Getting a restaurant reservation for a popular restaurant can sometimes feel like an impossible task. A friend of mine once wrote a long, lovely letter to a restaurant owner to get a reservation, while another friend was able to land a reservation by using a concierge service via his credit card. I tend to wait until the hype has died down a bit before making an attempt to dine at whatever restaurant just received a load of glowing reviews, or join a dinner party that managed to get a reservation through some kind of hookup.
Last year, a Gallup poll found that a lowly 30 percent of Americans are actually happy at work, and many complained of “bosses from hell” as a major reason. The truth is that it’s difficult to be a good manager. A good manager should, ideally, both direct your work and help you grow in your skills and career. She should be supportive, provide timely feedback, and help when you are stuck. She should be able to do all of this on top of the work that she needs to do herself. It’s said that people are promoted to the point of their incompetence, and this is especially true when it comes to management, since dealing with people is a skill that few people actively cultivate. And there are so, so many ways to be a bad manager.
Keep almonds by your computer. What if I don’t like almonds? Also, they’re expensive. STOP TELLING ME TO EAT ALMONDS, unless you feel like subsidizing my almonds, and/or dipping them in chocolate for me.
One day in college, on what would have otherwise been a forgettable afternoon, two attractive people approached me outside of my department. The man, with his bionic back, parabolic pectorals and arms fixed at right angles, cut an intimidatingly precise figure. The woman was an implausible series of distends, curves and stares—all unnervingly suggestive. There were no introductions or pleasantries; instead, they presented me with a pristine white card. Looking down at it in hope of an explanation, I read, “Abercrombie and Fitch recruitment.” They stood back proudly and expectantly, letting what I suppose they thought was an honor sink-in. When I showed no response, they resorted to their pitch. They told me that they needed someone like me and that I would really enjoy working at the company. Everyone was exceedingly “cool” and, in fact, it “wouldn’t even seem like a job.”
At the Washington Post, Alyssa Rosenberg reflects on the new movie Pride, using it as a launching pad to discuss whether the LGBTQI[infinity symbol] rights movement made a mistake by putting marriage first, as a goal, instead of economic equality. After all, she writes,
According to a Williams Institute analysis of data from the American Community Survey, lesbian couples in the United States are more likely to live in poverty than married heterosexual couples, and gay African American couples “have poverty rates more than twice the rate of different-sex married African Americans … Almost one in four children living with a male same-sex couple and 19.2 percent of children living with a female same-sex couple are in poverty, compared to 12.1 percent of children living with married different-sex couples. African American children in gay male households have the highest poverty rate (52.3 percent) of any children in any household type.”
Marriage, she argues, only helps those who are partnered for the long-term. Passing a national Non-Discrimination Act would help more broadly. Especially because lots of people in the community are poor. The Williams Institute reports, “We find clear evidence that poverty is at least as common in the LGB population as among heterosexual people and their families.”
Yet many folks — up to and including one of the nation’s most powerful short-sighted bigots men, Justice Antonin Scalia — harbor the misconception that to be gay is to be rich. In an opinion in the 90s, Scalia wrote of the queer community’s “high disposable income” and its concurrent “disproportionate political power.” Presumably Scalia watched an episode of “Will and Grace” and another of “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” and drew conclusions. But he’s not alone, here or abroad. The Atlantic calls the widespread notion that gays have influence and cash “the Myth of Gay Affluence.”
His estimate for how much money he has spent on first dates in the past six months was $1,000. “That’s approximating $15 per, because a first date is one drink: I take her to a bar and then I get a beer, and following suit she usually gets a beer too, even if she leaves half of it, so it’s not too bad.”
Once upon a time a few days ago, some olds — people who were in their 30s — had (and then published) an inter-office online chat with some youngs — people who were in their 20s on the subject of Venmo, the app whose primary purpose is to facilitate bill paying among friends. It has a social component too, though, which is what shocked the olds.
The youngs tried to explain to the olds why Venmo was convenient and fun. The olds pointed out that if you rearrange the letters the app’s name becomes, appropriately, Venom. The young expressed polite skepticism that the app actually intended to poison them. The olds exploded.
heatherlandy 11:52 AM omg, it’s not bad enough that i have to know that the girl i used to sit next to in social studies just took her 4-year-old to the dentist, now i have to know that one of you paid your roommate for the phone bill??? people, you are just GIVING your privacy away! about sensitive things like money! we all need to have a big talk soon…
Which side of Venmo divide do you fall on, dear readers? I’m in No Man’s Land: I have no philosophical problem with the app but I don’t use it, either. Do you find it entertaining or horrifying how blase certain people are about sharing financial info with their friends?
Note: I was tempted to title this “Venmo Venmo Venmo,” in homage to the Simpsons episode “Krusty Gets Cancelled” where there’s all this mysterious advertising for “GABBO GABBO GABBO” but that might be too esoteric. It would be, right? Yeah.
The footage of the fight went viral in part because we rarely see Beyoncé and Jay Z in situations that they do not control. But I’m not interested in the elevator; for me, Beyoncé’s version of damage control was much more captivating than the damage itself.