Power To The Press!

28 Sep

I feel powerful.

People who would never before give me the time of day (think every terrible networking phone call you’ve ever made) now scramble to answer my emails. Doctors, publicists, dancers, club owners, event organizers … they all line up to take my calls. All because I am a member of the press.

I feel powerful, and it feels good. I could want to lampoon them, and these people would still answer all my questions. I own their fifteen minutes.

Work is about the only place I feel powerful in this city.  The taxis honk angrily as I (legally) cross the street. The pedestrians brush past my elbows without comment, intent on their destinations. The baristas joke amongst themselves when I try to order. Its a city designed to feel anonymous, encompassing, a city designed to make me feel small.

So I relish my work-time power over the business owners and small time celebrities, just as they relish their power over me once I leave the office. It’s a heady drug and a vicious cycle, with me stuck in the middle.

(Official apology for this not being entirely job-hunt related. In true New York form, get over it.)


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