After jump-starting my car and an apology, I finally made it to my job interview an hour late. (I called before-hand, so this really wasn't a problem) I was already pretty annoyed by my stupidity (don't leave the lights on overnight! The battery will DIE.) and my family seemed determined to make my day especially terrible.
So I already started my interview looking like crap.
The questions were fairly typical. "Tell me about yourself". "What do you know about the company?"
And then: "If you could describe yourself in three adjectives what would they be?"
Seriously?
How do you describe the whole of your personality (while projecting yourself as a great person that they want to hire) with THREE ADJECTIVES?
Consider. Your personality is extremely complicated. Look at the list below and count how many adjectives you think describe you.
practical; persistent; careful; introverted; emotional; impulsive; athletic; conforming; achieving; confident; expressive; flexible; rugged; down-to-earth; curious; analytical; imaginative; idealistic; stable; self-reliant; precise; intellectual; unordered; original; frank; independent; creative; helpful; understanding; energetic; adventurous; conscientious; moderate; insightful; popular; driving; powerful; persistent; orderly; kind; cooperative; ambitious; persuasive; organized; efficient; friendly; responsible; assertive; competitive; obedient; detailed; tactful; flirtatious; enthusiastic; dependable; thorough
Did you only find three to describe yourself?
I don't think so.
I found four in the first line.
You can't possibly understand what a person is like if you only know three adjectives to describe them by.
It's like trying to take a play by Shakespeare and telling the whole story in a sentence. Here's your whole personality, now cram it in this format.
So I promptly listed off three generic-positive adjectives. I finished the interview, bid them good day, and went on my way.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Friday, May 13, 2011
There is something to be said about Tiger Moms.
Here's my phone history for one day.
Incoming calls:
11:12am
11:46am
11:55am
2:52pm
3:35pm
7:23pm
8:07pm
10:20pm
All from one person. My mother.
You know, checking up on your kid to see how they're doing is perfectly fine. I have friends whose parents call them once or twice a day. But 8 times? That's a bit much.
There's something to be said for tiger moms.
Ah, for those who don't know the term, here's my definition.
Tiger mom: Mother who's parenting style involves incredibly high standards, disapproving statements/glares, and attempts to control all aspects of child's life.
Aka: Asian mother.
Being half Chinese with a very White father places my mother into this lovely category.
Now don't get me wrong, I appreciate being raised with a tiger mom. Seriously. Would I be starting a career playing the flute if my mom did not FORCE me to practice everyday for at least an hour or else I would have no computer/talking-to-friends-on-the-phone/sanity? Probably not. I hated that instrument for months before I realized that somehow along the way I had improved. The same goes for piano, which I played for an hour every day since I was 6. I would sit there and practice, even if my friends came over to play, I couldn't leave until the kitchen timer rang to say "Hey! You have freedom now!" Of course, if I hadn't improved on the piece since I started, I'd still have to practice until I got it right.
My mother, like many other tiger moms, also had a strict belief in the power of homework and perfection. I was not allowed any grades less than an A. I can remember coming home with a report card in third grade that showed straight As, with an A+ in both English and Science. My mother exclaimed: "What is this? You should have all A+s. I never got anything less than an A+ in school." She monitored my homework, and on the days in which I did not have an assignment, she would make one. Thank you Georgia University for granting her a master's degree in education, because she thought this gave her the authority to give me extra assignments. Between extra math assignments (that were always more complicated then what we were learning in class), repeating letters of the alphabet to "improve my terrible handwriting" (which, stayed horrifically akin to chicken scratch), and several pages of Chinese letter writing, I stayed fairly busy.
The biggest difference between western parents and Asian parents is how the child is given reinforcement. I have had friends that got 5 dollars for each report card that came back with mostly As and Bs. After concerts their parents would say "great job! It was wonderful!" My mother scoffed at parents paying their children for "doing mediocre", and after my concerts she'd exclaim "that was wonderful! But you could have improved on...." Western parents tend to give positive reinforcement in order to help their child understand how to improve. Chinese parents believe that this babies the child, and doesn't help them prepare for the "real world". Telling the child that "you can always do better" supposedly gives them the constant desire to improve. While this is true, I know for myself and other Asian raised children, this attitude also gives the child extremely low self esteem. I still battle with the constant feeling that I am "not good enough" for my mother, whether she agrees or not.
All tiger moms have one final and all encompassing rule. They determine your future. You want to be a dancer? Too bad, you're a doctor. Luckily for me, being a classical musician was one of the chosen career fields my mother had in store for me. My other choices were: marine biologist, geneticist, engineer, teacher, or pharmacist. For a while I wanted to be a graphic designer, and my mother shot that down as soon as physically possible. I have several friends faced with the same situation. Their college, and future career, is all determined by their lovely tiger moms.
Tiger moms may seem extreme to many people, but for me at least, this was the norm. Her constant "I need to know where you are at all times!" (hence the calling 8 times a day), and her "you can always improve" stems from one thing. Love. Believe it or not, this harsh way of raising a child is all a product of love. Tiger moms sincerely believe that everything they do will eventually help their child in the long run. This may be true. But tiger moms also create scars that will never heal. Many Asian children drop all contact with their parents as soon as they become independent, a trend that is currently scaring the aging Chinese population. Many Asian teens suffer from low self-esteem, depression, and anxiety.
I'm not saying that tiger moms are wrong. They look at western mothers, particularly the ones that let their children eat junk food and watch tv all day, and say "look how much better I am at raising my child!" They watch their child "succeed" in their terms and are proud of their work. And who can blame them? Having a child grow up and become a surgeon is an accomplishment. But I think there must be a middle-ground somewhere. Having children gain successful jobs without the low self-esteem would be an accomplishment. The method though, is still unnamed.
Incoming calls:
11:12am
11:46am
11:55am
2:52pm
3:35pm
7:23pm
8:07pm
10:20pm
All from one person. My mother.
You know, checking up on your kid to see how they're doing is perfectly fine. I have friends whose parents call them once or twice a day. But 8 times? That's a bit much.
There's something to be said for tiger moms.
Ah, for those who don't know the term, here's my definition.
Tiger mom: Mother who's parenting style involves incredibly high standards, disapproving statements/glares, and attempts to control all aspects of child's life.
Aka: Asian mother.
Being half Chinese with a very White father places my mother into this lovely category.
Now don't get me wrong, I appreciate being raised with a tiger mom. Seriously. Would I be starting a career playing the flute if my mom did not FORCE me to practice everyday for at least an hour or else I would have no computer/talking-to-friends-on-the-phone/sanity? Probably not. I hated that instrument for months before I realized that somehow along the way I had improved. The same goes for piano, which I played for an hour every day since I was 6. I would sit there and practice, even if my friends came over to play, I couldn't leave until the kitchen timer rang to say "Hey! You have freedom now!" Of course, if I hadn't improved on the piece since I started, I'd still have to practice until I got it right.
My mother, like many other tiger moms, also had a strict belief in the power of homework and perfection. I was not allowed any grades less than an A. I can remember coming home with a report card in third grade that showed straight As, with an A+ in both English and Science. My mother exclaimed: "What is this? You should have all A+s. I never got anything less than an A+ in school." She monitored my homework, and on the days in which I did not have an assignment, she would make one. Thank you Georgia University for granting her a master's degree in education, because she thought this gave her the authority to give me extra assignments. Between extra math assignments (that were always more complicated then what we were learning in class), repeating letters of the alphabet to "improve my terrible handwriting" (which, stayed horrifically akin to chicken scratch), and several pages of Chinese letter writing, I stayed fairly busy.
The biggest difference between western parents and Asian parents is how the child is given reinforcement. I have had friends that got 5 dollars for each report card that came back with mostly As and Bs. After concerts their parents would say "great job! It was wonderful!" My mother scoffed at parents paying their children for "doing mediocre", and after my concerts she'd exclaim "that was wonderful! But you could have improved on...." Western parents tend to give positive reinforcement in order to help their child understand how to improve. Chinese parents believe that this babies the child, and doesn't help them prepare for the "real world". Telling the child that "you can always do better" supposedly gives them the constant desire to improve. While this is true, I know for myself and other Asian raised children, this attitude also gives the child extremely low self esteem. I still battle with the constant feeling that I am "not good enough" for my mother, whether she agrees or not.
All tiger moms have one final and all encompassing rule. They determine your future. You want to be a dancer? Too bad, you're a doctor. Luckily for me, being a classical musician was one of the chosen career fields my mother had in store for me. My other choices were: marine biologist, geneticist, engineer, teacher, or pharmacist. For a while I wanted to be a graphic designer, and my mother shot that down as soon as physically possible. I have several friends faced with the same situation. Their college, and future career, is all determined by their lovely tiger moms.
Tiger moms may seem extreme to many people, but for me at least, this was the norm. Her constant "I need to know where you are at all times!" (hence the calling 8 times a day), and her "you can always improve" stems from one thing. Love. Believe it or not, this harsh way of raising a child is all a product of love. Tiger moms sincerely believe that everything they do will eventually help their child in the long run. This may be true. But tiger moms also create scars that will never heal. Many Asian children drop all contact with their parents as soon as they become independent, a trend that is currently scaring the aging Chinese population. Many Asian teens suffer from low self-esteem, depression, and anxiety.
I'm not saying that tiger moms are wrong. They look at western mothers, particularly the ones that let their children eat junk food and watch tv all day, and say "look how much better I am at raising my child!" They watch their child "succeed" in their terms and are proud of their work. And who can blame them? Having a child grow up and become a surgeon is an accomplishment. But I think there must be a middle-ground somewhere. Having children gain successful jobs without the low self-esteem would be an accomplishment. The method though, is still unnamed.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Bunnies, Jesus, and Bloodthirsty Pagans Oh My?
Ask a Christian what Easter is. Go ahead. I bet you that most likely they will tell you something along the lines of: Easter is a holiday celebrating the resurrection of Jesus.
....oh and there's a bunny. And colored eggs too.
What?
It wants to eat your soul.
....oh and there's a bunny. And colored eggs too.
What?
Somewhere along the lines information just got skewed. So now we celebrate a zombie by painting eggs and watching a creepy guy in a giant bunny costume encourage children to eat chocolate.
It wants to eat your soul.So where did it all come from? Why is there a bunny? What the hell is with the unnatural eggs? What does this have to do with Jesus? And why is it called Easter?
Lets start with cutting the crap.
The original date of Easter can be traced all the way back to pre-christian origins, in old Germany. Anglo-Saxon tribes would celebrate the vernal equinox (also known as the spring equinox, which this year, is only four days before Easter) by placing seeds on an altar and having feasts. This was to praise the goddess, Eostre.
"Woah woah woah" say my Christian friends, "I know this one."
Staying true to their roots, some modern Christians, determined to show how terrifying pre-christian religions are, know this tale about Eostre.
"The bare-breasted goddess Eostre is fabled to have descended from a painted eggshell. She was the goddess of fertility. Her symbol, the rabbit.
She required the sacrifice of infants. The people who worshiped her killed babies and dunked white eggshells in their blood. This is where we get painting eggs from. So when you paint your little eggs, you're symbolizing slaying children."
...not quite. Lets break down some facts and some fiction.
All that we know about Eostre is from Temporum Ratione or The Reckoning of Time by the Northumbrian monk and scholar the Venerable Bede (673-735). In it, all we find is that Eostre is the spring fertility goddess that was celebrated during this time of year (in fact the month was called "Eostremonat" or Eostre's month), and that feasts were held for her on the vernal equinox.
Thats it.
There's no descending from an eggshell, no rabbits, and certainly no killing of babies to dye eggs.
In fact there's no bunnies or eggs at all.
Unfortunately, there's as much anti-Eostre+bunnies and eggs as there is pro-Eostre+bunnies and eggs. So if you look up Eostre, most likely you'll get some cutesy tale about the rabbit being Eostre's familiar, and that her rabbits delivered eggs to the poor animals that couldn't reproduce. But that's not based in historical stories either.
So where did the bunnies and eggs come from?
Much like Eostre, everything celebrated in the spring represented fertility. People wanted lots of crops, lots of food, and lots of babies.
Just so they could grow up to be haunted by the Easter bunny. The plastic ones already have terror in their eyes.
The egg is fairly similar. Eggs symbolized new life and fertility, not only for the Anglo-Saxons, but also for the Egyptians, Persians, and Romans.
So isn't there anything Christian about Easter origins?
Actually, yeah. Lets go back to the egg. In Medieval Europe, eggs were forbidden during lent. Eggs laid during that time were either boiled or preserved. So once that was over, eggs became the main part of the meal. And of course Lent gets over on - Easter.
So to get things straight, in order to assimilate Pagans into the Christian faith and to be able to keep celebrating the holiday that they knew and loved, the took Eostre's name, changed it to Easter, kept the rabbits and eggs, and managed to also place it on the end of Pesach.
And now we understand.
Lets start with cutting the crap.
The original date of Easter can be traced all the way back to pre-christian origins, in old Germany. Anglo-Saxon tribes would celebrate the vernal equinox (also known as the spring equinox, which this year, is only four days before Easter) by placing seeds on an altar and having feasts. This was to praise the goddess, Eostre.
"Woah woah woah" say my Christian friends, "I know this one."
Staying true to their roots, some modern Christians, determined to show how terrifying pre-christian religions are, know this tale about Eostre.
"The bare-breasted goddess Eostre is fabled to have descended from a painted eggshell. She was the goddess of fertility. Her symbol, the rabbit.
She required the sacrifice of infants. The people who worshiped her killed babies and dunked white eggshells in their blood. This is where we get painting eggs from. So when you paint your little eggs, you're symbolizing slaying children."
...not quite. Lets break down some facts and some fiction.
All that we know about Eostre is from Temporum Ratione or The Reckoning of Time by the Northumbrian monk and scholar the Venerable Bede (673-735). In it, all we find is that Eostre is the spring fertility goddess that was celebrated during this time of year (in fact the month was called "Eostremonat" or Eostre's month), and that feasts were held for her on the vernal equinox.
Thats it.
There's no descending from an eggshell, no rabbits, and certainly no killing of babies to dye eggs.
In fact there's no bunnies or eggs at all.
Unfortunately, there's as much anti-Eostre+bunnies and eggs as there is pro-Eostre+bunnies and eggs. So if you look up Eostre, most likely you'll get some cutesy tale about the rabbit being Eostre's familiar, and that her rabbits delivered eggs to the poor animals that couldn't reproduce. But that's not based in historical stories either.
So where did the bunnies and eggs come from?
Much like Eostre, everything celebrated in the spring represented fertility. People wanted lots of crops, lots of food, and lots of babies.
Just so they could grow up to be haunted by the Easter bunny. The plastic ones already have terror in their eyes.So when thinking of something to symbolize such *ahem* productivity, the first symbol that came to mind was, you guessed it, the rabbit. Because well, the saying does go "breed like rabbits". So our first springtime symbol is the rabbit.
The egg is fairly similar. Eggs symbolized new life and fertility, not only for the Anglo-Saxons, but also for the Egyptians, Persians, and Romans.
So isn't there anything Christian about Easter origins?
Actually, yeah. Lets go back to the egg. In Medieval Europe, eggs were forbidden during lent. Eggs laid during that time were either boiled or preserved. So once that was over, eggs became the main part of the meal. And of course Lent gets over on - Easter.
So to get things straight, in order to assimilate Pagans into the Christian faith and to be able to keep celebrating the holiday that they knew and loved, the took Eostre's name, changed it to Easter, kept the rabbits and eggs, and managed to also place it on the end of Pesach.
And now we understand.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Oh my.
Proof that hell has already manifested itself on earth.ITS A FREAKIN LIGHTNING FILLED TORNADO MADE OUT OF VOLCANIC ASH.
TERRIFYING.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Hitting the Cement Wall, AKA Writer's Block
After a mass hiatus, I've decided to actually write something. For the lack of angry posts: I apologize.
It's not that I am lacking angst. I have angst to spare. It tends to ricochet off of me and cause damage to my surroundings. However- I do have writer's block.
I've attempted to write on several topics, but they either turned out to be un-interesting or they did not turn out at all.
Writer's block is aggravating. It's a nice cement wall that all ideas and words are either blocked in by or smacked into. The few that managed to climb over are beaten, sickly, and need time to recover.
I've read several articles on how to beat writers block. Some of the ideas work for me, others do not. But in order to be helpful, I'll list some that I recommend to my fellow writers.
It's not that I am lacking angst. I have angst to spare. It tends to ricochet off of me and cause damage to my surroundings. However- I do have writer's block.
I've attempted to write on several topics, but they either turned out to be un-interesting or they did not turn out at all.
Writer's block is aggravating. It's a nice cement wall that all ideas and words are either blocked in by or smacked into. The few that managed to climb over are beaten, sickly, and need time to recover.
I've read several articles on how to beat writers block. Some of the ideas work for me, others do not. But in order to be helpful, I'll list some that I recommend to my fellow writers.
- Listen to a song to find inspiration. - This works for me....rarely. Most of the time I can't flip through songs to find inspiration. I have to get it stuck annoyingly into my brain for half the day until I put it on paper in order to remove it from my brain.
- Read/watch the news. - If you like to write about current events, you probably already do this. If not, you shouldn't be writing about current events.
- Read in general. - Seriously. Some of my best idea's bounce off of something that someone else wrote. Call it idea stealing if you will...but it works.
- Talk to someone else about your half-formed idea. - If you've got an idea started but you don't know where to go with it, tell someone about it. They'll probably have an opinion, and whether you use it or not, that'll probably bring up more opinions of your own.
- Make a list of potential ideas. - I do this all the time. In fact, that's how this blog started. My list went like this: (warning - I might use these topics later....if I feel like it)
- inspiring people
- neopets (seriously.)
- teen depression and why the hell it's so common nowadays
- being lazy
- my lack of a car and why buses in omaha suck
- a wish for summer
- why I can't have video games in my dorm
- writer's block (*winner!*)
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Thanks to you, I'm a creative weirdo
I've always been a bit of a weirdo.
Okay.
Not just a bit. More like, really really weird.
I would just sit around, making random crap out of godknowswhat, glue/paint/dirt/berries/leaves/legos, and once I had finished I felt extremely accomplished.
I figured one day I'd probably grow out of that.
Nope.
Here I sit, waiting for the earrings I just glazed to dry (which look like various food items), while making a bracelet out of starburst wrappers.
I love to make things. I've been drawing as long as I can remember, and once I discovered the beauty of written words I began writing stories. I gave up making usable objects for a while, but here I am again, making random crap that people may or may not want to wear.
Thing is - I really love it. My hobby of making stuff/drawing stuff/writing stuff: creation. It brings me joy. And today, while sitting in front of my earrings, applying glaze (which smells pretty strong...I might have to blame these thoughts on that glaze...), it occurred to me. I wouldn't have been drawing/writing/making if not for the people that have supported my weirdness. I would have given it up, thinking that it wasn't good enough and that I was wasting my time.
To the friend who said making cupcake earrings was a great idea
to the friend who said she loved my blog posts
to the friend who said the drawing was amazing
to the many many friends who said they wanted to see more
thank you - to my friends that have supported me the most in this crazy year.
By the way: if you're wondering why the uncharacteristically pleasantness is seeping through this post, if you live in nebraska, GO OUTSIDE. ITS FUCKING BEAUTIFUL OUT.
....not needing to wear a jacket just makes me entirely too happy.
Okay.
Not just a bit. More like, really really weird.
I would just sit around, making random crap out of godknowswhat, glue/paint/dirt/berries/leaves/legos, and once I had finished I felt extremely accomplished.
I figured one day I'd probably grow out of that.
Nope.
Here I sit, waiting for the earrings I just glazed to dry (which look like various food items), while making a bracelet out of starburst wrappers.
I love to make things. I've been drawing as long as I can remember, and once I discovered the beauty of written words I began writing stories. I gave up making usable objects for a while, but here I am again, making random crap that people may or may not want to wear.
Thing is - I really love it. My hobby of making stuff/drawing stuff/writing stuff: creation. It brings me joy. And today, while sitting in front of my earrings, applying glaze (which smells pretty strong...I might have to blame these thoughts on that glaze...), it occurred to me. I wouldn't have been drawing/writing/making if not for the people that have supported my weirdness. I would have given it up, thinking that it wasn't good enough and that I was wasting my time.
To the friend who said making cupcake earrings was a great idea
to the friend who said she loved my blog posts
to the friend who said the drawing was amazing
to the many many friends who said they wanted to see more
thank you - to my friends that have supported me the most in this crazy year.
By the way: if you're wondering why the uncharacteristically pleasantness is seeping through this post, if you live in nebraska, GO OUTSIDE. ITS FUCKING BEAUTIFUL OUT.
....not needing to wear a jacket just makes me entirely too happy.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Spring Break
It's the week before spring break.
We are tired.
We've been banging our heads against exams and projects and essays, the everyday monotony of worksheets, readings, and practice (for my fellow music majors).
A lot of us are ready to give up.
Some of us already have - with failing grades or just general lack of interest in learning anymore.
Whoever came up with spring break was genius. The students need it. So do the teachers.
In fact, most people in general just need a break during the spring.
Wanna know a "not-so-well-known" fact about spring break?
It's partially here to save your life.
Seriously.
Quite simply, the toll of everyday life tends to really hit people in the springtime. They've been working their asses off, dealing with all the stress that comes along work/college/school/relationships/etc, and when those birds start chirping again something just clicks in their brain.
Like a bullet.
Yup, springtime is actually when the rate of suicides (especially in college students) takes a significant spike.
So seriously,
TAKE A BREAK.
Don't just use spring break to study just as hard, or to take on extra work.
Do yourself a favor, and have some fun.
We are tired.
We've been banging our heads against exams and projects and essays, the everyday monotony of worksheets, readings, and practice (for my fellow music majors).
A lot of us are ready to give up.
Some of us already have - with failing grades or just general lack of interest in learning anymore.
Whoever came up with spring break was genius. The students need it. So do the teachers.
In fact, most people in general just need a break during the spring.
Wanna know a "not-so-well-known" fact about spring break?
It's partially here to save your life.
Seriously.
Quite simply, the toll of everyday life tends to really hit people in the springtime. They've been working their asses off, dealing with all the stress that comes along work/college/school/relationships/etc, and when those birds start chirping again something just clicks in their brain.
Like a bullet.
Yup, springtime is actually when the rate of suicides (especially in college students) takes a significant spike.
So seriously,
TAKE A BREAK.
Don't just use spring break to study just as hard, or to take on extra work.
Do yourself a favor, and have some fun.
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