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Networking: the art of knowing a guy who knows a guy.

Monday, July 5th, 2010

I attended a pretty blah networking workshop the other day but managed to walk away from it with some  not-so-blah food for thought:
Networking–you can and should always be doing it. Although workshop instructors make it out to be a science, it’s really more of a life philosophy. It’s the the acknowledgment that anyone we meet at any point can take us to new and exciting places regardless of whether they help us out or we help them out.

Networking is about coming to terms with the fact that by yourself you are a pretty small entity, but with links to others, your reach is infinitely broader and your possibilities increase exponentially.

Sound good? Okay, so where do you start?

With the very next person you encounter.

It means genuinely taking an interest in the people around you without a specific end goal in mind. After all, you can’t pin point a goal until you have some information, so just go information digging. Make it your mission to keep searching until you discover something about the person that
surprises, intrigues, or excites you. Keep exploring till you hear yourself saying: “Oh! Really?” And focus on listening, asking open ended questions, and thinking of how you or someone in your network could help this person out. Introduce people to one another whenever the opportunity arises. Remember also to network with people you already now. The person who is now your physics homework buddy can also turn out to be an event planning guru or know someone who is.
So connect yourself, connect others, then reconnect–as long as it’s genuine and you are interested in the give as much as the take. Let’s make this world a more collaborative sandbox.

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Late Night Creations

Friday, July 2nd, 2010

written by Sabina Ashbaugh

We always substitute an egg with two tablespoons of vanilla soymilk—a slight variation that leaves the dough runny and easier to mix with the cracked wooden spoon. The timer is set for 12 minutes, not 14 as the cookbook suggests, with a reminder at the six-minute mark to switch the top and bottom trays in the oven. Despite these careful discrepancies, accumulated over countless nights, our creations are never completely predictable. We speculate whether it might be the heat of the dimly lit kitchen, and that volatile summer breeze that seeps in through the windows and seems to soften the contours of the room.
Despite our many trials, my sister and I never fully plan our baking efforts, or even carefully measure out the ingredients of our amended recipes. The soymilk substitution, now a permanent step in the cookie making process, came from a late realization that the egg carton was deceptively empty. As if to support this impulsiveness, the planned desserts baked for family dinners—the pumpkin or apple pies, the blueberry cobblers, the cinnamon buns, the madeleines—are never as good as the spontaneous endeavors to satisfy late night cravings. The immediate satisfaction of these creations quickly assuaged the worries and anxieties amassed during school or work. Tasks divided and ingredients laid out, my sister and I get to work setting right the wrongs of the day.
It has been a year now since I moved away from home. Some months have flown by while others have painstakingly inched to a close, with pangs of homesickness and late night baking cravings that seemed to arise out of nowhere. Family, a concept that had seemed so natural and tangible just a year ago, has slowly been abstracted to stand for that sense of place so radically reconfigured after leaving for school. In times of stress, I often caught myself about to call the house with a confused plea of “What should I do?”
With distance I have come to realize how often I unintentionally underappreciated this form of support. I cringe at the thought that the ease and spontaneity of those nights spent baking are a lost bridge between my sister and I—treasured memories to look back on fondly but ones impossible to recapture. And yet the removal of this crutch has also forced me to examine how I will right the wrongs of the day in my own way—not by baking, but through the careers and choices that lie ahead.
Moving away is an exciting step towards independence and deciding how and what one wants to change in the world. In the midst of so many choices, the advice offered by family is a means of grounding oneself in times of transformation. Finding a niche in college involves exploring how one will contribute to society and improve the lives of others, but it also requires the recognition of the debt owed to those at home.
Growing up compels us to accept these recipes, relationships, and plans for future change. Family rituals become memories as traditions are re-made. It is important to maintain ties with those that helped us get where we are, and continue to want to see us succeed. Helping others starts by looking out for and appreciating those at home, and paying tribute to those left behind.

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The Melody Of Unexpected Rhythm

Friday, July 2nd, 2010

written by Angela M

Illustration By Tao Zao

I grew up on Disney and nightly walks with my Russian grandparents, sunflower seeds sticking to my fingers, old lady tales dripping from my ears like borscht. I was never told not to smile at a cute Asian boy, or to repress a casual wink at a dashing Spaniard.

Maybe I was never told to not do these things because: 1) I don’t smile often, and 2) I can barely wink. Regardless, there was never any objection to multicultural friendships. Romantically speaking, though, it was never really spoken about, perhaps because it was never really expected.
My first legitimate ounce of interest in the opposite sex could have something to do with my current situation.
I was in the first grade, and his name was Timothy. He was everything I wanted in a boy. He never spoke to me; he rarely, if ever, held the staircase door open for me; and he cheated on me. I don’t know whether it counts as cheating if we were never in a relationship, but my heart was temporarily in shambles. Did I mention that Timothy was Asian? Did I also mention that I’m white and Jewish and from Brooklyn?
At 22, and not a bit less romantic than my first grade self, I find my heart taken once again (this time, in a less make-believe type of way). I am in love with a writer who just so happens to be outside of my race. Raised Muslim but not practicing, my Indian love connects himself with the folk of Jackson Heights, Queens before anything else. To sum things up, not only am I dating a fellow who’s a hundred beautiful shades darker than my pastey self, but I am also dating someone outside of my borough.
We met at a house party. His band was playing, and I later on learned that he had asked our mutual friend to invite me, since he was too shy to do it himself. The night felt like something taken out of one of those typical teenage movies where the girl seems to be playing coy, not realizing what’s going on, and the guy is fumbling over every other word, crossing his fingers that he doesn’t look as dumb as he feels. It took me half the party to realize that I was falling heavy over someone who I had never expected to come across.
Surprisingly, my mother was more accepting of my new found love than some of my friends. When I say some, I really just mean one. My Jewish friend Rebecca* was stunned to realize that I was romantically involved with someone so far from my religion. I kept it secret from her for as long as I could, afraid of the very reaction that I got. She started telling me that being a Jew meant that I was part of the chosen ones, and how keeping religion alive in my family was imperative. Basically, she made me feel like the black sheep of the herd. A day after her attack, she apologized wholeheartedly and told me that I have her full support in any decision that I make in life. (I can only imagine how Rebecca’s reaction would have been if I had confessed that I was getting married!) Just to be clear, I consider myself Jewish more in terms of culture than practice. Echoing Keats, “Love is my religion.”
In a city where love has an astigmatism and hearts beat to their own bongo, interracial coupling is more common than ever. Every way my head turns, I see it: hands of different colors holding on to each other. It’s beautiful, really. And now, I am part of it. We grew up hearing different languages being spoken at home, eating foods synonymous to our cultures, but we were also scolded by our parents for leaving cookie crumbs in our beds, and watching too many T.V. shows instead of doing our homework. Plenty of people in college date people who they didn’t expect to be with. We aren’t really all that different, though. We both love literature and writing, we listen to the same type of music, and, obviously, we both enjoy a good house party.

*Name changed to protect privacy.

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An Apology

Saturday, June 12th, 2010

Stepping off the Q train the other day, a sharp pain of guilt hit me in my stomach. In getting up, walking towards the door, and exiting the train, I realized that I might not be as good of a person that I thought I was. That’s because in getting up, walking, and exiting, I noticed this old lady standing near where I was sitting. I don’t remember her getting on the stop before, or even the one before that. She must have gotten on well before my stop, standing there, while I was sitting. The sharp sudden pain of guilt came to me because I didn’t do anything about it.

There may have been other seats available on the train, it wasn’t that crowded. She might not have even wanted to sit. Maybe she really did just get on the stop before. But these are all just rationalizations. In reality, what had happened was I was so immersed in whatever music I was listening to, in whatever book I was reading, that the thought never even came for me to exercise some common courtesy and offer her my seat.

In writing, it seems like an insignificant occurrence. It happens everyday. People don’t get seats. It’s a tough city, New York. She’s probably used to it. But in its insignificance, I’m reminded by how tough of a city it can be. So why shouldn’t we help each other out?

Being a student in the city, being a student everywhere, being a person, even, it’s easy to get wrapped up in your own mind. There are deadlines, and books, and jobs, and music, and relationships, and movies, and friends, and emails, and everything else the day-to-day offers us, making it easy to not notice the people that surround us. It’s easy to ignore the guy looking for food in the trash. It’s easy to ignore the lady collecting cans off the street. It’s easy to ignore the old lady standing on the subway.

But that doesn’t mean we should. Now, I’m not saying we should all drop what we’re doing and start committing our lives to charity. What I am saying is that, we should lay our hurried minds to rest every once and a while, and notice the seemingly minuscule things around us. Plug out and zone into the world surrounding us, and see that apathy isn’t necessarily a sin of commission. More often than not, it’s a sin of omission, a sin of people trying too hard to live their own lives without thinking about making it just a little easier for other people to live theirs.

To the old lady on the Q, I’m sorry.

-Andrew Limbong

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Make New Friends and Keep the Old: Looking Back

Thursday, June 3rd, 2010

On February 20th 2007, I turned 17.  In New Jersey, when a person turns 17, and if they have fulfilled all of the requirements, he or she is eligible for their license.  Well, I got mine – along with my first car (a 1990 Buick LeSabre, navy blue).  I was so in love with my car, and had so many plans for it…my parents had already gotten me a really awesome sound system to get installed, and I couldn’t wait to drive it down the shore for the first time.

Fast forward to March 4th 2007.  In New Jersey, high school juniors have to go take the HSPA, High School Proficiency Assessment.  The HSPA spans four days, and lasts about three hours each day.  March 4th was the first day for my class, and I wore my favorite tee shirt and most comfortable pair of “lounge” pants, and flip flops.  By the time the day was over, I was ready to get home and relax.  So of course no more than hour after I had gotten home, I got a call that I needed to go to my best friend’s house for an emergency band meeting.  Not exactly excited to get there, I nevertheless got in my LeSabre and started down my street for the easy two mile drive.  This is where things get fuzzy, because not halfway down my street I, for some reason, swerved, then over corrected, and ended up driving straight into the side of a house.

The first thing I did when I woke up, having passed out for probably a minute or two, was call my dad (not 911, of course, because that would have made sense).   I then texted my friend something along the lines of “I was just in an accident on my street.”  The friend I texted, my best at the time, got to me in record time, before my father and the ambulance he called on his way from the office.  Now imagine, I’m sitting there in my own blood, cradling my broken wrist; I didn’t know it at the time, but the front of my car was crushed all the way to the windshield , which was also cracked from my face meeting it (and that’s why they tell us to wear seatbelts).  After checking on me, my friend took it upon herself to knock on the door to make sure no one was inside and injured, ignoring the danger she could have been in from the now structurally unsafe house.  That being done, she came over the passenger side, which I had somehow slid too, procured napkins from somewhere and did her best to wipe the blood from eyes and mouth – she did all of this before any other help arrived, but checked first to make sure help was going to arrive at some point.  Now, you may wonder why I bring this story up.

I think about it sometimes, about her wiping blood from my face and staying with me until I left in the ambulance.  I think about it because just a little over a year after my accident, we were suddenly no longer friends.  I wonder how we could be so close, and care so much about each other, and how that could just end.  It’s horrible how the fact is that friends, no matter how close they are, can just grow apart.  It started with a fight that probably wasn’t even that bad, and then radio silence.  BOOM, no more friendship.  We still talk occasionally, and when I’m in town we’ve gotten coffee before, but there’s nowhere near, and never will be again, the closeness we used to share.

On the other side of that, there’s the friend who made the half hour drive to visit me in the hospital each of the five days I was there after the accident.  She brought me movies and real food, and even washed my hair for me after about three days of me living with the blood, glass, and vomit that was by then crusted into it.  Of course, with my broken nose I didn’t even notice how rank I was, so the hair washing was more for everyone else’s benefit, but that’s not the point.  I’ve known her for twelve years now, I believe; she actually was my babysitter when I was younger, fun fact.  Our relationship is probably more like sisters than friends, and we can go from laughing hysterically together to me wanting to punch her in the face.

I just wonder why that friendship is different from the other one.  There’s no denying that Friend B and I have had probably over a million fights, radio silence included, yet we’ve always remained friends.  I’ve questioned in another blog on whether or not some people are just more important in our lives, and I didn’t want to think that I could rate my friends like that.  But I guess somewhere inside I do, because the simple fact is that one of those friendships is over, and the other is just as strong as ever.

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The hardest part of a job is finding one

Thursday, June 3rd, 2010

As I graduated college three weeks ago, I anxiously feared my most impossible task yet: finding a job. My stepfather had told me that the hardest part of a job is simply finding one and with the economy being what it is, I could tell I was going to have a heck of a time. I did not have a million internships or a degree in anything applicable to the jobs I was applying for; although being an English major does have some perks. To my surprise, a few days after sending out my resume, I had five interviews lined up, and, that Friday, I got a job. I think part of what happened was that I was lucky; the job I got needed to be filled quickly and I was available to start as soon as possible. But, the bigger part of it was that I was meticulous.

When I started my job, I realized that over 200 people had applied, and over twenty of them had landed interviews. So, what made me special? A few things…

1. I focused on my educational achievements. Since I did not have too much job experience, I tried to emphasize my education by putting my GPA on my resume, which is something that not everyone thinks of doing. If it is good, (I would say 3.5 or above) might as well slap that baby on there!

2. I was real. The guy who hired me at my job told me that, even though I did not have a lot of experience, he really liked my personality. After looking over all kinds of things to do and not do at an interview, I decided to just be myself. If an employer is looking at a bunch of people, being a robot is not going to make you stand out and land a job. On the other hand, if you are funny, or charming, or smart, or even a little silly, an employer will see you as a person and relate to you. And, if they don’t like what they see, then you probably would not be happy working there anyway.

3. I was careful. Looking over the resumes that were submitted after I landed my job, I saw a common theme: people were just being plain careless. Some people had submitted resumes with objectives that were irrelevant; obviously they had sent that same resume to a million jobs and were just changing a line and forgot to change their objective. Others had forwarded the same email to a bunch of different people. Still others made careless errors in their resumes themselves and obviously who would want to hire someone who cannot even look over their resume?

While I might have been an exception to the horrors of the job search, you can certainly be leaps and bounds ahead of the competition if you just pay attention to how you are presenting yourself. If you have something that makes you stand out, emphasize it. Maybe even try a few different resumes or cover letters to see which ones help you land more interviews. And, as always, be yourself–it really does pay off and there really is no point in getting a job you are just going to be miserable in.

-Emily S

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Tying the knot (or not)

Wednesday, June 2nd, 2010

I got married almost six months ago. I had just turned 24, which would have made me a spinster in a different country, but by NYC standards I was one of those nutty, irrational girls you hear about who gets married just when she’s supposed to be at the height of her bar hopping career. None of my peers were getting married (or even thinking about it), and not a single person I encountered could keep their eyes from bulging at the news–especially my little grandma who just kept muttering “But why, Tania? Why?”

My vows (piece of cake)

No, I wasn’t pregnant. No, I didn’t belong to some religious group that ships off girls to the alter at puberty. I was in love, in a caring, supportive, inspiring relationship, and I was just plain ready.

To make matters more scandalous, Brian and I had only known each other for 10 months, and we had moved in together after our second date. Those 10 months seemed like more than enough time for us, but by everyone else’s calculations, we had to be living together for at least four or five years before making any kind of legally binding decision.

It was weird seeing everyone acting so much more nervous than we were. Is it our country’s 50% divorce rate that gets everyone’s proverbial panties in a twist? Is it the fact that our critics haven’t found “the right one” yet, so they assumed it couldn’t possibly be so simple? Or is it that our culture of limitless options (from breakfast cereals to career paths) can’t stand the idea of picking just one of anything? I don’t know.

But here’s what I do know. No one can tell you whether or not it’s the right time or the right person. There’s no rule book for love and no norms. I’d advise that you and your partner are both completely on the same page in terms of expectations and able to talk about your fears and desires openly. But the truth of the matter is that it just has to feel right. Logic helps, but emotion seals the deal. And by the way, for me–it’s the best deal I’ve ever made in my life.

Oh yeah, did I forget to mention we had an Elvis minister? See for yourself 🙂

The Most Romantic Elvis Wedding Ever

– Tania Luna

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STD’s and Germ Freaks!

Saturday, May 29th, 2010

The other day I spent some time with a long time friend of mine. It was a long yet blissful day; we ran all over town, touching down in each borough for at least an hour, well all of the boroughs with the exception of Staten Island. By the time we returned to my apartment, we were exhausted, drained, and well filthy. We had been running the streets of New York, riding the trains, sitting in public places, and using public restrooms. We were both due for a hot shower and a long night of sleep.

My friend, being the germ freak that she is, immediately ran to the bathroom, not only to wash her hands, but to scrub her face with soap and hot water as well. She then sat down to eat her food. While she ate, I asked her if she would take a picture of me. I was so in love with my outfit that day, that I felt the need to take as many pictures as possible in my lovely get up. At first she didn’t want to do it. She complained of touching the camera and then touching her food. She didn’t want to spread germs to her food. “But what about when you have unprotected sex”, I asked? She stopped and looked at me. “I only have unprotected sex with one person,” was her reply. I stared at her in amazement. “How do you know that he’s not having sex with anyone else,” I questioned? Her response, “he’s not.”

This got me thinking, deep, real deep. How could someone be so afraid of getting germs, but not as afraid of putting their life on the line? I mean she had been with this guy for over three years, but still.

I remember being a student in undergraduate school, and doing a project for my Black Studies class about sexual health and how so many young people are misinformed about the dangers of having unprotected sex. Thankfully, the Center for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) has an abundance of information about Sexual Transmitted Diseases, including, prevention, causes, and treatment. While some diseases have noticeable symptoms, there are other diseases that don’t show symptoms. Some diseases are silent, slowly ruining the health of its victim until the victim decides to go and get themselves checked out.

According to the CDC, each year, there are approximately 19 million new STD infections, and almost half of them are among youth aged 15 to 24. This shows that many young people don’t get checked out. Maybe they think that they are invincible, or are afraid, or they may simply be ignorant about the importance of knowledge of their sexual health status. Fortunately, there are places throughout the five boroughs, where male and female students can get tested for STD’s. So what will you do? Will you become a germ freak or a freak about the safety of your sexual health? I suggest that you choose the latter!

Free and Confidential Clinics in NYC

Shana H

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The “Is it Worth It?” Test

Saturday, May 22nd, 2010

In his book, The Magic of Thinking Big, David Schwartz gives the following relationship advice:

Before you start getting upset and fighting about something, put the situation to the “is it worth it” test. In other words, is fighting/complaining/crying/bickering (whatever your relationship poison) worth the consequences? Is it worth the risk of creating bitterness and resentment? Is it worth the potential for hurt feelings and ruined moods on both ends?

Here are some examples:

– Your boyfriend forgot it was your mother’s birthday, and your first instinct is to make him feel guilty. Is it worth it?

– Your roommate used up all the toilet paper and forgot to renew the roll. You’re ready for battle. Is it worth it?

– Someone bumped into you on the train, and you’re already taking in a deep breath of air for all the curse words you’re about to unleash. Is it worth it?

You get the idea. I love this strategy because it’s so simple and so effective. Just asking yourself this question helps puts things in prospective and diffuses so much frustration. So much relationship tension exists because we overreact to insignificant things (and this holds true for ALL types of relationships). My sister, Kat, might snap at me because she’s had a rough day, I take it personally and get defensive. She gets even more upset. I get even MORE upset. And before you know, it we’ve both got our arms crossed and our bottom lips jutting out. (Story of our sisterhood).

Of course there are also times when this approach isn’t the right fit. For example, if you walk in on your girlfriend making out with a stranger. In that case, I’d say it’s almost definitely worth it to have a pretty serious chat. Stewing in silence even over small stuff is never a good choice, but the point of this advice is that if you can let something roll of your shoulders, do. We say so many things we don’t mean and do so much we later regret all because of a lousy mood or displaced frustration. In fact, I once read a theory that a lot of the world’s most brutal battles have been spurred by generals because of maddeningly severe tooth aches. Hey you, generals. Was it really worth it?

– Tania Luna

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Make new friends AND keep the old?

Monday, May 10th, 2010

I have these two friends, and they’ve been dating for seven years. A few months ago, they got engaged. I’m always surprised when I think about them because their relationship is so strong, and growing stronger, yet ever since high school ended they hardly ever see each other. The guy is currently in upstate New York with the Navy, and before that he was in the Midwest somewhere – Chicago, I think. The girl is in South Jersey for college, and understandably doesn’t get to visit him all that often. Regardless of all that, and despite their young age, they’re one of the most together couples I’ve ever known.

My question is: How do they make it work? Sure, it can be said that distance makes the heart grow fonder, but enough distance is equally as likely to make the heart forget what it loved about a person in the first place. I’ve been in New York for two years, and I find it extremely hard to keep up with my friends and family back in South Jersey.

I always find myself dividing my relationships up into two sections – New York and Home (because even though I have an apartment up here and live here, I will always think of my parents’ house as Home). It’s very rare that the two ever merge, though I often share stories of home to people up here and vice versa. When talking about friends, I say, “Oh, my best friend back home…” or, “You remember, I told you about her…she’s my best friend at school?” I never just use a person’s name, it’s always with some epithet – a way to keep everything separate and clear in my own mind.

Stories about home are getting less and less the more time I spend up here. I always find some excuse not to visit; oh, I’d come home this weekend but I don’t want to leave Sassy (my cat) alone and she doesn’t like travelling; dude, sorry I’m gonna miss your birthday but I have, like, a zillion tests I need to study for next week. I even missed my Aunt’s wedding because of school obligations and the hassle of travelling two hours on the New Jersey Turnpike.

What I want to know is how people who go away for college – or even if they don’t go away, but are too busy with new responsibilities to enjoy old fun – stay in touch and up to date with their pre-college lives. Is it really as hard as I feel it is, or is it like it is for my two engaged friends, meaning easy and natural?

-Mary K

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