Finding a job is tough. I've sent about 30 resumes out and have gotten 6 responses- 3 rejections, and 3 interview queries. What about the other 26? It boggles me that the 3 interview queries included 2 of the top companies in the nation, whereas I applied to so many lesser companies that completely ignored me.
Emailing my resume and coverletter to companies, and applying online, is like trying to solicit a lover's attention... virtually. Please, please look at me. Just one look! And maybe if you like what you see, you'll want to invite me over to your place for dinner, ask me some really deep questions about myself and what I want from this relationship. And if- after wining and dining and questioning me- you think I have integrity and would be a great asset to your world, you want me to be your lover. And, er, pay me money for my services. Sigh.
So that means I've been rejected by 26 potential virtual lovers. I'm depressed but not as much as if this had been the real universe (goodness gracious- imagine that!). But seriously, I would be a great asset to any lover. A great asset! I am a quick learner and have got mad skills ;) They should really just turn their heads and take a look.
Tuesday
Saturday
My roommate's Meltdown
My decision to leave my apt occurred as a result of my roommate's latest meltdown. Generally, she is a quiet, mousy, socially awkward person who is continually working and frowning. She is my age but she looks like she's in her 30s because of her anxiety lines. Anyway, the quiet is fine, except the only time we talk is about: a) ultra serious things (once she told me about the difference between Marx and some other dude. See? I already forgot); b) to complain about her day.
The thing is, she is an ART HISTORIAN. Who becomes an art historian? How do you possibly have more work, harder work, or -to be frank- more RELEVANT work than an engineer? Anyways she takes her art history very seriously which I find very funny. Good luck to her.
*****
But I digress. Back to the meltdown. So I'm sitting in my room, surfing the net, watching TV, when I hear her wailing in the other room. This has happened before. I used to get stunned and petrified, but now I just calmly turn up the volume. This time, however, she actually knocked on my door. I opened the door to see her on the phone, screaming to some Dell guy because her computer charger died (as well as her battery). "What do you mean I have to wait 3 business days to get the new charger?? This could not have happened at a worse time in my CAREER!!"
Hold up, rewind. Did she just complain that they can't overnight her stupid charger? Did she just call being a grad student a CAREER? Wow, we are in serious trouble. Eventually, after about another 20 minutes of yelling and crying (ending with the Dell guy saying, "Thank you and I hope you continue to business with us," and her saying "Never again!" before slamming down the phone), she comes up to me crying about her computer. Although all she needed to do was buy another a charger at the local Walmart, she kept being concerned about her motherboard. Now, I'm no expert at computers, but I'm pretty sure it was her HARD DRIVE she should be concerned with, no? I said so to her, but she kept repeating like a parrot her worries about her motherboard. All I could do was roll my eyes. This went on for about half an hour, where she was hyperventilating, talking to me about this being so bad for her CAREER, and worrying about her damn motherboard. Good lord. Eventually, I had to give her my computer just so that she would shuttup and stop bothering me. She was very obsequious when I did so, and had to keep it for longer than I expected because she had to surf the net to calm down. Wow.
This is so typical of her. Conversations with her are less about her listening rather than telling me some bullshit that I probably don't need to know- and as you can see, is probably something untrue that she believes (like when she insisted breast implants expire every 10 years. See? Why would I need to know that? Plus, it's not even true!)
Anyways, I need to move. The girl is insane. This wasn't even half of it-- I'm just tired of writing at this point, and need to get out to start looking at apartments.
The thing is, she is an ART HISTORIAN. Who becomes an art historian? How do you possibly have more work, harder work, or -to be frank- more RELEVANT work than an engineer? Anyways she takes her art history very seriously which I find very funny. Good luck to her.
*****
But I digress. Back to the meltdown. So I'm sitting in my room, surfing the net, watching TV, when I hear her wailing in the other room. This has happened before. I used to get stunned and petrified, but now I just calmly turn up the volume. This time, however, she actually knocked on my door. I opened the door to see her on the phone, screaming to some Dell guy because her computer charger died (as well as her battery). "What do you mean I have to wait 3 business days to get the new charger?? This could not have happened at a worse time in my CAREER!!"
Hold up, rewind. Did she just complain that they can't overnight her stupid charger? Did she just call being a grad student a CAREER? Wow, we are in serious trouble. Eventually, after about another 20 minutes of yelling and crying (ending with the Dell guy saying, "Thank you and I hope you continue to business with us," and her saying "Never again!" before slamming down the phone), she comes up to me crying about her computer. Although all she needed to do was buy another a charger at the local Walmart, she kept being concerned about her motherboard. Now, I'm no expert at computers, but I'm pretty sure it was her HARD DRIVE she should be concerned with, no? I said so to her, but she kept repeating like a parrot her worries about her motherboard. All I could do was roll my eyes. This went on for about half an hour, where she was hyperventilating, talking to me about this being so bad for her CAREER, and worrying about her damn motherboard. Good lord. Eventually, I had to give her my computer just so that she would shuttup and stop bothering me. She was very obsequious when I did so, and had to keep it for longer than I expected because she had to surf the net to calm down. Wow.
This is so typical of her. Conversations with her are less about her listening rather than telling me some bullshit that I probably don't need to know- and as you can see, is probably something untrue that she believes (like when she insisted breast implants expire every 10 years. See? Why would I need to know that? Plus, it's not even true!)
Anyways, I need to move. The girl is insane. This wasn't even half of it-- I'm just tired of writing at this point, and need to get out to start looking at apartments.
Thursday
Change would do me good
The last month- literally- has brought a whirlwind of storm. Namely that I am going to move out (finally-- my roommate is borderline intolerable) and I am about a mm away from dropping out of my doctoral program. I'm waiting until Sept to find myself a job, but by then I should have a masters at least.
Of course, being NP and being quite nutty, I already started applying to jobs. Yes, I realize this is February. I applied to McKinsey and the UN in areas that *somewhat* fit into what I'm doing. I didn't hear back from either of them! Yes, I realize they are incredibly hard to get into, but I suppose my point is that it is very hard to get a job without knowing anyone. Networking is key-- but only upto a point. I mean, I had a friend in the UN, but unfortunately she does not know anyone in that particular group (or so she says). Grumble.
I had a hard time breaking into a new field when I graduated college and I have been traumatized by the experience. Now I am trying to break into a field (sort of) again, and I am feeling the jitters. Will I be an overeducated homeless person? Will I never get an income, except in the middle of Kansas where I assume they are desperate for people? Suddenly, staying in my doctoral program seems like a rosy option.
Sigh.
Of course, being NP and being quite nutty, I already started applying to jobs. Yes, I realize this is February. I applied to McKinsey and the UN in areas that *somewhat* fit into what I'm doing. I didn't hear back from either of them! Yes, I realize they are incredibly hard to get into, but I suppose my point is that it is very hard to get a job without knowing anyone. Networking is key-- but only upto a point. I mean, I had a friend in the UN, but unfortunately she does not know anyone in that particular group (or so she says). Grumble.
I had a hard time breaking into a new field when I graduated college and I have been traumatized by the experience. Now I am trying to break into a field (sort of) again, and I am feeling the jitters. Will I be an overeducated homeless person? Will I never get an income, except in the middle of Kansas where I assume they are desperate for people? Suddenly, staying in my doctoral program seems like a rosy option.
Sigh.
Snap out of it!!!
Today i had a full on meltdown, cried in lab (alone, of course!), was mean to Bwoy (i.e. "you're not committed to this! i'm getting old! your parents hate me and you are starting to believe them!" etc), and in general have been negative with a capital N.
I got to snap out of this. This is not me! Usually I find humor in the worst of situations!
Seriously though, a large part of it is my roommate. I've got to get away from her whininess and weirdness. Ever since I came back from vacation (a blissful 2 wks away from her), I got a fresh dose of her and realized just how bizarre she really is. It's no fun living in a coffin sized apt where you continually try and avoid her.
Snap!! Going to go home now, do groceries, relax, and wake up ass early to run in the gym tmw. Hear me roar, y'all.
I got to snap out of this. This is not me! Usually I find humor in the worst of situations!
Seriously though, a large part of it is my roommate. I've got to get away from her whininess and weirdness. Ever since I came back from vacation (a blissful 2 wks away from her), I got a fresh dose of her and realized just how bizarre she really is. It's no fun living in a coffin sized apt where you continually try and avoid her.
Snap!! Going to go home now, do groceries, relax, and wake up ass early to run in the gym tmw. Hear me roar, y'all.
Saturday
Like water...
Bwoy told me that Warren Buffet said that the best investment you can ever make is in yourself. I thought about a lot the past few weeks. I thought about it as I pondered the fact that Bwoy and I may be doing long distance for the duration of his residency (6-7 years). I know I'm supposed to go join him wherever he is (for myself after 2 or 3 yrs), but the truth is finding a post-doc let along a professorship in my field is quite difficult. Chances are I won't have much of a choice of where I go geographically. Chances are our relationship may or may not last.
These thoughts contributed a lot to my new attitude of taking everything one day at a time and to the unsettling fact that I cannot plan my life. I can't plan it for another 10 years. By the time I graduate I will be almost thirty. After I'm thirty, I'll have to relocate for several years, moving around from post-doc to post-doc. By the time I ever get a professorship, I will be in my mid thirties. Sadly, I might still have to move in my late thirties if I don't get tenure. So really, by the time I get tenure, I will be in my early forties. This means I have at least another 15 years to go before I am settled in a place.
Scary, huh? Imagine how I must feel-- after all, I am the one going through this. It made me wonder a lot whether getting a PhD and going into academia is worth it, especially since I am in love with Bwoy and want us to stay together. At the same time, I thought about what Warren Buffet said, and the fact that I have only one life. After a lot of thought and discussion, I realized that- just as I would never want Bwoy to give up his career for me- he would never want me to do the same. If we stay together, I will make compromises, to be sure. I may decide in the end to not go into academia. I may simply try to get an industry job (which I'll be highly overqualified for) wherever he is. Even this, however, would take a while. After all, a PhD getting an industry job in my field simply is NOT a walk in the park. Whatever it is, whatever path I take, it will be hard, especially compared to my friends who are getting MDs, JDs, or MBAs. So what's the point of stressing so much about the future, a future where everything is up in the air? The best thing to do is keep my head down, work hard, enjoy the moment, and flow along with life- like water.
Easier said than done. But don't knock me for trying.
These thoughts contributed a lot to my new attitude of taking everything one day at a time and to the unsettling fact that I cannot plan my life. I can't plan it for another 10 years. By the time I graduate I will be almost thirty. After I'm thirty, I'll have to relocate for several years, moving around from post-doc to post-doc. By the time I ever get a professorship, I will be in my mid thirties. Sadly, I might still have to move in my late thirties if I don't get tenure. So really, by the time I get tenure, I will be in my early forties. This means I have at least another 15 years to go before I am settled in a place.
Scary, huh? Imagine how I must feel-- after all, I am the one going through this. It made me wonder a lot whether getting a PhD and going into academia is worth it, especially since I am in love with Bwoy and want us to stay together. At the same time, I thought about what Warren Buffet said, and the fact that I have only one life. After a lot of thought and discussion, I realized that- just as I would never want Bwoy to give up his career for me- he would never want me to do the same. If we stay together, I will make compromises, to be sure. I may decide in the end to not go into academia. I may simply try to get an industry job (which I'll be highly overqualified for) wherever he is. Even this, however, would take a while. After all, a PhD getting an industry job in my field simply is NOT a walk in the park. Whatever it is, whatever path I take, it will be hard, especially compared to my friends who are getting MDs, JDs, or MBAs. So what's the point of stressing so much about the future, a future where everything is up in the air? The best thing to do is keep my head down, work hard, enjoy the moment, and flow along with life- like water.
Easier said than done. But don't knock me for trying.
Thursday
Turning point
Lately I've reached a turning point in my life. I wonder if everyone reaches it. My turning point is a realization that: b) it's best to be patient b) and/or have different expectations of life. I've done both. Patience is good for work, since nothing ever seems to go right in my research...but that's the nature of research, so patience is good. Different expectations stem from troubled spots in my life: my living situation, family, and people. Based on this odd combination that I've never experienced before, I've turned into a woman just yearning for peace. I don't want glory or even happiness that much anymore, just peace. And that involves believing I deserve nothing so that my heart doesn't get broken.
Disturbing enough? Yes. This all happened during the New Year when several factors propogated it. One, my family, which has its full share of problems and drama, but essentially we are good people and it's sad that bad things happen ... anyway, we try to carry on the bravest we can. But it made be realize that sometimes no matter how hard we pray or hope, help doesn't come at the right time, and so the best we can do is expect less, find some joy out of the darkness, and draw upon our own strength more. Two, Bwoy's family, who tell him I'm not good enough for him and that has not only pricked my world and morale but made me wonder whether more bad things await, i.e. will he eventually listen to their manipulations (based on meeting me a handful of times) and believe them himself? If you knock a coconut against a rock enough times, eventually it will crack.
You see, I've fought for so many things with my heart on the line, and it's been broken too many times already; and although it's mending, I still consider it fragile and I still need it for strength. Perhaps my turning point boils down to the fact that I tend to guard my heart more jealously now.
Perhaps its part of growing up.
Disturbing enough? Yes. This all happened during the New Year when several factors propogated it. One, my family, which has its full share of problems and drama, but essentially we are good people and it's sad that bad things happen ... anyway, we try to carry on the bravest we can. But it made be realize that sometimes no matter how hard we pray or hope, help doesn't come at the right time, and so the best we can do is expect less, find some joy out of the darkness, and draw upon our own strength more. Two, Bwoy's family, who tell him I'm not good enough for him and that has not only pricked my world and morale but made me wonder whether more bad things await, i.e. will he eventually listen to their manipulations (based on meeting me a handful of times) and believe them himself? If you knock a coconut against a rock enough times, eventually it will crack.
You see, I've fought for so many things with my heart on the line, and it's been broken too many times already; and although it's mending, I still consider it fragile and I still need it for strength. Perhaps my turning point boils down to the fact that I tend to guard my heart more jealously now.
Perhaps its part of growing up.
Tea Kettle
I recently bought a tea kettle from a neighbor who was moving out for a mere 5 dollars. I was excited. Being a big tea person, and having always made my tea in my small little pot, I now was the proud owner this pretty, green, nifty tea kettle. No, it wasn't an electric kettle. It wasn't even very big. But NP- well, she gets excited about little things.
So I proceeded to brew my tea in the kettle today. I decided to brew some Earl Grey with cinnamon, cloves, and cardomon pods, my favorite cup of tea. After putting in about half and half of water and vanilla soymilk, I set the tea kettle on my burner, and went back to my room to wait for the whistling. Once I heard the whistling, I went back to the kitchen and to my dismay saw most of my tea spurting out of the kettle and onto the kitchen floor. You see, I not only got the whistling, I got the rise of milk when it boils. Duh. I should have remembered that. That's the reason I always watched my milk tea brewing like a mother watching her child when I used to use the old-school pot. Back then, as soon as the tea began to rise, I'd turn off the heat, and drink my delicious brew.
Well, this not so delicious brew ended up coating the inside of my burner, leaving a mess for me to clean up. I also got lumps of boiled soymilk. WTF? That never happened to me before, and I'm still not sure why I got them. Stupid, stupid NP. So all in all, I got about 1/2 a cup of lumpy tea, to which I gamely added my spices and even more gamely tried to sip-- very very gingerly. Ah well. Lesson learned. Highlight of the day.
So I proceeded to brew my tea in the kettle today. I decided to brew some Earl Grey with cinnamon, cloves, and cardomon pods, my favorite cup of tea. After putting in about half and half of water and vanilla soymilk, I set the tea kettle on my burner, and went back to my room to wait for the whistling. Once I heard the whistling, I went back to the kitchen and to my dismay saw most of my tea spurting out of the kettle and onto the kitchen floor. You see, I not only got the whistling, I got the rise of milk when it boils. Duh. I should have remembered that. That's the reason I always watched my milk tea brewing like a mother watching her child when I used to use the old-school pot. Back then, as soon as the tea began to rise, I'd turn off the heat, and drink my delicious brew.
Well, this not so delicious brew ended up coating the inside of my burner, leaving a mess for me to clean up. I also got lumps of boiled soymilk. WTF? That never happened to me before, and I'm still not sure why I got them. Stupid, stupid NP. So all in all, I got about 1/2 a cup of lumpy tea, to which I gamely added my spices and even more gamely tried to sip-- very very gingerly. Ah well. Lesson learned. Highlight of the day.
Wednesday
sigh
back in chitown from a psuedo-vacation, and i get a million emails from my advisor reminding me that i should be finishing up my project. yes, i should, shouldn't i. the only problem is that ordering everything takes a long time and right before i left chicago he made a SIGNIFICANT change in the design of the project. which means i start all over again. the other problem is that this project is a completely new field, and with my aging brain and terrible indecision (stemming from lack of confidence perhaps?), and the fact that the design costs like a million dollars, one can understand that i am very slow with designing this thing.
i used to care whether he thought i was stupid or not (i think he's discovered the sad truth already) but now i just care about actually understanding what the hell i am designing. or do i? at this point, i'm just pissed off at the crappiness of this project, and i am desperately trying to drill up motivation and interest in finishing it. perhaps that's partly why i did so little work on it in december... i just didn't care anymore.
well, NP, time to put on your acting and self-motivation skills, and grind away to get this terrible thing out of the way. the sooner i finish, the sooner i can go onto more interesting things...
i used to care whether he thought i was stupid or not (i think he's discovered the sad truth already) but now i just care about actually understanding what the hell i am designing. or do i? at this point, i'm just pissed off at the crappiness of this project, and i am desperately trying to drill up motivation and interest in finishing it. perhaps that's partly why i did so little work on it in december... i just didn't care anymore.
well, NP, time to put on your acting and self-motivation skills, and grind away to get this terrible thing out of the way. the sooner i finish, the sooner i can go onto more interesting things...
Tuesday
I've already been on Facebook for several years, having been in college when it first came out. As we all know, the college crowd, tends to be most enamored of it. It's useful, helps me keep in touch with pseudo-friends and real friends, and helps me stalk my ultra fake friends who I never actually talked to after college, but know almost everything about them via Facebook, including where they live, their phone number, their career, their relationship, how they are feeling at the moment. Creepy. But hey, we all do it.
Bwoy recently joined Facebook despite his years-long resistance. I was so proud of him and eagerly clicked on his profile to see what personal info he decided to post. To my horror, I discovered he wrote NOTHING about our relationship! I, on the other hand, had written I was "in a relationship" for many years. I was mortified and confronted him directly about it (through the phone though, not Facebook). His excuse was 1/4 fishy, 1/4 lazy, and 1/2 legitimate: "I don't want anyone knowing the details of my life!" Pishaw. What an obvious Facebook newbie. So I decided to break up with him, Facebook-wise that is. I deleted "in a relationship" and replaced it furiously with "single;" my Facebook contacts were notified of this immediately in their newsfeeds.
Within 24 hours, I recieved several messages from concerned psuedo-friends, real friends who obviously have no clue who I am, and random pple who I haven't spoken to in years (Usually beginning with, "Hey NP! Just thinking about you... etc etc... when are you in town next?") The last bit cracked me up. I even learned from several people that I was the object of conversation when people speculated that I had broken up with Bwoy.
In the end, I had to explain the situation gently to my psuedo-friends, and I had to yell at my real friends for assuming I would actually tell Facebook I broke up before I told them. Interesting social experiment. The site really is a gossip, stalking, networking vine all in one. Ah, the power of Facebook.
Bwoy recently joined Facebook despite his years-long resistance. I was so proud of him and eagerly clicked on his profile to see what personal info he decided to post. To my horror, I discovered he wrote NOTHING about our relationship! I, on the other hand, had written I was "in a relationship" for many years. I was mortified and confronted him directly about it (through the phone though, not Facebook). His excuse was 1/4 fishy, 1/4 lazy, and 1/2 legitimate: "I don't want anyone knowing the details of my life!" Pishaw. What an obvious Facebook newbie. So I decided to break up with him, Facebook-wise that is. I deleted "in a relationship" and replaced it furiously with "single;" my Facebook contacts were notified of this immediately in their newsfeeds.
Within 24 hours, I recieved several messages from concerned psuedo-friends, real friends who obviously have no clue who I am, and random pple who I haven't spoken to in years (Usually beginning with, "Hey NP! Just thinking about you... etc etc... when are you in town next?") The last bit cracked me up. I even learned from several people that I was the object of conversation when people speculated that I had broken up with Bwoy.
In the end, I had to explain the situation gently to my psuedo-friends, and I had to yell at my real friends for assuming I would actually tell Facebook I broke up before I told them. Interesting social experiment. The site really is a gossip, stalking, networking vine all in one. Ah, the power of Facebook.
Sunday
Hipsters
Hipster (abbreviated version from UrbanDictionary.com)
Listens to bands that you have never heard of. Has hairstyle that can only be described as "complicated." (Most likely achieved by a minimum of one week not washing it.) Probably tattooed. Maybe gay. Definitely cooler than you. Reads Black Book, Nylon, and the Styles section of the New York Times. Drinks Pabst Blue Ribbon. Often. Complains. Always denies being a hipster. Hates the word. Probably living off parents money - and spends a great deal of it to look like they don't have any. Has friends and/or self cut hair. Dyes it frequently (black, white-blonde, etc. and until scalp bleeds). Has a closet full of clothing but usually wears same three things OVER AND OVER (most likely very tight black pants, scarf, and ironic tee-shirt). Sleeps with everyone and talks about it at great volume in crowded coffee shops. Addicted to coffee, cigarettes (Parliaments, Kamel Reds, Lucky Strikes, etc.), and possibly cocaine. Claims to be in a band. Rehearsals consist of choosing outfits for next show and drinking PBR. Always on the list. Majors or majored in art, writing, or queer studies. Name-drops. May go by "Penny Lane," "Eleanor Rigby," etc. when drunk.
****
I just spent a weekend with pple who would generally fit the above description. I was quite perturbed and fascinated at the difference in the type of discipline, areas of interest, and ambition that I am used to. I don't even know how I ended up in Chicago's hipster centrale, Wicker Park, since I was meeting up with some long lost high school friends who turned from righteous nerds to too cool hipsters over the past 7 years since I've seen them.
Well, Wicker Park was now their home and they were bonafide hipsters. We ended up drinking and toasting to jobs such as copy editors for indie magazines, bartending, being salesmen at the "right" hipster clothing stores, abstract documetary making on public channels, T-shirt printing (and selling out of trucks), and some more bartending.
I ended up being ashamed I was a a PhD student and started to mumble my replies to the rare question of, "What do you do?" When any of the hipsters actually understood my reply, I'd be greeted with a look that mixed incredulity, disgust, admiration, and pity. It was a weird struggle, usually with the disgust and pity winning out. That's an important lesson I learned. Unlike the usual high-end parties where pple subtly (or not so subtly) brag about graduating from a top 15 school, and now being in law school, med school, grad school, or whatever, very rarely did people greet you with "What do you do?" or "Where do you work?" or "Where did you go?" Instead, the education and career was bypassed entirely. Interesting. To be honest, I did have a queer sense of abandon of not having to have that same stupid conversation about my educational credentials to a bunch of dressed-up meat-marker folks (usually at an apartment with a cityscape view with the parents having bought them their lovely condo) over and over again. But then again, I didn't feel like I had much to say otherwise. Makes me sound a bit pathetic, huh?
Of course, once I started probing into how much a person could make printing T-shirts with slogans like "Too cool for school," I had rather red-faced admissions of Mummy and Daddy having bought the fabulous condo where the party was being held. I also had admissions of said T-shirts not ACTUALLY having being printed-- the work now was in getting the idea and concept down. This, I was told emphatically, takes quite a bit of time. Again, interesting. The difference between people, whether high rolling lawyers, or too cool hipsters, may not be as large as I thought.
Much reefer was smoked this wknds, many beers consumed, many indie records played (the more obscure the band, the better. I had one person tell me with pride that the music the DJ was playing hadn't even been signed to a label yet, it was THAT underground). And of course, I saw the exact same shaggy haircut on every hipster woman at the parties. As well as the exact same style of shabilicious dresses, i.e., dresses meant to look shabby but oh-so-hot-now. Some were shabby by choice (i.e. shredding old dresses to fit the new fashion), and some were tailormade shabby (i.e. picture the $199 pricetag of a gray jumper that looks like you wore it for about 15 years).
So all in all, an interesting weekend.
Listens to bands that you have never heard of. Has hairstyle that can only be described as "complicated." (Most likely achieved by a minimum of one week not washing it.) Probably tattooed. Maybe gay. Definitely cooler than you. Reads Black Book, Nylon, and the Styles section of the New York Times. Drinks Pabst Blue Ribbon. Often. Complains. Always denies being a hipster. Hates the word. Probably living off parents money - and spends a great deal of it to look like they don't have any. Has friends and/or self cut hair. Dyes it frequently (black, white-blonde, etc. and until scalp bleeds). Has a closet full of clothing but usually wears same three things OVER AND OVER (most likely very tight black pants, scarf, and ironic tee-shirt). Sleeps with everyone and talks about it at great volume in crowded coffee shops. Addicted to coffee, cigarettes (Parliaments, Kamel Reds, Lucky Strikes, etc.), and possibly cocaine. Claims to be in a band. Rehearsals consist of choosing outfits for next show and drinking PBR. Always on the list. Majors or majored in art, writing, or queer studies. Name-drops. May go by "Penny Lane," "Eleanor Rigby," etc. when drunk.
****
I just spent a weekend with pple who would generally fit the above description. I was quite perturbed and fascinated at the difference in the type of discipline, areas of interest, and ambition that I am used to. I don't even know how I ended up in Chicago's hipster centrale, Wicker Park, since I was meeting up with some long lost high school friends who turned from righteous nerds to too cool hipsters over the past 7 years since I've seen them.
Well, Wicker Park was now their home and they were bonafide hipsters. We ended up drinking and toasting to jobs such as copy editors for indie magazines, bartending, being salesmen at the "right" hipster clothing stores, abstract documetary making on public channels, T-shirt printing (and selling out of trucks), and some more bartending.
I ended up being ashamed I was a a PhD student and started to mumble my replies to the rare question of, "What do you do?" When any of the hipsters actually understood my reply, I'd be greeted with a look that mixed incredulity, disgust, admiration, and pity. It was a weird struggle, usually with the disgust and pity winning out. That's an important lesson I learned. Unlike the usual high-end parties where pple subtly (or not so subtly) brag about graduating from a top 15 school, and now being in law school, med school, grad school, or whatever, very rarely did people greet you with "What do you do?" or "Where do you work?" or "Where did you go?" Instead, the education and career was bypassed entirely. Interesting. To be honest, I did have a queer sense of abandon of not having to have that same stupid conversation about my educational credentials to a bunch of dressed-up meat-marker folks (usually at an apartment with a cityscape view with the parents having bought them their lovely condo) over and over again. But then again, I didn't feel like I had much to say otherwise. Makes me sound a bit pathetic, huh?
Of course, once I started probing into how much a person could make printing T-shirts with slogans like "Too cool for school," I had rather red-faced admissions of Mummy and Daddy having bought the fabulous condo where the party was being held. I also had admissions of said T-shirts not ACTUALLY having being printed-- the work now was in getting the idea and concept down. This, I was told emphatically, takes quite a bit of time. Again, interesting. The difference between people, whether high rolling lawyers, or too cool hipsters, may not be as large as I thought.
Much reefer was smoked this wknds, many beers consumed, many indie records played (the more obscure the band, the better. I had one person tell me with pride that the music the DJ was playing hadn't even been signed to a label yet, it was THAT underground). And of course, I saw the exact same shaggy haircut on every hipster woman at the parties. As well as the exact same style of shabilicious dresses, i.e., dresses meant to look shabby but oh-so-hot-now. Some were shabby by choice (i.e. shredding old dresses to fit the new fashion), and some were tailormade shabby (i.e. picture the $199 pricetag of a gray jumper that looks like you wore it for about 15 years).
So all in all, an interesting weekend.
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