine I'll be adding a third if I don't find a job soon, since Terry will likely either leave me or inflict "personal injury" upon me.

(By the way, I think "your own death" should probably rank #1 on the Holmes and Rahe scale, don't you? I can't imagine anything more life-changing than that.)

One of the blessings of losing your job - and there are a few - is that everyone you've ever known comes out of the woodwork to let you know they're praying for you, thinking about you, looking out for jobs on your behalf, etc. Which is nice. And helpful, too, since even the long hours I spend in front of the computer every day aren't possibly enough to uncover ALL of the potential vocational opportunities. It's good to have extra sets of eyes out there working for me.

Another blessing is that I get to get the mail almost every day. You wouldn't believe how important the arrival of the mail becomes when you're home all the time. Eddie the mail guy pulls up in his little truck and I find myself giddy with the possibilities. I don't know what I'm expecting, though, since I have yet to get an unsolicited job offer in the mail. But that's the thing...YOU NEVER KNOW. So Eddie comes and I dutifully put on my shoes and retrieve the mail in case there's something really good there.

I also enjoy running errands at 2 o'clock in the afternoon while the rest of you are working. There are no crowds to contend with at any of the stores and no traffic to speak of. When I finally do find a job, that's something I'm going to miss.

Incidentally, that phrase "when I get a job" or "when Daddy finds a job" is one that comes up a lot in our house these days. Examples:

* "When Daddy gets a job, we can go back to eating three meals a day again. Isn't that great?"

* "McDonald's? No, we're not going to McDonald's. When Daddy gets a job, maybe we'll go to McDonald's. But right now, we're not going to McDonald's."

* "Don't worry, honey. When Daddy gets a job, he'll start shaving and grooming himself again. I think we can all just deal with the smell for awhile. It won't be long."

And that's just it: I don't KNOW if it will be long. In the back of my mind, I had sort of hoped to be working again by the first of March, which in retrospect was unrealistic. Now I have thoughts like, "Will I be working by April? By May? By the beginning of summer? Good Lord, will I ever work again?!?"

It doesn't help when people who have been through this before try to console you by telling stories that start this way: "I know how you feel. I was out of work for nine months and I..." And you don't hear the rest of what they're saying because you're thinking, "NINE MONTHS? NINE MONTHS?!? OHMYGOSHOHMYGOSHOHMYGOSH..."

I have constructed elaborate scenarios in my head in which my unemployment drags on for so long that we exhaust our savings and I'm forced to join the migrant Mexican workers here in Lake County who pick grapes a few months out of the year and return to Guadalajara for the winter. If I'm allowed to select my Mexican migrant worker name, I'm going with Manuel. Or maybe Pablo. Either way, I hope the pay is good.

A lot of people will tell you to have faith and that this will be (say it with me) "The Best Thing That Could Have Happened." And I do believe some good will come of it. Some day. Soon, I hope. In the meantime, I've got two bucks in my pocket that Terry doesn't know about it. And I'm going to use it to get a couple of things off the Dollar Menu at McDonald's. Unemployment doesn't have to be THAT bad...

I'm worried about Anne, and you should be, too

Hi, it's me again, and I'm worried about Anne Hathaway.

I don't usually worry about Anne Hathaway. I don't usually even THINK about Anne Hathaway, which in no way is meant to be a slight against her. She's a fine actress and, I'm sure, a decent human being. But I can only keep track of about four different things at any given point, and up until now, Anne Hathaway never actually made the list.

But now she's there. And I'll tell you why.

I didn't watch a second of the Academy Awards telecast last night. Or are we supposed to call it The Oscars? I think we're supposed to call it The Oscars now. That's how the people at the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences want us to refer to it. This is called "branding." It's part of what I do for a living, and I'll be the first to admit it's annoying. We want to control the way you think and feel about the products, services and events we're promoting, and it's shocking how good we are at it. You people are like sheep. We tell you to do something, and 90% of the time you do it. Of course, everyone already calls it "The Oscars" anyway, I think, so it's not like it's difficult to get people to stop saying "Academy Awards." But the point is, we're supposed to call it The Oscars (capital "The"), so in the interest of making my fellow marketers feel good, that's exactly what I'm going to do.

Anyway, I didn't watch The Oscars last night. Not by choice or anything, I was just busy. I coach Chloe's high school girls indoor soccer team, and we had a 9 p.m. game to play. It was our third Sunday-evening-at-9 game of the season, which doesn't bother me so much but seems to amaze a lot of other people. "You're playing when? Sunday night at 9?!? Why so late? That's ridiculous!" And I tell them that almost everything related to kids' sports is ridiculous these days, so I don't get phased by the scheduling.

But getting back to my point, I didn't watch The Oscars last night. I have nothing against The Oscars, I just didn't watch them. But today I read two different fashion-oriented articles about The Oscars, and both expressed shock and borderline outrage at the dress worn by Anne Hathaway, whom you may recall I'm starting to worry about.

I Googled a picture of said dress (in the interest of blogging research), and honestly wasn't all that moved by it. As Oscar dresses ("The Oscar" dresses?) go, it wasn't any more revealing than the other stuff you see women wearing as they walk down that red carpet. But it still wasn't something I would ever allow my own daughters to even contemplate wearing, which is why I'm worried about Anne Hathaway.

Anne Hathaway burst into our collective consciousness 11 or 12 years ago as the star of the surprisingly successful film "The Princess Diaries." She was pretty, endearingly nerdy, and almost exactly what we, as a society, prefer our 19-year-old actresses to be. The movie was a hit with the preteen set, and at the time I had a couple of preteen girls in my house, so I was fine with it.

Over the next few years, Anne Hathaway went on to make a few more innocent flicks, including a Princess Diaries sequel (or two? I can't remember) and "Ella Enchanted" and we all maintained that sort of low-level awareness of her existence that kept her in a position to make big money in show business.

But then she started making Adult Films. And by "Adult Films," I don't mean the stuff you pay Time Warner 10 bucks to watch on demand. I mean movies that deal with more grown-up subjects and themes. And we, as a society, gave our cautious approval.

And then it all went wrong. Some years ago, Terry and I rented "Brokeback Mountain," which in retrospect was not a good thing to do. Live and learn, I guess, but I could have gotten by just fine without having seen it. I remember we were watching "Brokeback Mountain," and there was a scene in which things were getting hot and heavy between Anne Hathaway and Jake Gyllenhaal in the backseat of a car. Fine. That's a good example of something that happens in real life between consenting adults (or teenagers...whatever), so it was cool.

But then, in an instant, my Anne Hathaway bubble burst. Without getting into too much detail, suffice it to say that in a matter of seconds, Ms. Hathaway removed her top and whatever else she had on that covered her upper half. And we were horrified. Not because, you know, "OH NO, BOOBIES!" But because this wasn't what Anne Hathaway was supposed to do, as far as we were concerned. This was unacceptable for the girl who played Mia Thermopolis.

And in that moment, I became Old Dad Guy. I wanted to shake her by the shoulders and say, "Put your clothes back on! Don't you see what you're doing here? Don't you see this is a point from which you can never turn back? Don't do it, Anne Hathaway! Don't do it!"

Now I realize this is my problem and not Anne Hathaway's problem. She's an adult. She can do what she wants and make her own career choices. But, it's just...that's not the direction I wanted her to go, and she did it anyway. I wanted her to do nice little Disney movies (and to voice the occasional animated movie) forever. But she got the Serious Actress Bug, and there was no going back after that.

Anne Hathaway went on to reveal vast acres of flesh in other movies after "Brokeback Mountain," but I never saw any of them. Couldn't bring myself to do it. Princess Mia was no longer Princess Mia for me, which again, I realize is my problem and not hers, but it has been disappointing nonetheless.

Anyway, Anne has gone all sorts of crazy in other ways, too, losing so much weight for her Oscar-winning ("The Oscar-" winning?) role in "Les Miserables" that even her director looked at her and said, "Hey, hey, whoa, whoa! Slow it down there, Kate Moss!" And understand, Hollywood directors are not known for having outpourings of compassion for their $20 million starlets if whatever the starlet is doing makes her more convincing for the role.

So the point is, I'm worried about Anne Hathaway. And I guess not so much worried as disillusioned that things didn't go the direction I wanted for her. But hey, whether or not Anne is happy, none of it is really my business. It's just that, you know...sometimes I want to go all Simon & Garfunkel on her: "Where have you gone, Anne Hathaway? A nation turns its lonely eyes to you."