People tend to guffaw when I wax-philosophical about getting old at the ripe age of 32, however, I feel like I have some legitimate observations on this topic. I was reading a book, "Water for Elephants", and the main character talks a lot about getting old and how it's difficult and subtle and before you know it, life has passed you by. Yeah, pretty depressing stuff...but it made some excellent points.
When you're young (i.e. before 30) and someone asks you how old you are, the answer pops into your head with surprising speed and accuracy. The younger you are, the more precise your description of age is. For example, 28 months, 3 and a half, 12 and three quarters, etc etc. Sometime after you turn 30, someone asks you how old you are and you start doing long arithmetic in your head trying to figure it out. I've certainly noticed it now that I'm over 30.
When you're in your 20s, life seems to be limitless and spread out before you. You think you have all the time in the world to travel, to enjoy marriage, to finally get in shape, to be healthier, to have kids. It's a pretty rude awakening when you realize that there actually is a ticking clock looming above your head.
As I was looking through some old pictures of me from college and grad school, I realized something. What the hell was I thinking feeling so bad about myself back then? I mean, I spent the vast majority of my time thinking I was too fat, had too big a nose, too flat a butt, too big of boobs, I was too tall, my hair was too frizzy, my skin was awful, etc etc. Truth is, if I could go back to those days, I would trade the me of my youth with the me of my present any day of the week. I suppose hindsight is always 20/20 but it would have been nice if someone was smart enough to tell me that it's pretty much all downhill from that point on.
Looking back, my youth was pretty fantastic. I just wish I would have spent more time appreciating it for what it was instead of always discounting it for what it wasn't. I look forward and all I see are struggles, to get healthy, lose weight, get pregnant, have a healthy pregnancy, etc. It's downright depressing.
So maybe, as a sanity check, I will try not to dwell on the past or obsess over the future. Instead, I'll focus on the here and now...Chances are, when I'm 50, I'm going to look back at my 32 year old self and be pissed that I didn't spend more time enjoying life as it was!
9.06.2011
8.24.2011
5 Years in the Making...
As many of you know, I do a lot of traveling. I mean, it's often not to super exotic destinations...it's mainly to see friends and family in locations such as Ridgewood, NJ or Gibraltar, MI or Omaha, NE. Throw in the occasional trip to NYC, St. Louis, Chicago, and it makes for a relatively busy travel schedule. I've never really complained much about the fact that we don't take real vacations. I just say that I love to travel in theory.
In the middle of August, the hubs and I finally did it. We went to Italy. It was the thing we had wanted to do since we got married. It just never really seemed like the right time. Given our recent plans of having a kid, we figured it was time to get that trip in.
I plan to post a ridiculously detailed account of our trip, more for us to remember it forever than for the reading public's entertainment...however, maybe you'll find it mildly entertaining. That'll have to wait for a later date when I have the time and patience to be meticulous enough to search through hundreds of pictures to do the trip justice.
Until then, I wanted to leave you with some tips in case you will be traveling to Italy in the near future. I hope you will find them useful.
Tip #1: Travel with people who are hilarious.
And are preferably miniature versions of you and your partner, are willing to do whatever you tell them to do in pictures, and have similar habits to you. The peeps we traveled with were basically the travel sized additions of the hubs and I. We had the same tolerance for heat, walking, got sick of looking at ancient stuff at the same time, have the same affinities for Coca Light, same tolerance (or lack thereof) of alcohol, and most importantly, the same priority placed on eating delicious foods.
The pictures are essentially of our travel companions demonstrating their ability to follow instructions in picture taking. Oh, and our love of Coca Light.
Tip #2: Don't get ripped off.
The cab ride from the Rome Airport to whatever hotel you're staying at shouldn't be more than 45 Euros. Don't get duped into paying 60 or 70 Euros just because you don't know where you're going. Also, if a Gypsy asks you to hold her baby, DON'T. Their posse will just rip you off as you hold their baby.
If you take a train ride from Florence to Pisa, don't buy a first class ticket from the kiosk. There's no such thing on the train, but they don't mind charging the chumps who opt for it 5 extra Euros each way. On the back of the ticket in tiny print, you'll see that you have to validate your ticket in Florence before you leave. Do it or they find your ass another 10 Euros on the train. Sne bit her thumb at the ticket. Shakespeare would be proud.
Tip #3: Don't expect awesome service.
As a general rule, the servers in Italy don't get tips because the second you sit at their table, they get a service charge of at least 2 Euros. The food prices factor in a tip so they have no real motivation to make you happy aside from their basic human decency. Don't count on that too much, though. I think in the 2 meals per day that we ate out over the course of 8 days, we had 2 servers that were really nice and helpful. 1 in Florence, and 1 in Rome. Oh, and I probably could have made a tip out of this, but under no circumstance should you eat in an Asian Pizzeria. You'll thank me for that golden nugget of advice...trust me.
Tip #4: Don't have ridiculous expectations.
Just like anything, it's better to be pleasantly surprised than horribly disappointed. Case in point, the Sistine Chapel. For some reason, I was under the impression that this painting would be spectacular, large, and the ENTIRE ceiling. It turns out, it's relatively small, hidden among a ton of other stuff, and nothing to write home about. I think these photos speak for themselves.
Tip #5: Be prepared to spend a lot of money on Coca Light.
Randomly on about the 5th day in Italy, I started to really think about the amount of money we had spent on Diet Cokes. On average, a can of Diet Coke costs 4 Euros. I drank about 3-4 a day. We were there for 8 days. That's just about 128 Euros on Coca Cola Light. Roughly translated, that's a little over $204.00 on soda. Yeah, sickening, I know. Here's the really crappy part; There are no diamonds in the bottom of the can. RIPOFF!
Tip #6: Take in the local performers.
If you're in Florence, make sure you check out Ken Mercer. He performs in Ufizzi Square every single night at 9:30pm to 11pm. He's amazeballs. Seriously. Oh, but be sure to participate or he will actually get pissed, pack up and leave, leaving you very very sad.
Tip #7: If you meet really nice people, they're not likely locals.
Locals seem to hate tourists...especially American tourists. I guess I can't blame them. The only two things I could watch in English were CNN and the Jersey Shore. I'd hate us too if that was all I had to go on. It might also be because we're Indian. It seemed like the only other Indians we saw in Italy were the annoying dudes selling roses while you eat dinner. Anyway, we met tons of really nice people while were there. A fantastic French couple from the Pink City named Alice and Jerome, A nice guy on a bus who was South African, A great couple of girls from NYC who were about to jump a girl who cut the line in St. Peter's Square, and a sweet couple from AZ who got robbed blind on the Metro. We sure didn't have much luck with any honest to god Italians though. Oh well, better luck next time, I guess...
Tip #8: Make sure you get a passport stamp in Italy.
You'll thank me for this one later too. I think it's more of an effort to get a stamp than to walk out of the Rome airport without so much as a glance at Customs or Passport Control. It's fine and good when you land in Italy and are excited to begin seeing the sights or go to the hotel...however, when you try to leave Italy and you've got some hardass German dude asking you where the hell you came from and how long you've been in Europe, you'll think to yourself "Hmm...maybe I SHOULD have gotten that stamp, after all..." Learn from our mistakes.
I'm sure there are a million other things that I missed, but these are the things that stick out the most. I hope it was helpful...
HAPPY TRAVELS :)
In the middle of August, the hubs and I finally did it. We went to Italy. It was the thing we had wanted to do since we got married. It just never really seemed like the right time. Given our recent plans of having a kid, we figured it was time to get that trip in.
I plan to post a ridiculously detailed account of our trip, more for us to remember it forever than for the reading public's entertainment...however, maybe you'll find it mildly entertaining. That'll have to wait for a later date when I have the time and patience to be meticulous enough to search through hundreds of pictures to do the trip justice.
Until then, I wanted to leave you with some tips in case you will be traveling to Italy in the near future. I hope you will find them useful.
Tip #1: Travel with people who are hilarious.
And are preferably miniature versions of you and your partner, are willing to do whatever you tell them to do in pictures, and have similar habits to you. The peeps we traveled with were basically the travel sized additions of the hubs and I. We had the same tolerance for heat, walking, got sick of looking at ancient stuff at the same time, have the same affinities for Coca Light, same tolerance (or lack thereof) of alcohol, and most importantly, the same priority placed on eating delicious foods.
The pictures are essentially of our travel companions demonstrating their ability to follow instructions in picture taking. Oh, and our love of Coca Light.
Tip #2: Don't get ripped off.
The cab ride from the Rome Airport to whatever hotel you're staying at shouldn't be more than 45 Euros. Don't get duped into paying 60 or 70 Euros just because you don't know where you're going. Also, if a Gypsy asks you to hold her baby, DON'T. Their posse will just rip you off as you hold their baby.
If you take a train ride from Florence to Pisa, don't buy a first class ticket from the kiosk. There's no such thing on the train, but they don't mind charging the chumps who opt for it 5 extra Euros each way. On the back of the ticket in tiny print, you'll see that you have to validate your ticket in Florence before you leave. Do it or they find your ass another 10 Euros on the train. Sne bit her thumb at the ticket. Shakespeare would be proud.Tip #3: Don't expect awesome service.
As a general rule, the servers in Italy don't get tips because the second you sit at their table, they get a service charge of at least 2 Euros. The food prices factor in a tip so they have no real motivation to make you happy aside from their basic human decency. Don't count on that too much, though. I think in the 2 meals per day that we ate out over the course of 8 days, we had 2 servers that were really nice and helpful. 1 in Florence, and 1 in Rome. Oh, and I probably could have made a tip out of this, but under no circumstance should you eat in an Asian Pizzeria. You'll thank me for that golden nugget of advice...trust me.
Tip #4: Don't have ridiculous expectations.
Just like anything, it's better to be pleasantly surprised than horribly disappointed. Case in point, the Sistine Chapel. For some reason, I was under the impression that this painting would be spectacular, large, and the ENTIRE ceiling. It turns out, it's relatively small, hidden among a ton of other stuff, and nothing to write home about. I think these photos speak for themselves.
The Anticipation. The Let-Down.
Tip #5: Be prepared to spend a lot of money on Coca Light.
Randomly on about the 5th day in Italy, I started to really think about the amount of money we had spent on Diet Cokes. On average, a can of Diet Coke costs 4 Euros. I drank about 3-4 a day. We were there for 8 days. That's just about 128 Euros on Coca Cola Light. Roughly translated, that's a little over $204.00 on soda. Yeah, sickening, I know. Here's the really crappy part; There are no diamonds in the bottom of the can. RIPOFF!
Tip #6: Take in the local performers.
If you're in Florence, make sure you check out Ken Mercer. He performs in Ufizzi Square every single night at 9:30pm to 11pm. He's amazeballs. Seriously. Oh, but be sure to participate or he will actually get pissed, pack up and leave, leaving you very very sad.
Tip #7: If you meet really nice people, they're not likely locals.
Locals seem to hate tourists...especially American tourists. I guess I can't blame them. The only two things I could watch in English were CNN and the Jersey Shore. I'd hate us too if that was all I had to go on. It might also be because we're Indian. It seemed like the only other Indians we saw in Italy were the annoying dudes selling roses while you eat dinner. Anyway, we met tons of really nice people while were there. A fantastic French couple from the Pink City named Alice and Jerome, A nice guy on a bus who was South African, A great couple of girls from NYC who were about to jump a girl who cut the line in St. Peter's Square, and a sweet couple from AZ who got robbed blind on the Metro. We sure didn't have much luck with any honest to god Italians though. Oh well, better luck next time, I guess...
Tip #8: Make sure you get a passport stamp in Italy.
You'll thank me for this one later too. I think it's more of an effort to get a stamp than to walk out of the Rome airport without so much as a glance at Customs or Passport Control. It's fine and good when you land in Italy and are excited to begin seeing the sights or go to the hotel...however, when you try to leave Italy and you've got some hardass German dude asking you where the hell you came from and how long you've been in Europe, you'll think to yourself "Hmm...maybe I SHOULD have gotten that stamp, after all..." Learn from our mistakes.
I'm sure there are a million other things that I missed, but these are the things that stick out the most. I hope it was helpful...
HAPPY TRAVELS :)
7.06.2011
I'm not a Mac, I'm not a PC, I'm a victim of my circumstance...
The debate has been raging for as long as I can remember. I'm sure we all remember these commercials with the nameless nerdy guy representing "the man" and their evil agendas and Justin Long representing the rebellious Gen X/Yer who refuses to conform to business casual standards.
I'll be honest, if I were going to decide what I was based solely on the above image, it's a no-brainer. Who wants to be the frumpy corporate schmuck? Yeah, that's right...no one. However, like most people, I've been raised on the PC. It was my first experience with a computer in high school, and it seemed to be the norm in college & grad school. Then once I was a corporate drone, people were all walking around with Dells and Thinkpads. It wasn't until my first job in NYC that I was given a MacBook Pro that would send most Apple fans into a state of bliss. I couldn't deny the beauty of it. It was simple, clean, and much much prettier than the crappy Dell desktop I'd been using up until that point. Only the design team was given MacBooks and this made the act of sharing files or compatibility with other people's stuff relatively difficult. In order to overcome this challenge, we all started running VM Ware so that we could have the MS Office productivity software, but still use Creative Suite on the Mac side.
So began my personal hell.
I understand that Steve Jobs has a vision. I understand that a lot of interactions on a Mac are better than those of the PC. What I don't understand is how any normal human being can switch between the two without being driven to complete and total insanity. The interactions are just different enough to make me crazy! (just as an example, copy & paste keyboard shortcut- Ctrl + C or V vs. whatever the heck that key is called that looks like a swirly square cubey thing + C or V - I mean, the keys aren't even in the same spot on the keyboard! Cut me a break here!!)
Not only that, but even their hardware is different (read: EXPENSIVE) You can't just go to a Target and get a charger for your MacBook. You gotta go to the Apple store and spend 90 bucks on one.
After my first job in NYC, I had a PC. It was an adjustment to switch back, but it was like riding a bike. At my first job in KC, I was given a choice and I chose the MacBook. I promptly realized that it was going to be a pain in the ass because the helpdesk didn't support Macs and switched back to a PC. My next job was a Mac. Trying to keep up was enough to make my head spin.
At work, I'm currently using a MacBook with Office for Mac and no VM Ware or Parallels or Bootcamp. I'm fine at work...but the second I come home and try to use my Toshiba laptop to blog, all hell breaks loose. I use the wrong shortcut keys, I go to the wrong side of the screen to close or minimize windows, and I keep trying to use hot corners that don't exist. It's infuriating.
My point in this rant is to simply say this...
I know a ton of people who are die hard Apple fans. I get it, people...I really do. Their hardware and software is beautiful. However, I'm not convinced that you're die hard Apple fans because it's the best designed stuff or that it's the most usable or makes the most sense. I think it's because it's just too damn hard to switch off of one.
At this point, I am on my MacBook way more than my Toshiba laptop (mainly because I'm on the computer all damn day and I don't feel like staring at one at home too...) That being said, I'm pretty much indifferent as to which one I like more. I can say this: I'd be 100% okay with never using a PC again if I could just deal with Macs and I'd be 100% okay never using a Mac again if I could just deal with PCs. I'm not sure if that makes me a fair weather fan of one or the other, or just a victim of my circumstance. What would be ideal is if everyone could just get along, decide what way is the best, and then EVERYONE does it that way.
6.18.2011
The Father's Day Addition
When I first started this blog, I had an idea of what it would be about. It's sort of taken a life of it's own, and sadly, has been far more about my struggle with weight loss than I originally intended it to be. However, if you go to my very first blog post, you'll see that the very top of my list was my dad.
My dad supplies me with a veritable treasure chest of comedic greatness. I often don't share it because sometimes, the best part of my stories is the accent with which I deliver them. Well, until I start a video blog, the written word is going to have to suffice.
We both have round faces, are fairly jovial, have lighter than jet black hair that's fine and curly (although I wage a daily war to make it look otherwise) and we have the same "nose of royalty". My dad says it's a nose of royalty. My mom has always referred to my nose as a "marble moogoo". Moogoo is the Kannada word for nose. She says it's like there's a marble hidden at the end of our noses, should the opportunity for a pick-up game of marbles arise.
I credit my dad, in large part, for making me who I am. A large number of Indian parents who have daughters have one main goal in life; to make sure she eventually has a husband from a good family who is capable of taking care of her. I had girlfriends with dads that wouldn't allow them to do anything for themselves. My dad said I wasn't allowed to drive till I could check my oil and change a tire. (Luckily, because I've had my share of flat tires...) I wasn't allowed to seriously date until I could take care of myself because he didn't want me to have to rely on anyone else to take care of me.
Don't get me wrong though, it wasn't like my dad didn't spoil me rotten when the opportunity presented itself. I don't know many people who didn't have a dime of student debt when they graduated. My dad always sacrificed for his family so we didn't have to struggle to have the best education, or didn't have to worry about groceries, books, car payments, gas, etc. in college. There was one point when I was in college where I had a new Accord, my mom had a new minivan (always in denial that she didn't have a gaggle of kids to drive around to sporting practices anymore), my brother had a new Camry, and my dad was driving around a manual 1984 Honda hatchback. Always so selfless, he never complained once.
My dad often provides me with Confucious-like pearls of wisdom. I think they're worth sharing. After all, it's not fair me to hoard all the wisdom, right?
"Don't be so busy making a living that you forget to make a life."
In 2008, I was facing a total nervous breakdown from overwork in NYC. I had no time to talk to the man I married (and we lived together!), let alone my friends and family. I was so caught up in the rat-race of making enough money to pay our car payment and our ridiculously overpriced mortgage on our Hoboken condo, that I had lost sight of what was really important. Good thing I probably have the only dad in the world who would encourage me to resign from the most lucrative job I've ever had (or will probably ever have). After all, the people you don't want to let down are the people who will always be there for you and if I learned anything, money can't buy happiness. I'm happy to say that the story of my decision to resign and relocate to the Midwest is one that has a "happily ever after..."
"You can come back as bacteria if you're a big enough asshole."
If you've spent any reasonable amount of time with me, you probably know that I'm Hindu. Hindus believe in reincarnation. For those of you that aren't familiar with the infamous "woodchuck story", this one is related to a conversation in which my dad proceeded to tell me why he wasn't upset that the trap he set for a woodchuck in our backyard resulted in said woodchuck's demise. He told me that he didn't care if the woodchuck died because he had a dream that in it's last lifetime, the woodchuck was a Nazi and it was killing all the Jews. It stands to reason that the woodchuck deserved to die for such heinous acts against humanity. However, I had not known that people could come back as animals. I said so and was immediately chastised for not knowing more about my culture. He then proceeded to explain to me that you can come back as bacteria if you're a big enough asshole. Words to live by, dad. Seriously. They should probably make bracelets with this embroidered on them, similar to the Livestrong or WWJD bracelets. I think we'd all be better people if we had that reminder of the consequences of our actions.
"Your education can never be taken away."
School was never hard for me. I wasn't the smartest kid in school, but I certainly did well. When I look bad on my report cards, my teachers always said I was bright, but that was always overshadowed by comments about how I was too social, needed to concentrate more on learning over making friends, etc. In undergrad, during my junior year, I didn't go to class for a solid month. I showed up for quizzes & tests, but really, that was it* It was the best I had ever done. A solid 4.0 GPA that semester. It wasn't until I went to grad school that I realized how easy everything else had been. I seriously considered dropping out because I wasn't smart enough for grad school. Again, dad to the rescue. He said that it was really important that I continue and do my best to do well because at the end of the day, you can lose your job, lose your money, lose your friends, but your education is yours forever because you earn it.
There are about a million other things that my dad has taught me over the last 32 years. Most importantly though, I don't think I say thanks enough. I've done my share of complaining about getting the short end of the genetic stick. The best way I can put it is that whatever I lack on the "Nature" side of things, God has more than made up for by giving me a kick-ass "Nurture" side of things. I'll never be able to repay my dad for all that he has done for me and there aren't enough words to express my gratitude and love towards him. What the heck, though?...it's worth saying. I love you, dad. Thanks for being my hero and the standard to which I measure myself. I can only hope to be half the parent you have been if I ever have children...
* Sorry, dad. You probably don't feel so great about that, but I promise I learned just as much as if I did go to class. It's pointless to go to a lecture hall with 400 other people to have someone talk at you for an hour when you could just read the damn book.
My dad supplies me with a veritable treasure chest of comedic greatness. I often don't share it because sometimes, the best part of my stories is the accent with which I deliver them. Well, until I start a video blog, the written word is going to have to suffice.
This is my dad.
You may notice the resemblance between the two of us.
I credit my dad, in large part, for making me who I am. A large number of Indian parents who have daughters have one main goal in life; to make sure she eventually has a husband from a good family who is capable of taking care of her. I had girlfriends with dads that wouldn't allow them to do anything for themselves. My dad said I wasn't allowed to drive till I could check my oil and change a tire. (Luckily, because I've had my share of flat tires...) I wasn't allowed to seriously date until I could take care of myself because he didn't want me to have to rely on anyone else to take care of me.
Don't get me wrong though, it wasn't like my dad didn't spoil me rotten when the opportunity presented itself. I don't know many people who didn't have a dime of student debt when they graduated. My dad always sacrificed for his family so we didn't have to struggle to have the best education, or didn't have to worry about groceries, books, car payments, gas, etc. in college. There was one point when I was in college where I had a new Accord, my mom had a new minivan (always in denial that she didn't have a gaggle of kids to drive around to sporting practices anymore), my brother had a new Camry, and my dad was driving around a manual 1984 Honda hatchback. Always so selfless, he never complained once.
My dad often provides me with Confucious-like pearls of wisdom. I think they're worth sharing. After all, it's not fair me to hoard all the wisdom, right?
"Don't be so busy making a living that you forget to make a life."
In 2008, I was facing a total nervous breakdown from overwork in NYC. I had no time to talk to the man I married (and we lived together!), let alone my friends and family. I was so caught up in the rat-race of making enough money to pay our car payment and our ridiculously overpriced mortgage on our Hoboken condo, that I had lost sight of what was really important. Good thing I probably have the only dad in the world who would encourage me to resign from the most lucrative job I've ever had (or will probably ever have). After all, the people you don't want to let down are the people who will always be there for you and if I learned anything, money can't buy happiness. I'm happy to say that the story of my decision to resign and relocate to the Midwest is one that has a "happily ever after..."
"You can come back as bacteria if you're a big enough asshole."
If you've spent any reasonable amount of time with me, you probably know that I'm Hindu. Hindus believe in reincarnation. For those of you that aren't familiar with the infamous "woodchuck story", this one is related to a conversation in which my dad proceeded to tell me why he wasn't upset that the trap he set for a woodchuck in our backyard resulted in said woodchuck's demise. He told me that he didn't care if the woodchuck died because he had a dream that in it's last lifetime, the woodchuck was a Nazi and it was killing all the Jews. It stands to reason that the woodchuck deserved to die for such heinous acts against humanity. However, I had not known that people could come back as animals. I said so and was immediately chastised for not knowing more about my culture. He then proceeded to explain to me that you can come back as bacteria if you're a big enough asshole. Words to live by, dad. Seriously. They should probably make bracelets with this embroidered on them, similar to the Livestrong or WWJD bracelets. I think we'd all be better people if we had that reminder of the consequences of our actions.
"Your education can never be taken away."
School was never hard for me. I wasn't the smartest kid in school, but I certainly did well. When I look bad on my report cards, my teachers always said I was bright, but that was always overshadowed by comments about how I was too social, needed to concentrate more on learning over making friends, etc. In undergrad, during my junior year, I didn't go to class for a solid month. I showed up for quizzes & tests, but really, that was it* It was the best I had ever done. A solid 4.0 GPA that semester. It wasn't until I went to grad school that I realized how easy everything else had been. I seriously considered dropping out because I wasn't smart enough for grad school. Again, dad to the rescue. He said that it was really important that I continue and do my best to do well because at the end of the day, you can lose your job, lose your money, lose your friends, but your education is yours forever because you earn it.
There are about a million other things that my dad has taught me over the last 32 years. Most importantly though, I don't think I say thanks enough. I've done my share of complaining about getting the short end of the genetic stick. The best way I can put it is that whatever I lack on the "Nature" side of things, God has more than made up for by giving me a kick-ass "Nurture" side of things. I'll never be able to repay my dad for all that he has done for me and there aren't enough words to express my gratitude and love towards him. What the heck, though?...it's worth saying. I love you, dad. Thanks for being my hero and the standard to which I measure myself. I can only hope to be half the parent you have been if I ever have children...
* Sorry, dad. You probably don't feel so great about that, but I promise I learned just as much as if I did go to class. It's pointless to go to a lecture hall with 400 other people to have someone talk at you for an hour when you could just read the damn book.
5.24.2011
Twitter vs. Facebook
I was in a meeting the other day and someone was talking about Twitter vs. Facebook. A person in the meeting said the following:
"Facebook is where I avoid people I've known my whole life. Twitter is where I fall in love with complete strangers."
Powerful.
In 2009, I joined the Twitterverse for the first time. I was promptly confused by why anyone in their right mind thought it was better than Facebook. Here's a screenshot of my first few Tweets:
So, as you can see, I tweeted on 8/27/09 and then was totally inactive for a solid half year before I decided to try again. I was totally baffled as to why anyone thought Twitter was awesome.
Fast forward to March of 2011 (a solid YEAR later) and I'm at a conference in L.A. for work. Everyone at the conference was Tweeting and there was a hashtag associated with the conference so people could follow the conversation. I decided that since I had this membership, I'd go ahead and download the twitter app to my phone. So there I was, I downloaded the app to my phone and it asks me if I'd like to search my address book for people I knew. I figured, what the heck? Why not?!
The app returned a list of results and I quickly followed a bunch of people that I actually know. That's when things changed for me. An old coworker of mine was one of the people I chose to follow. Here's a glimpse into what happened (read from the bottom up):
It turns out in order to find Twitter useful, you need to have followers and actually tweet. So then the pressure was really on. My former colleague and current friend has a small country worth of followers and when she says something, people listen.
In my time on Twitter, I have truly come to really enjoy what complete strangers have to say. I wouldn't say that I'm addicted just yet, but I can definitely see things heading down that path. So, I guess if you're on Twitter, say hi!
"Facebook is where I avoid people I've known my whole life. Twitter is where I fall in love with complete strangers."
Powerful.
In 2009, I joined the Twitterverse for the first time. I was promptly confused by why anyone in their right mind thought it was better than Facebook. Here's a screenshot of my first few Tweets:
So, as you can see, I tweeted on 8/27/09 and then was totally inactive for a solid half year before I decided to try again. I was totally baffled as to why anyone thought Twitter was awesome.
Fast forward to March of 2011 (a solid YEAR later) and I'm at a conference in L.A. for work. Everyone at the conference was Tweeting and there was a hashtag associated with the conference so people could follow the conversation. I decided that since I had this membership, I'd go ahead and download the twitter app to my phone. So there I was, I downloaded the app to my phone and it asks me if I'd like to search my address book for people I knew. I figured, what the heck? Why not?!
The app returned a list of results and I quickly followed a bunch of people that I actually know. That's when things changed for me. An old coworker of mine was one of the people I chose to follow. Here's a glimpse into what happened (read from the bottom up):
It turns out in order to find Twitter useful, you need to have followers and actually tweet. So then the pressure was really on. My former colleague and current friend has a small country worth of followers and when she says something, people listen.
In my time on Twitter, I have truly come to really enjoy what complete strangers have to say. I wouldn't say that I'm addicted just yet, but I can definitely see things heading down that path. So, I guess if you're on Twitter, say hi!
5.09.2011
Like a caged animal...
Today started out as a relatively good day. I went shopping this weekend and bought some new duds. Nothing puts a spring in my step like sporting a new outfit so I was feeling good. I facilitated a focus group this morning. I was really nervous about it but it went spectacularly well, thereby adding to my good mood.
At about 1pm, I realize that I'm starving, haven't had lunch, and should probably do so before my 2:30pm meeting. Typically, I grab my phone, wallet, and ID and head down to the cafe on the 1st floor (I work on the 6th) Today, since I planned to be extra swift, I grabbed my credit card and ID and headed to the elevator. I press "1" for the first floor and ride down alone.
The elevator begins its descent. When I get to the first floor, the doors do not open. The number 1 on the digital display begins to flash and all the lights on the button panel go out. Laughing, I hit the door open button (aka the two arrows pointing away from a line in the middle) Nothing happens. I then scan my badge and hit "7". Nothing happens. Then all of a sudden, the lights on the panel come back on and the elevator starts going up. At the 4th floor, it stops. Again, the doors don't open. I play with the buttons for about 5 more minutes...the panic is slowly starting to rise. Also, I started to feel hot (it's like 94 degrees with 80% humidity today). I stare at the buttons on the wall. I don't see anything that says "call" or "emergency" or an icon with a phone or anything.
The only thing that looks remotely useful is an icon of a bell. I push that. An alarm clock noise proceeds and remains for as long as my finger is pushing down the button. I'm not sure what that actually accomplished so I start knocking on the door to see if anyone is outside. I hear voices...there's gotta be someone out there. There's a door at the bottom of the wall with a knob, so I try to open that. It's locked. Okay...now what? I'm basically starting to talk to myself and tell myself I'm an idiot for not bringing my phone. I stare at the buttons for about 10 more minutes trying to figure out what I should do. I hear some people outside again so I start banging on the door, yelling for help, and telling them I'm stuck.
I mean, I can hear them! Surely they can hear me too, right?! But if they hear me, why is no one saying anything back.
At this point, I'm vacillating between this:
and this:
Since I had no watch, it's hard to say how long I did this. After about what I think was 20 minutes, I decided that I should just ring the bell and pound on the door some more. I intermittently pushed down the button and banged and yelled for a while (maybe another 10 minutes). Then I started to feel hot, and sweaty, and like the air was being sucked out. I retreated to the corner and rocked myself like an autistic child, wondering how long I'd have to sit there, wishing I'd used the bathroom before, and wondering if I got hungry enough, would I eat my shoe. I really hoped not, because these are new kicks and I really like them. After about 10 more minutes, I heard what sounded like really close talking. I jumped up, pounded on the door some more, and shouted for help. Finally, someone heard me. They said they would alert security. I sat down and waited some more.
Finally, some dude with a crow bar starts trying to break into the elevator. I could see his fingers, but he couldn't get it open. He asked me if "we" were alright. I told him I was alone and he asked me if I was okay. I told him I was going to throw up soon. He said to sit tight and he'd have me out of there "quick as a bunny." Now, I don't know about you, but that seems like it should be pretty damn fast. Wrong again. I sat there, slightly bouncing, praying that the elevator didn't plummet 4 stories where I would most certainly meet my untimely demise. Luckily, after about 5-10 more minutes, he finally broke me out. I ran out of that elevator like I was on fire, hiked back up the 2 flights of stairs, and went into the lab where I very promptly had a panic attack. I was gasping for air, I felt like I couldn't breathe, and even worse, I was still hungry.
I had a meeting in 10 minutes so I tried to pull it together as quickly as possible. When I get to my meeting, it turns out that 30% of the people in the meeting heard the alarm and were annoyed that whoever was stuck on the elevator kept ringing the bell. I asked them why they didn't help me and they looked at each other and looked at me and had no good answer. Most of them were like, "what was I supposed to do?" Uh, I don't know...you're sitting in a conference room WITH A BLOODY PHONE!!! Call security, dumbass! Or, maybe...just maybe...GET OUT OF YOUR DAMN CHAIR and walk over to see what all the fuss is about? It turns out, everyone thought someone else would take care of it, thereby leaving me a sweaty hot mess, huddled on the floor of an elevator for over an hour.
I might write into John Quinones and have him enact this debacle on an episode of "What would you do..."
At about 1pm, I realize that I'm starving, haven't had lunch, and should probably do so before my 2:30pm meeting. Typically, I grab my phone, wallet, and ID and head down to the cafe on the 1st floor (I work on the 6th) Today, since I planned to be extra swift, I grabbed my credit card and ID and headed to the elevator. I press "1" for the first floor and ride down alone.
The elevator begins its descent. When I get to the first floor, the doors do not open. The number 1 on the digital display begins to flash and all the lights on the button panel go out. Laughing, I hit the door open button (aka the two arrows pointing away from a line in the middle) Nothing happens. I then scan my badge and hit "7". Nothing happens. Then all of a sudden, the lights on the panel come back on and the elevator starts going up. At the 4th floor, it stops. Again, the doors don't open. I play with the buttons for about 5 more minutes...the panic is slowly starting to rise. Also, I started to feel hot (it's like 94 degrees with 80% humidity today). I stare at the buttons on the wall. I don't see anything that says "call" or "emergency" or an icon with a phone or anything.
The only thing that looks remotely useful is an icon of a bell. I push that. An alarm clock noise proceeds and remains for as long as my finger is pushing down the button. I'm not sure what that actually accomplished so I start knocking on the door to see if anyone is outside. I hear voices...there's gotta be someone out there. There's a door at the bottom of the wall with a knob, so I try to open that. It's locked. Okay...now what? I'm basically starting to talk to myself and tell myself I'm an idiot for not bringing my phone. I stare at the buttons for about 10 more minutes trying to figure out what I should do. I hear some people outside again so I start banging on the door, yelling for help, and telling them I'm stuck.
I mean, I can hear them! Surely they can hear me too, right?! But if they hear me, why is no one saying anything back.
At this point, I'm vacillating between this:
and this:
Since I had no watch, it's hard to say how long I did this. After about what I think was 20 minutes, I decided that I should just ring the bell and pound on the door some more. I intermittently pushed down the button and banged and yelled for a while (maybe another 10 minutes). Then I started to feel hot, and sweaty, and like the air was being sucked out. I retreated to the corner and rocked myself like an autistic child, wondering how long I'd have to sit there, wishing I'd used the bathroom before, and wondering if I got hungry enough, would I eat my shoe. I really hoped not, because these are new kicks and I really like them. After about 10 more minutes, I heard what sounded like really close talking. I jumped up, pounded on the door some more, and shouted for help. Finally, someone heard me. They said they would alert security. I sat down and waited some more.
Finally, some dude with a crow bar starts trying to break into the elevator. I could see his fingers, but he couldn't get it open. He asked me if "we" were alright. I told him I was alone and he asked me if I was okay. I told him I was going to throw up soon. He said to sit tight and he'd have me out of there "quick as a bunny." Now, I don't know about you, but that seems like it should be pretty damn fast. Wrong again. I sat there, slightly bouncing, praying that the elevator didn't plummet 4 stories where I would most certainly meet my untimely demise. Luckily, after about 5-10 more minutes, he finally broke me out. I ran out of that elevator like I was on fire, hiked back up the 2 flights of stairs, and went into the lab where I very promptly had a panic attack. I was gasping for air, I felt like I couldn't breathe, and even worse, I was still hungry.
I had a meeting in 10 minutes so I tried to pull it together as quickly as possible. When I get to my meeting, it turns out that 30% of the people in the meeting heard the alarm and were annoyed that whoever was stuck on the elevator kept ringing the bell. I asked them why they didn't help me and they looked at each other and looked at me and had no good answer. Most of them were like, "what was I supposed to do?" Uh, I don't know...you're sitting in a conference room WITH A BLOODY PHONE!!! Call security, dumbass! Or, maybe...just maybe...GET OUT OF YOUR DAMN CHAIR and walk over to see what all the fuss is about? It turns out, everyone thought someone else would take care of it, thereby leaving me a sweaty hot mess, huddled on the floor of an elevator for over an hour.
I might write into John Quinones and have him enact this debacle on an episode of "What would you do..."
5.05.2011
Who's that girl??
In order for the title of this post to make sense, there are a few things you need to know about me. I'll try to keep it short at sweet, but as you know, I'm prone to over-explanation. I can't help it, I'm verbose.
The first time I ever sang in front of people, it was in the 8th grade. I entered in the 8th grade talent show. I was too scared to sing by myself, so I enlisted the help of a fellow classmate who was deemed popular at the time. She happily agreed. We practiced, I thought we sounded okay. I actually thought I sounded okay but she was off key, mostly. Anyway, at the try outs, she was sick so I had to audition all by myself while our algebra teacher (yeah, our music program was cancelled) played the sheet music. I thought I did okay. The reaction to it was pretty great though. People thought I was so good that she actually blackmailed me into singing in our 5th hour Algebra class by telling the class she'd skip homework for the rest of the week if I sang. It was mortifying, but I did it.
Later that day, I heard someone in my class saying something about how I wasn't "all that". Whether or not he was trying to hurt my feelings or genuinely believed I wasn't "all that" is irrelevant. This is what I like to call the seed of my insecurity. Clearly at the age of 14, in what can only kindly be called my "awkward years", I was deeply hurt and confused and it caused me to have this total lack of faith in my ability.
I sang at the talent show. It went fine. People clapped. People told me it sounded great. But I had felt such panic before the show due to the comments I had heard, that I felt like I couldn't ever do it again. It made me feel too vulnerable and scared. I didn't sing again till 5 years later at my high school graduation. Even then, it was only because I was voted "best singer" in our class. I was again, totally terrified. It possibly took years off my life is stress alone.
Since then, I've sang at a whole heap-load of weddings. In college, I participated in a few open-mike nights. I have a debilitating fear of singing in front of people. It's truly terrible. It's probably not rational for someone who has sung in front of hundreds of people to have mild panic attacks at the thought of singing karaoke in front of people. But I do. I can't help it.
Enough of the background. Here's the good stuff:
My company just had it's client conference in Kansas City. They threw an afterparty at the Midland theater and this year, they went all out! They had dueling pianos, a comedian, and Matt Nathanson performed...
At some point in the evening, there was a huge opening right in front of the stage. I seized the opportunity to take a killer shot from about 2 feet away from him...right in front of the stage. I even have proof! See evidence below:
So I'm standing like 2 feet away from Matt Nathanson and they've been hilarious all night, playing covers and their own music. I hear this guy behind me yell "Hey, play something I can do the worm to!" So Matt says "Hmmm...I don't know what I could play. We don't do a lot of hip hop. Unless you like Eminem..." As a girl who is from the 313, I obviously heart Eminem and now all the words to most of his songs. People start cheering and they start playing the opening riff to Lose Yourself. Then he realizes he doesn't know the words. So he asks "Does anyone here know the lyrics to "Lose yourself?" Being Indian, and being genetically programmed to raise your hand when you know the answer to a question (because that's what our people do), my hand shot up. I was standing 2 feet away from him so it's not like he could ignore it. He looked down and started laughing and asked me to come on stage. I don't know what I was thinking (I had not been drinking) but I quickly googled the lyrics to it (just in case) and brought my phone on stage. He was very happy to also have the words to the song so we dueted to Eminem's "Lose Yourself." SURREAL!
So there I am. I don't look too scared. I might even look like I'm having fun. I'm horrified by the sheer number of videos being taken and I hope they never surface in some sort of public way. Anyway, the point is that I think that what I realized is maybe it's a lot easier to get up in front of people if you don't give a rat's ass what they think. The fact that I wouldn't be singing (which is something I'm self conscious about because I don't want people to tell me I suck) really helped me get over some of that initial fear. Honestly, I don't even know what I was thinking...I don't know who that girl is because I've always been so scared of getting on stage. I even just got a phone call from someone seeing this picture and asking me what I'd done with her friend...
Maybe I've turned a page and won't be such a freak about it. To conclude my story, I was able to score a backstage pass to meet the band. The Indian guy in the band told me I did awesome. I got a signed CD, talked to Matt Nathanson for a few minutes and got a free t-shirt and went on my merry way. It was an amazing night. One I'll probably never forget (hopefully not because the videos surface...)
This is the shot of me and Matt backstage:
The first time I ever sang in front of people, it was in the 8th grade. I entered in the 8th grade talent show. I was too scared to sing by myself, so I enlisted the help of a fellow classmate who was deemed popular at the time. She happily agreed. We practiced, I thought we sounded okay. I actually thought I sounded okay but she was off key, mostly. Anyway, at the try outs, she was sick so I had to audition all by myself while our algebra teacher (yeah, our music program was cancelled) played the sheet music. I thought I did okay. The reaction to it was pretty great though. People thought I was so good that she actually blackmailed me into singing in our 5th hour Algebra class by telling the class she'd skip homework for the rest of the week if I sang. It was mortifying, but I did it.
Later that day, I heard someone in my class saying something about how I wasn't "all that". Whether or not he was trying to hurt my feelings or genuinely believed I wasn't "all that" is irrelevant. This is what I like to call the seed of my insecurity. Clearly at the age of 14, in what can only kindly be called my "awkward years", I was deeply hurt and confused and it caused me to have this total lack of faith in my ability.
I sang at the talent show. It went fine. People clapped. People told me it sounded great. But I had felt such panic before the show due to the comments I had heard, that I felt like I couldn't ever do it again. It made me feel too vulnerable and scared. I didn't sing again till 5 years later at my high school graduation. Even then, it was only because I was voted "best singer" in our class. I was again, totally terrified. It possibly took years off my life is stress alone.
Since then, I've sang at a whole heap-load of weddings. In college, I participated in a few open-mike nights. I have a debilitating fear of singing in front of people. It's truly terrible. It's probably not rational for someone who has sung in front of hundreds of people to have mild panic attacks at the thought of singing karaoke in front of people. But I do. I can't help it.
Enough of the background. Here's the good stuff:
My company just had it's client conference in Kansas City. They threw an afterparty at the Midland theater and this year, they went all out! They had dueling pianos, a comedian, and Matt Nathanson performed...
At some point in the evening, there was a huge opening right in front of the stage. I seized the opportunity to take a killer shot from about 2 feet away from him...right in front of the stage. I even have proof! See evidence below:
So I'm standing like 2 feet away from Matt Nathanson and they've been hilarious all night, playing covers and their own music. I hear this guy behind me yell "Hey, play something I can do the worm to!" So Matt says "Hmmm...I don't know what I could play. We don't do a lot of hip hop. Unless you like Eminem..." As a girl who is from the 313, I obviously heart Eminem and now all the words to most of his songs. People start cheering and they start playing the opening riff to Lose Yourself. Then he realizes he doesn't know the words. So he asks "Does anyone here know the lyrics to "Lose yourself?" Being Indian, and being genetically programmed to raise your hand when you know the answer to a question (because that's what our people do), my hand shot up. I was standing 2 feet away from him so it's not like he could ignore it. He looked down and started laughing and asked me to come on stage. I don't know what I was thinking (I had not been drinking) but I quickly googled the lyrics to it (just in case) and brought my phone on stage. He was very happy to also have the words to the song so we dueted to Eminem's "Lose Yourself." SURREAL!
Maybe I've turned a page and won't be such a freak about it. To conclude my story, I was able to score a backstage pass to meet the band. The Indian guy in the band told me I did awesome. I got a signed CD, talked to Matt Nathanson for a few minutes and got a free t-shirt and went on my merry way. It was an amazing night. One I'll probably never forget (hopefully not because the videos surface...)
This is the shot of me and Matt backstage:
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