"Oh, The Places You'll Go!"

     Last Thursday, the editorial staff of Portland Monthly took me and my fellow interns out to what turned into a four-hour-long happy hour -- the happiest of happy hours -- at a classy French "Brasserie" downtown.  There were plenty of fancy cocktails and deep-fried frog legs to be had, and all I ended up paying for was a $5 bowl of gourmet mac-and-cheese.  That may not be all I should have paid for, if that slip of paper handed to me at the end of the night was actually a receipt telling me how much I needed to pay for my beer, instead of what I (wishfully) thought it was: a receipt telling me how much  my supervisor had paid for my beer.  I learned that I should really go for speed instead of duration if I want to get the most out of Portland Monthly happy hours and don't end up buying -- or not buying -- myself my 2nd drink while everyone else has already had four covered.  But happy hour also reminded me that a) being a fact-checker is totally worth (my parents may disagree) the two parking tickets, consequent trip to court, and several-hundred-dollar cell phone charge I ran up during the first month of my internship, when I was too self-conscious to make phone calls from my desk, in front of other people, like a normal human being, and also that b) I still belong in the intern world.  I think the fact that the first words out of my mouth after I took my place at the table were, "Well, I ran into a tree on my way over here," goes to show that I have a long way to go before I become, say, a sophisticated magazine editor.
      Speaking of becoming a sophisticated magazine editor, while I was at said happy hour, a woman from the advertising department of our office asked me what I would do with my life career-wise if I only had two months left to live.  If I could do anything, what would it be?  Disregard money, training, what have you.  My first answer was a very non-committal, "..I don't know. Maybe publishing? I could read manuscripts," to which she responded, "No." Wrong answer.  Since then I've been thinking a lot about her question.  I think it's an important one, but I'm also not sure if I have the experience or knowledge to answer it yet. I feel like there are so many jobs out there that I don't even know exist, and since I've basically spent most of my time in the classroom the past few years instead of out in the workforce, I haven't even explored the ones I know of, like being a sophisticated magazine editor.  That said, I have come up with a few more options that may have a little more to them than my initial response:

1. Jodi Foster's job in The Silence of the Lambs.  I used to think that when I grew up I might be a forensic scientist, or whatever you would call someone who goes to a crime scene and pieces together how the crime happened based on what's there and how it all looks.  Now I think interviewing a serial killer takes the cake. How could you not be intrigued by someone who describes eating a man's liver like it was a pork chop?  If only I had Clarice's double major in psychology and criminology under my belt. So close.
2. Working in a flower shop.  Because arranging bouquets is the most obvious runner-up to hanging out with psychopaths.  But really. I would love to work in a flower shop. Specifically, this flower shop:

Sammy's Flowers. A week or so ago I went into the shop and pleaded my case as a desperate college grad who was willing to do anything and everything, whatever it took, to fulfill her dream of arranging flowers  They actually let me throw together a bouquet for what I hope will not be the first and last time. Really, I'd do anything.
3. I would write. Something. Something awesome. Probably not books, although the one about aliens I started in middle-school had serious potential. In the meantime, I write this blog. That's what this is, by the way. Practice.
     For this last one, I might take the cue of another Alisha Gorder. Yes, there's another woman out there with my name, and she is living one of my possible lives.  According to her LinkedIn profile, the first hit when you Google search my name, Alisha is the editor of a health newsletter in New York City and has also worked as a freelance reporter for the New York Times. But there's more. Her mother-in-law's name is Gordeen Gorder.  My mom's name is Gayleen Gorder. If the Twighlight Zone music isn't playing in your head right now, something is wrong. So, while I'm trying to figure out the answer to the question posed to me at that fateful happy hour, why not create a LinkedIn profile and try and connect with my namesake? The College Career Center has been telling me to make a profile for months. I just haven't had a good enough reason to do so until now.