Go to the superfabulous blog Daddy Likey, pen a quick haiku about your favorite/most hated/most coveted designer, and see if you win some Prada.
At the very least, you get some amusing poetry. Go now!
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Hamming It Up
I am not an extrovert.
Extroverts are those people who thrive in large groups. They are not the people whose faces flush at the thought of making three brief announcements at a staff meeting. They are not the people who forget to breathe in the middle of a speech, thus making their voices quaver and break. They are not the people who have to collect themselves after a walk on stage in front of a crowd, no matter how small. And usually, they don't understand those of us who do.
That's a broad generalization, of course. Some extroverts probably do, on some level, understand the sheer terror of the introvert upon being pushed into a public situation. But for the most part, I've found the opposite: extroverts who nod politely and/or stare blankly when I say, "... No ... I hate public speaking." The response is usually, "Yeah, me too!" But the introvert can see in the extravert's eyes that it is a lie. He doesn't hate it. He is just saying that because it seems appropriate. Everyone is supposed to hate publicity. I've found far more introverts who can at least comprehend that someone - not them, of course, but someone - enjoy the heat of the limelight.
Last time I was in Istanbul, we took our group to a dinner-and-show called Karavanserai. It was dark and seedy and in a basement. There were hard-edged belly dancers who never cracked a smile, inedible desserts, and an emcee who delighted in passing the microphone to unsuspecting audience members. It was, in short, sort of a personal hell. So I sat in the dark corner and tried to remain inconspicuous. Just as I was getting to enjoy myself, or at least, the company around me, I heard my name being called by the emcee.
Now, when this happens-my name called unexpectedly, bidding me to get up on stage and perform, my heart quickens, my face reddens, and I lose my voice. I said, "No," firmly and numerously. So he moved on to my co-worker, who gladly got out of her seat and went up on stage. Greeeeeat, she goes, now I have to go too. I don't mind being a party pooper and have little trouble saying "No," but this was a work event, and she was my colleague, and now I had to get up. So I got up and tripped toward the stage. Fellow introvert and partner in embarrassment, Jenn, joined us.
What I remember most about those brief minutes on stage is our extroverted colleague singing Proud Mary, complete with "Rollin'! Rollin'! Rollin on the river!" hand motions. I also remember looking out to the blurry audience and feeling sort of like my insides had caved in. I suppose we made it through the song, and I remember tripping back to my seat, face burning, tears welling up in my eyes. The combination of the surprise element + not knowing the words + already sort of hating that song + performing in front of colleagues and strangers + work event, for Pete's sake was too much for my shy inner child. She was traumatized.
So on this trip to Istanbul, I told Alp (who is a wonderufl person but also the person responsible for our Proud Mary rendition), "OH NO, NEVER AGAIN, UH UH I AM NOT GETTING ON A STAGE AGAIN, NOT IF YOU PAID ME."
Below are some pictures of me on stage, wearing a harem hat, being fed watermelon by a pretend sultan, and later, mimicking (in front of approximately 150 people, strangers and friends) the belly dancer, despite the fact that she had said to me, "No dance, just sit!" while coaxing me up on stage. You will note that Samia, because she is The Awesome, came up with me for moral support. Samia is pretty much my favorite person.
The things I do for my job.
Extroverts are those people who thrive in large groups. They are not the people whose faces flush at the thought of making three brief announcements at a staff meeting. They are not the people who forget to breathe in the middle of a speech, thus making their voices quaver and break. They are not the people who have to collect themselves after a walk on stage in front of a crowd, no matter how small. And usually, they don't understand those of us who do.
That's a broad generalization, of course. Some extroverts probably do, on some level, understand the sheer terror of the introvert upon being pushed into a public situation. But for the most part, I've found the opposite: extroverts who nod politely and/or stare blankly when I say, "... No ... I hate public speaking." The response is usually, "Yeah, me too!" But the introvert can see in the extravert's eyes that it is a lie. He doesn't hate it. He is just saying that because it seems appropriate. Everyone is supposed to hate publicity. I've found far more introverts who can at least comprehend that someone - not them, of course, but someone - enjoy the heat of the limelight.
Last time I was in Istanbul, we took our group to a dinner-and-show called Karavanserai. It was dark and seedy and in a basement. There were hard-edged belly dancers who never cracked a smile, inedible desserts, and an emcee who delighted in passing the microphone to unsuspecting audience members. It was, in short, sort of a personal hell. So I sat in the dark corner and tried to remain inconspicuous. Just as I was getting to enjoy myself, or at least, the company around me, I heard my name being called by the emcee.
Now, when this happens-my name called unexpectedly, bidding me to get up on stage and perform, my heart quickens, my face reddens, and I lose my voice. I said, "No," firmly and numerously. So he moved on to my co-worker, who gladly got out of her seat and went up on stage. Greeeeeat, she goes, now I have to go too. I don't mind being a party pooper and have little trouble saying "No," but this was a work event, and she was my colleague, and now I had to get up. So I got up and tripped toward the stage. Fellow introvert and partner in embarrassment, Jenn, joined us.
What I remember most about those brief minutes on stage is our extroverted colleague singing Proud Mary, complete with "Rollin'! Rollin'! Rollin on the river!" hand motions. I also remember looking out to the blurry audience and feeling sort of like my insides had caved in. I suppose we made it through the song, and I remember tripping back to my seat, face burning, tears welling up in my eyes. The combination of the surprise element + not knowing the words + already sort of hating that song + performing in front of colleagues and strangers + work event, for Pete's sake was too much for my shy inner child. She was traumatized.
So on this trip to Istanbul, I told Alp (who is a wonderufl person but also the person responsible for our Proud Mary rendition), "OH NO, NEVER AGAIN, UH UH I AM NOT GETTING ON A STAGE AGAIN, NOT IF YOU PAID ME."
Below are some pictures of me on stage, wearing a harem hat, being fed watermelon by a pretend sultan, and later, mimicking (in front of approximately 150 people, strangers and friends) the belly dancer, despite the fact that she had said to me, "No dance, just sit!" while coaxing me up on stage. You will note that Samia, because she is The Awesome, came up with me for moral support. Samia is pretty much my favorite person.
The things I do for my job.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Sometimes My Life Surprises Even Me
So, in my previous post I listed the plusses and minuses of various grad school experiences and how I would be happy to go to any of them, but of course I had my favorites, and one of those favorites (or, the favorite) was Columbia University because, guys, it's Columbia and then I would have a very good reason to move to New York. When I posted that, I also had a long conversation with two of my Favorite People about how I will probably go to SOAS (London) or SAIS (Italy/DC) if I don't get into Columbia because blah blah blah London! and blah blah blah Italy! and Georgetown ... well, not so much, maybe.
Except then I didn't get into Columbia. I read the e-mail in an internet cafe in Lima, Peru, and didn't break into tears but felt a little hollow and sad and then a little mad at Columbia because in their previous rejection they said, and I quote:
In your case, unlike that of many other applicants who were not accepted to the program, we feel confident of your academic potential. Rest assured your application was among less than five percent of all applicants whom we strongly encourage to reapply to the program after acquiring relevant job experience. We think this will greatly enhance your chances of admission in the future.
And what had I done? I had gone out and gotten me some relevant job experience.
So the rest of my Peruvian vacation, while I floated down the Amazon and fed monkeys and marvelled at Machu Picchu, I mulled the whole thing over in the back of my mind. I made no decisions until my 12 hour turnaround in DC: 12 hours to land at Dulles, go home, sleep, re-pack, drive to Dulles and get on a plane bound for Athens, Greece. My always-helpful mother came over at about 10 am and was greeted more or less by me yelping, "WHERE SHOULD I GO TO SCHOOL?!" (At least I waited to yelp after I'd given her her alpaca shawl.)
And then I raced around my studio, half-dressed and in hot rollers, listing for my alpaca-draped mother my various feelings on the subject of grad school. It went sort of like this: "I mean, SOAS is a good school, but is it good for what I want to study? The lady said...And SAIS is nice, and maybe I should just GO TO ITALY because who doesn't want to live in Italy and that would be kind of stupid to turn down, right? Right?...but I really think Georgetown has the best program of them all, and it's very competetive and if you get into the best school, maybe you should just go to the best school even if you would rather live in Italy and I WOULD be making new friends so it wouldn't be exactly the same..."
And by the time I had packed my carry-on and unrolled my curlers and put on my black travel trenchcoat, I had answered my own questions: Georgetown it was. (Thanks for listening, Mom!) My reasons are very good, and I was surprised at how comfortable I was with my own decision given that not a month earlier my general attitude toward Georgetown could be thusly summed up: "Meh." No, not comfortable; excited. There's nothing like a good, confident decision to turn your whole world a little sunnier. I'm excited about the program, about my future classmates, about my change in lifestyle come August, and about being a Georgetown grad student, and about what I will learn.
I sent in my $500 (unnngh) matriculation fee, joined the Georgetown MSFS 2010 facebook group (Hoyas!) and politely declined the other schools. And then I went to New York to visit Vera Who Lives in Brooklyn because even if Columbia doesn't want me, I'm still only 4 hours - and $3 - away from the Big Apple.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Something Old, Something New
It's about that time, of life and of year, when the wedding bells start a-ringing. The snow has melted, the sun is shining, couples are beginning to emerge from their dens holding hands. Some have even ditched their winter scarves.
Many of my high school classmates, at least, the ones I've managed tostalk keep in touch with via everyone's favorite application, Facebook, are married, about to get married, or are thinking about getting married. When the first of us signed up for the Other Side of singledom, it was nary two weeks out of high school, and I'm not sure what happened to him/them. It seemed very rash and dangerous because we were just beginning our adult lives and was he even dating anyone?! What?
But now we are older and many of us are wiser, and now Decent Men have started appearing, which means that those single friends are venturing to the edge of singledom, peering over the ledge, and shrugging that it's not nearly so scary when you're a grown up.
I've been in one wedding, when my friend, the wonderful Anne, married Jasen, also wonderful, in the hills of Rancho Cucamonga, California. We wore long pink dresses and the day was hot and deserty. Now, make that two weddings, because weekend before last, Vicky up and go herself hitched, too, and to a fine man.
As Maid-o-Honor, I suspected I was supposed to do real work for the wedding preparations. Bridesmaids are not that important, work wise. They just show up and look pink. But Maids-o-Honor, they do things. The interwebs told me that I was supposed to plan a bachelorette party and also "provide support for the new bride." Well, I'm in DC, and she's not, so no bachelorette party without substantial travel bills. But Anthony and I DID give a lovely party, complete with Samia-cake (Have you had a Samia-cake? You need to have one.) At least I know that when I get married, I have a good cake-provider, assuming that Samia is not rich and famous by then, with her own Beverly Hills-based bakery. Even then, maybe she'll give me a discount? Vicky and Dave and the rest of the DC contingent came to my parent's grand house and had a lovely evening, complete with salami. Maid-o-Honor duty #1: check.
Many of my high school classmates, at least, the ones I've managed to
But now we are older and many of us are wiser, and now Decent Men have started appearing, which means that those single friends are venturing to the edge of singledom, peering over the ledge, and shrugging that it's not nearly so scary when you're a grown up.
I've been in one wedding, when my friend, the wonderful Anne, married Jasen, also wonderful, in the hills of Rancho Cucamonga, California. We wore long pink dresses and the day was hot and deserty. Now, make that two weddings, because weekend before last, Vicky up and go herself hitched, too, and to a fine man.
As Maid-o-Honor, I suspected I was supposed to do real work for the wedding preparations. Bridesmaids are not that important, work wise. They just show up and look pink. But Maids-o-Honor, they do things. The interwebs told me that I was supposed to plan a bachelorette party and also "provide support for the new bride." Well, I'm in DC, and she's not, so no bachelorette party without substantial travel bills. But Anthony and I DID give a lovely party, complete with Samia-cake (Have you had a Samia-cake? You need to have one.) At least I know that when I get married, I have a good cake-provider, assuming that Samia is not rich and famous by then, with her own Beverly Hills-based bakery. Even then, maybe she'll give me a discount? Vicky and Dave and the rest of the DC contingent came to my parent's grand house and had a lovely evening, complete with salami. Maid-o-Honor duty #1: check.
The maid-o-honor, the bride, the best man, and, most importantly, the cake.
And the rest was basically *talk*, but important talk about men and relationships and weddings and shoes and undergarments and honeymoons and expectations and babies and mothers-in-law and fathers and tuxes. And then the weekend came, and I put on my Girl Friday hat and got on the direct flight to LAX with Best Man Anthony.
We clean up real good.
Vicky, incidentally, is the Lowest Key Bride Ever. Any fears of a Bridezilla attack or a sudden sob of emotion five minutes pre-aisle were quickly put aside. She was chill. Except at 5 AM, wedding day, when we had to get up for our hair. That was not so much fun. But dang if we didn't look good afterwards.
Beautification at 5 am
We are grateful for Becca's cosmetology skills
It's strange to look at a newlywed couple, even if they've been dating a while, and really think about what they're jumping into together, hands held. They're jumping into an ocean. And even if you both know how to swim, the ocean is big. There are storms. Ships are wrecked on oceans. I look at the wedding pictures and wonder, in 20 years when they look back on these photos, what will they feel? Where will they be? What will they say about their wedding day when they were so young and new to life and each other?
I hope they'll say that their love has put down roots so deep that they will never be torn up, and I hope they look back on this day with wisdom and sweet nostalgia.
To the Nicks!
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Ahem...long time, no see.
Much like … everything else in my life, once I get out of the habit of blogging and Thinking About Writing, I tend to stop doing it because I find that I vastly prefer, say, eating chocolate chips on my bed while surfing YouTube. But I realized that I have not updated for two months, thus alienating my loyal audience of approximately 4 people.
While I was away, when I was not eating chocolate chips and surfing YouTube, I applied to graduate schools. It costs a lot of money to apply to graduate schools. I am not sure how this is fair, since I am applying not only for a place in their incoming class, but also for the opportunity to give them more money. The applications should be free. In fact, if I get in, they should pay me as a thank-you for applying. Here is The List of Schools I Would Be Happy To Go To, in order of preference:
Columbia SIPA and/or Journalism (dual masters)
University of London School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS)
Johns Hopkins SAIS
London School of Economics
Georgetown MSFS
I mean, I’m happy to go to ANY of them, particularly if they give me money (unlikely) but I guess if I had to choose, it’d be Columbia. And they did tell me three years ago that I should reapply after gaining some professional experience, which I did. But hey, London is also not a bad choice, and if I went to SAIS, I could stay in DC...
In other news, Lori, who is awesome, came and visited me for Christmas break. It is very nice to have a visit from a former roommate. There is no, "I hope she doesn’t mind that I don’t do the dishes every night" or trying to impress with my glamorous lifestyle, or…whatever. We lived together for two and a half years in college, and I mean, what bond is stronger than that, besides maybe the parental bond, or the bond you get with someone with whom you have sat, naked, in the Turkish baths in Istanbul? We had many low-key adventures, such as touring the Aquarium in Baltimore and the USS Constitution and also opening Christmas presents. And to top it all off, we celebrated our friendship/vacation/roommate bond/francophilia with a dinner, including wine and dessert, at Bistrot du Coin, which was heart-breakingly delicious.
Upcoming events: Vicky and Dave’s wedding in California in LESS THAN ONE MONTH, w00t! And a trip to Peru for another wedding/vacation in less than two months. And also, a work trip to Greece, probably. And trying to figure out how to pay for grad school. And more blogging.
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