I spent the day working on my social media stuff for All Mesopotamia, finding content via Twitter and scheduling that content to be posted on Facebook eventually. I am left feeling really good about all this, especially after looking at Facebook's analytics for the page and finding that since October 19th, there's been an increase of 200% for likes of the page.
The important thing is to move forward and not let rejections like yesterday's interrupt my flow of movement forward. Good things will come, I just have to be patient. In the meantime, it's important to enjoy one's weekend, so I'm going to go do that so I can be fully charged and ready to take on a new week on Monday.
Friday, November 16, 2018
Thursday, November 15, 2018
A rejection
For a little over two months now, I've been in the market for an editing job more steady than my freelancing work.
In that time, I've updated and polished my resume; I've gotten three interviews, two of which were with a dream employer I was sure would hire me; and I've gotten rejected by everyone.
In fact, I'm writing this on the couch as I lick my wounds from the latest rejection, a rather bizarre one. But before I describe what transpired between yesterday afternoon (which has a backstory extending back to the middle of last month) and tonight, I'd like to also mention that just before the bizarre rejection, I had also gotten a rejection email for a fellowship I had applied for late in the summer that I had completely forgotten about...so. Yeah. Today has been challenging my positivity pretty hard.
Anyway, going back to the bizarre rejection: Last month, I applied for a remote job that is not as dreamy as the one with the dream employer I mentioned earlier, but would've been a great resume and skill builder for me as I look to revamp my career by doing anything and everything to prove myself as not only a viable candidate but an employee with drive and passion. It wasn't long after I sent off my cover letter and resume for this job before I got a brief and abrupt email asking for my salary requirements along with a disclaimer that this employer was operating on a shoestring budget.
Now, while I search for and apply for jobs, I'm reading up on what to do and what not to do to ensure eventual employment via impressive resumes and cover letters that land successful interviews and fruitful negotiations. Almost all the literature I had read up until that email arrived in my inbox had advised me to not give a number when the salary question came up, to stick to the proclamation that I am "flexible." Naturally, I responded with what seemed to be the answer: "I am flexible," I wrote, and hit send.
I heard nothing more from this employer, so I moved on with my life.
Then yesterday, just before I called it a business day, I noticed that that same job was still open. I thought it over and decided that I would apply again, this time including my salary requirements in the cover letter I still had saved on my computer. A couple of hours later, there was a response from the same individual who had emailed me last time, this one a little more verbose, but only because it informed me the salary range I had given was too high and included a series of screening questions. I agreed to the rate they could pay me, saying that it was the experience I cared about the most, and proceeded to answer the screening questions, including one about my computer's RAM and whether I am comfortable taking a copy editing test.
It turned out my 4 GB RAM would not be enough for what was required, neither was the 8 GB RAM I have access to on another computer, but I assured the hiring manager that I would remedy this problem and began googling computers with a 16 GB RAM, because I'm driven that way. I completed the copy editing test in just over an hour and crossed my fingers. Less than an hour after completing the test, I got a response, a rejection. "It's not a fit," the hiring manager wrote abruptly.
It's not so bizarre that I applied for a job and it didn't work out, I'm used to that. It is bizarre that an employer offering a salary quite a bit below the average for a role requiring a slew of skills and qualifications, most of which I meet, would still reject a candidate who applied twice, agreed to a much-below-average salary, and was ready to buy a brand new computer to do the job, all on top of no benefits.
Maybe it really wasn't a good fit, I'm not saying that's not a possibility. I'm not even saying I'm the best candidate they have gotten or will get, but I would've been a good employee, one who really wanted the job for what it was, not what it paid.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Trapped.
I'm in Houston, staying with my brother and his family for a few days. They have just moved into a new apartment.
This apartment is spacious, with three bedrooms, two bathrooms and hardwood floors. I really like it. I also like the fact that this apartment is located in a building that has an actual state of the art gym and equally fancy pool. It even has a theater and a game room, if you like that sort of thing.
Why am I going on about my brother's new habitat? Well, because, simply put, I am trapped inside this apartment. Today, at least.
An apartment building with such cool things inside is also a place that needs protecting. So much protecting, apparently, that only two sets of keys and security clearance remote controls are given per household. To move through the building, you have to use your security clearance tools, which are all out and about at the moment.
Hence, I'm trapped.
This apartment is spacious, with three bedrooms, two bathrooms and hardwood floors. I really like it. I also like the fact that this apartment is located in a building that has an actual state of the art gym and equally fancy pool. It even has a theater and a game room, if you like that sort of thing.
Why am I going on about my brother's new habitat? Well, because, simply put, I am trapped inside this apartment. Today, at least.
An apartment building with such cool things inside is also a place that needs protecting. So much protecting, apparently, that only two sets of keys and security clearance remote controls are given per household. To move through the building, you have to use your security clearance tools, which are all out and about at the moment.
Hence, I'm trapped.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Nature and the Sea
I went to the beach Sunday, and it was so windy, that people were flying kites on the shore. I don't go to the beach to fly kites. Moreover, I don't like kites, and I certainly don't like wind. I go to the beach to swim, and despite the high tide making violent waves crash onto the shore, I went in. I let the waves, big and high, crash over me, slap me around and even throw me down. A lot of people were doing just that; standing in water just deep enough to come up to the chest and just letting the sea try to kick them out.
I've never been one to like anything that, at least in theory, defies Nature. I respect Nature so much, I don't dare look it in the eye. I don't even put away my coats and sweaters until Memorial Day weekend. But that Sunday, I tell you, I was determined to feel saltwater on my skin, so I lifted my humble gaze and stared a force of Nature straight in the eye. The power it had over me, now that I think about it, was enough to be fatal if it so decided, but it let me get up each time it knocked me down. Knowing that humbles me even further.
I was watching the evening news three days later, when a news item talked about the high winds and high tides in the same waters I had braved and even learned to body surf in just days before. The waves had crashed over someone else, but did not let him get back up like they did me.
Nature. The Sea. I've finally grasped the meaning behind that faraway look in the eyes of seafarers. It is a look that says "I'm waiting for the tide."
I've never been one to like anything that, at least in theory, defies Nature. I respect Nature so much, I don't dare look it in the eye. I don't even put away my coats and sweaters until Memorial Day weekend. But that Sunday, I tell you, I was determined to feel saltwater on my skin, so I lifted my humble gaze and stared a force of Nature straight in the eye. The power it had over me, now that I think about it, was enough to be fatal if it so decided, but it let me get up each time it knocked me down. Knowing that humbles me even further.
I was watching the evening news three days later, when a news item talked about the high winds and high tides in the same waters I had braved and even learned to body surf in just days before. The waves had crashed over someone else, but did not let him get back up like they did me.
Nature. The Sea. I've finally grasped the meaning behind that faraway look in the eyes of seafarers. It is a look that says "I'm waiting for the tide."
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
I'm featured.
Well, it's not so much me that's being featured as much as my writing. I wrote a piece that was inspired by a headline by NPR, who of late are doing a few things here and there that aren't making me happy. It was that headline that served as a springboard for the piece you can now read at Intrepid Media.
The Mistake that Rained on Egypt's Parade is the name of the piece, and it talks about the unfortunate assault that Lara Logan suffered while covering the celebrations in Tahrir Square on February 11. I mostly talk about how this incident tainted the happy moment in Egyptian and Arab history. I actually wasn't sure it was such a good piece and wondered if it was a little unfocused, but I suppose I might've been wrong.
In advance, thanks for reading!
The Mistake that Rained on Egypt's Parade is the name of the piece, and it talks about the unfortunate assault that Lara Logan suffered while covering the celebrations in Tahrir Square on February 11. I mostly talk about how this incident tainted the happy moment in Egyptian and Arab history. I actually wasn't sure it was such a good piece and wondered if it was a little unfocused, but I suppose I might've been wrong.
In advance, thanks for reading!
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
On maturity.
Maturity is an elusive thing, much like purity. As we grow up, we are expected to be mature; some of us aiming to be just that, while others avoid it as if it were an illness. Some of us even believe that maturity comes packaged with advancing age.
Maturity is an elusive thing, much like purity. As we grow up, we are expected to be mature; some of us aiming to be just that, while others avoid it as if it were an illness. Some of us even believe that maturity comes packaged with advancing age.
I must confess that I at least hoped that maturity came packaged with advancing age, because nowhere in my head was there a serious thought that equaled “it’s time for me to become mature,” around the time when my age seemed conducive to this condition.
There are many different thoughts and opinions on what constitutes maturity. Some say that it’s responsibility, others say that it’s independence, others say it’s how you deal with people on an emotional level, while others say that it’s parenthood…the list goes on and on of what maturity means to different people.
Aside from my opening statement that maturity is elusive and the many other things I feel are maturity, I would like to add my own idea of what equals this much-labored after virtue:
Maturity is knowing that, ultimately, you will always be just a little bit immature.
Monday, February 7, 2011
My trouble with atheists.
I can’t seem to come to a full understanding of the psychological makeup of folks who label themselves “atheists”. Maybe you’ve run into such folk and know why I am perplexed, and maybe you’ve never had such an encounter and need me to elaborate.
Atheists, for information-in-passing purposes, are those who do not believe in the existence of a deity, God. What perplexes me is not the fact that they do not believe in God, but rather how hostile they get toward someone who does believe in God, unprovoked.
A year or two ago I found myself witnessing a one-sided heated debate with an atheist friend. I don’t even remember what it was I said that ruffled her feathers, but she branched out from “I don’t believe in God,” to a full-on explanation to support the validity of her disbelief in a greater being. I heard about how evolution has been observed in scientific labs, how science is responsible for everything, how there is no substantial evidence to prove that there is a God. I remained silent and listened to this woman participate in a one-sided debate with herself and simply shrugged at the end and said “I respect your opinion, and thank you for sharing it, but as you know, I do not subscribe to your way of thinking.”
This, for some reason, ruffled her feathers even more and extended the conversation for longer than I would ever want any conversation to last that brings forward differing opinions. Still, at the end, I was still what I was at the beginning: a believer. Never once during that whole conversation did I feel the need to provide reasons or proof that what I believe is really the way things are, and never once did my feathers get ruffled. I was simply listening, accepting her and her beliefs of disbelief, and filed it away under “things about friend X that further define her personality.”
A few days after that encounter, I was sitting with another friend, Y, who is not an atheist, and told her about friend X getting all bent out of shape and going on and on to present a case against the existence of God. Friend Y was as cool as I was and simply said “If she was convinced, she wouldn’t get so bent out of shape.”
I can’t say if friend Y’s statement is one that holds water, but I do know this: I believe in God. I have faith that there is a God, therefore, I never feel the need to defend my belief, because that is what faith is all about. Faith is something even an atheist can have, in which case it would be faith in the idea that there is no God, no explanation required.
The other perplexing trouble I find with atheists is the fact that they think that anyone who believes in God is on a mission to convert them, and so whether the person they’re dealing with is that kind of person or not, they have the same hostile, defensive and offensive response. They begin to dismiss the person, disrespecting what they believe in and totally undermine anything the person says, not listening to a word without scoffing.
In the end, I feel that I have yet to run into a truly open-minded atheist who has faith in what he/she believes, who represents his/her folk in a good light.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Let's start with constructive criticism and discomfort
My New Year's resolution, like every year, is to push myself into more social situations where I don't know the people in the room. What better way to do that than to join a group of people who all like to do the same things I do?
Being in Houston is actually the perfect place to do just that, so I sat down and googled writing groups in Houston, and voila! I found one that is meeting just under 20 miles away, and seems to hit the spot with its small number of attendees and promise of constructive criticism and feedback on all types of writing. I eventually have to go back to Denver, but I'll give a writing group a whirl while I'm here in Houston, so that once I'm back in Denver, I'll know what to expect at one of these meetings.
I'm looking forward to it and, of course, dreading it, but I'm bound and determined to make 2011 the year I really make this resolution a reality. Wish me luck!
Being in Houston is actually the perfect place to do just that, so I sat down and googled writing groups in Houston, and voila! I found one that is meeting just under 20 miles away, and seems to hit the spot with its small number of attendees and promise of constructive criticism and feedback on all types of writing. I eventually have to go back to Denver, but I'll give a writing group a whirl while I'm here in Houston, so that once I'm back in Denver, I'll know what to expect at one of these meetings.
I'm looking forward to it and, of course, dreading it, but I'm bound and determined to make 2011 the year I really make this resolution a reality. Wish me luck!
An epiphany, which has led to a resolution for 2011, or at least a wish for 2011
 |
| I was maybe five when this was taken. I refused to smile, because I was so shy, so they sent me to the back of the line, until all the other kids had their pictures taken, and gave it one more try. I still didn't budge. Yeah, I'm shy and stubborn. |
You see, I've had an epiphany this past week, which has rendered me acutely aware of how much I suck. The epiphany is nothing new to me. In fact, it's one of those things that I've known all my concious life, but have chosen to ignore and cover up with all kinds of excuses that now, with that epiphany I mentioned, are just plain garbage.
The epiphany I've had is simply that I am not a social butterfly. For some who are reading this, this might require a "duh" in response, for others it might be a new thing they're finding out about me. Whether you knew this about me or not, I consider this epiphany important at this particular point in time, because my birthday is coming up and I still don't know what I'm doing to celebrate it. Usually, my birthday is celebrated quietly. My best friend spends the day with me and takes me out to lunch or dinner. Then I go home to have cake with my family.
I buy an outfit ahead of time, get up early and get all prettied up for my special day, only to sit down and talk about my hopes and dreams for the coming year, when I'm officially a year older and hopefully wiser, then I go home to have cake, at which point I usually change into my sweats and watch the ball drop on television to mark the beginning of a new year.
Woopty doo, I just couldn't wait to come out into the world thirty-two years ago, less than an hour before 1979, just so I could spend the rest of my life as a non-party person with a party day for a birthdate.
All these years my quiet birthday celebrations have been satisfactory. Though admittedly not the greatest way to celebrate such a festive birthdate, I'm happy being surrounded by those I love. This year I'm spending my birthday in Houston, Texas, instead of in Denver, and my best friend isn't going to spend the day with me and my sister and mom and dad aren't going to have a cake ready for me to have a piece of while I watch the ball drop, in my sweats. Instead, my brother's going to be here, and...well...that's it. Seriously. For my birthday this coming Friday, I get to look forward to I don't know what with just my brother to share it with. As much fun as I have hanging out with my brother, it seems I've gotten used to at least four other people celebrating the fact that I was born, and having just one this time around makes my lack of sociality all that much more apparent and easy to brood over.
This all goes back to the fact that I have never been a party person, and I socialize only with those I want to be friends with, and not just acquaintances. When I was a kid, I was pretty much forced to socialize with other kids, and only a couple were ones I considered my friends by choice. The rest were kids I had to tolerate because their parents were friends with my parents. It felt like torture to have to feign having fun singing happy birthday to a kid I cared nothing about. I grew up, and I still had trouble socializing and making friends. But I did make friends on my own, eventually, thanks to settings like school and work, and the friends I made there stayed my friends for years, and some are still my friends to this day, but that's only because I wanted them to be my friends and felt comfortable with them.
Now, the nice thing about being an adult is that my parents can't force me to be friends with someone I don't want to be friends with, and I can choose how often, and if, I want to socialize with certain people. I choose my comfort zone, and I get into cruise control. Yeah, baby. The not so nice thing about being an adult with the same non-existent propensity for sociality as that of a five-year-old, is that when my birthday rolls around and I'm away from my usual circle of people and comfort zone, nobody's there for my birthday. When my parents forced me to socialize with kids I didn't want to socialize with, as much as I hated it, I knew that those kids would come to my birthday party, because their parents forced them to be friends with me too, and it just worked out great to have a system where it's "you scratch my back, I scratch yours, but I really can't stand you." Now, as adults, if we don't like each other, we don't go to each other's parties, period, and let's face it, there are two kinds of people in this world: Party People who go to a party just because it's a party, and Non-Party People who don't go to a party because it's a party. I belong to the latter group, and this makes me a dull New Year's Eve birthday girl. A harsh epiphany.
I know for my birthday I'll end up doing something fun and unforgettable, because that's how things I dread usually turn out, but this birthday will be unforgettable for a very prominent and not-so-pleasant reason: it is the birthday I became acutely aware of just how my lack of sociality has a negative effect on me, and offers no comfort for me in the long run.
I don't know what it is about social situations, like people gathering at a party for instance, that makes me want to run in the other direction, but I do. I want to run the moment I see more than two people I don't know in a room where I have to interact on a personal level. Social anxiety? Maybe. Shyness? Definitely. Just the way I am? Absolutely. To be fair, when I am in a small circle, with two people aside from myself, I find I can work my way around my shyness and anxiety to not only let my real personality lead the way (it's fun, my real personality), but also to gain friendships that have lasted years, sometimes a lifetime. But add one more person and I become a nervous wreck who has no idea what to do with herself, she's so anxious and out of sorts. Frankly, I'd rather sit at home and stare at the walls than be in such a situation. I find a lot more comfort in solitude than I do in large groups of people, so I choose solitude. Except solitude, like a credit card without accumulating airline miles, is kind of useless.
The problem is that although solitude is a lot more comfortable than going into that room full of people and just shedding the shy, anxious and built-in shell I carry on my back and shoulders, the comfort is short-lived. For 2011, I want long-lasting social comfort, which I know is going to take a lot of socializing discomfort to reach.
Happy New Year.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
When simple minds do complicated things.
I haven't written in a while, and that's because, as I mentioned in my last post, it's Ramadan, that blessed month when all Muslims focus on spirituality while they fight the pangs of hunger 'til the sun goes down. I've also been reading lots, not just the Holy Quran, but other things when I just feel like doing what I usually do.
In that time, I've gotten through my first Philippa Gregory book, "The Virgin's Lover," loved it, then started a book that has been infuriating me from its first few pages. "The Caliph's House," by Tahir Shah, is a book about this guy, Tahir Shah, who one day decides to leave his somewhat cushy life in England for a more exotic life in Morocco. He takes his pregnant wife and little daughter, and they move into a house they purchased on a whim in a shantytown in the well-known Moroccan city of Casablanca.
I admire anybody who leaves a cushy life anywhere for an exotic one anywhere. Except for Shah.
The problem with this book, and with Shah specifically, is that in the bit of the book I've managed, with difficulty, to get through (I'm on page 122), Shah has written himself out to be a narrow-minded westerner, who has no interest in really being a part of Moroccan culture, but rather treats the place as a sort of novelty to look at and study, preferring to stay within the palace-like house he is having renovated by a local architect and his motley crew, criticizing everything from Moroccan culture and norms to Moroccans themselves.
There are several ways that Shah infuriates me with his observations, which, to be fair, are his opinions, but his opinions are too arrogant, proving further that he's not interested in really living an exotic life, that he just wants to continue living his cushy life in an exotic place. Nowhere is this more evident than when one of the three men he refers to as "the guardians" who came packaged with the house comes to him with the bad news that the government would be tearing down the shantytown where the guardians as well as he are residents.
Now, as a Muslim myself, I suppose I could be biased when it comes to Shah finding the muezzin, the raspy voice calling people to prayer five times a day irritating, but regardless of that, Shah's view of the different set of beliefs, or beliefs period, are bordering on disrespectful. He does try to disguise his unflattering opinions and observations poorly as "An outrageously black comedy [written] with the straightest of poker faces," (Washington Post Book World), but in my rather humbled, perhaps biased opinion, he fails. I am a big fan of black comedy and dark humor, and I see no such thing in this book...Shah writes nothing more than his own arrogance.
Now, provided that the superstitions Moroccans have about Jinn, otherworldly creatures discussed in the Quran, are a little crazy even to me as a Muslim who believes in their existence, they are nonetheless beliefs that are shared by an entire culture, therefore, Shah should be a little less dismissive of the Moroccan sincere belief that they each have Jinn attached to them, who must be appeased with lavish dishes prepared with the best meat and other offerings in order to prevent their wrath and evil.
I am taking into account that I may be biased, but after reading several reviews, only a few of which are negative, I've found that the few who gave it less than five stars out of five are people who voice my own opinions and have made the same observations I have about the true spirit of Tahir Shah in making that big move to a land much too complicated for his simple mind.
Also, I don't understand why instead of pictures of Dar Khalifa and the shantytown in Casablanca, we are given shoddy sketches that mean nothing to the reader who would like to see the oasis Shah seems to prefer over all of Morocco.
I can only hope that in the next 200 pages Shah's attitude is adjusted and his arrogance dissipates to make way for a more wholesome and appreciative stance.
In that time, I've gotten through my first Philippa Gregory book, "The Virgin's Lover," loved it, then started a book that has been infuriating me from its first few pages. "The Caliph's House," by Tahir Shah, is a book about this guy, Tahir Shah, who one day decides to leave his somewhat cushy life in England for a more exotic life in Morocco. He takes his pregnant wife and little daughter, and they move into a house they purchased on a whim in a shantytown in the well-known Moroccan city of Casablanca.
I admire anybody who leaves a cushy life anywhere for an exotic one anywhere. Except for Shah.
The problem with this book, and with Shah specifically, is that in the bit of the book I've managed, with difficulty, to get through (I'm on page 122), Shah has written himself out to be a narrow-minded westerner, who has no interest in really being a part of Moroccan culture, but rather treats the place as a sort of novelty to look at and study, preferring to stay within the palace-like house he is having renovated by a local architect and his motley crew, criticizing everything from Moroccan culture and norms to Moroccans themselves.
There are several ways that Shah infuriates me with his observations, which, to be fair, are his opinions, but his opinions are too arrogant, proving further that he's not interested in really living an exotic life, that he just wants to continue living his cushy life in an exotic place. Nowhere is this more evident than when one of the three men he refers to as "the guardians" who came packaged with the house comes to him with the bad news that the government would be tearing down the shantytown where the guardians as well as he are residents.
"Since moving to Casablanca, I had secretly hoped that the shantytown that surrounded the oasis of Dar Khalifa would be bulldozed, and that upmarket villas would replace them." (p.63)More than arrogance, Shah emanates ignorance and insensitivity to sensitive subjects in the most uncouth way. Again, these are opinions, but they infuriate me all the same, making me dislike the book and its author for being so crass.
"As far as the guardians were concerned, Dar Khalifa's proximity to a mosque was more than fortuitous... To me, the raspy voice, amplifed through an old loudspeaker, was more of an irritation than a blessing." (p. 19)Shah's irritation with such a staple presence in any Islamic society, as Morocco is, is the equivalent of someone being irritated by church bells at the Vatican. It just shows how he just doesn't get it, or much of anything about where he's decided to have an adventure, which clearly he's just not all that interested in having. He's more interested in owning something he couldn't possibly own with his means in England; a house with about twenty rooms, an endless garden, a tennis court and a large swimming pool among other things.
Now, as a Muslim myself, I suppose I could be biased when it comes to Shah finding the muezzin, the raspy voice calling people to prayer five times a day irritating, but regardless of that, Shah's view of the different set of beliefs, or beliefs period, are bordering on disrespectful. He does try to disguise his unflattering opinions and observations poorly as "An outrageously black comedy [written] with the straightest of poker faces," (Washington Post Book World), but in my rather humbled, perhaps biased opinion, he fails. I am a big fan of black comedy and dark humor, and I see no such thing in this book...Shah writes nothing more than his own arrogance.
Now, provided that the superstitions Moroccans have about Jinn, otherworldly creatures discussed in the Quran, are a little crazy even to me as a Muslim who believes in their existence, they are nonetheless beliefs that are shared by an entire culture, therefore, Shah should be a little less dismissive of the Moroccan sincere belief that they each have Jinn attached to them, who must be appeased with lavish dishes prepared with the best meat and other offerings in order to prevent their wrath and evil.
I am taking into account that I may be biased, but after reading several reviews, only a few of which are negative, I've found that the few who gave it less than five stars out of five are people who voice my own opinions and have made the same observations I have about the true spirit of Tahir Shah in making that big move to a land much too complicated for his simple mind.
Also, I don't understand why instead of pictures of Dar Khalifa and the shantytown in Casablanca, we are given shoddy sketches that mean nothing to the reader who would like to see the oasis Shah seems to prefer over all of Morocco.
I can only hope that in the next 200 pages Shah's attitude is adjusted and his arrogance dissipates to make way for a more wholesome and appreciative stance.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
This is when I detox my soul
 |
| A sunset is what we Muslims like to see during Ramadan, but there is so much more than just food that we crave. |
What can I say about this sacred month that I haven't already? Each year, I begin with the hope that through the spirituality that comes attached to this month, I will detox my soul and begin afresh once the Eid celebrations are here. Each year I think I succeed in detoxing, but it's so easy to load back up on the toxifying things once Ramadan is over.
That is what I hope to change this year.
Not that I am doing evil and horrible things after Ramadan is over, but I am always hoping that I keep my mind free of negative thoughts, keep my mind open to all kinds of ideas, and never judge anything or anyone before knowing the facts, at which point the facts might eliminate the need to judge in the first place. Sometimes that can be a tall order, because no matter how much we, as human beings, tell ourselves to live and let live, sometimes, it's just impossible to do just that. Why? Because we're human, and when we see someone doing something that we perceive as wrong, we naturally and instinctively react.
I know I will never be a saint, but through the spirituality that comes as a gift with the month of Ramadan, I sometimes feel hopeful that the gap between me and a saint shrinks. I know that gap will never disappear or be hard to spot, but just like happiness is a path and not a place, so is being the best person one can be.
Welcome, Ramadan.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
I stay up late...
 |
| Where I stay up late. |
But, really, I stay up late, because I wake up late.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Rejection vs. Silence
There is something about rejection that scares most people beyond reason.
Writers, in particular, I think, are especially afraid of rejection. They are so afraid of it that they let the idea of a possible rejection gobble up thousands of possibilities for publication.
I should know, I've sabotaged my own opportunities for publication because of this very fear.
Up until recently, I never would've dreamed of sending in my work to any serious, paying publication. I pretty much stuck with the non-paying, virtually unknown ones that don't even bother with ink and stick with the Internet as their medium. It's good to start small, I thought.
I kept at these smaller publications, because I figured that my writing wasn't quite up to par with the big leagues, and I have no problem saying that it still isn't. But something has changed over the years. The difference these days is that I am sick and tired of the silence. I'm tired of sending my work into the great abyss where it disappears and I never hear from it again, and I can't even say that I sent it anywhere recognizable or memorable.
That is why a little more than three weeks ago, I went in for the big kill. I sent in a piece of mine to The Sun Magazine, knowing fully well that my chances were slim, but wanting to take that big step anyway. I wanted to get things moving and shaking; I wanted to give myself a violent shove into the fast lane.
In what is perhaps a record response time for the overloaded-with-submissions Sun, my SASE arrived in the mail with my rejection letter inside it. Today marks the first rejection letter I've received from a very well-known and respected publication.
Of course, at first, I felt a tiny bit disappointed, but I soon composed myself and thought of the positive in the situation. After all, that was my purpose when I decided to take that big leap in the first place: to stay positive in the face of a negative.
The fact that I am seeing the positive in this negative situation leads me to the realization that I am ready to go places, simply because rejection sounds better to my ears these days than silence. In this case, any news, and not no news, is good news.
Writers, in particular, I think, are especially afraid of rejection. They are so afraid of it that they let the idea of a possible rejection gobble up thousands of possibilities for publication.
I should know, I've sabotaged my own opportunities for publication because of this very fear.
Up until recently, I never would've dreamed of sending in my work to any serious, paying publication. I pretty much stuck with the non-paying, virtually unknown ones that don't even bother with ink and stick with the Internet as their medium. It's good to start small, I thought.
I kept at these smaller publications, because I figured that my writing wasn't quite up to par with the big leagues, and I have no problem saying that it still isn't. But something has changed over the years. The difference these days is that I am sick and tired of the silence. I'm tired of sending my work into the great abyss where it disappears and I never hear from it again, and I can't even say that I sent it anywhere recognizable or memorable.
That is why a little more than three weeks ago, I went in for the big kill. I sent in a piece of mine to The Sun Magazine, knowing fully well that my chances were slim, but wanting to take that big step anyway. I wanted to get things moving and shaking; I wanted to give myself a violent shove into the fast lane.
In what is perhaps a record response time for the overloaded-with-submissions Sun, my SASE arrived in the mail with my rejection letter inside it. Today marks the first rejection letter I've received from a very well-known and respected publication.
Of course, at first, I felt a tiny bit disappointed, but I soon composed myself and thought of the positive in the situation. After all, that was my purpose when I decided to take that big leap in the first place: to stay positive in the face of a negative.
The fact that I am seeing the positive in this negative situation leads me to the realization that I am ready to go places, simply because rejection sounds better to my ears these days than silence. In this case, any news, and not no news, is good news.
Don't judge me!
When I went out yesterday, I didn't think I'd come home with a new cell phone in my purse, but there you have it: I have traded up from an ancient Motorola Razr to a Samsung Strive with a complete keyboard.
It's nothing too fancy that I've traded up to, but nevertheless, when Eddie at the AT&T store took my money and got me set up on my new phone, he closed the transaction by saying: "Welcome to 2010."
I laughed at Eddie's little jovial remark at the end there, but the more I think about it, the more I am bothered by the idea that I am considered "behind" simply because my phone is old.
Really, Eddie, and anyone else who would've seen a Motorola Razr glued to my ear, would immediately assume that I am one of those dinosaurs who still hunts and pecks at the keyboard in order to compose and send an e-mail through my TV. I'm telling you that nothing could be farther from the truth.
I type close to 90 words per minute, with few if any errors, using all my 10 fingers, while keeping my eyes on the screen. I own a pretty nice laptop with all the fix-ins anyone could've needed two years ago, yet still don't feel like I'm missing too much by not having a blu-ray disc drive. I am practically an expert on iTunes and iPods. My iPod is a 3rd generation iPod Touch with wi-fi, which I use regularly to upload pictures, send e-mails and use a slew of apps to simplify my life and entertain me.
I could go on and on listing the ways in which I need no welcoming to 2010, but I think I've made my point; I am simply pointing out that just like you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, you shouldn't judge a person's tech savviness by their cell phone. After all, it's just a phone in a world full of other, more impressive and unique gadgets.
It's nothing too fancy that I've traded up to, but nevertheless, when Eddie at the AT&T store took my money and got me set up on my new phone, he closed the transaction by saying: "Welcome to 2010."
I laughed at Eddie's little jovial remark at the end there, but the more I think about it, the more I am bothered by the idea that I am considered "behind" simply because my phone is old.
Really, Eddie, and anyone else who would've seen a Motorola Razr glued to my ear, would immediately assume that I am one of those dinosaurs who still hunts and pecks at the keyboard in order to compose and send an e-mail through my TV. I'm telling you that nothing could be farther from the truth.
I type close to 90 words per minute, with few if any errors, using all my 10 fingers, while keeping my eyes on the screen. I own a pretty nice laptop with all the fix-ins anyone could've needed two years ago, yet still don't feel like I'm missing too much by not having a blu-ray disc drive. I am practically an expert on iTunes and iPods. My iPod is a 3rd generation iPod Touch with wi-fi, which I use regularly to upload pictures, send e-mails and use a slew of apps to simplify my life and entertain me.
I could go on and on listing the ways in which I need no welcoming to 2010, but I think I've made my point; I am simply pointing out that just like you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, you shouldn't judge a person's tech savviness by their cell phone. After all, it's just a phone in a world full of other, more impressive and unique gadgets.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Counting my blessings
Last night, I dined with a friend.
This friend has a son who recently graduated from college, and is working as a night auditor at a hotel in downtown Denver. He makes peanuts, but is nonetheless making payments on his student loans already, which are upwards of $100+ per month.
I almost spit out my drink when I heard the amount this kid owes in student loans: $80,000. Instead of spitting, though, I immediately asked: "What did he study?"
"Media relations," my friend said. "But he went out of state."
I told her how he could save himself a headache by deferring his payments for a time until he can make more than he is making currently. I also let her in on my experiences with my student loan, which is truly peanuts compared to what this kid ended up owing for his education.
All the while, I was thinking that this kid is going to be a slave to his student loans for life. I was feeling thankful for my situation. I was thankful that if I was making money I could pay off my student loan in a matter of months.
So, a bit of advice: Never forget to count your blessings and how lucky you are. And if you ever need a reminder, just talk to someone. I almost guarantee you'll see that your life is perfect just the way it is.
This friend has a son who recently graduated from college, and is working as a night auditor at a hotel in downtown Denver. He makes peanuts, but is nonetheless making payments on his student loans already, which are upwards of $100+ per month.
I almost spit out my drink when I heard the amount this kid owes in student loans: $80,000. Instead of spitting, though, I immediately asked: "What did he study?"
"Media relations," my friend said. "But he went out of state."
I told her how he could save himself a headache by deferring his payments for a time until he can make more than he is making currently. I also let her in on my experiences with my student loan, which is truly peanuts compared to what this kid ended up owing for his education.
All the while, I was thinking that this kid is going to be a slave to his student loans for life. I was feeling thankful for my situation. I was thankful that if I was making money I could pay off my student loan in a matter of months.
So, a bit of advice: Never forget to count your blessings and how lucky you are. And if you ever need a reminder, just talk to someone. I almost guarantee you'll see that your life is perfect just the way it is.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Feeling nostalgic while I anticipate ickiness
As Fall approaches, I can't help but feel a little down about my least-favorite season's inevitability. I also can't help but think back on last Fall, when I went on a trip to London and Paris, and was able to somewhat forget the icky feeling I get with the season.
I was only out there for a little under two weeks, but it really helped to be somewhere else to watch the leaves on big oak trees that are several hundred years old turn and fall, instead of juvenile trees held up with straps look even scrawnier than they already do. There were other things I saw in London and Paris that made the change of the seasons bearable for me, at least for the length of time I spent there.
Being that I am feeling a bit nostalgic about the fun I had on my trip, I also looked through my journal I sort of kept during that trip. I didn't keep up with it like I should have, because I was too busy enjoying the trip, but what I did write down brings back a flood of memories, filled with sights, sounds and smells. It makes me yearn for a repeat of last Fall.
I can't wait to go somewhere new and have more experiences like this to get my mind off Fall.
I was only out there for a little under two weeks, but it really helped to be somewhere else to watch the leaves on big oak trees that are several hundred years old turn and fall, instead of juvenile trees held up with straps look even scrawnier than they already do. There were other things I saw in London and Paris that made the change of the seasons bearable for me, at least for the length of time I spent there.
 |
| Huge leaf on a sidewalk in London, Fall 2009. |
"As we ascended into London, we had to break through a thick layer of puffy, pillow-like clouds. As London came into view, its old world, urban charm was immediately apparent. I was so very excited to get out of my seat and into London's humid air...
As we were walking to the kiosk to buy the bus passes, two good-looking guys in nicely-tailored suits approached us and one of them said: 'Excuse me, ladies. Can you tell me where the Olympia Theatre is?' I told him that we are tourists, which made him laugh a little...
The first thing we did was catch the bus from Warwick Road to Harrods at Knightsbridge...the sales people in the UK are still dressing nice in this day and age and maintaining professionalism along with excellent customer service...
We did a lot of walking. We visited Marble Arch, went into some popular clothing stores, like Next and Primark...
I fell asleep on the bus and was so glad to get back to the apartment so I can sleep after a very long and fun first day in London."
I can't wait to go somewhere new and have more experiences like this to get my mind off Fall.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
...and I'm an addict
I have an addictive personality. I wish that could be taken as me meaning that my personality itself is something that can get someone addicted to it, it's so wonderful and great, but that's not what I mean. I just mean that it's easy for me to get addicted to things.
My addictions are not related to drugs or alcohol or cigarettes or anything of the sort, no. Instead, I get addicted to people, ideas, works of literature, songs, movies, TV shows, sporting events, countries...anything that leaves an impression on me and inspires me to better myself and understanding can easily become an addiction for me.
Now, it's safe to say that my addictions are harmless and actually good for the soul and intellectual mind. Can you honestly hold it against me that I become obsessed with an author and spend months just reading through his or her entire catalog of works? I don't think you could, and in fact, I'd say that this addictive personality of mine has led me to become a curious and well-informed person in a lot of things I don't think I would know anything about if I didn't have this tendency to Google every little detail about something or someone.
Of course, nothing is all good, just as nothing is all bad. There is a pro in the face of every con, and vice versa. An addiction of mine has proven to be one of a bad kind.
You see, for close to four years now I've been very active on Facebook, going so far as to treat it as some kind of therapeutic place where I can update my status to get stuff off my chest, or just to put things into perspective. There's nothing wrong with that the way I'm putting it, and it's been going on for so long that it's hard to see the harm in it. But I spotted harm a few days ago and I can't help but feel like I need to have an intervention for myself.
The intervention has consisted of just me recognizing that I spend way too much time on Facebook and Twitter, checking my e-mail at an obsessive rate and generally being dependent on the Internet to provide me with entertainment. Realizing such a thing I decided to wean myself and get myself back into a healthy and balanced relationship with the Internet and what it offers, which is mostly good stuff, but only in moderation.
It's been two full days since I updated my status on Facebook. Twitter, I haven't even visited for those two days, and I only check my e-mail when I'm at the computer, rather than on my iPod every few minutes. I feel happier, more productive and generally less insane than I did when I was feeding into an obsession with something that eats away at a person's ability to just "be" without dependency on technology to make being worthwhile.
I may have an addictive personality, but I have also been blessed with a clear vision of my faults, as well as the strength to try to fix them.
My addictions are not related to drugs or alcohol or cigarettes or anything of the sort, no. Instead, I get addicted to people, ideas, works of literature, songs, movies, TV shows, sporting events, countries...anything that leaves an impression on me and inspires me to better myself and understanding can easily become an addiction for me.
Now, it's safe to say that my addictions are harmless and actually good for the soul and intellectual mind. Can you honestly hold it against me that I become obsessed with an author and spend months just reading through his or her entire catalog of works? I don't think you could, and in fact, I'd say that this addictive personality of mine has led me to become a curious and well-informed person in a lot of things I don't think I would know anything about if I didn't have this tendency to Google every little detail about something or someone.
Of course, nothing is all good, just as nothing is all bad. There is a pro in the face of every con, and vice versa. An addiction of mine has proven to be one of a bad kind.
You see, for close to four years now I've been very active on Facebook, going so far as to treat it as some kind of therapeutic place where I can update my status to get stuff off my chest, or just to put things into perspective. There's nothing wrong with that the way I'm putting it, and it's been going on for so long that it's hard to see the harm in it. But I spotted harm a few days ago and I can't help but feel like I need to have an intervention for myself.
The intervention has consisted of just me recognizing that I spend way too much time on Facebook and Twitter, checking my e-mail at an obsessive rate and generally being dependent on the Internet to provide me with entertainment. Realizing such a thing I decided to wean myself and get myself back into a healthy and balanced relationship with the Internet and what it offers, which is mostly good stuff, but only in moderation.
It's been two full days since I updated my status on Facebook. Twitter, I haven't even visited for those two days, and I only check my e-mail when I'm at the computer, rather than on my iPod every few minutes. I feel happier, more productive and generally less insane than I did when I was feeding into an obsession with something that eats away at a person's ability to just "be" without dependency on technology to make being worthwhile.
I may have an addictive personality, but I have also been blessed with a clear vision of my faults, as well as the strength to try to fix them.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
What is fiction?
The question that is serving as a title for this post is pretty straightforward: what is fiction?
The answers to it can vary from a statement as simple as "It's the opposite of non-fiction," to as abstract as "It's the essence of life." However you identify fiction, one thing is for certain: it is a lie that's constructed in order to reveal a great truth.
Cervantes's Don Quixote, Hardy's Jude the Obscure, or even Meyer's Twilight saga...they are all made-up stories that entertain while they make a point about human behavior in the face of crisis.
I got to thinking about what fiction is after I had a conversation with my sister about an Arabic TV show. The hero of this TV show is hardly a hero. For one thing the show opens with him getting the cold treatment from his wife for an offense we're not privy to in detail right away, making us sympathize with him for having to put up with such abuse.
Yet as the show progresses, we realize that he is a repeat-offending cheater, and we know this because he begins to have an affair with one of his employees at his law firm and does it expertly, continuing to plead with his wife to warm up to him, all while getting warmth from someone else.
The discussion got interesting, mainly because although this protagonist hardly ever does the right thing in any facet of his life, he does possess a certain charisma, and I would venture to say a romantic vulnerability that makes viewers sympathize with him, even though he doesn't deserve to be sympathized with. Aside from being a cheater, he also obstructs justice in order to win his cases defending far-from-innocent clients.
As someone who knows a little bit about the craft of storytelling, I knew that the ending would not be good for this character, that his wife would never warm up to him again, and that the woman he is having an affair with throughout the show is not going to stand for his dishonesty at work, or in the bedroom.
But the guy is just too freakin' likable, my sister and I agreed. And herein lies the greatness of fiction.
Although we wanted his wife to warm up to him, and we wanted him to get what he wants, knowing fully well that he doesn't deserve it, justice had to be served in the end. He had to lose the big case and lose the people he lied to and used.
I had an easier time with the outcome than my sister did, which I'm glad to report was one where justice was served and our hero was dealt the blows he needed to finally understand the repercussions of his actions.
My sister felt bad for him though and said that the show had ended in a very depressing way; she wished that he hadn't lost everything the way he did. I knew she was only saying this because the hero was likable, like I mentioned before, so I had to put things into perspective for her to accept that this sad ending was the only possible ending in what is ultimately what every piece of fiction and drama is: a made-up story about real life.
"If you heard about someone like him in real life, and didn't know what was going on in his mind," I began, "you just knew that he lied, cheated and schemed to get what he wants without any regard for anyone else's feelings along the way, wouldn't you want him to have an end like this one?"
"Yes," she said, "but still, he's so likable, I wanted him to have a better end than this."
"Well," I said, "that's the beauty of fiction and drama. It shows you the psychology of why someone does what they do, and makes you sympathize with the human condition, no matter how evil or horrible it is. It teaches you that not every evil act stems from the same place."
And with that, I suppose I added a new definition to fiction. Fiction is the dissection of human actions to help us understand, and, perhaps, treat each other with more compassion. Fiction teaches us to simply accept each other, for it proves we are all human, fighting the same fight. In the end, fiction is humanity.
The answers to it can vary from a statement as simple as "It's the opposite of non-fiction," to as abstract as "It's the essence of life." However you identify fiction, one thing is for certain: it is a lie that's constructed in order to reveal a great truth.
Cervantes's Don Quixote, Hardy's Jude the Obscure, or even Meyer's Twilight saga...they are all made-up stories that entertain while they make a point about human behavior in the face of crisis.
I got to thinking about what fiction is after I had a conversation with my sister about an Arabic TV show. The hero of this TV show is hardly a hero. For one thing the show opens with him getting the cold treatment from his wife for an offense we're not privy to in detail right away, making us sympathize with him for having to put up with such abuse.
Our hero, being warm with his cold wife.
Our hero with his mistress, during after-hours.
The discussion got interesting, mainly because although this protagonist hardly ever does the right thing in any facet of his life, he does possess a certain charisma, and I would venture to say a romantic vulnerability that makes viewers sympathize with him, even though he doesn't deserve to be sympathized with. Aside from being a cheater, he also obstructs justice in order to win his cases defending far-from-innocent clients.
Our hero at work.
As someone who knows a little bit about the craft of storytelling, I knew that the ending would not be good for this character, that his wife would never warm up to him again, and that the woman he is having an affair with throughout the show is not going to stand for his dishonesty at work, or in the bedroom.
But the guy is just too freakin' likable, my sister and I agreed. And herein lies the greatness of fiction.
Although we wanted his wife to warm up to him, and we wanted him to get what he wants, knowing fully well that he doesn't deserve it, justice had to be served in the end. He had to lose the big case and lose the people he lied to and used.
I had an easier time with the outcome than my sister did, which I'm glad to report was one where justice was served and our hero was dealt the blows he needed to finally understand the repercussions of his actions.
Our charismatic hero, all alone.
My sister felt bad for him though and said that the show had ended in a very depressing way; she wished that he hadn't lost everything the way he did. I knew she was only saying this because the hero was likable, like I mentioned before, so I had to put things into perspective for her to accept that this sad ending was the only possible ending in what is ultimately what every piece of fiction and drama is: a made-up story about real life.
"If you heard about someone like him in real life, and didn't know what was going on in his mind," I began, "you just knew that he lied, cheated and schemed to get what he wants without any regard for anyone else's feelings along the way, wouldn't you want him to have an end like this one?"
"Yes," she said, "but still, he's so likable, I wanted him to have a better end than this."
"Well," I said, "that's the beauty of fiction and drama. It shows you the psychology of why someone does what they do, and makes you sympathize with the human condition, no matter how evil or horrible it is. It teaches you that not every evil act stems from the same place."
And with that, I suppose I added a new definition to fiction. Fiction is the dissection of human actions to help us understand, and, perhaps, treat each other with more compassion. Fiction teaches us to simply accept each other, for it proves we are all human, fighting the same fight. In the end, fiction is humanity.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Student loan, leave me alone
The issue of my student loan has come up, and now I am scrambling to fix an inadvertent slip-up on my part, all while having to navigate through endless phone mazes that only lead to insanity, way on the opposite end from a live human being who can actually help me.
I finally got a hold of a human being at a completely different phone number than the one that I've been given numerous times, and after speaking with the nice man on the other end, I can relax a little bit, although I feel more disturbed than I did before I spoke with someone.
This got me to thinking that I really hate the fact that after being so good about not borrowing any money that needed to be paid back during college, one semester the need arose for such a thing to happen, and here I am, nine years later, still dealing with a measly amount that just will not go away, no matter how hard I try. Education is important and worth every penny, but must we suffer for being good enough to go to school and finish, despite our financial difficulties during that time?
I'm disturbed, because I have to apply for a certain payment plan, and once I apply for it, if I continue with it for 20 years, the loan will be forgiven if I haven't been able to pay my balance off. Okay, that's disturbing, because even when someone files for bankruptcy, they are only in that category for seven years.
This also got me to thinking of a question I'd like to ask lenders...
People who are fiscally irresponsible in every facet of their financial lives declare themselves a legal label as a result, and only have to suffer for seven years? Yet people who go to school with good faith and will to ensure their futures are indebted to you for 20 years? Where is the fairness in that, oh dear lenders? In 20 years, I'll be over 50 and the school I graduated from may not even be around, who knows? But I still owe you until those 20 years are up, that is assuming I won't work something out to feed the hole that is you before then?
Pardon me for sounding crass, but that is absolute bologna, and I can only be thankful that my loan is relatively tiny to what other people owe. God help us all in the face of a greedy system that makes money off people like little ol' me!
I finally got a hold of a human being at a completely different phone number than the one that I've been given numerous times, and after speaking with the nice man on the other end, I can relax a little bit, although I feel more disturbed than I did before I spoke with someone.
This got me to thinking that I really hate the fact that after being so good about not borrowing any money that needed to be paid back during college, one semester the need arose for such a thing to happen, and here I am, nine years later, still dealing with a measly amount that just will not go away, no matter how hard I try. Education is important and worth every penny, but must we suffer for being good enough to go to school and finish, despite our financial difficulties during that time?
I'm disturbed, because I have to apply for a certain payment plan, and once I apply for it, if I continue with it for 20 years, the loan will be forgiven if I haven't been able to pay my balance off. Okay, that's disturbing, because even when someone files for bankruptcy, they are only in that category for seven years.
This also got me to thinking of a question I'd like to ask lenders...
People who are fiscally irresponsible in every facet of their financial lives declare themselves a legal label as a result, and only have to suffer for seven years? Yet people who go to school with good faith and will to ensure their futures are indebted to you for 20 years? Where is the fairness in that, oh dear lenders? In 20 years, I'll be over 50 and the school I graduated from may not even be around, who knows? But I still owe you until those 20 years are up, that is assuming I won't work something out to feed the hole that is you before then?
Pardon me for sounding crass, but that is absolute bologna, and I can only be thankful that my loan is relatively tiny to what other people owe. God help us all in the face of a greedy system that makes money off people like little ol' me!
Sunday, July 25, 2010
A question
I have family and friends who live in other states or overseas, and seeing as how we're not always up to picking up the phone, I use instant messaging online to converse with these people. MSN's Windows Live Messenger is what I use, and I love the ease with which one can keep in touch through typing text, through video calls or just plain voice calls for absolutely no money.
Windows Live, as with every other instant messaging service out there, allows me to go online and pick and choose who I want to talk to, whether it be by allowing me to block people without their knowledge, or to choose from a variety of statuses that can deter people from talking to me when I just can't, even though I can still be visibly online.
Having said all that, I am getting to the question that this post is centered around, and hope someone out there can answer it:
If WL, and all instant messaging services out there allow users to tell their "buddies" that even though they're online they are unable to talk because they are Busy, Out to Lunch, On the Phone, or whatever, or even to appear offline even when they are online and can still converse with whoever it is they choose from their list, why is it that some insist on appearing online and available when they really aren't?
I mean, I understand that people are busy sometimes without realizing they are, but when it's an ongoing problem for you that you just can't find the time to talk to people who see you are online and available, then maybe it's a good idea to familiarize yourself with the options available to you, so that you let people know you are alive, but too busy to talk at the moment. That's all I ask.
In the meantime, I have decided to not say hi to anyone unless they say hi to me first, because when I'm too busy to talk, I just don't sign on, period, and that is a courtesy I want reciprocated.
Windows Live, as with every other instant messaging service out there, allows me to go online and pick and choose who I want to talk to, whether it be by allowing me to block people without their knowledge, or to choose from a variety of statuses that can deter people from talking to me when I just can't, even though I can still be visibly online.
Having said all that, I am getting to the question that this post is centered around, and hope someone out there can answer it:
If WL, and all instant messaging services out there allow users to tell their "buddies" that even though they're online they are unable to talk because they are Busy, Out to Lunch, On the Phone, or whatever, or even to appear offline even when they are online and can still converse with whoever it is they choose from their list, why is it that some insist on appearing online and available when they really aren't?
I mean, I understand that people are busy sometimes without realizing they are, but when it's an ongoing problem for you that you just can't find the time to talk to people who see you are online and available, then maybe it's a good idea to familiarize yourself with the options available to you, so that you let people know you are alive, but too busy to talk at the moment. That's all I ask.
In the meantime, I have decided to not say hi to anyone unless they say hi to me first, because when I'm too busy to talk, I just don't sign on, period, and that is a courtesy I want reciprocated.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)