What is the meaning of Thanksgiving?

What is the meaning of Thanksgiving?

Speech for Public Speaking Course:

Thursday November 25 is just 18 days away from today. It is the fourth Thursday in November and arguably one of the most important holidays in the US. – Thanksgiving! So why is Thanksgiving so important?

There are several versions about the origination of Thanksgiving, but they all stem from the beginnings of the white settlement of the US.

In 1620 a group, known as the Puritans who were being religiously persecuted sought religious freedom by sailing across the Atlantic on the Mayflower and settling in a strange, new place, now known as the state of Massachusetts .

The First winter was devastating and almost half of the original 102 pilgrims perished. The few that survived were helped by local Indians.

With better luck, the second harvest was bountiful – and the settlers celebrated with a 3 day feast with the Indians as a way of saying thanks for their help in that first brutal winter.

Today, Thanksgiving means different things to different people, but unlike most other American holidays, it is not about consumerism or flashiness.

For some it means eating lots of turkey, mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie and then rolling themselves into the family room to continue the holiday festivities by watching football and drinking beer.

For others it might mean the one day of the year in which family all comes together, which may be a good or bad thing. Bu regardless, t the one universal meaning that everyone shares is that Thanksgiving is the one day that we stop to give thanks to the things and people that mean the most to us.

We live such crazy busy lives that we take things for granted – I was suddenly reminded of this when last week, I found out my dad’s cousin unexpectedly passed away. She had four kids, ages ranging from about 21 to 31.

As we sit here tonight, they are at their mom’s viewing saying good-bye for the last time. I will be attending the funeral tomorrow along with my parents, with whom I am fortunate to have a close relationship with, feeling guilty over the fact that my cousins will not be standing there alongside both of their parents as well.

I am so thankful that I have my parents, I have my health and they have theirs. But in our daily lives, how often do we express it?

So I encourage all of you – whether you are celebrating Thanksgiving or not, to, on Thanksgiving Day, just remind yourself exactly what it is you are truly thankful for. If it is a person, tell them, if it is something, simply appreciate it. Because that is what Thanksgiving is truly about. It is about giving thanks.

So what do business school students do??

6:30am, the alarm on my iphone goes off. I hit snooze and roll over. It goes off again, I repeat the pattern again and then again. 7:00am, I finally roll out of bed, get ready and race out the door for the second day of our Career Management Conference. The day kicks off with a ‘Building your brand online’ seminar presented by Dan Schwabel, author of Me 2.0.

I then have a half hour break before my small group mock interviews so I head into the computer lab to print out my resume. I fire off an email to the VP Social of the European Business Club to request a meeting about the European Mixer event I am organizing in November and another to the co-presidents of the General Management and Strategy club to set up an informational interview, as I am interested in taking over their role for next year.

11:00am, I head over to the recruitment center. The place is full of my colleagues, suited up, resumes in hand and waiting for their interviews. Our interviewer, a second year career coach, brings us into a room and we spend an hour and a half being interviewed with instant feedback – I realize I have a lot of practicing to do in the next few months!

12:30pm – I have a study group meeting. Haas is providing free lunches in the courtyard so I pick one up, go to my suit locker to grab the massive roll of paper that is our final project for our Problem Finding Problem Solving class and meet my team – whom I love! We have 30 minutes to go through our roll and ensure our business model canvas and all our design thinking toolkits are included. There is a flurry of Crayola colored markers as we put on the final touches, laughing and joking as we work.

1:30pm I attend another speaker seminar – ‘Learn How to Sell Yourself’

3:00pm, finally a break! As I head into the library, a classmate stops me, “What are you wearing for the Jersey Shore party this Thursday?” We spend about 15 minutes going over the critical details of our costumes – these things are important!

I then excuse myself as I need to finish my journal, a final deliverable for our Problem Finding Problem Solving class. I quickly scribble out a few more ‘reflections’ about the various steps in the design thinking process we have been doing, draw a couple of pictures and rush off to meet my study team again. Tonight is the big night. After spending all of Fall A analyzing a start-up company, its current business model and then coming up with suggestions for a revised one, we finally get a chance to meet the founders, former Haas alum.

We had just learned that they had received an additional $10 million in their second round of VC funding! The company, which provides video ad analytics and serves as a platform to upload video ads on publisher websites, is now breaking even and expected to have $10million in revenue this year.

Now here we were, in a ballroom at Haas, packed with 250 students and rolls of papers displaying business models everywhere and the founders come in. Standing with the four study group teams of 5 each assigned to this company one of my study group members speaks up, ‘Shannon, you know the business model better than anyone. You should present.’ I am slightly nervous because I knew nothing about online advertising until this class and now I am supposed to explain to the founders all about their company and the market?!

I ended up thoroughly enjoying giving the presentation and the night turned out to be the highlight of my first quarter here at Haas. It was exciting to hear how a lot of the ideas we came up with, they had also thought of. They ended up staying for a couple of hours after the presentation and talking directly with two successful entrepreneurs was incredibly inspiring.

Still on a high, I headed to our local on-campus pub, The Bear’s Lair, where Haas students go every Tuesday. It was jam-packed as our very own, Jean Claude Van Band, were playing. People were already crowding in front of the band before they even began the first song. They were incredibly talented. The place was packed and we danced until 2am. Stumbling out in the cool air, I hear someone shout ‘ After-party at my place!” I am too exhausted and head home. It has been another amazing day at Haas.

Life is what happens when you are making other plans

People often ask, ‘Why did you move to Switzerland?’ So I figured I would write about it. Based on my post ‘Acting on Impulse’ you might think that it was my love for Europe that drove me there. Well partially, but not entirely. In fact, it was because I had spent time studying there that I actually did not want to go back.

Anyone, well maybe not everyone, who has travelled outside their home country becomes addicted, myself included, but for varying reasons. My personal reasons; mainly the sadistic pleasure of pushing myself outside my comfort zone, meeting new people and forcing myself to realize that there is a completely different way of living out there that my own culture and norms had never even considered. Not that I want to go move to a small village in the Andes Mountains and raise llamas, but I like seeing the world through somebody else’s eyes. You suddenly see unique details in the ordinary.

For professional reasons, this seed of desire was planted whilst studying in Vienna in 2002. The Euro had just been introduced and it was an exciting time – hey, this was a big deal! In my International Finance class, I had an Austrian banker, whose enthusiasm over the Euro was infectious. All of my classes had a European Union focus, and learning about Europe’s ability, or perhaps attempt, to cooperate under one government body fascinated me, especially when you consider the implications this has on the free movement of goods, services and people! The Financial Times Europe was like my version of a soap opera. May I remind you I was an Economics major and am now an MBA student so business and economic matters excite me? All that world drama jam packed in a few pink pages! And after having read the WSJ for so long with its US centric focus, I couldn’t help but having that ‘Oh shit’ feeling. I suddenly realized that whilst all this was going on outside the US, we were just puttering along as if events outside the US had no impact on us or our standing.

After learning all about Europe, I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in the rest of the world. But at this point, I wasn’t going to find out because I had to head back to the U.S. to graduate and get a real job.

About a year and a half into my working career, I started to get restless. I was an auditor, how I fell into that profession is a whole other story, at a Big 4 firm and wanted to gain experience working overseas. Our firm had previously done an exchange in which our U.S. offices would send staff to Australia during their busy season (i.e. during their winter when it was summer, and therefore slower, in the U.S.). The firm’s recruiters had really sold us on the program until we realized after signing our offers that the program had been cancelled. I knew I wanted to have an experience like this, but didn’t even know where to begin to make it happen, so I did nothing - the worst thing you can do. But at least this time, I got lucky and someone else helped me get the ball rolling.

I will never forget that day, sitting outside with my team having lunch on our client’s patio on the bay and soaking up as much sunshine as possible before having to go back to the laptops for another eight hours of Excel spreadsheet misery. I mentioned to my colleague about how bummed I was that the program had been cancelled as I would have loved the opportunity to work in Australia.

My colleague, originally from South Africa and who had worked in New Zealand as well as done a three-month rotation in Sydney, simply said, “So, why don’t you?” My instant reaction was of course to repeat what I had just said – it was no longer possible because the firm had cancelled the program.

“Do you want to stay there longer than three months?” he asked. “Yes” I responded. “So why don’t you transfer there. I am sure they need qualified accountants” he suggested. And it was from this short conversation that I suddenly realized, and I have since put this lesson into practice many times, the importance of not giving up on something you are told is not possible – you just have to find another way. And I did; granted I had to try a few different ways.

The first approach; asking my firm to contact the Sydney HR office on my behalf to see if there was a need for someone at my level quickly failed. I waited months for the San Francisco office to get back to me, only to be told that our managing partner had made it a policy not to allow HR facilitate any transfers out of the SF office so as to keep staff in SF, and then I got a long speech about how I would be ruining my career in going overseas. I disagreed.

Second approach; after raising the issue with my South African colleague he fired an email out to his friends. As I watched the copied emails shoot back from London, Capetown, and Sydney I was amazed at the global reach, and finally, a contact for the Sydney office came through. I sent my resume over, and after an interview with one of the partners, received an offer. I had achieved my goal and was set on moving to Australia once I finished the last part of my CPA exam. But I never made it to Australia, and as of this moment, have yet to go.

One thing my father always told me was to always create opportunities, which I had just done, and to always ensure you have options. So when during the time I was waiting for my firm’s HR department to get back to me about Australia, my father rang me up and asked if he could send my contact details to a partner at a Big 4 Firm in Switzerland looking for auditors with my experience. I said sure – even though I had no interest in moving to Switzerland.

Life is full of coincidences and a month later, that same partner happened to be in San Francisco for business and asked to meet for a chat about me coming to work in Switzerland. I was very honest about my intention to move to Australia but figured I should at least listen to the alternatives. And listening to him talk got me thinking. Why was I going to Australia? What kind of experience was I trying to get, both personally and professionally? And so I agonized for some time over the decision. Australia would be fun. I could travel to places I have never been, live in a beautiful country, have the ease of living in an English-speaking country, and meet lots of friendly and outgoing people. Switzerland, now I loved living there, has a reputation somewhat of the opposite to that of Australia’s.

Cold, dark, people are conservative, and the Swiss language, Swiss German, is neither a written nor the most romantic of languages and is almost impossible for a non-native to learn. Everyone thought I was crazy to even be considering moving there over Australia.

Thinking about what I truly wanted; a completely different experience, working on a global client, preferably within the biotech industry, and with a global team –was only offered in Switzerland. Australia would be fun no doubt, but I wanted a challenge. In the end, I ended up applying to several other firms, taking a position at a competitor, mainly as they were able to offer me a role more I line with the skills I wanted to develop. And I had an amazing two years. So, next time someone asks me why I moved to Switzerland. My response? Because I was going to move to Australia.

Life is what happens when you are making other plans.

Did you ever dream of a white picket fence?

I am dreaming of a white picket fence, manicured lawn, and a four-bedroom, 3.5 bath white house with navy blue trim complete with an SUV parked out front, 2 kids, a perfect husband and a golden retriever. Isn’t that what we Americans all want? So how come I never dreamed of that?

In my most recent career advising session, one piece of advice I was given by my counselor, is that every six months or year throughout your career, you should take a hike or go to a peaceful location alone that you enjoy, and really take the time to reflect upon your career. Are you going in the right direction? Do you enjoy what you are doing? And of course the favorite question of all time – where do you want to be in five years? Ten? And is what you are currently doing going to get you there?

She has seen too often with her clients, many of whom are successful senior executives; suddenly realize they are not actually happy in their careers. Trouble is, you are so focused on running as fast as you can that you never step back and think, is this really what I want?

Whilst working, I knew that long-term, this was not what I wanted to do, but the problem was, you were working so much you never had time to figure that out. Thank goodness for business school. OK, I am actually probably busier than ever, but at least the activities that are making me busy are helping me in my pursuit to discover what my true goals are. And if you read my previous post, you would see I suddenly have a wealth of career resources at my disposal. But I am suddenly realizing that it is not so much the industry or function question that I am struggling to answer – it is what kind of lifestyle or even family life do I want? That should be the first question, then what company second.

Problem is, I don’t know. I envy my friends who have gone the traditional route and are content with it. Married, some with a kid, own a home and probably have a general idea as to where they will be in 5, 10 or 15 years, at least from a lifestyle/family perspective.

Right now, suburban life sounds like my personal nightmare – I need cities, with convenient holiday places and long vacations in the mountains of course. And I love working in cities, walking everywhere, bars and restaurants within walking distance; theatre tonight anyone? No? Symphony then?

So should I focus on getting a job in the City or make the sacrifice now to move to the burbs with the assumption that in five years time I will become a lulu lemon wearing young mom driving my SUV to the grocery store to pick up some fish filets to cook my family for dinner? And yes, what about being a mom? I don’t know how professional women do that balance – I cannot even look after myself!

So where is all that counseling for finding what our life focus is? I have taken multitudes of personality tests and career skill-scans which measure my competency skills and then match my desired job traits to possible career and industry options. But where does my personal life fit in all this? We are a generation operating 24/7 in which the boundary between work and life has blurred. We can no longer assess what we want in a career without first determining what it is we want out of life.

I personally think part of your career focus, should also include assessments on those simple everyday things like what you want your daily routine to be - and where. Do you want the traditional family life or the globe-trotting expat life?

I find most of the life / soul searching advice out there a bit on the fluffy side. A nice survey, backed by solid scientific evidence on its validity, that could dig deep down into my soul and unconscious desires to determine whether I love my current lifestyle because of where I am at in life versus that is just who I am would be extremely valuable – and THEN I could match my career goals. Does that exist? If so, pass that along would you?

Career Options: Are too many a good or bad thing?

Do you ever wonder how you ended up where you are in terms of your job choice or career? Were you born knowing what you wanted to do or did you just kind of fall into it? And once you got there, was it everything you thought it would be? Better? Worse? Even more importantly: Are you happy?

Gone are the previous generations in which you worked for one company your whole life. My grandfather started out as a salesman for a large pharmaceutical company and was able to climb his way up the corporate ladder into a senior executive position. My dad, after a couple of brief stints in his younger years, worked for the same company for 20+ years. And the women of these generations? You could either be a nurse, secretary or teacher – oh year, or a housewife. After a few years as a teacher in Utah and still single at the old age of 23, my mom, a born overachiever and leader , was frustrated with her limited prospects and so decided to load up her car and move West to California. She later became a court reporter, which I never could understand given her love for debate – it must have killed her to remain silent – but as she constantly reminds me, she never had the career opportunities I have.

So now here I am with a myriad of options. Seven years into what has certainly been a unique career, I am now attending a top business school and totally confused. One of the great ironies of business schools is that in order to get accepted, you have to write a well-written and focused essay all about why you want an MBA, your short term and long term goals, and how an MBA will get you there. Yet in reality, most of us don’t have a clue. Good thing business schools recognize this and therefore offer a ridiculous amount of career support services – or it could be that having a bunch of unemployed graduates ruins their statistics, but let’s assume the former.

In the eight weeks I have been at business school, I have seen four different career advisors, a career coach, held five informational interviews, and been to career service workshops on building a resume, how to network a conference and how to develop a market plan for your career strategy. I have been to a non-profit conference, joined the general management and strategy club, technology club, women in leadership club, health care club – the list goes on, and attended at least eight different company presentations. I have spent hours and hours researching different companies, available positions – both internships and full time and next week am attending a two day Career Management Conference which includes seminars such as how to build your brand and how to get into that industry or function. I have attended more networking events than I can count and as it is just 19 months until graduation, I need to hurry up and figure out what I want to do for the rest of my life - now! To make a career transition I need to start networking in that industry, taking on leadership roles in my extracurricular activities and planning my academic classes to focus on the end game, right?

I like the fast paced environment of technology, maybe I should be a product manager? The health care and medical device industry are only going to continue to grow at rapid speed, I don’t have a science background but maybe I could go into marketing? What about a strategic and business development role or even better, apply for a general management rotational leadership program? But in what industry and location? Big company or small? Who are my target companies?

In just one generation we have gone from few opportunities to an infinite amount of them. Of course, I should be sure to point out that I speak in relative terms, as I recognize I am one of the fortunate who is in a position to be faced with so many possibilities.

But I now feel just as paralyzed as my mother did many years ago when she, as an ambitious young woman, realized she had very few options. Only in my case, I now have too many. So, how could this be?

A few years ago, while I was living in Switzerland, I came to California for a visit. Staying at my parent’s house, I went to the grocery store to pick up a few things on the shopping list. One item my dad had requested: whole wheat tortillas. Simple enough right? Well after spending the last year or so shopping in the tiny Swiss Coop supermarket which was about the size of two aisles in an American supermarket – or perhaps one in a WalMart, I experienced a sudden bout of reverse culture shock. In my little Swiss market, my options were limited. I knew exactly where everything was and I could be in and out in ten minutes. You want milk? There it is. An apple – you have red or green. After about a month, I became accustomed to the limited supply, found things I liked, and grew to be perfectly content with my purchases.

Now here I was in the Alamo Safeway, so massive they even have a Starbucks inside and drink cup holders on the shopping baskets so that all the young mommies can sip their fat-free soy lattes while browsing the aisles, and I felt overwhelmed. I couldn’t find anything! List in hand; it took me ages to find what I needed. Just as my patience was wearing thin, I came upon the tortilla section. White, corn..wheat! I grabbed a pack, but then looking back saw organic wheat, non-organic wheat, whole grain wheat, low-fat wheat, low-carb wheat, small, medium, large – and all the different brands. I looked back at my dad’s handwriting ‘Whole wheat tortillas’. But which ones??

Every time I picked one up, another caught my eye. Dumbfounded, I must have stood there for 10 minutes, drawing on every decision making capability I had in an attempt to make the right decision. All I needed were some whole wheat tortillas! I finally gave up, grabbed the nearest package and finished my shopping.

So, did I buy the right ones? I don’t know, maybe there were some better ones but I could not simply rip open the tortilla packages right there in the store and try them all. But the more interesting question; would I have been more or less happy had I gone into the store, seen just the one option for whole wheat tortillas and purchased them without having to have agonized over the decision?

So, what is the correct answer? Being forced to choose from a limited number of options under the assumption that there is nothing else available, or having so many options, many of which you don’t even know exist until you come across them, that your life becomes a constant pursuit after that desired yet unattainable ‘perfect’ decision.

I don’t really know the answer, but I am glad about one thing. It is fortunate I was born in this generation. I would have made a lousy teacher, nurse, secretary or housewife.

A lesson of Business School: Learning to let go and accept that you just can’t do it all!

Business school offers many valuable lessons – few of which come from the academics themselves. Surprising? Well, it shouldn’t be. What are the most valued skills required to be successful in business? Calculating the optimal quantity to produce based on setting price equal to marginal cost whilst operating in a perfectly competitive market? Maybe it is calculating 95% confidence intervals on our analysis of the effect of square footage of a house on its price? I don’t think so.

It is relationships, interpersonal and networking skills, working well with others and knowing how to make a decision. More importantly, in this day in age where we have every opportunity at our fingertips, it is the ability to prioritize, manage one’s time and realize that you just can’t do it all.

It’s 11pm – way past my usual bedtime, unless of course I am out socializing. But tonight, I am supposed to be studying for finals. Yes, finals. It still sounds weird for me to say. The only difference this time round is that grades don’t actually matter! Except tell that to a bunch of overachieving MBA students, and again, and again. Has it sunk in yet? Not during midterms (although I think I was a bit quicker than most), slowly getting there for finals, and judging by the second years, this concept will have been embodied in everything we do. Is it because they are lazy?

No. It is because every decision we make has an opportunity cost (my econ professor would so proud). How much value, or shall we say utility, do you get from spending those few extra hours hitting the books versus that received from going to that company presentation, meeting that recruiter, getting involved in that business competition, attending that speaker series.. the list goes on. Besides, you can read a textbook anytime you want – I am not going to a $50,000/year university to read a book and do the example problems in the back.

The opportunities to get involved in everything imaginable are endless, the choices a smorgasbord of every favorite food you have craved, and the plentitude of interesting people to meet like a wine tasting comprised of every varietal from every region – each distinct and delicious. I have yet to meet one who is ‘corked’.

Yet there lies the conundrum. This experience is similar to that of a kid in a candy store whose eyes are bigger than his stomach. In the first go, he tires everything until he is physically ill. Second time round, he remembers the consequences of his gorging and suddenly realizes he must be more careful and deliberate about his candy choices. His favorite chocolate is dark chocolate, so he won’t pick up the milk. And why was he eating Skittles – he doesn’t even like them, he was only eating them because everyone else was. Put them down!

And so goes business school. Do I want the milk chocolate? Yes. Do I want to do well on my exams? Yes. But do I like dark chocolate more? Yes. And do I want to be involved in the Innovation Challenge competition, member of this club, still make it to the gym, AND get a good night’ rest? YES! YES! And YES!

So, now it is 11:30pm. I should be studying but I suddenly felt like writing – something I love but have not done in quite some time. When I am 80 and looking back on my life, will I be reviewing my old exams or my writings?

I love all kinds of chocolate – can’t help it after 2 years living in Switzerland! But my favorite is dark chocolate. I think I will stick to that.

Come Dine With Me 4th edition

Is it possible that so much time has passed since that fateful night long ago in the spectacularly decorated Oktoberfest beer hall (aka 1 Salem Rd)? Yet how could any one of us forget the tragedy of 1 November 2009, and the grief that ensued.

Where my heart once was, a hollowness now lies. The throbbing ache of emptiness within my chest is a daily reminder of my failure, a pain so excruciating at first, that I have had to wait for the wounds to mend and the pain to subside before I could bring myself to write this Newsletter out of fear that I would be unable to hold back the tears and therefore be reduced to a sobbing mess.

So here it is, a reminder and description of what, in my opinion, was the greatest Come Dine With Me event of all – scored last because as Mark and I were stuck in the kitchen we were unable to woo the dinner party guests with our witty humour and charming personalities…

I present below the unbiased and truthful account of that tragic night.

As the German Oompa band’s Oktoberfest music filled the great halls. Frau Heidi and Herr Hans greeted the guests with a spirited “Wilkommen” and a shot of Jaegger.

Hefeweissen beers were brought out to wash down the pretzels, radishes, and cheeses laid out for the guests. Meanwhile, Hans and Heidi worked frantically in the kitchen to finish preparing the starter – a delicious salad, exciting the tastebuds but not fully satiating them, leaving them to cry out for more.

In a cruel twist, the next course was delayed. Unbeknownst to the guests, the chicken schnitzel was not cooking fast enough and the crappy frying pans we were attempting to use were blackening the chicken. Manning frying pans on all burners and busting out the ol’ reliable George Forman grill, Hans cooked as Heidi manically scrubbed each pan before it was reused until her fingernails bled and her wrist could scrub no more.

Alas, the effort was well worth it, noted by the murmurs of approval and nods of the heads of the guests. Unfortunately, it was quickly realised that plastic silverware + chicken schnitzel = inability to cut the large pieces of meat, however even the most intelligent people can not foresee all problems.

But then the grand finale came…Hans’ amazing Apple Streudal – a stunning success given the fact that this was his first attempt. So good in fact, that Alistair and Dave both thought it store bought. The Streudal quickly brought everyone’s tastebuds to a climax – and then suddenly people were stripped of all energy and intelligent thought. Everyone’s minds in a foggy wave of bliss, the guests could not think straight as they went, one by one, to the laptop to input their score for the evening’s meal and entertainment.

We then grabbed our sacrificial lamb, Mike, to announce the results. I felt confidant, exuberant, and excited as Mike read off fourth place – US??! But how could this be? Our food was excellent! Our theme unique! And our entertainment thrilling! I could barely hear the rest as Mike droned on…and the devastation set in – I, Frau Heidi, was last!! How could that be?

Although it was of no surprise when Faith and Kiran turned out to be the winners – I mean who can beat heart- shaped sweet potatoes??

And that, ladies and gentlemen, damen and herren, was the last night of Come Dine With Me.

I hope you all enjoyed Series 1 as much as I did, and I look forward to Series 2: Sunday roasts just as much!! – rules and guidelines to be issued shortly

Sincerely,
Your faithful ‘Come Dine With Me’ Correspondent

Frau Heidi

Come Dine With Me 3rd edition

Let us Dine, Drink and be Merry!!
19 October 2009: 3rd edition

I never truly believed that, other than fine wines, some things get better with age. That is, until I tasted some authentic Cougar Cooking!

As I entered Cathy’s luxurious pad, Lauren magically appeared, and with a seemingly innocent grin, thrust a welcome glass of peach champagne into my hand before I could even put my handbag down.

Taking a sip, I enjoyed the mixture of fruit and alcohol slide down my parched throat. But just as that warm and nostalgic feeling washed over me, my feeling of bliss was interrupted by a plate of mini pizzas being shoved in front of me. Looking up, I found myself face to face with that innocent grin again. ‘Eat one!’ the voice commanded. Out of fear and fear alone, I popped one into my mouth. The grin turned into a smirk of satisfaction and then disappeared off to force feed the next victim,

Then we waited…and waited. The starter was ready but there was something missing. We could not figure out what, until we realised that, aside from my story of [XXXX], nobody was talking about work…DAVE! We were missing Dave – well, Mark as well, but we had since come to realise that we were at the bottom of Mark’s friend food chain.

Dave finally arrived a couple of hours late and the starter was brought out. A very interesting and spicy concoction of eggplant, bread, somethingerather and dates wrapped in blackened bacon (although Dave is to blame for that one) was plopped in front of us. Hmmm…our eyes dart about- what is this odd brown concoction? But pretty soon, many were crying out for more and Cathy was only happy to oblige.

Then the main course came and the race began. Kiran wolfed it down the fastest. I came in a close second. Shots of lemoncello followed, which in my opinion were slightly chavvy (English white trash). Cultured people sip lemoncello, but hey, I would not expect such refinement from Lauren and Cathy. We slugged it down.

And then the desert!!! Ice cream cake!!! I saw a flash of that innocent grin again.”You love ice cream cake don’t you?” wink..wink. The grin is talking to me. I am stunned. Are they trying to manipulate the CDM critic? Surely Cathy and Lauren are not that manipulative, right?? [Pause here for effect]

But at this point, I didn’t care and inhaled my piece before turning to my left, savagely attacking Al’s delectable piece and then demanding sloppy seconds.

Sitting back I felt completely satisfied, well not completely satisfied – I mean Cathy and Lauren’s food could not satisfy all of my needs, and I am not sure [XXXXX].

But then, I saw it. The infamous football; the very same one that had provided us with so much entertainment on the greatest ‘Sunday Funday’of all time. I couldn’t resist and jumped out of my seat to join Cathy and show off our fantastic American football skills. Then Faith joined, and after my training, she was able to perform the perfect ‘hike’. But even with all the game playing I could feel the “Fun” level wavering. In an unselfish move, I began to dance.

And dance I did, dancing like I had never danced before. I kicked, shook my booty, elegantly swung about the room, flailing my arms with football in hand for dramatic effect. My majestic moves seized the attention of the party, saving it from an imminent disaster of boredom.

Finally worn out, I crashed onto the couch and exhausted from the night’s activities, mentioned I was going to go home. Surprisingly, everyone else jumped at my suggestion as if they had been eagerly waiting for an excuse to leave. We piled into the cabs and away we went.

Alas, the next day, it became quite clear that Cathy and Lauren had not read my previous newsletter. Either that or they did not pay heed to my Security Warning as their guests were not thoroughly searched prior to their departure and another theft took place. This time- the culprit was the unsuspecting Ms. Faith Karp in the living room, with the candlestick, who absconded with Cathy’s camera.

But aside from the thievery, the night was a big success. The food was delicious, the company superb and everyone was happy and full of wine. Now, I would like to end this newsletter’s 3rd edition with at least one memorable and exquisite image of the night that captures the essence of true perfection….My firm arse!

Don’t forget the Grand Finale is coming up..and I can say with complete honesty that I am really feeling the pressure but I am most certainly up to the challenge. I just hope my partner shows up before desert.

Sunday 1 November
Start time: 6:00ish
Where: [XXX]

But before I sign off, I do have one burning question: Just who did order that Chinese food?

Sincerely,

Your faithful ‘Come Dine With Me’ Correspondent / Hot Librarian / Exotic dancer / Aerobics instructor

Please see 'Culture Club is reborn' posting prior to reading this post

Culture Club Newsletter
2nd edition 07 October 2009

Living our vision:

‘To gather a group of intellectuals, originating from all over the world, united by one common desire: to seek and understand new cultures through the arts, historical exhibits, music, and interactions with one another … and have a good time doing it!’

Recent event:

The rebirth of the Culture Club was a smashing success! Thank you to all who could attend what turned into probably the funniest show I have ever seen.

For those unable, here is a quick recap of the evening. But before I do so, I would like to congratulate Ms. Lauren Darby once again for her new role as Head of TV Marketing for Talk Talk!! All her hard work and superior intelligence has clearly paid off! Right, so now back to the show…

The true alcoholics of the group, Lauren and Dave, were the first to arrive at our pre-theatre meeting spot Bar Soho (a huge improvement from the old man gay pub I had originally picked out). I of course arrived at the same time to limit the alcohol consumption as I knew they would otherwise become too rowdy, as they always do, for the very tasteful and sophisticated Avenue Q show.

After about an hour of civilized chat and further members arrived, we made our way to the theatre. Upon picking up the tickets, the Box Office suddenly realized who I was and immediately upgraded our seats to a section more in line with my social status.

Walking into the theatre, Lauren proved her superior intelligence extends beyond just her workplace and into her private life as, out of concern for the group of possible dehydration during the show, (a very serious matter I might add) she quickly bought a bottle of wine to bring in and ensure our excessive drinking of liquids continued.

Avenue Q turned out to be hilarious, far exceeding my expectations as well as many others. The love-making scored big hits – I could see the men taking notes. I also think I recognized the “Bad Puppets!” I don’t want to say who, but I am pretty sure their characters were based off some close friends of mine; a brother and sister whose last name begins with “D” and ends with “y” but I won’t name names;-)

I made have had a few too many drinks as I stumbled out of the theatre, but I did manage to deliver a very inspiring speech about the resurrection of the Culture Club at the White Horse pub before we finally made it home, arriving just before the stroke of midnight.

Thanks again to everyone who made this night possible.

The Culture Club is reborn!

In case any of you readers are concerned about my social life, or for that matter wonder what it is I do all the time, I will be posting some newsletters of 2 recent clubs, Culture Club and Come Dine With Me.

The Culture Club to be reborn!!!

"What is the Culture Club???" - you may ask?

Well, for those of you not fortunate enough to have previously participated, I shall provide a brief introduction - and no, this club has nothing to do with Boy George.

Our mission statement:
To gather a group of intellectuals, originating from all over the world, united by one common desire: to seek and understand new cultures through the arts, historical exhibits, music, and interactions with one another … and have a good time doing it!”

Of course in reality, we are merely a bunch of transient nomads feeling mildly guilty for spending the vast majority of our weekend time in either a) a posh restaurant b) the latest bar and/or club c) the local pub or d) hungover on the couch - buy hey, I believe the above sounds a bit more eloquent. And in all honesty, my main reason of doing this is because I feel we too often say let's do this / let's do that, but rarely plan (I am very guilty of this)

Sounds nice, but what do you actually do?

We will plan on an ad hoc basis any event that you desire…anything! [Must have some cultural / art impact - porn film watching only acceptable if in a foreign language]. This could range from museums / theatre / symphony, etc. We will then try to grab drinks / coffee / lunch afterwards to discuss our thoughts and feelings on the experience.

Do I need to be a member?

Yes. All applications must be submitted to Shannon Riley with a photo attached, nudes by men welcome (good-looking people only). Totally kidding of course - please invite whomever. I like to feel more popular than I really am. If you want someone else included, let me know and I will add them to my Culture Club Distribution list.

Can I make recommendations?

Please DO make recommendations - I will just start booking dates in and sending out emails with ideas when I do. If you can make it, great. If you cannot, no worries.
I don't want to participate. Just let me know and I will remove you from my distribution list.
You are such a dork! Yes, I know. And I am proud of that. Anybody read the latest edition to The Economist yet?

Plant or Flower

Plant or flower?

“Plant or flower? Plant or flower?” Unbeknownst to me, my good friend and flatmate is standing in front of a selection of plants and flowers stressing over which to buy me. The longer she contemplates, the more stressed she becomes. Green, yellow, orange, red, purple..so many colours to choose from, but which, she can’t decide, would brighten my mood the most???

I am in my room, throwing clothes this way and that, stuffing items into drawers and desperately trying to find space in my tiny little room in London to put the ridiculous amount of clothes I purchased on my most recent visit to the States. I am trying my best to occupy my mind, anything to keep me from thinking about the devastating news that was delivered to me the night before.

After an excruciatingly long wait, and even more painful process, the decision is in: London Business School Admissions Committee has decided not to offer me an advance (prior to their review of this year’s applicants) position in the MBA2012 class. Game over.

I applied for MBA2011, frantically put in an application into Round 3, already a very competitive round. However, the UK government had other plans for my future and after changing their visa rules last minute, I was forced to hand over my passport in order to have the security to remain in the country before their rules changed. No passport meant I could not sit for the GMAT. No GMAT score meant my application was pushed to Round 4 – where few spots, if any are left. After enduring what was the most challenging interview I have had (and I have had a few), it was therefore of no surprise that I was Waitlisted in case a place opened up. And so the wait began.

For several months, I survived several “decision dates” where more and more candidates were ‘dinged’ from the Waitlist pool. As the school’s start date came up, I was finally informed I could no longer be considered for MBA2011 but that they would consider me for a spot in MBA2012 – a glimmer of hope.

Then yesterday, after waiting almost 7 months, with so much uncertainty in my life and career (I will get to that in another posting), the result – due to the limited number of spaces they are allowed to offer in advance, they could not extend one to me.

My dream, to attend one of the most prestigious business schools in the world, and one which shares my view of the importance of a global outlook in business and provides the opportunity for its students to interact closely with others from 60 nationalities, was crushed. Seven months of waiting, a tremendous amount of hard work and sacrifice, and a near lifetime of dreaming– over in that one second.

I should have waited to apply in Round 1 [much easier] this year, I should have applied to other schools, I should have changed my LT vision, I should have this, I should have that…But these thoughts are worthless. We cannot change the past, only plan for the future.

Stepping out of my room to carry my laundry down the stairs, I see a small plant with 2 pinkish red flowers in full bloom and a small card sitting outside my bedroom door. My friend, after agonising over the decision of whether to purchase the plant or flower, had decided on both. Seeing me come out of my room, she smiles. “I was seriously stressing over that for ages! I just could not decide..there were so many choices and I wanted to be sure to pick out the one that would lift your spirits the most.”

We are so often faced with many opportunities and decisions – and each one we struggle over, whether big or small. Should I take that job? Would those dining room chairs look right for the table? Should I go back to school? Where should we go out to dinner tonight? We agonise over these things, but who is to know what would have happened had we made the other choice – or in my case, the choice was made for me by LBS’ Admissions Committee.

So this goes back to my original question. Plant or flower? Plant or flower? They are both quite nice. I would have been happy either way.

You know you live in London when...

- 50% of your salary goes to food and alcohol
- 40% goes to rent
- 10% on clothes
- 0% to savings

You go to 30th birthday parties what seems like every weekend but you have yet to go to a single wedding

Only spending $80 on a meal is a bargain

The sun comes out occasionally, but only followed directly after or right before a torrential rain-pour

Nobody speaks English

You are a successful professional still living in a flat share

Estate agents (rental property managers) were former criminals

Having a child at the age of 30 seems WAY too young

You fear the suburbs – it is a whole new world!

You spend at least 3 hours a day travelling on the tube – and another 1 hour a day stuck in one

You live in a $5 million dollar home that if located in the States, would be condemned

A small backyard comprised of rocks and cigarette butts (not mine) is a luxury- and a key selling point to our flat

You cannot order food without it being covered in oil and/or cream

Your social life is overwhelming and you have a list of ready to go excuses as to why you cannot attend this party/dinner/lunch/coffee/work drinks/festival….the list goes on – you need sleep!

A Dangerous Commute

I can’t breathe.

I try to fill my lungs with the stuffy, putrid air. It is hot. I can feel my shirt starting to stick to my body as I begin to faintly perspire.

I am surrounded by people dressed in black, most of whom are larger than me so that all I can see are shoulders, backs and a few grim faces of the unfortunate shorter few. The floor below me lurches violently; I lose my balance but do not fall. The bodies in black are pressed up against me so tightly they are propping me up.

Over the next ten minutes the floor continues to jolt to and fro. The bodies in black begin to slowly disperse and I widen my stance so as to prevent tipping over onto the person next to me.

I have one hand clasped tightly on the bar above me, the other holding my copy of The Economist – books are too heavy for this one hand-hold, and The Financial Times too big. Headphones in, music softly playing, I keep my head down in the text, trying to pretend I am elsewhere, anywhere but on the Tube on my way home from work.

Five stops to go and I see movement out of the corner of my eye. A woman sitting down is folding up a popular British tabloid newspaper – this indicates an approximate 80% chance she is getting off at the next stop; the other 20% of course being she is simply done with the paper.

Her movement was subtle, but I see another standing passenger looking in her direction – she must have also noticed! My shoulder is aching from my heavy laptop bag and I am dying for a seat. I quickly angle my body in front of the other standing passenger so as to block her attempt to go for the seat should it become available.

The train stops. I wait…success! The sitting woman with the folded newspaper is getting up from her seat! I lean out of her way “accidently” blocking the pathway to the seat from the other standing passengers. As soon as she is out I make a dash, plunk down and swing my laptop case with a thud to the floor. I sigh…another day..another commute.

Obama Fever

Please read the political disclaimer prior to this reading.

“Congratulations! Aren’t you excited?” my flatmate calls after me as I race down the stairs on my way to work.

It was the morning after the presidential elections and as joining one of the all-night U.S. election parties raging throughout London to watch the election results did not seem too appealing on a school night, I had wisely decided to wait until morning, waking up refreshed to discover Obama had won.

“Actually,” I respond honestly, and slightly confused at my own sudden fear, “I am a bit nervous.” and I ran out the door with my flatmate quizzically looking after me.

The whole day I am greeted by my colleagues with congratulatory comments, expressions of hope for the future of the U.S., and a sense of relief that “Americans actually made a right decision for once.” Nobody ever bothered to ask whether or not I had even voted for Obama, they all just assumed.

To eloquently put the opinion of the British and Europeans it would be as such;
Everyone is assumed to support Obama, if you support McCain you are;
1. the devil
2. uneducated and ignorant
3. an enemy to the rest of the world
4. any other negative connotation one can come up with

A supporter of McCain in Europe would NEVER admit that they were for fear of being attacked whether in the office, at a dinner party, or in the local pub. I did not come across one person who voted, or had they been able to vote in the U.S. election, would have voted for McCain…or at least admitted to it.

Photos of the two presidential candidates in the European papers all featured a handsome and smiling Obama alongside an angry, short and stiff-armed MCain. Obama was portrayed as the perfect leader, representing change and hope for a new world. McCain was weak, a protectionist representing a continued Bush regime comprising of policies based on national security formed by the self-interest of the U.S. without consideration for the rest of the world.

During the Democratic run-off, the papers, well the ones I read, would discuss in full detail Clinton and Obama’s various policies providing arguments for both. It was a vicious battle, albeit an excruciating long one, but at least one focused on platforms and policies…then suddenly these were forgotten.

The elections became about the fact that Obama was black, excuse me, half black, and from a poor family. McCain was a war veteran. Sarah Palin was a hockey mom. And who was Joe Biden? It was all about which candidate you could relate to, not who would be the best leader of the free world.

And as I went through my day, just like any other ordinary day, and non-American friend after friend and non-American colleague after colleague congratulated me on Obama’s win, more as a congratulation to themselves—most didn’t even ask who I voted for!- I almost grew uneasy. This devoted loyalty and faith in a man that the British, Europeans, and Americans alike have, simply because of his leadership qualities and great oratory skills was frightening. But Obama can create confidence, national pride, and promote change! But so could Hitler, and by this I do not mean to compare, but merely to make a point. I by no means believe Obama to be the next Hitler, but I am surprised as to how many of us Americans as well as almost all Europeans have based their decision on form over substance, emotion over logic. This statement not being one to necessarily indicate which of the candidates actually did have better substance which is highly debatable, but more to point out that many people’s preferential candidate was based on the wrong criteria.

I voted for Obama. Do I fully understand the majority of his policies? No. Do I even agree with most of them? Maybe some. Did most people who voted for him? Highly unlikely. Did anybody in the UK/Europe? Most certainly not.

Sitting at work that morning watching Obama’s acceptance speech on YouTube I couldn’t help the goose bumps which surfaced from his inspirational speech. His ability to restore confidence in our fearful country, confidence which is so desperately needed, is truly an amazing feat. This is why he won.

I voted for Obama. Of the two candidates, I am glad he won. I look forward to change. But to be honest, I did it for the wrong reasons. As did many others.

Political Disclaimer

Now, I am not a political person. I have opinions based on the information I have been exposed to. But when it comes to political discussions, I can be easily persuaded from side to side. I am a full believer in obtaining as many facts as possible before making a final and hard decision.

Perhaps this stems from my accounting background or the one too many financial due diligence projects I have done. But because of this I am therefore often aware that at times I do not truly have all of the necessary information to make a fully informative judgment and as such, arguing about politics has simply never been my thing. Often times I inherently and subconsciously doubt my own arguments and more than often I use points merely to establish a further idea to consider. I also realise however, that many people have certain views which regardless of a strong opposing argument, will never change.

My own personal guilty admittance which provides a good example of such obstinacy is that I, where while seeing myself as being relatively politically neutral, was shocked at Sarah Palin’s appointment as the Republican party’s vice president nominee. I was quite mortified that my country, the most powerful country in the world, could ever consider this woman, with no understanding of U.S. public policy, economics, and foreign affairs could be qualified to be vice president..and potentially president of the United States of America and by association the most powerful person in the world (something most Americans seem to forget). Nothing anyone could say would ever change my mind on this matter. I am sure she would make an excellent PTA President however, although I would never want to be on her committee.

Some people of course would disagree so strongly on my above opinion that a personal attack on me would be likely should a “friendly political discussion” ensue. I don’t like arguing, never have, and so have avoided most political discussions as sometimes, for the sake of relationships one should, something my parents learned very early on hence why they are still married some 30 years later.

However, many people in the States have been asking me what the European opinion on the elections were and I think the 100% Obama loyalty over here is certainly interesting and worth mentioning. And so, while I have previously avoided any hot topics such as politics, religion, and well, my personal life ;-), I have decided to change that as I think one thing I love about living overseas is not only gaining a new perspective on things but also increasing my understanding of the many different perspectives that are out there—whether they are right or wrong however can only be determined from one’s own frame of reference.

So with this being said, please read any sensitive blog post with a grain of salt. More often than not, they are written less to state fact and more to create insight. Enjoy!

367

367 is the number of days I have lived in London. 367 days ago my heart broke as I said goodbye to my life in Zurich and began my new one in London… alone.

364 days ago was my 26th birthday, spent with complete strangers wandering through the confusing winding streets of West London, A-Z London map in hand checking out potential flats and flat-mates. 364 days ago my night was split being interviewed and me interviewing a late 20-something Aussie from Melbourne, a 30-something English guy, and a large household of also very large Aussie/Canadian girls. That was 364 days ago.

62 minutes until my 27th birthday. Now, 61 minutes. I sit on my bed in my little room containing everything I own. My friends and family have houses, apartments, cars, nice furniture…I have a closet, or actually closets jammed with shoes, clothes, handbags…and my memories. Memories of my experiences, travels, bad and good times, very random times..and memories of all the people who have both entered and departed my life, relationships made which had an impact on me without them ever knowing.

54 minutes. So, what has changed? Well, I have become much poorer, have a lovely ivory complexion, rounder curves, spell color “colour” and organize “organise”, picked up a slight British accent that only Americans notice, increased my alcohol tolerance, made new friends while missing my old ones, got caught up in the madness that is the global financial crisis, ditched the jeans in favour of dresses and tights, developed a love for English pubs, mastered the ability to note by a person’s body language on the tube when their next stop is to position myself for the steal, realised stuffing your body with vitamins and supplements won’t stop me from catching the viruses that go around in London nor offset the amounts of alcohol I consume, and added the words “rubbish” and “lovely” into my vocabulary.

42 minutes. I still miss my family, my friends, my sunshine. I am still alone. I still don’t know which path to take or direction to go in, but I know turning around is not it. I still love my running, which has turned into yoga after a long-term sports injury. I still have my rabbit-like eating habits, still love my trance, and still am terrible at responding to phone calls and emails (which doesn’t mean I am not thinking of you!)

36 minutes. I have no doubt that one year from now on, I will most likely still be all of those things, but I wonder what changes will come. We will see.

English Facts

1) “Living in London is a definite risk factor. People work harder and play harder than in the rest of the country. Londoners also drink most days of the week…”- Time Out “Perchance to dream” April 10-16th

2) You are in a strained conversation, full of awkward silences and unsure as to how to proceed. In England, you have two options;

* Offer a cup of tea
-Of course, this requires that your own kitchen is in close proximity..bonus points it gives you the chance to excuse yourself from the room for a moment entirely.
-Unfortunately, this option is not always available. Therefore, I would recommend the second option
*Comment on the weather

3) I have come to the sudden revelation that the English are actually a lot like the Swiss, they just eat and drink more.

Five

“Five” Our arms are stretched out, our fists form a circle hovering slightly above the wooden table. My fist comes down on that of my colleague’s sitting to my left.

“Ten” I hit the fist of my colleague two spots down.

“Fifteen” I continue hitting each of my colleagues’ outstretched fists in a counterclockwise fashion.

“Twenty” Right before I hit each fist, I continue my count of a multiple of five

“Twenty-five” Some of us are seated at the table, the less fortunate who either arrived late or whose chairs were immediately stolen after a visit to the toilets were standing over the table, crouched low in order to ensure their fist joined our circle of fists. As the count climbs, our anticipation rises

"Thirty" I shout even louder in order to be heard over the din of the other drunken patrons in our local pub next to the office

“Thirty-five” It is 8:00pm, we have been drinking since 5:30pm.

“Forty” The waitress casually slides by the table, slyly removing the empty plate which at one point was full of nachos before being ravenously devoured within moments of being set on the table

“Forty-five”

“What game are you playing?” A colleague who had been stuck working in the office late on the Friday night and so had only just arrived asks. I do not look up. I am in full concentration.

“Fifty” I count myself. It is the moment of truce. The game is about to begin. I pause….

“Twenty!!!!!!” I scream and simultaneously release my fist and stretch out my hand so that all five figures are extended. Four of my colleagues do the same. Including mine, I see twenty-five outstretched fingers in our circle. “Shit” I mutter to myself. I am still in the game. It is now the person to my left’s chance.

“Fifteen” He shouts. At the exact same time, I clench my fist, unfortunately so does my colleague across the table. There are now only fifteen outstretched fingers. My colleague to the left guessed right, he is out and safe from pounding a beer later on.

We continue around the circle, shouting multiples of five, flexing and clenching our fists to reveal either null or five figures. As players get the number right, the number of hands outstretched in the circle reduces. Suddenly the only outstretched hands are those of mine and my colleague’s across the table. The pressure is on. Everyone is watching and shouting words of encouragement. I take a deep breath and calmly stare into my colleague’s eyes trying to guess whether he will keep his fist clenched or flex it out. Mine is open; his clenched. As I stare, a hush falls over the table..everyone is wondering who will outwit the other.

I wait…and wait…and wait….”FIVE!” I suddenly scream and clench my fist, he opens. I win. The table erupts in cheers. “Drink!” “Drink!” “Drink!” the table chants at my defeated and humiliated colleague across the table

But as he picks up his pint to accept his punishment, we all gasp. The glass is empty.

“Bailout!” We scream, referring to the government bailouts of the banks, “He needs capital!”

And with a cry, everyone happily offers up some of their beer, pouring it into the empty glass until it is now full of a delectable mixture of lager, English ale, guiness, vodka, and to top it off, a salt and vinegar crisp. My unlucky colleague picks up the pint and with a show of pride downs the concoction in seconds, pounding the glass back onto the table. The table cheers.

Meanwhile, another colleague disappears to the bar to order the next round of drinks in order to decrease the necessity of the next bailout.

“Five” The colleague I beat across the table now must start the next game.

The game continues..sambuca shots are taken…we play on…crisps are eaten..we play on….the English banter becomes more vicious..we play on

Suddenly, it is 11pm. It is closing time. We stumble down the stairs and into the cool crisp autumn air night. We all dart off in different directions and head home or to whatever destination we have chosen to continue the night.

I walk to the tube and settle into the seat with a sigh as I look forward to the weekend ahead.

Survival

Quick Caveat

Right, so as this writing is quite different and much darker than my others, I felt the need for a quick explanation and a “viewer’s discretion advised” disclaimer prior to the piece.

First of all, the italics are not my writing. The author is Shakwa Maisara,
a student of QK, a high school in London known to have the most diverse and “underprivileged,” (as the social elite like to say for lack of a better word) student body. I heard him recite this at the QK Talent Show Competition, a show which I was invited to by another student whom I mentor as part of the UK Career Academy Foundation programme, a volunteer organisation designed to encourage again, the word “underprivileged,” students interested in a career in finance and/or banking. His lyrics revealed his strength and left a lasting impression which I wanted to share.

The non-italics are my writing, fictional, but based on a true story of someone I do know, and sadly enough, also of many that I do not.

“Fighting for an area code
What’s the point man?
It’s just a number on road
Stabbing people for nothing
I say that’s just cold.

She pulls out a hundred dollar bill from her Louis Vuitton purse. Music and laughter from the party filter through the shut bedroom door. She fixates on the line of white powder, oblivious to the world beyond the locked room. Her perfectly manicured hands roll the bill along the mirror. A rare smile saved for only these occasions escapes her lips in anticipation. Her eyes are hollow

They say the good die young,
Do the bad live old?
Don’t pick up the mac,
I say this is the time
All boys need to act

She snorts a line. A rush of pleasure surges through her veins. Her smile widens. She passes the bill over to her next friend.

You think I spit lies?
Nah blood this is fact
The aftermath’s worse
Than the final impact.

“Let’s party!” She unlocks the door and confidently steps back out into the party, her friends following close behind

14 and giving help and advice
Try taking it,
Before you start paying the price
You get a bullet to the chest
That feeling ain’t nice.

She comes from a wealthy, “stable” family. Bright, well educated, gorgeous; every opportunity at her fingertips.

Watch out for sly merkers,
They scurry like mice.
There’s less young men
We’ve lost too many lives

She is envied by many, has everything one could want but causes her to only thirst for more. Her smile belies her emptiness

‘Cos they wanted to play
With the guns and knives
In the street battle
Nobody survives.
You won’t get to be men
Going home to your wives

Blood trickles down her nose. She casually wipes it away.

Yh,
These bars might be greasy
Writing ‘em and standing here
Weren’t so easy
Do something with your life
Don’t be cheesy
It’s not ‘bout the South East
Or Norf Weezy

She is the perfect child. Her parents love her. She wants for nothing, but for that reason, she is never fulfilled

Rise,
To the top of your game
I don’t wanna see you stop
Until you reach fame
Upholding, your family
Will make your mum proud
Rather than feel shame

The high wears off, the depression sinks in. She has the money, the nice clothes, a good education, but it is not real. She is tired of the façade. Her feelings of anguish are real. She is lost without direction, she takes another line, and another

Don’t join a gang
It’s every man for himself
Fighting for them
Won’t add to your wealth
And playing with weapons
Is bad for your health
Like I said before
It’s every man for himself

Her heart is pumping faster, her mind is spinning, she wants more. It is too much, she falls to the floor

Yh,
I might be rapping a verse
But take note
Everyone, I don’t curse
Not talking ‘bout
How I stole gals purse
I might talk slang,
But that’s the worst


She never gets up

Discovering London ("DL")

“Work hard, play hard…and always with a drink in the hand” is definitely the motto of Londoners.

Drinking is at the center of English culture and almost all social events seem to revolve around it. With the many quaint pubs, fabulous bars, and well-known restaurants the City has to offer, it is easy to find yourself winding up almost every evening in yet another bar.

But London has a lot more to offer than just its restaurants and bars (who take almost my entire paycheck!). Theatre, museums, parks, exhibitions, and concerts are also a dominating force. But trying to gather a group of alcohol loving friends together to attend one of these more cultural events is a bit more challenging.

Whenever I ask a friend of mine if they would like to meet up to attend this (insert cultural something here), the frequent response is, “Hmm..not too interested, but let’s grab a drink sometime!”

And so, I soon realized that if I wanted to gather some friends together to see some of the many more enlightening aspects of London life, I would have to formally organize the event. And so, here is the first newsletter I wrote after a successful first event of the newly formed Cultural Club, now known as “Discovering London” (“DL”).

Please take note of the American sarcasm…

Cultural Club Newsletter

05 April 2008

Here it is, the first edition of the Culture Club newsletter:

History

We are a group of intellectuals, originating from all corners of the world united by one common desire: to seek and understand new cultures through the arts, historical exhibits, music, and interactions with one another.

It is for this reason that we decided to all come together, many of us meeting for only the first time, on a cold, snowy April day for brunch in the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square, London.

It was slow going in the beginning, but after a few double espressos and a heavy English breakfast to soak up the last of the alcohol still circulating through our systems from last night’s festivities, we were raring to go for our trip to the Photographer’s Gallery for the last day of the Deutsche Boerse Photography Prize Exhibition.

So impressed with the exhibition, and after a quick Starbucks caffeine injection, we pushed on to the Vanity Fair exhibit at the National Portrait Gallery.

It was a heated debate as to which exhibit was more impressive; my preference of the DB was outnumbered as many took quite a liking to the Vanity Fair exhibit. The former revealed both amazing artistry as well as raw and shocking human emotion, the latter focused more on portraits of people, both past and present, who have played a large role in the art world. Through the use of a mere camera lens, these photographers magically captured not just a person’s picture, but also their influential presence.

By the end of the afternoon, the exhausted and enlightened club said our goodbyes and went our various ways, but not before a promise to meet again.

And so the Culture Club came to be.

Our Mission:

“To provide an opportunity for individuals from various backgrounds and circles to meet, take advantage of London’s cultural side, and quite simply, have a good time”

Of course in reality, we are merely a bunch of transient nomads feeling mildly guilty for spending the vast majority of our weekend time in either a) a posh restaurant b) the latest bar and/or club c) the local pub or d) hungover on the couch


Objectives Going Forward:
Organize weekly events, these can range from exhibitions, independent films, music festivals, to I don’t know what—that is the point, to expand our horizons with something new
Network to plan random weekday events for those who can make it (I know some of us are looking to take advantage of that member 10% National Portrait Gallery bar discount)

Upcoming Events:

Next Cultural Day will be held Saturday, April 12th.

Ideas:
Art exhibitions, musical performances/ theatre/comedy shows/ lectures/walking tours
Late night at Tate Modern, then dinner/drinks at restaurant upstairs
Countryside walk (one of TO’s 52 walks from London)- depending on weather improvements
Circle line pub crawl, which I have decided is allowable so long as one drink takes place in a museum bar…or at least a bar next to one

In summary, here are a few of the things we learned from our first meeting that we hope will enrich our lives for years to come;

Takeaways from Cultural Club’s Inaugural Meeting:

- Shannon and Kerri went to band camp, yes, band camps in America really do exist. But no, we were not in a marching band, and in case for some reason any images are popping into your head, no, we did not play the flute.
- Gemma now knows what it feels like to touch snow, an exciting discovery for a 26 year old South African. She has also quickly discovered the misery that is London weather.
- Kerri has never had a cleaner
- Stories involving tampons, spandex, and being wet are not appropriate topics of conversation at the breakfast table
- Even non-members can use the Cloakroom at the National Portrait Gallery for free; an injustice to those of us who are members. But who said life is fair?
- And most importantly, there is more to the English culture than just drinking! A recent discovery of mine.
- Shannon has way too much time on her hands


Action Items:

- Come up with a Saturday agenda
- Pass this to anyone you may think would be interested
- Gemma to send Shannon cleaner contact information
- Establish another name for our “Culture Club”.
o Yes, I am an accountant, and yes, I have a dorky side which occasionally surfaces, however this does not need to be further noted by my participation in a “Culture Club”—surely we can come up with a better name?

In closing, I hope everyone had a fabulous weekend! Look forward to seeing you Saturday!

Flatmate Wanted

So, while many of you have moved on, married, purchased homes, established families and left the student lifestyle, I, after living in my own flat in Zurich for the last two years, have somehow reverted back to it.

Turning down the firm’s offer of a relocation agent, I set out looking for a flatshare. Besides, the reality of the situation, to be honest, is that I would not have been able to afford my own place anyway. Managing a jet-setting, fine-dining, and pub drinking lifestyle without a rich husband, lucrative job, or large inheritance, I have discovered, can be a bit financially draining.

And so after viewing one too many shoeboxes and meeting “interesting” people, I have found myself a home at 1 Salem Road.

My new family consists of two Englishmen, and two females; one Aussie, and the other American/Aussie, all 29 or 30, except me, 26 (the baby of the household).

The Aussie culture dominates, largely in part to the fact that all the flatmates, excluding myself, have lived some time in Sydney. Not to mention the honorary flatmate Mark, the Aussie’s brother and a mainstay at our household who we let hang out so long as he bakes his amazing cookies, helps balance out the nationality numbers.

Sadly enough, as one quickly discovers soon after moving here, regardless of how much you make, one can only helplessly watch as the bank account rapidly drops, along with their quality of life.

For mainly this reason, as well as the available opportunities presented in the Emerging Markets countries, we are about to lose one of our Englishmen to Dubai. Here is his proposed posting in search of a flatmate replacement (American translation below):


Room available in shared house in a pretty area of West London.

House is currently used as a breeding ground for anti-English sentiment and as the West London branch of the International Fellowship of Boguns.

The room is large and spacious and decorated to the highest standards in Victorian England. Let yourself wake up gently to the dawn chorus of ancient central heating pipes cranking up.

Apart from the well-established family of mice, you will be sharing with 4 others. Opposite is Shannon ' totally' Riley who is lesser-spotted and often works away from home - which works for her as she still hasn’t seen her bedroom floor for all her clothes! On the penthouse is Lozza 'Ozzy Ozzy Ozzy' Mclaughlin, and Lauen 'nocturnal' Darby who is often to be found stumbling in at ungodly hours - and when she is in, she is usually deleting blokes numbers from her phone to stop it from overheating. Last but not least, James 'Shagger' Adams on the ground floor is never far away from a Brazillian (or two).......

We have a cleaner, who is a cross between Clondike Kate and hulk hogan, and who appears as and when she fancies. She is specially trained in the removal of the tortoise-shell staining that is omnipresent in the back of both of our toilets and so uses industrial strength bleach that could bring you out in a rash with bulbous eyes. The lounge is spacious and cosy. In the winter it has been known to reach a cosy 4oC inside and so is perfect for long winter evenings in front of the fridge. We also have a lovely garden and patio area, however, be warned about the bogbrush.....

Please come back to Steve 'irreplacable' Dyson to arrange viewings. Preference is for a big strapping copper-bottomed, hairy-arsed Australian, ideally broad-shouldered and hung like a shire horse. Viewings will be arranged over the weekend of April 26th when we will have our second party in Salem Road.......

What do ya reckon??


NO SERIOUSLY - it is a fun place to live - with nice people.........X


American Translation:

“shared house”- polite way of saying 5 bedroom, 1 ½ bath house

“pretty area of West London”- area the English fondly refer to as where all the “posh foreigners” live if they even know where this area is let alone have ventured out of it from Clapham (south of Thames)

“Bogun”- Aussie equivalent of “white trash.”

“highest standards of Victorian England”- really old house, stained carpet, cracked walls, but is still standing, amazingly enough

“Shagger”—come on’ do I really need to explain this one? You’ve seen Austin Powers haven’t you?

Anyone know someone looking for a flat in London that wouldn’t mind joining our lovely, close-knit and slightly dysfunctional family of children reaching the age of 30?

Running around the world

Running Around the World

I don’t go anywhere without my trainers (English word for running shoes). Running is a passion of mine. I have run along the cliffs of Santa Barbara, the beaches in Barcelona, gardens in Vienna, the windy roads of Ireland, the shores of Lake Zurich, across the Golden Gate bridge, and through London’s many parks.

Last month I was even subjected to being the “crazy American girl,” shockingly enough this happens often, running around in my tight black spandex in circles around a hotel in the English countryside in a pathetic attempt to get some form of a workout to compensate for drinking champagne until 3am in the hotel bar with colleagues for no particular good reason other than why not? But why any company would decide to have a full week of training in a hotel without a gym is beyond me…but hey, this is England, and the country roads were a bit too windy and narrow to run around safely, and as chaotic as my life is, I quite like it, so running up and down the hotel long driveway was the next best and safest thing.

Something about putting those headphones in, running in rhythm to the beat, pushing yourself, and letting your mind just go is my adrenaline rush, a rush which carries over into my personal life as well.

Am I really running to a destination?

Or am I simply back in the English countryside running in circles until I wear myself out and collapse in exhaustion?

But who really cares anyhow?

I just love running.

Strength in humility

“Please have a seat.”

I lead him into one of our conference rooms on the 39th floor of our new 45 story Canary Wharf, London’s new and modern financial district, office.

He looks apprehensively around the room, taking in the plush surroundings and then at the gorgeous round wooden conference table and its seven chairs. He pauses, unsure of which one to take.

Sensing his uneasiness in a professional office environment, I casually offer him a specific chair near mine. Grateful for the assistance he mutters a quick thank you as he slumps into the chair, drapes his long, worn-out overcoat over his lap and clutches his cheap and tattered briefcase to his chest in a protective manner.

“Have you brought your CV with you?”

“Oh, yes, of course” he stutters and then proceeds to open his old briefcase and pull out a folder. A few awkward moments of silence pass as he shuffles through the papers looking for his CV, his hands slightly trembling. He finally finds it and slides the CV across the table to me. His dark eyes look up eagerly at mine in anticipation as I read through his CV.

This frightened and seemingly shy forty-something year old man holds a law degree, worked as a lawyer for many years in his home country, and was the former legal advisor to the president of the Republic of Congo as a member of the presidential cabinet.

Now, here he sits, sharing a table with a 26 year old woman who is reviewing his CV as if a teacher were reviewing the book report of a seven year old child.

Forced to flee his country, he now holds refugee status in the U.K., arriving in London approximately 6 years ago without knowing a word of English. The challenges this man had to overcome, I cannot ever even begin to imagine, and the challenges he has yet to face even more daunting.

Currently, this well-educated man is still looking for a job. After learning the English language and obtaining a certificate in U.K. refugee law he is now desperately seeking a paid job as a refugee advisor. I am here to help improve his CV and interviewing skills.

I begin the mock interview, asking the standard questions regarding his abilities, the necessary qualities a refugee advisor must have, and the challenges he has faced in his work as a volunteer as a refugee advisor.

The interview begins poorly. He is unsure as to how to appropriately answer the questions and is seemingly clueless. I quickly offer him suggestions, prodding him for examples and key “selling” points he should include in his answers.

However, as the interview progresses, his intelligence and competency soon become apparent. His eyes suddenly and self-assuredly fixate on mine. Through them I see the confidant and powerful man he truly was; trapped inside by a strange culture he was not accustomed to.

Listening to him speak, it was clear that his initial awkwardness came not from incompetence as a Westerner would immediately assume, but rather from a fear of the unknown and a sense of humility as he must rely on others to help him in his transition to this completely new culture and way of life. The frustration of this culture imposed prison is evident.

I wrap up the interview and we discuss some of the strengths and weaknesses of his interviewing skills. He politely listens, clutching his briefcase to his chest throughout the duration.

I am almost embarrassed to be offering a man, clearly about 15 years my senior and with an impressive educational and work background, interview advice. Even more so because I cannot imagine how humbling it must be for him to have to take advice from a 26 year old, as well as be so appreciative for it.

As he timorously shakes my hand and then awkwardly makes his way for the elevator, I cannot help but think that, regardless of the slouched posture, non-perfect English, and subservient way of speaking, he is one of the strongest men I have met.

Advice to London tourists Part 1

Do not talk loudly, especially on the tube.

Nobody wants to listen to you rave on and on about the 5 one pound bags of tortilla chips you purchased last week at Costco during their latest “5 for 4” deal, and then how proud you were of actually polishing off the final bag right before your trip to ensure you received the maximum value for your money.


Keep left

This of course does not apply to commuting hours, especially if you are trying to go against the current. During this period, rules are abandoned, chaos breaks out, and well, good luck.
As this can be confusing to many Americans, then, second best is to pick a side. Do not slowly saunter in the underground tube passageways directly in the middle preventing anyone from being able to pass you; this is especially important if you are horizontally challenged

Do not make a mad dash to the tube turnstyles only to suddenly stop right in front, block all others, and then spend the next five minutes digging through your purse, wallet, and pockets for your ticket.

There is a reason, the automatic announcer kindly reminds people to “Please have your tickets ready” again and again. This message is not directed at Londoners, please listen.

If you are feeling extremely adventurous and want to spot some true English people, do not come to West London. There are no English actually living here.

Best bet would be East London or south of the Thames, just remember your pepper spray.

This is not America. Do not expect good customer service.

If you are traveling alone and have nobody to talk to, get in a cab.

I have learned many a life story this way. Although considering the amount of money you spend on a cab ride, perhaps buying a round of drinks at the local pub may be the better as well as cheaper option.

If you are taking the tube to get to your hotel with a large suitcase, pack lightly.

Many tube stations lack lifts and nobody will offer to help you with your bags when faced with having to climb the stairs, heavy suitcase in tow. English men do not discriminate and as such, whether you are a helpless gorgeous females in stilettos or an 80 year old hunchback grandmas, they will merely push you aside. Consider yourself lucky if one even steps out of your way, an overly nice gesture on his part.

And lastly, if you forget everything I have discussed, please I ask that you at least just remember one word advice…and this is directed at the Americans.

Please, under no circumstance, should you ever wear white tennis shoes and a fanny pack when touring around London.. Don’t even think about it.

Quotes of life

“Is it possible to belong everywhere and nowhere at the same time?”

“I have to admit. I did not exactly imagine that at the age of 30 I would be living in some old flatshare with a bunch of foreigners”

- English flatmate lamenting on how life doesn’t always turn out the way we imagined

“What are you doing for Easter weekend?”
“Oh, I am just going to pop over to Hong Kong.”

“You are a lunatic”- an English friend
“No, I am not. I am from California.”
Hmm, for some reason I cannot remember which crazy Californian he was referring (jokingly of course) to

“So, where are you from in the States?” – Irish colleague
“I am from California.”
“Right, ummm…so is that the West or East Coast?”­- and who said it was only Americans who were terrible with world geography?

And again "You are from San Francisco? So you must be used to the heat"
- Chinese/English colleague of mine as we are discussing a potential move to China, and how I would love to go, but am worried about the hot and humid summers
"No, it is actually quite cold in San Francisco. I am not used to heat."
"Really? I thought it was really hot in Florida."
- And another point in defense of Americans

Our perception is our reality

We all live in the same world. A world comprised of approximately 195 countries and 6.6 billion human beings; each one of us a distinct individual with our own views, ideas, morals, and beliefs. We see, smell, feel, taste, and touch the same things, yet derive different emotions and opinions on our external surroundings and the people within them.

We all think our way of life is the “right” way to live. We are normal, the rest of the world crazy.

Our interpretation of our environment is heavily influenced by where we are from, the culture we grew up in, and our interactions with the media, family, and friends.

I am reminded of this fact often living overseas and on more than one occasion a stark difference in opinions breaks out between acquaintances, a difference traceable to it solely being due to the fact that we simply grew up in different countries, each with a different cultural norm.

Now is not a good time to be an American living overseas and quite often I am introduced as “This is XXX, yes, she is American, but she is not so bad for an American.” It is as if the person performing the introduction must quickly need to justify why it may be acceptable to be in the presence of an obnoxious, ignorant, and arrogant American. This is, of course, not the opinion of all non-Americans…just too many.

I remember on one specific occasion, and this has happened more than once, I found myself being introduced using the standard introduction above by an English friend to a group of their friends. After striking up a good chat, and allowing them to get away with a few American jokes, I start to notice a few of them looking quite intently at my mouth with a strange fascination.

“Wow, you have really white teeth!”

And after enduring one American joke too many, as well as enjoying perhaps a few too many of my favourite English ciders, my logical response,

“No, yours are just really yellow.”

So, who is right? Are American’s teeth abnormally white? Or are English teeth really yellow?

Is your religion right, simply because you grew up in an area where that is the one practised?
What is beauty? Fat or thin? Black or white?
Is modern art really art? Does it incite creativity or absurdity?
Who are you voting for? Obama or Clinton? Republican or Democrat?
Globalisation? Good or bad?

And now back to the original question:

Question: Are my teeth really that white? Or only compared to those of the English?

Answer: We are both right.

All things are relative. Perception is reality.

Blog Index

The purpose of this blog (firm trained me well), is to combine short, witty stories, random thoughts, pictures, travel plans, sentimental moments, and create a means simply to stay in touch.With that being said, you may not be interested in all posts, and I certainly don't want some of you to be reading down a post, waiting in anticipation for a punchline, only to discover this was one of those girly sentimental postings. As such, I have created the following index to simlify these readings in case you get a bit overwhelmed, as believe me, there will be more to come..

F- Funny short stories, well at least they are trying to be. If it isn't then let me know, as I must have referenced it wrong.

M-We all have those moments in life when something hits you. I don’t want to use the word “epiphany” as that sounds too much like the essay your English high school teacher asked you to write for your final project on the latest required book you had to read in class. But that moment in life, even if only for a split second, stops your breath and simply makes you think.

SS- Short stories in which I cannot promise any lols.

R- Random thoughts. Don't worry, I won't put all of these down. To be honest, that just simply would not be physically possible.

I- Random information.

Disclaimer of Liability

As with all American things, I would like to direct your attention to the following disclaimer of liability prior to your reading of this blog.

#1: Please be aware that I write these posts keeping in mind that others may read them, and therefore try (key word "try") to make them somewhat entertaining. Therefore, while it is all true, I tend to put a very sarcastic twist on most of it, as is my nature. So, please do not find any offense to the following posts. If you do, then maybe we shouldn't be friends.

#2: For those of you who know me well, I have the attention span of a three-year old child and a pinball machine for a mind. I apologize in advance if I jump from one thought and/or event to the next. Please bear with me.

#3: For those of you who don't know me well, I really am a nice person..or so some tell me. So I hope I do not come across a bit strong. But do you really want to read a blog with the following: Today I took an airplane to Costa Rica. The woman I sat next to on the plane was very nice. We had an interesting conversation. The rainforests we drove through to the place I was staying were very beautiful. I am teaching at a school in Costa Rica. The children I work with are really great. Get the point?

#4: Yes, I do work. But I don't think you want to hear about my typical day of waking up at 5:30am going to work, sitting in front of a laptop for 12 hours doing very boring things, going to the gym, and then going to bed..often in a lonely hotel room, now do you?

#5 My intention of these posts is not to brag about all the places I have been. Believe me, living a nomadic lifestyle is a bit exhausting and often times I am even envious of those friends who are a bit more settled with their homes, friends, families, significant other, etc.

In the journey of life, there are many paths to follow, and it is a good thing we do not all take the same one. Always keep in mind, the grass is always greener on the other side.I am therefore not liable for any offense taken.I hope you enjoy!