A few tips from me to you on how to not have an annoying, arrogant, and/or all-around lame Facebook profile.
1. Do not create full albums of photos of just you taken by your roommate, your boyfriend, or yourself. Thirty pictures of you against the oak tree or you shot in black and white doesn't make you a model.
2. Answer basic profile questions directly. Your hometown is "Marietta, GA" not "M to the izzle" or "The betta 'retta."
3. Do not quote yourself in the "Favorite Quotes" section. It's particularly offensive if you attribute the quote to yourself: "I like purple hats." - Me
4. It's okay to change your profile picture regularly (because no one wants you to have a picture from your Senior year of high school). Do not, however, change it every day so that you are always in my "Friends with recently updated profiles" list.
5. Be legit with your favorites. Come on - War and Peace is not your favorite book; Confessions of a Shopaholic is.
6. Do not post on your own wall. Ever.
7. When posting on someone else's wall, evaluate how many times you have posted in the last week...three or more of your posts should never be visible in someone's 10 most recent wall postings. It makes you look like a stalker.
8. Try your best to be relatively unique with your interests. Listing "hanging out with my friends" or "people" as your favorites? Welcome to the human race, captain obvious.
9. Be self-aware and post a profile pictures of yourself that actually looks like you, not a spectacularly hot, glamour-shot version of yourself.
10. In your work info description, do not write any type of statement that conveys that you work for the "best" this, the "top" that, or "largest" other. Cockiness is not becoming, plus it makes us wonder if you're overcompensating for utter and total career dissatisfaction.
11. Keep all of the personal info sections (interests, fav music, movies) to 20 lines or much less. I know I have no life and spend way too much on Facebook, but please don't flatter yourself by thinking I'm going to read about how you like bananas, grapes, oranges, strawberries, raisins, avocados, apples, ugly fruit and mangos. Just say you like fruit and get on with your life.
12. The proper Facebook communication exchange is not post on wall, reply on wall, reply on wall, reply on wall. Instead, post on wall and reply on wall, and if the reply requires a response, reply in a message. Or copy and paste their Gmail address from contact info and send them a normal person email.
13. Do not poke. Ever.
14. I know it's grammatically restraining, but use the status function correctly. "Jamie is eating sushi," check. "Jamie is I love sushi!" no check.
15. If you are actually in a complicated relationship, I can pretty much guarantee that it will only make it more complicated to announce it on Facebook. If things are actually not complicated, then congratulations...they are now.
Monday, February 26, 2007
A few tips from me to you on how to not have an annoying, arrogant, and/or all-around lame Facebook profile.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Let me start with a disclaimer: I never set out to become one of those people. You know the ones I'm talking about. I didn't intend for it to happen...I mean, for goodness sake, I was born and raised in Georgia. I've traveled throughout the world. I am by no means a native New Yorker. But somehow, throughout the course of the last eight months, I have become one of those people.
I have become a Manhattan snob, afraid to leave the island for fear that I won't be able to leave a trail of crumbs long enough to find my way back.
Saturday night, Erin's coworker friend Johnny Wisconsin (who apparently has a real last name, too?) and his roommate Ryan threw a Mardi Gras bash. Evites were sent, food, drink and beads were promised, and we were all told to bring our party pants. We were all on board until the realization struck us: The party was in Hoboken. Hoboken, NJ. That's a totally different state, people. I feel like I'm taking a field trip when I go to Yankee Stadium or the Target in Brooklyn, but New Jersey?!
Luckily for me, I would be making the trek with three dear, smart, Southern-turned-Manhattan snobs as well, Erin, Angie and Michelle. Keep in mind - we have all lived here somewhere between 6 months and a year and a half and were all transplanted from Florida, Georgia or Alabama. Needless to say, we are not well-versed in the ins and outs of long- or short-distance travel to and from NYC.
We all met at Port Authority where we set out to embark to Hoboken. (Never mind the fact that you could probably spit on the city limits from the Meatpacking District; the subway doesn't go there, so as far as I'm concerned, it's a mini-vacation.) Our first hurdle came when we were informed that the bus that we would be taking only takes exact change - exact $2.30 change. The four of us quickly convened to realize that we collectively had two $20s, a $10, three $1s and something to the tune of 12 cents. What to do? Idea #1: Ask the man at the newsstand to break our $20. Idea #1 hitch: Man at the newsstand can't open the cash register without a purchase. Idea #1b: Buy a pack of gum. Success! Advance to round two, the purchasing of the bus tickets. Turns out, on the Port Authority side, you can buy the bus tickets on a machine with a credit card, so the gum was in vain. Or not, because we all four had minty fresh breath for the remainder of the evening.
With our four tickets in hand, we ventured to the Hoboken-bound bus. It promptly arrived, we boarded, and alas, we found ourselves riding to another land. Although the other land was only a seven minute bus ride away, we felt like we were on Presidents Day Weekend Excursion '07. We crossed the Hudson, looked back, and saw the City glowing. Bye bye, Manhattan. Hello, New Jersey.
The next small hitch came when we realized we didn't quuuiiite know where to get off. We had the Evite that told us to go to the "3rd or 4th stop" and look for "the restaurant with the black awning." Hmm. Thanks for the clear and specific directions, party planners. We turned to our left and asked the gentleman beside us if he knew how to get to 12th and Washington. Much to our chagrin, though, his response was, "That's where I'm going, too...I was kind of following you." Bust.
We went with stop #4 (which by the way, was not quite as close as stop #3, begging the question of why the directions didn't just say to take stop #3), immediately spotted the black awnings, and proceeded to have a splendid evening in Wisconsin's fabulous Hoboken apartment, chock-full of Mardi Gras beads and streamers, brownies and guacamole, and a steady stream of fantastic music. (Note: Hoboken certainly has its perks, primarily in the real estate arena - John and Ryan's shared closet is twice the size of my bedroom, they have two fireplaces, and outside their window is a magnificent view of the Manhattan skyline...all for a fraction of my shoebox apartment's rent.) After a few hours of eating, cheerleading, and state capitals games, we then ventured out on the town to the local bar. Johnny said they were trying to be friends with the folks there, kind of like in "Cheers," but it hadn't been working out so well so far. Nevertheless, we danced our hearts out to Bon Jovi, Shakira and the sorts and then headed back to Wisconsin's place.
At this point, we reached our next small snag. The Manhattan-bound bus had already stopped running for the night, and we were nowhere near the PATH train that could take us home. After all our fears about leaving Manhattan, the unimaginable had come true - we were stranded in Hoboken! Lions and tigers and bears, oh my. Actually friends (and by friends, I mean mom and grandma who are probably passing out in their desk chairs right about now), we were not in the midst of any type of jungle animal whatsoever. And we were lucky enough to be at an apartment with plenty of space and a futon - oh yes, a futon - to accommodate all four of us. Never mind the fact that the light from Manhattan poured in through the windows like sun itself, or that we used beach towels as pillows...we were safe and sound, albeit far away from home sweet home. And by far away, I mean a swimmable distance...although if Meredith Grey couldn't swim herself to the shore, I'm pretty sure we couldn't either.
We awoke the next morning refreshed and rejuvenated, ready to tackle the world. Okay, not really...we awoke stiff and sore with cricks in our necks and blinded by the sunlight and only-slightly-lesser light of the City that glowed from across the Hudson. But one thing was for certain - we were ready to go home. We quickly gathered the troops, stopped in for some coffee and strawberry milk (partially to wake up, mostly to break our $20s for bus fare), and boarded the bus. In seven minutes flat, we stepped off the bus onto firm, Manhattan soil...probably what expatriates feel when they return home after decades abroad. Or not. Either way, it was good to venture to the other side of the river, good to play in Hoboken for a night, and good to find our way back home.
Samantha: "All of Manhattan is here!"
Stanford: "Who's watching the island?"
(Please see bigappleangie.blogspot.com for more detail on the events of the evening..."WTF? GSM! OMG! LOL!")
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Let me first begin by saying: I love Valentine's Day.
Now I know I'm single, and I know Valentine's Day is technically a day for people in love (or some version thereof), but I still love it. I like to wear pink and eat chocolate and buy little kid valentines at the drug store and watch romantic comedies and affix temporary heart tattoos to my face. I'm suppose I'm just your run of the mill, cheerful, hopeless romantic...sue me. ;)
So today was no different. I got all dressed up in my favorite pink sweater (because black shirts on Feb 14 are simply not allowed) and opened my front door to a winter wonderland. I think weather.com technically called it a "wintry mix," which means some combination of snow, sleet, rain, and wind, but I call it a winter wonderland. It appeared that most others thought it was a disastrous mess outside, but I thought it was just splendid. I braced myself with my puffy coat, fur-lined boots and red umbrella and trudged through the snow to work for Valentine's Day '07.
It was a great day all around...the candy flowed through the office, I received a few ecards and lovely gifts from my family, and all the while I got to look out my boss' window at a whirlwind of white. White and gray, that is...snow gets unpleasantly dirty when trampled on for hours at a time. Either way, though, the view from where I sat was lovely and I was quite content with my first real glimpse of a New York winter.
The highlight of my day came after work. Lauren, Erin, Michelle and I were each other's dates for the evening, and we had a fabulous evening. We traipsed down to the East Village - Alphabet City, folks - for a great night out at Yuca Bar. We sat right across from Tompkins Square Park, one of the few areas of the City that had managed to stay unscathed by the footprints and tire treads that otherwise ruined the pristine white snow. We ordered empanadas and drank mojitos as we laughed and compared our lives to Sex and the City, except that we didn't have a Samantha. The evening was made complete when the waitress let me take my red helium balloon home.
All in all, it was a cold, blustery, frigid holiday, but I am happy because my heart is warm.
(Did I really just write that? I probably lost you all because you're rolling your eyes at my cheesiness. I apologize, but in my defense, I did warn you...hopeless romantics just can't help themselves.)
Thursday, February 08, 2007
[thee oh see]
noun (pl "OC's")
1. Abbrev. for Orange County, California. The second most populous county in the state of California, and the fifth most populous in the United States. Known for its wealth and political conservatism. (source: Wikipedia)
2. A one-hour teen drama on FOX documenting the lives of Ryan Atwood, Summer Roberts, and the ever-charming, ever-geeky Seth Cohen (RIP Marissa Cooper). Although full of intriguing drama, sex, violence, murder, greed, romance and humor, FOX's "The OC" has been cancelled as of 2007, although it will live on in our hearts forever.
3. The Office Crush.
I Wikipedia'ed and Dictionary.com'ed "The Office Crush" and found nada, so I will have to provide you with an extended definition of my own.
The OC (refer to definition 3 from this point forward) is a necessity for any single guy or girl who, like myself, spends the majority of his or her time at the office. I did some quick calculations and determined that in an average 168-hour week, I spend 60 hours sleeping, 50 hours working, 7 hours getting ready, 6 hours on the subway or bus, 5 hours at the gym, and 2 hours in line at Duane Reade because the girl behind the counter would rather stare into oblivion than ring up my can of soup. Simple math leaves me 38 hours in any given week to be out and about in Manhattan, living my fabulous life and meeting fabulous gay straight men. Simple math also enlightens me to the fact that I spend 32% more time at work than I do gallivanting around town in pursuit of non-office crushes. That is, assuming I am not going to meet the man of my dreams on the M15 bus, on the elliptical machine at Boom Fitness, or in my local drug store. Although stranger things have happened, I suppose.
But I digress. Due to the fact that the majority of my life and the lives of my coworker friends takes place in the walls of One Dag Hammarskjold Plaza, we have determined that the OC is an absolute necessity. After all, who wants to spend 50 hours a week with no one to look forward to running into at the copy machine or on the elevator? It's basically an evolvement of a high school crush (HSC?) where you hope to run into the boy of your dreams at your locker or in the science lab or in the gym before practice. And please tell me - who of you went through even half of a second without some sort of crush? See? Exactly.
The OC is what gets you through the day. Never mind the fact that you love your challenging, interesting and all-around wonderful job (which I do). The need for the OC is completely unrelated and all together irrelevant to the satisfaction you find in your actual day-to-day work. The OC is instead that extra little :) . The OC makes Monday mornings tolerable, late nights working enjoyable, the company holiday party something you genuinely look forward to, and the wait for the elevator suspenseful and perhaps even exhilarating.
Everyone needs an OC. Jim has Pam, Angela has Dwight, Kelly has Ryan, Michael has Jan...and Ryan. All my friends at work have an OC, or are at least working on finding one who is not married or in an inappropriate age bracket. This brings me to an important point...the rules of the OC. And there are several important ones:
1. STAY AWAY from immediate supervisors or subordinates, coworkers who are married or engaged, and interns.
2. Be selective who you discuss your OC with. Folks in the office can be chatty, and the last thing you want is for the rumor mill to get churning and the receptionist to give you knowing glances every time you walk by her desk.
3. E-mail wisely. OC's may come and go, but a paper trail lives forever.
But I digress again. In sum, my charge to you is this - go find an office crush! You don't have to marry him or her, you don't have to know their biggest fears and life-long dreams, and you probably don't even need to know their last name (although it would probably help). You just need to know what department they're in, where their cubicle is, and around what time they get their coffee every morning.
Jim: To tell you the truth, I used to have a thing for Pam, so...
Michael Scott: Really? You're kidding me. You and Pam? Wow. I would have never put you two together. Did you really...you really hid it well...I usually have a radar for stuff like that.
Michael Scott: You know, I made out with Jan.
Jim: Yeah...I know.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
As I write this, the wind chill outside is 5 degrees. The high tomorrow is 26. There are icicles in the subway and winds that take your breath away. I have a very puffy coat with a very fluffy hood to go with very warm, furry boots, but it is still almost intolerable to be outside.
I am anxious for the spring. But in the spring, I will be ready for summer. And then come summer, as I'm melting in the subway with heat indices well over 100, I will wish it was winter again.
Why is it that we're never happy with where we are at the moment? Why are we always looking back or looking ahead when we should be looking today square in the face? And why do we always romanticize days gone by while focusing on the things that are lacking today?
The Israelites, after being Egyptian slaves for hundreds of years, somehow managed to long for the days of their captivity once they had been set free. It sounds absurd, but don't we all do the same thing in our own way? When I was in middle school, I desperately wanted to be in high school...to drive, to date, to have a letter jacket. All through high school, I couldn't wait to be a senior. But my senior year, I couldn't wait to go to college. Freshman year flew by as I waited for that next thing...for the next visit to see my long-distance boyfriend, for the next final to be over, for Fall Break, then Spring Break, then summer. College flew by, and by my senior year, I was ready for the "real world." Then the real world came, chock full of 50-hour work weeks and vacation-less summers, and I suddenly missed the days of college. But I couldn't go back, so I set my sights ahead for the Big Apple. And even now, as much as I love my life and feel immensely blessed every day, I still find myself looking back to the "good ole days" of living in Atlanta or being in college...or looking ahead to the next phase - the next promotion, the next apartment, the next relationship, the next move.
But then I had a thought. Someday...maybe in a year, maybe in fifty, who knows...but someday, I will look back to right now, to Feb 6, 2007. I'll look back to the days when I lived in the shoebox apartment and worked at an agency and was young and single in New York City, and I'll long for these days, for today. A year ago, I longed for today. And in a few years, I'll probably long for today again. Suddenly, today - a freezing February day in 2007 - seems a lot more valuable than I usually allow myself to recognize.
I wish I could say that tomorrow I'll embrace the freezing tempatures with a smile, knowing that in July I'll long for the cold, brisk air of winter. Or embrace my tiny apartment, knowing that a year ago I would have moved into a cardboard box as long as it was in New York City. Or embrace being single, knowing that I have opportunities and flexibilities today that I will not have when I am married. There's no guarantee I'll succeed with my newfound "carpe diem!" attitude, but I know I want to try. Because somewhere, sometime, somehow, today will be just a fantastic memory...and that's enough to make today fantastic in and of itself.
"Wherever you are, be all there." - Jim Elliot