For anyone who knows who David Novinski is, he gives his "status" talk once every couple years during one play rehearsal or another. The basic premise is that all human interaction revolves around a battle of who has the higher and lower status. Superiority and inferiority. Generosity and supplication. Etcetera. Sometimes the assertion of status is overt, like a boss telling his employee to get him a cup of coffee, just because he can. Other times, you have to read between the lines to figure it out. Compare the following two conversations:
Phone rings.
"Hello?"
"Hey, it's so-and-so. Can you do me a quick favor?"
"Sure, what's up?"
"Can you open the front door for me? I'm locked out."
"Yeah, I'll be there in a sec."
Click.
Phone rings.
"Hello?"
"Hey, it's so-and-so. Want to open the front door for me?"
"Uh...sure, I guess. I'll be there in a sec."
Click.
Most people know that I have a tendency to overanalyze pretty much anything anyone says, so you might want to take everything I'm saying with a grain of salt. First of all, there's the obvious difference of "Can you do me a favor?" vs. "Hey, do this for me," but there's not too much to say about it that's not right there on the surface. I'm more interested in the word choice when the guy that's locked out gets to the point. "Can you..." vs. "Want to..." is a world of difference. "Can you do this for me?" is a polite request from a guy with lower status to a guy with higher status. He's admitting, however subtly, that he screwed up and that he needs help. It's not exactly the prime example of humility or politeness, but it doesn't come off as overbearing.
The use of the word "want," though, implies an invitation. "Hey, want to come to my party?" "Hey, want some of my pizza?" "Hey, want to come open this door for me?" More often than not, a lower status person receives an invitation from a higher status person. Saying "Want to..." instead of "Can you...", then, is an attempt to exert one's superiority over someone else while requesting a favor from them. He can't just ask someone for a favor; he has to insinuate that doing this favor benefits both of them.
I'm only bringing this up because it seems like this has become the most common way to ask for a favor. No self-respecting student, for example, wants to admit he's bad at a certain subject. When he asks for help, instead of saying, "Hey, I don't get this, can you give me a hand?", he'll probably say instead, "Hey, wanna come help me study for math later?" Of course he doesn't "want to" - he'd probably rather be playing Guitar Hero or Facebooking or something other than explaining calculus. But, if it's posed as a request instead of an invitation (a bit of ego-stroking, perhaps?), then yeah, sure, he's free for an hour or so. People that ask for favors like that, as a whole, just bug me. Instead of calling me "buddy" and inviting me to run your wallet to you halfway across campus, just ask. Seriously. You come off as much less of a douche that way.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Saturday, June 2, 2007
A Trip to Starbucks
I went to Starbucks today. The purpose of my trip was twofold: firstly, I needed some caffeine in my blood. Sure, we have a coffeemaker, but the only coffee we have in the house is a gallon tub of that Folgers Half-Caff shit. My mom thinks that my dad and I drink too much coffee, so she bought that to keep our bodies from shutting down or something. With coffee, I enjoy the taste, but I mainly drink it to stay awake through the day. Instead of cutting back, then, I end up drinking twice as much just to get my usual jolt. Also, when I make coffee, I get open-bottle syndrome - as long as there's still coffee in that pot, I'm gonna drink it. And since making a single cup's worth of coffee seems pointless, I end up all jittery.
Secondly, and more importantly, I needed to get out of the house. I've been home alone all day, and I got a mild case of cabin fever. I usually only go to Starbucks before or after going to Blockbuster, just a quick in-and-out that seems more habitual than necessary (that's what she said). Today, however, in typical college fashion, I decided to bring a book and sit outside for a while.
A store clerk, in general, exists to check you out as efficiently and unscrupulously as possible, no more, no less. Any conversation he might start with a customer is mandated either by company policy ("Did you find everything okay this evening?") or to simply avoid awkward silence ("Man, it's hot out, huh?"). Anything other than that, and a cranky customer with a Bluetooth in his ear asks him to hurry it up, please. With this in mind, I approached the barista, smiled, and asked, "I'm getting kinda tired of my usual - can you recommend anything cold with a lot of caffeine?" She looked up and seemed a bit excited - acknowledgments of being a person instead of a nametag come few and far between. After some preliminary questions about my preferences, she decided to make me what she usually gets during breaks, with my permission, of course. When I pulled out my gift card to pay, she winked and said, "Don't worry about it this time." Score. The drink was pretty damn good, too, I must say.
Anyway, I sat in the sun and read for half an hour or so (I'm reading PD James' Children of Men, it's incredible so far). Sitting in a cafe is great for peoplewatching, which I enjoy - it's always interesting to listen in on conversations, especially extended ones. One guy was talking about how his son had been busted for possession a couple years ago, but his lawyer got him off on a technicality. A Hispanic guy with a perfect American accent told a story about how, last week, he had just finished mowing his lawn when a blonde chick in a truck pulled into the driveway next door and said, "Hey, the lawn looks great, would you mind doing mine soon?" He responded that he had a business presentation in a couple days, his wife was out of town, and his kids had the flu, so he probably wouldn't be able to squeeze her in. He finished up and went in the house through the front door, in plain view of his (new?) neighbor. He couldn't help peeking through the window to see her reaction - she was mortified.
I went back inside and ordered another drink, iced tea this time. I hadn't paid for the first one, so a second one didn't seem like splurging or anything. I struck up a conversation with another guy that works there, Tim, whom I kind of know. He came into Blockbuster almost every day last summer, just like I went to Starbucks, so we're pretty familiar with each other if nothing else. He's a couple of years older than I am, probably early twenties. Last summer, he mentioned how he lived at home and that movies were usually his only form of entertainment. I thought it was kind of sad at the time, but now I realize that it's not that different from what I'm doing this summer. We're both college students living at home for the summer, making some cash and trying not to let our parents crush our spirits. He's a little older than I am; so what?
I'm writing out of boredom more than anything else. I'm hoping that if I type long enough, something amazing and insightful might eventually eek its way out. Not today, I guess.
Secondly, and more importantly, I needed to get out of the house. I've been home alone all day, and I got a mild case of cabin fever. I usually only go to Starbucks before or after going to Blockbuster, just a quick in-and-out that seems more habitual than necessary (that's what she said). Today, however, in typical college fashion, I decided to bring a book and sit outside for a while.
A store clerk, in general, exists to check you out as efficiently and unscrupulously as possible, no more, no less. Any conversation he might start with a customer is mandated either by company policy ("Did you find everything okay this evening?") or to simply avoid awkward silence ("Man, it's hot out, huh?"). Anything other than that, and a cranky customer with a Bluetooth in his ear asks him to hurry it up, please. With this in mind, I approached the barista, smiled, and asked, "I'm getting kinda tired of my usual - can you recommend anything cold with a lot of caffeine?" She looked up and seemed a bit excited - acknowledgments of being a person instead of a nametag come few and far between. After some preliminary questions about my preferences, she decided to make me what she usually gets during breaks, with my permission, of course. When I pulled out my gift card to pay, she winked and said, "Don't worry about it this time." Score. The drink was pretty damn good, too, I must say.
Anyway, I sat in the sun and read for half an hour or so (I'm reading PD James' Children of Men, it's incredible so far). Sitting in a cafe is great for peoplewatching, which I enjoy - it's always interesting to listen in on conversations, especially extended ones. One guy was talking about how his son had been busted for possession a couple years ago, but his lawyer got him off on a technicality. A Hispanic guy with a perfect American accent told a story about how, last week, he had just finished mowing his lawn when a blonde chick in a truck pulled into the driveway next door and said, "Hey, the lawn looks great, would you mind doing mine soon?" He responded that he had a business presentation in a couple days, his wife was out of town, and his kids had the flu, so he probably wouldn't be able to squeeze her in. He finished up and went in the house through the front door, in plain view of his (new?) neighbor. He couldn't help peeking through the window to see her reaction - she was mortified.
I went back inside and ordered another drink, iced tea this time. I hadn't paid for the first one, so a second one didn't seem like splurging or anything. I struck up a conversation with another guy that works there, Tim, whom I kind of know. He came into Blockbuster almost every day last summer, just like I went to Starbucks, so we're pretty familiar with each other if nothing else. He's a couple of years older than I am, probably early twenties. Last summer, he mentioned how he lived at home and that movies were usually his only form of entertainment. I thought it was kind of sad at the time, but now I realize that it's not that different from what I'm doing this summer. We're both college students living at home for the summer, making some cash and trying not to let our parents crush our spirits. He's a little older than I am; so what?
I'm writing out of boredom more than anything else. I'm hoping that if I type long enough, something amazing and insightful might eventually eek its way out. Not today, I guess.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
In the Beginning...
Well, now that the inherent boredom of summer has lost its novelty and become, well...boring, I thought I'd create something that'll help me use my time more productively than Minesweeper or Facebook. I like to think I'm a fairly decent writer, but my output as of late has been limited to research papers, essays, and the like. Thought this might help change that.
I had a Xanga back in high school (that makes me sound older than I really am), and it was a disaster. I'm realizing in hindsight that the majority of my social problems during junior and senior year were directly related to things I posted up there. It was too personal, way too personal - I said exactly what I was thinking, I named names, I passed judgments, and worst of all, I was blissfully ignorant about doing it. I wasn't treating it like a publicly-advertised online journal, which is what it was; I was treating it like a diary that most people wouldn't let anyone read in a million years. I should start this one off, then, by promising that my entries aren't going to consist of "Today I did this, this, this, and this" or "I've been feeling lost and alone lately, why won't anyone call me?" I'm not quite that emo anymore.
Instead, I'm hoping that most of my topics will be relatively abstract. I'm kind of a quiet guy, a lot of times I just sit and think. I notice things about society, about people around me, about life in general. Some of them I flog around and then dismiss, but occasionally, I get this idea that deserves more than that. I usually scribble down a rough outline on a post-it or in the back of a class notebook, figuring I'll come back to it later. You wouldn't believe how many crumpled up pieces of paper I came across when I was moving out of my dorm room a couple weeks ago. I'm not saying the ideas I come up with are earthshattering or even particularly interesting, but if you didn't want to read them, you wouldn't have come to this website in the first place.
I really want to go on a road trip. I almost did last summer, with some friends from the summer camp that I used to work at, but my parents nipped that in the bud pretty quick. After about a week of pleading, they allowed me to fly out of Dallas, meet my friends in Arizona, stay for two nights, and then fly back home. I tried to argue that flying defeats the entire point of a road trip, but they just told me not to push my luck. I've been reading a lot of travelling novels lately, everything from Kerouac's On the Road to Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath, and I get more and more pumped after every one I finish. It wouldn't be about the people I went with - hopefully, it'll be about the people I meet along the way. I want to stop at a mom-and-pop's diner in Shithole, Texas and make small talk with the waitress. I want to pull into a gas station at 5 a.m. after a full night of driving, buy a cup of crappy coffee and maybe a donut, and keep going. I want to hit 100 mph on deserted highways that continue on as far as I can see with trees and bushes being the only scenery on both sides. I don't care where I go; in fact, I don't really want to know. It'd be cool to head west, I want to see the ocean. I haven't seen the ocean in a long time. But, if I see a sign that says "Springfield 24," for example, I want to think, "That sounds like as good a place as any to spend the night" instead of, "Crap, I'm an hour behind schedule."
At home, I have relatively little responsibilities, but no freedom. At college, I have almost unlimited freedom, but lots of responsibilities to bog it down. On a road trip like that, though, even if only for that week, or two weeks, or whatever, it seems like I'd have complete freedom with zero responsibility. Everyone's dream, am I right?
Well, that's it for the night. I need to start jobhunting tomorrow. I thought I'd found a great job, but turns out that it's gonna be an unpaid internship. I'm still gonna do it because it sounds interesting, but I guess I should find something that pads my bank account a little bit, too. Take it easy, everybody.
I had a Xanga back in high school (that makes me sound older than I really am), and it was a disaster. I'm realizing in hindsight that the majority of my social problems during junior and senior year were directly related to things I posted up there. It was too personal, way too personal - I said exactly what I was thinking, I named names, I passed judgments, and worst of all, I was blissfully ignorant about doing it. I wasn't treating it like a publicly-advertised online journal, which is what it was; I was treating it like a diary that most people wouldn't let anyone read in a million years. I should start this one off, then, by promising that my entries aren't going to consist of "Today I did this, this, this, and this" or "I've been feeling lost and alone lately, why won't anyone call me?" I'm not quite that emo anymore.
Instead, I'm hoping that most of my topics will be relatively abstract. I'm kind of a quiet guy, a lot of times I just sit and think. I notice things about society, about people around me, about life in general. Some of them I flog around and then dismiss, but occasionally, I get this idea that deserves more than that. I usually scribble down a rough outline on a post-it or in the back of a class notebook, figuring I'll come back to it later. You wouldn't believe how many crumpled up pieces of paper I came across when I was moving out of my dorm room a couple weeks ago. I'm not saying the ideas I come up with are earthshattering or even particularly interesting, but if you didn't want to read them, you wouldn't have come to this website in the first place.
I really want to go on a road trip. I almost did last summer, with some friends from the summer camp that I used to work at, but my parents nipped that in the bud pretty quick. After about a week of pleading, they allowed me to fly out of Dallas, meet my friends in Arizona, stay for two nights, and then fly back home. I tried to argue that flying defeats the entire point of a road trip, but they just told me not to push my luck. I've been reading a lot of travelling novels lately, everything from Kerouac's On the Road to Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath, and I get more and more pumped after every one I finish. It wouldn't be about the people I went with - hopefully, it'll be about the people I meet along the way. I want to stop at a mom-and-pop's diner in Shithole, Texas and make small talk with the waitress. I want to pull into a gas station at 5 a.m. after a full night of driving, buy a cup of crappy coffee and maybe a donut, and keep going. I want to hit 100 mph on deserted highways that continue on as far as I can see with trees and bushes being the only scenery on both sides. I don't care where I go; in fact, I don't really want to know. It'd be cool to head west, I want to see the ocean. I haven't seen the ocean in a long time. But, if I see a sign that says "Springfield 24," for example, I want to think, "That sounds like as good a place as any to spend the night" instead of, "Crap, I'm an hour behind schedule."
At home, I have relatively little responsibilities, but no freedom. At college, I have almost unlimited freedom, but lots of responsibilities to bog it down. On a road trip like that, though, even if only for that week, or two weeks, or whatever, it seems like I'd have complete freedom with zero responsibility. Everyone's dream, am I right?
Well, that's it for the night. I need to start jobhunting tomorrow. I thought I'd found a great job, but turns out that it's gonna be an unpaid internship. I'm still gonna do it because it sounds interesting, but I guess I should find something that pads my bank account a little bit, too. Take it easy, everybody.
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