Author Archives: M.L.

A Clean Face Means College is Over

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Yesterday, I took out my nose ring for good. That tiny little diamond stud curling delicately into the side of my right nostril was the symbol of my youth, my college years, my attempted rebellion. It was the “stupid thing” you’re supposed to do when you’re young that your parents don’t know about, but I made sure my stupidity wasn’t permanent. I didn’t even ever think it was stupid. It was just–me.

In a world of trying to fit in and dress the right way and act like everyone else, I wanted to stand out in one small way. I had to go to every class, get a high GPA and make every swim practice and volunteer and participate in clubs; I was the oldest, the almost-type-A, organized and smart, setting a good example. In high school I felt like there was that small rebel in me just trying to break free. I was the one in the family who never screwed up, never got a detention, never skipped school, never stayed out too late or went to parties–I was the good girl. So I got my nose pierced.

It could hardly be considered “rebellion” when you look at the rebellious things kids really do. But it was something that no one would believe I would do. I wanted shock and awe, but nothing too outrageous. No gauges or industrial bars or skull and crossbones. A simple stud would do.

Freshman year of college, after the swimming season ended, I took a bunch of my friends to a sketchy tattoo parlor on Kirkwood Highway. They held my hand while the three-inch needle poked out of my face, and I was just laughing. It hurt so much that I was laughing and I just about broke their knuckles. It’s funny how you don’t see your nose on your face until there is an unfamiliar object stuck into it. For a few weeks afterward, I was so aware of the glittering jewelry in my face that people probably thought I’d gone cross-eyed from looking down at it.

I reveled in the second looks people gave me, I loved that they thought I was cool or brave. They asked me if it hurt, if my parents knew; or they told me I was stupid because I’d have a hole in my nose for the rest of my life. I hadn’t told my parents, but they would find out when I went home for Easter. I have tons of freckles so the hole is not that noticeable to anyone who’s not looking for it. I was just basking in the glory of doing something rash and spur of the moment and what I considered rebellious. (I had only considered my decision to get my nose pierced for about a day before actually doing it.) I even found myself turning my head for pictures so that it might show up. You could only see it if it caught the flash, and those were my favorite pictures of myself.

I’ve taken it out before and put it back in with no problem. In fact, I had an internship last summer and I took it out every morning that I had to work and put it back in at the end of the day. I’ve taken it out for a few job interviews. But yesterday I took it out forever. It was time. College is over, the parties are behind me, and the rebel in me is being forced into submission in order to find a job. Employers don’t want to interview someone with a distracting stud in their nose. They don’t want someone to stand out with a nose ring in a sea of earrings. They want clean-cut and normal. They want subtle femininity, clean and polished. No one wants the girl with holes in her face. (At least this is what I have been told about employers.)

So in my effort to find a job and impress people with how clean-cut and put together I am, I took it out. I also had to take it out because my new waitressing job doesn’t tolerate facial piercings either. It felt like I was finally putting my college years behind me. It’s sad because college was the best four years of my life (thus far) and my little stud was a reminder of all of that. It represented growing up and figuring things out for myself. It was my personal statement that I was not just another face in the sea of college students. But taking it out means growing up too, and moving on with my life. It’s an affirmation that I’m not going back to school and I have to look forward to the real world; and I will do so with a nose-ring-less face.

My Big Fat Family Vacation

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I just got back from my family vacation in Myrtle Beach. It was actually a smaller beach just south of there, called Garden City, but no one would know what I was talking about if I told them that. My family has been vacationing there every summer practically since I was born. My grandparents rent a huge house and we stuff in as many parents and kids as we can. There are 29 people total on my dad’s side of the family and recently we’ve usually had about 20 people in the house (after subtracting the busy kids who can’t make it). We’ve done the same kinds of “vacation-y” things every year. We lay out on the beach, jump the waves, swim in the pool, go goofy golfing (“put-put” for you non-Pittsburghers), play games at the arcade, and browse the cheap gift shops.

For the past three years or so, I keep saying that they might have to count me out of vacation. I kept thinking I wouldn’t be able to take a week off from my summer job or internship, or I’ve just been crossing my fingers that I’ll have something important happening that will start my career or change my life. And for the past three years or so, none of those things have been happening, so I’ve enjoyed all of my family’s vacations. This year was probably our last one because after 20-some years, we are just too big. Family vacations are always fun; it’s always great to get away from life at home (even if my life at home kind of is a vacation right now) and just spend some time at the beach. But we’ve been looking forward to the exact same thing year after year and all of a sudden, you realize that everyone is growing up.

All the families and all the kids used to come down to the beach. Now we’re missing a whole family and a spouse and a couple kids who have jobs. Kids used to be small enough to sleep together in beds or share with parents. But now, some kids refuse to share beds, others are just to big to share. We brought down like six air mattresses this year, because there weren’t quite enough places to sleep. We’ve got kids on the living room couch, some rolling down the hallway. It was just easier when they were babies.

I keep saying “kids” but what I really mean is “kids/teenagers in large adult bodies.” We practically needed to take out a loan just to go out to dinner, because these large adolescent boys can eat. The kitty for grocery money needed refilled more often than it used to. We went through six boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts in two days. No joke. (I am proud to say I resisted and only had one and a half the whole week.)

We used to get tired of the beach when we were little, so our parents would take us to Wild Water and Wheels or the Cheese Maze. But not every parent would want to go, of course, so those were the days when we would throw ten kids in a car, double-buckle and put some behind the backseat of the van. (I’m pretty sure the old “double-buckle” tactic would be highly frowned upon in today’s uptight, car-seat-till-they’re-ten world.)

When we were younger, the parents were very wary of explosive devices (for good reason). I remember the first time they let us have sparklers under the house. It was the best night at the beach ever. And as we got older, we just couldn’t be satisfied with tiny sparks that lasted two minutes. We had to get the big guns, and spend a small fortune on major fireworks that were probably not allowed on the beach anyway. We wanted to sit right next to them and the best part was when they shot off the wrong direction and almost hit someone! And then this year, we mentioned not doing the fireworks thing, especially since we’d just seen them on the 4th of July, and most of us were like, eh, whatever, I just want to get a tan.

And finally, the things we pack have changed so dramatically, I can hardly begin. We used to bring toys and shovels and buckets. We brought a craft box full of paper, markers and stickers for when we were tired of the sand. We brought paint to decorate our collections of shells, and movies that always got lost or taken home by the wrong family. We brought board games and GameBoys and Walkmans and CD players. We brought Barbies and action figures to play with in the car. All of these fun things have been replaced by umbrellas, chairs and shoes. (A pair of shoes to match each of the outfits we wanted to wear out, running shoes for our morning work outs, beach shoes for the hot sand, etc.) We don’t need toys or beach stuff anymore, all we need for entertainment for the whole week is a few books and an ipod. Instead of crafts, we pack chargers– phone charger, camera charger, ipod charger, Nook charger, computer charger. Instead of movies, we bring hair dryers and straighteners and make-up bags. But even though we’ve technically replaced things, we still can barely fit everything into the car to make the trip because we’re just so big! The boys knees are digging into the backs of the seats, their feet near my lap. My seat is pushed forward as far as it will go, but we still have no space because this year we needed three bags of golf clubs instead of one.

We had a great time at the beach, like we always do. We relaxed on the sand with books and ipods, we drank beer and went out to a really great local restaurant called the Hot Fish Club. We played cards and volleyball and got a little sunburned. And 72 donuts and one week later, we were saying goodbye to the beach all too soon. It’s too sad to think that this might have been our last year at the beach…but maybe we just need a bigger house.

An American (Pittsburgh) Past-time

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Everyone expects posts about independence today, stories about freedom, tales of dreams fulfilled and promises made. Everyone writes articles about picnics, fireworks and community gatherings at the park. They detail the history of our nation and possibly criticize the society today that has grown away from that history. We see biographies of Thomas Jefferson and George Washington, the founding fathers who had an idealist’s hope for the growth of a free, unified nation. We read the uplifting stories about ways that our country has fulfilled that dream and how far we have left to go.

But that’s not what this post is about. This post is about baseball. Which is an American dream in itself. But it may strike you as ironic that I write about this American sport, since I am not a huge fan of baseball. In fact, I haven’t been to a baseball game in I don’t know how many years. I’m pretty sure one of the last times I went to a ball game, my girl friend and I were painting our nails. I was young.

But then on Monday night I went to a Pittsburgh Pirates game and it all hit home for me. Pun intended. Now, I won’t bore you with facts and statistics about the Pirates. I don’t know them. But I will tell you about the Pirates from the vantage point of someone who bleeds black and gold.

I am always excited at the prospect of going to a baseball game. I am the kind of person who thinks sports are much more fun to watch when I’m actually at the game. The idea of baseball is appealing. It’s relaxing, not too many drunk fanatics, time to talk with family and friends, Primanti’s for dinner, beer and cotton candy. Why wouldn’t anyone like that?

And then I sit down and I’m bored by the third pitch. The batter hasn’t hit the ball and even if he does, the ball is in the air  for about three seconds before it’s caught and the guy is out anyway. The beer is eight dollars, the line for Primanti’s is too long, the bathroom is gross, and the guy with the box full of cotton candy never makes it to row Y of section 325. And of all the seats in the whole stadium, you’re sitting right in front of the one drunk guy who yells very loudly at every pitch, at every batter, at the umpires, at the team on the bench, at the outfielders, etc… (It’s like that old computer game “Backyard Baseball” where the computerized players are yelling “We want a batter, not a broken ladder.” Yes, THAT guy.) Not to mention, you run out of things to say to your family after one inning.

This may or may not be your own baseball reality. But the fact is, most of the time, all that doesn’t matter. And I realized on Monday night that it didn’t matter. Yes, we did sit down and I was immediately bored. And no, we didn’t get Primanti’s  for dinner, my mom had made a delicious meatloaf for dinner at home. But we moved our seats to a quieter section, splurged on a few beers and bonded as a family, watching the Pirates make a come-back.

When people hear that I’m from Pittsburgh, they immediately ask me if I’m a Steelers fan. (I still don’t understand why that is the first question they feel the need to ask. Everyone from Pittsburgh is a Steelers fan. There is no doubt about that, no need to ask that question.) Sometimes that is followed by whether I’m a Pirates fan (never the Pens, which I don’t get because the Pens are pretty good and hockey is exciting, but whatever). And always, someone finds a way to chime in that “the Pirates suck”. I almost always agree with them, but you never turn your back on your team. But this year, something happened and the Pirates are actually winning games. There are actually more than ten people in the stands. We actually hit several home runs and won 11-2 on Monday night. So stop bashing my team. Your football team sucks, but you don’t hear me saying anything.

The level of fan loyalty in Pittsburgh will never cease to amaze me. On a day when we’re talking about unification and dreams and promise, look no further than this city here. Our sports teams will always, always bring us together. Just like Independence Day brings our divided nation together to eat hot dogs, watch fireworks and forget about politics–even if it’s just for one day. With nothing else in common, Pittsburghers can bond over the fact that we all love our football, hockey and baseball teams– even when they’re terrible. And we will root for those teams through thick and thin. Maybe the Pirates went through some rough years (or decades) but every summer, they come back, they try their best and their fans are behind them. And here they are, winning games, hitting home runs, filling the stadium with cheers. Now that is the American dream.

(Alright, this post actually is about uplifting American hopes and promises. Sorry about that.)

New Drama, Different Setting

Posted in News & Events by

This past Sunday was the series premiere of an HBO show called “The Newsroom.” Now of course, I don’t get HBO on my cable so originally, I thought nothing of it, couldn’t watch it, no big deal. Then I went to New York and talked to my friend from school who said he had watched it and thought it was really good, had texted our professor about it, etc. Well, if there is something worth texting the professor about, then maybe I better watch it. I came across the link to the show on Twitter and clicked. What better way to spend my Wednesday night than diving into a new TV series? So now I’m hooked.

I think I’m drawn to this new series for several reasons. First, it is a drama. I love drama. You can tell right away that there are relationship issues between people at the workplace and that sooner or later it will either be sweet and romantic or it will blow up and get ugly. Yes, it might be predictable and maybe some people don’t like that, but I do. The drama doesn’t stop with the love circles and triangles and hexagons though. There are already major rifts between co-workers. People hate Will. They say he is mean and it is clear no one wants to work with him. But you don’t see that right away because you’re still captivated and boggled by his tirade against America and you see him as all wise and righteous, telling people to use their common sense and not be hung up on the lie that America is the greatest country in the world. But then as you see his interactions with his staff, you realize that that outburst was part of his arrogance. You wonder how his whole news anchor thing will even work if he doesn’t have a staff and in walks his old flame, Mackenzie. Drama.

Second, I love the world of television production. The people who don’t like this show might say that the drama is the same as any other show, just in a different setting. But this setting is one we, as the viewers of television, don’t see. This is a behind-the-scenes look at how the news is produced, at the fast and furious way of life of a news producer. This is the kind of world I have studied, learned and love. This show is dealing with real events and in hindsight, we can re-examine how they played out. We can look back and see how the news started, where it ended up, where rumors came from. The producer of the show, Aaron Sorkin, says now that this real news is behind us, we can see the actual implications. Sorkin says, in the show the news can be changed– “We can make our guys smarter than everybody else” or just luckier. And as far as my experience in newsrooms has gone, this show is pretty accurate. It’s not like a hospital show, where the doctors have sex in corners and gossip in front families, and learn deep, valuable lessons from the simple words of a patient (Grey’s Anatomy–not that I’m bashing the show, I’m actually obsessed with it, despite its obvious inaccuracies).

Third, the show has a hook. It’s not all laid out there before you without any guessing. We’re not sure what the exact history is behind Will and Mackenzie. We can tell that there is tension between Maggie and her boyfriend and we can’t wait to see how that plays out. We can tell that some of the other people in the newsroom, like Jim, are about to play major roles but we’re not sure how yet.

And finally, there’s a little bit of unexpected humor. The news is all death and destruction, this much is obvious. The characters are serious about their jobs, they’re fighting about the staff, contracts are being negotiated–this is serious stuff. And then suddenly someone yells out “Punjab!” and the viewers are cracking up. No one on the show is trying to make jokes or laughing, but it’s adding some relief to a very serious and stressful news environment.

The show compelled me to think about the state of America and the state of democracy. Apathetic Americans watching the show are forced to think about how the news was and is supposed to unite everyone. The news is supposed to bring about change, spur independence and solidify freedom.

“The Newsroom” is also a rebuttal against all those who say that journalism is corrupt or dying. It is a fight for the truth. It is an insight into a world often criticized because it is misunderstood. And it is hope, that with passion, good sources and good journalism, the news can enlighten citizens, foster honest and fair discussion, and restore the core of democracy. You can’t help but feel moved and empowered watching Mackenzie’s zealous fight to take over and produce fantastic news.

 

Photo from hbo.com

An Eight-hour Megabus Trip

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This past weekend, I took a trip to New York City. By myself. Via Megabus. It was my first solo trip to the city (second time there ever) and my first time on a Megabus. Naturally, I was nervous, but I had a plan to meet my friend there and stay the night with her, so not as nervous as I might have been otherwise. So I would like to tell you some things about the Megabus, for those of you who have never been on one, or may be contemplating a trip in the near future.

First of all, I’d like to say that I had some previous (mis)conceptions about Megabuses. I pictured a Megabus as a grimy, single-level bus with a disgusting bathroom, half-full of dirty, crazy people. I thought the bus would be super sketchy and I was prepared to avoid eye contact at all times and hug my purse close for eight hours. Quite the contrary.

In keeping with my fear of being late for anything I lined up under the Convention Center in Pittsburgh forty minutes early. (But I still wasn’t the first one.) And I saw a lot of twenty-something kids–this was expected: the bus is pretty cheap. But they were like me, dressed like me, acting like me, college grads taking a trip to the Big Apple. Definitely not crazy people. Oh, don’t get me wrong, some people were very interesting. But I wouldn’t have called anyone crazy. I was surprised to see some families. Not surprised to see a few foreigners. Surprised at how much luggage some people had with them. Surprised at the length of the line–the bus was completely full.

The big blue bus pulls up–double decker, clean, with wi-fi and electrical outlets, and a moderately clean bathroom. Since I was in the front of the line, I got my pick of the seats. Figuring a window seat is a good thing, I sat on the top level, near the back staircase (in case of bathroom emergency) and was soon joined by a large, twenty-something guy. I didn’t speak to him. The last thing my dad said as he dropped me off was “Don’t talk to strangers.” Oh, parents. But I took his advice just in case. So the only words that passed between us were from me–“Would you mind putting this in the trash bag next to you?” He fell asleep on his lap leaning toward me and his sleeve kept touching my arm. But otherwise, a good seatmate, I suppose. The eight hour trip passed uneventfully with an unexpected rest stop (I thought buses didn’t stop. You’re hungry? Tough luck. But I guess I was wrong about that too.) So I only had to use the restroom on the bus once. I’m not sure if the window seat was the best idea. But at least I could look out the window easily as we pulled into the middle of Manhattan.

Return trip–a little different. This bus left at 4:20pm and wouldn’t get to Pittsburgh until midnight. I got a window seat again. More twenty-somethings this time. My seatmate was a girl about my age. And she promptly fell asleep on my shoulder. I shifted as far to the window as I could to avoid her mass of frizzy hair. She wore her headphones the whole time and I could hear the lyrics of every song she listened to. She took her shoes off and put her bare feet up on the seat in front of her. Needless to say we didn’t speak. The only words that passed between us were hers, asking  “Would you like a piece of gum?” This trip took a half hour longer than expected. But after we dropped some passengers off at State College, my seatmate moved, I put my feet up next to me, and fell into an uneasy sleep for the rest of the trip.

So, note to self (and others) about the Megabus:

1. Bring hand sanitizer. The first bus was out of sanitizer in the bathroom and I was thoroughly disgusted the rest of the trip thinking of  myself and all the other people not sanitizing our hands and touching all the same handrails.

2. Wear pants. Unless you enjoy the itching of raw wool seat cushions feeling like a bazillion bugs and needles digging into the skin of your bare thighs.

3. Bring a sweatshirt. The driver said he could adjust the temperature, but I was freezing for eight hours. And it seemed that no one else was, so why would he adjust it just for me? I pulled out all the extra t-shirts I had brought (one) and laid it on my lap, trying to think warm thoughts.

4. Pack more food than you think you can eat. With not much to do for eight hours, my brain just kept telling me I was hungry. And the rest stop is not something to rely on.

5. If you don’t have headphones, invest in earplugs. On the return trip there were two extremely chatty girls who couldn’t get seats next to each other. They yelled across the aisle instead. The whole bus now knows all about this girl’s interview, her friends who live in the city, her classes she took for jewelry-making, the contents of her portfolio, (which must have at least seven two-dimensional pieces and six three-dimensional pieces. Girl on the Megabus, if you read this, I am very proud of you, keep up the good work and I hope you get the job), etc, etc.

6. Don’t drink too much water. Have water, just in case. But don’t drink it unless absolutely necessary. Better to not even have to use that tiny little bus bathroom, especially while the bus is in motion.

I hope these tips help someone out on their next journey. I will most likely take a Megabus again in the future. It was a cost-effective way to travel without too much hassle. But of course, now I will be better prepared.

The Boys of Title IX

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As a girl who tried out almost every sport at least once before finally finding my niche, I must say that I owe it to Title IX. Not that I knew it at the time. Starting at five years old, I was introduced to organized team sports and I didn’t know any different. I thought all parents automatically signed their children up for t-ball and soccer when they turned five. Of course that’s not the case, but I couldn’t compare.

So my story followed the path of a shy child, with flat feet, who couldn’t run if the world was ending. Naturally, I was signed up for soccer at age five and failed miserably. Age six– slow-pitch softball and I was afraid to catch the ball. I suffered through that sport for two years. The next year that I would have played was supposed to be fast-pitch and I refused to go back. For a few years in there, from about age five to age eight or nine, I did dance–ballet, tap and jazz. I took a few tennis lessons each summer, maintaining amateur level with my backhand. I signed up for a gymnastics try-out week. When they wanted me to do a flip over an 8-foot-high bar, I realized my fear of heights. My mom signed me up for an ice skating lesson–the only thing I learned was how to properly fall so that someone else skating by doesn’t slice your fingers off. Finally, at age nine, I joined the Hampton Dolphins swim club. And the rest is history. I swam for twelve years, three years varsity at a Division 1 college. I can’t say I loved every single minute. But I loved most of the minutes. So thank you Title IX.

The 40th anniversary of the passing of Title IX is tomorrow, hence my seemingly random thoughts about my many team sports failures. Once I learned, probably in middle school at some point, that Title IX was responsible for all of my childhood mishaps with soccer balls and balance beams, I became intrigued. Title IX became the subject of many school projects and papers throughout high school and college. I was curious because I couldn’t imagine a time when girls weren’t allowed to play sports. It boggled my mind. My parents always told me I could do anything I wanted to. So here we are, 40 years later, and girls can do anything. We have female wrestlers, football players, body builders. We have girls basketball, soccer, and softball teams. It is pointless for me to even list all the sports because girls have an opportunity in all of them. Even if it might be hard for a girl to get onto a professional football team, it is possible for her to try. So the evidence is clear that Title IX has done wonders. And not just in sports, because that is not the only reason why Title IX was passed, that’s just the most prominent thing that stands out to the public.

So why bring it up then? If it’s simply a fact of life now, then why keep talking about it? Because first of all, girls and boys are still not entirely equal in schools and in sports. Girls still have some ways to go in some parts of the country. Second of all, people continue to look at Title IX from the girls’ perspective. But what about the boys? What about the wrestler whose college team got cut right before his senior year when he is about to be voted captain? What about the schools that cut track and cross country because their football team brings in way more revenue than track teams could dream of? When looking at the big picture, people argue that boys teams have not been hurt overall. That there are other opportunities for them and that just because a few teams get cut does not lower the overall rate of boys in sports, and the gap between girls and boys in sports is still decreasing.

I think Title IX is a good thing. But I also sympathize with the boys whose dreams have been crushed or altered because of it. The big picture is beautiful, yes. But look at it from that one boy’s perspective.

As a swimmer, the effects of Title IX on boys teams has hit a little closer to home for me than for someone else maybe. When I was looking at colleges, I was trying to find a school where I could swim. One school seemed great; the team seemed fun, the academics were awesome–but they told me that was the last year for their boys team. I eliminated it from my choices. I wanted to swim with boys. Swimming is a co-ed sport and I had always swam with boys. They motivated me and made the team more interesting and I wouldn’t swim at a school without a boys team. So I may have been a great asset to that school, but they missed out. They shouldn’t have cut their boys team.

My boyfriend, whom I met on the swim team in college, told me that he had wanted to go to Rhode Island, that he was signed and ready to go to Rhode Island. They called him last minute, telling him they cut their boys team. (Thank God, or I wouldn’t have met him. Best decision Rhode Island ever made.) So he had to change his plans. He was in line for a scholarship from RI, but at Delaware, boys scholarships weren’t really available (they were saved for football). So I watched his dreams change as he adjusted to the consequences of Title IX.

During the spring semester in 2011, I had the opportunity of speaking with several of the athletes on the UD Track and Cross Country teams. I invited them on my TV show to talk about the fact that the school had just reduced these varsity teams to club status. There was outrage across campus about this decision. Students couldn’t understand why the football team (which wasn’t the best football team) couldn’t get slightly less funding. They couldn’t understand why the university couldn’t promote a girls club team to varsity status to make the participation equal. I’m sure it was a difficult decision for the school and they felt this was the best option. But when you talk to these kids, as individuals who were really great athletes, who had planned their lives to run track at UD, and you see their varsity-level team get swept out from under them with hardly any warning, then you wonder about Title IX. The track and cross country athletes had dinner with the president of the university to voice their complaints. They signed petitions and spoke to kids around campus. 

These are the boys who are affected by Title IX and just because their numbers may be small in terms of the bigger picture, their sport was important to them. Their individual stories will always be affected by Title IX.

There is no denying that Title IX is doing a great job of promoting sports for girls and enabling their involvement. However, there must be some other way to continue this progress without cutting boys teams in order be be in compliance. Talk to any boy whose team has been cut or downgraded to club status. I’m sure they have some ideas.

Searching for “The Interview Suit”

Posted in Career by

Hasn’t Elle Woods taught the world anything? Women can be successful lawyers and wear cute pink suits, impossibly high stilettos, and pass out scented resumes printed from their bright neon laptop, while carrying their little pooch in the crook of their arm. Right?

Well, as my public relations professor, Carolyn White Bartoo, would say: Wrong.

So I have potential interviews coming up and obviously I had nothing in my closet that remotely resembled the standard, black, one-or-two-button blazer with functional pockets (for carrying prospective employers’ business cards in one and your own in another while managing to shake hands and draw from the correct pocket. Duh.), with matching pants and/or skirt of the appropriate, right-at-the-knee length, and plain, one-inch-high, black faux leather heels. Oh, don’t worry, I have some plain, drab professional clothes, just not the perfect interview attire. I have a few pairs of presentable black pants, a couple short-sleeved nice blouses, and a pair of worn suede flats. These clothes served their purpose at the time, for events of lesser importance.

But now I am out of college, in the big leagues. This is real, people. It’s time for the Interview Suit.  Which, once I get a job, I will probably never wear again because either I will be in a creative enough field that they will worship my originality and choice of color patterns in my wardrobe, or I will be making enough money to buy a really nice suit that is allowed to show some variation of style. But for now, it’s the Interview Suit.

So yesterday, I headed to the mall with my mom with several stores in mind, hoping to take advantage of her superior knowledge of shopping. My mom had slightly different ideas about which stores might or might not have a “young” suit. I proceeded to tell my mom that I am 22 years old, out of college and entering the professional world–I should not be looking in a juniors department. But we hit all the stores possible in our local mall. And then ended up back at the first one we entered. So let me explain.

Although an avid shopper, my mom had to admit that she is a little out of her league when it comes to suits. She hasn’t worn one in many years. She said she doesn’t even own one currently. So in her head, she is thinking suits come together on the hanger and there will be plenty of options based on whether you prefer Calvin Klein or Anne Taylor or any other number of designers. I had no reason to argue with her logic; it seemed plausible. But we soon realized as we perused Macy’s that these days, while some are still hung together, many suits are sold as separates. Like bathing suits. And like bathing suits (which I also have an incredibly hard time finding), they come in all shapes, sizes, colors, patterns. At least in Macy’s. So we started pulling. She had a pile, I had a pile, we head to the fitting room. With the first skirt/jacket combo I try on, I realize I’m a petite. I don’t even try any of the others, and then we discover there are really no options for petites in Macy’s. Fail.

We moved on to J.Crew and found the most brilliant, perfect, wonderful, incredible suit–for almost $400. Now, some people, who are going to wear a suit many times in their life and keep it forever and love it like a child, might be okay with spending $400 on a suit. I am not one of those people. My mom was ready to throw up her hands and hand over the credit card but I refused. We kept looking. White House Black Market had a few options, on sale, but not my size. Of course, everyone is a size 2 these days, didn’t you know? We went to Nordstrom. Maybe it was the fact that I had my hair pulled into a messy ponytail that day, or that I was wearing a faded Old Navy T-shirt, but the sales clerks at Nordstrom seemed genuinely incredulous that I, of all people, would be looking for a suit. Humph.

“Do you have an interview?” the hundred-year-old lady asked with the air of a grandmother speaking to a five-year-old.

Why yes. I am 22 years old, have a Bachelor’s degree, and I will hopefully be moving into a high-powered job in New York City, thank you very much. Now go back to your register. 

We moved on. Slight distraction at the Victoria’s Secret semi-annual sale. But then moving on again, we realized it was getting late. So we headed back to The Limited, where we had started, having only  browsed the racks beforehand, not knowing what to look for. Well we had a much better idea, three hours later.

So, running out of time, we grabbed the “Drew Cut” and the “Clarice Cut” styles of pants. We dug through several styles of skirts and found a great blazer. I tried on flare pants and boot-cut, blue suits and black. (However, blue suits are hard to match shoes to so I would definitely not recommend that, unless you have some really great blue shoes.) And more quickly than I would have thought possible, I walked out of the fitting room in the perfect, black, tasteful, affordable Interview Suit.

But going back to Elle Woods. She worked incredibly hard to prove to everyone that a blond bimbo from Delta Nu can have just as much brains and be just as successful as any suit-wearing, briefcase-toting Harvard student. She gave her resumes “a little something extra” and stood out in the sea of students with her neon computer. She wore feather boas and sequins and sported her style with confidence and pride. Now, I do not quite share her exact style, but I do wish that it was acceptable for professionals to show their style, to wear a color. For example, I had picked out a red top to wear under the blazer in Macy’s and my mom raised her eyebrows. “Red means power. I don’t think you want to show power in a first interview.” Why not? Why can’t I show my confidence and wear a color of my choosing? Why can’t I deviate from the masses, stand out in my own creative and tasteful way? How am I supposed to stand out as the best candidate for the job if I look exactly the same as everyone else?

But, again Carolyn White Bartoo would be tutting at me. People judge. Employers judge. They make snap decisions. And they may not mean to, but they are not looking for someone dressed in red head to toe who looks like she’s going to take over the company. (Because apparently wearing red means that’s what you’re set out to do.) Employers want candidates who look put together, professional, and competent in a plain and subdued way. When you get the job, dress however you want, if they let you. But in the interview, you have to show your style in your words and in your previous work.

Elle Woods actually took a lot of crap in the beginning of her Harvard days because people immediately judged her. And in the interview, you only get a few seconds, a few minutes to make that impression, and you don’t need any distractions.

Oh well, I guess I can wear red tomorrow. But at least I got the Interview Suit.

The Global Reality of a Media World

Posted in News & Events by

I read an opinion column today in the Pittsburgh Post Gazette about the state of the world discussed at Rio+20, in terms of carbon emissions, climate change, and sustainable development. The author, Jeffrey D. Sachs, and those at the United Nations Conference, call for an end to extreme poverty, less carbon emission from the energy system, slower population growth, sustainable food supplies, and protection of the environment. But those of you reading this, who probably have at least six other tabs open on your screen, switching from Facebook to Pinterest, updating Twitter on your phone, while texting your friend, are probably nodding your head in agreement, thinking yes, it’s probably a good idea to save the world, yet how many of you got up to turn a light off? How many of you have the TV on while you’re on your laptop, reading blogs and updating social media, obviously not even watching the TV? I admit, I have the TV on. I like having the Today Show on in the background of my morning and if something interesting stands out, I turn my attention to the television.

This is the reality of the world today. People are perpetually connected and plugged in and so immersed in their personal lives and the virtual lives of their friends. People would rather “pin” a link to their dream wedding dress and tell hundreds of Twitter users that the line in Starbucks today is incredibly long than shut off their technology and plant trees. I’m not saying that all people are like this, but this is our reality.

On the other hand, our reality is also high carbon emissions and global warming that eventually will destroy the planet. This is what scientists tell us, but so many people don’t believe it or don’t want to believe it. These claims seem extreme. People just aren’t motivated to look outside their own neighborhoods. We say we want what’s best for our children and no one can deny that. But our ability to look far ahead, hundreds or thousands of years is limited. We see the reality that is right now and right now the sun is shining, the grass is growing, the birds flit around the backyard. Right now the kids have enough to eat and go to great public schools. Right now, I can’t afford a new energy-efficient vehicle, but that’s okay because there’s enough gas in my car, and GetGo and Giant Eagle are helping me save a few cents at the pump. The concern about overpopulation, famine and disease in third world countries doesn’t hit home because, well, we can’t see them. All we see are the sad, slow-mo advertisements on TV telling us to donate just 25 cents a day, but everyone thinks those are over-exaggerated to draw a few more quarters from the crowd.

So what can be done?

If we can’t get everyone to agree on the current state, how can we possibly expect people to agree on the measures that must be taken?

So many people are calling for action from the younger generations. The recent college graduates, like myself, and the students. Treaties and “Sustainable Development Goals,” while great in theory, won’t work unless the information and the impact somehow resonates with the young, tech-savvy, Facebook-stalking, status-updating crowd. So how do we make it resonate? As a communication major, passionate about media, TV, video production, I am a firm believer that media can reach people in ways that newspaper articles and politicians can’t. The only problem is that even media may not always work. You might remember the KONY2012 video that almost instantly went viral with almost 1 billion viewers on YouTube. This video resonated with me and probably hundreds of thousands of others. But it did not resonate with everyone. The video was a big topic of discussion in my college media and politics class and it is up for debate why this video was such an instant hit and then almost just as quickly fell from the spotlight. I’m sure it motivated some people to buy the bracelets and post signs and this kind of enthusiasm is what we need to save the world, all the time. (But that’s another topic.)

So when you think about how to reach the audience, the young internet generation, a YouTube video might work. Or a Facebook page, or a Twitter account, or a blog post. A story on the 6 o’clock news might work, or the endorsement of pro athletes and celebrities. But really, it’s going to be all of that and more. The world won’t change just because someone writes a blog post, or a newspaper column. It won’t change if someone makes the most creative 30-minute YouTube video of the year. It won’t change if politicians put it to a vote. In Sachs’ article he writes, “Since politicians follow public opinion rather than lead it, it must be the public itself that demands its own survival, not elected officials who are somehow supposed to save us despite ourselves.” The public will only demand change if we all agree. The whole world needs to agree. We will only all agree if we are inundated with the information, if we are convinced through all outlets that this is the change we need to see.

We see evidence every day of technology becoming better and people wanting to use it. Take Apple. They could come out with a new, faster, better product every month (oh wait, they do…) and people buy it and use it and promote it. People want better things, they want to be on the edge of innovation. We wouldn’t have students majoring in engineering and science if this wasn’t true. We just need the motivation to convince the world that sustainability is what’s better. That energy-efficiency is what’s better. That everyone’s lives will be better if we all adopt this world-saving technology and practices. I hope that this blog post will add to the global conversation. Hopefully others will continue to flood all media with the facts and someday soon, maybe we’ll all agree.

Always an Adventure

Posted in Life's Adventures by

The Pittsburgh Zoo never gets old and is certainly never boring. I’ve been visiting my hometown’s zoo for as long as I can remember and I have very fond memories. This weekend I brought my boyfriend to the zoo because after twenty years, my mom still buys the family pass and endeavors to make a few trips there during the summer. So Jim and I took advantage of the free pass and decided to go on a very busy day, when every father was trying to make up for lost time and spend some quality time with their kids. We had to park in a gravel, fenced-in parking lot that I didn’t even know existed. (Not to mention the fact that even then I couldn’t find a spot, so I parked my car next to the end of a row and crossed my fingers that they wouldn’t ticket people at a fun, family attraction.)

But Jim and I had a wonderful day, as I knew we would, because I have never had a bad experience at the zoo. It is always a timeless adventure, a different experience every time. I hadn’t been there in quite a few years, having been wrapped up in school and summer lifeguarding jobs, so I was anxious to relive the memories. Now, if you don’t know, the Pittsburgh Zoo is set up very efficiently, with the general traffic flow in a large circle and ways for moms to take their toddlers in a smaller circle to get to Kids Kingdom a little quicker. So on a crowded day, I was relieved that the traffic flow kept moving and we were able to see all the animals that we wanted. People were generally conscious of others and I heard many mothers and fathers saying “Okay, let’s keep moving to let other people see.” The animals were pretty active and fun to watch. The tigers were swimming and jumping around, the lion was staring right at us, the leopard was pacing right at the window, begging to be photographed.

                     

Either because of Father’s Day or by pure coincidence, it was also Renaissance Day at the zoo. We periodically saw people dressed in medieval costumes and long velvet dresses with gold trim. Around the Aquarium were several areas where they engaged in medieval combat and fencing, and inside the entrance to the Aquarium, women were explaining period clothing and weaving lace. It was interesting to see people passionate about their hobby and a period of history that is often forgotten. Of course Jim had to try on some medieval armor…

We had a pleasant rest of the day at the zoo, walking through the jungle and the monkey house and the deer yard, reminiscing. When I was younger my mom and several of her friends would all bring their kids to the zoo, lunches packed, strollers in tow, sunscreen slathered. We would press our faces up to the grimy, germ-infested glass at every exhibit and the moms would roll their eyes and whip out the WetOnes when it was time to pass out sandwiches and Pringles. We walked in a big group, always skipping the monkey house because it smelled and moving right on to Kids Kingdom where the moms would get a break while we climbed up the rope ladder and came down on the slides over and over and over. We would fall asleep in the car on the way home, thoroughly exhausted from our trip to the zoo.

When you’re a little kid, all of the animals look big and fierce. They’re all exotic–creatures you’ve only seen in picture books, parents asking, “What does the lion say?” It’s exciting, as a kid, to see these animals that you’ll never see anywhere else, and disappointing, when you realize that some animals really just sleep most of the day. The draw to keep coming back is to someday see the snow leopard move around in his cage. Someday, maybe the rhino will be in the water. You want them to move, or play, or fight or even just look at you. As a kid, you remember vividly the times when your favorite animal did something you thought was spectacular. I remember one time we saw one of the bears playing with a ball in its little swimming pool. Even as an adult, you marvel at the variety of life in a zoo. (I still can’t believe that they figured out a way to get all the creatures of the world to live in the same Pennsylvania climate.) And always, there is still the anticipation of seeing one of the animals do something you haven’t seen before. Something that makes you linger at the glass a little longer, staring in amazement.

Now, while the kids have grown up and some, like me, haven’t been to the zoo in years, the lions still lounge in the shade, the sea lions still glide effortlessly in the water, the giraffes still stand as tall as trees. Moms still pack lunches and push strollers and toddlers still squeeze right up to the grimy glass. The zoo hasn’t really changed but the kids grow up and new kids take their place, always hoping that the animals will do something to amaze them. It’s what keeps everyone coming back. And no matter what, it’s always an adventure at the zoo.

The Job Search for the College Grad

Posted in Career by

I have been home from college for a little over two weeks. I don’t have a job yet, not even a summer job. I will soon have to start paying back my students loans with what meager earnings I made through school. The thought that I don’t have a job is never far from my mind. And despite all this, I am slowly learning how to sit back and just enjoy the extra time I have.

I have been applying to jobs every day since I got home from college. I’ve emailed contacts that I’ve made and reconnected with older students I knew from school. I’ve updated my resume and perfected my cover letters. I’ve organized videos on my YouTube channel and retweeted some great job-searching tips. I’ve added more connections on LinkedIn and created this website. So I know that someday, some form of electronic media will reach the right person who will give me the perfect job that will lead to my dreams. I will continue to apply everywhere and follow up after interviews. I’ve read enough articles and blogs about the job and internship hunt that I know that I am doing everything I should be doing. It will all work out eventually.

So this summer, I’ve started to learn that it’s okay that I’m not busy right now. I’m so used to having a packed schedule with barely enough time to eat between classes, shooting video, working at a restaurant, editing, and hanging out with friends. I like the bustle of a busy schedule. I feel that I get more work done when I know that I have only a set amount of time to get it done. It has taken some adjustment for me to realize that the world will not end if I have time to actually take a nap or listen to music.

My first order of business when I had gotten home from college and unloaded the car was to immediately unpack, rearrange the bedroom and organize my stuff. “Set up camp” if you will. I created an organized workspace in a corner of my room, amid the deeply unorganized crap that my brother had brought home from college and never unpacked. But that’s all right because here I am at my old-fashioned roll-top desk (which my laptop doesn’t truly fit on), with pencils and notepad within reach (in case of a phone call from an employer offering me a job), and my to-do list constantly updated (“find a job” is always at the top). And the first couple days I sat here diligently until I realized that I needed to take a chill pill, spend some time with my family, read a book and enjoy what little unemployment time I have (because let’s face it, the retirement age will be at least 90 by the time this generation gets there).

So I picked up A Widow for One Year by John Irving and haven’t looked back since. Yes, I’m still applying for jobs every day and I’m still keeping myself organized, but I’m managing my time more wisely. I’m working out in the mornings, chatting with my mom over breakfast, learning to play pool with my brother and taking naps in the afternoons. After being away at school for four years, I learned to really appreciate the time I have with my family. We’re all growing up quickly and starting to head out into the big bad world, so I was wonderfully blessed with this extra time to spend with them. One of these days, I’ll get a call about a job offer. But for now, I’m fine with relaxing a little bit.