I am unemployed.

Yes, I am unemployed now. Officially, as of March 31st, and with half of my severance already safely deposited to prove it. Of course, being a former employee of a large multinational, I've been hired back instantly as a consultant and am working two days a week. This will probably last for 1-2 months.

I started on Monday. So, I really only spent a single day (Friday) not working.

To coincide with my newly liberated schedule, I've gotten sick. Just a cold or something, but still annoying - fever, headache, sinus, etc. I probably caught it this weekend in Montreal (where it rained constantly). Today, while taking a much-needed nap, I was called for the third time in 2 months by a pollster asking 25 minutes of questions about the upcoming New York City mayoral campaign, and how I feel about one Democratic candidate versus another. Too groggy to answer "no" when they asked for me by (first) name, I tried to make the call go as quickly as possible, feeling slightly guilty about not properly considering the questions on the positions of each candidate on a myriad of issues, but also fully realizing that there is almost no chance I won't vote for Mike Bloomberg again in the fall.

By far, the hardest part of the call to answer was the question about my employment status. After 15 seconds of consideration, I said "part time". It sounded funny coming out of my mouth.

I've been on an avant garde music kick lately, becoming slightly addicted to records I bought due to their experimental rep but couldn't really stomach at the time. Interestingly, they all sound better to me now. This includes the first two Os Mutantes records - particularly the first - and the Brian Eno/David Byrne collaboration My Life in the Bush Of Ghosts, an album that has always run hot and cold to my ears. In a way, my three day-old addiction to these records reminds me of the way, perhaps 3 years ago, I was overwhelmed by the taste for a glass of red wine for the first time in my life, or the similar feeling I had ten years ago for a strong cup of coffee. Could "Panis et Circenses" just be something I had to grow into?

I also listened to Serge Gainsbourg's Histoire de Melody Nelson half a dozen times today (not so hard, as it's less than 30 minutes long). It's a record I've always loved, so it doesn't really belong grouped with the ones I just mentioned. Unless you consider that it is entirely in French, a language I don't understand, just as the Mutantes are in Portuguese, and the Eno/Byrne record consists entirely of vocal samples from in many languages. Since when did I value lyrics so little I didn't even care if could sing along in a language I know?