PIPELINE

ON WEDNESDAY, MARCH 15, I turned in my thesis and got very drunk on English department champagne. The same morning, my roommate Alex arrived from New York, where he'd been interviewing at Sony Studios. They had offered him a jog, starting next fall. He explained how every room in the entire complex has a refrigerator full of soda and big bowls of free snacks. "But no chips," he complained. Later that afternoon, as I stumbled in from my champagne reception, my other roommate, Greg, announced that he'd just been offered a job in the Time Warner New Media Department, also starting next fall. He explained how every room in the Time Warner Complex has a fridge with free spring water and bowls of complimentary snacks, including chips. I suddenly remembered something about my thesis: as much of a pain in the ass as it was, it at least allowed me to close my eyes to the other problems that I was now staring in the face, like what the hell I was going to do with myself next year. I needed a job!

Those words, "a job," really creep me out. Imean, I'm no stranger to the workforce: I'veworked at pretty much every ice cream parlor inthe Boston area at one time or another, and I'veassisted a strange Willy Wonka-esque financialwizard during my years at Harvard. But these jobswere rarely that time-consuming, and my paychecksonly went towards expenses of my own devising: mycrack habit, expensive hair products, etc. Ihaven't been paying my tuition bills, you see. Itake things like heat and electricity for granted:some guy shows up every few months and putzesaround my family's basement for awhile, but I'venever been sure if he's reading the gas meter orremoving the asbestos. I've never field a taxreturn form, or even had a paycheck automaticallydeposited into my account.

So my thesis joy was short-lived. Next thing Iknew, I was printing out resumes and getting readyto start kissing some as. There's a huge irony tothe whole "job search" thing, I think. Everyone isrunning around desperately trying to get a job,shoving other people out of the way to get the jobfirst, baldly lying to prospective employers abouttheir interests, experience and personal hygiene.When I see all those morons dashing around fromlittle consulting prep session to littleconsulting prep session, it looks like they'retrying to get laid, or something. The last thingI'd imagine these people are after is somethingthat will make them miserable as soon as they'vegot it: gainful employment. You spend a yeartrying to get a job, and then another year cursingit every, day as you stumble to the office,suddenly rethinking your attitude on furthereducation. There must be another way.

"FRIDA"

I HAVE A FRIEND named "Frida," a fellowstudent at Harvard. Frida was premed: both of herparents are doctors, and there was more than alittle pressure in her household shoving her downthe golden path to sterile walls and malpracticesuits. She is also a wonderful and versatileartist. About halfway through her time here atHarvard, Frida freaked out and dropped out of thedoctor track. She'd finished all the prerequisitesbut one. The scene was pretty ugly: her fatheractually flew into Boston, got a hotel room, andstarted stalking her professors. I'm not sure whathe was trying to accomplish, but it was prettyscary.

What was the problem? Generational. Frida's dad(like most of our parents) assumed that Fridawould be employed by members of his generation. Hefigured that he had a good idea of what kind ofskills she's need to get work. It wasinconceivable to him that her skills as apainter, or an animator, could ever help her finda job. In his eyes, dropping pre-med was akin tosuicide, which is probably why he offered tofacilitate things by killing her himself. Hedidn't understand that the prospective employmentlandscape has changed, dramatically. It is notlonger necessary to work for old men inthree-piece suits. A friend of mine who livesdownstairs already works at one of those adagencies where everyone wears Tevas and listens to"Grunge Rock." There's a whole world ofopportunity out there that has nothing to do withthe old guard of employment: there are certainoffices where no one is over thirty five (like atMTV, where you basically get fired once you'vegrown out of "the demo"). Hence my roomates' jobs:one is going to be engineering recording sessionsand scoring drugs for rock stars, the otherhelping to develop and sell CD-ROMs. Stuff thatFrida's dad literally has never heard of.

But there's another problem, a vaguely moralone. Take the two employers of my roommates: Sonyand Time Warner. These corporations are both huge,horribly evil empires that are largely responsiblefor most of the wrongdoing that goes on in theworld. Everybody knows who really killed KurtCobain; no one really thinks that the "terrorists"who bombed the World Trade Center were acytheories aside, there are plenty of things to holdagainst these corporations, like the CountingCrows. Frida had a job lined up in New York at ananimation company: a couple days ago, she got acall that the job wasn't available anymore. Why?Because Time Warner had decided at the last minutenot to buy the company. It often seems like it'sthat simple: you work for the Man, or you don'twork at all. I have friends who used to beseriously involved in the underground music scene,people whose entire lives were focused on deephatred of the mainstream music industry and theshit it crams down American's throats.Unfortunately, these people needed to make aliving, and now they all work for subsidiarylabels of these same huge corporations. Even ifyou're comfortable doing this from a moralstandpoint, you can be sure that you won't havemuch say in the real decision making. Again, Iwonder, isn't there an alternative?

Yes, there is: We can hire each other. Someadventurous types actually start their owncompanies, rather than just signing on with Satanand his health care package. This route is a lottrickier, and fraught with many more dangers, but,as you'll soon see, there's evidence that it canpay off. All you need is one person with a greatidea and lots of energy, and before you know itshe's hired six of her college roomates, who don'thave quite as many great ideas, but do know how tohelp raise money. By working together, we canentirely avoid those creepy old men.

We can find plenty of examples of thisphenomenon in the national media. Take the BeastieBoys: rather than just sitting back and being rockstars, they started a company, Grande Royale,which is now both a record label and a fanzine.I'll bet that office is even more fun than Sony(although in all honesty some of the Man's moneyis probably tied up in it). Kim Gordon of SonicYouth, who is admittedly a little older than I am,started a line of clothing, X-Girl. But it's notactually that encouraging to know that people whoare already rock stars have expanded theiroperations. If I become a rock star I have nodoubt that I'll help employ a lot of my friends,as roadies and such. But what about those of uswho aren't yet rock stars, or other high profilemedia types?

THE PIPELINE STORY

THIS IS THE STORY of two young collegestudents in the Boston area who came up withanother idea for life after college, and who nowwrite each oth-B-12the masterful El Vez ["the Mexican Elvis"] &friends