*The film photos in this letter have nothing to do with what I’m talking about. Yet, I want you to like them and reach out to me to photograph your love. *
Here’s a kinda awesome and embarrassing story.
When I was in High School I was obsessed with the band, Weezer. As a Scorpio, I know how to do obsession right. What do you get when you combine Scorpio wiles with the naive, giddy determination of a teenage girl?
A terrifying force.
I dedicated. I read every lyric. I got to know (stalked as hard core as possible from a safe internet distance) every member of the band.
During my senior year of high school, Weezer released their Green Album. It was no Pinkerton. But it was a live link to THEM. Every morning, I played the Green Album on repeat. My hometown radio station ran a giveaway: The prize was an all expense paid trip to Las Vegas to see Weezer play for one lucky winner and a friend.
I decided to win.
Notice that I didn’t decide to ‘enter.’ No. That’s not how obsession does it. I DECIDED TO WIN. The contest was a long game. First, you had to be the 9th caller when they played a certain Weezer song just to get your name entered to win. This went on for what felt like months. Then, you had to get your name drawn out of all those who qualified.
What does someone who has decided to win a game of chance do? They get annoying. They call the radio DJ’s not just during the contest hours but also between chances to enter. Begging, asking if there is ANYTHING they can POSSIBLY do to make sure they win the all expense paid trip to see their favorite band. They explain, as if the radio DJ’s who are silently mocking them on the other side of the phone have never heard it before, why they are in fact MEANT to win this trip. That it is their destiny. That they want it more than any other person who has entered and for that reason alone, it shall be theirs.
“Oh yes, it shall be mine” (While we are steeped in semi toxic rock star nostalgia, Wayne’s World reference anyone?)
Fast forward to the morning the radio station DJ’s drew the name of the contest winner. By this time it was summer, and I’d graduated high school. I’d spent the night at a friend’s house. We stayed up so late, I almost slept through the whole thing. I woke up minutes before the announcement. My hair was a mess. My breath was the soured aroma of the hard alcohol I’d decided to try for the first time ever, the night before. It didn’t matter, as I was hardly breathing as the DJ dramatized the lead up to reading the winner’s name…..
You know what happened next.
But when they spoke my name over the air waves, I was still shocked. So shocked I could hardly straighten my vision or steady my fingers over the numbers of the telephone to call in and claim my prize. I had a limited time to claim my winnings or they would be given to the next person in line. I dialed. Busy signal. Shaking, I dialed again. Still busy. Oh HELL no. I hadn’t come this far to lose my destiny to a busy signal. I flew out of the house and into my car. As fate would have it, the radio station was located within minutes of my friend’s home. Had I been at my own house, the drive would have taken me 20 minutes and I would have lost my win for sure.
I flew into that radio station, trembling and fresh from my dreams, teeth + hair unbrushed, secreting the sweaty buzz of a lifetime. I yelled at the radio DJ’s who were incidentally. much less attractive than their voices suggested, that I was the winner! That I couldn’t get through! I was who they were looking for! It was me! It was me! It was me!
Somewhat entertained and definitely surprised, they put me onto a microphone right away. They asked me questions on the air that I don’t remember whatsoever. But I know my answers came out with the rush and thrill of victory.
To be honest, there is very little I remember about the trip to Las Vegas or the concert itself either.
Except for this:
I took my best friend, Lindsay with me. And she helped me take my obsession one step further. Here comes the embarrassing part. We were CONVINCED that I was destined to become Weezer’s lead singer, River’s Cuomo, next romantic interest. We KNEW that if we could just get him to SEE me, that’s all it would take. Love would lock in. The rest would be history. We’d probably get married.
This is most embarrassing part because my highest aspiration at the time was to be the love interest of the rockstar, instead of the rockstar herself? Secondly, have you read his lyrics? Then you get it.
Thankfully, Rivers Cuomo, that frightened little lamb in large rimmed black glasses, did not see me. Despite Lindsay and I waiting for the better part of the day by the concert venue’s tall, locked gate just in case he might come outside. We didn’t understand at the time that the talent arrived later, by bus. Our love story was not to be.
However, a year or so, I did accidentally see him exit his hotel when I was walking around downtown with my then boyfriend who was taking me to another Weezer concert that night. As soon as River’s saw us clock him, sheer terror shot through his face and he followed the revolving door he was about to exit through, right back inside to his hotel.
Later that night, my boyfriend and I somehow bumped into and got into a conversation with Weezer’s keyboard player who asked us to hang out. He was giving leery looks and we declined. But obsessions have a way of coming round full circle.
Why am I telling you this?
Mostly to entertain you. You still reading?
But also to say something a little unexpected:
I’m 42. My skills for determination and obsession have both deepened and lessened with maturity. They’re the same ones that helped my career — what once seemed an impossible trajectory as a traveling world photographer and teacher— take flight.
But things are a little different now. I’ve played to win enough times to understand that sometimes even when you do, you still fail. Though usually you can’t see the reason for the fail resides within a lesson and a bigger win.
But I digress.
Is youth’s greatest luxury the freedom to be a totally annoying asshole as you chase your dreams because one doesn’t know better yet?
Maybe so. God, I miss the power of ignorance sometimes.
The problem is that now I do know better. Or maybe its actually NOT better, as it can seem a whole lot harder to get what I want. But I KNOW MORE. I know that consciousness is actually more powerful than ignorance, but not as loud or eye catching. I know enough to know that however eye catching it might be, I don’t want to be a presence in the world that takes without thought to others. I want to be a presence that gives. Yet I don’t want to do this by trying to give. Because all too often, that ends up becoming a different kind of taking.
So I want most to give by being myself, unapologetically. The self that witnesses and draws the beauty of others up and out as naturally and inevitably as a teen popping a zit. And I never really thought I’d say this and mean it because there is a deep, generational, necessarilyy wary selfishness that lives in me, but —
I want to be of service.
I want to be of service to something that is greater than me.
With that being said,
I need a job.
HA.
I need a job I don’t make up or give myself and that has a predictable paycheck and does not place 24/7 pressure on my art to be a commodity to make work.
Let me be clear. I am still gonna make photos (wanna make art outta your love with me? go here, then send me an email), paint and write. I am still taking a very few and great and ordinary and remarkable photo sessions per your brave request (insert link)
However, per the muse’s request, I just can’t be doing it for the capitalist regime anymore.
So I need a job that is full time, that let’s me serve, that supports my art, supports my three teenagers, supports me going back to grad school which I intend to do within the next year to become, drum roll please…….an officially certified therapist. More on that later.
The point is, I was talking to my friend Lindsay the other day. The same Lindsay that came with me to Las Vegas 20 years ago on that all expense paid trip to see Weezer Play. And I was telling her about the job hunt. How I’ve applied to 50+ jobs without hearing a damn thing. How with the algorithm, I can’t get into anyone’s ear, or in front of them to show them I’m a human who is real smart and good at a lot of stuff. Like storytelling. Like sales. Like marketing. Like people. Like beauty. Like ugly. Like copywriting.
And Lindsay was saying that its just like when we tried to get Rivers Cuomo to see me. That if these hiring people could only LOOK at me, they would know, know beyond doubt that I’m the one for them. (Lindsay is a very good friend).
And that’s when I decided to put the whole thing in this newsletter. Because you - you fine, talented, endearing, patient, brilliant, thousands of people who keep opening this newsletter month after month — year after year — well, I’m wildly grateful you’re here.
I’m wildly grateful you’re looking at me. Odds are you see SOMETHING you like. And maybe you even KNOW someone there who wants to hire a remote copywriter. Or Marketing person. Or editor.
Maybe, maybe, you even know someone who can help me get one of my dream jobs that I’ve applied for here.
It will be mine. Oh yes, it will be mine.
Talk about companies who practice what they preach and have not only purpose but social conscience.
Thanks ahead of time. Or no thanks whatsoever, depending.
Jk, I graciously and gratefully welcome any connections, hot leads or tips y’all might have for me.
In a funny way, I’ve learned to dream bigger than being the rock star’s girlfriend, and even the rock star.
Call me Chani,
Yan
n
and whoever gets to have you a therapist WOW 🪄
i would love to see you at chani omg