No One Hires the Wicked: Un-Suck Your Life… For Good
There’s this weird decision that is made for us in growing up.
Somewhere in the testing room of life, between I-hate-you-mom angst and I-hate-you-student-loan angst, we were presented with this question.
Which of the following must you adopt into your psyche to survive adulthood?
A. Life sucks
B. People are selfish and/or also suck
C. Everything and/or everyone is out to get you
D. All of the above, ya sorry son-of-a, WELCOME TO THE CLUB.
The List, #2: Bethesda Terrace
2. In Central Park, go to the Bethesda Terrace –
think Enchanted –
and take a jumping picture spelling out DOZ with your body.
Δ O Z
I replaced “jumping” with “squatting/lunging in my work clothes.”
Read more…
Key to the City: The Stranger Danger Changer
As if I needed any more of a reason to fall in love with this city.
So there’s this massive city-wide art project called Key to the City, right?
And you know how Keys to the City are usually given in a schmancy ceremony involving a Mayor and a dignitary/undeserving-celebrity and trumpets and stuff, right?
The List, #3: Serendipity
3. Go to Serendipity 3 and order their famous Frozen Hot Chocolate!
Please take a picture of yourself enjoying the drink.
Don’t forget your DOZ gang signs.
3. Go to Serendipity 3 and order their famous Frozen Hot Chocolate!
Please take a picture of yourself enjoying the drink.
Don’t forget your DOZ gang signs.
WANT SOME?!
A candid; as I was instructing John to not take any fugly candids.
But when you’re brain-frozen off of that wonderful concoction, fugly’s a given.
Read more…
The List: 10 Embarrassing Things I Must Do in NY
According to every personality quiz in existence, I’m a maximizer.
I like to make the best out of all people, all places, all experiences.
I make for a fantastically obnoxious tourist.
So, naturally, I would ask my leadership fraternity to come up with a list of
10 Embarrassing Things I Must Do (and Provide Photographic Evidence Of)
while in New York and Milan.
I gave them only three stipulations:
- It must cost less than $50
- It must entail some aspect of leadership
- It must not be illegal, culturally offensive, or compromising to my relationship (Hi, Wan!)
My intent is to feel and see the absolute maximum while living and working in this amazing city. Being abroad is all about pushing your boundaries, and I’m not about to walk away from the Big Apple without feeling thoroughly … Cored.
Readers, stalkers, passers-by — I officially charge you with the responsibility of making sure I accomplish each and everything on, hereafter referred to as, The List.
I want to be bothered. I want to be nagged. I want to be poked and prodded and made fun of for being a wuss & not having done the most embarrassing ones.
Read on and pick your favorite…
This Is Informative, You Should Watch It of the Day: Feminist Frequency takes a look at how a significant number of blockbuster films we know and love are incapable of passing Dykes to Watch Out For’s Alison Bechdel’s “Bechdel Test,” which requires a film to fulfill all three of the following requirements:
#1. The film has to have at least two women in it
#2. Who talk to each other
#3. About something besides a man.Pretty eye-opening stuff.
[/film.]
Wanted: Homework (& Some Spare Euros)
You know that feeling right before plunging into a huge drop on a rollercoaster,
or walking through the curtains right before a full-crowd performance,
or feeling the acid buildup in your mouth right before you’re about to yack?
That’s pretty much where I’m at right now.
And I’m asking you to help me yack.
Let me explain.
Tumblidentity Crisis
This post was originally written in my Tumblr. That’s where I’ve been the past 3 months.
I’d call it: An insanity plea and declaration of truce between my social networks, my “personal brand” (they’ve really gotta come up with a less pretentious name for that), and my over-analytical brain.
Enjoy, and welcome back!
(…That was to both me and you.)
State of the You-nion: Habla Obama
Like too many young Americans, last Wednesday was the first time I ever sat through the entire State of the Union. I’d like to say that my spine was upright the entire time, eyeballs glued to that beautiful man’s forehead wrinkles, contemplating the deeper meaning of his every sil-lahbul…
But it wasn’t.
I’m Gen-Y.
If it ain’t sex or someone else’s embarrassment, it’s hard to hold the attention of the best of us for more than 30 minutes (that’s trying — 30 seconds for when we’re on braindead/Facebook mode).
However, I did take notes on something that’s immediately relevant to young profeshes like us: Speaking skills a la Obama.
It’s undeniable that every pinch, pause and pronunciation the man does is planned to a tee. I studied Barawk like a hawk & picked out more than a few of his key tricks.
Walk with me.
So I says to Mabel, I says...
YOUR VOICE
- Speak like an essay reads: Pause between every rant. Obamz went with approximately 1.5-mississippi.
- Warble: Low voice when talking about feelings or being more conversational; Loud voice when approaching your point. Wiggle between the two.
YOUR DECORATION
(What I call your organization, plus the little things that sparkle in-between)- Don’t answer that: Ask rhetorical questions, followed by a 0.5-mississippi pause. Obamexample: “You know what else is great? …(meaningful silence. Smug smile.)”
- You’re done with the SATs: Keep the vocab simple. The biggest word Obama used? Aspirations. Any 10 year old reading a Hallmark card can understand that. Keep your -tions to a minimum for maximum impact.
- Parrot Preach: Repeat phrases to drive points home, but keep it to 1-2 syllables. Obamexample: “We cut taxes on (dogs). We cut taxes on (lamp). We cut taxes on (Snookie).”
- Know when to list: Barox ranted when rebutting naysayers, then ended with a polite demand. Sassy. Obamexample: “If anybody has a better suggestion that covers (List of 7-8 things, went on for a good minute)… LET ME KNOW. LET. ME. KNOW.”
YOUR BODY
- Tennis Match: Barox looked a little like he was watching Wimbledon, and it worked. Make a point to one side, shift focus. Make a point, shift focus. Give someone a lil’ stare while you’re there.
- Unjazzed Hands: He kept his hands folded on the podium and didn’t flail, like I tend to do. It says: “I’m confident. I’m comfortable. I know you’re listening and you’ll wait while I make all the points I need.”
- Be Italian: When he did move, it was to emphasize a point; he’d pinch his fingers, Soprano-style, or reach out with his palm down, hand outstretched. But his hands never lifted past his shoulders, unless motioning the audience to do something. Like to interrupt one of their 60-minute ovations.
- Goooaaal: When suggesting a solution, he’d literally point his fingers up in little goal posts. Humans are largely visual creatures, and what he’s doing is simply spelling it out.
.
Good speakers are like celebrity impersonators on Hollywood Blvd:
You laugh at the bad ones and you’re sort of scared of the good ones.
Here’s to your next fake-MJ-rific presentation.
Any suggestions? Comment, per favore!
Hard on. Yourself.
Forgiveness.
Patience.
Understanding.
A sensible grasp on the English language when speaking to other humans.
These are the things that the amazing boss-ladies in my life, Diane & Carla of HangPROUD and Sumaya of YOPROCO, seem to have an infinite amount of towards me, and I need to know who their dealer is.
Note to self: Feel like this. All the time.
After a turbulent semester – with mainly the fight between me and time management rocking the ship – I thought I’d basically burned my own bridges with these amazing women through sheer you-suckery. I was sucking at deadlines, sucking at contributions, and sucking on overall expectations. I mentally prepared myself for phone chats with both of them today, fully expecting two different dosages of polite GTFOs.
Instead, I got the opposite:
It’s okay.
We understand.
We love your work.
We still want you on the team.
No, really. It’s okay.
STOP FREAKING OUT.
And, cherry on top, even offers for some ridiculous opportunities of which I feel disgustingly unworthy.
I thought, these are incredibly smart women, and these two different forces don’t know each other. I think. Which would make it exceedingly inconvenient for them to communicate, might this be some sick New Year’s prank. Still, I feel like I’ve been such a lackluster contributor and kind of a douche.
What makes them so believing in my own talents and potential?
Where’s the disconnect in my own self-esteem?
Why can’t I pull that kind of encouragement and forgiveness out of myself?
I was so hard on myself, I never considered why these people take me on in the first place: I’ve done and can do great things. Without this knowledge, I’ve kind of spun into this cycle of false you-suckery: A few simple mistakes on my part combined with said-womens’ niceness snowballs into manic guilt, pushing my ambition further and further back until I don’t even try anymore — thus, ironically, affirming my suckery.
Well. Suck no more, America. If I can’t encourage myself, thank you, universe, for surrounding me with people who believe in me.
‘Stime to start remembering how I got here in the first place.
…STEROIDS. (Fight on, McGuire)
