I have to wonder what folks like Glenn Kenny, Michael Atkinson, Rob Nelson, David Ansen, Dessen Thomson, et. al. do for money nowadays?—Anthony Kaufman, July 7, 2009, at his blog
You know what’s not fun? When you’ve got a consulting gig, and you’re on a retainer, and you submit an invoice that you know is usually paid pretty quickly, only now you get a call from one of the new vice-presidents of the firm, who tells you that, well, he’s not going to pay this invoice because he’s just decided to invalidate the (handshake) deal you had with one of the CEOs. And that guy, one of the CEOs you had that (handshake) deal with is on vacation, and is French, which means he’s really on vacation, as in he might-as-well-never-have-existed unreachable, and even if he weren’t…well, the whole tone of the “this invoice is not being paid” exchange strongly suggests that not only can you now kiss what you thought was going to be your money goodbye, but that you’re not likely to be getting any more money from this firm, ever. And you know what else isn’t fun? Hearing from another client the next day, and this gent tells you that the invoice to his concern, which you just submitted, isn’t going to be paid for another three week or so. “Sorry if this is inconvenient,” this client tells you. “Oh well,” you say, “it IS kind of inconvenient, but it’s not catastrophically inconvenient. However…what about the other invoice, the one I sent last month, and we talked about, and you said it was going to be paid in two weeks? Is the check from that invoice coming?” Well, as it happens, it’s not…that one’s going to be paid at the same time as the new one because, you know, it’s been a “crazy month.” Right.
Okay, so actually now we are in the realm of the catastrophically inconvenient. (Incidentally, dear reader, have you ever wondered, say, what would happen if you got in touch with Con Ed, say, and told them you couldn’t pay the current electric bill on time, after you’ve already not paid the prior electric bill, and told Con Ed that you were “sorry if this is inconvenient” but that it’s been a “crazy month?”
Anyway, the circumstances outlined above are not entirely dissimilar to some circumstances I myself found myself in quite recently, which led to my needing, rather urgently, to find some paying work. Any paying work.
In the heart of deepest Brooklyn, there is a not-terribly-high structure atop which sits, or I should say sat, a rather elaborate and sprawling wooden roof deck, with two gazebos. Ideal for large-scale barbecues and such. And on top of this structure, said deck may have sat forever, except that some developer decided to build some luxury condos, or some such shite next door, and in the course of building those luxury condos, which extend quite a bit higher than the structure at the top of which sits the roof deck, some person from the N.Y.C. Department of Buildings got a load of this deck and said “What the fuck is that?,” or words to that effect. Never mind not being up to “code,” or what have you; the thing was completely not-legal to be there in the first place, and had to come down. So the building’s owner enlisted a couple of its residents, visual artists of intermittent employment, one of whom is a friend of mine, to do the job. And after I had put the word out that I needed some work, I was asked to join the team for a couple of days.
I have not done demolition work before. In fact, the general consensus, coming down first from my father, and concurred with by one supermarket manager and several gas station owners with whom I enjoyed brief professional associations in my youth, has been that I am not cut out for physical labor of any kind. I am too dreamy, bookish; “faggy,” as the common parlance of my aforementioned youth would have it.
Still, I’ve been working out lately; getting in touch with my inner Expendable, such as it is, if you will. And, as I said, I needed work. How bad could it be? Once I got to the actual site, I saw how bad; this was one really big roof deck. Not just really big, but seriously overbuilt, apparently by different builders over the course of several years, because each separate portion of it was assembled according to a different logic. Here is a shot of the particular corner of the deck to which I was assigned on the first day:
As the deck had been around for a while, and the slats secured with a combination of nails and screws, and the screws were pretty old and had a lot of corroded heads, so the thing to do was to cut through the slats with a circular saw. Which I did, whereupon I came upon oodles and oodles of poorly-laid chicken wire, and sections of tarp, which were there to collect water and leaves (this section of the deck was directly under a tree). It was quite a tangle. Add to that the fact that the circular saw was getting juice from an outlet all the way below stairs, which would blow out every half-row of slats or so, which meant I had to then run downstairs and reset the circuit in order to continue.
The initial crew was myself and the two residents of the building put in charge of the job; in the afternoon another friend showed up, a construction veteran and an electrical engineer. Looking at the fix us poor amateurs in, he shook his head in semi-amused sadness.
“You just don’t have the right tools,” he noted, looking at the workshop equipment we were using. “If you had a few four-foot pry bars, you could just tear this up in no time.”
“Yeah, I was thinking that when I first came up here,” I lied.
“You could also use three or four Mexicans.” Indeed.
Anyway, he fixed us up right away, rewiring stuff so we’d have a reliable power source on the roof itself, and then, out of the goodness of his heart, took up one of the circular saws and showed us how it’s done. It was kind of shaming. The fellow was balletic with the instrument; imagine Leatherface’s dance at the end of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, only competent, and purposeful. It wasn’t even day’s end, or even really close, when we had that corner of deck looking like so:
Of course what comes after is getting up all those fucking leaves and such, and as everyone knows, raking is pretty much the least fun you can have with physical labor. Using the stationary cut saw, however; that’s another matter. Once I got over my initial irrational fear of severing one or several of my own fingers—a fear that can be conquered simply by being mindful of what the hell you’re doing—I discovered that the task of cutting up the deck timber into pieces small enough to load into a plastic trash bin, which would then be lowered to the ground floor and wheeled out on a dolly to the dumpster outside (see photo at top), was something I may have in fact been born for. I realized soon, to my surprise and delight, that I can actually cut perfectly even 2x4s entirely by eye. “Hence, then, my acute sense of mise-en-scene,” I said to myself. And that was the only film-critic related thought I had during my time up there. And that was interesting; making my way, seeing how I could function, in a world at a complete remove from what I “normally” “do.” Honestly, the first couple of hours on either day, I was thinking, “What the fuck am I doing here?” or “How the hell did it come to this?” or some combination of the two. But as I focused on the work at hand—on the fact that you had to get the stuff done, and that it needed to be done relatively quickly, but that it couldn’t really be rushed, because rushing could really fuck you up bad—that kind of thinking wore away, and I got caught up in the varying rhythms of what I was doing. Putting a few planks through the cut saw, loading the garbage bin with the wood, taking it to the lowering point, helping hoist it over and lower it down to the guy at the dolly, and then again, and again, and again. Seeing big piles of crap turn into smaller piles, then disappear. Not talking a whole lot, but having a nice laugh every now and again when conversation did occur. On the second day I brought my JBL iPod donut, and cranked a classic rock playlist of seven hours’ duration. Towards the end of the day, Santana’s “Evil Ways” came on, and one of my workmates, who had been quietly, drolly, improvising fake lyrics to various songs on and off all day, softly sang, “You’ve got to know your son is gay…” and I just fell out. I guess it was a combination of delivery and the fact that I was exhausted, but I could not stop laughing for a good three minutes.
Sounds great, you say, but how’s the money? Well, not super. In fact, six bucks an hour less than the rate for freelance fact checking that an editor very apologetically quoted to me when I interviewed for such work at a major print magazine last week. But not crap, either. It’s something, and something is, as I’ve explained, what I’m not getting too much of from certain other folks. I’ve known throughout much of my adult life that “job security” is pretty much a myth, but the thing with a staff job is that more often than not you do get paid every two weeks, and if you get canned, there’s a chance you might get some money as you leave. None of this “I’m giving you an hour’s notice that I’m not paying this invoice” bullshit. As for this particular job, I may yet work it for another couple of days. And when I go to collect what I’m owed for it, I’ll have it. In my wallet. None of that humiliating, no, that’s too soft a term, none of that soul-crushing going out with hat in hand to beg to be paid the money for work you did in good faith, and are now being dicked around about, most likely by someone who probably hasn’t laid eyes on his own electric bill in years. The professional on this job told me that he might need “another body” when he goes out to Jersey next week to construct a shed. And if nothing’s happening in the “creative” world at that time, I’m gonna be that body, for sure.
“All I want is to enter my house justified,” Joel McCrea’s character says in Peckinpah’s Ride The High Country. A simple, noble aspiration, but not as easy a one to fulfill as might initially be believed. In any event, for what it’s worth, Monday and Tuesday evenings when I got home, I felt rather deeply that I had gotten there.
So, Anthony Kaufman, there’s your answer. From me, at least. Go and do likewise.
For those of us who work with largely virtual goods, there’s something infinitely, spiritually satisfying about labor with visible results. I have a running list of domestic tasks that I can turn to whenever digital projects aren’t going well, which does wonders for morale.
Non-payment of invoices really irritates me ‑my Mum used to work freelance and had this happen numerous times. Not too catastrophic to begin with, but if you’re unfortunate enough to work for more than one arsehole in quick succession it can seriously mess up your finances.
Like Fuzzy Bastard, I also find that doing something with visible results is immensely satisfying (and with a sense of completion, even better), especially when I’m stuck or hacked off with my current ‘work’.
Anyway, I’m glad you found someone who honours their payments.
Don’t want to say too much, Glenn, because I fear it might come off as pat, or patronizing. Those sort of buck-up, this-too-shall-pass speeches almost always do. Except that,
One, you have my honest empathy (and, frankly, for the little it’s worth, my admiration, for the reason McCrea sites).
Two, don’t things like this REALLY make you want to land a short, sharp jab on the nose of the next fellow who loudly complains about the air-conditioning at Review 1, and how he can not be-LIEVE that damn publicist wouldn’t overnight him a screener?
And Three, to any reader who, in the future, wonders why the author of this blog sometimes seems a bit, er, intemperate in his impatience with the ranks of the talentless sinecured – well…
Demolition and such is primal work. If you own your own home, taking down an errant wall or door with a sledgehammer and Sawzall can be positively…therapeutic. 🙂
Let’s just hope you don’t have to go all Humphrey Bogart and Tim Holt on this Barton MacLane “vice president in charge of invoices” to get your money from the other gig.
You really can write about anything.
But you knew that. I knew that too, but…wow.
I fucking loved this post.
also bookish and ill-equipped for physical labors, and also forced into them at several impecunious junctures in my life, this resonates deeply for me.
also while i relate to the excitement that completing a task w/o bodily harm engenders and the sudden awakening to new possibilities of future manual labors, the fact that the concept of mis-en-scene arose in your head at all while operating a table saw hopefully will keep you closer the realm of cinema than demolition.
“Incidentally, dear reader, have you ever wondered, say, what would happen if you got in touch with Con Ed, say, and told them you couldn’t pay the current electric bill on time, after you’ve already not paid the prior electric bill, and told Con Ed that you were “sorry if this is inconvenient” but that it’s been a “crazy month?”
Scratch “wondered”. And they really don’t like it. Ditto Sallie Mae. And Bank of America. And you get the point.
As someone who has spend years adding third shift jobs to full time day jobs and jumping through every financial hoop imaginable to keep the wolves from the door, you have my every sympathy. Hope things pick up for you soon.
As a fellow freelancer, I can certainly relate to the experience of getting clients to pay invoices. My response to their excuses is becoming more like Henry Hill in “Goodfellas”: Fuck you, pay me.
Yes, this was a terrific post, Glenn.
Lovely piece, Glenn. I’ve bounced from cozy offices to grueling sweat mills more times than any competent tradesman should. You’ve nicely captured that schizoid sense of “what am I doing here”/“hey I could get used to this bullshit-less existence” that always permeated my forays into manual labor.
I started doing the freelance music-critic thing in 1996. At that time, I worked in an auto parts warehouse. I started out picking orders and loading trucks at night so they could go out on pre-dawn delivery runs. Eventually I was promoted to being the sole employee of a small branch warehouse. The best part of that gig was the solitude; the worst part was when fresh stock would arrive (10-foot-wide cardboard boxes of pipes and mufflers). The delivery driver would back his truck up to the bay door, open it and go back to his cab to nap while I unloaded the whole 40-foot trailer with a balky electric lift truck and a hand pallet jack. After a year or two of this, I got a new job – working the counter at an auto parts store. It wasn’t until 2000 that I got my first job as an editor, and that was at a porn mag. Now that I’m unemployed again (been out of full-time work since February 2009), I’m applying to pretty much every editorial job out there, but I’m also going after warehouse jobs. And if one of my carpenter uncles needs an extra guy to paint, or lay floor tiles, or do something similarly not-that-craftsmanlike, I’ll do that, too.
Glenn, I was just wondering…
Given how lean the work has been as of late, have you ever considered selling some of your DVD or Blu-ray collection? You know, titles that are worth a decent amount (possibly out-of-print) that you have in your collection more for show/historical significance than because you actually love them?
Or is the collection pretty much untouchable, from where you’re standing?
@ JC: Been there, etc. All the Kenny libraries get pruned periodically, for reasons of space-saving, for the most part. Some parts are sold, others donated, others given to friends and/or relatives on a whim. But to address your question in a little more depth: No, that Eureka!/Masters of Cinema copy of Ray’s “The Savage Innocents” isn’t leaving my house any time soon, if I can help it.
Yeah, hopefully it never gets so dire for you that it would come to that.
It’s been pretty lean for me for the last little while as well. In the meantime, I’ve been working out four days a week. The good kind of fatigue you get after a hard workout can certainly keep one from falling into the emotional doldrums.
Anyways, good luck finding more writing gigs, as you’re so much more interesting to read than 99% of the critics out there.
You can add SALON to the ever-growing list of big-time venues that LOVE THE LEXMAN. My tweet about Sasha Grey’s GIANT BUSH on ENTOURAGE the other night made it into an article on pubic hair grooming.
YEP YEP.
For the record, I am pro-Sasha, but FIRMLY anti-bush.
PLEASE, SASHA, do NOT bring back the bush, aka the worst thing ever.
Lurker delurking…
More posts concerning life in Brooklyn, please. I’m a former resident of Cheever Place, near DeGraw; I left just before Giuliani was elected. Not sure if that is bad or good.
Although, for me, this post is mostly about the benefit of doing things that tend to quiet the mind. Noted your comment about the cut saw. I’m a writerly type and spend eight hours a day looking at a screen. However, spiritually I’m often better off chopping carrots, or ripping up carpet, staples and all, as needed.
Most of all, more posts about anything, be it Armond White or Barry White.
Hope the financial situation evens out soon. Glenn, your presence on the Web is much needed.
@ Lex G: Speaking of outfits that don’t fucking pay, Salon has owed me the kingly sum of $150 since MAY. You’re lucky I don’t delete your comment on those grounds alone.
Great post. Loved every word. It seems you spoke for a lot of people who visit this blog, including me.
Preaching to the freelancer choir, my man, though here I always thought advertising gigs were by far the most strenuously filthy and agonizing of all – guess they must run a close second.
Our estimable host is surely too proud to insist, but like all good bar patrons, insofar as we all come here for the camaraderie as we drink deep of our chosen poison(s) and for the attendant sage counsel of Management, surely we all wish to demonstrate our gratitude by tossing some filthy PayPal lucre into the TipJar early and often? Surely – though my case, it’s late and first-ies, but better late than never.
On the real, you all, leave the man some ciza$h in that TipJar link below “Archives”, won’t you? There’s a lad/lass. Glenn, that you might get rich off of SCR alone – or self-supporting enough that all your visits to Brooklyn rooftops are completely elective and, as it were, uncommercial
I’ll take rake over crowbar any day. Ditto on many of the above comments. It’s also interesting that when you lose weight (and I think we’ve lost around the same amount), not only do you have the energy to do a good day’s work, of course, but you’re more psychologically “game” for it on the front end (outside of the financial motivation). I think projects like this are better for mental clarity than jogging, too. Or maybe it’s just me… I get to thinking about other stuff and I go too slowly. Anyway, great post, Glenn.
Nice post, and I totally understand the feeling. Freelancing is pretty much the worst thing on Earth, and it drives me crazy when people who have permanent, high-paying jobs complain about, well, pretty much anything.
Mr. Kenny, have you considered writing a new book? I know they take a huge amount of time, but I don’t see why you couldn’t, especially if it was about the very subject addressed here.
for weeks i assumed you were just being metaphorical when it came to using a power saw.
At one point during the two years I freelanced, 2002 and 2004–post-Première, pre-Hollywood Reporter–I was doing pretty well, I thought, working my ass off in fact. Until the month arrived when I was owed a total of $14,000. It was a perfect storm situation where everybody wasn’t paying me at the same time. I was broke. And had to go into debt and borrow money to pay the rent.
A low point I will never forget.
I think that Glenn sells himself short here, by neglecting to mention that he capped off both days of hard work by *going out and swimming laps*. An ironman, truly.
The worst part of my day was that I had to go to this prissy WASP’s place three times to fix his broadband cable.
Solid read.
Right with ya.
Not foo-foo at all.
I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve paid freelancers late a few times in my current job, due to nothing but my own negligence. Didn’t print out the e‑mailed invoices, so they never got processed, until the poor writers called to gently question me about the status of those invoices.
Each time it happened, I instituted new procedures to prevent it from happening again. But happen again it did. None of the writers has stopped writing for me, and I’m grateful for their patience with me. I’ve paid 95% of their invoices on time, but that 5% – maybe the writers had past-due Con Ed bills staring them in the face.
But simply not paying for work rendered? That’s jaw-dropping.
BTW, Kaufman should know that Desson Thomson took a job writing for the Obama Administration.
@ Seth Hurley: Comedy gold, my man. Almost as good as, you know…
Glenn, you’re my hero.
Love love LOVE this. Necessity is the mother of this work too— only we’re often loathe to name this child. Thanks for keepin’ it real, yo.