My mother went to Sears and all she got was a lousy 10-year warranty – redefining sustainability

I’m hoping that you understand that the title of this entry references tacky vacation t-shirts like “My brother went to Cabo and all I got was this lousy t-shirt”. I’m sorry, I should never underestimate the intelligence of the reader, after all, you already have the good sense to be reading this blog in the first place. Kudos to your good taste. I thought that in honour of the Copenhagen climate change summit this would be an appropriate post.

Let me start off by saying that I subscribe to a ridiculous number of e-newsletters; it keeps me in the know of what is going on in this fair city and what kind of free stuff I can get my hands on. A friend of mine enters every contest that Eye Weekly and Now has to offer every Wednesday. Wins have included an Ashley Tisdale CD and Jamie Foxx concert tickets. It goes to say that you can’t win if you don’t enter –sometimes a correlation does equal causation. In any case, quite a while back I got an email from the Cadillac Fairview Corporation asking me to fill out a survey for a chance to win a $100 gift card. For those that don’t know, the Cadillac Fairview Corporation is a commercial real estate company and they own malls like the Shops at Don Mills, the Eaton Centre and Yorkdale. I’m all for free money and incentives sure work on me to get me to do a silly survey.

The survey was about my perceptions of how “green” the Cadillac Fairview malls are. In the unique response box, i.e. the one at the very end that says “additional comments” I lashed out about how the concept of “green” is quite the elaborate sham and marketing ploy in attempts of corporate social responsibility that tricks an uneducated consumer into believing that somehow this shopping mall is benefiting the environment and that the focus should be more on sustainability ensuring lasting (positive) effects for generations to come. I wonder why I didn’t win the $100 gift card.

On a completely separate occasion a friend of mine and I were talking and I inquired how his mother was doing. He replied that she recently bought a new washer and dryer after the one in their family home had crapped out after 20 some years. The salesperson told her the lifespan of her new washer and dryer should be about 10 years. That’s about the same thing that happened when my family bought our new washer and dryer last year after ours crapped out following 25 years of service.

Whatever happened to quality? Everything we have now is so disposable and nothing lasts longer than a meager decade, year, month, or week. This entry was inspired by an article I read in the September 2009 issue of The Walrus about Paul Merrick, who is an architect in Vancouver. He says that:

Sustainability means all those things: grey water, green rooms, passive ventilation, low-flow showers and toilets, and recycling waste, but there are many dimensions of this thing we call ‘green’. He recalls a recent visit to Mozart’s birthplace in Salzburg, Austria where he had a eureka moment about sustainability, understanding for the first time that it means building things that last. ‘It’s a little row house downtown with party walls and timber floors and walls built from rubble and stone, and we realized –holy cow –this house was already 600 years old when Mozart lived here. So that’s pretty sustainable, as in, it has been sustained.’

I’m no architect, that’s for sure, but I swear I had the exact same reaction that Merrick did when I visited that house in Salzburg this summer. That’s how I always feel when I’m in historical places whether it’s the Mozart Geburthaus in Salzburg, the ruins of ancient Delphi in Greece, or the Medici chapels in Florence. I am always marveled and taken aback by the multitudes of people before me that have walked through these iconic places. How do these places survive all this time? We of this new millennium think that we are so sophisticated but we can’t build much that seems to last.

Back to the washers and dryers though–how is that things built in the archaic 80s can outlast things built in this shiny, technologically-advanced, eco-friendly time of today? Sure, I can get that new appliances use less power, conserve more water, but if you have to keep buying them that just means more and more need to be manufactured and shipped around the world, more and more recycled and taken apart and that consumes a considerable amount of energy I would think. It’s just like the episode “Into the Crevasse” of “30 Rock” this season (so far the season’s best in my opinion) where the GE microwave division needs to come up with an idea as revolutionary as the light bulb to inspire more people to buy microwaves. One character posits;:, “what if microwaves broke down and people would have to buy them more often?” And naturally “30 Rock” satirizes, in a way no short of brilliance, how our corporations think – if you aren’t watching this show, you really should be.

It saddens me when old Victorian houses are bulldozed in Toronto to make way for condominiums. They pop up in every tiny plot of land imaginable these days. And with the hurried way they are built, it doesn’t take an architectural genius to know that they aren’t built to last. When we don’t preserve our historic buildings we aren’t leaving any real sense of what Toronto was for future generations to come. It’s clear we don’t have an abundance of ancient ruins, if any, but soon all we’re going to have to show for ourselves are shoddily built condominiums.

It isn’t all bad news, I’m not a naysayer of everything (I think), Toronto is leading the way for rooftop gardens to help battle CO2 output, so perhaps we’ll get there with baby steps, but I just wish things would last instead of having to continually reinvent the wheel, is that really too much to ask for something longer than a ten year warranty?

Crutches and commitment – C is also for cookie

There have been pretty pre-eminent themes in my life last week – if you can’t tell they’re crutches and commitment. I love a thematic week and alliteration, so it feels like a win-win.

Crutches

I’ve never broken a bone before in my life *knocks on head*, and during phys ed orientation week everyone was exchanging athletic injury stories. Torn ACLs, separated shoulders, all that fun stuff; and what did I have to add to the conversation? “Uh, one time I tripped on an escalator at a mall; there was a lot of blood.” Clearly, you can see that 1. Shopping is my favourite sport (sample sales can be very competitive) 2. I was really popular with the jocks.

But the type of crutch I’m writing about today, isn’t about athletic (or shopping related) injury. But a crutch is something/someone a person needs when they themselves can’t walk tall on their own, and that is pretty much the overarching theme of the week that was.

I may not have any epic sport injury stories, but one thing I share with my Phys Ed brethren is my love of winning. This love can be further extrapolated into excessive competitiveness, extreme stubbornness and exasperating perseverance. Love me or hate me, it’s what’s on the plate. But it also makes me fall privy to never giving up (hence perseverance), especially on people. I always feel it’s my duty to fix things; even when the conversation is circular and I feel like bludgeoning my head with a plywood 2x4, I don’t stop fighting. Thereby, I make for an excellent crutch.

But crutches, whether they are made of aluminum or made of people are only meant to be temporary. As people heal, physically or otherwise, they learn to stand on their own and be their own person again. Every wound takes a certain amount of time to heal. It’s just much easier to predict when it is something physical like a femur fracture. Regardless of how stubborn a person is the body will regenerate itself. But the mind and (non-physiological) heart are different wounds that you can keep open with stubbornness, or do a patchy job of closing it up only to have it reopen twice as badly. Kind of like discount plastic surgery.

So I’ve learned my lesson as a crutch, because as much as I pretend to be one – sturdy, strong, and cold (because I’d be made of aluminum), I can’t actually be. Because a crutch is something you use when you need it and push it to the back of your closet until your next tumble. Unfortunately I can’t be shut up in a closet until next time; I’m still there every step of the way. Moreover, I also have my own journey and path to travel and as much as I know I want to, a crutch can’t save a person who won’t save themselves.

Commitment

What I’m about to say next may seem counterintuitive, so begin scratching your temple with your index finger now. I’m actually a huge commit-a-phobe. You may think: geez Sarah aren’t you unwaveringly committed to saving bewildered souls? The answer is yes, but with qualifications. I only care to save things I really believe in, and I believe I don’t waste my time with lost causes, but what takes me a long time is to believe in something.

When I turned 22 I decided it was time to start wearing make up; considering girls have been painting their faces since the age of 12, it’s a pretty late start. I find make up daunting; there are far too many options and only God knows what it all does. I couldn’t commit to buy a whole tube of anything so I just decided I go into the world without battle paint on. To this day I cannot commit to an entire bottle of eau de toilette. 60mL of fragrance sounds like an eternity to me, and to smell like one thing for an eternity sounds like a big decision.

Commitment: could there be a dirtier word? The next one to throw out would be relationship. And on those two notes, I throw my knowledge to the gods that are HBO and consult the bible for any female between ages of 18 – 40. Because what woman hasn’t likened her life and the lives of her closest friends to the fine leading ladies of “Sex and the City”? To be hip and cool, and timelessly stuck in 2004, I will do the same.

I used to be the biggest Carrie, and just knowing it makes me hate myself a little. I had my Big-type relationship through university. I was that girl who got lost amidst a “we” and disappeared from her friends and only re-emerged when shit hit the fan. The girl who got hung up, thrown for a loop and took a hell of a long time to recover. The crutch part of me was something fierce and I tried so hard to fight for that dying relationship. He’s not the Big of my life—no, my Big is still with his Natasha, but that’s a story for another time and copious bouts of therapy later.

Today I see myself as more of a Samantha, and damn, am I much happier. I’m speaking my mind and not being jerked around. I can only apologize for what I do, not who I am. I feel like relationships get in the way of my sex life, and I’m not apologizing for that either. Every now and then crutchie Carrie comes out to play and I feel like bludgeoning her with that aforementioned 2x4. I’m just on the look out for the right someone to believe in, and then I’ll have grown up enough to be ready for it. Smith Jerrod, where are you?

In a good essay, I’d try to find a way to meld the two topics together and come up with a cohesive conclusion, but this isn’t a good essay. I, like this conclusion, am a work in progress. Thanks for coming along for the ride.

P.S. Sorry for the lack of actual cookies in this post.

A Dear Jay letter

Sometimes in life people say nice things to you. When you're not a nice person yourself, the chances of that happening are slimmer. Subsequently it amazes me when I bump into acquaintances or people I haven't seen in a long time tell me that they read this blog. It is Friday on what feels like the slowest day ever, so thanks for stopping by! A friend of mine wrote to me and said that my last post really struck a chord with him and we're getting together for a coffee and chat tomorrow. I am so excited to see my lovely friend again. On that positive note I begin my Dear Jay letter.

I was at the Raptors/Pacers game on Tuesday with the Turkish Community of Toronto (I wasn't lying when I said I have a very diverse group of friends). The last time I went to a Raptors game was in December 08 with my friend Jay and a few other friends. Being at Tuesday's game made me sad that Jay and I hadn't connected pretty much since that game in December. You see, Jay and I were lab benchmates in organic chemistry in second year university. And those aren't just friends you come by all the time; that kind of connection is eternal [insert irreversible organic chemistry reaction here].

I went to message him on Facebook but when I tried to search for him he wasn't there anymore. I don't know what saddened me more, the fact that I have no idea where he is now or the fact that the only point of contact I had with him was Facebook. Like Sarah Chan, his name is too common to Google, but maybe, just maybe, he'll stumble on this somehow. Sky writing is too expensive and we'd need a really long string for a can on each end, so BFF if you're out there -- I miss you.

Bye, Bye Birdie and what is sure to be copious amounts of "Mad Men" references

I’m staring at a package on my bed right now, afraid to open it as if it will self-destruct five seconds after opening Mission Impossible styles. The envelope contains my offer of employment. Yes, that’s right, as soon as I sign the dotted line I’m no longer funemployed. I’ll be saying bye-bye to my high flying fauxcialite life, waking up at noon, going to the gym for hours at a time and saying hello to leaving the house when it’s dark outside and returning when it’s as dark as it was when I left. But I’m running into the welcoming arms of full benefits and after work drinks (with real meaning that aren’t just drinks at 5 pm).

I’m working for an advertising agency; and it’s located north of Bloor. I’m scared of the world north of Bloor, but I’m willing to make the commute. I’m afraid to open the envelope because opening the envelope means after all the interviews I’ll have to actually start proving myself above and beyond my fantastic references. I’ll be working in accounts, and the Don Draper (Creative Director) of the firm already thinks I’ll get promoted quickly. Hot damn, I’m not going to climb this ladder, but Charleston my way up Pete Campbell styles.

But what about this blog? I wrote this particular entry while I was lamenting my lack of job prospects. Now that I’m signing a dotted line I know I’m not some kind of job search guru, but I will impart my timeless knowledge of recessionary job hunting anyway – because I can.

How to get a job in a recession Sarah Chan style:

1. Find amazing mentors
I owe a lot to my mentors; they’re there when I make frantic calls while walking to an interview when I have to ask when an appropriate time to discuss salary is. They answer my questions how to best answer those “weakness” questions that inevitably come up in an interview. They keep you down to earth when you get starry eyed at the prospect of too many job offers (because those tend not to happen). How do you find such great people? It’s much easier to build on a pre-existing relationship that you have, because the person knows you all the better. Look to experienced people in your own field so that they can tailor their advice to you. And look for people who you are comfortable getting advice from because when it comes to picking yourself off the ground and starting over, sometimes it isn’t the easiest to swallow.

2. Get off your ass and get ideas
Get up, get out of bed. You won’t find a job in bed (it would be a very different job then) so you need to get out there and be seen, how else will they find out how great you are? I struggled with this for sure. I have a lot of pride and not working was a huge blow to my ego, I started withdrawing socially and not leaving the house because I felt I would always have to explain myself. Finally, at the advice of my mentor, I went out to an alumni event thrown my by alma mater where I ended up talking to an MBA grad who asked me what I thought I wanted to do. He asked if I belonged to any professional associations and I said it would be hard to since I wasn’t exactly a professional. (See what I mean by not taking advice well?) He said it would be beneficial to keep on top of the hot topics that were going on in the field I was interested in. This is what brought me to volunteering with the Canadian Marketing Association.

3. Volunteer and schmooze your way into everyone loving you
When I was in university I used to volunteer until my fingers pretty much bled. Then I started working the 9-5 accompanied with some erratic after work meetings and my volunteering pretty much got shot to hell because I wasn’t able to make a year-long commitment. I forgot about how much I loved volunteering. Plus it was also another way to stave off boredom and get myself out of the house. You make a much bigger impression on people when you volunteer in their office. And you really can only do this when you aren’t working, so why not? I worked two days a week for the AIDS Committee of Toronto and recently bumped into their Development Finance Officer on the subway platform recently and told him about my new job, he said that I could definitely put him down as a reference for the future. Score.

My work with the Canadian Marketing Association was a little less altruistic, I wanted to attend a conference, but damn those conference fees are expensive. So instead I asked if I could volunteer. Half an hour of doing registration got me in to see all the speakers and eat all the food. Hell, I’m still a student who does pretty much anything for free food. I originally intended to stalk erm…get the contact information of the lunch keynote speaker who is the CEO of Credit Valley Hospital, but before lunch started I took a chance and changed my seat to find some new people to talk to. It’s hard enough explaining to your friends why you have to pull out of a social engagement for lack of funds, it is worse still explaining to executive business women why there isn’t a company attached to your nametag at this conference. I ended up being passed a card from the Managing Director of the company I am now going to work for.

4. Follow up, follow up, follow up
When someone hands you a business card you should do the following things: read it, flip it over just to see if there’s anything and the back and then put it somewhere where it won’t get crushed. Don’t just shove it in your pocket without looking, it demonstrates disinterest. But then don’t just let it sit in your wallet/portfolio/card holder/pocket; you need to act on it. Most people don’t just hand their cards out to anyone, unless they’re complete tools, and especially when you don’t have a card to trade back, the ball is in your court buddy. Do something with it or else it is your missed opportunity, your fault.

5. It’s the little things
I love mail. I love getting postcards from my friends’ travels from around the world and every now and again a letter from a dear friend who has taken the time to write. I do own a pretty kick-ass assortment of thank you cards. I send out a thank you card to everyone who takes the time to meet with me whether for an information interview or a first interview. I think it just goes the extra mile, substantially further than an email. Joan Holloway would agree, but she’d probably send scotch too. Sometimes I get a little sad when the card isn’t acknowledged right away, but when you emailed that person later on, they will always reply that it’s good to hear from you and thank you for your note. Point – you. Send holiday cards to your contacts, I know it might sound trite and maybe a bit silly, but the holidays are the one point of contact you can have without asking for anything. You remind them you're alive and kicking and they know that you're keeping them in mind too. Keep it simple, silly!

6. Lather, rinse, and hopefully not need to repeat
After all that schmaltzing hopefully you have the skills to back you up and the confidence to state why your science degree is more useful to this company than the normal commerce/marketing degrees they look for. And you will likely have to explain one more time why you aren’t going to be a gym teacher, ever. Let’s rip the envelope open.

See you on the 9-5.
P.S. Count the “Mad Men” references!

Everything will be ok – and other lies we tell ourselves

Here are some things you should know about me: I can predict the future. But only a fraction of a second before someone admits something serious to me, and then I need a glass of water to wash down how far my foot has gone down my throat. Second: I enjoy a tipple every now and again. Some days I keep it classy like a bride (one glass of champagne and water the rest of the night) and other times, well … the ellipse speaks for itself. Third: I have the great privilege of having an incredibly diverse group of friends. Sometimes when you throw them all in one room it’s hard to see how they all fit, and I love them all just the same.

My group of friends is so diverse because I’m not quite sure where I fit right now, a quarter life crisis if you will. Someone asked me how I was going to change the world, and channeling my inner Trudeau (who only appears when I'm under the influence) I said “just watch me.” These are some of the lies we tell ourselves. I’m not quite sure how he’s going to change the world either, he works for Goldman Sachs after all. That’s okay, he doesn’t read this blog anyway – but maybe he should. After such a long exposition, I’ll finally get to my thesis statement: regardless of how free floating I am right now, I’m going to land where I belong because, from what I’ve seen, everyone eventually does.

Just like any mediocre high school essay I’ll also come up with three arguments to defend my thesis. It all takes place in one event filled week.

Case Study #1

Monday: I was invited to a first year medicine post-exam celebration at a bar. Do I pass up husband hunting opportunities? Never. Medical students are just like you think they are. I was thinking to myself that I could definitely see myself as a patient etherized on a table (T.S. Eliot, anyone?) staring up at these people and confidently say, “Yes, these are my doctors.” They’re the type that after the exam all they want to talk about is the exam in their anatomy lab groups while at a bar. They wear sensible footwear, flats or low wedges and some even wear running shoes to a bar. And I don’t mean Chucks; I mean legit Asics or New Balance. Style/pragmatic tip (and not just for soon-to-be doctors): running shoes are meant for running. You’d think it sounds absurd, but you don’t wear Birkenstocks on a treadmill. Being Toronto, this is a wonderfully ethnically diverse crowd, immigrant children rising above adversity and filling minority quotients, this is truly the dream. But what baffled me, and perhaps in retrospect maybe it shouldn’t have, was that for the first time in my life the beloved bar staple “Don’t Stop Believin’” by Journey played at a bar and the entire place did not erupt in unanimous cheer and spontaneous fist pumping. Not even awkward white boy dancing was in sight. And then it dawned on me, perhaps these people got to where they are by not dancing on tables during their undergrad, maybe that’s where I went oh-so wrong. The DJ spun some top 40 too, and no one seemed to know “Down” by Jay Sean which is probably one of the most overplayed songs of today. And I get it; some people don’t turn on the radio or prefer classical music to aid their studies, that’s fine. But you can’t escape this song anywhere; I swear it plays when you go into a shoe store, a take-out shawarma place, and when you get your haircut. Don’t medical students do these things? And you can’t tell me that they are too much against “the man” to listen to top 40, they aren’t hipsters. Because if there’s one broad sweeping generalization that I am nearly 99.9% sure of is that hipsters don’t go to medical school.

Case Study #2

Tuesday: One thing a hipster might be is a writer, or maybe a poet. Maybe that’s emo kids, I’m honest to God not at all sure what the hell hipsters do with their time. The literary group is not one that I’m all too familiar with, but I felt the Giller Light Bash (congratulations Linden MacIntyre) would be a good introduction to aspiring writers and those who dabble in publishing. This group is not dissimilar to a lot of groups you may have seen in high school. The trendsters wearing less sensible shoes show up fashionably late (so as to spend less time in painful shoes?), and this crowd is a lot more artsy so there were interesting and colourful outfits to be sure. One thing I noticed was how the crowd seemed kind of short. Maybe because I was wearing 3 ½ inch heels and haven’t worn a pair of sensible shoes since 2007 (again, perhaps why I’m not a doctor), but I was at par, if not taller than a lot of the men in the room. Perhaps being a writer doesn’t involve as much in-person competition in meetings etc. thusly one does not need to be as physically imposing (see Case Study #3). Moreover, to my dismay, this group of people is seemingly not very good at listening. At several points in the evening the host, Lainey (!) spoke and was completely drowned out by a crowd that could not pause in hearing themselves talk.

Case Study #3

Saturday: And speaking of people who love to hear themselves talk, it brings me great pleasure to examine my final group of people who certainly belong together. Saturday brought out the best of the brightest of young Toronto alumni from my alma mater (I think my sarcasm metre just exploded). This semi-formal event brings out all the former student government types, who now all work as consultants, as well as lawyers, bankers and other finance types. In terms of analyzing what people are wearing, this group has an unfair advantage that the event called for semi formal attire, but really these gentlemen live in suits, so it probably wasn’t a far stretch in their closets. I do love the power ties though and the silent competition of whose can be more imposing. Also these men are almost all over six feet; naturally I was wearing 3 inch stilettos but this time I might have reached people’s noses. (unless that’s because their noses were so high in the air. Hey-o!) Oh but the ladies, they’re always my favourite. There must be something about working in corporate that makes people always dress in black on black. But it’s the weekend! Add some colour; it can’t physically harm a person. But I suppose black is the most slimming colour, after all this is a group of women that drinks vodka water. I thought I was serious about calories by drinking (six too many) vodka sodas, but once again I’ve been outdone. Vodka water – it gets you drunk and rehydrates you all at the same time! Few pairs of sensible shoes here, rather copious pairs of pointed toed black (duh) pumps. The pointed toe inflicts a vast amount more pain when they kick you in the shin should you get in their way.

I’m still not sure if I fit with any of these groups of people; I’d like to say I have the immigrant dreams of the doctors, the artsy flair of the writers and the ability to avoid getting a stiletto heel stuck in subway grates of the financers. But all of this doesn’t matter because everything is going to be okay, I’m sure of it. All of these people have found their way to each other, while it might take me a bit longer I’m sure I’ll find mine too and it’ll be just like going home. So if there are any sardonic, style-conscious, judgmental bloggers out there – call me.

“R is the most menacing letter in the English alphabet –that’s why they call it murder and not muckduck.”

If you are expecting a comical analysis of “The Office” turn back now. No, wait! Stay, I promise this could still be good, think less Jim Halpert more Steven Harper. Oh God, that’ll just scare you off even more.

I was thinking about the letter R, as it often pervades my thoughts. And I think it’s true it could very well be the most menacing letter. I take my cue from a letter to the editor that was published in the October 12, 2009 issue of Maclean’s.

Broken, dysfunctional, boring: many adjectives could be applied to our less-than-perfect governmental arrangements (“Canadian democracy is broken,” National, Sept. 28). There is obviously much room for improvement. However imperfect it may be, we do have a constitutional, liberal democracy. This permits political aspirations to be achieved by peaceful evolution as opposed to violent revolutions. Like most people, I’ll take evolution over revolution. Thanks for your leadership on an important issue.

And there it is, with the addition of the letter R we can change from an evolution to a revolution. Perhaps that doesn’t sound that menacing to you, per se. But that just might be my entire point. As Canadians, we tend to live a pretty cushy life. I’m not saying we’re perfect but the fact that you’re reading this is because you have access to the internet and the ability to read as a result of free education.

One time I was asked to define Canadian culture as part of a phone interview. I said something about multiculturalism and that’s how people see Canada when I travel abroad. (I was also asked to define British culture too – that one didn’t go so well.) Then what is Canada? What defining features do we have? Luckily (depending on who you ask) we’ve always been a democratic country. Granted, the right to vote didn’t quite belong to everyone at all times, but this has always been a “free” country. That’s why everyone comes here, because we’re just so relaxed. However we may be too relaxed as our way of life seems to breed a certain amount of political apathy, especially in youth.

In the last federal election, voter turnout was 59.1%– the lowest in Canadian history. 40.9% of people decided they just didn’t care enough to vote. To a point I understand one’s frustrations over the state of government in this fine country. I’ve only been legal to vote for four years and somehow I’ve voted (provincially and federal) each year since then. That doesn’t seem quite right.

But why not vote? It’s one of strongest voices we do have, and it’s not physically that difficult. Women have fought for the right to vote, what would the Famous Five think of young women saying they just don’t know enough about the issues to vote? Apathy is not the answer. There have been wars to fight for democracy. And no, I’m not talking about the Iraq invasion. November is a special time and particularly this year. We remember those who died in the great wars which again we are so fortunate to not have lived through. This year also marks twenty years since the fall of the Berlin Wall.

I spent one night and two days in Berlin while backpacking through Europe this summer. To me, it is an enchanting city. It’s so rich with historical significance and what an utterly unique city it is. I read a great article in the Globe and Mail this weekend that spoke of a woman living in East Germany who was imprisoned for holding up a banner reading “For an open country with free people”. She is 40 now, meaning she was just 20 at the time. People cared; because if you take something away, people will start to care. You don’t truly understand freedom until you’ve had it taken away.

I admit I didn’t always have such an interest in the Berlin Wall; after all I was two years old when it came down. There must have been shockwaves sent around the world. I’ve only seen the reaction to the Kennedy assassination as pictured in “Mad Men”. I do remember when the World Trade Center went down; I was wandering the stairwell on my spare period in grade ten. I suppose at that time I couldn’t really fathom the effect it would have. So where will you be the next time something world-changing happens?

Be a part of the change – vote and pay attention to the issues that surround us outside of your Twitter and Facebook newsfeed. Maybe we need that menacing letter R to light a fire under our collective asses. Canadians (at least 40.9% of us) have not been part of the evolution for too long, maybe we might need a bit of revolution. And Happy 20^th Birthday Berlin.

It's my birthday in about five months

I found the best present for me; so remember these awesome cards come time for my birthday. I know Christmas comes first, but birthdays are the ultimate in self-centred holidays because they're all about the individual (me!). These cards are so awesome for a lover of fonts like me, but I feel like they can only be given to another font lover. We're out there, I just know it. Thanks to the Globe and Mail Style Counsel emails for finding them for me (and all other subscribers). I'm just sharing the font love!

Long live the [prom] queen – why high school TV dramas will never die

Growing up is hard. I’ve been faced with two hard questions as I continue to transition on in life: 1. When do I have to dissolve my fictitious Facebook marriage to my old housemate? and 2. What age is too old to be watching high school TV dramas? The answer to at least the latter question is never, because we’ll always have Paris er… high school.

High school: a four (or five, that’s okay) year chunk of life that is supposed to be the best time of your life. Or was that university? Or was it your early twenties? Frankly, I haven’t the slightest clue – every phase of life that I go through someone seems to tell me that it is the definitive “time of my life”. Funny, they don’t make that many shows about unemployed university grads. In any case, high school drama – the catty immaturity, the questionable fashion choices, the breakups, the friends forever delusion and sometimes even the educational portion make for riveting television. However, the CW network has low standards for what riveting really means. Ah, the CW, the amalgamation of The WB and UPN, whose bread and butter survives off of ridiculously good looking 20-somethings trying their best to suppress their chest hair to conceivably pass as sweet, naïve teenagers.

So why do we still watch? Just exactly who are we defined as, anyway? What age brackets are actually watching these shows? Are there enough 12-17 year old girls to drive Nielsen ratings? I can only surmise as to why those who are no longer in high school enjoy their primetime teen soaps.

We can start with those ridiculously good looking 20-somethings. I remember when “Degrassi: The Next Generation” first came out in 2001. They have kids who are just about the right age to play their teenaged counterparts, give or take one or two years. I think the first set of kids were supposed to be in grade 7 or 8 or something but for some reason I couldn’t wrap my head around how young the kids looked, so I wasn’t interested. Plus, it was so much more interesting to see what indecisive antics Joey Potter was up to that week on the creek, because she looked much more like the teen I strove to look like (less so now, trust me). Perhaps somehow in my nostalgia, I try to forget that I was an awkward, rail-thin, flat-chested teen and rather imagine myself as the curvy and leggy Serena Van der Woodsen. At least, I’m still awkward, that’s how I keep it real.

And high school was all about trying interpret your own sense of style, which really meant being trying to be trendy (I can explain the difference to you, I mean other than the well-known Yves Saint Laurent quote). So seeing the impeccably well dressed characters on “Gossip Girl” reinforces that I too wore the bare minimum to resemble my school uniform, always had perfectly blown out hair and never had a bad experiment with over-tweezing my eyebrows. Television also has a glossing effect by making everyone seem all that much quicker and wittier in high school. Everyone has snappier comebacks that we only wish we could have been instead of standing there slack jawed and pausing frequently in uncomfortable silences. A ridiculous number of cultural references are made in conversation that everyone else always seems to understand, and trust me; kids of today are investing their free times watching the shows you’re on, so they probably don’t have the mental capacity to process your Trotsky references. They have the lyrics of “I’m on a Boat” stored in their amygdala. Sorry. Perhaps the least realistic show with respect to dialogue had to be “Dawson’s Creek”, because no one ever talks like that. But I did learn some of my favourite vocabulary words from that show, and what is trash television if not for expanding the vernacular of their young viewers?

Most high school shows also tend to spare us freshman year, which if you’re most people is a year you probably want to forget anyway. Freshman year doesn’t make for good TV; it’s always better that we meet a group of already established friends and maybe throw one or two transfer students into their mix. And somehow, at one point, the heroine is always crowned homecoming or prom queen even if no one likes her (but the high school crowd is fickle, you see). We get to see our dream of being the captain of the [insert team sport here], cheerleader, top of our class, prom queen or valedictorian (sometimes several permutations of those options) all through the comfort of our own couches because we were probably pretty average ourselves.

And maybe it’s just me, but does it seem like shows jump the shark when the characters move to college/university? (Jump the shark, so you know, is a term that refers to the moment when a show rapidly declines thereafter. It references when the Fonz is about to jump over a shark on water skis on “Happy Days”, subsequently when the show went over its peak. See? Television can teach you things.) Maybe it is like real life, where everything seems all the more farfetched when the protective guise of high school is lifted. When you’re in high school you are the only fish in the pond, so it seems likely that in a small building/Podunk town, you are bound to run into the same people all the time. However, it’s convenient when ‘Fictional Institution C’ has always been right around the corner and magically all of our heroes and heroines are all on the same floor of their co-ed dorm? You don’t say?

I guess that’s what television is for: entertainment and escapism. Sign me up for those double Es. It’s no surprise that when I graduated high school I was voted to most likely “be hired by FOX to consult on tv dramas” (or something very similar to that), because I know my stuff -- that's pretty much like prom queen, right? That and TV dramas are incredibly formulaic, especially on FOX (Glee notwithstanding, watch Glee!). Be that as it may, I’ll be watching my high school drama for at least few more years, but I think my Facebook marriage is bound to last longer. That’s a real commitment.

Where are all the Remembrance Day decorations?

There goes Halloween, here comes Christmas. I haven't even seen a poppy box yet. I guess wars aren't quite as commercial as the holidays that sandwich it.


Here are some random musings that I quite enjoy:

I attended the Canadian Marketing Association Direct Marketing Conference last Wednesday where the Vice-President, Customer Based Management and Marketing Analytics of Rogers Wireless did a keynote. He likened a cell phone contract to being in a romantic relationship too! HA! I'm a marketing GENIUS and I didn't even know it.

I saw my first episode of "The Hills" last week too. Actually, that's a lie I once saw an episode in my hostel in Florence, but the whole thing was dubbed over in Italian. Though, I'm still pretty sure I got the gist of it because I certainly felt dumber by the end. Maybe that was because of the high culture and historic learning I had partaken earlier in the day. In any case, I read this review of last week's episode on nymag. I couldn't agree more with this whole first paragraph:

If we learned anything this week from The Hills (and we’re not sure we did), it’s that taking shots alone at the bar is not a good idea. We actually haven’t taken any sort of shot since college, when an Absolut Citron fad caused us to lose our lunch many, many times. This is embarrassing, but sophomore year, we (and our friends) used to take like four shots ... before we even went out. Did we all have problems, like Holly? Maybe. But we’ve reformed, and now we’re that lame-o who declines group shots, even on birthdays. And to the people who get annoyed by this — would you rather us puke on your nice shoes? No, we think not. Which brings us back to this week's episode, which also made us feel a little queasy at times.

This past weekend was one of my most hated fake holidays of the year -- however drinking in costume can lead to amusing points of conversation. If you don't know me, I generally gravitate to people in suits, I think there is nothing quite like a man in a well tailored suit. Here's a short conversation I had with someone I met at the Drake on Halloween and its silly result.

[Approaching a man in a suit]
Me: Who are you supposed a be? An investment banker?
Him: No, I'm something evil.
Me: Oh, so are you Goldman Sachs?
Him: That's the best answer I've heard all night.

That's only funny if you're up and up on the history of the "vampire octopus" that is GS. But it turned out he wasn't an investment banker in his non-costumed life either. Dear men: stop lying about what you do. Though I do take sick pleasure in taunting fake doctors and bankers, so try and pull a fast one on me.

Well that's the general amusement for me for now. Don't forget about the veterans this month! Buy a poppy.

Elegy: English – we hardly knew her

Ever since we lost Latin I was sure that English was doomed to be a goner just the same. Wikipedia tells me that the English language dates back to the 5th century when the Anglo-Saxons settled (conquered, whatever) in Great Britain. There is irony that I’m sourcing Wikipedia because the article I will also be referencing later on comments on today’s students depending on Wikipedia and Google as academic sources. Since this isn’t an academic paper, I figured it would be okay.

Apologies for that digression, now back to the deceased: English –truly we didn’t have enough time to know you or perhaps we just lacked the effort. A short history lesson if you will: English is the widest spoken language in the world, thanks in great part to colonial expansion of the British Empire in the 19th century. So if we had to fictitiously graph out (because I love graphs) English language speakers, it hits a high point around the late 1800s and maintains a fairly steady increase because of better primary education and thus increasing literacy rates. And then about a century later, something starts to go horribly awry. It’s not a new dialect forming, but it is becoming more and more universal and is responsible for the death of a beautiful language to a new generation.

Netspeak (which is a word not recognized by Microsoft Office 2003, I’ll have you know) has taken the instant messaging, text, email, Twitter world by storm, and is leaking into live face-to-face (“offline”, for lack of a better term) conversation and, horrifyingly, academia. Netspeak, if you didn’t already know, are abbreviations and acronyms used in online communications, examples include: OMG (oh my God), LMAO (laughing my ass off), IMHO (in my humble opinion) etc. The article I previously alluded to is from the October issue of Toronto Life. “Lament for the iGeneration” is by Gregory Levy who fittingly teaches communications at Ryerson University. He has had papers submitted to him with “4ever” instead of forever and the “Gr8 Wall of China”. Just so you know – Word does in fact recognize the combination of letters and numbers without a red squiggly, so maybe that’s how it escaped the spell check prior to handing in the paper. Maybe people are so used to typing that in netspeak it was a legitimate accident but clearly a result of very lazy proofreading. And thus, net speak has entered the realm of academia.

With respected to netspeak in “offline” communication, better (or worse) still is the last paragraph of this article which left me bewildered as well. Here it is verbatim:

Earlier this year, I told some of my students a story I’d heard. As an elementary school teacher reported to me that whenever she one of his student heard something funny, he said “LOL” –or “lawl” –as though it were a word. Instead of actually laughing, he’d taken to the vocalizing the idea of laughing out loud. Even my students couldn’t believe this debasement of communication as they understood it. They shook their heads and stared at me, open-mouthed, I knew what they were thinking: kids these days.

Great, soon we’ll be mistaking other emotional expressions in nonsensical grunts, and I’m not talking about Liz Lemon-isms (Blerg!). Furthermore, I am interested in seeing and hearing exactly what ROTFLMAO (rolling on the floor laughing my ass off) looks and sounds like.

I think a substantial part of this desecration is as a result of the brevity valued by our culture. I don’t think I can Twitter because it’s hard to keep me down to 140 characters. I feel as if Twitter and texting has completely eliminated the use of punctuation; I don’t know which is worse: sans punctuation or the repetitive use of the exclamation mark (!!!!!!!). Consequently, I use the dash more than most people and that’s three whole characters –who could afford a space and two hyphens? Though a truly underused (or misused, rather) punctuation mark is the semicolon. It’s even better than an ampersand, which I am also quite fond of. A semicolon only takes up two characters whereas & takes three. Tricks of the trade let me tell you. Character limitation also may lead to use of simple words. Not that there is anything wrong with shorter words, but to me the world is less enthralling when things can only be described as good, nice, big, fat, smart, dumb, cold, new – you get the picture. There are over 600,000 words in the English language, I haven’t met them all yet, however I haven’t met many that I haven’t liked (C U Next Tuesday, notwithstanding, not even a Vagina Monologue could change my mind).

While punctuation might be a space saving casualty it makes me think that spelling has committed suicide. Suicide takes the form of auto-correct and dependency on spell check. I’m not sure if tweets are spell checked by Firefox or whatever browser you use, but text messages sure aren’t. Oftentimes my T9 can’t presuppose the word I’m trying to spell. Spelling mistakes aren’t just those tricky words like scissors or misogyny (not sure how many people are texting about misogyny, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a tricky word to spell), however that’s not my biggest pet peeve or what I consider to be the utmost failure of the grade school language arts system. Sing it with me friends: they’re/there/their and you’re/your. I don’t know what else there (their?) is to say, really and truly, it’s not that hard.

There might be hope in years to come. I’m inspired by a closing statement in an article in the November issue of The Walrus. It’s an article about neuropsychology and our society’s dependence on GPS; I’m extrapolating its message, but I feel it really applies.

When I was a kid, I had an old Mad magazine from the 1960s that bemoaned the advent of the electric scooter and predicted that by the end of the century North Americans would look like oversized bowling pins with tiny, vestigial legs, ripe for knocking over by lean Communist invaders. Rather than forgetting how to walk, however, 4.5 million Canadians on treadmills and exercise bikes make up the miles they no longer travel in their daily lives. Many other choose to forsake “efficiency" by biking to work or walking to the supermarket, because they’ve realized that letting technology do too much leaves their bodies worse off. We may soon take the same approach with our brains.

I can only hope for the day when English makes its glorious comeback. In the meantime, I’ll continue running on the treadmill, reading and writing, and explaining the difference between irony and coincidence. To my dear English I say: I’ll miss you – say you’ll come back to us someday.

Money can buy love – a guide to understanding cell phone contracts and the fine art of dating

It was a normal Wednesday night with two urban savvy ladies meeting for dinner, a bottle of wine and intelligent chit chat, and of course I have my cell phone out and ready (see: Get your elbows off the table) in case something comes up. I hate my cell phone; yes, you LG Shine are a piece of crap. I inherited this phone when a good friend of mine sold me his contract when he moved to Macau. (Miss you!) I pay a lot less now which is an obvious plus, but this phone makes me want to die, it turns itself off all the time, I’ve been told it’s the battery that shifts around, either way it sucks. I’ve been told to call Telus and bitch and moan, but I was already told that I won’t get a new phone because I am not on a third year plan. Nor do I want to sign a three year plan because I have no idea where I’m going to be at that point.

So this whole concept of contracts and reduced rate phones got me and my friend to thinking, what if we ran our lives like cell phone companies? Tying ourselves down with contracts but giving great discounts to lure the potential consumer sounds like a good idea in theory doesn’t it? No it really doesn’t. I’m a commitaphobe in many aspects of my life; I can’t even commit to a hairstylist or favourite toothpaste. We posited if this is kind of how dating works, let me breakdown what we discovered. Maybe I’ll even include a graph.

If you’re the kind of person who likes the have the latest gadget and aren’t one to be tied down, you have to a pay a pretty premium for a new phone without the strings. The same for a date: you want something new and casual – so in order to hang onto it for a while you need to put some substantial-ish cash down. Consequently if you’re dating an older model, say one you may already have a relationship with (maybe the ‘ideal’ happenstance that you date an old friend) you don’t have to try as hard. You have a slight guarantee of a long(er) term relationship so you don’t have to put in as much of an initial buy-in. Same with phones, if you want a slightly less flashy one that you will commit to for however long term, you don’t have to pay as much – sometimes nothing at all. But I guess we don’t have the same reassurance in dating all the time, you can’t guarantee a one, two or three-year contract with a significant other.

Then somehow the significant other is not only the phone, but also the phone company too. You call to bitch and moan and try to get more out of them, sometimes you might even threaten to leave the phone company as a way to try to win more sway. However, getting out of a relationship is like getting out of a phone contract prior to its completion; it’s not the $20/month buyout, but comparable to the emotional baggage that come attached with any break up.

So if you have to have three takeaway points from this entry remember these:

1. The LG Shine is a terrible phone
2. Read your phone contracts very carefully
3. Women do talk about smart things over a bottle of wine

Get your elbows off the table – Emily Post is just jealous of your Smartphone

A few weeks ago, I was at this meeting sitting in a fancy boardroom. Even if you’re unemployed it doesn’t mean you aren’t attending meetings in the financial district on occasion. It’s another one of my methods for staving off boredom. I forget to turn my cell phone to vibrate a lot of the time; I am the person who needs that reminder before the movie. However, this time I decided to be pro-active and turn the ringer off for this meeting.

I am a firm believer that a Smartphone is really more of a business machine. For the most part, I imagine, most people don’t need to open PowerPoint presentations on a daily basis and be honest, your personal email consists of mailing lists you subscribe to and other assorted spam. I don’t have a BlackBerry, honestly I tried but those things are expensive even on a third year data plan (and I think the Pearl is stupid because it isn’t a full QWERTY keyboard) and at present I don’t have a company supporting my bbm habit. So I am a girl of the flip phone, but honestly I can T9 faster than an 11 year old. That’s an accomplishment.

During this meeting people took their iPhones and BBs out for different reasons. At one point Twitter was mentioned and someone just “had to” see what this particular tweeter was all about. Another time someone had to check their Outlook calendar to see if a date was conflicting. Whatever the reason, their phones stayed in their hands through the duration of the meeting and it was clear to see their attention waning. It is socially acceptable because they have Berries or iPhones. It is possible that they could be looking at business-related work. And for once, I’m going to give people the benefit of the doubt, I know a lot of people have to answer work emails outside of business hours, that’s why they shackle those phones to you. Availability 24/7, right? But what irks me is that people are permitted to communicate via bb or iPhone during a meeting because it could be under the guise of work-related matters, however if I pull out my archaic flip phone you immediately know I’m making some kind of outside social call, which is then utterly unacceptable.

Smartphones are popping up on tables everywhere including dinner tables. Growing up we all learned not to put our elbows on the table, so why do we put so much else on the table? At my house we never took calls during dinner, that time was for family, even if we have nothing to say to each other and just watch each other’s jowls open and shut while eating. It still goes that way in my family, but when I’m out with friends it takes a different spin. How many times do you sit at a restaurant with your friends and each of you has your phone on the table? It’s almost instantaneous: you sit down and you put your phone on the table. It’s like a pissing contest; we all whip it out as if to see whose is bigger/better?

Maybe we never grow up; maybe we all need security blankets, now they’re just security phones. I once stood in the lobby of First Canadian Place waiting for a friend to get off work and a man walked off the elevator and was waiting for someone too. It took three seconds of nervous uncomfortable fidgeting for him to take out his bb and start tapping away. What was most interesting was the sense of relief it seemed to provide to him. Maybe I read too much into these things, it’s probably because I have so much time on my hands to people watch because I don’t have a BlackBerry, so maybe I’m just jealous. Maybe we’re attached to yet another object the way we were to a blankie, except these days there’s no one to wean you off of it. Imagine being attached to your ba-ba in public now, what would Emily say?

FONTS! – I’M SO PASSIONATE ABOUT THEM THAT I’M YELLING IN CAPS LOCK

I’m still getting used to this whole blog thing, as much as I like order and uniformity, it doesn’t seem like I have much control over the layout of this page. And I like control far more than order and uniformity. There are only seven fonts to choose from – six, really because I think it kind of defeats the purpose to write in webdings.

Fonts: what a love story they are for me. I honestly don’t know how I came to love them so, but now they mean so much to me. I worked for a newspaper while I was in university. No, it wasn’t hard hitting investigating journalism; I worked for the humour paper instead. And now all the editors of the legitimate paper write for the Globe and Mail and I’m…here. Another fantastic career move for me, certainly well played. What we may have lacked in news, we made up for with creativity – and for me, that came in the form of fonts. Very little about that paper was uniform; each article headline got its own font to suit the nature of the article. And so maybe that’s where the love of fonts began.

Why are fonts important? Why are we even having this conversation? First off, this isn’t a conversation at all; it’s really just me rambling about my passion for esthetically pleasing things. For you see, in the appearance-obsessed culture we live in, fonts are just as important as making sure you don’t have food particles in your teeth.

Fonts are part of a brand; in fact some fonts are branded, unique if you will. Plenty of companies have their own fonts and you know them well too. I can’t think that I’m the only person who always thought the B of The Bay really looked more like G, am I? That would make it The Gay, but hey, maybe it’s up for interpretation. But at least it’s memorable, hopefully in a good way. There are plenty of businesses who don’t know what I’ll call the “font secret” and never get very far.

Maybe because I have a lot of time on my hands, I walk around downtown Toronto a lot where I can assure you that businesses litter both sides the streets. Every business needs a sign that’s how people know where you are. (Slight digression: unless you’re Kultura, Ultra or Spice Route where I guess only the in-crowds know where you are.) Being a student of research methods I know that correlation does not equal causation, but if you’ve ever looked at boarded up restaurants and other closed down ventures, I bet that have a terrible font on their sign. Whether you believe it or not, it’s all part of your perception of whether or not you get your haircut at certain salons, whether you stop in for a drink after work or keep on going. Amazing what these silly little fonts can do.

And if you think fonts aren’t important, I can tell you that there’s a movie about a font. Is there a movie about you? I didn’t think so. Ok fine, it’s a documentary, and I’m sure there could be a documentary about you because every single film major ends up trying to make “the next great documentary”. But Helvetica is both an awesome font and an awesome film. I only wish it was an option to write in for this blog. What I am glad of is that Comic Sans MS isn’t an option. If there was one font I wish to banish from every entering the public sphere, it’s Comic Sans. I liked that font when I was twelve years old, used to hand in reports in Comic Sans all the time. That’s about the only group of people who should ever do anything with that font. So if you want to run your business like a twelve year old, then by all means. This font actually inspires fiery anger inside me whenever I see that font in public. I’m sure that isn’t the most normal reaction, but I won’t trust anything with Comic Sans on the label, that’s for sure.

Do yourself a favour, take a quick look in the mirror and check your teeth and then take a look at what font you use to represent your brand. Just promise me you’ll stay away from Comic Sans, okay? I don’t want to have to unleash rage upon you.

Those who can’t do, teach. And those who can’t teach, teach gym – But I actually can do (I swear!)

I hold two bachelor degrees from a respectable Canadian University. Actually, they’re nailed to the wall in a double frame that monstrously overtakes the single framed degrees of my two brothers. Joke’s on me – they have jobs. Why would I major in Physical and Health Education? To complete two degrees in four years and pay only slightly more tuition seemed like such value, and Asian people (like myself) like value. So then why was I one of four and a half Asian kids in my graduating year? Maybe everyone else didn’t see this opportunity quite as lucratively as I did.

My other degree is in Life Science, which I’m sure doesn’t surprise you, is considered a much more respectable degree to any Asian parents with medical school aspirations for their offspring. When my parents’ friends would ask what I studied in school, I used to start with the science degree and then mumble something about health. It’s hard enough trying to describe Phys Ed in English, so try it in Cantonese. But then I realized that I actually liked my major (for reasons that will be revealed later on) so now I proudly tell people that I majored in gym.

I can’t tell you the number of times people asked if I was going to be a gym teacher. Once upon a time I wanted to be a teacher: in senior kindergarten I was so impressed by all the presents my teacher got at Christmas time. In all honestly, I applaud teachers and owe a lot to a few of them (for the knowledge imparted, not gambling debt). Fact: I could not be a teacher. I don’t think a person can hold that against me as some kind of inherent character flaw; in fact, I think it shows that I know myself well enough not apply to teacher’s college in a panic of what to do with the rest of my life just because I’m not working at present. My point is that a person shouldn’t be defined by their degree, but it seems it’s still happening to me (us) now.

I’ve been told that employers look for diverse backgrounds (and I’m not just talking ethnically!) and experiences, I don’t know if I’m buying that at this point in time. I’ve also heard that since the recession employers aren’t taking risks on potentially great employees but sticking to tried, tested and true. The way I see it, if we’re on the upswing again and digging ourselves out of this mess, isn’t it time to take a chance again?

And while I’m at it, why would educational institutions grant degrees in anything other than medicine, law and business if only to play horribly mean tricks on unsuspecting sociology majors? I Picked a Major I Like, and One Day I Will Probably Be Living In a Box is a Facebook group I once assumed was solely the creation of Art History majors (sorry) until I realized there can’t be 108,889 (as of 9.30) people stupid enough to major in Art History (again, sorry).

So yes, let’s take chances and break out of our proverbial hiring box everyone seems to live in that throws out worthwhile candidates just because my two sheets of very expensive paper say something slightly different. With that I leave you with my heartfelt letter to my all-time favourite person –

To Whom It May Concern:

Please allow me market (I told you I had skills!) myself and my degree to demonstrate how I’m the ideal candidate for the job you’ve accidentally left out “gym” as a preferred degree.

1. Audacity
I did graduate from university, so hopefully one would assume that being literate played a small part in that success. I read your job requirements and I fully understand I don’t have the communications/journalism degree you necessitate. But wait! Don’t toss me into the “incompetent” pile with such vigour. If I still took the time to apply there might just be some method to my madness. Otherwise I could have spent that time practicing free throws and really put my degree to work. And let’s reason with each other one Women’s-Studies-major-turned-Human-Resources-Associate to another gym-major-desiring-employment; we both made some educational choices in the past that don’t necessarily reflect who we are now. So, I encourage you to read my résumé and cover in its entirety to see what I have to offer. Moreover, if I show such tenacity in my application it means I’m self-confident and sure of my decisions which easily transfer to the way I conduct myself professionally.

2. Time Management
Did I already mention that I have two degrees and that I completely them simultaneously? Despite the cracks I once made about the (fictitious) dodge ball midterm being absolutely killer, class schedules were packed to the brim. In my second year I averaged about the same number of class and lab hours as an engineering student. In first year I balanced seven courses in one semester where some of those picture-perfect commerce students only took four. Fine, I’ll admit that one of those classes was a mandatory practicum class, but I’ll have you know I learned how to ballroom dance in that class. Since there were (surprisingly) significantly more females majoring in gym than males, oftentimes I had to learn to both lead and follow. Talk about a transferrable skill! I’m going to add that to my résumé right now!

3. Team Player
In addition to my aforementioned raw physical prowess which naturally all gym majors possess, I also possess the ability to work impeccably as part of a team. Team has been ingrained in me since little league hockey. Translation: you want me on your team – especially for KPMG vs. PwC innertube water polo. If you think teamwork has been singed into my brain then you better believe that competition surges through my veins. Moreover, I’ve been surrounded by motivational posters like “You always miss 100% of the shots you don’t take” my whole life, so I know how to give 100% at all times. Winning is the only option I know, and I will win for this company.

4. Cost Savings
I know, it’s a miracle you’re hiring at all, but hiring a gym major can save the company money! I sit on an inflatable stability ball (it's good for your abs) and I’m willing to bring it to work so you don’t even have to buy me a new desk chair. However, as a gym major I am a stickler for workplace ergonomics, so I might need to make a few minor changes to my cubicle. Moreover, gym majors don’t smoke, so I won’t go out for a ciggy break every hour, which maximizes my efficiently, thus saving the company money.

In conclusion, if when you hire me I’ll stop writing such long blog posts and of course you can trust me, I’m a gym major.

I hope you’ve got your allen key ready – extreme sarcasm imminent

Instructions for use

1. Select a time where you are procrastinating or suffering from busy work induced boredom.
2. Typically, the English language is read from left to right and top to bottom. If, however, I am one day able to compose an entry that can be read both normally and bottom up from the right to left and accomplish coherency, you must write me a cheque for a million dollars.
3. Snicker/chortle/guffaw as you see fit
4. Send this blog to someone else whom you think may enjoy/roll their eyes with disdain. That’s how this whole viral thing is supposed to work, right?

I believe that honesty lays the groundwork for all relationships, and I want to instill trust in you, the reader, as we embark on this relationship together. After all, trust is the first word of the blog title. So, I’ll come right out and admit that I don’t enjoy the word blog – which for you young’uns actually is short for web log. (See how much you’ve learned already?) But I’m putting that aside as well as my preconceived notion that blogs are for emo teens or perhaps accepting defeat that somehow I’ve regressed and become just another emo kid.

So why start a blog?

Reason the first

I came across an article on talentegg.ca, which talked about creating an online brand for one’s self which can show potential employers who you really are – aside from the person who holds up a beverage in almost every Facebook photo. According to the article the blog is “a chance to thoughtfully parse out your opinion and educated insight on professionally related subjects.” I hope you’re ready for all the insight I’ve got coming you way.

Reason the second

Even though the blogosphere is seemingly supersaturated, bloggers can be plucked out of obscurity and can end up on television like Lainey and Perez Hilton. They can land book deals in the case of the Fug Girls and DABA. They can also have Holt Renfrew window displays dedicated to them like The Sartorialist and Garance Doré. I, too, dream of fame and fortune or maybe just being whisked away to write for torontolife.com or nymag.com. So if any of the ‘Vulture’ editors somehow find this, please feel free to call.

Reason the real

It is rough being unemployed. Sure, it’s a full time job trying to find a job, but sometimes you need something to keep busy and blur out the thought that you aren’t making any money. This is significantly more cost effective than drowning my sorrows out with alcohol. One needs mental stimulation and a creative outlet; I’ve decided to channel mine through writing because I can’t paint, sing or knit.

All that being said, I’d like to welcome you to “Trust me, I’m a gym major” – for days when Sudoku just isn’t enough.