Category Things That Make You Go Hmmmm

Aug 22 2013

How to Be a Grownup: Miss Manners on Saying “No”

I’ve always loved Miss Manners, ever since college, when my friend Joel Derfner declared himself a fan.

“Really, Miss Manners?” I asked.

“No, you don’t understand,” he said. “She’s really quite witty, and she has excellent advice. For example, she says that if someone points out some flaw, like a hideous mole on your face, you should say, How very kind of you to notice. And if someone totally overshares with you, then you should say, How nice for you. Isn’t that great?!” 

I wasn’t sure about these methods, until a few weeks later when a classmate came up breathless to me in the dining hall:

“Guess What? I’M ON THE PILL!!” she announced — and very loudly, I might add.

Although flabbergasted by this announcement, I was still able to stammer out a response:

“How nice for you.”

Then I saw Miss Manners’ genius.

One of my absolute favorite pieces of Miss Manners’ writing is when she explains how to say “no.”

Here’s the text, excerpted from Miss Manners’ Guide to Excruciatingly Correct Behavior:

The ability to say no politely is an essential social skill. All that is really needed is the ability to repeat “No, thank you,” interspersed with such small politenesses as “I’m so sorry” and “You’re kind to ask” and “I wish you luck.”

Elaborating is what gets people into trouble. Excuses that are false are traps one sets for oneself, but even true excuses encourage the audacious to argue: “Can’t you do that another night?” “One little piece of cake isn’t going to kill you.” “But this helps more people.”

Yet most people can’t help blabbing on to soften  the “no,” which is apt to be so softened as to give way. So here is a small sample of supplementary sentences:

“I’m afraid I’m not taking on anything else right now.”

“Sorry, I never discuss my finances.”

“I’m sure it’s wonderful, but I’m not going to have any.”

“We never go to balls, but we’d love to see you privately.”

“I’m so sorry, but that’s not something I can help you with.”

“If you care to send me written material, I’ll get in touch if I find it interests me.”

“I didn’t realize what this involved, and I think I’d better bow out.”

And the ultimately correct, no-excuses refusal:

Dr. Peony Wilson

regrets that she is unable to accept

the exceedingly kind invitation of

Mr. and Mrs. Popinjay

for Saturday, the first of June

Jun 15 2013

New York Real Estate Stories: Everybody’s Deal

It must’ve been around a decade ago that Chris invited me to L’s new apartment for a housewarming party.

I was confused. Wasn’t her old apartment incredibly affordable? Why would she ever move out?

“She had a great opportunity, and she jumped on it.”

L. was going to be sharing a place with 2 other people. So Chris and I went over for dinner and drinks.

I was expecting the usual gritty apartment that twenty-somethings have in New York, so I was extremely surprised when I got to the address. There was an enormous, ornate building, complete with gate, and circular driveway. Stationed at the gate was a doorman in full livery – epaulets and everything. He signed me in, and told me how to proceed.

Then, I got into a gorgeous, mirrored, private elevator. And I got out at L’s place.

The place was ginormous. It was old – hadn’t been renovated for 50 years – but it was as fabulous a space as ever I’d seen in New York. Enormous ceilings. Enormous windows. Huge gilt-framed mirrors hung from the walls. Fireplaces. And room after room after room after room…

L. wasn’t the leaseholder — that was her friend David. David seemed normal enough. He had the usual things that geeky dudes in their twenties have — action figures and comic books — and he didn’t have super-expensive furniture. Nevertheless, I found it hard to concentrate as the evening progressed. You see, in nearly 10 years in New York, I had never seen an apartment anywhere near this nice. Not when I installed DSL in the apartments of investment bankers. Not even when I got to see the living space of a famous musician. All of their apartments paled in comparison.

So I sat there, eating salmon and broccoli, thinking, “This guy David must have, like, $50 million dollars! He must be incredibly, incredibly wealthy!…be cool, be cool…”

At the end of the evening, Chris asked me what I thought. I said, “That is the nicest apartment I’ve ever seen. Is his father a multi-millionaire?”

Chris said no, they were paying $1200 a month for the apartment.

What?!?

And here is the story. Long ago, a woman had moved into this apartment as a renter. At that time, all apartments in New York were rent-controlled. So, the longer you stayed in an apartment, the better deal you got.

She stayed for 50 years.

As she grew elderly, her nephew moved into her apartment to help take care of her. In New York, you cannot pass on your rent-controlled apartment to your heirs, but you can add someone new to the lease if they live with you for a certain length of time. David lived with her for a couple years, and then she died. So now the apartment was in his name.

This apartment building was one of the fanciest addresses in all of New York City. Movie stars and scions of industry paid top dollar to compete for a place there. Maybe you’ve heard of The Dakota? This place was just as nice, if not nicer.

When David got the lease for $1200, the management offerred him a deal: If you move out, we’ll pay you $2 million.

He refused.

Instead, since the rent on his gargantuan apartment was a little too high for his taste, he got two roommates. Now they would each pay $400 a month. To live with millionaires and movie stars.

When I heard this story, I started laughing. Perhaps a little maniacally. I was thrilled, gleefully happy.

New York City is brutally hard to live in. Getting through the day and getting out from under take an enormous amount of will. Everything’s paid for; nothing’s free.

But in this whole wide city, I’d finally found it. Somebody, somewhere, had finally gotten something for nothing.

And in a way, he did it for us all.

Apr 17 2013

Advice on the Ivies – Part II

Read Part I.

Ok, my advice for this post is:

TAKE LATIN AND GREEK 

Why am I featuring this advice so prominently? Because, if I were going to advise a kid who really, really wanted to get into the Ivies what to do, this would be my best advice. A hundred years ago, all the students at these schools took Latin and a lot of them took Greek. Then the students grew up and gave money back to their dear old Classics departments. But now Latin isn’t a requirement, and the result is that a lot of these schools have well-endowed Classics departments, and not enough students to fill them.

..At least, that was the situation when I went to these schools 20 years ago, and I’m pretty sure it’s still the case now.

So, what you do is, take Latin in high school. Your high school is not going to offer Ancient Greek, but You are Passionate About Classics! So try to find a local college professor and ask her to tutor you in Greek in the summer. Or ask if your school could give you credit for an independent study with her during the school year. Be an All-Classics-All-the-Time type of kid. Write on your application that you desperately love Classics and you want to major in Classics. You will have a huge leg up on the kid who’s taken 5 years of French.

This doesn’t mean you have to actually major in Classics when you get to college. Just that you intend to, at the age of 17. Kids change their major intentions all the time once they start college. But do check with your school, because there are a few programs across the country where you actually have to make a commitment before you start. These are rare, but it never hurts to read all the fine print regardless.

Three other points:

1. I am a strong believer in a Classical education. If you devote yourself to it, you’ll have an advantage for college admissions, but you’ll also be better prepared for education in general, and even for life. It gives you a really strong foundation in many ways.

2. While I do literally mean “take Latin and Greek,” you could also use this advice as an analogy. The reason it helps with elite colleges is because they have a lot of resources already invested in this area, and not enough students. Maybe there’s some other category that fits the same criteria. Maybe the school you want to go to has world-class Astronomy professors and not enough students in the major. Or they’ve got a huge squash program, but it’s hard to find enough students to fill it.

So if you do a bunch of research, and figure out that your top schools are all desperate for squash players, then by all means, play squash.

But also take Latin and Greek. Did I mention that I got into Harvard, Yale, and Brown? Yeah. That’s cause I took Latin and Greek. And was Good at it.

3. What if you’re a super genius in some other area? You’re already spending summers working in a graduate research lab? Should you stop and use that time for Greek?

No! If you’re already crazy-super-smart in some area, that’s your strength. The point is, to have something about you that makes colleges really want you to go to their school. If you already have that, focus on that strength. But if you’re regular-good-student-smart and you don’t yet have a special niche, this can be your niche that makes colleges want you.

Next: Part III. 

Apr 17 2013

Advice on the Ivies – Part I

The world of elite schools seems impenetrable to those who don’t grow up around it. Worse, it can seem like the kids who go to places like Harvard are anointed with some kind of special golden blessing from God, and they are different from other mortals.

Nothing could be further from the truth. I went to Andover, and then I attended Harvard. In my experience, only about 5% of the kids at Harvard are what you’d call “scary-super-smart.” The rest are just smart, like all the hundreds and thousands of smart people you’ll meet over the course of your lifetime. What people who get into elite schools have in common, besides smarts and hard work, is being well-positioned. It’s hard to have AP classes on your high school transcript, if your high school doesn’t even offer AP classes…get it?

So, your task in junior high and high school is to work hard, get good grades, and also do what you can to get yourself well-positioned. 

At any rate, here is my advice for students who aren’t as familiar with the world of the Ivy Leagues:

1. Of course, get really good grades, but don’t freak out if it’s not 100% straight A’s. Still, it needs to be as close to that as possible.

2. Try to be ‘well-rounded” – academics, sports, and something else (like music or community service)

3. If possible, have one or more unique niche skills and interests

4. TAKE LATIN AND GREEK

5. Take advantage of unique opportunities in Junior High and High School to give yourself a leg up

In this first post, I’ll talk about points 1 through 3: Get Good Grades, Be Well-Rounded, and Have a Special Niche.

Ok, so first: Get really good grades. That’s pretty self-explanatory, right? And of course, you want to take AP courses in the subjects you’re good at, and you want to have strong extra-curriculars to put on your resume. But it’s not quite that simple.

Places like Harvard get a ton of well-rounded (yet cookie cutter) kids with straight A’s who play the violin.** Your best bet is to make as good grades as you can, while also fostering whatever it is about you that makes you unique. The best position to be in, when applying to Harvard and company, is to be a great student, but also have at least one niche area where you’re truly exemplary.

What’s special about you could be something about your academics, athletics, or other interests. Like you’re a math genius, or a published poet, or a state champion in a sport.  Or you have an interest or talent that’s unusual. Let’s say you’re a boy who founded his own pastry company. Or, at 16, you’re a talented musician who specializes in playing 1920’s blues. Or you’re great at playing an obscure instrument, like Viola da Gamba.

Also, bear in mind that the elite colleges want to have a class that’s “diverse,” and so you may fit some demographic categories that give you an edge. (I put “diverse” in quotes because the vast majority of admissions are from economically comfortable backgrounds, so it ain’t all that diverse.)

These schools want students from all 50 states. If you live in states like Tennessee or Kentucky, you have a slight edge, because fewer kids apply from those states. If you live in states like New York or California, it’s a bit harder.

If you’re from a lower-income household, congratulations! Harvard gives a FULL RIDE to any kid whose family makes $65,000 or under. Some other Ivy League schools have similar programs. Plus, they actively *want* non-rich kids. So go ahead and apply. School application fees can be expensive, and they can add up. If you’re really strapped for cash, contact the school and find out what they can do about waiving application fees.

Also, the schools have other “soft” categories they’re trying to fill for each entering class, like,

– The quirky genius

– The prodigy we get to brag about it

– The jock who will help our football team be slightly less bad

– The person who actually has a soul (great community service or volunteer work, etc.)

So, to review: you should be an all-around great student, and then on top of that, have several things that make you special to them, and at least one talent where you truly stand out from the pack. Which leads us to Part II.

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** When places like Harvard say, “We don’t just want more kids with perfect SAT’s who play the violin,” they mean, “We don’t want our schools to be 35% Asian.” All of these schools have their own problems, and this unacknowledged Asian quota is one of them.

Mar 17 2013

You Can Only Keep What You Throw Away

A few years ago, I entered into a very difficult period of my life, where everything that could go wrong, did.

I got sick, I got broke, two cars died in rapid succession, I lost friends, everything. I worked harder than I’d ever worked in my life, but it felt like I was only treading water; nothing I did seemed to move me forward, and it was only with tremendous effort that I kept from falling further behind.

One strange thing I noticed during this period was that almost everything I tried to accomplish in the world of stuff just…didn’t work. In addition to the aforementioned car fiascos, my small, modest attempts at making acquisitions backfired a lot. I would unpack a new item from its box, only to see that it was broken and needed to be returned. New clothes often needed to be returned as well. Once, I decided that if I wasn’t going to be able to drive a car, the least I could do was repair my boots. I took two long bus rides to get them repaired — and then the repair ended up being botched.

“I can’t seem to keep anything,” I thought. “All my efforts get undone.”

And that’s when it hit me. What if I throw stuff away? If all of my efforts to acquire stuff got undone, maybe I could finally see some results — and get to “keep” my effort — if I put it towards getting rid of stuff. (Especially paper. Oh Paper, My Crinkly Nemesis.)

So, I tried this new approach, although I admit I was nervous at first. I was so used to having my efforts thwarted that I half-expected whatever I put in the recycle bin to show up on my doorstep the next morning.

But the gone stayed gone. Everything I let go of, stayed let go of. I finally got to keep it.

You can only keep what you throw away.

After a while, I started thinking that this maxim must be true for life, as well.

Every good moment in my life has been good, largely because of what I had cleared away.

Every bad moment in my life has been bad, largely because of what I was still holding onto.

The “clearer” I am, the more happiness and joy I get to keep.

You can only keep what you throw away.

Mar 12 2013

Advice

I used to see a physical therapist twice a week in midtown Manhattan. This was years ago, when I was living in Brooklyn, and way before Brooklyn was cool.

Anyways, right next door to my physical therapist’s office was a fancy salon, named after the founder, a woman d’un certain age. The salon sold high-dollar youth creams and beauty potions.

One day, I shared the elevator with the founder of this beauty line. She must have been at least 50, but still had incredibly smooth, flawless skin. “You know, you really do have amazing skin,” I said. “What’s your secret?”

She smiled. “Genetics.”

And so she’d made a fortune selling creams and lotions, because her skin was her calling card — even though those products had nothing to do with her beauty.

This brings me back to something I’ve noticed many times: We always take advice from the wrong people.

If we want to lose weight, we’ll ask our skinny friend with the fast metabolism rather than our normal-size friend who actually lost weight.

We also prefer bad advice from charming people over good advice from boring people. We prefer to believe the  beautiful person holding court in the center of the room, and ignore the nerd in the back, who’s adding up the sums accurately and ruffling feathers when he says they’re wrong. This is because we trust advice based on who we want to be, rather than what we want to do.

This leads to all sorts of misperceptions in the world about how people actually got to where they are in life:

Tell me Ms. Jones, how did you become such a successful saleswoman and get those cold call sales?

Answer: “Self-confidence and a great work ethic”

Real Answer: “Model-perfect good looks”

Mr. Smith, you’ve become so very successful at business. To what do you attribute your success?

Answer: “Creativity and thinking outside the box”

Real Answer: “Family money”

People watching these interviews say to themselves, “That’s right! If I want to be a success like her, I just need to be more self-confident!”  Whereas they might get farther with major plastic surgery.**

So basically, as I said, most people have a natural instinct to trust advice based on who we want to be, rather than what we want to do. But, once we know that might be a pitfall, we can be aware of it, and try to compensate for it.

Also, this tendency to follow “winners” — even if they win for the wrong reasons — robs us of great wisdom, because failures often have excellent advice. People who fail multiple times in an undertaking know what doesn’t work – so you don’t have to try it yourself. And, when they do eventually make it past their roadblocks, they can actually tell you what they did, rather than bragging about what they thought they were doing while the universe took care of the rest. Failures often understand the process to success better than someone who’s naturally gifted. But still, we gravitate to the prodigy as the master, and ignore the person in the back, who struggled to learn everything they mastered…and so knows how to teach.

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** And no, I am not advising you to get plastic surgery. You have a great nose, don’t ever let anyone else tell you differently.

Jan 20 2013

Smart People and Bad Thoughts

As some of you know, I am a devotee of a spiritual teacher named Mata Amritanandamayi, or “Amma,” sometimes known as “The Hugging Saint” in the West.

One of the reasons I love her is that I am, quite simply, crazy. I have a whole lot of thoughts and ideas about myself and the world that are completely ill-founded. What’s worse – I’m smart. And smart people’s Achilles’ heel – or more accurately, Achilles’ Hell – is that we have a tendency to fall in love with convincing arguments, and cling to them like dogs gnawing on used-up bones. Once a ‘smart’ person gets a logical, well-constructed argument in their head, they’ll often follow it slavishly, long past the point of accuracy, common sense, or even personal happiness.

Imagine that your mind is like a party. When you’re smart in a certain kind of way, all those seemingly-rational (but deeply flawed) arguments sparkle like those mean-girl hotties. They outshine good ol’ Common Sense, who would totally love to talk to you, if you would only give her a minute of your time. But she’s over there, by the back, almost crowded out, poor thing, and you only learn what a good conversationalist she is once all the shiny girls have already left.

We “smart people” love the comforts of our if-then statements. We feel they provide stability, and even structure. But often, they are so rigid and so paralyzing that, instead of providing the positive structure of a scaffolding — that is to say, a foundation for improvisation and growth — they provide the negative structure of…a prison. So-called logical thinking often becomes so draconian and rigid that it only provides limitation, stagnation, and fear.

For example, when I was a teenager at boarding school, my mother — a very smart person — decided to take a one-year teaching appointment in a far-away state. At the beginning of the school year, she found an unfurnished apartment, and said, “You know, moving my furniture down will cost a lot of money. I’ll move it down later. And you know what? I slept on the carpet last night, and it really wasn’t that uncomfortable! I don’t mind it for a week or two, especially with some blankets underneath me for cushioning. I’ll deal with the furniture soon, once I get settled in my new department.”

A week or two became three months, and when my Christmas vacation came, I had to ask my mother to buy me a mattress. Spending Christmas in an empty apartment, sleeping on a mattress on the floor, I begged my mother to move the furniture down at last.

She said, “My one-year appointment might not be renewed, and moving is so very expensive. The year’s half-way over. I’ll wait until spring, and then if my contract is renewed, I’ll move it down.”

Summer came, and her contract was renewed, but again she rationalized, and I spent a summer sleeping on the floor in an empty apartment. All told, she would spend three years in that state of suspended animation, all the while promising to move the furniture down “soon.”

My mother was the most intellectual of all my friends’ parents. While her peers had more ordinary pursuits, my mother read voraciously, and talked at length about art, literature, and culture. But the thing is, if you had asked any of my friends’ ordinary parents, “Do you think it is a good idea for you and your daughter to sleep on mattresses on the floor in an empty apartment for the next three years?” they would have said something like: “Don’t be ridiculous. As long as I am not completely destitute, I will make sure that my child and I have a decent home.”

By the end of my mother’s strange time in limbo, her refusal to provide me with that decent home had pushed me far away. She had also, by the by, ended up spending at least as much on storage fees as she would have on moving expenses. But her fear had latched onto a convoluted “logic,” and trapped her in a bad decision. The kind of bad decision that wouldn’t even have occurred to someone who wasn’t, you know. Smart.

In this way, smart people become prisoners of their own minds, and their strengths become their weaknesses.

Dec 15 2012

Interjections

From the strange summer of 2009, a short piece on music and life:

I have developed a raging crush on someone, and I am unable to communicate with him in any sort of normal, human way. This is how it goes every time I see him:

Man: Hi, Sofia, how was—

Me: I LIKE LINOLEUM!

Man: …errr…

Me: IT’S MADE FROM FLAX!

Man: …I have to go talk with my friend now.

The good thing is that I am so awkward, and it makes both of us so uncomfortable, that I’m starting to find it funny. In fact, yesterday evening, at the end of a performance I went to, I said to him, “Hey, I was thinking, that since every time I see you, I say something awkward, we could just practice, and get it out of the way at the beginning.” He laughed.

Here’s my theory of harmony singing: if I’m singing along to a song I don’t know, I have to make my best guess about where the melody is going, and harmonize to that. If my guess turns out to be right, my harmony sounds pretty with the melody. If my guess turns out to be dissonant to the melody, then I’m singing a passing tone, on the way to the “right” note.

Passing tones are those little notes in a song where the harmonies sound a bit dissonant — it makes you feel tense to hear it, and you feel a need to resolve it. And, when the harmony goes back to sounding pretty, you feel this great sense of relief and beauty.

So maybe life is the same way. It’s either “right”, or it’s a passing tone. And, passing tones are “right,” too — in fact, some of the most exquisite moments in music that I’ve sung have been the passing tones. And both kinds of harmonies resolve at the end.

So maybe I can relax a little.