Since I'm incapable of working this week--seriously, kiddos, it's been pretty bad on the production front--I've been reading blogs. More specifically, I've become enamored with the entire concept of BlogHer which just happened: parties! Free drinks! Free food! Geeking out like whoa!
However, while reading through the attendents'/panelists' blogs I have come to a realization: bloggers are scary people, yo. Like, crazy intense about the whole writing thing. And they're good at the whole writing thing.
And then I think about my own blogging skills. I keep a f-locked Livejournal full of rants about song lyrics or the weather or just random "ohmigod, I'm so so so sorry for not updating! My life is so crazy (not really but as an intern I have to keep up the appearance of trying to keep of the appearance of being busy all the time)!!!"
I have several defunct blogs that all seemed like good ideas at the time and then I realized that I really don't have the patience to take pictures of all my lunches or make awesome outfits on polyvore. They're still floating around out there--full of lameness, trust me.
Anywho, brava BlogHer bloggers! You're dedication to the craft is inspiring and frightening. Not enough to make me stop reading though. And not enough to make me try to make my LJ more meaningful.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Coincidental that interns aspire to excell and despise Excel? I think not.
If you have ever opened your email to see a strangely targeted mass mailing, inviting you to “check out a new website by ACME company” or “attend an event sponsored by ACME company” and “oooh, would you mind terribly putting up this itty-bitty banner ad?” You can thank an intern.
Coming up with thousands of names for the all important “Points of Contact” Excel spreadsheet is a staple of the intern experience. It doesn’t matter if you are interning in Congress or Cinemax: Excel will rule your life. Sure, bragging can be done about the “awesome committee meeting you sat in on” (note: the importance of the meeting is in direct proportion to the level of staff attending. E.g.: super important people attend super important meetings. Stupid/pointless meetings are attended by the interns. Who will crowd the meeting because they were “important enough to be handed the awesome responsibility of trying to stay awake while someone discusses the finer points of krill regulation”) or “the famous director’s second assistant that you spotted in the halls of your place of work” or even “that crazy person that you had to deal with over the phone/bully away from the front desk.” But it all comes down to the Excel spreadsheet.
Excel, is in fact, the most horrible Microsoft application to ever be invented. It is also, one of the most useful. Excel spreadsheets lack any intuitive functions. Oh, you want to add up all the numbers from this column? Well, either highlight the column—top to bottom! TOP to BOTTOM dammit!—and then press the strange sigma sign up here. Or perhaps enter the super easy formula consisting of quotations marks, ampersands, and squiggly marks. With excessive Excel expericene, this can possibly become second-nature. That is also a large portion of your brain that will never recover.
However, like the internship itself, “Proficient in Excel” looks quite impressive on a resume. Which is why we do it.
Coming up with thousands of names for the all important “Points of Contact” Excel spreadsheet is a staple of the intern experience. It doesn’t matter if you are interning in Congress or Cinemax: Excel will rule your life. Sure, bragging can be done about the “awesome committee meeting you sat in on” (note: the importance of the meeting is in direct proportion to the level of staff attending. E.g.: super important people attend super important meetings. Stupid/pointless meetings are attended by the interns. Who will crowd the meeting because they were “important enough to be handed the awesome responsibility of trying to stay awake while someone discusses the finer points of krill regulation”) or “the famous director’s second assistant that you spotted in the halls of your place of work” or even “that crazy person that you had to deal with over the phone/bully away from the front desk.” But it all comes down to the Excel spreadsheet.
Excel, is in fact, the most horrible Microsoft application to ever be invented. It is also, one of the most useful. Excel spreadsheets lack any intuitive functions. Oh, you want to add up all the numbers from this column? Well, either highlight the column—top to bottom! TOP to BOTTOM dammit!—and then press the strange sigma sign up here. Or perhaps enter the super easy formula consisting of quotations marks, ampersands, and squiggly marks. With excessive Excel expericene, this can possibly become second-nature. That is also a large portion of your brain that will never recover.
However, like the internship itself, “Proficient in Excel” looks quite impressive on a resume. Which is why we do it.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
How many signs do you need?! Press the silver button to open the door!
As an intern in DC this summer, I basically waive any rights I have to making fun of tourists and other interns. Combined with the fact that I am a college student at a university in town does not exactly make me any more qualified to mock.
However, how can I resist the ohmygodwhatthefuckareyouthinking?! when I see such ripe examples of mocking around me?
Yesterday, I changed my routine of walking home most of the ways, to actually taking the circulator all the way home because of the EXTREME heat that DC has been experiencing for the past few days (tangential life story: I hate humidity. I have spent a good amount of time living in a desert and humidity is not my thing. I break out and get bitten by bugs and have wacky hair. Humidity is possibly why most sensible people would not build a city on a swamp. Oh but wait…). And yesterday, I saw some choice examples of “How to be an obvious tourist to Our Nation’s Capital.”
Three people were involved in this posse: two women and one man. On the bus they had the typical touristy things going on: constant and loud conversation about bus fares, frequent checking of maps, trying to make friends with other people.
All three wore fanny packs. I kid you not. Usually, one person has enough sense to not do so and, even with their Smithsonian bags, they still donned these bastions of bad fashion.
Their destination was obvious: the White House. How could I tell? Was it perhaps the counting down of streets: “ooh 14th street there, we must be getting close!”? Was it the overexcited jabbing at the STOP button? Or was it, perhaps, the desperate, panicked squeals that were heard when the bus OMG passed 16th street by half a block (to stop at it’s proper stop)?
As they attempted to disembark—I say attempted because they did the classic thinking-the-doors-are-going-to-magically-open-despite-the-fact-that-there-are-signs-and-arrows-EVERYwhere-clearly-telling-people-to-just-press-the-stupid-silver-button-to-open-the-doors—I had the chance to observe them in more detail.
First came a woman: she should definitely have invested in some sort of support system. Bellybuttons and breasts should never be so intimately introduced. Not to mention the classic sneakers, sport-socks pulled halfway up the leg, and shorts combo.
The second woman, despite her fanny pack proclivity, was not so bad. An all white ensemble could be construed as savvy considering the sweltering weather we’ve got going on here. I could have done without the knowledge that somewhere out there someone is painting giant flowers on Crocs.
It was the man accompanying them that really had my eyes rolling. You know those “airbrushed” t-shirts? Usually they have some sort of puppy or dolphin motif with italicized script about the location such a t-shirt was purchased. This particular item first boldly proclaimed the United We Stand. Followed by the image of an eagle and a patriotic flag. Underneath: These Colors Don’t Fade or Bleed or whatever. Trucker hat is implied.
A special shout out to the douche who breathed loudly and disgustingly on me in passive-aggressive protest against the world’s most annoying middle schoolers and couldn’t be bother to move his humongous long legs aside so I had to obstacle course my way out of my seat to the exit. It’s experiences like that, that clearly endear me to all humanity.
However, how can I resist the ohmygodwhatthefuckareyouthinking?! when I see such ripe examples of mocking around me?
Yesterday, I changed my routine of walking home most of the ways, to actually taking the circulator all the way home because of the EXTREME heat that DC has been experiencing for the past few days (tangential life story: I hate humidity. I have spent a good amount of time living in a desert and humidity is not my thing. I break out and get bitten by bugs and have wacky hair. Humidity is possibly why most sensible people would not build a city on a swamp. Oh but wait…). And yesterday, I saw some choice examples of “How to be an obvious tourist to Our Nation’s Capital.”
Three people were involved in this posse: two women and one man. On the bus they had the typical touristy things going on: constant and loud conversation about bus fares, frequent checking of maps, trying to make friends with other people.
All three wore fanny packs. I kid you not. Usually, one person has enough sense to not do so and, even with their Smithsonian bags, they still donned these bastions of bad fashion.
Their destination was obvious: the White House. How could I tell? Was it perhaps the counting down of streets: “ooh 14th street there, we must be getting close!”? Was it the overexcited jabbing at the STOP button? Or was it, perhaps, the desperate, panicked squeals that were heard when the bus OMG passed 16th street by half a block (to stop at it’s proper stop)?
As they attempted to disembark—I say attempted because they did the classic thinking-the-doors-are-going-to-magically-open-despite-the-fact-that-there-are-signs-and-arrows-EVERYwhere-clearly-telling-people-to-just-press-the-stupid-silver-button-to-open-the-doors—I had the chance to observe them in more detail.
First came a woman: she should definitely have invested in some sort of support system. Bellybuttons and breasts should never be so intimately introduced. Not to mention the classic sneakers, sport-socks pulled halfway up the leg, and shorts combo.
The second woman, despite her fanny pack proclivity, was not so bad. An all white ensemble could be construed as savvy considering the sweltering weather we’ve got going on here. I could have done without the knowledge that somewhere out there someone is painting giant flowers on Crocs.
It was the man accompanying them that really had my eyes rolling. You know those “airbrushed” t-shirts? Usually they have some sort of puppy or dolphin motif with italicized script about the location such a t-shirt was purchased. This particular item first boldly proclaimed the United We Stand. Followed by the image of an eagle and a patriotic flag. Underneath: These Colors Don’t Fade or Bleed or whatever. Trucker hat is implied.
A special shout out to the douche who breathed loudly and disgustingly on me in passive-aggressive protest against the world’s most annoying middle schoolers and couldn’t be bother to move his humongous long legs aside so I had to obstacle course my way out of my seat to the exit. It’s experiences like that, that clearly endear me to all humanity.
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