Before I close my eyes for the last time to go to sleep at the end of a long day, I'm usually squinting at my favorite blue and white website, Facebook. It's the supreme source of knowledge I always wanted as a child. (Facebook didn't even exist until I was in high school, I think.) We all love Facebook. Why? Because our lives would be so sadly misinformed without it. We'd know so little. We'd miss so much.
Without further ado, take note of what we'd never know if we didn't have Facebook:
1. What Brittany ate for lunch.
You know Brittany. She's always trying some new diet, and this week it's probably the "I don't eat anything with a face" diet that unfortunately not only means no chicken but also no Teddy Grahams. But what exactly did she eat today? We'd never know without Facebook.
Brittany: "Just had spinach grilled over oiled peach pits with a petrified sweet potato and eight and one half green beans. This new diet is so rad."
Praise be to God for Facebook.
2. How much Ian and Sharon love each other.
They've been dating for eight years, but that doesn't stop them from posting a picture on Facebook every time they leave the house together.
Ian: "Oh, you know, just going to the podiatrist with my WOMAN CRUSH WEDNESDAY FOREVER! I <3 you, baby, thank you for supporting me through my difficult time with this foot fungus."
Sharon: "Ian bought be flowers for our 2,975th day together. He knew that was my favorite number. He's soooo super duper cute and I love him to the moon and back and then, like, to the moon again!"
Thanks, Facebook.
3. What freshman liberal arts major Brenden thinks about politics.
Brenden has been to college. That's right. That means he's educated, and he's about to share all of his inconceivably intelligent opinions with you, and, like, blow your poor inadequate brain out of your head.
Brenden: "That giant pumpkin doesn't know anything about foreign policy. If he just read the Huffington Post like I do, he'd know the best way to spread world peace is to put all of the guns into a spaceship and send them to space and then blow them up so people can't shoot each other anymore. Then we can just open more money factories to create jobs, and print extra money for all the people who don't have enough."
Wow, Brenden, I wish I'd thought of that. If only I were 19 again. Then perhaps I'd know everything like you.
4. Where Sheila went on vacation.
Sheila doesn't seem to have a job. You'll be sitting in your cubicle scrolling through spreadsheets and trying not to hyperventilate when you decide to check Facebook. Then there's a picture of Sheila scaling a pyramid in Egypt. Is Sheila even allowed to do that? Since when do they let you climb the pyramids?
Sheila: "Does anyone have suggestions for where I should go for my next vacation? Not somewhere typical. I've already been to all the average spots like Iceland, Paris, Australia, Alaska, Sweden, India, Pluto, the Bahamas and every single country in Africa. And my budget is only $47,000 for the three weeks I'll be gone, so keep that in mind."
WHERE WILL SHEILA GO NEXT? TELL US, FACEBOOK? TELL US NOW!
5. How terrible Bob's boss is.
You know what's worse than unemployment? Having a job. At least, according to Bob. He has the worst boss EVER, if his constant whiny Facebook statuses are any indication. Doesn't he know that companies check social media now? How has he been posting about his boss's halitosis and toupee for four years and still not gotten fired?
Bob: "Today my boss told me I'm working 114 hours this week. He's such a loser. And you know what else? He has a toupee. And he's 28. Beginning to suspect the eyebrows are fake, too."
Bob: "My boss ate all the donuts. Like, he literally brought in three dozen, called us all in for a meeting, and then the whole meeting was just sitting there and watching him eat all 36 donuts. THIRTY-SIX donuts. What did I do to deserve this hell?"
Bob, you were designed for another world.
6. What Spencer did at the gym.
Spencer lives at the gym and occasionally goes home to sleep for four hours, guzzle 11 raw eggs and feed his pet bull dog. He literally can only wear cutoffs because no shirt in existence has big enough arm holes to, you know, fit his arms through.
Spencer: "Just beat my pr (personal record, for anypeoples who dunno) for the third time this week. Eight-two reps with the 450 pound weight using only my thumbs."
Spencer: "I'm like the Michael Phelps of weight lifting. I just lift things instead of swimming because I don't want to drown. I've heard that swimming is hard. #GuysWhoLift #GymRat #Gymdays #HelloLadies"
I couldn't possibly make an exhaustive list. We simply have too much to be thankful for to properly express in one post. So let me just say on behalf of all of us: Thank you, Facebook. Thank you.
Thursday, February 2, 2017
Sunday, June 21, 2015
Andreus and the Stone
The elbows and shoulders and hands of the angry crowd surrounding me propelled me forward as if I were caught in a current of the sea. I was aware of three things: my robe swishing around my body, which was sweating profusely, despite the mild weather; the large stone that seemed to burn in my left hand; and the heavy pressure of guilt that weighed on me as if I were carrying a mule on my shoulders.
I was a young man, not quite 20. My father had stopped calling me Rus in favor of my given name, Andreus, just six months prior. I sold fish at a nearby market and made a decent living because I'd been working under my former master, Josiah, for nearly 8 years.
"Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery," I heard the Pharisee say. I'd seen this one at the temple many times, and his wardrobe choices were always as excessive as his lengthy prayers. "The law of Moses says to stone her. What do you say?"
I stood on tip-toe to get a better look at the scene. I couldn't quite see who the Pharisee was talking to. As if I'd actually spoken up, the crowd formed a circle. First I looked to my left and followed the arc of men—there were probably 30—all the way around to my other side. They all had two things in common: they looked indignant, even angry, and they each held a stone. Most of the stones were large, gripped in a white-fingered right hand.
My breath caught in my throat when I finally got a clear view of the three individuals at the center of the circle. First was the Pharisee, whom I already knew. His expression was one of pride, and his sharp eyes wordlessly judged the two people before him: the woman about whom the question had been asked and the man who was expected to answer it. I shifted my gaze to the woman, who knelt in the dirt, her eyes on downcast. Seeing her again sent a stabbing pain through my gut. The mule on my shoulders got heavier.
I'd first seen her at the market a month ago. She showed up almost every morning to purchase fresh vegetables and fish. I'd noticed her immediately because she had long, perfect dark hair and haunting eyes, brownish purple like the sea during a storm at dusk. She was always polite, asking how sales were going or commenting on how delightful the weather had been. I soon learned she was married—to one of the fishermen whose wares we sold at the market. He was gone sometimes for long periods of time, so I guessed she came to the market to talk to the merchants as often as she did because she was lonely.
I always looked forward to seeing her and didn't see any harm in exchanging pleasantries when she showed up to buy fish, but I couldn't ignore how pretty she was. One day she came to the market as always, but she accidentally paid too much for the fish. This had happened before, with other customers, and to my shame, I'd kept the change unless they had later questioned me about it. But she had been so kind to me that I didn't want to cheat her. I knew where she lived, so I went to her house after work to return the extra money.
She couldn't let me into the house when her husband wasn't home, so she came outside to see what I wanted. It was raining and after supper, though, so no one was around. She shifted the dishes she was holding into one hand and looked at me quizzically. I explained about the excess money and held it out to her. She took it, and I couldn't tell if it was my imagination or not, but her hand seemed to linger on mine longer than necessary. The spell was broken when the dishes in her hands shifted and fell into the dirt, some of them shattering.
I instantly squatted down to help her clean up the mess, and she did, too. She started to say it had been her mistake, and I didn't have to help, but she looked up the same instant I did, and her words were cut off because we found ourselves nose to nose. In one impulsive motion I'd regret forever, I leaned forward and pressed my mouth against hers. She did not resist, and it even seemed that she kissed me back, but I hardly had time to tell. If there were an award for the world's worst timing, I'd get it. A neighbor happened to be passing by and saw it, and before I knew it, I'd been ushered back to my house after a few sharp words from a Pharisee, while a teacher of the religious law took her away, hissing only one word in her direction: "Adulteress."
The next morning, I'd been dragged from my bed by my next-door neighbor, who told me to come outside immediately if I wanted to spare myself embarrassment. That's how I found myself here in this circle of angry men, a sharp rock gripped in my shaking hand. I was here to help stone to death the woman whose place I deserved to take. I looked away from the woman, the kiss I shouldn't have stolen burning on my lips in my memory. The mule grew impossibly heavy on my shoulders, and I stood there in the dirt like the coward I was.
The third and final person in the circle was a pleasant-faced man with a long brown beard and kind eyes. He was a full six inches shorter than the towering Pharisee, but he somehow seemed completely confident, as if he could call and army to his aid at any moment if he wished. He sank to his haunches and drew with his finger in the dirt, seemingly oblivious to the Pharisee's impatience for an answer to his question. He drew three big letters: "R U S." My throat felt like it was closing. This must be some kind of coincidence. Maybe he was going to add something. Maybe—
He looked up and met my petrified gaze, drilling me with his piercing hazel eyes. I heard a voice in my mind that said, "Repent, and be forgiven, my son." My mouth fell open. Who was this man, who knew my sin and could speak to me without opening his mouth?
The pharisee literally kicked the dirt in impatience. "Well?!" he demanded, as if he had other important crowds to stand before and other young women to stone to death. "She is an adulterous woman. Shall we stone her now?"
The bearded man looked up at the Pharisee patiently, as if he'd forgotten he was there. "All right, but let the one who has never sinned throw the first stone!" Then he stooped again and underlined the three letters he had written before.
The stone in my hand dropped to the ground, and I looked around at the bewildered men who, one at a time, dropped their rocks and backed away, almost as if they were frightened. One by one, beginning with the oldest, they slipped away until I was all that was left of the circle. Somehow the Pharisee had disappeared as well. I turned away but walked slowly so I could hear what the strange man would say to the woman. "Where are your accusers?" he asked. "Didn't even one of them condemn you?"
"No, Lord," she answered.
Lord, I repeated in my mind. How stupid I had been not to recognize Him. This man was Jesus, the one who claimed to be God's Son, the one who claimed to be able to forgive sins. And now, since He'd spoken in my mind, I knew it was true.
Faintly, even as I walked away, I heard Him say to her, "Neither do I. Go, and sin no more."
I repented of my sin before God that night and fasted for 30 days. I haven't seen Jesus in person since then, but I think I will someday.
I was a young man, not quite 20. My father had stopped calling me Rus in favor of my given name, Andreus, just six months prior. I sold fish at a nearby market and made a decent living because I'd been working under my former master, Josiah, for nearly 8 years.
"Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery," I heard the Pharisee say. I'd seen this one at the temple many times, and his wardrobe choices were always as excessive as his lengthy prayers. "The law of Moses says to stone her. What do you say?"
I stood on tip-toe to get a better look at the scene. I couldn't quite see who the Pharisee was talking to. As if I'd actually spoken up, the crowd formed a circle. First I looked to my left and followed the arc of men—there were probably 30—all the way around to my other side. They all had two things in common: they looked indignant, even angry, and they each held a stone. Most of the stones were large, gripped in a white-fingered right hand.
My breath caught in my throat when I finally got a clear view of the three individuals at the center of the circle. First was the Pharisee, whom I already knew. His expression was one of pride, and his sharp eyes wordlessly judged the two people before him: the woman about whom the question had been asked and the man who was expected to answer it. I shifted my gaze to the woman, who knelt in the dirt, her eyes on downcast. Seeing her again sent a stabbing pain through my gut. The mule on my shoulders got heavier.
I'd first seen her at the market a month ago. She showed up almost every morning to purchase fresh vegetables and fish. I'd noticed her immediately because she had long, perfect dark hair and haunting eyes, brownish purple like the sea during a storm at dusk. She was always polite, asking how sales were going or commenting on how delightful the weather had been. I soon learned she was married—to one of the fishermen whose wares we sold at the market. He was gone sometimes for long periods of time, so I guessed she came to the market to talk to the merchants as often as she did because she was lonely.
I always looked forward to seeing her and didn't see any harm in exchanging pleasantries when she showed up to buy fish, but I couldn't ignore how pretty she was. One day she came to the market as always, but she accidentally paid too much for the fish. This had happened before, with other customers, and to my shame, I'd kept the change unless they had later questioned me about it. But she had been so kind to me that I didn't want to cheat her. I knew where she lived, so I went to her house after work to return the extra money.
She couldn't let me into the house when her husband wasn't home, so she came outside to see what I wanted. It was raining and after supper, though, so no one was around. She shifted the dishes she was holding into one hand and looked at me quizzically. I explained about the excess money and held it out to her. She took it, and I couldn't tell if it was my imagination or not, but her hand seemed to linger on mine longer than necessary. The spell was broken when the dishes in her hands shifted and fell into the dirt, some of them shattering.
I instantly squatted down to help her clean up the mess, and she did, too. She started to say it had been her mistake, and I didn't have to help, but she looked up the same instant I did, and her words were cut off because we found ourselves nose to nose. In one impulsive motion I'd regret forever, I leaned forward and pressed my mouth against hers. She did not resist, and it even seemed that she kissed me back, but I hardly had time to tell. If there were an award for the world's worst timing, I'd get it. A neighbor happened to be passing by and saw it, and before I knew it, I'd been ushered back to my house after a few sharp words from a Pharisee, while a teacher of the religious law took her away, hissing only one word in her direction: "Adulteress."
The next morning, I'd been dragged from my bed by my next-door neighbor, who told me to come outside immediately if I wanted to spare myself embarrassment. That's how I found myself here in this circle of angry men, a sharp rock gripped in my shaking hand. I was here to help stone to death the woman whose place I deserved to take. I looked away from the woman, the kiss I shouldn't have stolen burning on my lips in my memory. The mule grew impossibly heavy on my shoulders, and I stood there in the dirt like the coward I was.
The third and final person in the circle was a pleasant-faced man with a long brown beard and kind eyes. He was a full six inches shorter than the towering Pharisee, but he somehow seemed completely confident, as if he could call and army to his aid at any moment if he wished. He sank to his haunches and drew with his finger in the dirt, seemingly oblivious to the Pharisee's impatience for an answer to his question. He drew three big letters: "R U S." My throat felt like it was closing. This must be some kind of coincidence. Maybe he was going to add something. Maybe—
He looked up and met my petrified gaze, drilling me with his piercing hazel eyes. I heard a voice in my mind that said, "Repent, and be forgiven, my son." My mouth fell open. Who was this man, who knew my sin and could speak to me without opening his mouth?
The pharisee literally kicked the dirt in impatience. "Well?!" he demanded, as if he had other important crowds to stand before and other young women to stone to death. "She is an adulterous woman. Shall we stone her now?"
The bearded man looked up at the Pharisee patiently, as if he'd forgotten he was there. "All right, but let the one who has never sinned throw the first stone!" Then he stooped again and underlined the three letters he had written before.
The stone in my hand dropped to the ground, and I looked around at the bewildered men who, one at a time, dropped their rocks and backed away, almost as if they were frightened. One by one, beginning with the oldest, they slipped away until I was all that was left of the circle. Somehow the Pharisee had disappeared as well. I turned away but walked slowly so I could hear what the strange man would say to the woman. "Where are your accusers?" he asked. "Didn't even one of them condemn you?"
"No, Lord," she answered.
Lord, I repeated in my mind. How stupid I had been not to recognize Him. This man was Jesus, the one who claimed to be God's Son, the one who claimed to be able to forgive sins. And now, since He'd spoken in my mind, I knew it was true.
Faintly, even as I walked away, I heard Him say to her, "Neither do I. Go, and sin no more."
I repented of my sin before God that night and fasted for 30 days. I haven't seen Jesus in person since then, but I think I will someday.
Saturday, June 13, 2015
Why I Enjoy Being a Reporter
I'm an editor, so most of my work involves reading through other writers' pieces and correcting them for clarity, grammar and content. Sometimes I get to write my own articles, but they are often aggregate pieces. Every once in a while, I get to attend an actual event and report on it. One might think that I enjoy being a reporter just because I like to write. However, I have other reasons. If you're considering a career as a journalist or are just curious about what it can be like, read on to find out why I enjoy being a reporter.
1. I get to go to a different place for each assignment. My journalism adventures have taken me to hospitals, schools, hotels, libraries and even a nursing home. These places might not sound too fascinating, but they are often populated by interesting people and events. One time for a story about education innovation, I drove to a school in Owsley County that my GPS couldn't even locate. I drove in that general direction and made a 2-hour trip, somehow finding the school with some vague directions from the school secretary. Finding the locations can be stressful sometimes. You may wonder why such a geographically and directionally challenged individual would enjoy new places so much. Besides the excitement of seeing new things, I also enjoy entering a new environment because doing so allows me to ask questions without feeling dumb. I just show up at the right address and ask the first person I find where I'm supposed to go.
2. I get to learn about a variety of topics. A few weeks ago I reported on a panel discussion about local foods, which I previously knew nothing about, and today I attended a conference about how to stop bullying. The speaker said that the cause of bullying is not low self-esteem as previously thought. Instead, the bully often is the jock or the cheerleader or the lawyer's kid. Instead of a lack of self-esteem, there is often a power imbalance. The true cause of most bullying is narcissism, which is getting worse in today's children. Knowing stuff is cool. I thoroughly enjoyed learning throughout my education, so it's awesome to continue learning for my job.
3. I get to interrogate people. I used to think that everyone held conversations by rapidly exchanging question after question—until I spent a significant amount of time with someone who rarely—if ever—asked questions. I've discovered that most people patiently exchange remarks and do not ask tons of direct questions. I like questions and always have a lot of them, even for strangers. As a reporter, my name tag, camera and anything else that labels me as a journalist give me free reign to randomly approach pretty much anyone at an event and ask whatever bizarre queries I need for my story. It's great.
4. I often get free coffee and food. They say that a college student's favorite word is free. I think my favorite word will always be free. At many of the events I cover, I get free coffee, free lunch, free donuts and even free pens. One time I even ate an $80 plate at a dinner party. Like, you know, I ate the food on the plate, not the actual plate. Anyway, when I attend events, I eat while gleefully striking up weird conversations with people I'll probably never see again or just sit alone and shovel the food into my mouth. Everyone knows I'm a reporter and don't know anyone. For all they know, I'm observing the way the attendees eat their food, watching, waiting, pondering my story.
5. No one expects me to behave like everyone else at the event. Or if they do, they never show it. I think it's because people are so used to seeing movies with scenes featuring jittery, loud-mouthed reporters who skitter after the poor protagonist, shoving microphones in his face, asking rude questions and taking obnoxious photos. In comparison, I seem well-behaved. Sometimes I come late or leave early. I sit wherever I want. I get up and take pictures with my giant camera. I'm usually the only person in the room with a laptop; of course, I'm using it to take notes. Usually I'm the youngest person in attendance. Unlike the rest of the attendees, I generally don't talk to anyone unless I'm interrogating someone for my story. And that's OK. I'm a reporter, and I'm working. They understand I don't have time to socialize.
Journalism is cool. I really had no idea what it was when I declared it as a major. It's so much more than writing newspaper articles. I don't even write for a newspaper because both publications to which I contribute are online. Any questions? I like questions.
1. I get to go to a different place for each assignment. My journalism adventures have taken me to hospitals, schools, hotels, libraries and even a nursing home. These places might not sound too fascinating, but they are often populated by interesting people and events. One time for a story about education innovation, I drove to a school in Owsley County that my GPS couldn't even locate. I drove in that general direction and made a 2-hour trip, somehow finding the school with some vague directions from the school secretary. Finding the locations can be stressful sometimes. You may wonder why such a geographically and directionally challenged individual would enjoy new places so much. Besides the excitement of seeing new things, I also enjoy entering a new environment because doing so allows me to ask questions without feeling dumb. I just show up at the right address and ask the first person I find where I'm supposed to go.
2. I get to learn about a variety of topics. A few weeks ago I reported on a panel discussion about local foods, which I previously knew nothing about, and today I attended a conference about how to stop bullying. The speaker said that the cause of bullying is not low self-esteem as previously thought. Instead, the bully often is the jock or the cheerleader or the lawyer's kid. Instead of a lack of self-esteem, there is often a power imbalance. The true cause of most bullying is narcissism, which is getting worse in today's children. Knowing stuff is cool. I thoroughly enjoyed learning throughout my education, so it's awesome to continue learning for my job.
3. I get to interrogate people. I used to think that everyone held conversations by rapidly exchanging question after question—until I spent a significant amount of time with someone who rarely—if ever—asked questions. I've discovered that most people patiently exchange remarks and do not ask tons of direct questions. I like questions and always have a lot of them, even for strangers. As a reporter, my name tag, camera and anything else that labels me as a journalist give me free reign to randomly approach pretty much anyone at an event and ask whatever bizarre queries I need for my story. It's great.
4. I often get free coffee and food. They say that a college student's favorite word is free. I think my favorite word will always be free. At many of the events I cover, I get free coffee, free lunch, free donuts and even free pens. One time I even ate an $80 plate at a dinner party. Like, you know, I ate the food on the plate, not the actual plate. Anyway, when I attend events, I eat while gleefully striking up weird conversations with people I'll probably never see again or just sit alone and shovel the food into my mouth. Everyone knows I'm a reporter and don't know anyone. For all they know, I'm observing the way the attendees eat their food, watching, waiting, pondering my story.
5. No one expects me to behave like everyone else at the event. Or if they do, they never show it. I think it's because people are so used to seeing movies with scenes featuring jittery, loud-mouthed reporters who skitter after the poor protagonist, shoving microphones in his face, asking rude questions and taking obnoxious photos. In comparison, I seem well-behaved. Sometimes I come late or leave early. I sit wherever I want. I get up and take pictures with my giant camera. I'm usually the only person in the room with a laptop; of course, I'm using it to take notes. Usually I'm the youngest person in attendance. Unlike the rest of the attendees, I generally don't talk to anyone unless I'm interrogating someone for my story. And that's OK. I'm a reporter, and I'm working. They understand I don't have time to socialize.
Journalism is cool. I really had no idea what it was when I declared it as a major. It's so much more than writing newspaper articles. I don't even write for a newspaper because both publications to which I contribute are online. Any questions? I like questions.
Monday, June 1, 2015
How to Defeat Job Interviews in Five Easy Steps
This is it. It's the big day: THE company of your dreams has called and asked you to come in for an interview. You've crafted a spectacular resume and written a cover letter that could make Mark Zuckerburg cry. But that was child's play. Now the real game begins.
When you get the email about the job interview, it's 9:27, and you're sitting in the office at your current job. You wanted to quit this job because it requires you to sit in your desk chair at 8 a.m. sharp, put your head in a vice, and read things on a computer for 9 hours straight while someone comes around periodically to criticize you. Usually it's your boss, who often says, "Try not to blink. The average person has his eyes closed for 30 minutes per day because of blinking. I'm not paying you to sleep."
Make sure no one sees the email. Since you were stupid enough to ask a potential employer to send an email to a company computer, you'll need to destroy the evidence. Take the sledge hammer from underneath your desk and give the machine a good whack. Now let's hope you get the other job. You're going to get in trouble for taking your head out of that vice.
1. Before the interview, do your research.
The rule for lawyers is the same as the rule for job interviewees: never ask a question you don't already know the answer to. That's why you need to find out literally everything before going to the job interview. Find out your interviewee's sock size, zodiac sign, rental car history, St. Patrick's Day plans, and opinions on iguana breeding.
This is important because the first thing you need to do is establish trust. The day before the interview, call the interviewee from a blocked phone number and ask about the things listed above. If his or her answers match those from your research, you know you're dealing with an honest individual. If his or her answers do NOT match up, whisper, "You chose...poorly," hang up, and send a box of exploding sparkles to his house.
3. Know how to answer the difficult questions.
The following are just a few of the tricky questions you might encounter during your interview. Be sure to memorize one of these convenient canned answers to "wow" your interviewer.
Interviewer: "Well, I think that's all the questions we have for you. Is there anything you'd like to ask before we finish up?"
Your answer: "Do you believe in love at first sight?"
Interviewer: "Why do you think you're a viable candidate for this job?"
Your answer: "I'm Batman."
Interviewer: "Well, I think that's all the questions we have for you. Is there anything you'd like to ask before we finish up?"
Your answer: "Do you feel lucky, punk? Well, do ya?"
Interviewer: "Where do you see yourself in five years?"
Your answer: "Doing your job."
Interviewer: "Well, I think that's all the questions we have for you. Is there anything you'd like to ask before we finish up?"
Your answer: "What would you do for a Klondike Bar?"
Interviewer: "Where do you see yourself in five years?"
Your answer: "Probably in the mirror, just like I see myself now."
Interviewer: "Why do you think you're a viable candidate for this job?"
You answer: "I had assumed you'd have already read my resume. Would you like the book-on-tape version?"
Interviewer: "Well, I think that's all the questions we have for you. Is there anything you'd like to ask before we finish up?"
Your answer: "Where do you see yourself in five years?"
Interviewer: "What are some of your most impressive skills?"
Your answer: "I once built my own pogo stick, and I do an excellent Gollum impression."
4. Make it clear you're the right person for the job.
Do you feel like the interview is going swimmingly? Or maybe you feel like you're ruining the whole thing. Either way, you need to make it clear exactly why no other candidate can measure up. Immediately after a question is asked—it doesn't matter what question—sit back in your chair and take hold of your suit jacket. Slowly move it to the side, displaying the 14 different kinds of cookies you sewed into little pockets on the inside. Silently hand one cookie to each interviewer and whisper, "There's more where that came from."
5. Write a hand-written thank you note after the interview.
When someone requires you to put on uncomfortable clothes you would never actually wear to work, subjects you to a 45-minute rapid-fire inquisition, and makes you too nervous to eat for two days, you should always send a thank you note. A hand written thank you note.
Not sure what to write? Try something like this:
Dear Mr. Jimmy Snibbler,
I greatly enjoyed our professional conversation a fortnight minus 12 days ago. I fully expect to hear from you again with positive news. If I don't, you can fully expect to never see your dog again.
Sincerely,
Me
When you get the email about the job interview, it's 9:27, and you're sitting in the office at your current job. You wanted to quit this job because it requires you to sit in your desk chair at 8 a.m. sharp, put your head in a vice, and read things on a computer for 9 hours straight while someone comes around periodically to criticize you. Usually it's your boss, who often says, "Try not to blink. The average person has his eyes closed for 30 minutes per day because of blinking. I'm not paying you to sleep."
Make sure no one sees the email. Since you were stupid enough to ask a potential employer to send an email to a company computer, you'll need to destroy the evidence. Take the sledge hammer from underneath your desk and give the machine a good whack. Now let's hope you get the other job. You're going to get in trouble for taking your head out of that vice.
1. Before the interview, do your research.
The rule for lawyers is the same as the rule for job interviewees: never ask a question you don't already know the answer to. That's why you need to find out literally everything before going to the job interview. Find out your interviewee's sock size, zodiac sign, rental car history, St. Patrick's Day plans, and opinions on iguana breeding.
This is important because the first thing you need to do is establish trust. The day before the interview, call the interviewee from a blocked phone number and ask about the things listed above. If his or her answers match those from your research, you know you're dealing with an honest individual. If his or her answers do NOT match up, whisper, "You chose...poorly," hang up, and send a box of exploding sparkles to his house.
2. Make an entrance.
Do you remember that scene in Aladdin when he disguises himself as Prince Ali and shows up at Jasmine's palace with a parade, thousands of adoring fans, and every other pomp and circumstance you could possible think of? Picture that exact frame when the elephant upon which Aladdin sat just extends one thick leg and smashes open the palace door and the music is all like "Prince ALI HANDSOME IS HE, KING OF AL-BOB-WAHHHH!"
Then picture the flabbergasted look on Jafar's face. That. That's what you want your interviewers to feel: pure, unadulterated awe.
Come in. Shake their hands like you are Alexander the Great. Smile like you are about to install a gum ball machine in your kitchen. Then sit down. The world is your oyster.
3. Know how to answer the difficult questions.
The following are just a few of the tricky questions you might encounter during your interview. Be sure to memorize one of these convenient canned answers to "wow" your interviewer.
Interviewer: "Well, I think that's all the questions we have for you. Is there anything you'd like to ask before we finish up?"
Your answer: "Do you believe in love at first sight?"
Interviewer: "Why do you think you're a viable candidate for this job?"
Your answer: "I'm Batman."
Interviewer: "Well, I think that's all the questions we have for you. Is there anything you'd like to ask before we finish up?"
Your answer: "Do you feel lucky, punk? Well, do ya?"
Interviewer: "Where do you see yourself in five years?"
Your answer: "Doing your job."
Interviewer: "Well, I think that's all the questions we have for you. Is there anything you'd like to ask before we finish up?"
Your answer: "What would you do for a Klondike Bar?"
Interviewer: "Where do you see yourself in five years?"
Your answer: "Probably in the mirror, just like I see myself now."
Interviewer: "Why do you think you're a viable candidate for this job?"
You answer: "I had assumed you'd have already read my resume. Would you like the book-on-tape version?"
Interviewer: "Well, I think that's all the questions we have for you. Is there anything you'd like to ask before we finish up?"
Your answer: "Where do you see yourself in five years?"
Interviewer: "What are some of your most impressive skills?"
Your answer: "I once built my own pogo stick, and I do an excellent Gollum impression."
4. Make it clear you're the right person for the job.
Do you feel like the interview is going swimmingly? Or maybe you feel like you're ruining the whole thing. Either way, you need to make it clear exactly why no other candidate can measure up. Immediately after a question is asked—it doesn't matter what question—sit back in your chair and take hold of your suit jacket. Slowly move it to the side, displaying the 14 different kinds of cookies you sewed into little pockets on the inside. Silently hand one cookie to each interviewer and whisper, "There's more where that came from."
5. Write a hand-written thank you note after the interview.
When someone requires you to put on uncomfortable clothes you would never actually wear to work, subjects you to a 45-minute rapid-fire inquisition, and makes you too nervous to eat for two days, you should always send a thank you note. A hand written thank you note.
Not sure what to write? Try something like this:
Dear Mr. Jimmy Snibbler,
I greatly enjoyed our professional conversation a fortnight minus 12 days ago. I fully expect to hear from you again with positive news. If I don't, you can fully expect to never see your dog again.
Sincerely,
Me
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
Four Reasons You Should Go to Grad School
Most kids know about college. It's where you go after high school so that you can spend four years trying not to sleep, eating enough pizza for an entire football team, attempting to write 10-paged research papers in a single night, and saving up to buy soap at Walmart when you eventually have time to take a shower. And all this just so you can get a job.
As an alternative to immediately joining the workforce following college, you can go to grad school. What is grad school? Should you go? People don't understand what it is unless they've actually attended, and even some who have survived grad school have trouble explaining it to outsiders.
Ask your cousin Mildred, who did a five-year combined master's-Ph.D. program in Geometric Calculus First Methodist Geology Differentiation, and she'll blink her pale blue eyes behind her binocular-like glasses and stutter, "Don't...send me...back there. I... just want to sleep. Just want...a desk job. Just want...Mommy..."
So don't ask cousin Mildred. Ask me. Without further ado, I present to you...
Four Reasons You Should Go to Graduate School:
1. They say that if you're the smartest person in the room, you're in the wrong room. If you attend grad school, you will never be the smartest person in the room.
Your Mass Media professor, Dr. Xenogh Xu, M.S., M.D., M. Div., Ph.D., who has published 179 research studies and has been working in his field for 48 years, will ask you a question like: "How can we characterize the passivity of the receiver when we examine the aftermath of 911 through the lens of second-level Agenda-Setting when taking into account Neo-classical perspectives that negate any possibility that priming will not occur following a crisis divergent from the personal narratives held by individuals of Muslim descent?"
Your response will inevitably be: "Um, I think I hear the fire alarm."
Then some 2nd-year Ph.D. student will supply an answer that sounds like chapter 17 of a textbook called Mass Media Theories for People Smarter Than Albert Einstein right off the top of his head.
2. You won't have to join a gym or go on a diet because you won't have time to eat anyway.
You will rise at 6 a.m., pack 17 hats into your bag, and show up at the office. You'll spend all day grading undergraduate papers, meeting with your advisor, attending 2.5 hour long classes, teaching a freshman earth science class, answering emails, fighting ninjas, and meeting with your supervising instructor. Once you get home around 6 p.m., you'll read hundreds of pages of articles for class, read Google Scholar like there's no tomorrow, and try to work on one of the four 25-paged papers you have to write this semester.
Around 2 a.m., you'll realize you have to get up in four hours, but your stomach is eating itself. So you'll raid the fridge and eat corn on the cob, heat up some expired Easy-Mac, and fall asleep next to your bowl of stale Wheaties before the Easy-Mac is ready.
The next morning, you'll consider buying Life cereal next time because of the irony.
3. It's a great conversation-starter with people you haven't seen in a while.
Person you haven't seen in a while: "So you graduated from college, right? What are you doing now? Churnin' up those profits on Wall Street?"
First of all, Person 1 doesn't even remember that your undergraduate degree was in history, and the only thing you know about numbers is that in 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue.
You: "Actually, I'm in grad school."
Person 1: "So you couldn't get a job?"
You: "Um, actually I wanted to go to grad school. It's kinda hard to get in."
Person 1: "So it's like... going to college again?"
You: "No, it's a lot harder, actually. I evaluate tier 1 research projects and sift through the related literature for gaps so I can make my hypothes—"
Person 1: "So are you going to do anything cool like Indiana Jones? Like raid tombs or something? Should I call you Dr.?"
You: -_-
4. You'll be challenged in ways you never imagined, work harder than you ever thought possible, and accept that you know almost nothing—and that is okay.
You might be asked to teach an undergraduate class including students who are only a year or two younger than you are. You might be in the same class—both as students—with one of your former professors from your undergraduate university. You might have to deliver a 40-minute presentation on a topic about which you know next to nothing before an audience of 2nd and 3rd year Ph.D. students. You might have to learn how to balance working 30 hours per week and taking a full load of graduate school classes while figuring out how to pay bills, grocery shop, and cook all your own meals.
You might learn that you know very little and that you have to ask for help a lot, and that is not just okay—it's ideal.
Basically, don't go to grad school unless you really, really want to. It's not something you do just for the heck of it. But if you do want to attend, GO FOR IT. It's awesome, and I wouldn't have wanted to do anything else with the last two years of my life.
As an alternative to immediately joining the workforce following college, you can go to grad school. What is grad school? Should you go? People don't understand what it is unless they've actually attended, and even some who have survived grad school have trouble explaining it to outsiders.
Ask your cousin Mildred, who did a five-year combined master's-Ph.D. program in Geometric Calculus First Methodist Geology Differentiation, and she'll blink her pale blue eyes behind her binocular-like glasses and stutter, "Don't...send me...back there. I... just want to sleep. Just want...a desk job. Just want...Mommy..."
So don't ask cousin Mildred. Ask me. Without further ado, I present to you...
Four Reasons You Should Go to Graduate School:
1. They say that if you're the smartest person in the room, you're in the wrong room. If you attend grad school, you will never be the smartest person in the room.
Your Mass Media professor, Dr. Xenogh Xu, M.S., M.D., M. Div., Ph.D., who has published 179 research studies and has been working in his field for 48 years, will ask you a question like: "How can we characterize the passivity of the receiver when we examine the aftermath of 911 through the lens of second-level Agenda-Setting when taking into account Neo-classical perspectives that negate any possibility that priming will not occur following a crisis divergent from the personal narratives held by individuals of Muslim descent?"
Your response will inevitably be: "Um, I think I hear the fire alarm."
Then some 2nd-year Ph.D. student will supply an answer that sounds like chapter 17 of a textbook called Mass Media Theories for People Smarter Than Albert Einstein right off the top of his head.
2. You won't have to join a gym or go on a diet because you won't have time to eat anyway.
You will rise at 6 a.m., pack 17 hats into your bag, and show up at the office. You'll spend all day grading undergraduate papers, meeting with your advisor, attending 2.5 hour long classes, teaching a freshman earth science class, answering emails, fighting ninjas, and meeting with your supervising instructor. Once you get home around 6 p.m., you'll read hundreds of pages of articles for class, read Google Scholar like there's no tomorrow, and try to work on one of the four 25-paged papers you have to write this semester.
Around 2 a.m., you'll realize you have to get up in four hours, but your stomach is eating itself. So you'll raid the fridge and eat corn on the cob, heat up some expired Easy-Mac, and fall asleep next to your bowl of stale Wheaties before the Easy-Mac is ready.
The next morning, you'll consider buying Life cereal next time because of the irony.
3. It's a great conversation-starter with people you haven't seen in a while.
Person you haven't seen in a while: "So you graduated from college, right? What are you doing now? Churnin' up those profits on Wall Street?"
First of all, Person 1 doesn't even remember that your undergraduate degree was in history, and the only thing you know about numbers is that in 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue.
You: "Actually, I'm in grad school."
Person 1: "So you couldn't get a job?"
You: "Um, actually I wanted to go to grad school. It's kinda hard to get in."
Person 1: "So it's like... going to college again?"
You: "No, it's a lot harder, actually. I evaluate tier 1 research projects and sift through the related literature for gaps so I can make my hypothes—"
Person 1: "So are you going to do anything cool like Indiana Jones? Like raid tombs or something? Should I call you Dr.?"
You: -_-
4. You'll be challenged in ways you never imagined, work harder than you ever thought possible, and accept that you know almost nothing—and that is okay.
You might be asked to teach an undergraduate class including students who are only a year or two younger than you are. You might be in the same class—both as students—with one of your former professors from your undergraduate university. You might have to deliver a 40-minute presentation on a topic about which you know next to nothing before an audience of 2nd and 3rd year Ph.D. students. You might have to learn how to balance working 30 hours per week and taking a full load of graduate school classes while figuring out how to pay bills, grocery shop, and cook all your own meals.
You might learn that you know very little and that you have to ask for help a lot, and that is not just okay—it's ideal.
Basically, don't go to grad school unless you really, really want to. It's not something you do just for the heck of it. But if you do want to attend, GO FOR IT. It's awesome, and I wouldn't have wanted to do anything else with the last two years of my life.
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
5 Ways to Write an Awesome Cover Letter
1. Don't use "To Whom It May Concern" as your salutation. If you do that, you might as well just say, "HEY YOU." That's not going to work. Take the time to find out who exactly will be reading the letter. If you have to, call HR and ask.
For example:
To the honorable, dashing, irreplaceable Mr. Joseph Phartnog,
Dear Dr. Ranelda Flibbernugget, queen of the social sciences department and future ruler of my heart,
2. Begin with a narrative. Don't start with: "Um, I want the job you posted." That's boring! You're a special individual with a riveting tale to share. Stories capture people's attention, and that's exactly what you're going to do. Share a story that shows 1) why you're qualified for the job and 2) why you want the job.
For example:
Last Tuesday at 9:24 a.m., I woke up with a start and skittered down the ladder of the barn in which I currently reside and slipped into the cool air wearing only my boxers. The smell of fresh cow dung assaulted my senses, but I charged toward the street nonetheless. I dove into the road, grabbing a chihuahua as I rolled out of the way of an oncoming semi-truck. As I lay panting in the grass, a small child accompanied by a woman with one blue eye and one green eye approached me. As she thanked me, teary-eyed, for saving her dog, I noticed she was wearing a Nike shirt. That's when I knew I should be the new CEO of your company.
3. Tell the truth, but don't be afraid to brag. This is your time to shine! Did one of your former students say that the lecture you gave as a TA changed his or her life? Note it. Did you boss trust you to run the place while he was gone? Note it.
For example:
Before you read my resume, you should know a few important factoids about me. I can play the trumpet through my nose. I have been to Boston in the fall. I once went out on five dates in one day, and that was after turning down three. I have visited P. Sherman 42 Wallaby Way, Sydney. I can do the McDonald's 50 nuggets challenge. I put my pants on two legs at a time. Oh, and I'm Batman.
4. Use the actual wording from the "Requirements" section of the job posting and explain how your experiences meet those requirements. If the application says "must have great attention to detail," write, "Working as the copy editor for college newspaper for two years taught me to pay attention to detail and recognize errors."
For example:
You say you want someone with leadership experience? When I was five, I taught my two younger siblings to hide candy under their beds during "nap time" so they'd have something to do while they were supposed to be sleeping. You say you want someone with good people skills? One time my neighbors got some of my mail in their box, and they waited two weeks to give it to me. So the next day, I put a tasmanian devil in their mailbox. Boy, were they surprised.
5. If possible, deliver the letter in person. Unless the instructions explicitly say you must email or mail the application, try delivering it. You may only meet your potential employer's administrative assistant, but that's still better than an impersonal email. Who knows, you might get to shake your future employer's hand.
For example:
Busy hiring personnel love surprises. Monday morning at 8 a.m., scale the building from the outside using climbing shoes and nunchucks. If the window isn't open, use a glass cutter to get in. Then find the correct room and play the song "We Will Rock You" on your iPhone. Once it gets to the chorus, pull out your crossbow and send an arrow—with your application attached to it, of course—at your potential employer's desk plant. Bonus points if you don't break it. When he looks up to ask you what you're doing, smile knowingly and reply, "That's for me to know and for you to not know." Then disappear in a cloud of smoke.
If you read this without the words in italics, it's actually good advice. I edit cover letters for people all the time, so if you need help, send them my way. I accept payment in coffee or, you know, money.
Thursday, February 19, 2015
What if my Socks are Conspiring Against Me?
Occasionally I ask the people of Twitter to supply me with a blog post topic suggestion, but rarely does anyone actually give me an idea. But today, a tweeter asked, "What do you do when you keep losing one sock? It could be a metaphor."
My immediate response was: "You thank the Lord that you didn't lose both socks."
But I soon realized three major problems with my response. One, I didn't actually suggest any solutions for solving the problem. I basically recommended putting masking tape over a crack in a windshield. Two, I was insensitive. When you keep losing something you invested in (i.e. socks cost money and require brain power to purchase from Walmart), a snarky response just isn't what the doctor ordered. Three, I ignored the very important fact that it's a strong possibility that in many cases, she does lose both socks. Because one sock is not there to remind her that she lost the other one—yes, you are so smart; both socks are gone—she has probably lost multiple sets of socks without even realizing it.
If you have one sock, you can properly mourn the loss of the other. If you're particularly audacious, you can accept the disappearance of the left sock as permanent and use the right sock to clean the mysterious grey fuzz off your space heater. If both socks are missing, you probably won't even realize it. This begs the question: how many sets of socks have YOU lost? You will likely never know unless you find them again.
Other clothes don't just disappear. Yes, occasionally a rebellious sweater will vanish when you really wanted to wear it, but such frustration is probably your fault: you are the idiot who threw it in the laundry and never washed it. See, socks are what disappear. Socks. It's always the socks. And you know what we blame? The dryer. I've got news for you: it's not the dryer. You need to stop blaming it and accept the truth:
Your socks just don't like you.
Surprised? I was, too, when I finally realized it. They're just tired of dealing with your stinky, unwashed feet. They're tired of being walked on. They're tired of being unappreciated. Your socks hate you. The dryer doesn't "eat" them. Your socks run away. Most socks are pretty stupid, which is why usually only one escapes. The really smart ones escape in pairs, never to be seen again. The more brilliant ones make you forget you had them in the first place.
Doesn't it make you sad to think that you probably can't remember the best pair of socks you ever owned? Just don't let the people in your life be like socks.
My immediate response was: "You thank the Lord that you didn't lose both socks."
But I soon realized three major problems with my response. One, I didn't actually suggest any solutions for solving the problem. I basically recommended putting masking tape over a crack in a windshield. Two, I was insensitive. When you keep losing something you invested in (i.e. socks cost money and require brain power to purchase from Walmart), a snarky response just isn't what the doctor ordered. Three, I ignored the very important fact that it's a strong possibility that in many cases, she does lose both socks. Because one sock is not there to remind her that she lost the other one—yes, you are so smart; both socks are gone—she has probably lost multiple sets of socks without even realizing it.
If you have one sock, you can properly mourn the loss of the other. If you're particularly audacious, you can accept the disappearance of the left sock as permanent and use the right sock to clean the mysterious grey fuzz off your space heater. If both socks are missing, you probably won't even realize it. This begs the question: how many sets of socks have YOU lost? You will likely never know unless you find them again.
Other clothes don't just disappear. Yes, occasionally a rebellious sweater will vanish when you really wanted to wear it, but such frustration is probably your fault: you are the idiot who threw it in the laundry and never washed it. See, socks are what disappear. Socks. It's always the socks. And you know what we blame? The dryer. I've got news for you: it's not the dryer. You need to stop blaming it and accept the truth:
Your socks just don't like you.
Surprised? I was, too, when I finally realized it. They're just tired of dealing with your stinky, unwashed feet. They're tired of being walked on. They're tired of being unappreciated. Your socks hate you. The dryer doesn't "eat" them. Your socks run away. Most socks are pretty stupid, which is why usually only one escapes. The really smart ones escape in pairs, never to be seen again. The more brilliant ones make you forget you had them in the first place.
Doesn't it make you sad to think that you probably can't remember the best pair of socks you ever owned? Just don't let the people in your life be like socks.
Monday, January 26, 2015
Real Life vs. The Movies: Let's be Honest
In the movie Galaxy Quest, a group of aliens watch movies and television shows produced on Earth. The aliens believe that all of the films are true and depict the history of Earth. They also take the films literally and assume that is how things actually work on the planet. Sounds silly, right? Not really. We do the same thing. We watch movies and expect our lives to follow suit. Life isn't like the movies. I'd just like to clear that up. Check out these 5 important differences between movies and real life.
1. Moving spontaneously to a new town.
The movies: You randomly decide to leave everything one day and drive 14 hours away to another town, probably somewhere near the shore in South Carolina. Within hours of your arrival, you get a fully-furnished apartment and purchase a rottweiler to help protect you from the axe murderer who is inevitably stalking you (maybe this is a Lifetime movie?). Then you show up to the nearest establishment and remove the "HELP WANTED" sign from the door. You show it to the manager and earn a job within five minutes.
Real life: You debate about moving for 7 years. It takes you 8 months to find a suitable apartment and four trips with your punch buggy to bring down all of your stuff. The first thing you do is sign up for a new library card.
2. Going to a new school.
The movies: Someone trips you as you get on the bus, and you have to sit by yourself. You stare at the passing farmland, rueing the day your mother sent you to Kansas to live with your Aunt Mildred. Dramatic music plays. Once you get to school, an overly exuberant yearbook staffer offers to help you find your first class. Inevitably, she tells you that you have the same History 101 class. During your first class, the teacher introduces you, and three people in the room decide to hate you for no reason. When you get out of class, you bump into the same person who tripped you on the bus, and you drop 14 books all over the hallway. Because who uses back packs anymore. Then this really hot guy helps you pick up all your stuff, but he has to run to class before you learn his name.
Real life: You drive yourself to school. The building smells like formaldehyde, but you figure you'll get used to the smell of whatever cleaning solution they use on the floors, walls, and windows here, just like you did at your old school. The person at the office helps you find your first class, and you pull the strings of your hoodie as tight as you can so that only your nose is showing. The teacher doesn't introduce you to the class because teachers don't actually do that. You use a back pack because that's what people do. You make it through the whole year without getting shoved into a locker, becoming the enemy of the lead cheerleader, or making a speech about how wrong you were about everything in front of the entire school.
3. Running from the police.
The movies: You have time to stop every so often to purchase a new slick outfit, usually involving leather and cool sunglasses. You use the closing draw-bridge like a ski jump to propel your car onto the opposite road before the police catch you. You're with Nicolas Cage. When you total your first car, you get out, unharmed, and immediately steal a motorcycle.
Real life: You wonder if you'll ever have the luxury of deodorant again. You try not to actually drive too fast because pot holes. You're by yourself and actually just late to work.
4. Sneaking out of the house.
The movies: You got invited to this awesome party, but you're grounded. So you put on a disguise you happened to have in your closet. Then you toss a rope out the third-story window and climb down. Of course, your window doesn't have a screen. You show up at the party all fabulous and meet up with your friends. Before the night is over, you push your mortal enemy into the pool, get asked out on a date, and get home just before you have to leave for school the next day.
Real life: You lie on the floor of you room repeatedly tweeting at Taco Bell asking why they don't deliver.
5. Living in the woods by yourself because you're tired of real life.
The movies: After an upsetting life experience, you strike out on your own to live in the mountains. You build an impressive shelter out of a cave and weave a blanket out of pine needles. You start a fire with two sticks, just like you read about in your science book. You use some rocks to sharpen a stick and use it to catch fish in the river. A few days into your journey, you run into a bear that seems bent on your destruction. But really you have something to learn from it. While originally you planned to hunt and kill it and use its skins to make new clothes, you eventually come to respect each other during a final showdown during which you kill a wildebeest in front of the bear, and it decides to leave you alone out of respect. You live in the woods for two years and return a changed man.
Real life: You try camping in your backyard, but the extension cord for the microwave isn't long enough, and you really wanted Ramen noodles, so you give up and go back inside.
1. Moving spontaneously to a new town.
The movies: You randomly decide to leave everything one day and drive 14 hours away to another town, probably somewhere near the shore in South Carolina. Within hours of your arrival, you get a fully-furnished apartment and purchase a rottweiler to help protect you from the axe murderer who is inevitably stalking you (maybe this is a Lifetime movie?). Then you show up to the nearest establishment and remove the "HELP WANTED" sign from the door. You show it to the manager and earn a job within five minutes.
Real life: You debate about moving for 7 years. It takes you 8 months to find a suitable apartment and four trips with your punch buggy to bring down all of your stuff. The first thing you do is sign up for a new library card.
2. Going to a new school.
The movies: Someone trips you as you get on the bus, and you have to sit by yourself. You stare at the passing farmland, rueing the day your mother sent you to Kansas to live with your Aunt Mildred. Dramatic music plays. Once you get to school, an overly exuberant yearbook staffer offers to help you find your first class. Inevitably, she tells you that you have the same History 101 class. During your first class, the teacher introduces you, and three people in the room decide to hate you for no reason. When you get out of class, you bump into the same person who tripped you on the bus, and you drop 14 books all over the hallway. Because who uses back packs anymore. Then this really hot guy helps you pick up all your stuff, but he has to run to class before you learn his name.
Real life: You drive yourself to school. The building smells like formaldehyde, but you figure you'll get used to the smell of whatever cleaning solution they use on the floors, walls, and windows here, just like you did at your old school. The person at the office helps you find your first class, and you pull the strings of your hoodie as tight as you can so that only your nose is showing. The teacher doesn't introduce you to the class because teachers don't actually do that. You use a back pack because that's what people do. You make it through the whole year without getting shoved into a locker, becoming the enemy of the lead cheerleader, or making a speech about how wrong you were about everything in front of the entire school.
3. Running from the police.
The movies: You have time to stop every so often to purchase a new slick outfit, usually involving leather and cool sunglasses. You use the closing draw-bridge like a ski jump to propel your car onto the opposite road before the police catch you. You're with Nicolas Cage. When you total your first car, you get out, unharmed, and immediately steal a motorcycle.
Real life: You wonder if you'll ever have the luxury of deodorant again. You try not to actually drive too fast because pot holes. You're by yourself and actually just late to work.
4. Sneaking out of the house.
The movies: You got invited to this awesome party, but you're grounded. So you put on a disguise you happened to have in your closet. Then you toss a rope out the third-story window and climb down. Of course, your window doesn't have a screen. You show up at the party all fabulous and meet up with your friends. Before the night is over, you push your mortal enemy into the pool, get asked out on a date, and get home just before you have to leave for school the next day.
Real life: You lie on the floor of you room repeatedly tweeting at Taco Bell asking why they don't deliver.
5. Living in the woods by yourself because you're tired of real life.
The movies: After an upsetting life experience, you strike out on your own to live in the mountains. You build an impressive shelter out of a cave and weave a blanket out of pine needles. You start a fire with two sticks, just like you read about in your science book. You use some rocks to sharpen a stick and use it to catch fish in the river. A few days into your journey, you run into a bear that seems bent on your destruction. But really you have something to learn from it. While originally you planned to hunt and kill it and use its skins to make new clothes, you eventually come to respect each other during a final showdown during which you kill a wildebeest in front of the bear, and it decides to leave you alone out of respect. You live in the woods for two years and return a changed man.
Real life: You try camping in your backyard, but the extension cord for the microwave isn't long enough, and you really wanted Ramen noodles, so you give up and go back inside.
Friday, January 16, 2015
How to Get Out of Any Conversation
There is no escape. You're standing in a crowd of fantastically interesting people at the sickest party of the year. This could have been the best night ever, but you've only been here for 12 minutes, and it happened already. Peabody Snodgrass, the most obnoxious blowhard on the face of the earth, has spotted you and is currently weaving through the crowd toward you so he can spew infuriatingly off-base political opinions at you for the next 45 minutes. If you're lucky. At the Christmas potluck last year, Miss Ginny was stuck talking to him for an hour and a half because he started ranting about 9/11 conspiracy theories, one of which involved the claim that Harry Potter is a real person. Rumor has it Miss Ginny has been going to therapy for eight months.
This doesn't have to happen to you. If you just knew how to excuse yourself from these unwanted conversations, you wouldn't have such disappointing party experiences. Use any of these tips, and you'll never have to deal with Peabody Snodgrass ever again. Get out of any conversation. Guaranteed.
1. Transform yourself into a walrus. This is very effective because most people would be very afraid of a large tusked mammal, especially if it looks angry. Even if your Mr. Snodgrass is one of the 1.2% of the population who is not, in fact, terrified of walri, he will likely be so surprised that you became one that he will run away shrieking—which is exactly what you want. If you don't get immediate results, try lunging toward his ankles. Works every time.
2. Ask about his toenails. You need to be in control of the conversation. The best way to end it before it starts is to ask your Mr. Snodgrass how his toenail fungus is doing. Ask, but don't wait for a response. Move right along to: "You know, you wouldn't suffer from all of these fungus problems if you just clipped your toenails more than biennially. I've also heard it burns calories."
3. Hide under a table. This works especially well if he hasn't seen you yet. But even if he has, it can still work. Just dive under any table with an adequate table cloth, cover your head with your arms, and refuse to respond to any questions he might bellow down to you. Once he is gone and you want to rejoin the party, someone might see you emerge from beneath the table and ask what you were doing. Remove the Egyptian mummified rat—that you stowed in your pocket before the party—and tell the other party attendee that you were geocaching. Just yell, "FOUND IT!" They'll get it. I promise.
4. Ask him if he wants to play the "quite game." First explain the rules. Whoever remains silent for the longest wins the game! Tell him you're going to "count down to quiet." Then begin counting down from 10. Once you get to 1, discreetly bash him over the head with a crow bar.
5. Excuse yourself politely. In other words, jump onto a chair, remove your sword from its scabbard, and yell, "You will always remember this as the day you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow!" Then jump down and run across the room. Run fast enough so that he cannot follow you.
So there you have it. If you have recently witnessed people transforming into walri, diving under tables, or imitating half-drunk pirates, you are Mr. Snodgrass. (P.S., Don't actually try number 4. I've heard that individuals of a certain disposition might find it offensive.)
This doesn't have to happen to you. If you just knew how to excuse yourself from these unwanted conversations, you wouldn't have such disappointing party experiences. Use any of these tips, and you'll never have to deal with Peabody Snodgrass ever again. Get out of any conversation. Guaranteed.
1. Transform yourself into a walrus. This is very effective because most people would be very afraid of a large tusked mammal, especially if it looks angry. Even if your Mr. Snodgrass is one of the 1.2% of the population who is not, in fact, terrified of walri, he will likely be so surprised that you became one that he will run away shrieking—which is exactly what you want. If you don't get immediate results, try lunging toward his ankles. Works every time.
2. Ask about his toenails. You need to be in control of the conversation. The best way to end it before it starts is to ask your Mr. Snodgrass how his toenail fungus is doing. Ask, but don't wait for a response. Move right along to: "You know, you wouldn't suffer from all of these fungus problems if you just clipped your toenails more than biennially. I've also heard it burns calories."
3. Hide under a table. This works especially well if he hasn't seen you yet. But even if he has, it can still work. Just dive under any table with an adequate table cloth, cover your head with your arms, and refuse to respond to any questions he might bellow down to you. Once he is gone and you want to rejoin the party, someone might see you emerge from beneath the table and ask what you were doing. Remove the Egyptian mummified rat—that you stowed in your pocket before the party—and tell the other party attendee that you were geocaching. Just yell, "FOUND IT!" They'll get it. I promise.
4. Ask him if he wants to play the "quite game." First explain the rules. Whoever remains silent for the longest wins the game! Tell him you're going to "count down to quiet." Then begin counting down from 10. Once you get to 1, discreetly bash him over the head with a crow bar.
5. Excuse yourself politely. In other words, jump onto a chair, remove your sword from its scabbard, and yell, "You will always remember this as the day you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow!" Then jump down and run across the room. Run fast enough so that he cannot follow you.
So there you have it. If you have recently witnessed people transforming into walri, diving under tables, or imitating half-drunk pirates, you are Mr. Snodgrass. (P.S., Don't actually try number 4. I've heard that individuals of a certain disposition might find it offensive.)
Monday, January 12, 2015
5 Ways to Make Friends on an Airplane
If you're interested in sitting in a winged steel tube, plummeting through the sky at thousands of miles an hour, drinking Sprite out of communion cups, and watching a movie on a TV screen the size of your thumbnail, you're probably also interested in making friends with hundreds of people who really hope you don't talk to them. Do you fly a lot? Do you get lonely during your long travels? Never fear. Here are 5 easy ways to make friends on any airplane.
1. Make eye contact. The hardest part about making friends during flight is finding the ones who are interested in talking to you. (Don't worry; you can still talk to the ones who would sooner swallow a ziplock bag than talk to someone on an airplane.) Anyway, choose the passenger closest to you and turn toward him or her. Then open your eyes as wide as you can and stare at their left sclera. Since you're probably not a scientist, I should probably tell you that the sclera is the white part of the eye. If you can see the passenger's sclera, that means he is awake. You should stare just long enough so that he notices you. Then move slightly closer. If he asks any questions, refuse to respond. It's not to time to talk yet. Once a full minute has passed (if he's still seated and hasn't called for the air marshal), whisper, "Now, sonny, how did the whites of your eyes get to be so... white? What's your secret? Heh?"
2. Ask the person next to you to switch seats. Every five minutes. This is how you establish a connection. Eventually, he'll come to depend on you.
3. Bring 85 sticks of butter. No one really cares what you bring in your carryon as long as it's not dangerous. So fill your favorite back pack full of butter. Wait until the plane takes off. Wait until the person next to you falls asleep. Then, every so often, carefully peel the paper off one of the sticks of butter and throw the naked butter as hard as you can toward the people sitting in first class. If you hear a disturbance of some kind, just wait for it to die down before making your next move. After you've thrown at least 15 of the butter sticks, the passengers WILL become disgruntled and ask the airline stewardess to find out what in the world is going on. Pay the airline stewardess $100 to tell the people in first class that the butter is a free gift from the airline and that they should be more grateful. Once the stewardess leaves, throw some more butter. One of the passengers is guaranteed to become so disturbed that he straightens his toupee, climbs over four people, and marches toward your seat. Before he gets there, drop the backpack onto your sleeping neighbor's lap. Then lean against the window and pretend to be asleep. When Mr. Toupee starts yelling, wake up and yell, "IT WAS YOU!" and point emphatically at your neighbor, who is now staring incredulously at his recently acquired backpack full of butter. Now you have their trust.
4. Stand in line for the bathroom. This is where you'll meet the most interesting people. You can handle this situation in a variety of ways. Choose the one that works best for you.
A: Turn suddenly to the person in line behind you and say in a loud voice, "Buddy the Elf! What's your favorite color?"
B: Kick the person in front of you in the back of the shins. When he turns around to ask you what your problem is, say, "Oh, sorry. I thought you were someone else."
C: If you're first in line, knock on the bathroom door and say, "So, number 1 or number 2? You're taking a while in there!"
5. Ask every person on the plane if he or she has viewed the movie "Monty Python and the Search for the Holy Grail." It's a great talking point. It's easiest to get away with this if you dress up like an airline steward. Smile a lot, and pretend you're going to provide the passengers with refreshing drinks and criminally small-portioned snacks. Then, once you have their attention, ask your question. If an airline steward catches you, tell him it is part of a class project.
This piece is satire. I do not recommend that you actually try any of these things. Heaven knows none of them actually worked for me.
1. Make eye contact. The hardest part about making friends during flight is finding the ones who are interested in talking to you. (Don't worry; you can still talk to the ones who would sooner swallow a ziplock bag than talk to someone on an airplane.) Anyway, choose the passenger closest to you and turn toward him or her. Then open your eyes as wide as you can and stare at their left sclera. Since you're probably not a scientist, I should probably tell you that the sclera is the white part of the eye. If you can see the passenger's sclera, that means he is awake. You should stare just long enough so that he notices you. Then move slightly closer. If he asks any questions, refuse to respond. It's not to time to talk yet. Once a full minute has passed (if he's still seated and hasn't called for the air marshal), whisper, "Now, sonny, how did the whites of your eyes get to be so... white? What's your secret? Heh?"
2. Ask the person next to you to switch seats. Every five minutes. This is how you establish a connection. Eventually, he'll come to depend on you.
3. Bring 85 sticks of butter. No one really cares what you bring in your carryon as long as it's not dangerous. So fill your favorite back pack full of butter. Wait until the plane takes off. Wait until the person next to you falls asleep. Then, every so often, carefully peel the paper off one of the sticks of butter and throw the naked butter as hard as you can toward the people sitting in first class. If you hear a disturbance of some kind, just wait for it to die down before making your next move. After you've thrown at least 15 of the butter sticks, the passengers WILL become disgruntled and ask the airline stewardess to find out what in the world is going on. Pay the airline stewardess $100 to tell the people in first class that the butter is a free gift from the airline and that they should be more grateful. Once the stewardess leaves, throw some more butter. One of the passengers is guaranteed to become so disturbed that he straightens his toupee, climbs over four people, and marches toward your seat. Before he gets there, drop the backpack onto your sleeping neighbor's lap. Then lean against the window and pretend to be asleep. When Mr. Toupee starts yelling, wake up and yell, "IT WAS YOU!" and point emphatically at your neighbor, who is now staring incredulously at his recently acquired backpack full of butter. Now you have their trust.
4. Stand in line for the bathroom. This is where you'll meet the most interesting people. You can handle this situation in a variety of ways. Choose the one that works best for you.
A: Turn suddenly to the person in line behind you and say in a loud voice, "Buddy the Elf! What's your favorite color?"
B: Kick the person in front of you in the back of the shins. When he turns around to ask you what your problem is, say, "Oh, sorry. I thought you were someone else."
C: If you're first in line, knock on the bathroom door and say, "So, number 1 or number 2? You're taking a while in there!"
5. Ask every person on the plane if he or she has viewed the movie "Monty Python and the Search for the Holy Grail." It's a great talking point. It's easiest to get away with this if you dress up like an airline steward. Smile a lot, and pretend you're going to provide the passengers with refreshing drinks and criminally small-portioned snacks. Then, once you have their attention, ask your question. If an airline steward catches you, tell him it is part of a class project.
This piece is satire. I do not recommend that you actually try any of these things. Heaven knows none of them actually worked for me.
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
How to Win a Facebook Argument Without Really Trying
It's happened to you. OR it has ALMOST happened to you. You're sitting there at 11:30 p.m. wearing sweatpants and an ugly T-shirt, haphazardly feeding yourself Cheez-its with your left hand while your right hand scrolls through facebook. Then you see them. The WRONG-PEOPLE. One of your friends has shared a link or posted a passionate status asserting an absolutely ludicrous opinion about some political, economical, social, or elliptical topic. You weren't going to say anything. But then you did. You just couldn't help it because they were so WRONG. Never fear. Here are five easy ways to win any facebook argument. Because it is definitely possible to win an argument on facebook.
1. Pretend you're going to be civil. Everyone knows you're eventually going to explode into cruel soliloquies, spewing hateful statements at your fellow facebookers—even if the discussion was just about the best kind of shoelaces—but at least make them feel, in the beginning, that you're going to be nice. You know, give them a false sense of your kindness and morals. Say something like: "Well, that's an interesting opinion, but..." Or, "Wow, I like the font you used in that facebook status." Then, lambaste them!
2. Attack their character, actions, and appearance. The most legitimate way to win any discussion is to tear down the people who oppose you. Make sure you curse a lot. Then they'll know that you're mature and mean business. Be sure to call them lots of names. For example, call them sexist, racist, everything-phobic, and stupid. Say: "I'll bet Santa Clause won't even bring you coal because your arguments are so lame!" Post pictures of them with a mustache that you photoshopped over their face. That is super original and will definitely help your case. As an extra bonus, personally message them as many hateful things you can think of. Forget the fact that it's the Internet, and they could totally screen shot it and send it to your mother/employer/principal.
3. Use improper grammar. Especially because you probably don't have anything worthwhile to say anyway, you should make sure it's super vague. The best way to do that is to use woefully incorrect grammar. Spell things incorrectly, especially if doing so could cause someone to mistake one word for another. Don't use commas; rambling run-ons make it sound like you're ranting! People will view you as a talented rabble-rouser, standing on your proverbial soap box in the midst of the crowd, talking down all who disagree with you. Don't use contractions, capitalization, or wording that makes sense. Word vomit! Go you.
4. Most important of all: make stupid arguments that don't educate, inspire, or make sense. Just repeat trite statements that you've heard before, especially if they don't apply. You get bonus points if you can argue with someone about something they aren't even arguing about. Extra bonus points if you get angry about it because you can't read plain English. Just make it clear that you couldn't write a passing argument essay in English 101 if the lives of all nine of your cats depended on it.
5. Ignore all of these rules and instead engage people in conversation in person. But this is hard. I know. One, because most people do not talk about these things in person. Two, because some people are too cowardly to disagree face to face and instead hide behind their social media sites and squabble using their hideously bad grammar. And three, because so many people are wrong on social media, and some of them are strangers. But remember, no matter how smart you are, you can never convince a dumb person that he is dumb. (So stop trying to convince me. It won't work.)
So there you have it. Go forth and act like mature adults on facebook! I know you can do it! (If you cannot tell that this is satire, then you should probably stay in school. If you can't tell that I'm also making fun of myself—because I, too, occasionally debate on facebook—then I suppose we cannot be friends because you do not understand sarcasm.)
1. Pretend you're going to be civil. Everyone knows you're eventually going to explode into cruel soliloquies, spewing hateful statements at your fellow facebookers—even if the discussion was just about the best kind of shoelaces—but at least make them feel, in the beginning, that you're going to be nice. You know, give them a false sense of your kindness and morals. Say something like: "Well, that's an interesting opinion, but..." Or, "Wow, I like the font you used in that facebook status." Then, lambaste them!
2. Attack their character, actions, and appearance. The most legitimate way to win any discussion is to tear down the people who oppose you. Make sure you curse a lot. Then they'll know that you're mature and mean business. Be sure to call them lots of names. For example, call them sexist, racist, everything-phobic, and stupid. Say: "I'll bet Santa Clause won't even bring you coal because your arguments are so lame!" Post pictures of them with a mustache that you photoshopped over their face. That is super original and will definitely help your case. As an extra bonus, personally message them as many hateful things you can think of. Forget the fact that it's the Internet, and they could totally screen shot it and send it to your mother/employer/principal.
3. Use improper grammar. Especially because you probably don't have anything worthwhile to say anyway, you should make sure it's super vague. The best way to do that is to use woefully incorrect grammar. Spell things incorrectly, especially if doing so could cause someone to mistake one word for another. Don't use commas; rambling run-ons make it sound like you're ranting! People will view you as a talented rabble-rouser, standing on your proverbial soap box in the midst of the crowd, talking down all who disagree with you. Don't use contractions, capitalization, or wording that makes sense. Word vomit! Go you.
4. Most important of all: make stupid arguments that don't educate, inspire, or make sense. Just repeat trite statements that you've heard before, especially if they don't apply. You get bonus points if you can argue with someone about something they aren't even arguing about. Extra bonus points if you get angry about it because you can't read plain English. Just make it clear that you couldn't write a passing argument essay in English 101 if the lives of all nine of your cats depended on it.
5. Ignore all of these rules and instead engage people in conversation in person. But this is hard. I know. One, because most people do not talk about these things in person. Two, because some people are too cowardly to disagree face to face and instead hide behind their social media sites and squabble using their hideously bad grammar. And three, because so many people are wrong on social media, and some of them are strangers. But remember, no matter how smart you are, you can never convince a dumb person that he is dumb. (So stop trying to convince me. It won't work.)
So there you have it. Go forth and act like mature adults on facebook! I know you can do it! (If you cannot tell that this is satire, then you should probably stay in school. If you can't tell that I'm also making fun of myself—because I, too, occasionally debate on facebook—then I suppose we cannot be friends because you do not understand sarcasm.)
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
11 Things You Should be Doing If You're Single
Every article on the Internet is trying to tell me what to do. Because I'm a woman. Or because I'm a Christian. Or because I'm white. Or because I'm a millennial. Or because I'm a college graduate. Or because I'm American. Or because I'm single. "Here are 10 Things You Should be Doing If You're ______." It's "advice," but it's not usually based on anything substantial, like scientific evidence, the Bible, or valuable—applicable—life experience. Frankly, most of it is just a bunch of cliche poppycock. Either I'm already aware of it or think it's total bologna. Without further ado, I present to you, "11 Things You Should be Doing if You're Single." Brought to you by someone with only 23 years of experience, no relevant degrees, and a snarky attitude.
1. Stop trying to figure out what's wrong with you. Leave that to the experts.
2. Stop looking! Everyone over the age of 40 who is married will tell you that. When you stop looking for a significant other, one will find you! Of course, this principle also applies to finding a job. If you just sit on your couch watching Netflix for at least 11 hours per day, the CEO of Google will undoubtedly kick your front door down and offer you a full-time job at the company.
3. Work harder at work, take a weekend trip, or start a new hobby—like printmaking or pinecone collecting or duck hunting! Anything to trick yourself into believing there's more to life than having a significant other. (Wait, there actually is? What is this chicanery...?)
4. Reconnect with old friends. Because nothing is more helpful than spending time with your best friend from college who is married to a brain surgeon and lives in a house the size of your apartment complex.
5. Cut and dye your hair the way you want. Wear what you want. Eat what you want. Now you don't have to worry about what your significant other will think of you! (Or, you know, don't date a man who is actually stupid enough to tell you he wants you to change your hair or stop eating pizza.)
6. Make up a really great excuse for being single. Such as: "I'm going to avoid the dating scene for 2 years. Or, you know, however long it takes me to find another boyfriend." Or: "I'm trying to find myself." Or just be honest: "I'm a terrible human being that no one can tolerate."
7. Eat ice cream straight out of the carton, laugh like no one can hear you, and dance like no one's watching. Or however that stupid saying goes. Because that will definitely help!
8. Join Christian Mingle. This requires no explanation.
9. Buy yourself flowers. (Yes, one "advice" article literally listed this one.) Then tell everyone at the office it was your "secret admirer."
10. Change your own lightbulbs. Prove that you don't need a man to take care of your around-the-house tasks. (Again, this was literally published in an "advice" column about what to do if you're single.) WATCH OUT, WORLD! I CAN CHANGE MY OWN LIGHTBULBS, SO I CAN OBVIOUSLY HANDLE BEING SINGLE.
11. Call your mom and ask her to tell you what's wrong with you. (She will know.)
Note: I wrote this for my own entertainment, so don't argue with me about my "advice." I'm not a licensed professional, so you should ask your doctor before you implement any of these things into your life.
2. Stop looking! Everyone over the age of 40 who is married will tell you that. When you stop looking for a significant other, one will find you! Of course, this principle also applies to finding a job. If you just sit on your couch watching Netflix for at least 11 hours per day, the CEO of Google will undoubtedly kick your front door down and offer you a full-time job at the company.
3. Work harder at work, take a weekend trip, or start a new hobby—like printmaking or pinecone collecting or duck hunting! Anything to trick yourself into believing there's more to life than having a significant other. (Wait, there actually is? What is this chicanery...?)
4. Reconnect with old friends. Because nothing is more helpful than spending time with your best friend from college who is married to a brain surgeon and lives in a house the size of your apartment complex.
5. Cut and dye your hair the way you want. Wear what you want. Eat what you want. Now you don't have to worry about what your significant other will think of you! (Or, you know, don't date a man who is actually stupid enough to tell you he wants you to change your hair or stop eating pizza.)
6. Make up a really great excuse for being single. Such as: "I'm going to avoid the dating scene for 2 years. Or, you know, however long it takes me to find another boyfriend." Or: "I'm trying to find myself." Or just be honest: "I'm a terrible human being that no one can tolerate."
7. Eat ice cream straight out of the carton, laugh like no one can hear you, and dance like no one's watching. Or however that stupid saying goes. Because that will definitely help!
8. Join Christian Mingle. This requires no explanation.
9. Buy yourself flowers. (Yes, one "advice" article literally listed this one.) Then tell everyone at the office it was your "secret admirer."
10. Change your own lightbulbs. Prove that you don't need a man to take care of your around-the-house tasks. (Again, this was literally published in an "advice" column about what to do if you're single.) WATCH OUT, WORLD! I CAN CHANGE MY OWN LIGHTBULBS, SO I CAN OBVIOUSLY HANDLE BEING SINGLE.
11. Call your mom and ask her to tell you what's wrong with you. (She will know.)
Note: I wrote this for my own entertainment, so don't argue with me about my "advice." I'm not a licensed professional, so you should ask your doctor before you implement any of these things into your life.
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
Does Time Pass or Do We? Thoughts About Another Year
You're 10 years old. Your year begins at the start of September because that's when you go to school. Your mom buys you new notebooks, and you put five freshly sharpened pencils in your backpack and take your Power Ranger lunchbox and go to the first day of school. The weather slowly gets colder, and you look forward to Christmas then New Year's. Winter is long, but eventually spring breaks through. You celebrate your birthday in April, and you're proud of the extra candle on the cake, though you don't feel older. As it gets warmer, you count the days until summer. Your older brother graduates from high school, and you assume you never will because that's forever away. Summer comes, and you rejoice. It's time for fishing and bare feet and popsicles and long, sunny days playing by the pool.
Then it's the same thing again. And again. Fall, winter, spring, summer. School, summer. School, summer. Another year older, another year past. Your parents get older, and you don't notice. You get taller, but you only know because of the marks your mom makes on the wall with a pencil every few months. You get smarter, but you only know that because you found the first term paper you wrote in fifth grade, and it was pretty unimpressive. Morning, afternoon, night. Awake, asleep. Fall, winter, spring, summer. School, summer. School, summer.
Then suddenly you have a college degree, a job, a significant other, a car, insurance, and a receding hairline. Your older brother has two kids, and your parents call you to ask you how to use an iPhone. You don't notice you're growing up until you do. You notice it one day while you're walking from the parking garage to work, and you look down and see a 6' 0" frame, a tailored suit, polished dress shoes, one hand holding a cup of coffee and the other clutching a brief case. Is this who you are now? Are you really so different from who you were then?
When we are young, life is a circle. School, summer. Morning, afternoon, night. Fall, winter, spring, summer. Sometimes life is punctuated by great loss—like a death in the family—or a significant change—like moving across the country. But your parents or guardians are there to create reality for you, and it's a safe reality. The seasons march on. School marches on. We march on.
But when you glance down and see the tailored suit, the briefcase, and the size 11 black shoes, it makes you wonder: did the world journey around the sun 25 times, and this is the result? Did my upbringing and my environment and the passing seasons bring me here today? What in the world am I doing?
When you were young, you felt like a track athlete running lap after lap becoming stronger, smarter, better, with each circle. You weren't sure where in the bleachers your coach is sitting, but you could sometimes hear him giving you instructions. One day the track disappeared, and your sneakers fell silently onto the forest floor as you passed through a group of pine trees; you'd become a cross country runner. You realized life isn't a circle, even if it looked that way before. It's a winding path through the woods that you often have to make up as you go along. You don't know what you'll have to run through or where the finish line is, but you have to be okay with that.
The seasons still come and go. Jobs come and go. People come and go. But you're still a runner. It seemed like track before, but it was always cross country. You can't stay the same, so make sure you become better. Your Coach is the only one who is always there and doesn't change. So wake up. Each day is a new life. Nothing happens twice. Each moment is unique. A second chance is merely a chance that resembles another one. Even if you get up the same time each day and celebrate the same holidays and go the same places, you are a cross country runner, not a track runner. The path isn't a circle. It's a journey. Listen to your Coach. March on.
Then it's the same thing again. And again. Fall, winter, spring, summer. School, summer. School, summer. Another year older, another year past. Your parents get older, and you don't notice. You get taller, but you only know because of the marks your mom makes on the wall with a pencil every few months. You get smarter, but you only know that because you found the first term paper you wrote in fifth grade, and it was pretty unimpressive. Morning, afternoon, night. Awake, asleep. Fall, winter, spring, summer. School, summer. School, summer.
Then suddenly you have a college degree, a job, a significant other, a car, insurance, and a receding hairline. Your older brother has two kids, and your parents call you to ask you how to use an iPhone. You don't notice you're growing up until you do. You notice it one day while you're walking from the parking garage to work, and you look down and see a 6' 0" frame, a tailored suit, polished dress shoes, one hand holding a cup of coffee and the other clutching a brief case. Is this who you are now? Are you really so different from who you were then?
When we are young, life is a circle. School, summer. Morning, afternoon, night. Fall, winter, spring, summer. Sometimes life is punctuated by great loss—like a death in the family—or a significant change—like moving across the country. But your parents or guardians are there to create reality for you, and it's a safe reality. The seasons march on. School marches on. We march on.
But when you glance down and see the tailored suit, the briefcase, and the size 11 black shoes, it makes you wonder: did the world journey around the sun 25 times, and this is the result? Did my upbringing and my environment and the passing seasons bring me here today? What in the world am I doing?
When you were young, you felt like a track athlete running lap after lap becoming stronger, smarter, better, with each circle. You weren't sure where in the bleachers your coach is sitting, but you could sometimes hear him giving you instructions. One day the track disappeared, and your sneakers fell silently onto the forest floor as you passed through a group of pine trees; you'd become a cross country runner. You realized life isn't a circle, even if it looked that way before. It's a winding path through the woods that you often have to make up as you go along. You don't know what you'll have to run through or where the finish line is, but you have to be okay with that.
The seasons still come and go. Jobs come and go. People come and go. But you're still a runner. It seemed like track before, but it was always cross country. You can't stay the same, so make sure you become better. Your Coach is the only one who is always there and doesn't change. So wake up. Each day is a new life. Nothing happens twice. Each moment is unique. A second chance is merely a chance that resembles another one. Even if you get up the same time each day and celebrate the same holidays and go the same places, you are a cross country runner, not a track runner. The path isn't a circle. It's a journey. Listen to your Coach. March on.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Interstellar: Why It Should be Called Interbookcase
At the beginning of the film, we see that the world has become dusty. Just after the credits is the appropriate time to mutter, "Oh, no. Not another environmental agenda movie." After it's established that the world is running out of food, Matthew Mcconaughey runs over half the farm to catch an IFO (identified flying object).
After that, he goes to parent/teacher conferences, where the conversation is conveniently directed to explain how the world became so dusty and to show us how much Mcconaughey loves space. The inciting incident occurs when a sandstorm adds some excitement to an inherently boring game: baseball.
Mcconaughey and his children go home, where his daughter Murphy tells him the ghosts are leaving her a message. He sees the lines in the sand and assumes in about 4 seconds that they are morse code and that it reveals coordinates. What else is he to do? He hops in his truck and drives to the location.
Surprise, surprise. The coordinates lead to N.A.S.A. Fantine, who is angry and now has short hair, explains how her father Alfred—who just happens to be Mcconaughey's acquaintance—is planning to save the world through space exploration. Fifteen minutes later, they are begging this trespasser to pilot an aircraft on a suicide mission. Because they can figure out how to send space ships through a wormhole but can't communicate with the astronauts they already sent up there.
Mcconaughey hates farming so much that he decides to accept the offer. He tells his grieving daughter that it's whatever. He'll be back sometimes, and in the meantime, she can entertain herself by looking at this neato water he gave her. He doesn't bother to stick around for more than 5 minutes. It's time for space! From this point on, we will call "Mcconaughey" Astronaut Farmer.
First the astronauts sleep for a while, and I was really disappointed that no one stayed awake to draw murals on the ceiling with condiments. Then they wake up and go to the immensely creepy Water Planet. The one dude stays behind and spends 23 years contemplating black holes because that seemed like a good idea. The other 3 land on the stupid water planet and try to get themselves killed. Only one dies. They leave, and Astronaut Farmer gets really mad at Fantine. Then they return to the ship, where the other dude is super excited to tell them all of his new thoughts about the black hole.
Then they go to the Frozen Planet to rescue Jason Bourne, who at first shares an emotional moment with the Astronaut Farmer because he hasn't seen another human being in just forever. But then he tries to maroon them on the island. But he will always remember this as the day he almost outsmarted the Astronaut Farmer. Ol' Jason Bourne should have stuck to assassinations because space clearly isn't his thing. (At this point in the movie, he blows up.)
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Astronaut Farmer, Jr.'s, children have developed asthma. His sister Murphy, the scientist, tries to convince him that dusty-lung is very serious. When he won't let his children move to a safer location, she burns down his farm. Because that seems logical. Between shots of army trucks driving around, the farm burning down, and Murphy looking frantically at her favorite book case, we get the sense that things are really serious now. Since the movie has already been going on for 2.5 hours, it really needs to end. So we assume the world is totally going to end if Astronaut Farmer doesn't do something super sacrificial, like, right now.
Astronaut Farmer, the Black Hole Expert, and Fantine bemoan their stereotypical space fuel deficit and try to decide what to do. First, during the Dark Night of the Soul moment, Fantine realizes that her father, Alfred, was lying to them all along and only planned on saving the embryos. Black Hole Expert points out that the secret numbers, which are hiding inside the black hole, could save the day. "We must go deeper," he said.
So they decide to fly into a black hole because it's their only chance. They release the robot to search for the codes. The robot is all like: "Are you satisfied with your care?" And Astronaut Farmer is all like: "Yeah, okay." Then, completely unexpectedly, Astronaut Farmer leaps into a little ship and loses himself in the Black Hole because "It's the only way" or whatever. Then he discovers Interbookcase, a place where every single moment of his daughter's time in her room is represented by a physical space.
First he realizes that he is his daughter's ghost and that humans from the future—not aliens—built this structure and have been leading them all along. He uses morse code to send himself the N.A.S.A. coordinates in the sand. Then he uses morse code again to send his daughter the secret numbers from the Black Hole Expert. This is all completely logical because it makes perfect sense that humans from the future can build a structure that defies the fourth dimension, but they can't think of a better way to communicate than recruiting a farmer from the past to knock over books. Astronaut Farmer floats around for a while and wakes up in a space station, where he sees the boring game of baseball happening outside his window. He finally gets to see his daughter, who is now like 400 years old. She basically tells him to go away because she has a lot of other people waiting to talk to her. So then he leaves and finds Fantine on a very earth-like planet where there is no dust, and he doesn't have to be a farmer.
The movie should have been called Interbookcase.
After that, he goes to parent/teacher conferences, where the conversation is conveniently directed to explain how the world became so dusty and to show us how much Mcconaughey loves space. The inciting incident occurs when a sandstorm adds some excitement to an inherently boring game: baseball.
Mcconaughey and his children go home, where his daughter Murphy tells him the ghosts are leaving her a message. He sees the lines in the sand and assumes in about 4 seconds that they are morse code and that it reveals coordinates. What else is he to do? He hops in his truck and drives to the location.
Surprise, surprise. The coordinates lead to N.A.S.A. Fantine, who is angry and now has short hair, explains how her father Alfred—who just happens to be Mcconaughey's acquaintance—is planning to save the world through space exploration. Fifteen minutes later, they are begging this trespasser to pilot an aircraft on a suicide mission. Because they can figure out how to send space ships through a wormhole but can't communicate with the astronauts they already sent up there.
Mcconaughey hates farming so much that he decides to accept the offer. He tells his grieving daughter that it's whatever. He'll be back sometimes, and in the meantime, she can entertain herself by looking at this neato water he gave her. He doesn't bother to stick around for more than 5 minutes. It's time for space! From this point on, we will call "Mcconaughey" Astronaut Farmer.
First the astronauts sleep for a while, and I was really disappointed that no one stayed awake to draw murals on the ceiling with condiments. Then they wake up and go to the immensely creepy Water Planet. The one dude stays behind and spends 23 years contemplating black holes because that seemed like a good idea. The other 3 land on the stupid water planet and try to get themselves killed. Only one dies. They leave, and Astronaut Farmer gets really mad at Fantine. Then they return to the ship, where the other dude is super excited to tell them all of his new thoughts about the black hole.
Then they go to the Frozen Planet to rescue Jason Bourne, who at first shares an emotional moment with the Astronaut Farmer because he hasn't seen another human being in just forever. But then he tries to maroon them on the island. But he will always remember this as the day he almost outsmarted the Astronaut Farmer. Ol' Jason Bourne should have stuck to assassinations because space clearly isn't his thing. (At this point in the movie, he blows up.)
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Astronaut Farmer, Jr.'s, children have developed asthma. His sister Murphy, the scientist, tries to convince him that dusty-lung is very serious. When he won't let his children move to a safer location, she burns down his farm. Because that seems logical. Between shots of army trucks driving around, the farm burning down, and Murphy looking frantically at her favorite book case, we get the sense that things are really serious now. Since the movie has already been going on for 2.5 hours, it really needs to end. So we assume the world is totally going to end if Astronaut Farmer doesn't do something super sacrificial, like, right now.
Astronaut Farmer, the Black Hole Expert, and Fantine bemoan their stereotypical space fuel deficit and try to decide what to do. First, during the Dark Night of the Soul moment, Fantine realizes that her father, Alfred, was lying to them all along and only planned on saving the embryos. Black Hole Expert points out that the secret numbers, which are hiding inside the black hole, could save the day. "We must go deeper," he said.
So they decide to fly into a black hole because it's their only chance. They release the robot to search for the codes. The robot is all like: "Are you satisfied with your care?" And Astronaut Farmer is all like: "Yeah, okay." Then, completely unexpectedly, Astronaut Farmer leaps into a little ship and loses himself in the Black Hole because "It's the only way" or whatever. Then he discovers Interbookcase, a place where every single moment of his daughter's time in her room is represented by a physical space.
First he realizes that he is his daughter's ghost and that humans from the future—not aliens—built this structure and have been leading them all along. He uses morse code to send himself the N.A.S.A. coordinates in the sand. Then he uses morse code again to send his daughter the secret numbers from the Black Hole Expert. This is all completely logical because it makes perfect sense that humans from the future can build a structure that defies the fourth dimension, but they can't think of a better way to communicate than recruiting a farmer from the past to knock over books. Astronaut Farmer floats around for a while and wakes up in a space station, where he sees the boring game of baseball happening outside his window. He finally gets to see his daughter, who is now like 400 years old. She basically tells him to go away because she has a lot of other people waiting to talk to her. So then he leaves and finds Fantine on a very earth-like planet where there is no dust, and he doesn't have to be a farmer.
The movie should have been called Interbookcase.
Thursday, November 27, 2014
'Nothing Left to Wish For': Thoughts on Thanksgiving
Before the movie Race to Witch Mountain (with Dwayne Johnson) came out in 2009, I watched the 1975 original: Escape to Witch Mountain. Two mysterious orphans—a brother and sister—possess strange powers, including telekinesis and mind reading. I felt that I had a special connection with them because I can read my sister's mind. (No, really. One time I told this kid at church I could read Katie's mind. I told the kid that Katie was thinking about a tuna fish sandwich. When we asked my sister what she was thinking about, guess what she said? A tuna fish sandwich.)
Anyway, the two kids stay temporarily in this huge mansion with these rich people. They don't know it yet, but the rich people want to steal their powers somehow. In the meantime, though, the kids have this huge house with all of these awesome toys and pretty much everything they could ever want. When I was 8, I thought the house in the movie looked like the coolest thing ever. But before the kids even figured out the nefarious motives of their adopters, the sister tells her brother why they cannot stay there. She says something like: "We have to leave. If we stay, there will be nothing left to wish for."
I didn't understand it. Didn't they want a family? Weren't all of the toys and the house enough to make them happy? Why would they leave? But they did. In my little 8-year-old mind, I thought about what it would be like to have nothing left to wish for. It didn't sound like a bad thing. So what was wrong with that concept?
Like birthdays and New Year's, Thanksgiving is often a time to reflect on the happenings of the past year. Some families might squeeze 10 people around a too-small dining room table—every inch of it covered in plates of mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, turkey, and apple pie—and take a few minutes to share what they are thankful for. We're thankful for our families, country, friends, God, education, etc.
I'm thankful for some of the same things all the time, but every year I have some new blessings to count. For instance, this year, the Lord answered three of my prayers for this semester, all in ways I did not expect. All three were cases in which I noticed something was missing from my life, and I asked God to fill it. He did.
Thankfulness is kind of like binary code. The things you have are 1's, and the things you don't are 0's. Because you have, for example, food to eat each day, you might consider what it would be like if you didn't know where your next meal would come from. On the other hand, maybe you don't have a job, and you're looking for one. You think about what it would be like to find the right job because it's something you notice that you don't have. The reason we notice we have something to be thankful for or that we don't have something we want is because the people around us either lack what we have, or they have what we desperately want.
I don't think Binary Thankfulness really covers it because that's operating under the assumption that 1) we know what we need and 2) life is only about getting what we need or want. So many of my unanswered prayers brought me to praise God years later because my requests were foolish, and the Lord had different plans. So often God provides me with blessings I didn't even ask for, and I wonder how I didn't notice the emptiness in my life beforehand. I have found new joy this year in trying to give back. We are the hands and feet of Christ, and it is a great privilege to figure out how we can show the love of Christ to others.
This year I didn't get the first summer job I applied for, but I got to do a writing job from home and spend time with my family. I don't see my parents much because they live 13 hours away. I got to do some really neat work this semester in grad school, and I made some new friends. I could write an entire blog post about all of the things I'm thankful for, but it would take years to write and probably break Blogger. I'm primarily thankful for the people in my life: my parents, sister, extended family, professors/mentors, pastors/teachers, old friends who still put up with me, and new friends. I see a little bit of Jesus in each of my Christian friends, and spending time with them makes it easier to be like Him.
For the first 22 years of life, most people I knew did the same thing: go to school, get into college, go to college, and graduate. Now, though, people are branching out and doing different things. Some people are married. Some are having kids. Others are teaching overseas or pursuing artistic goals. Still others are moving up the corporate ladder or looking for the perfect job. Then there are a few like me who are incollege part 2 grad school. We all are doing different activities; we all have different blessings; we all make different contributions, and that is okay. Though it is important to use your time wisely, you don't have to do what everyone else is doing. Look at all the unique blessings the Lord has offered us!
I don't have everything. I'm not yet sure what I'm doing when I graduate (despite the 70,000 people who have asked me what I'm doing). I have so much to learn. I want to be a better writer. I want to understand people, ideas, health insurance, directions, savings accounts, taxes, and politics. I want to do things and go places and serve people and get to know God better. Who knows how much time I have left here on Earth? I want to live every day like it's the day the Lord has made. (Oh, wait... it is!) I am learning to be thankful for what I have without slowing down. How far I've come is no reason to stop. How far I have to go is no reason to complain.
Have you ever heard the saying, "If you had everything, where would you put it?" I always thought that was a stupid saying. Because if I owned everything, no one would be telling me to put my stuff away. I'd just walk around and think, "Well, I own that tower, and that beach, and that library, and that walrus. Oh, look, it's my collection of rare amphibians." But what does it mean to have everything? I'm certain that even if we all could wish for whatever we wanted, we would not be able to ascertain what is best for us.
At the end of the Escape to Witch Mountain (spoiler alert!), the two kids meet up with their long lost uncle and escape in a flying saucer. I'm pretty sure it was implied that they are from some distant planet, which is obviously different from Earth. Beside the fact that their adopters were going to try to steal their powers, the kids would not have been happy living in the Giant Mansion With Everything... because they didn't belong there. They belonged in a different world.
C.S. Lewis wrote, "If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probably explanation is that we were made for another world." That is why—in this life—we will never be left with nothing else to long for. We do have Jesus now, but we don't belong in this world. Thanksgiving is a wonderful time to recognize the many blessings God has given us, even in this fallen world, even when we don't deserve them, even when we don't immediately recognize them. It's a good time to become the kind of people who serve others so that they will have more to be thankful for. And it's a great time to remember that this world cannot satisfy, but one day we will be with Jesus—the reason we exist, the reason we have anything, and the reason we can be saved.
"When we've been there ten thousand years,
Bright shining as the sun,
We've no less days to sing God's praise
Than when we'd first begun."
—Amazing Grace
Anyway, the two kids stay temporarily in this huge mansion with these rich people. They don't know it yet, but the rich people want to steal their powers somehow. In the meantime, though, the kids have this huge house with all of these awesome toys and pretty much everything they could ever want. When I was 8, I thought the house in the movie looked like the coolest thing ever. But before the kids even figured out the nefarious motives of their adopters, the sister tells her brother why they cannot stay there. She says something like: "We have to leave. If we stay, there will be nothing left to wish for."
I didn't understand it. Didn't they want a family? Weren't all of the toys and the house enough to make them happy? Why would they leave? But they did. In my little 8-year-old mind, I thought about what it would be like to have nothing left to wish for. It didn't sound like a bad thing. So what was wrong with that concept?
Like birthdays and New Year's, Thanksgiving is often a time to reflect on the happenings of the past year. Some families might squeeze 10 people around a too-small dining room table—every inch of it covered in plates of mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, turkey, and apple pie—and take a few minutes to share what they are thankful for. We're thankful for our families, country, friends, God, education, etc.
I'm thankful for some of the same things all the time, but every year I have some new blessings to count. For instance, this year, the Lord answered three of my prayers for this semester, all in ways I did not expect. All three were cases in which I noticed something was missing from my life, and I asked God to fill it. He did.
Thankfulness is kind of like binary code. The things you have are 1's, and the things you don't are 0's. Because you have, for example, food to eat each day, you might consider what it would be like if you didn't know where your next meal would come from. On the other hand, maybe you don't have a job, and you're looking for one. You think about what it would be like to find the right job because it's something you notice that you don't have. The reason we notice we have something to be thankful for or that we don't have something we want is because the people around us either lack what we have, or they have what we desperately want.
I don't think Binary Thankfulness really covers it because that's operating under the assumption that 1) we know what we need and 2) life is only about getting what we need or want. So many of my unanswered prayers brought me to praise God years later because my requests were foolish, and the Lord had different plans. So often God provides me with blessings I didn't even ask for, and I wonder how I didn't notice the emptiness in my life beforehand. I have found new joy this year in trying to give back. We are the hands and feet of Christ, and it is a great privilege to figure out how we can show the love of Christ to others.
This year I didn't get the first summer job I applied for, but I got to do a writing job from home and spend time with my family. I don't see my parents much because they live 13 hours away. I got to do some really neat work this semester in grad school, and I made some new friends. I could write an entire blog post about all of the things I'm thankful for, but it would take years to write and probably break Blogger. I'm primarily thankful for the people in my life: my parents, sister, extended family, professors/mentors, pastors/teachers, old friends who still put up with me, and new friends. I see a little bit of Jesus in each of my Christian friends, and spending time with them makes it easier to be like Him.
For the first 22 years of life, most people I knew did the same thing: go to school, get into college, go to college, and graduate. Now, though, people are branching out and doing different things. Some people are married. Some are having kids. Others are teaching overseas or pursuing artistic goals. Still others are moving up the corporate ladder or looking for the perfect job. Then there are a few like me who are in
I don't have everything. I'm not yet sure what I'm doing when I graduate (despite the 70,000 people who have asked me what I'm doing). I have so much to learn. I want to be a better writer. I want to understand people, ideas, health insurance, directions, savings accounts, taxes, and politics. I want to do things and go places and serve people and get to know God better. Who knows how much time I have left here on Earth? I want to live every day like it's the day the Lord has made. (Oh, wait... it is!) I am learning to be thankful for what I have without slowing down. How far I've come is no reason to stop. How far I have to go is no reason to complain.
Have you ever heard the saying, "If you had everything, where would you put it?" I always thought that was a stupid saying. Because if I owned everything, no one would be telling me to put my stuff away. I'd just walk around and think, "Well, I own that tower, and that beach, and that library, and that walrus. Oh, look, it's my collection of rare amphibians." But what does it mean to have everything? I'm certain that even if we all could wish for whatever we wanted, we would not be able to ascertain what is best for us.
At the end of the Escape to Witch Mountain (spoiler alert!), the two kids meet up with their long lost uncle and escape in a flying saucer. I'm pretty sure it was implied that they are from some distant planet, which is obviously different from Earth. Beside the fact that their adopters were going to try to steal their powers, the kids would not have been happy living in the Giant Mansion With Everything... because they didn't belong there. They belonged in a different world.
C.S. Lewis wrote, "If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probably explanation is that we were made for another world." That is why—in this life—we will never be left with nothing else to long for. We do have Jesus now, but we don't belong in this world. Thanksgiving is a wonderful time to recognize the many blessings God has given us, even in this fallen world, even when we don't deserve them, even when we don't immediately recognize them. It's a good time to become the kind of people who serve others so that they will have more to be thankful for. And it's a great time to remember that this world cannot satisfy, but one day we will be with Jesus—the reason we exist, the reason we have anything, and the reason we can be saved.
"When we've been there ten thousand years,
Bright shining as the sun,
We've no less days to sing God's praise
Than when we'd first begun."
—Amazing Grace
Saturday, October 11, 2014
I'm Jack, and I'm Here
I'm Jack, and I'm here. A bed stands between me and my life. My life is a 5'3" Norwegian woman with smudged mascara and a mound of blonde hair wadded up behind her left ear. She is shaking; she has been crying. She holds my destiny in her hand. My destiny is a gun, and it's pressed against her temple.
If she pulls the trigger, I will never want to see the sun again.
"Shannon," I say, holding out my hands. "Shannon, it's Jack. Your husband. I'm here. I'm here." I'm not sure how many times I repeat it, but it's the only thing I know for sure. I've stopped her once before. Before it was a knife. She said it was an accident. She said she wouldn't try again. Those two statements are obviously at odds with one another.
It's December 23rd, and The Accident happened four years ago today. I should have called someone. I should have known this would happen today. That's another thing I know for sure: if she pulls the trigger, it will be my fault.
"Shannon," I say again. "Just put the gun down. Talk to me. I'm here." I start to walk around the bed toward her.
"No...no!" she says, her teeth gritted and her eyes bloodshot. "Stay back!"
I stop walking, my heart beating in my ears.
"I should have been watching her," she continues. "It eats me alive. It won't leave me! It's here now, tormenting me!" She gestures wildly with both hands before jamming the gun against her head again. Fresh tears squeeze out the corners of her eyes.
When she tried the knives, I caught her in the middle of it. She said she was cutting vegetables, but I don't know how the underside of her forearm would have gotten in the way. I took her to the emergency room. I was glad I was there.
I feel myself start to cry, too. Crying is okay, as long as I don't panic. I wonder if I could call someone. But I know if I reach for the phone, it will set her off. She is determined this time.
I try to relax my stance. "It wasn't your fault," I say. "You couldn't have known! You know—Jenny—liked to get into things. It wasn't your fault." It is still hard to say her name.
Shannon lets out a sob. "Don't say that!" she yells. "I knew she liked to get into things! We needed another gate. I should have been there. It is my fault." She looks around the room as if there are others here, as if they are all pointing and accusing her.
I don't know how I can convince her. We went to all kinds of counselors and therapists and pastors. We did yoga and meditated and went to church and moved to a different town. We even lived with her parents for a few months. I held her while we sobbed. I let her throw things at me and scream. I lived alone even though she was there. I worked 60 hours per week because she wasn't fit to work anymore. I came home to her, and I came home to no one. I came home and set down my papers and took off my jacket and looked at her, sitting at the table, exactly where I left her. It was like she didn't even know I was home. I am Jack, and I have always been here.
"You're all I have!" I say. "You're all I want. Put it down. I love you. I'm here."
"I don't want to be here!" she screams. She presses the gun more forcefully into her head and squeezes her eyes shut.
I consider leaping over the bed and tackling her. But what if she pulled the trigger once I grab her? What if I could have changed her mind? I can't do that. That will never work. "She wouldn't want this," I say, feeling the panic rise in me.
"Jenny was 3! She wants her mother!" Shannon says through her teeth, shaking worse than ever now.
Four years ago, our daughter wandered into the backyard and somehow opened the child safety lock on the gate. She fell in the pool and drown while my wife was making dinner. I wasn't home. Every year this day is hard, but this is the worst it's ever been. I have never brought up trying to have more children because I'm afraid of what she would say. Most nights she goes to bed early, and I sit and watch TV until my mind is numb, and I can't keep my eyes open. She can sleep because she takes those sleeping pills the therapist gave her. I just run until everything hurts, and then I can sleep.
"That's not how it works," I say. "I'm here. I'm afraid. Don't leave me." I don't know how many times I've told her it isn't her fault. I had to go to a therapist, too, because I couldn't bear to tell her that I saw my daughter's round blue eyes in my own every time I leaned close to the mirror to shave. I don't know how many times I've made two plates of food and thrown out one because she won't eat. I don't know how many times I've begged her to leave the house for something other than therapy. I don't know how many times I've sped down the highway, screaming at God and asking why He had to take my daughter and my wife, too. I just wanted her to try to heal with me, but it's like she's not even here.
I'm Jack, and I'm here. I'm here, and yet this is her choice. No matter how hard I tried the past four years, in this moment, I cannot stop her from killing herself. I repeat empty words and beg her to stop. I tell her the truth: that I love her, that I need her. I'm here; I'm here; I'm here, I say over and over and over. Stay with me. Don't do this. Stay with me. If she's here, there's hope she will come back to me, even if it takes years. If she's gone, I am lost forever.
"I'm going to do it, Jack," she whispers. "I'm so sorry..."
"Please..." I'm panicking now. I can barely see because my eyes are making tears faster than they can escape down my face.
"I'm sorry..." she whispers. I see her hand tense, and I know I'm about to watch my wife take her own life.
And then I turn my back to her. "I can't make you live," I say, "but I'm not going to watch you die." I hear her ragged breathing continue. She cocks the gun.
I sink to my knees and start to sob. I want to cover my ears, but I know I'll hear it anyway. The next few moments feel like an eternity, and I wish I'd never been born. My human soul does not have enough room to contain the pain it will have to hold in a few moments.
Then I hear it. It sounds less like a gunshot and more like a clatter. She dropped the gun. Footsteps. My wife is beside me. She's touching my shoulder. I look over at her through my tears. "Jack?"
I take her in my arms. "I'm here," I say. "I will always be here."
If she pulls the trigger, I will never want to see the sun again.
"Shannon," I say, holding out my hands. "Shannon, it's Jack. Your husband. I'm here. I'm here." I'm not sure how many times I repeat it, but it's the only thing I know for sure. I've stopped her once before. Before it was a knife. She said it was an accident. She said she wouldn't try again. Those two statements are obviously at odds with one another.
It's December 23rd, and The Accident happened four years ago today. I should have called someone. I should have known this would happen today. That's another thing I know for sure: if she pulls the trigger, it will be my fault.
"Shannon," I say again. "Just put the gun down. Talk to me. I'm here." I start to walk around the bed toward her.
"No...no!" she says, her teeth gritted and her eyes bloodshot. "Stay back!"
I stop walking, my heart beating in my ears.
"I should have been watching her," she continues. "It eats me alive. It won't leave me! It's here now, tormenting me!" She gestures wildly with both hands before jamming the gun against her head again. Fresh tears squeeze out the corners of her eyes.
When she tried the knives, I caught her in the middle of it. She said she was cutting vegetables, but I don't know how the underside of her forearm would have gotten in the way. I took her to the emergency room. I was glad I was there.
I feel myself start to cry, too. Crying is okay, as long as I don't panic. I wonder if I could call someone. But I know if I reach for the phone, it will set her off. She is determined this time.
I try to relax my stance. "It wasn't your fault," I say. "You couldn't have known! You know—Jenny—liked to get into things. It wasn't your fault." It is still hard to say her name.
Shannon lets out a sob. "Don't say that!" she yells. "I knew she liked to get into things! We needed another gate. I should have been there. It is my fault." She looks around the room as if there are others here, as if they are all pointing and accusing her.
I don't know how I can convince her. We went to all kinds of counselors and therapists and pastors. We did yoga and meditated and went to church and moved to a different town. We even lived with her parents for a few months. I held her while we sobbed. I let her throw things at me and scream. I lived alone even though she was there. I worked 60 hours per week because she wasn't fit to work anymore. I came home to her, and I came home to no one. I came home and set down my papers and took off my jacket and looked at her, sitting at the table, exactly where I left her. It was like she didn't even know I was home. I am Jack, and I have always been here.
"You're all I have!" I say. "You're all I want. Put it down. I love you. I'm here."
"I don't want to be here!" she screams. She presses the gun more forcefully into her head and squeezes her eyes shut.
I consider leaping over the bed and tackling her. But what if she pulled the trigger once I grab her? What if I could have changed her mind? I can't do that. That will never work. "She wouldn't want this," I say, feeling the panic rise in me.
"Jenny was 3! She wants her mother!" Shannon says through her teeth, shaking worse than ever now.
Four years ago, our daughter wandered into the backyard and somehow opened the child safety lock on the gate. She fell in the pool and drown while my wife was making dinner. I wasn't home. Every year this day is hard, but this is the worst it's ever been. I have never brought up trying to have more children because I'm afraid of what she would say. Most nights she goes to bed early, and I sit and watch TV until my mind is numb, and I can't keep my eyes open. She can sleep because she takes those sleeping pills the therapist gave her. I just run until everything hurts, and then I can sleep.
"That's not how it works," I say. "I'm here. I'm afraid. Don't leave me." I don't know how many times I've told her it isn't her fault. I had to go to a therapist, too, because I couldn't bear to tell her that I saw my daughter's round blue eyes in my own every time I leaned close to the mirror to shave. I don't know how many times I've made two plates of food and thrown out one because she won't eat. I don't know how many times I've begged her to leave the house for something other than therapy. I don't know how many times I've sped down the highway, screaming at God and asking why He had to take my daughter and my wife, too. I just wanted her to try to heal with me, but it's like she's not even here.
I'm Jack, and I'm here. I'm here, and yet this is her choice. No matter how hard I tried the past four years, in this moment, I cannot stop her from killing herself. I repeat empty words and beg her to stop. I tell her the truth: that I love her, that I need her. I'm here; I'm here; I'm here, I say over and over and over. Stay with me. Don't do this. Stay with me. If she's here, there's hope she will come back to me, even if it takes years. If she's gone, I am lost forever.
"I'm going to do it, Jack," she whispers. "I'm so sorry..."
"Please..." I'm panicking now. I can barely see because my eyes are making tears faster than they can escape down my face.
"I'm sorry..." she whispers. I see her hand tense, and I know I'm about to watch my wife take her own life.
And then I turn my back to her. "I can't make you live," I say, "but I'm not going to watch you die." I hear her ragged breathing continue. She cocks the gun.
I sink to my knees and start to sob. I want to cover my ears, but I know I'll hear it anyway. The next few moments feel like an eternity, and I wish I'd never been born. My human soul does not have enough room to contain the pain it will have to hold in a few moments.
Then I hear it. It sounds less like a gunshot and more like a clatter. She dropped the gun. Footsteps. My wife is beside me. She's touching my shoulder. I look over at her through my tears. "Jack?"
I take her in my arms. "I'm here," I say. "I will always be here."
Sunday, September 28, 2014
The Personification of Days—Which Day are You?
If you've been following these posts on facebook, thanks for humoring me. I wrote this because I believe every day is some kind of holiday. Have you noticed that the days of the week seem to have different personalities? You haven't? Well, they do. These might describe someone you know. Or someone I know. ;) Which day are you?
Once upon a time, it was Sunday. Sunday sends birthday cards to people she hasn't seen in years, eats only gluten free and vegetarians foods, and can sing even the most cantankerous baby to sleep in minutes. Sunday gives almost half her salary to charity and is the only one who is nice to Monday. Friday often calls her a "goody two-shoes." Sunday replies, "Well, that is better than a goody one-shoe." Her jokes aren't very good. Sunday is kind and pleasant all day... until around 9 p.m. when she remembers all the tasks she didn't accomplish. Then she turns crazy. Rumor has it she has even—on occasion—directed a few snide comments at Monday.
(Sunday would like to remind you that she is the first day of the week, not the last. Happy Sunday and God bless.)
Once upon a time, it was Monday. Monday is often sarcastic and is known for being cynical. He tends to brood about his past and watch his surroundings with suspicion. Sometimes he wishes he had friends, but then he remembers he would have to talk to people. And people are stupid. You know that cruel (but funny) meme you saw on the Internet? Monday probably created it. Monday enjoys sending the world into a state of panic and despair. Though the sun rises like every morning, darkness seems to shroud the minds and hearts of those who rise from this beds. But eventually they always remember that we get to move on to Tuesday, but Monday never does. We drink coffee and smile.
(Bring it on, Monday. We're not scared of you. And we know you secretly watch Disney Channel and purchase groceries for your elderly neighbor.)
Once upon a time, it was Tuesday. Now, Tuesday, is Monday's little brother. Everyone dislikes Monday so much that even if Tuesday misbehaves, no one seems to notice. Tuesday likes to pull pranks, such as telling you that you forgot to turn in work on Monday. (This is doubly fun for Tuesday because it annoys you AND Monday.) He's unnaturally energetic and doesn't like to sleep. When it's Tuesday, we might be slightly groggy from the first weekday, but we drive to work anyway, this time remembering to pack a lunch and thank the Lord we have a job. Tuesday is a little weasel; for some reason we don't mind him. We drink coffee and pretend to be productive.
(Hello, Tuesday. Do your worst.)
Once upon a time, it was Wednesday. Now, Wednesday is a bit prideful; she likes to point out that she is not only the middle of the work week but also the middle of the ENTIRE week. She is a bit snotty and vain. Wednesday loves that little children have trouble spelling her name. And she HATES that someone gave her the nickname "Hump Day." By the time Wednesday rolls around, we are in a groove, and we've accepted that we're living through a work week. Some of us may hate to admit it, but we actually like Wednesdays.
("MIKE MIKE MIKE MIKE MIKE MIKE MIKE MIKE! Guess what day it is?! HUMP DAY!" Do something, Wednesday.)
Once upon a time, it was Thursday. Thursday is the most unappreciated of the seven. He watches the world through his jet black bangs and scribbled furiously into his journal whilst listening to depressing music. Thursday doesn't cause much trouble and is actually a pretty nice guy; also, you wouldn't expect it, but he can sing impressive tenor harmony when it's applicable. We don't anticipate Thursday, but we don't dread it, either. Everyone wants to rush past poor Thursday to get to his older, cooler brother, Friday.
(I like you, Thursday. Don't listen to the haters.)
Once upon a time, it was Friday. Friday is the type of guy who can look cool doing anything, even if it's just putting on socks or eating an ice cream cone. And let's face it—NO ONE looks cool eating an ice cream cone. He gets the right number of ice cubs from the dispenser on the first try. The bus driver would wait for him, but Friday never takes the bus. The party starts when he walks in, even if originally no party was going to happen. The only girl who won't go out with him is Wednesday. The only person Friday openly hates is Rebecca Black. He's a lot of fun when he's there, but he's never around when you need him most.
(Happy Friday. Gotta love him.)
Once upon a time, it was Saturday. Saturday has lots of friends, loves Nutella, and believes in the healing power of Netflix. She has started 52 Pinterest crafts but never finished one. (Expect for that one time her sister Sunday made Pinterest cupcakes shaped liked Cookie Monster. Saturday "finished" those.) Saturday falls asleep during movies, class and occasionally rock concerts. But she doesn't often go to rock concerts unless she can wear her pajamas. She has never been awake before noon.
(Hello, Saturday, We like you even though you only last 8 hours. It's not your fault.)
I'm Tuesday. ;)
Once upon a time, it was Sunday. Sunday sends birthday cards to people she hasn't seen in years, eats only gluten free and vegetarians foods, and can sing even the most cantankerous baby to sleep in minutes. Sunday gives almost half her salary to charity and is the only one who is nice to Monday. Friday often calls her a "goody two-shoes." Sunday replies, "Well, that is better than a goody one-shoe." Her jokes aren't very good. Sunday is kind and pleasant all day... until around 9 p.m. when she remembers all the tasks she didn't accomplish. Then she turns crazy. Rumor has it she has even—on occasion—directed a few snide comments at Monday.
(Sunday would like to remind you that she is the first day of the week, not the last. Happy Sunday and God bless.)
Once upon a time, it was Monday. Monday is often sarcastic and is known for being cynical. He tends to brood about his past and watch his surroundings with suspicion. Sometimes he wishes he had friends, but then he remembers he would have to talk to people. And people are stupid. You know that cruel (but funny) meme you saw on the Internet? Monday probably created it. Monday enjoys sending the world into a state of panic and despair. Though the sun rises like every morning, darkness seems to shroud the minds and hearts of those who rise from this beds. But eventually they always remember that we get to move on to Tuesday, but Monday never does. We drink coffee and smile.
(Bring it on, Monday. We're not scared of you. And we know you secretly watch Disney Channel and purchase groceries for your elderly neighbor.)
Once upon a time, it was Tuesday. Now, Tuesday, is Monday's little brother. Everyone dislikes Monday so much that even if Tuesday misbehaves, no one seems to notice. Tuesday likes to pull pranks, such as telling you that you forgot to turn in work on Monday. (This is doubly fun for Tuesday because it annoys you AND Monday.) He's unnaturally energetic and doesn't like to sleep. When it's Tuesday, we might be slightly groggy from the first weekday, but we drive to work anyway, this time remembering to pack a lunch and thank the Lord we have a job. Tuesday is a little weasel; for some reason we don't mind him. We drink coffee and pretend to be productive.
(Hello, Tuesday. Do your worst.)
Once upon a time, it was Wednesday. Now, Wednesday is a bit prideful; she likes to point out that she is not only the middle of the work week but also the middle of the ENTIRE week. She is a bit snotty and vain. Wednesday loves that little children have trouble spelling her name. And she HATES that someone gave her the nickname "Hump Day." By the time Wednesday rolls around, we are in a groove, and we've accepted that we're living through a work week. Some of us may hate to admit it, but we actually like Wednesdays.
("MIKE MIKE MIKE MIKE MIKE MIKE MIKE MIKE! Guess what day it is?! HUMP DAY!" Do something, Wednesday.)
Once upon a time, it was Thursday. Thursday is the most unappreciated of the seven. He watches the world through his jet black bangs and scribbled furiously into his journal whilst listening to depressing music. Thursday doesn't cause much trouble and is actually a pretty nice guy; also, you wouldn't expect it, but he can sing impressive tenor harmony when it's applicable. We don't anticipate Thursday, but we don't dread it, either. Everyone wants to rush past poor Thursday to get to his older, cooler brother, Friday.
(I like you, Thursday. Don't listen to the haters.)
Once upon a time, it was Friday. Friday is the type of guy who can look cool doing anything, even if it's just putting on socks or eating an ice cream cone. And let's face it—NO ONE looks cool eating an ice cream cone. He gets the right number of ice cubs from the dispenser on the first try. The bus driver would wait for him, but Friday never takes the bus. The party starts when he walks in, even if originally no party was going to happen. The only girl who won't go out with him is Wednesday. The only person Friday openly hates is Rebecca Black. He's a lot of fun when he's there, but he's never around when you need him most.
(Happy Friday. Gotta love him.)
Once upon a time, it was Saturday. Saturday has lots of friends, loves Nutella, and believes in the healing power of Netflix. She has started 52 Pinterest crafts but never finished one. (Expect for that one time her sister Sunday made Pinterest cupcakes shaped liked Cookie Monster. Saturday "finished" those.) Saturday falls asleep during movies, class and occasionally rock concerts. But she doesn't often go to rock concerts unless she can wear her pajamas. She has never been awake before noon.
(Hello, Saturday, We like you even though you only last 8 hours. It's not your fault.)
I'm Tuesday. ;)
Saturday, August 9, 2014
10 Things You Probably Have to be Thankful For
If you have said or thought any of the following things in the last 24 hours, you should read this post:
A. Ugh, I have to go to work today.
B. Ugh, there's no wifi here.
C. Ugh, this food tastes terrible.
If you're a word enthusiast like me—or even if you're not—you're probably wondering, "Does the title mean '10 things I SHOULD be Thankful for' or '10 things I OWN that I can be Thankful for'?" I meant both. Don't hurt yourself.
Albert Einstein once said, "There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." Or, as I'm going to paraphrase him: "There are only two ways to live your life: one—taking everything for granted, or two—taking nothing for granted."
And without further ado, I present to you, 10 things you probably have to be thankful for:
1. When you're hungry, you can get off your cushiony Sitting Device in the room designed just to sit in and walk into an adjoining room built for the sole purpose of containing sustenance. Then you can open the magic Sustenance Box, and a light comes on to illuminate your choices. Then you can remove some sustenance, put it in a Zapping Machine, and it will automatically warm up for you.
2. When you have to relieve yourself, you can step into a clean, private little room and sit on a white Porcelain Throne. You can use special soft paper conveniently stored on a roll next to the Porcelain Throne. Then you can gleefully pull the lever, and the waste swirls down through the floor and into the earth. DOWN INTO THE EARTH.
3. If you miss someone, you can pick up this mystical Talking Device and push some buttons. Then you can throw your voice through it and speak to someone, even if he or she is on the other side of the world.
4. If you get bored of your own life, you can take a flat, Shiny Doughnut and put it into a Shiny Doughnut Box. Then you can watch other people's lives—with special effects, background music, and trite dialogue—on a black square right in the comfort of your Sitting Room.
5. If you want to continue hating your life or participating in activities—either necessary or pointless—after dark, you can flick the magic switch on a Light Machine, and Thomas Edison's brainchild will spring to life, illuminating your Sitting Room.
6. If you want to go somewhere farther than a few miles away, you can step into Four-wheeled Box and speed 70 mph or faster to your destination. And this is considered normal.
7. If you get tired, you can walk upstairs to the room specifically designated for holding all the stuff you never use and lie down on the big, cushy Sleep Rectangle that literally only exists for you to sleep on—even though you also use it to hold clothes, your guitar, and 17 stuffed animals.
8. If you need to know something—anything—you can look at an Electrical Information Box or a Paper Rectangle and examine 26 random little shapes and understand what they mean. You can learn almost anything in this way. Because you are educated.
9. You can keep trying to do anything you want to do for as long as you want because there is no limitation on how many times you are allowed to fail. You can change your mind and do something else. You can waste your life or not. It's really up to you.
10. If you feel like talking to the God of the universe, you can just do it right now, no matter where you are. No long-distance fee, and no age, race, or occupation restrictions.
I do not believe in belittling people's struggles. I mean, I really hate it when people talk during the movie at the theater. I hate it when parents let their children scream in the library. I'm 23 years old, and I still hate waking up before 9 a.m. We all have our little pet peeves. I just wanted to remind you that you have a lot to be thankful for, just like me.
Sunday, June 29, 2014
The Eventual 78 Degrees of Happy
This was a hard winter. My hands froze nearly every day, and the heat stopped working in my apartment several times. I woke up cold, drove to work cold, walked to my building cold, came home cold, and went to bed cold. I felt fortunate to have a place to live and warm clothes to wear, but it was still miserable. Generally I hate cold weather unless it snows, but this year I just wanted the wintry precipitation to stop. On two separate occasions it was snowy and icy to the point that my brakes wouldn't work, and the roads were often really bad. I didn't feel well; getting anywhere was difficult; and frankly consistently deplorable weather eventually depresses me. It was the worst winter (weather-wise) I can remember, and I felt like it would ever end.
Yesterday I sat on the porch in my bathing suit under the sun then went swimming. The puffy white-clouded sky boasted an unreal shade of blue, and a light breeze gently moved the branches of surrounding trees. It was perfect. Summer has come. Today it is mid-70s and beautiful. I thought about how the weather transitioned from -11 degrees, two-pairs-of-mittens, slick sidewalks, and biting wind to 78 degrees, shorts, sunny skies, and barefoot ventures into the grass. But I couldn't exactly picture the progression. It didn't happen overnight, the temperatures randomly skyrocketing 90 degrees. Slowly but surely, the seasons changed, and now I can walk outside without wondering if my nose will still be attached to my face after I finish getting the mail.
Times of grief, misery, and pain are often like that. They say time heals everything, but we want instant results. Time doesn't move fast enough, but we know we shouldn't rush it. We pray for our winter to disappear with the rising sun, but the stupid groundhog keeps seeing its shadow. And we might yell at the sky and say we don't care if there's a time for everything; we don't want to experience the time for pain. But look at the ground; a patch of four-leaf clovers grows where before only rocks rested. You have overcome past difficulties. You've forgotten former pain; you need only look back and remember.
Winter changes slowly into spring. Pain often turns slowly into joy. You just can't predict your victories and defeats and pain and happiness on a calendar the way you can usually predict the seasons. But look back and see what the Lord has done and appreciate the four-leaf clovers. Know that the winters serve a purpose, too, and even in sub-zero temperatures, the Lord is good. One day soon the ice will melt into joy, and you'll be 78 degrees of happy once again.
"And now I'm sunny with a high of 75 since you took my heavy heart and made it light. And it's funny how you find you enjoy your life when you're happy to be alive." —Relient K
Yesterday I sat on the porch in my bathing suit under the sun then went swimming. The puffy white-clouded sky boasted an unreal shade of blue, and a light breeze gently moved the branches of surrounding trees. It was perfect. Summer has come. Today it is mid-70s and beautiful. I thought about how the weather transitioned from -11 degrees, two-pairs-of-mittens, slick sidewalks, and biting wind to 78 degrees, shorts, sunny skies, and barefoot ventures into the grass. But I couldn't exactly picture the progression. It didn't happen overnight, the temperatures randomly skyrocketing 90 degrees. Slowly but surely, the seasons changed, and now I can walk outside without wondering if my nose will still be attached to my face after I finish getting the mail.
Times of grief, misery, and pain are often like that. They say time heals everything, but we want instant results. Time doesn't move fast enough, but we know we shouldn't rush it. We pray for our winter to disappear with the rising sun, but the stupid groundhog keeps seeing its shadow. And we might yell at the sky and say we don't care if there's a time for everything; we don't want to experience the time for pain. But look at the ground; a patch of four-leaf clovers grows where before only rocks rested. You have overcome past difficulties. You've forgotten former pain; you need only look back and remember.
Winter changes slowly into spring. Pain often turns slowly into joy. You just can't predict your victories and defeats and pain and happiness on a calendar the way you can usually predict the seasons. But look back and see what the Lord has done and appreciate the four-leaf clovers. Know that the winters serve a purpose, too, and even in sub-zero temperatures, the Lord is good. One day soon the ice will melt into joy, and you'll be 78 degrees of happy once again.
"And now I'm sunny with a high of 75 since you took my heavy heart and made it light. And it's funny how you find you enjoy your life when you're happy to be alive." —Relient K
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
The Real Meaning Behind 5 Slang Terms You Hear All the Time
Ever wonder where those strange words and phrases that kids are using these days came from? I don't have time to explain all of them, but hopefully this will help you out.
1. _______, they said. It will be fun, they said.
Go to work, they said. It will be fun, they said. You've all heard it, but you have no idea where it came from.
Several years ago, an anonymous writer associated with DreamWorks wrote a script for an animated movie about three penguins who sojourn from the South Pole to the North Pole because they do not believe that no penguins live on the other side of the earth. The sidekick character, Penelope Penguin, will not do anything unless she is certain it will be fun. Therefore, the other two penguins spend most of the movie telling her things like, "Come to the North Pole with us. It will be fun!" When the activities they suggest later cause the dark night of the soul moment near the conclusion of the film when Penelope is hanging over a volcano and she has an existential crisis, she says things like, "Go on a road trip with us, they said. It will be fun, they said."
Unfortunately, the movie was never produced. I'm not sure why. I thought it sounded interesting.
2. YOLO.
"Yolo!" the young whippersnapper shouts as he walks into the classroom to take the test he did not study for. Why does he say this? I'll tell you.
It all began with an elementary school-aged child who spent most of his time begging on the streets in New York City. He didn't have many clothes to wear, and the rags he had resembled pirate clothes. He became known as the Pirate. No one knew where his parents were, and he never attended school, so he didn't speak very well. In fact, the only word he ever said was, "Yo-ho." Whenever he said it, people began singing, "Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate's life for me!" Then they'd laugh and throw a few coins into his jar.
The kid did not respond as expected, however. Instead of expressing gratitude for their generosity, he became more and more frustrated, yelling, "YO-HO! YO-HO!" One day he totally lost it and attacked someone on the street. Then he was taken into custody. After years of therapy paid for by a wealthy benefactor, it was discovered that the only thing the poor chap wanted was a yo-yo, but he didn't know how to pronounce it.
Today we use "YOLO" before doing something crazy because poor little Pip yelled it one last time before beating a random passerby with a moldy sandwich.
3. Much ______. So ______. Very wow.
This one began when one of Miley Cyrus's best friends tried to start her own line of clothing. She originally got some funding because of her status as Miley's bestie. But when her fashion consultant tried to ask her about her vision for the clothing line, everything went downhill. She pushed her purple hair behind one ear and clear her throat. "I'm thinking, like, much artfully. And so sparkles. Just, like, very wow." Unfortunately, her command of the English language left something to be desired. But the fashion consultant wrote about the experience on her blog, popularizing the alterable saying and pairing it with a picture of her strangely expressive dog, which was only overly expressive because it had just tasted Taco Bell for the first time.
4. Cray.
Perhaps the most commonly used in this list, cray has actually been around the longest. Back when the Pilgrims first landed in Eastern Kentucky, the untouched areas around the beautifully green rivers seemed to smell of promise. But when the settlers tried to harvest the gold they heard was hidden there, they instead encountered impossibly ginormous lobster-like creatures known only as crayfish. They were close to five feet long and absolutely vicious. When the brave first four settlers ventured too close to the river, the crayfish mercilessly devoured three of them, leaving the fourth one traumatized and only able to utter a single word: "cray."
That, my friends, is why people say "cray" when something is, like, totally out of control.
I hope this list was helpful to you. Especially if you had trouble connecting with the younger folks, this should make you feel really relevant. Who knows, one of the young chaps might be unaware of the origins of these handy phrases. Why not share one of these stories? You'll probably impress those Millennials with your extensive knowledge about what is hip and awesome.
1. _______, they said. It will be fun, they said.
Go to work, they said. It will be fun, they said. You've all heard it, but you have no idea where it came from.
Several years ago, an anonymous writer associated with DreamWorks wrote a script for an animated movie about three penguins who sojourn from the South Pole to the North Pole because they do not believe that no penguins live on the other side of the earth. The sidekick character, Penelope Penguin, will not do anything unless she is certain it will be fun. Therefore, the other two penguins spend most of the movie telling her things like, "Come to the North Pole with us. It will be fun!" When the activities they suggest later cause the dark night of the soul moment near the conclusion of the film when Penelope is hanging over a volcano and she has an existential crisis, she says things like, "Go on a road trip with us, they said. It will be fun, they said."
Unfortunately, the movie was never produced. I'm not sure why. I thought it sounded interesting.
2. YOLO.
"Yolo!" the young whippersnapper shouts as he walks into the classroom to take the test he did not study for. Why does he say this? I'll tell you.
It all began with an elementary school-aged child who spent most of his time begging on the streets in New York City. He didn't have many clothes to wear, and the rags he had resembled pirate clothes. He became known as the Pirate. No one knew where his parents were, and he never attended school, so he didn't speak very well. In fact, the only word he ever said was, "Yo-ho." Whenever he said it, people began singing, "Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate's life for me!" Then they'd laugh and throw a few coins into his jar.
The kid did not respond as expected, however. Instead of expressing gratitude for their generosity, he became more and more frustrated, yelling, "YO-HO! YO-HO!" One day he totally lost it and attacked someone on the street. Then he was taken into custody. After years of therapy paid for by a wealthy benefactor, it was discovered that the only thing the poor chap wanted was a yo-yo, but he didn't know how to pronounce it.
Today we use "YOLO" before doing something crazy because poor little Pip yelled it one last time before beating a random passerby with a moldy sandwich.
3. Much ______. So ______. Very wow.
This one began when one of Miley Cyrus's best friends tried to start her own line of clothing. She originally got some funding because of her status as Miley's bestie. But when her fashion consultant tried to ask her about her vision for the clothing line, everything went downhill. She pushed her purple hair behind one ear and clear her throat. "I'm thinking, like, much artfully. And so sparkles. Just, like, very wow." Unfortunately, her command of the English language left something to be desired. But the fashion consultant wrote about the experience on her blog, popularizing the alterable saying and pairing it with a picture of her strangely expressive dog, which was only overly expressive because it had just tasted Taco Bell for the first time.
4. Cray.
Perhaps the most commonly used in this list, cray has actually been around the longest. Back when the Pilgrims first landed in Eastern Kentucky, the untouched areas around the beautifully green rivers seemed to smell of promise. But when the settlers tried to harvest the gold they heard was hidden there, they instead encountered impossibly ginormous lobster-like creatures known only as crayfish. They were close to five feet long and absolutely vicious. When the brave first four settlers ventured too close to the river, the crayfish mercilessly devoured three of them, leaving the fourth one traumatized and only able to utter a single word: "cray."
That, my friends, is why people say "cray" when something is, like, totally out of control.
5. I can't even.
This term began as a simple way to express a complex process of mathematics used only in Scandinavian Derivatives. The Norwegians have invented an entire number system (known as Absolute Negation Rationalization) that operates without acknowledging the existence of "0," the only number that is neither even nor odd. Mathematicians use this phrase to explain to students the necessity to utilize that system.
Unfortunately, Americans have begun using it to explain utter shock, horror, or disbelief of various circumstances, usually resulting from a lack of better words to describe the gravity of the situation.
I hope this list was helpful to you. Especially if you had trouble connecting with the younger folks, this should make you feel really relevant. Who knows, one of the young chaps might be unaware of the origins of these handy phrases. Why not share one of these stories? You'll probably impress those Millennials with your extensive knowledge about what is hip and awesome.
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