They tried to make me go to grad school, I said no, no, no

At one point in my life, I angonized about the prospect of going back to school. Everyone tried to make me go to grad school, but I said no, no, no. (My little tribute to Amy Winehouse, not becausse I listen to her music, but because I found her lyrics quite fitting, grad school being a little like rehab and all.) My professors badgered me about pursuing my studies, saying I was talented and could contribute something to the academic world. I said no. It wasn’t rocket science; I was not made for grad school. All the compliments and flatteries were but that. They never held any meaning. My professors could sing my praises as much as they wanted, but the truth remained: I had no desire to return to the elitist world of theory and stuffy academics. And no matter how much I tried to convince myself that academia was for me, I knew it wasn’t. I applied anyway.

Now, as the admissions responses come flooding in, I realize it’s not me saying no, no, no, it’s them. Rejection after rejection. It really comes as no shock to me. It’s a mutual rejection, really. I didn’t want to play their game. I didn’t want to take the GRE 3 times (or prepare for the test, for that matter). I didn’t want to write a personal statement about Foucault, Derrida or whatever other theorist names I could drop. I am passionate about literature, but I am not passionate about the study of literature. Academia is looking for people whose passion for literature can be converted into scholarship. My passion is just passion at its purest, passion that has no place in academia. Bottom line: I am not fit for academia.
Am I disappointed? Not really. In fact, just one day before I received my first rejection letter, I had stated quite confidently to my parents that I really had no desire to go back to school. I hated feeling inferior and nervous in class. I hated trying to act like an intellectual. School was painful for me: the teachers, the students, the jargon… I hated sitting in class trying to be invisible, trying to avoid the eyes of the professor lest he call on me. It was hardly enjoyable.

I adamantly refused to go to grad school. No, no, no! It wasn’t for me. My professors would sigh and shake their heads. “That’s really too bad.” But they couldn’t have gotten me accepted into grad school any more than I could have gotten myself accepted. The rejections are the proof I needed. It’s liberating, really. Academia is not for me.

I am not disappointed. I do admit, however, that the self-esteem boost that comes with acceptance would have been nice. I didn’t want to go to grad school and I still don’t. I applied to see if I could get in. I applied in hopes of getting accpeted so that for once, I could feel good about myself.

We regret to tell you that you have not been recommended for admission…

Tattered Cover

While many of my colleagues enjoy al-desko dining in front of their computer screen during their lunch hour, I prefer to go outside and get some fresh air (or frigid snow-filled air, depending on the current weather conditions in Denver, CO). Yesterday, as the sun was shining once more after a chilling winter storm the day before, I wandered down the 16th street mall to the historic Tattered Cover Book Store.

This book store has always been an landmark of my life as a Coloradoan. In fact, when I was in 2rd grade, I entered a writing contest and won a gift certificate to the Tattered Cover. It would be my first visit. I remember pulling open the front door of the historic lodo building in which the Tattered Cover is housed (there are actually 2 other stores currently in the Denver area) and being completely overwhelmed by the shelves and shelves of books surrounding me. I walked around the store several times searching for the perfect book on which to spend my gift certificate. There were so many choices! Oddly enough, I don’t even remember the exact book I pulled off the shelf that day to add to my small personal library, but I do remember holding the book close to my chest like something precious that could slip away from me at any moment. That was my first visit to the Tattered Cover. Everytime thereafter that I was in lodo or the Cherry Creek area (where the flagship store was originally located), I would jump at the chance to graze through the shelves of books new and old.

The striking thing about the Tattered Cover is its unique charm. The furniture is eclectic, the bookshelves don’t match and there are still employees whose sole purpose is to give you book advice (which is becoming rarer in bookstore chains). It is intimate and personal. In a world where huge conglomerate bookstores hold a monopoly over the book industry, it’s always nice to find a cozy independent bookstore with a large selection. Don’t get me wrong, I love Borders and Barnes and Noble and I order books on Amazon like it’s no one’s business, but there is something about the independent stores where you can browse at your own pace and cozy up on a comfy couch. After spending half a day in front of a computer, it’s really nice to find a little nook in the Tattered Cover and retreat into the world of the printed word (with an occasional coffee).

2nd week on the job

I am half way through my second week at my new job.  My thoughts/impressions thus far:

1.  Everyone works (which is actually quite amazing).  I guess when you have so few people working, everyone has to work extra hard to meet deadlines.

2.  I can now recognize the word “printer” in 37 different languages.

3.  The elevators are speedy and make my ears pop.

4.   I am going to learn much more about printers than I would like to know.

5.  I actually find the work somewhat interesting (which is actually not good news for me…)

6.  The English call periods full-stops.

Notes from the job search front

So after over 5 months of resumes, cover letters, interviews and temp agencies, I finally have a job (and no, unfortunately, it’s not the job in Paris). I just finished my first week on the job. I am tired, sleep-deprived, and overwhelmed by all the new things to learn, but man, does it feel good to get off my ass and do something productive. I am officially off the job market!

The job is actually better than anything I could have asked for (except for the fact that it isn’t in Paris…)  It is a job I found myself (from craig’s list) and it’s actually related to my field (as much as it could be).  The work seems interesting and the best part is that it is not a customer service job.  Granted, I am currently on a 3-month contract, but they have told me that they do not see this position going anywhere after 3 months, so it looks like it could lead to a permanent position with a lot of room for growth. If I do get a full time position, I will have 18 days vacation in my first year. After my first year, this will be increased to 20 days. This is almost unheard-of in the US.  It is quite exciting.  The pay is decent (more than I have ever earned in my life) and the people are nice.  The group in the US is still small so there is no heirachy yet, which is quite refreshing after my last corporate job.

So, for now (i.e. the next 3 months), I am a working girl.  It is a nice change.

Cafes Verlet

256, rue St Honore 75001 Paris

One of the things I love about Paris is the cafe life. There is nothing like sitting in a cafe, sipping espresso and people watching. It is one of the essential experiences of being Parisien, whether it’s for the morning caffeine fix at the comptoir or a long contemplative Sunday afternoon coffee. Even with Starbucks popping up all over the city and the growing coffee to-go craze, there is a certain charm to the Parisian cafe where people still take the time to sit, talk and think.

If it wasn’t the strong scent of roasted coffee beans that drew us to Verlet, it was the candied fruit gleaming in the window. Our noses were immediately pressed up against the glass as we ogled the slices of fruit tart being served along side cups of smooth espresso. Exhausted and dying for a caffeine fix, we pushed the door open of the historic cafe. Sacks of coffee beans greeted us as we entered the quaint, albeit crammed space where tables were squeezed in between jars of tea leaves, rows of candied fruit and the imposing baskets of coffee grinds. There was nonetheless a certain old world charm to this cafe that opposed the cookie-cutter feel of the Starbucks around the corner.

As all the tables on the main floor were taken, we headed up the narrow, uneven stairway to the salon a l’etage. With a large arched window facing the Rue Saint-Honore and photos on the wall, the spacious room upstairs held just as much charm as the crowded room below. The room reminded me of a remodeled artist’s loft. Unlike the ground floor, the salon had many open tables. In fact, the only other clients were a couple of French intellectuals passionately discussing politics and literature over a cup of espresso. I was slightly bemused. How very Parisian!

We found a little table close to the window and settled down on the bench seat. The waitress dutifully brought us a menu and we began to skim the list of exotic coffees and teas. The list was actually quite impressive. In most cafes in Paris, an espresso is an espresso. But Verlet offers a large variety of coffees and teas to choose from and quite a descriptive variety indeed. In addition to the “normal” coffees, the menu also included a selection of ‘cafes gourmets’, rare finds with subtile and complex aromas. Not feeling too adventurous, I ordered a coffee from Nicaragua, described as onctuous and aromatic. My boyfriend, on the other hand, decided to try something a little different and ordered the coffee from Yemen which was described on the menu as ‘aromatic and rich, with honey and butter notes, slightly spicy’.

The waitress arrived with the two small cups of espresso and set them down on our table along with 2 glasses of water. The scent of the coffee was so aromatic, deep and lulling. We decided to taste the expresso black first. Carefully, I dipped my spoon into the steaming espresso and lifted a small spoonful of Nicaragua coffee to my mouth. At first taste, it was bitter, uninviting and extremely strong. “This is a situation in which the glass of water is really indispensable,” my boyfriend remarked. I don’t think I had ever tasted coffee so strong. I put another spoonful into my mouth. Again, I winced at the bitterness of the black liquid. But with each additional sip, it became complex (like a glass of good wine) and with each sip, it got better. After drinking a few sips black, I decided to add some sugar. With sugar, this espresso came alive. As I am not a grand connoiseur of coffee, I cannot exactly describe the taste or the depth, but as someone who has had her fair share of Parisian cafe expressos, I can definately say this was not your average cafe espresso.

The cafe de Yemen which my boyfriend had ordered was just as rich and complex as mine, if not more. I felt it was less stong than the Nicaragua I had ordered, but had different flavors that my coffee was lacking. With sugar, it was alsolutely delicious (as much as an espresso could actually be delicious).

We sipped our espresso slowly, letting it rest on our tongues and drain slowly down our throats. We watched the chic Parisians below on the Rue Saint-Honore passing by with their hands full of shopping bags and the tourists confusedly searching their maps. We took in the sweet and bitter odor of steamy espresso (without the heavy odor of cigarette smoke thanks to the new law forbidding smoking in public places) and we took in Paris. I put my head against his shoulder and he squeezed me close to him. And we sipped our espresso. Our afternoon passed by without our being aware. It was the tap of the feet, the deep sighs and the silence of the busy city outside.

After an hour or two (or maybe even three…), we asked for our bill. Now, for those of you who have been to Paris, you know that the price of a simple espresso in a cafe can range anywhere form 1 euro (if this still exists) to a whopping 7 euros (I have even heard 10 euros, but it might just be an urban myth. Can you imagine a tiny shot of espresso costing 10 euros? Unbelievable!) depending on the location, the status and/or the clientel of the cafe. Although many French people will decry the cost of a 2 euro espresso, I have come to find 2 euros for an espresso quite reasonable, considering the fact that I have paid up to 4 euros for the exact cup of espresso at other cafes. It doens’t really even depend on the quality of the drink or the service. It’s all about location (and a few other things, of course). In some cafes, an espresso is served with a glass of water and a little speculoos biscuit or piece of dark chocolate; at other cafes, an espresso is served only with a grimace from the waiter. If I pay 4 euros for an espresso, I expect at least to get a glass of water with the coffee…unfortunately, this is rarely the case.

When I first set foot into Verlet, I was expecting quite a pricey espresso. Cafes Verlet is, after all, situated on the Rue Saint-Honore, right in the center of Paris, one street from the Louvre. Continue up the Rue Saint-Honore a few blocks and you will be in the middle of one of the high fashion districts of Paris lined with designer boutiques with 1000 euro purses and 2000 euro shoes in the windows. I didn’t expect to pay anything less than 3,50 euros for my espresso. But to my suprise, the classic espressos were only 2,70 euros. The gourmet coffees were a little more pricey at 3,50, but well worth it in my opinion. For the quality and the service at Verlet, the price of the coffee was quite reasonable. And on top of the quality and service, the coffee was served not only with a glass of water but a piecie of dark chocolate – much more than can be expected from any typical Parisian cafe.

Verlet exceeded my expectations. It’s always nice to find new cafes in Paris offering charm and a little escape from the bustle of the city.

Paris in retrospect

When in Paris, I always get a warm fuzzy feeling, a feeling of awe and breathlessness that seems to be quite absent for me in the US. It’s a strange feeling that some might liken to love. I have never been so infatuated with anything in my life. I pass the same streets, the long avenues every day and never tire of the grandeur surrounding me. “Comme Paris est beau!” I exclaim during the night or the day, the rush hour or the hushed Sunday mornings before the city wakes. And it’s not just the Eiffel Tower or the cathedrals that strike my fancy; it’s the city, its smells, its language, its diversity, its culture. And despite all its imperfections, it remains perfect in my eyes. I always leave the city wondeirng how it will change, how I will have changed, but I always come back to the with a same renewed sense of awe and breathlessness.

I just spent the last 10 days in France, getting my Paris fix. It was the typical I am not a tourist trip to Paris. In fact, I don’t think I did one thing that would be on the typical Paris tourist list. Let’s take a look at the highlights of my trip:

I ate falafel from the best falafel place in Paris : L’as du falafel (which, by the way, raised their prices yet again.) There is nothing like hot falafel balls wrapped in a warm pita layered with hummus, salad, grilled eggplant (to die for) and huge amounts of hot sauce à volontiers (sauce piquante as they endearingly refer to it). In a quarter teeming with restaurants claiming to have the best falafel in Paris, L’as is definately my pick and believe me, I have tasted my share of falafel in the Marais. I think their secret lies in the layering of falafel balls, salad, sauce and grilled eggplant. (more detailed review to come at a later date)

My Cheri took me to a Libanese restaurant close to the Bourse in the 2nd arrondisement of Paris where we ate classic libanese Manouche and tasted a few mezzes. The food was fresh, the quality good, the taste unique. To finish off our meal, we tried a milk flan au fleur d’oranger (because I don’t know the translation but it’s like an orange flavoured syrup made from the flowers or leaves of an orange tree) and a mix of nuts and seeds in a sweet syrup mixed with different fruits.

We had happy hour cocktails at the famous Charly Birdy. I had 2 cosmopolitans which left me feeling a little lightheaded afterwards, seeing as I didn’t eat the whole day.

I had an interview. The lady basically gave me 3 books and told me to write a summary in French for 2 of the books and a summary in English for the other book. She later gave me a dictation. The response was positive. (more about this later).

I ate enormous amounts of cheese in many different forms.

I went to the boulangerie Eric Kayser, one of my favorite bakeries in the city, and bought fresh holey bread. There is nothing like fresh French bread!

I went to a concert at La Sorbonne.

Had a 5 hour, 5 course Sunday lunch at a gastronomic restaurant.

I spent some good quality time with my cheri and his family.

Et voila in a nutshell, my 10 days in France, 10 wonderful days in France. It was a productive trip with fairly positive results. I can’t complain. I am glad I went. I am glad I was able to spend time with my two greatest loves. Now, we will have to see what the future holds.

2008

10 days into the new year and I am tempted to come up with a list of resolutions.  Though I am usually not one to list unacheivable goals for the next 365 days of my life (366 – 10, since this is a leap year and it’s already the 10th day of 2008), I thought it might be interesting to publish my resolutions on my blog.  Next year, 10 days into the year 2009, I will be able to mock my 2008 resolutions.  This will be a short list of doable goals, nothing too extravagent or unacheivable (though chances are, I will not achieve the easy goals I will list anyways).   So here goes.  Welcome 2008!

1.  Make a list of New Year’s resolutions (At the rate I am going, I should be able to acheive this goal in the next 10 minutes!  Woot!  I am well on my way).

2.  Find a job.  I am lining up the interviews!  One more interview this week and one, two or three next week (still unsure). This is not too much to ask for, is it?

3. Write at least 2 blog entries a week (hopefully on subjects that stretch beyond my daily existence).

4. And, hmmm, this is harder than I thought.

That’s enough.  I am sick of resolutions.  I resolve to reduce my list of resolutions to 2 for 2009.   Happy 2008! This should be a good year.  Eight, after all, is a lucky number for the Chinese.  And if you turn 8 on its side, you have infinity .  So, this will be the year of infinite possibilities (or maybe just 8).

Cheers.

And that previous blog entry, my friends, is a perfect example of the type of blog post I never wanted to write and publish.  My, how things change.  It was a moment of weakness.  I will try to avoid blogging about the mundane details of my life next time.

Lining up the interview

I am trying to start 2008 off on the right foot by lining up the job interviews.  My goal for this year is to find a stable job for at least a year or until I go to grad school (if I end up going).  Tomorrow, I will have my first interview of 2008, and instead of winging it (which has proved to be highly unsucessful), I have decided to do thourough research on how best to prepare oneself for a job interview.  So far, I have skimmed articles containing typical interview questions and attempted to come up with the best way to answer such questions.  I have also devised a perfect weakness when they ask that dreaded “what is your biggest weakness” question. I will try to sound half-way confident and to present myself in a hirable way.  Hopefully, I have some success.

My next two interviews are lined up for next week.  These two interviews will be somewhat of an adventure as they will both take place in a foreign country (and possibly also in a foreign language – still unknown).  As my interview skills in my native country are not yet well developled, I am assuming that my foreign country/language interview skills leave little to be desired.  I am not going to sweat it too much.  It’s all about the adventure.  And maybe, just maybe, I might find a career path out of it.

Other than these 3 upcoming interviews, I have contacted the temp agencies I have been working for to let them know that yes, I am still looking.  For some reason, they have had no luck finding me employment.  I might, however, have an interview with some bank soon. We will have to wait to find out about that.

For now, everything is still up in the air.  2008 should be the start of something new (if I can pull myself together enough to get hired).  Hopefully, I will have a new job to brag about 3 weeks from now.

Job vs. career

Looking for a job? Go to the nearest McDonalds, Target or even Sears and ask for a application. Even the local Starbucks is hiring baristas. They will hire almost anyone. Hell, you don’t even need a college degree to find a job – just a clean drug test.

Looking for a career? Oh, where to start? The different industries are countless! You could go into real estate, telecommunications, banking, sales, consulting, pr, marketing, advertising, management, etc., etc. The possibilities are endless. Then why is it so hard to find a career?

For some reason, a career, by definition, is supposed to be more than just a job; it’s supposed to be a calling, one’s lifework. You can draw any old job out of a jar, but picking a career requires thought and purpose. Career choice can affect the rest of your life. After all, this will be what you will be doing until retirement. For the next 40 odd years, you will very much be defined by your profession. You will mention your work at least once during the first 3 sentences of any conversation. And after those 3 sentences, you will be categorized. You will be considered ambitious, hard-working and driven (if you have a career) or lost, lazy, and reckless (if you just work a job.) It’s unfair, but yet, it’s the truth.

Many career conselors have long drawn-out (not to mention expensive) methods of finding a career. They give you aptitude tests, personality tests, IQ tests in hopes of finding the perfect fit. And yet, every suggestion seems to be wrong, insulting. How could they possibly suggest that? Do I look like a [fill in job title]? We rely so much on what other people, tests, assessments tell us and in the end, we lose track of what we really want. Our priorities get all jumbled up; we lose ourselves. Because in the end, maybe we already know exactly what it is we want to do, but unfortunately, life gets in the way.

So what is important when looking for a career? Happiness. Yes, that seems like the obvious answer. But, for me, I am plagued by so many other questions. Will my family be happy with my choice? Will my family be proud of me? What are my chances of sucess? Where will I have to live? Will I make enough money to survive? In taking this career route, am I making an choice that contradicts my ethical beliefs? Can I go to a party and proudly talk about my job? Who will I be hurting? What will I give up? Will I find stability in this career? What is the market like in this field? There are almost as many questions as there are career possibilities. And after answering all these questions, you are left with a passionless career that seems to please everyone but yourself. The one career you once wanted to pursue has already been thrown out several times. And the career you do choose becomes just another job.

I am trying something new this year (though I will most likely not suceed). I am trying to ignore what everyone else tells me I should do. I am trying to rely on my own passion and trust my talents (or lack thereof). The point being I don’t want to forget the thing I know I want to do. I don’t want to fall victim to a passionless life where I wake up each morning only wishing to stay in bed for the rest of my life. I want more than a job; I want a career.