Growing up, we didn’t have a ton of holiday traditions. There was a tree and there were gifts and there was food, but nothing that was uniquely us. The only thing that came close was the yearly viewing of “Amahl and the Night Visitors.”
I was maybe 10 or so when my mom first pitched the idea of watching that movie to me. When she said what the plans were for the evening, I heard that we’d be watching something called “A Mall and the Night Visitors” and wondered what the f was so great about a story about some people who went shopping at night? I mean, kids trapped in a library, sure! (Thank you, Miss Frankweiler!) But what my mom was suggesting sounded ridiculous.
After she got done being offended by the wildly disgusted look on my face and realized the misunderstanding, she explained to me that AatNV was, in fact, an operetta about a little crippled boy who is visited by the Three Wise Men on their way to find Jesus.
She had me at “operetta.”
And now I’m wondering if “crippled” is a not-okay word to use these days.
Anyhoo, not only is it a fantastic little film, it’s also how I learned to sing opera. So I got two gifts that year. One, a movie to treasure always. And two, the assurance that I would never be burdened with popularity.
Please enjoy this clip from it.
What are your favorite (or least favorite) holiday traditions? Let us know in the comments!
And from me, my ugly sweater and two teddy bears getting it on to all of you: Have an amazing amazing holiday time–whatever you’re celebrating or not celebrating. However 2011 was for you, here’s to 2012 being even better! Thank you so so much for all your readings and commentings. I truly appreciate it and look forward to seeing everyone in the new year!!
…when it’s around 60 degrees in Los Angeles, gyms are crowded full of people trying to earn their upcoming holiday dinner, credit cards are getting maxed out and families everywhere are coming up with coping tactics for awkward, yet obligatory meals.
Ahhh, Christmas.
Time to plan that caroling party to sing some old favorites…or learn new ones (Like this one!)
What are your favorite holiday songs and traditions? Let us know in the comments!
There are a few things that will cause me to bolt out of bed in the morning: My recurring nightmare where I’m swimming through a swamp full of snakes, the momentary
And yes, my bed always has pristinely white sheets and drinks with twigs in them. Doesn't yours?
belief that I’ve missed my alarm and I’m two hours late for work, the sound of one of my cats yakking up her lungs onto the floor I just cleaned for the umpteenth time this week, the realization that this isn’t my bed and maybe I shouldn’t have had so much to drink at that networking event/conference/family reunion or a surprise email from a super wonderful character actor who happens to have been on one of my most favorite shows evereverevah!
This morning, I escaped #s 1-4 and was beyond delighted to get to experience #5. It was amazing. He spelled my name right, didn’t say I was stupid for emailing and while he didn’t offer to fly me to the country where he’s located, he did say that if for some reason I turned up there, we could meet in person.
Here’s my response to him. Actual text is in blue; What I felt like saying is slanty.
Hey there!Holy.Shit!!!
Thanks for writing back, it was great to hear from you! I literally just shit the bed. My roommates are wondering why I’m screaming and I’m so excited that I’ve barely noticed that my cats have thrown up right on my face. I’m so overstimulated in fact, that I’m not positive I’m not having a stroke.
Congrats on the new project. Sounds like a lot of fun! Look, I hope this isn’t presumptive of me, but how do you feel about winter weddings?
I’ll definitely let you know if I’m on your side of the pond.I can in no way afford to up and head to the UK right now, but I will sell my blood, these cats and maybe my roommates’ blood and cats if that’s what it takes to end up in your amazing amazing arms.
Best, I love you more than words, paintings or angels could possibly express.
And it doesn’t stop there! My soul must have an awesome 6-pack from the effort I spend muscling the crazy back inside where it belongs. Here’s a rundown of a typical day and the reason I’m always so exhausted by 7 p.m.
Yes. We be crazy.
6:45 a.m. (my bedroom)
Cats: Meow
Me: Hi Bobbie, Hi Marilyn. Look, I’m really really sorry that I don’t spend $20 a bag on good food, but c’mon, you eat your own throw up and the other day when I cut my foot and bled all over the floor, you ate that, too so you can’t be that picky!! But maybe the fact that this bag of food that feeds you for a month only cost $4 is the reason you have that bump on your belly ohmygodI’msosososorry!!!!
Cats: Meow
Me: Yes, I’ll feed you in a minute, babies. After I get done castigating myself in the shower for being such a terrible mother! *sobs…internally*
9:15 a.m. (office)
Boss: What are you working on today?
Me: I’m gonna update these schedules this morning and am in meetings all afternoon. But I will lick your office clean if that will ensure that you don’t regret hiring me.
12:30 p.m. (my office)
Friend: Wanna go to lunch?
Me: Sure! I’m your ninth choice for lunch company and you’re only doing this because you pity me, right?
4:23 p.m. (my office)
Coworker: Do you know what room the task force meeting is in?
Me: 552. I’m smelly, aren’t I?
7:00 p.m. (Trader Joes)
Cashier: Did you find everything you needed?
Me: Yup! Please love me.
9:56 p.m. (bed)
Cats: Meow.
Me: Fie! Take thy claws from out my heart and take thy form from off my door!
Cats: Nevermore…Meow.
***
Surely I’m not the only one riding this close to the tipping point of reason. What goes on in your head that should definitely stay there? Let it out and tell us about it in the comments!
Pretty much every year, a group of college students decides it’ll be a swell idea to host a party where people dress up like minorities by, among other things, donning some good ol’ fashioned blackface and sometimes a grill or two.
Just a reminder that these people were all making active choices.
Earlier this year, students at Université de Montréal donned blackface for a presentation in their business class.
C’est manifique, messieurs!
Last year, students at the University of California, San Diego hosted a “Compton Cookout.” The invitation to that party went a little something like this:
“February marks a very important month in American society. No, i’m not referring to Valentines day or Presidents day. I’m talking about Black History month. As a time to celebrate and in hopes of showing respect, the Regents community cordially invites you to its very first Compton Cookout.
For guys: I expect all males to be rockin Jersey’s, stuntin’ up in ya White T (XXXL smallest size acceptable), anything FUBU, Ecko, Rockawear, High/low top Jordans or Dunks, Chains, Jorts, stunner shades, 59 50 hats, Tats, etc.
For girls: For those of you who are unfamiliar with ghetto chicks-Ghetto chicks usually have gold teeth, start fights and drama, and wear cheap clothes – they consider Baby Phat to be high class and expensive couture. They also have short, nappy hair, and usually wear cheap weave, usually in bad colors, such as purple or bright red. They look and act similar to Shenaynay, and speak very loudly, while rolling their neck, and waving their finger in your face. Ghetto chicks have a very limited vocabulary, and attempt to make up for it, by forming new words, such as “constipulated”, or simply cursing persistently, or using other types of vulgarities, and making noises, such as “hmmg!”, or smacking their lips, and making other angry noises,grunts, and faces. The objective is for all you lovely ladies to look, act, and essentially take on these “respectable” qualities throughout the day.
A few years ago, word got out that students at Tarleton State University, University of Connecticut School of Law, Clemson University and the University of Arizona all threw ghetto parties on Martin Luther King Day.
Happy MLK Day, everyone!
It seems that like prostitution and casual drug use, these peccadilloes are here to stay. So instead of trying to legislate morality into students, maybe we should take a cue from the Libertarians and give everyone some guidelines on how to party like it’s 1849 without risk of disciplinary action. It’s like learning how to have safe sex…assuming that by “sex,” we mean “really terrible party ideas that the future leaders of our country maybe shouldn’t be coming up with.”
So here are some Dos and Don’ts for your next ghettotastic shindig.
DON’T: have a blackface party at a school with a black dean. I’m looking at you Mississippi!
DO: Keep a tight grip on the invite list. Some people are really sensitive and will report your party to school officials because they’re too busy not taking that stick out of their ass. So don’t let word get around that you’re hosting.
DON’T: Post pictures on facebook, Twitter, tumblr…actually, don’t take any pictures at all. Remember that person with the stick where the sun don’t shine? Well those same humorless aholes will likely send those pictures to someone who has the ability to make your life more difficult. So take the higher road and don’t give them the ammunition they need.
DO:not ask yourself why this is the theme you chose for your party in the first place. You have way too much to do to spend time thinking about your decisions may affect other people. Besides, don’t they see how ridiculously clever and ironic you are! Ugh! They’ve probably never heard of Middling Banana Sunshine Patrol either and MDSP is like the best thing to happen to house music since…you know what, never mind, you have to be really in the scene to even get what they’re doing.
DON’T: make friends with RBP..like ever. They will straight leave your ass (and maybe cut you) when they see the one picture you couldn’t help but take. They may also report you to the dean. Oreos are probably pretty safe as they won’t bother showing you the silent tears they’re crying on the inside.
DO: remember to wash off the shoe polish before class in the morning! Showing up with those streaks on your face will be as awkward as it was waking up to that person in your bed who was soooo not cute now that you’re sober. Ick!!
DON’T: bother maybe doing a quick Google search to see why blackface is so fucking offensive, it’ll just bring down the mood of the room – total party foul!
Happy Partying!!!
What other tips do have for getting away with pretty offensive behavior? What do you think of these parties? Have you ever been? When’s your next one? Can I come? Let us know in the comments!
Yesterday at Zumba, I ended up chatting with a girl before class. It was her first time and she was excited, but nervous about not being able to keep up. I told her it was super fun and would be totally fine.
I mean, look at it! How can that not be fun!! Oh, because it's in public and people can judge you? Okay, there is that.
I understood her concern. I was, myself, initially worried about taking Zumba. One one hand, it’s a great, fun way to exercise. On the other, it’s dancing and it’s trendy, so the risk is having to do something hip-hoppy is always there. But when the moves lean a little to far toward popping or locking, I feign confusion, pull out something from swing dancing and generally feel much better.
Yesterday, however, something happened that always sends shivvers down my spine. Something that makes me want to run away and hide. Something that brings a quivver to my lip and a tear to my eye. The girl complimented me.
“That was fun!” she said. “And you look great out there, you really know what you’re doing.”
Oh crap.
Like everyone else on the cusps of Gens X and Y, who chose the arts as a profession and whose parents had more than a few unrealized dreams, I am pretty sure that everything I touch turns to poo. Like I”m always wearing the Emperor’s New Clothes. I can’t help it. Thinking of myself in glowing terms feels as off as thinking of myself as a dude. It’s not that I don’t enjoy life and things, I’m just a writer. We’re always kind of melancholy.
Plus, I never know how to respond to compliments. Be in agreement with the person talking to you and you’re an arrogant ass. Blow off what they say and you’re ungrateful and rude. It’s like hugging a tall person. Do you go up around their neck like you’re a child or a baby monkey? Or do you hug them around their waist like you’re their lover.
Or high-fiving?!? Geez! Could there be a more awkward social interaction? I think I’d rather make out with a stranger than high-five them. I mean, in the H5, how hard do you hit, how hard do you receive? How do you know they’re going for a high-five and not just swatting a bug out of the air?
Look at that! It's so vague. That could mean "I'm here," or "Stop!" or "Taxi!" or "Throw it to me." How are you supposed to know??
Pretty much all of those thoughts went through my head after class and my new friend probably wondered why I was staring quite so hard into the middle distance when all she tried to do was be nice to me.
Here’s what I can ascertain is the proper procedure for receiving a compliment. What do you think?
Step 1: Do something to the best of your ability while telling yourself that even though you’re doing it all all wrong, you’re a better person for tackling the intellectual exercise of doing something that makes you want to crap your pants.
Step 2: Try to escape the location as quickly as possible without making eye contact with any person, place or thing. But, when someone inevitably stops you and tells you they enjoyed whatever you internally sobbed your way through…
Step 3: Say “thank you,” but assume that any of the following is more likely than that person meaning whatever they just told you.
An alien has temporarily possessed your body and has abilities far beyond yours. This alien will leave your body soon and people will continue to expect great things of you, that because you are alien-less, you will be unable to perform.
An alien has temporarily possessed the body of your complimentor and has tastes and expectations that are far below the average human. This alien will soon leave your complimentor’s body and that person, because they are alien-less, will forever wonder why the hell you keep chatting to them on facebook.
The person is drunk and high, or otherwise addled and has no idea what they’re saying.
The person is saying something nice because you were so terrifically terrifying that they’re worried that if they don’t say something nice, you’ll kill everyone.
The person meant to be complimenting someone else.
The person IS complimenting someone else, but you are so delusional that you think they’re talking to you.
The person actually only asked you what time it was.
The person actually did mean to compliment you, but you are suddenly stinkier than any person has ever been ever and they regret the moment they came within fifty yards of you.
You are in the middle of a waking dream.
Pretty standard checklist, right?
***
To see more journeys through dance, check out these links…
Every once in a while, there will be a dilemma in the Oreo lifestyle. That’s right, two lemmas. The n-word in hip hop songs creates two of those said lemmas.
Close enough.
On one hand, any self-respecting Oreo knows zero lyrics to any hip hop song. On the other hand, sometimes, you’ll have the misfortune of knowing what the words are because you are, say at karaoke. When that happens, you’ll sometimes have to choose whether to say or not say the “n-word.”
This brings us to two more lemmas..(lemmae?).
Again. Close enough.
On one hand, the n-word is a horrible, offensive, painful piece of slang that no one should ever say ever.
On the other hand (Yup, I’m quadri-dextrous), no self-respecting Oreo would say the above. It implies that you have a connection to race and thus the sting associated with the speaking, singing or rapping of that word.
So, if you do find yourself having to say the n-word in song, you’ll need to have options. Karaoke is fun, and I’ll admit that even I know all the words to Baby Got Back and Shoop. While neither of those songs uses the word in question to get their very salient points across, it does go to show that anyone can be caught in the middle of some hip hop.
Here are some alternative words that to drop like they’re hot in the middle of a song like Golddigger**:
Nibbler
Knickerbocker
Snicker
Nietzsche
Nicknack
Ninja
Knitter
Nagging
Nephew
Narwhal (why doesn’t this word end in an “e”)
Mitzvah
Nahum (sorry, book of the bible)
Nancy
Nanpie (they’re black, too)
Nacho
Nabob (but not the National Association of Black Owned Broadcasters)
Narnya (like Narnia, but with two syllables…golly, Lazy Sunday was a great song)
Nietzsche
Insert one of the above and wait for the unoffended applause!
I ain’t sayin’ she a gold digger
But she ain’t messin’ with no broke ninja
or
I ain’t sayin’ she a gold digger
But she ain’t messin’ with no broke Nietzsche
or
I ain’t sayin’ she a gold digger
But she ain’t messin’ with no broke Nanpie
See, they all work perfectly!! Perfectly.
Hope this helps with the hip hop hurdles! With this list, you should be able to conquer all lyrical lemmas in record time.
Leave a comment here or at any of the above and let us know what you think!
****
**(True story about Golddigger…this conversation did happen when that song came out.
OreoExperience: This is awful of me to say, but I actually kind of like that song Golddigger.
WhitePal: Yeah, I like that the radio censors it like that.
OE: What do you mean?
WP: You know, when they go ‘…but she ain’t messin’ with no broke, broke…’
OE: Yeah?
WP: Well, they censored it there.
OE: I don’t get it.
WP: How is that possible?
OE: What could they be censor…ooooohhhhhh! I thought they were being poetic and turning the word “broke” into both an adjective and a noun. That’s why I liked the song…. Why are you walking away??)
Apparently, some sports season is winding down and/or another one is winding up. Something about brackets? I’m not sure. I just know that there’s been more talk of teams around the office and the group emails from my college alumni group are starting to be full of lots of ticket swap talk.
Unofortch, no one is anteing tix to see these fellas play.
I really wish I got the sports thing. I think this is the one only-child trait that I hang on to. I’m not overly selfish. I can play well with others. I don’t mind sharing. But I just don’t understand team sports. I remember standing on the volleyball court in school and thinking “So…did you want to handle this or do you want me to? There’s like 6 of us. Are we really all needed, because I have some arpeggios to practice if you’re good.”
HOW many people does it take to get a ball over a net?? The ball's not heavy, the net's not that high, just have that one gal toss it over, done!
You’d think I would have absorbed something useful about sports by now. I am, after all, from Texas, where football is a very big deal. And because I was extra cool, I was in marching band in both high school and college. So I went to a LOT of football games.
Yup. I sported that outfit. Proudly. Go LHB!!
But the things I most looked forward to had nothing to do with the game. In high school, we were allowed to take the boxes our hats came in into the stands with us to store our bright, white feathered plumes before and after the half-time performance. But you know what else those boxes could hold? Calculus and French text books!!! I was always so happy to have an extra four hours to work on homework, that I generally forgot to watch the field.
In college, my favorite part of the game was right after the half-time show when we would get applause and apples. They’d pass around this box of fruit and it was just delicious!! I mean, I think I was supposed to be happy that one of our players won a Heisman or something and that I got to see him play every week. But those apples were like the best apples ever.
There are a few general reasons why I can’t get on board with team sports:
I hate seeing men cry. I mean, I love it when men are emotionally avail, but it just breaks my heart to see them cry.
It's okay, little soldier. I'm here. I'm right here.
And guys often cry after losing a game. They’d try not to, but through their clenched lips and stern looks, you could see tears just welling up and them doing that not-blinking thing so that the tears wouldn’t actually fall. I’m misting up now just thinking about it.
I put things in perspective. A friend was lamenting the fact that the Buffalo Bills have lost four Superbowls and thus people make fun of them. And I’m like “But they WENT to the Superbowl!! They made it there!! I can’t get to the Superbowl. That’s a serious accomplishment.” Apparently, just making it to the SB isn’t quite good enough. I’m a giant perfectionist and I still don’t get that.
I can’t stand to see people get hurt. I’m a huge baby when it comes to other people’s pain. My roommate once broke his toe in front of me and I had to call a doctor because I was the one who passed out.
And when it comes to specific sports, there’s just too many things that don’t make sense.
Baseball: You get in trouble for doing the right things. In the spirit of “okay, maybe I can learn to like this,” I played softball once a couple of years ago. I was up to bat. The pitch came toward me and I steeled myself for the contact. Dug my toe into the dirt, rotated back and CRACK!!! I hit the ball really high and really far. It was super impressive flying into the sun like that. Like a bird. A round, wingless birdie.
Like a kiwi! Only I'd never hit a kiwi with a bat. Even to give it the gift of flight.
And then I got OUT!!! Excuse me?? I just did something GOOD. I just demonstrated a serious piece of timing, strength and coordination and you PUNISH me for it??
Fuck that!
I haven’t played since.
Soccer: Thought I was gonna like this one because they don’t stop the clock. Yay! A night, tight 90-minute game with nice, tight bodies running up and down the field. Low scoring, but that’s okay… until they do that bullshit kick off at the end!
I don’t remember what the score was, but at this match I went to in Australia, apparently, the judge or ref or officials or whatever didn’t care what it was. These players had just exhausted themselves and instead of going with what was on the scoreboard, they had a kick off where the first one to make a goal won the whole effing game! What?? Why not just do that at the beginning if you don’t care about the effort that went into it? Sheesh!
I'm sorry, was I complaining about something? I suddenly got distrac---
Basketball: Too many points. If it’s that easy to get points, it’s just doesn’t seem challenging. I would like it better though, I think if the guys went back to wearing those shorty shorts that they used to.
No surprise that the sports I do like are individual events. And super white.
Tennis: I played when I was in school. Classy, simple, elegant. And if you’re a girl, you get to have fun making the audience feel like pervs when you vocalize your impacts and efforts.
exactly how I looked when I played in school. Perhaps explains why I never went pro.
Equestrian Things: Who doesn’t want to have something and powerful between their legs? Seriously, though, horses are wonderful and they can fly!
Lindy Hop: If you think swing dancing isn’t an athletic pursuit, you clearly haven’t seen this video.
Tissu: Just getting into this now. First class is this weekend. Went to Cirque a couple of weeks ago. Squealed like a little kid throughout. Signed up for a class. Have clearly overestimated my hand and shoulder strength, flexibility, stamina and comfort with heights, but looking forward to it!
If I get into this position, I will never get out.
Next on my list of ways to procrastinate instead of just writing the pages that I’m supposed to hand over to people tomorrow (sorry, M and J!) is to make a playlist of songs that I love…but that also make me cry a little bit.
I’ve already exhausted watching episodes of the BBC hit “How Clean is Your House,” making my own bathroom cleanser from scratch, annoying my cats and convincing myself not to go to the Cicada Club tonight (is anyone going to the Cicada Club tonight?). So this iTunes journey seems like the next best thing.
Here’s what I have so far! These are some of the songs that will cause me to show up for 8:30 a.m. production meetings with smudged mascara because I couldn’t just had to listen to them as I pulled into the parking lot at work.
Tom Waits – San Diego Serenade. This song gets five out of five tear stains. Just so lovely and evocative and simply lyriced.
Jeff Buckley’s Hallelujah. All of the versions of this song make me just want to slit my wrists they’re so gorgeous. But this one is the first one I heard. That’s not true. The first one I heard was done by a men’s a capella group from an Ivy League College. This is the second one I heard. And it is glorious!
Tim Minchin – If I Didn’t Have You. This is one of my favorite pieces of art ever. It sounds flippant at first, but then is just wow. Poignant and lovely and true. Also, he’s an Ozzie, so he pronounces the word “drama” as “dramer” which is equally as awesome as the song.
This Song from Next to Normal – Maybe. If you haven’t seen this play. See it, but be prepared to develop a drinking problem immediately afterwards. It’s beautiful, but depressing as eff.
Elaborate Lives from Aida. I know, there’s a black person in this video. But she’s dating a white dude, so it’s all good. Also, she’s Heather Headley who is hands down amazing. And she GETS TO KISS ADAM PASCAL. I would probably give every thing that I’ve ever owned or will to re-make this video with Adam. He did touch my shoulder once. I know he thought it was as special as I did. There are 46,000 views of this video. I’m pretty sure that 45,900 are mine .
Part of Your World. Yup. A song about a girl dreaming to be something she’s not. How could that not move this Oreo to tears?
Also, the lyric “…How many wonders can one cavern hold…” Am I the only one who thinks that’s secretly dirty?
—–
What songs make you tear up? Let us know in the comments!
I just read a book should be required reading. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that it’s as crucial as the classics, as informative as an encyclopedia and as page-turning as [insert name of popular graphic novel franchise here].
I’m talking about The Game – the expose into the society of Pick Up Artists by Neil Strauss.
Fresh off the heels of something disappointing with some dude, a good friend told me to read it. This is a friend who lives by the “rules” of dating. I don’t have time to wait X number of days to call someone or not return emails so as to appear “unavailable” and I kinda like the ol’ ones and twos too much to sport a fake chastity belt so that Mr. RightAfterIFinishWatchingModernFamilyIt’sAReallyGoodShow!! thinks that I’m a good mother-virgin-whore. So when she suggested I read this book, I was reticent to do so.
Listen, Phil. I know you're married...and not real. But you know, if anything changes... I'll be right here
If you haven’t read it, here’s the sitch: The book follows the author as he descends into the world of Pickup Artistry. Basically, these dudes get together and perfect elaborate games, schemes and tricks to make women sleep with them. They keep score, they try to “sarge” as many “two and three sets” as possible while “pea-cocking” at clubs. There’s a whole lingo and costumes and general douchebaggery.
This is one of the "masters" of the art of pick up. He gets girls. Lots of them. And they let him touch them. Ah well, everyone has a type, I guess, right?
The worst part of the story is that the tricks seem to work. Hot women fall for this madness and make life more difficult for regular looking heady girls like.. um.. you know, no one in particular.
One of the favorite tricks goes like this: Step One: Find a woman you’re interested in talking to. Step Two: Insult her. She will feel the need to defend her honor to you and will then suck up to you to prove to you that she’s not mean/ugly/smelly/needy/bitchy/boring or whatever it is you told her she was. Step 3: Show here where you keep your meat and two veg.
Though idk why women would be insecure. Not like this is part of the beauty standard or anything. Also heehee, you can see her buns!!!
There’s also a bunch of stuff about hypnotizing people on the spot and duping girls into threesomes by pretending you know fuck all about Eastern massage techniques.
I read the book, fascinated by its exploration of hubris and pathos and certain that no regular person would ever think that this was the way to try and relate to other human beings.
And then I started paying attention to the way strangers talked to me.
And then I wanted to weep for all of mankind.
I don’t know that the three men I’m about to describe were actually and actively trying to hit on me. And maybe they really did just want me to go away. But there was something about the cavalier way that they were so super rude that it made me think they might believe this is how you’re supposed to talk to people.
A few nights ago, I was at a networking event. I was meant to meet someone there and they hadn’t arrived, so I was standing there feeling very awkward and trying not to look like it. I remembered one thing that the book DID suggest that is actually just helpful for starting conversations with strangers in general.
It described the benefit of greeting strangers with something other than “hey, what’s your name?” That is a boring way to start a conversation and makes people feel like you’re going to stand there forever and chat them up. Instead, they suggest, start with either a fun question about the event/picture you’re both looking at/drink you’re both drinking, etc. Or to ask them a question that they might be able to answer. This changes the interaction from interview to conversation immediately.
I approached a couple of guys and asked if they knew the host of the party. We were all invited via email list and didn’t know the guy throwing the shindig personally. They said they didn’t and we joked about how he might be a ninja or a wraith or some sort of rogue operative. It was fun and light and everyone was having a perfectly good time.
I asked the guys what they did. It was an industry networking event, after all, and so questions about the industry should be expected.
“Ugh!” one of the guys said. “I hate that question. It’s so fake and LA. I always ask ‘what do you do creeeeativelyyyyyyy?’ That’s way better.”
“Oh, I said. Well, it was great meeting you, then.” And I turned and walked away.
About 45 seconds later, I found myself at the beginning of another conversation. This time with a photographer. We got to talking about models and photoshopping and I said something about feminism and photography and he said:
“Well, if you’re such a feminist, then why are you wearing a short skirt?”
“I’m wearing this because I like it,” I snapped back. “I think it’s cute and fun and it’s comfortable. And, it was nice meeting you.”
And I turned and walked away.
That night I checked out ye olde dating profile (I really should take an effing break from that shiz) and someone messaged me and said that he just couldn’t understand why that was my favorite movie. It’s just so maudlin and over the top and dull.
Not dull.
Though he did get points for using the word maudlin, I was like: “What’s with all the insults??”
There’s a huge difference between saying “I hear there’s some contention in feminist circles over traditionally “girlie” clothing. What do you think about that?” And an accusation of being a liar.
If you’re taking the time to email me via my dating profile, why tell me that my fave movie is stupid?
And even if the weird black girl is hurting your game with the models (and oh, there were models) who I’m positive were just waiting to rip your pants off, why be a dick about it?
Conversation is not a competition.
And Sunset Boulevard is an excellent film.
******
Does being a jerk at first blush really ingratiate you to most of the population?
What do you think of the rules? Do you play by them? How’s that going? Let us know in the comments!
The Oreo Experience 