Man Invites 700 Friends to Party, 1 Shows Up

Why does this not surprise me at all?

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/10/26/magazine/26lives-t.html

I've long felt that we are living in the flakiest of times. To paraphrase the article, “maybe” means no, and “definitely yes” means probably no.

This is the age when, “I'm feeling kinda lazy tonight,” is a legitimate excuse for breaking plans with me that have been in the works for a month. Same with the mysterious, dreaded, “Something came up.”

What? What could possibly have come up? If the “something” was an eccentric billionaire who decided to whisk you off to the south of France, I would understand. But I know deep in my heart that the “something” is much more mundane. Either you made better plans with cooler people, or else you're at home watching So You Think You Can Dance.

I used to be offended that So You Think You Can Dance was a legitimate excuse for ditching me. Now, however, I'm learning to blend in with Vancouver society and just not care. Somebody bails on me to complete a laughably non-urgent task? Meh. Whatever. I Don't Need Friendship With Other People to Define Me; I Am An Individual.

I've even started learning the Vancouver Flake language. I have this one friend that I talk to every week. And, every week, we go through the same hollow motions of making plans for the weekend.

“So I'll call you on Saturday at 3?”

“Great, see you then!”

However, we both know we have no serious intention of getting together on Saturday at 3. The words have become a friendly way of saying goodbye: “I still care about you, but, meh, I've just been feeling kinda tired for the past decade. You understand.”

Same with “See you soon.” Three words that once meant: “I will meet you in the near future.” Now they too are just a way of saying goodbye, the socially accepted sounds to make when you're hanging up the phone.

So I ask you, in a world where “See you on Tuesday then,” is synonymous for “Goodbye, we may never meet again,” how do you avoid developing trust issues?

I was going to think of an answer to that question, but, well, something came up. See you soon.

Yes, I am an English Major...

...No, I don't want to teach.

But for some reason, all my relatives and friends have decided that it is my destiny to teach. And that I will be an unfulfilled shell of a person until I decide to embrace that destiny. It doesn't matter that, for the past few years, I have successfully worked in a field completely unrelated to teaching.

So, once and for all, here is my rant about why I can't teach:

Elementary School: We had this extremely terrifying system at my elementary school called Lunch Monitoring. Basically, one 12-year-old (me) was left in charge of 25 8-year-olds for an hour every day. These 8-year-olds soon realized that I had no real authority over them, and immediately went Lord of the Flies. After several days of ineffectual threats and shouting, I left them to their brawling, closed the door, and hoped the principal wouldn't walk by. So really, if I can't even prevent kids from trashing the place, how am I supposed to teach them to read?

High School: Are you serious? You want me to go back to a place that 90% of adults are still traumatized by? A place where a kid's popularity is directly related to how little they study?

University: At least by now, you've weeded out the kids who think they're too cool for homework. You are left with former high school nerds who are excited to be finally accepted by their classmates. The Honours Society even sells t-shirts. Sounds like a perfect environment for a teacher, right? Wrong. Many of these nerds, drunk on their new-found power, go too far and attempt to overthrow the professors. No matter what class you are in, there will always be one.

"Does this relate to early Russian constructivism?"

"Can you compare that to the Foucauldian principle of Confusing-Everybody-With-Big-Words-For-No-Apparent-Reason-Just-Because-I'm-A-Jackass?"

Thanks but no thanks.

ESL: "It's so easy!" you say. "You just talk to people all day!" Um, yeah. Me and all the other awkward social misfits in the room just ran away to hide. You'll never find us.

"But," you may suggest, "what if you just tried teaching - maybe in 5 or 6 years you'd learn to enjoy it!" So you're saying that, out of all the thousands of careers in the world, I should pick the very one that I am determined not to pick, and spend the rest of my life trying to pound a square peg into a round hole?

Maybe a metaphor would help. Would you find a boyfriend or girlfriend by hitting on the person you find least attractive?

Anyways, I greatly admire those people that like teaching and are good at it. Why don't we help make the world a better place - leave the teaching to them, and leave me out of it!

Blondes have more fun?

If so, I feel really sorry for all the brunettes and redheads out there.

The truth is, at least in Canada , that the cult of the blonde has been dead for a very, very long time. Just ask any blonde who's ever tried to get a date in Vancouver. Before I met my gorgeous boyfriend, this was my typical interaction with men:

Guy: “Hi, my name's Guy.”
Me: “Hi, nice to meet you.”
Guy: “I should tell you right now, I don’t like blondes.”
Me: “Um…”
Guy: “I was just wondering – is your friend over there single?”

True story. Eventually I fell into the role of Designated Cockblocker for my girlfriends. Since I was usually unoccupied, it was up to me to rescue the brunettes from constant hordes of ravening, voracious men.

Anyways, happy ending, though. One day, I happened to run into a cute guy who offered to buy me a drink - and not in order to appease the Strange Guardian of Hot Brunettes!

So, brunettes, I'm telling you: RELAX. You don't need to buy any more custom t-shirts advertising your superiority. You don't need to go on rants about how guys only want those vapid cookie-cutter blondes, while ignoring your unique nonconformist edginess. Because look around you - you've already won!

No need to kick those poor blondes when they're down.

Way to go, Karma Police!

So I was buying a Subway sandwich on my way to class today, and there was a long line. This one girl in line was apparently late for an appointment, so she started yelling at the staff for working too slowly. Total bitch.

Then, suddenly, she broke off her tirade and ran out of the store. Turns out, a cop had just pulled up to her car and was writing her a ticket! Everybody in the store laughed at her. She never came back.

So perfect.

Finally, some justice! The phrase, "The customer is always right," has excused countless abuses over the years, and we need to start handing out tickets.

Publicly humiliate fast-food workers because YOU'RE disorganized and running late? Get a ticket, bitch!

Argue with and threaten 16-year-old cashiers over company policy that they have no control over? Get a ticket, asshole!

One day, when I rule the world...

Random observation

The first thing they teach you in every language class is how to ask for somebody's phone number. I've always wondered why, though. If you do get somebody's number, what do you say when you call them?

I imagine the call going like this:

"Hello?"

"Hello. What is your phone number?"

"Who is this?"

"Er...what is your phone number?"

*Click*

Insane.

Dear Smug Jerk,

You know who you are. You're that one complete stranger at every party who, for some reason, feels compelled to insult me.

There I am, just minding my own business, when you introduce yourself. I've never met you, but I am hopeful that we can be friends. You tell me that you're studying commerce, or engineering, or some such thing. I nod politely and sip my drink. All is friendly. Then, you ask me what I studied at university. "English," I reply innocently. Then you say:

"Fuck! English? Why would anyone study English? That's the most useless degree in the world! You'd be better off if you spent those 4 years playing pinball!"

*Blink* Huh? I thought we were making polite small talk here!

Most people (except for your Grade 3 bully) learned at a very young age that it's not socially appropriate to walk up to some random person and call them an idiot. But...when I hit my 20s, it suddenly become appropriate again, and hilariously witty. "I think I'll trash the life choices of the first person I meet tonight!"

After several years being insulted by nearly every stranger I met, I finally decided to talk back. The conversation went something like this.

Smug Jerk # 543: "You're completely useless in the job market. You'll never go anywhere in life."

Me: "I have a job."

Smug Jerk #543: *splutter* "Um, uhhhh....well, that's not the point! The point is that an English degree will never prepare you for real responsibilities, in the real world!"

Me: "Tell that to my real boss. She'll think you're a real asshole."

I think this prejudice against English majors comes from our perception of what "the real world" is. I happen to believe that art, literature, and ideas are a crucial part of "the real world," and are essential to understanding it. So do Europeans. I have never been insulted by a European. Instead, they say, "You studied Literature? That's interesting! It must have been really hard. What period did you specialize in?"

North Americans, however, are practical to a fault. They study Systems Integration Management and become Systems Integration Managers. They feel that they have to follow one path from age 18 until death, making as much money as possible and never enjoying it. Suffering automatically makes you a respectable person, and the arts are childish distractions.

As for me, I am proud to hold a degree that lets me to adapt to a variety of situations, and appreciate the world around me. So, Smug Jerk, just shut up about things you don't understand, and stick to talking about the weather.

Boo!

I have no idea what to be for Hallowe'en. So, when I passed a costume shop the other day, I decided to browse. And, not to go on a feminist rant or anything, but there was a definite theme to all the girls' costume kits.

I learned that I can be either a Playboy Bunny, a slutty vampire, a slutty nurse, a slutty pirate, a slutty cop, a slutty schoolgirl, a slutty nun, a slutty witch, or, if this is all too subtle for me, a stripper.

What a world of opportunity.

I decided to skip the kits, and headed to Google to find some creative costume ideas. (And yes, I am fully aware of the irony involved in googling “creative ideas.”) To my dismay, most ideas provided by Google revolved around bad puns. For example:

Chain Smoker: Wrap chains around yourself and have a pack of cigarettes sticking out of your shirt pocket.

Under the Weather: On a hat attach clouds (cardboard and cotton balls), the sun, lightning bolts and raindrops.

Hmmm.

Am I better off as a Playboy bunny or a walking pun? I honestly don't know. The search continues.

"Just hold on!!"

New ideas are scarce these days. You can hardly expect Hollywood to provide an unlimited supply of this dwindling, endangered resource. Many studios now resort to unnecessary remakes to make ends meet. Recycling! How very green of them.

But some things should just stop. You know those scenes that were so thrilling and spine-tingling the first time you ever saw them in a movie? That had you on the edge of your seat? But then they appeared in every single movie you saw after that, when they really didn't need to be there anymore and were obviously thrown in to fill time?

My pet peeve is gratuitous dangling. You know what I'm talking about. Maybe there's an explosion, or an earthquake, or a flying car mishap. But, somehow, the hero's love interest/brother/daughter/best friend ends up dangling off a cliff, or a rooftop. We are then subjected to 10 minutes of panicked shouting, as the hero fights to reach his loved one.

“Just hold on!”

“I can't!”

“Dammit (insert name here), just hold on!”

Etc.

After this back-and-forth shouting has gone on for a sufficient length of time to be considered suspenseful, the dangling loved one must lose their grip and dangle by only few fingers. Maybe the badguy steps on their fingers. Maybe there's another explosion. Whatever. The end result is the same. More shouting ("Grab my hand!") and more suspenseful music.

At this point, I start wondering how many hours of my life have been spent watching actors dangle off cliffs and window ledges. I probably could have spent that time writing a novel, or running marathons, or something.

How about you? What is your most hated Hollywood cliche? Is it dangling? Is it that one dude in every zombie movie that gets bitten and doesn't tell anybody? (I hate that dude.)

Tell me!

Seize the Day...

I haven't slept much this week. Why, you ask? Well, I am back on the 9-to-5-plus-commute grind. I tend to sleep most deeply around 10 a.m., which doesn't work so well at the office. You'd think that several days of fatigue would force me to fall asleep earlier, but no. It's always the same routine of tossing and turning until 2 or 3, and then nodding off in my cubicle the next morning.

However, I live with two fanatical morning people. You know the type. The people who insist on jogging at 5:00 a.m., because they love the magic of the sunrise, the dew on the flowers, the sweet birdsong, etc. etc. etc. The people who actually meet their friends for breakfast on Saturday morning (none of that sissy brunch stuff). The people who constantly brag about everything they accomplish before lazy good-for-nothings like me are awake.

And that's the one thing that bothers me about morning people. I mean, I'm glad they're so happy. I just wish they wouldn't be so smug about it! Because, really, there is no morality involved in a person's sleeping habits. In past centuries, the mantra “early to bed, early to rise,” had a certain point to it. You needed to wake up early to milk the cows and walk those 15 miles to market. You also had no electric lights, so you had to do most chores during daylight hours.

However, now we have electricity, and, for the most part, no cows to milk. Science has shown us that different people work best at different times of the day. However, we are still stuck with this idea that those who function best at 6:00 a.m. are models of virtue, while something is wrong with those other weirdos who function best at night.

Take my fanatical early risers. It doesn't matter what they do at 6:00 am. They could just be watching music videos, but because they are up early, they are automatically Seizing The Day and Making The Most Of Life. However, despite the fact that I too am a responsible, hard-working citizen, they will always see me as an overgrown teenager because I prefer to get up around noon. “When you grow up,” they say knowingly, forgetting that I'm in my mid-20s, “you will come to appreciate the beauty of the morning.”

Sigh...two more zombie-like days until the long weekend.

Random side note...

Despite the fact that I despise mornings, I also despise coffee. Everyone tells me I should just force myself to drink the vile stuff. But, I can't think of a single benefit it would give me. First, I would go broke buying those $6 Starbucks concoctions. Second, as a dessert fiend, I definitely do not need any more sugar in my diet. Thirdly, and most importantly, I would have to get up earlier in order to drink coffee! Those 15 minutes that I would spend brewing coffee, waiting for it to cool off, and then drinking it, are 15 minutes that I could spend sleeping!

Netjerking

You can always tell you have reached "a certain age" by the conversations you have with people at school. If you talk to your classmates about upcoming parties, hot guys, or the strange mannerisms of your professors, breathe a sigh of relief. You're still safe from the scourge of “networking.”

But, one day, you will find yourself in an adult education or professional development course, and the pretension will begin. If you introduce yourself to that guy beside you, forget about party invites or gossip about mutual friends. Prepare instead for a job interview. He will grill you on your professional credentials, size you up, and determine if you are useful for his business interests. Instead of scribbling his phone number on your spiral notebook, he will hand you a business card, displaying his completely incomprehensible job title in all its glory (Director of Operations and Systems, Northern Region). You lose the game if you cannot give him a similarly intimidating card in return.

When you ask him about himself, he won't tell you about his hobbies, his hometown, or his family. He will give you a litany of his credentials, as if HE, in turn, is at a job interview. If he has no real credentials, he will still attempt to bury you in his professionalism. And can you blame him? In that sort of environment, I would definitely never tell you, “I watch a lot of TV, and sometimes I write a blog that nobody reads.” Instead, I would tell you, “I specialize in new media and freelance as a lifestyle blogger. I also analyze future trends in the entertainment industry.” Forget honesty, forget friendship. Just exaggerate your every accomplishment as much as possible, using as much jargon as you can. Embrace your inner phoney!

If you do call that number on the business card, prepare for an awkward coffee meeting dressed in your best suit, talking about your future strategic ambitions. A second interview, really.

I have come to the conclusion that it is impossible to make friends anymore. No one past the age of 24 sets out to meet fun, like-minded people. They look for synergy, strategy, NETWORKING!

And the horror continues. Events that were once fun and relaxing (e.g. pub nights) become further extensions of the office. Over a pint, you discuss best practices in your industry, and not the guy in the corner who can't dance. Instead of gossiping about celebrity marriages, you gossip about CEOs and mergers. (Extra points for name-dropping as much as you can!) And for some reason, you're still wearing a suit and it's Saturday night.

Soon, you find you can describe your whole social life in office lingo. Take “social networking,” for instance. You can now validate going to that party, or spying on your high-school crush online, by using this handy business-like term! Soon, you will start considering the growth potential, and return on investment, of your friendships and love interests. And that's when you're lost forever in the networking abyss. I hope you love grey suits.