i was unemployed once

This is how I write cover letters.

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@nla:

“Dad! Robert’s going to jump off the bridge again!”

I wasn't supposed to answer the phone but, as a 10 year old,I had a desire to communicate with anyone who would listen to me. I couldn't help but respond to the ring. I wasn't exactly sure what bipolar disorder was,but every time Robert called, I learned more about it. My psychologist father would take the phone (before I could find out why Robert liked jumping so much)and push me out of the room.  I got to meet Robert 10 years later at his college graduation while I was in the midst of my own Communications degree. He thanked me for all of those times he was talked down when I answered the phone but wasn't supposed to. That was the moment I understood the power of communication.

Growing up in a world where communication is almost second nature from the emotional evolution of MySpace and LiveJournal to the scrolling photos of Facebook and Flickr, I’m often surprised how difficult it is for some  With constant status updates and Instagram lunches, we've become billboards for ourselves, and yet most people are clueless to the product they're selling. There was a time, yes, when applying for a job involved a face-to-face interaction and a hard copy resume. Today, you’re lucky if your misspelled e-mail and tone on the telephone can be saved by scheduling a Skype session. And I hope you've already Google searched yourself before they find that LiveJournal or you can kiss the job goodbye.

But if you can learn and understand the impact that all this communication holds and get past the fact that you’re just a kid in Starbucks with a tablet and an iPhone typing a cover letter to realize the world is run by kids in Starbucks with tablets and iPhones, you've just become one of the most powerful and influential people in the world - at least until Apple invents something smaller to replace you.

We used to live in a world where the marketing game depended on the housewife’s word of mouth during Bridge. Now, companies depend on the working woman’s tags and tweets during her bridge and tunnel commute to Manhattan. There are many rules to the game from 70 character limits to hashtag etiquette, but only one real skill is required: Communication. If you can do that, you can win the game…or even save a life.

I haven’t had to say, “Dad! Robert’s going to jump off the bridge again!” in 13 years, but every time I click “Share” on Facebook or hit“Publish” on Blogspot, I understand that it reaches much further than the walls of my home now. There really is No Limit.

I hope you'll @ reply me,

@tjbaranski

google me b*tch

I've only been at the office for 3 days and I learned one thing fast:

When it's your job to Facbook, Twitter, and BlogSpot for other people, you have little desire to come home and Facebook, Twitter, and BlogSpot for yourself.

But I have FANS to think of! Sadly, I have more than some of my clients. Thankfully, my clients like my sassy tone.

I also have one tip for you readers: ENTER CONTESTS. Enter every single contest you come across on Facebook or Twitter, because some schmuck like me is sitting at his desk in the corner flipping through photo and video submission arbitrarily choosing which lucky person is going to get tons and tons of free stuff. If I'm lucky, I have more than 3 to choose from. If YOU'RE lucky, you took 5 seconds to do it.

Now, I have to warn you that I'm not going to continue blogging about work after this post. I wish there was a way I felt OK about letting you know who my clients are so you can Like them on Facebook and follow them on Twitter and launch me to yuppie stardom...

but I won't do it.

All I can tell you is that I'm incredibly happy. I live in a beautiful new apartment my Mom was neurotic enough to decorate for me and I have an amazing new job where everyone is young, fun, and pretty, and I spend my nights and weekends hanging out with my beautiful, funny friends.

In short, I'm MAKING IT.

Going up,

TJB: Making It

And All That Jazz

Maybe it's because I tend to hover around Starbucks and the college campuses of Chicago where the elite scholars of the Midwest tend to dwell, but I have to say

Chicago is FULL of attractive men.

AND I HATE IT.

I didn't move from New York City where the buff bods of Chelsea made me feel like Charlie Bucket and only the creepy dudes with candy would pursue me. Now, I have to walk down the streets of Chicago feeling like every cover of People's Sexiest Man is passing me on their way to a Cub's game.

Baseball is still happening...right?

I was supposed to leave "New York Cute" to become "Chicago Hot". Now, I just feel "Portland Pretty", and God KNOWS the Pacific Northwest has nothing to offer.

JK, my ex-boyfriend lives there and he's successful and beautiful and I would marry him tomorrow.

But maybe that's just my broke bank account and broken ego talking.

Regardless, I'm back to living off coffee and oxygen, lifting every heavy object I can find in the hopes of gaining attention from that dude-with-the-double-wide-stroller. YES my target market may be off, but this jawline is a BULLSEYE.

I may not have a biological clock, but I can tell when desperation is setting in.

Setting-in in 5...4...3...2...

TJB: Making It

What If?

NOTE: At the writing of this post (Friday morning), TJB had yet to receive an official job offer. By the publishing of this post (Saturday afternoon), he had received his official offer of employment as a "Social Interactor". We call that kind of turnaround "BALLER". We call that job title "DUH".
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False alarm. I panicked on the 5 day limit. I forgot I'm in a different time zone now, so given the natural adjustment to that, I was going to need 7 days to take over Chicago.

But I did it. I signed for my apartment yesterday. It's beautiful, but it's tiny, but it's beautiful, and it's mine.

And this morning? I got the job. Well, I didn't actually GET the job, but they SUGGESTED I got the job and I'm going in later today to do an in-person interview because otherwise I'd have gotten the job without anyone having actually met me, which is a little too impressive at this juncture in my life.

There is a chance that this blog post will never be published and I'll have to wipe my tears from the keyboard while I delete it. That's a risk I'm willing to take.

I'm worried you're starting to think I'm conceited, America. To those of you who do, I suggest a closer read at my blog. YES, I only ever talk about myself and NO, that's not really great journalism or storytelling. That was never my intention. You're the one still reading.

Conceited suggests I'm overly proud of myself. I would say I'm more overly shocked by myself. I like to think I write my blog in an attempt to better understand. If I just think these things, I'd think I was conceited too. If I can read what I've written I just think

"Wow...what an unstable individual. I hope the best for him."

My entire life, I've lived by "What if..." and then I just do it. It all started when I was 5. I was in the back seat of my father's car with my cousin and sister. I heard my sister whisper to my cousin to punch me in the face and I thought, "HELL to the NO! What if..."

so I punched HIM in the face.

I got in a lot of trouble for that.
But I learned a lot fast.

Always think your actions through, but don't waste too much time or you could get punched in the face. Perhaps a more defensive move would have been a better first choice since I don't think my 9 year old cousin would have ever punched a 5 year old...

but that's the moment I decided I would never let a man hit me. And by "man" I mean "life"...but also men.

And while I don't spend a lot of time thinking anything through from punches to college majors to moving across the country, every step is thought about. And when somebody asks me "Why?" I always answer with "What if?" and never "Why not?"

"Why not?" is stupid. I could list plenty of reasons why not, but if I can always say "What if?" then I can work towards something new and exciting. And often I do find myself dodging punches, but now I know never to swing first and that when I do start swinging

I'm a force to be reckoned with.

7 days Chicago. 7 days of climbing into your ring and I had you on the ropes begging me to stop.

But as a misjudged green witch said to me in a Broadway musical loosely based on my life

"Think of what we can do...together."

So climb on my broomstick Chicago. Together, we'll be the greatest team there's ever been.

I am clearly far too excited for any quality writing today.

Sorry I'll stop,

TJB: Making It

chicaGO

I'm on my fifth day in Chicago. Naturally, I'd expected to have a job, an apartment, and a boyfriend. Sadly, I have none.

What I do have is a bank account plummeting towards zero, a bounty of couches to crash on, and an OKCupid account that seems to attract undergrads...but even THEY won't ask me out.

I did go apartment hunting today. I'm not sure the agent showed me anything I can actually afford, but he did show me the apartment above his...and then his apartment...and then continue to talk about how much he likes online dating and getting to know the people he rents apartments to so...maybe he'll ask me out...

but then he said he likes straight boys...so...my loss (not really).

Still, I haven't lost the wide-eyed hope I stepped off the plane with. I managed to take a few good photos on New Year's Eve, which is always a sufficient ego boost. And while my three Starbucks a day still cost the same, I can eat lunch here for less than $5. Since I only eat once a day, that's a HUGE savings. Even better, there's no need to ride the train since the sofas I'm squatting on are all within walking distance of each other.

Plus, the job I interviewed for is at least  stringing me along.

Who knows, America? Give me five more days and I might be living in the Hancock building working for Oprah and dating Rahm Emanuel.

He's gay, right?

He probably likes straight boys anyway,

TJB: Making It

twenty thirteen

I've spent a lot of time in the past 24 hours with a blank stare on my face that seems to say, "Oh my God, what have I done?!"

But I did it. I moved to Chicago. I am now an official squatter of Cook County. Jobless, broke, and cold, I'm probably the closest I've ever been to the homeless bums of Manhattan...except that I'm staying in the chic apartment of my best friend

who now has a REALLY great OkCupid profile thanks to me. What can I say? I'm a useful house guest.

I couldn't imagine a better way to cap off 2012 than beginning this epic new journey in the Windy City.

So here's to 2012! The year I was in a play with my celebrity crush and the young Lord Voldemort. The year I auditioned for a Black History Month commercial. The year I played a trombone in a musical. 

The year I said "F*CK IT!" and moved to Chicago.

Thanks to all of those who have supported me through this whirlwind of a year. From the heartaches and the tragedies to the laughter through tears, I couldn't have done it without you. Well, I probably could have, but it would have been significantly less fun.

2013, you're up!

Watch your drink,

TJB: Making It

JFK>MCO>ORD

Let's be honest: I never thought I would be 23 and able to sit in a public place without hordes of fans snapping photos of me. How's that for modesty?

Yet, here I am at JFK Airport realizing I have "The Millers Son" from A Little Night Music on repeat waiting 3 hours for a flight that will carry me to my 16th Disney trip. SIXTEEN. That's a lot of mouse.

Christmas couldn't have come at a better time. In a week where I should have been celebrating my final week of New York (JK, I still have a hangover) and kissing friends goodbye (JK, just boys), I was interviewing for a job in Social Media, spending hours on the company's website, blogs, and Facebook trying to make it seem like I was qualified to do anything more than put on a powdered wig and sing about the government. I bought FAST COMPANY magazine for Christ's sake. There are no topless men in that. In fact, most of the people in the magazine are overweight.

I'm sorry, "healthy" sized.

So as I read articles about the boys of Twitter and FourSquare and Mark Zuckerberg's coat-tail-riding sister, all I can think is

Wait...I already do this. But, like most things in my life, I'm not getting paid for it. I've spent so much time consciously avoiding promotion of anything other than myself (ie that show with the Mormons or that funny joke you tried to make on my Facebook wall that I deleted), why not make a career out of promoting other people's things? I turned TJB into an overnight (over-year) sensation (mildly recognizable), and as I've shown from these 30,000+ views on BLOGSPOT of all places, I can get people to read anything.

And you know what, America? I'm gonna do it. I'm going to be one of those snazzy guys who makes a suit look casually easy while I breeze into your dinner party 15 minutes late somehow already holding an Absolut cocktail, apologizing my photo shoot for 30 under 30 ran long.

Then, I'll go back to acting because everybody loves a good transition story. Or maybe I'll just model. I'm New York "cute" which is Midwest "hot".

Alert your happy hours Chicago, there's another yuppie coming from work with an American Express and juggling two cell phones.

First, I have to get hired...but until then, OH MY GOD IT'S MICKEY MOUSE, MOM TAKE MY PICTURE!!

This blog is on my resume,

TJB: Making It