also, i apparently equate winning dancing with the stars and passing health care reform. in my life, i'd really take either

I have now been unemployed for over a quarter of a year. That’s an entire season. My unemployment baby is now in his second trimester. It took Donny Osmond less time to win Dancing with the Stars. We actually got the House to approve the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act faster than it took me to get a job. Also, the next person who refers to it as “Obamacare” gets punched in the face. In the Netflix queue of words that make me want to vomit all over myself, Obamacare is somewhere in between Brangelina and FTW (pretty high up the list, in case it isn’t obvious).

So, in these three months, I have discovered what surely others have discovered—people have an endless supply of bad advice. I don’t mean bad as in advice that could have been fruitful but went the other way. You know, the “sure, yeah, invest in that stock” or “I am pretty sure she said fifteen feet” or “I think his name is Martin” kind of advice. Nor am I talking about the kind of advice that was, I’m sure, helpful back in 1955 or whenever this person is drawing knowledge from. Like my grandmother, who suggested instead of buying I desk, I make one out of orange crates. Which is great advice for the Okies making it across the country from the Dust Bowl, I’m sure. But seeing as I question the quality and safety of the actual oranges from most stores, I doubt that a crate is anywhere to be seen. Not to mention the scene of me stacking together these crates sounds like beginning of the story of how I managed to nail my foot into my hardwood floor.

I am talking about the sort of bad advice that is just never good. It didn’t spoil over the fifty years that have passed since it was opened. It was just always useless. And not only is it never good, it is not even advice. I’m talking about one specific thing: the “oh, I wish I had that kind of free time! You must be getting all kinds of things done.” Thus is born something I have deemed the unemployment curse.

Now, the worst parts of unemployment are obvious—no money, no health insurance, not much reason to leave the house daily, job hunting is actually crushing my soul, and every time you write a cover letter, an angel loses its wings. But people seem to think that is a great opportunity to find yourself and to do something you’ve always wanted to do. I think these are the same kind of people who bet they would get tons of reading done in prison. So, they believe, instead of focusing on negative, take a good look at the positive!

I think the problem really is that people have this expectation that the only thing stopping them from writing a novel or selling all their worldly possessions and backpacking in the Andes or finally learning how to play tennis is the fact that they spend the day in the office. Remove that, and dreams can come true. What I think people fail to remember is that you don’t leave the layoff meeting thinking, yes, I am ready (to plagiarize) to cease to be earthbound and burden by practicality. What you are thinking is, wow, if I don’t find a job very soon, I won’t be able to pay rent after next month. What a great time to start making hemp necklaces and selling them on Etsy.com!

So, while you spend your day changing the recipient’s address on your cover letter and trying not to use too much shampoo, you are also laden with the guilt that you should be reading more, visiting more museums, taking more walks, doing the sort of things that everyone should be doing. But instead of the typical excuse that work takes up too much of your time and energy, you have “nothing stopping you.” So why wouldn’t you finally tackle classic Russian novels or clean out that closet you’ve been meaning to clean? Think of it as your very own stay-cation (also on the vom-word queue)!

The curse is exactly that feeling that you are somehow wasting this horrible experience, that somehow when you finally do get a job again, you will look back at these few months and rue not having better used your time. Which is just mean. Why would you do that? You, that person who is down, let me kick you! Not only are you feeling rejected and useless and sad, you should also feel lazy and uninspired! Forget that you have trouble finding a reason to get up in the AM and put on clean clothes, you really should be trying to visit as many cultural institutions as possible. You’ll regret it if you don’t! People think that they are being helpful, but really, they are just being mean.

There are positive, optimistic people who see life in a way that is both joyful and enlightened. And then there are just stupid people who fail to see things as they really are. They are the sort of people who think that a smile and a dream can get them through anything, while at the same time they are unaware of their own pathetic tendencies. You know, the person who thinks that falling down all the time makes them endearing, not difficult to be around. These are the kind of people who cheerfully serve up what they feel is positive, optimistic advice that is actually terrible not-advice, specifically because they are stupid.

I am getting a lot of reading done, though.

in his defense, he is an indian guy with a beard

Sometime in your life, and likely, sometime during your day today, someone has complain-bragged to you. There are few things that turn me off more than a complain-brag. I doubt I am the first person to coin that term or decry this behavior, but it came up again in a recent conversation that started with “do you know what I hate?” In this case, it was sequels that use another form of the word “two.” (Yes, I’m looking at you, Tyler Perry). From there, we took a little journey of things that answer that question: the overpopulation hipsters in Soho, those Old Navy mannequin ads, skinny jeans, NYU freshmen, the way that the Village keeps changing, and, among others, complain-bragging.

Complain-bragging is exactly what it sounds like it is. Someone frames a brag in the form of a complaint. So, instead of smacking you in the face with a wave of overconfidence, they force your hand. You have to commiserate with the complaint, thereby affirming the brag. Let’s use an example. “Ugh, I have so much work to do this week because no one else in my department can be trusted to handle this material!” Or, “I’m so tired from working out so long at the gym last night!” Or, “It is so hard to find size 0 jeans in this store!” Or, “I can’t believe how expensive it is to get a BMW repaired in this city!”

The most egregious form of complain-bragging comes from, as the most egregious form of anything does, from annoying girls. You know how it goes. “Oh my god, I went out to this bar last night and these guys would not stop hitting on me!” Yeah, okay sweetie. Strangers thought you were attractive and told you so? Wow, your life sure sounds tough. You know the cure for that complaint. You go out one night, wear your short skirt and your low-cut top, you go do your hair and makeup and put on your heels, go out that night and have no guy hit on you all night. Sit around with your friends and have no guy pay any attention to you. Is that really what you want? No. No it isn’t. So just shut up.

But complain-bragging is not just the hallmark of an annoying girl. It is also deep in the pocket of any academic douchebag. “I can’t believe how heavy the seventeen books I checked out for my thesis were!” Here, in case it isn’t obvious, you are supposed to be impressed about the seventeen books. You are supposed to sympathize with the struggle of carrying all those books at the same time relate your awe that someone read seventeen books and is working on a thesis. How impressive! You managed both to carry home a bunch of crap, but also, you are really, really, really, really smart! Seventeen books worth of smart!

I like to play a different game. “Maybe you should have made a couple of trips.” Perhaps we can’t learn everything from books.

A complain-brag also has an equally ugly cousin with a longer, more hyphenated name (as ugly cousins often have): the self-deprecating-but-actually-self-aggrandizing joke. It follows the same sort of philosophy as the complain-brag. Instead of hailing the conquering hero (i.e., yourself), you make some comment that makes the other person inadvertently affirm you. It goes something like this:

A-hole: Yeah, I was so dumb. I was like “imagine libertarianism is a whale.” Look how fun and fancy free I am!

[Expected response]: Yeah, you are just a free-wheeling academic. Your whimsical references are at once silly, but also really insightful. Thanks for being both fun and smart!

Jesse response: Yeah, remember when you said used the word libertarianism in an English Lit class? Ew.

Let’s be clear. This is not the “does this shirt make me look fat” question. Nor is it the I-say-mean-things-about-myself-so-you-can-tell-me-good-things-about-me game. While those are also hallmarks of both annoying girls and academic douchebags, they are the tools of lesser such, well, tools. There is something more sinister, more calculated about the complain-brag. You are not just openly asking people for affirmation that you are so great (or at least perpetuate the myth that you are not fat). You are almost trying to trick people into giving it. You choose your words carefully and craft a conversation in which you steal from people both sympathy and admiration.

Person: Oh, I wish I could have done X in high school, but I was too busy with all my AP classes. (HA HA now you feel sorry for me for not doing whatever you were talking about, you will be impressed with how smart I was slash am!)

Now some of you keeping score may try to point out that I complain-brag about being called a high school student. Let me show you the distinction. I know I look younger than I am, and I enjoy that. But there is a huge difference between someone saying “oh, you look youthful and vibrant, full of life!” and “Oh, you look like you have not yet taken the SAT and are really looking forward to (junior) prom next year!” I especially loved when I was asked if we, my volunteers and I, were all high school volunteers. I would make big gestures, swirling my arms around everywhere: “THEEEEEEEY ARE; I graduated college. I have voted in multiple presidential elections. I have a 401k!” I try to list things that make me sound old. “I try to include extra fiber in my diet. I once had to see a doctor about acid reflux!”

I appreciate when I get carded at a bar. One such story:

Jesse: Can I get a beer?

Waitress: Sure, do you have ID?

Jesse: Sure. Do I look especially young or something?

Waitress: Oh, no we have to card anyone who looks under 30.

Jesse: Oh, okay.

Waitress: Great! [Checks ID].

Friend: Can I get a beer, too?

Waitress: Sure! [Leaves].

Jesse: HAHA YOU LOOK 35! I LOOK NINETEEN AND YOU LOOK OLD!

Also, I love the idea that it was like a 35-year-old and his 19-year-old friend, hanging out in some unromantic interracial version of Harold and Maude (yes, apparently a 35-year-old is now a Maude).

In any case, this is an epidemic that can stop with you! Be on the lookout for them and do not indulge them. If you see something, say something! (And by something, I really mean nothing).

and for the record, if you spend more than half a decade under the age of 5, you don't remember it

There are people who create things or do things that later allow evil to happen. I’m not trying to plumb the philosophical depths of causality. Really, I am trying to strong-arm an historical reference like the Einstein-Szilárd Letter into being a hook to talk about Facebook. Let’s not try too hard with that. I just figure my 4 on the AP US History test has to be put to use every once in a while. (“In Eighteen-Hundred-and-Fifty-Eight / Boss Tweed came into New York State…”).

But really, I wonder if the person(s) who thought up of “Fan” pages realized the evil they were bringing to the world. It makes sense! I can be a “Fan” of my favorite band or product. That way, instead of creating a fake person page, things that are more abstract can be on Facebook. It started out with things like Starbucks and Ashton Kutcher but slowly things got more abstract. Sure, you can be a fan of pages made not by the actual companies or people, but pages made by fans of those things. Bill Watterson would never create a “Calvin and Hobbes” page, but someone else did. Sure. I guess that’s okay. Shakespeare is dead, so he can’t create his own fan page. Fair enough.

Then it got weird. “Laughing.” Sure, yeah, one could be a fan of laughing. I suppose it begs the question of who does not like laughing, who out there is saying to himself, nope, laughing—of that, I am not a fan. But sure. I suppose that is possible. Inanity (a word!) ruled the day. “Music.” “Sushi.” “New York City.”

Things then started getting weird, grammatically. “I Hate Mosquitoes!” You are a fan of “I Hate Mosquitoes.” Wait. What? You are a fan of that? Isn’t that just something everyone generally agrees with (fish not included)? “I Have The Deepest Thoughts in the Shower!!!” I don’t know how that works, as far as fandom. That isn’t even like a thing! At least mosquitoes are something you can generally enjoy or not enjoy (but again, who enjoys them?!). I think what they mean is, “having deep thoughts in the shower,” using a gerund. You can be a fan of that, I guess (really?). But something happened in the shift from nouns to complete sentences. Something evil. Something that threatens our very way of life. Suddenly, you could become a fan of any general statement. “People who eat with their mouths open are gross!” “I have hair!” “I use a doorknob to open doors!”

Chaos.

There is the supposedly observant humor: “Why is my bed suddenly so comfortable when the alarm goes off???”

There is the cloying nostalgia: “When I was your age, Pluto was a planet!!!!!!!!”

The things that teenagers say to get attention from their parents: “When I die, I give my friends permission to change my status to ‘is dead’!!!!!!”

The communal irony: “The Sham-wow guy!”

Things just quickly spiraled out of control. “Hot showers.” “Going the wrong way on an escalator.” “Saying ‘or not’ when people do the complete opposite of what you just said.” “My mind was blown when I realized that that was a D in the Walt Disney logo.” I read somewhere, you know, generally on the internet, that said that the number one adjective that people use to describe themselves is “funny.” Which I totally buy. And which is totally ridiculous. I mean, I guess it is true. Most people are not funny, and they make their other not funny friends laugh at the not funny things that they say.

I mean, I am generally cruel to myself. But the one thing I do think I am (perhaps to a snobbish fault) is funny (and of course, look down on people who disagree). So when other people claim to be and are not, it is somehow insulting to me. I think the problem is most people are just completely not self-aware (un-self-aware?). Sorry, girls everywhere. You are not Hermione. And sorry, most people. You are not funny.

But what is a worse phenomenon to me is that people are creating fan pages slash becoming fans of things that are just pathetic. “I say I’m okay but I’m really not.” “Waiting for the person you like to come online.” “I love you but I can never tell you.” “You: Who do you like? Me: No one. (YOU!!!!).”

What am I supposed to do with that? Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? (Because I don’t.)

Despite the fact that I am constantly confused for a high schooler (which some people tell me is a compliment, but clearly they did not know what I looked like when I was 16), I have trouble wrapping my head around the current high school experience. Between texting all day long and this whole Facebook fanpage business, I just don’t get when they have time to play football or hang out with friends or learn to drive or any of the things I thought that people did in high school. But really, what do I know? I was busy studying AP US History (apparently, for my future as an occasional blogger).

no, i didn't say any of those things out loud.

Makin' Mandoo: An Informal Photo Essay
By Jesse Hall

So, somewhere between being unemployed and Lunar* New Year landing on Valentine's day this year, I felt the need to make a huge amount of Korean food. The back story is that I spent the night before chopping vegetables and mixing tofu and marinating meats and whatnot. Then, I spent the day in front of the TV, Olympics on, ready to start folding some dumplings.

So, like those clever Blair Witch kids, I decided to photo-document the process. I figured, if nothing else, I would have something to show for it other than having eaten 1000 dumplings all by myself (which I contend is a respectable feat).


Our story begins at about 3 o'clock. You'll notice some hopeful things there. A single cookie tray, a moist paper towel to keep the wrappers from drying out, a spoon. Oh, how naïve you were, Jesse at 3 PM. Things were about to get exciting.

1 hour mark. The observant viewer will notice the tray full of dumplings but also notice that the level of dumpling filling is unchanged from the first picture. No, this is not a continuity error. This is simply because YHWH, performing a miracle, made a bowl of turkey and tofu last not one day but eight! Praise the LORD!

2 hour mark. We were rounding the horn on tray #2 and there seemed to be no end in sight of dumpling filling. You might also notice a bowl of what was once water used to seal the wrappers shut and now more closely resembles the runoff of a factory from an episode of Captain Planet.


I can see light!


So the wrappers ran out long before the filling did. You'll also notice the philosophy of squeezing three trays worth of dumplings onto two (motivated mostly by the fact that we only have two cookie sheets in the apartment). No dumpling left behind! Time: 6 PM.


Then, the fun part! Deep frying! Mmmmmmmmmmm... You'll notice the varying shades of golden brown based on my method of frying them at whatever temperature the oil happens to be until they look done-ish.


Oh, I also made Korean BBQ beef and rice and bought some kimchee. Happy Valentine's Day, self!


*Some of you may say to yourself, wait a minute. Don't you mean Chinese New Year? What is this Lunar business? Well, you may or may not know that more than one culture celebrates the New Year when Chinese people typically do. Among them are Koreans. And, as much as they love the Chinese, Koreans are not apt to call their New Year "Chinese New Year." In fact, I had a discussion with a colleague at the Hall about this very issue. And by discussion, I mean, I kept repeating the same point, and she kept not understanding it.

It went something like this:

Woman: Maybe we can do a Chinese New Year celebration to attract the Asian population.
Jesse: Well, if we wanted to be more inclusive, we should call it "Lunar New Year."
Woman: Why?
Jesse: Because blahblahblah
Woman: Oh, I didn't know that!

LATER

Woman: Oh, I took your idea to the CEO / President!
Jesse (suspicious): What idea?
Woman: About Chinese New Year.
Jesse: You mean Lunar New Year.
Woman: Yes! Exactly!
Jesse: So why would you call it Chinese New Year?
Woman: Well, we decided that it might not be clear what we meant. So we decided to compromise and call it Chinese Lunar New Year. I told her it was all your idea!
Jesse: ...


WHAT!!!
A) A compromise? What are we compromising?! Are we at war?
B) Why would we call it something that makes no sense! There is no such thing as Chinese Lunar New Year! So instead of being exclusive or inclusive, we've decided to be nonsensical.
and
C) Be clear for Chinese people? Do you know what Chinese people call Chinese New Year? NEW YEAR! GAH! Who is going to be confused about the New Year celebration scheduled for February?! White people without calendars?

I'm glad that is the one idea of mine that made its way to the CEO. A lasting legacy, I left there.

my favorite line from hamlet: oh, i am slain!

Be yourself. So say Chris Cornell and the genie from Aladdin and at least one episode of every family sitcom or teen drama ever written. Plus, that Polonius guy did. It remains one of those ubiquitous morals that we are supposed to take away from every awkward middle schooler who stuffs her bra and every high school nerd who tries to fit in with the jocks for a day by making fun of his once-and-future friends. I think the idea is supposed to be that “everyone is different, and that’s okay.”

But, it’s not. Be yourself is really “everyone is different, and different people shouldn’t interact with each other (so just accept your lot in life, you flat-chested nerd).” Be yourself is more often than not a request to stop something than it is to be anything. It is actively being passive, as opposed to actively being.

Not only that, it is doled out as advice in the toughest of decisions. Don’t know what to do, don’t know which path to take? Well, just be yourself! Oh, okay! Thank god. I thought I might actually have to choose between things. Now, the answer is clear. I should just be myself!

…

…

…

Now what?

I just don’t understand why it continues to be a thing. Has anyone ever been told that and then felt elucidatory sense of revelation?

I have a problem with the idea that we have one true self that was somehow created upon birth. From the moment we emerge from the womb (or, depending on your religious and scientific belief, when sperm meets ovum) engraved into our being is some immutable self that is more pure and more true than the eventual socialization that occurs with, well, living. And we can talk Plato and Aristotle all we want, but it is still a ridiculous idea.

Worse yet, to me, is the idea that people shouldn’t have to change themselves ever. Just be yourself! I mean, people mean that to a point. Just be yourself (unless you’re a racist, then don’t be yourself)! Yes, obviously. But, be yourself, even if you don’t fit in, even if no one likes you, even if everyone actually hates you. Sure, okay. That’s fine, if that’s what you want to do. Fair enough. But the idea that “well, if people don’t like you, maybe the problem is you (and it probably is)” is somehow cruel advice is beyond me. Some things are just not likable. So you either got to change them or own them. One or the other. But changing them does not make you a bad person. In fact, you just might be the better person. I know several people who could better both themselves and the world by changing who they are.

And ultimately, it is nonsense. Be yourself. Oh okay. Hold on. Right now I am embodying this host body like a body snatcher, but if you give me a minute, I can return to my true form. You are always yourself! It’s just that sometimes that self is a self-involved, pandering, trying-too-hard douchebag. But, yes, that is still being yourself! And certainly, I do not want you to be that self more. Don’t be yourself!

I think what they mean is to tell the truth. Don’t lie. Sure. I’m against the idea of people, say, pretending they’re doctors and treating people. I am also against people pretending they have had experiences that they have not. You did NOT grow up watching that TV show that ended before you were born! Don’t become a fan of it on Facebook! Some people just love to participate in experiences that they don’t belong to, desperately glomming onto every tragedy or joke, trying to suck the marrow out of it like the starving cavewoman in the video they showed us in sixth grade to show us how cavepersons survived (apparently, by sucking the marrow out of bones) (also, Microsoft Word did not accept “cavepeople” as a word, but was fine with “cavepersons,” and I am inclined to let them have it).

One thing that KILLS me is Americans who use the world “football” to describe soccer. Unless you also say “lift” and “rubbish” and bin” and “tube” and the other goofy words that British people use to describe things with much more normal names (Brolly? Really?), you can’t say football. Also, if you did not grow up within the British Commonwealth, you cannot say any of those words. We don’t queue up. We don’t eat crisps. We don’t put petrol in our lorries. We don’t wear jumpers or trainers that our mum bought us. Sorry, you live in America.

For the record: the argument that “it’s football, you kick the ball with your foot” is nonsense. I refuse to even acknowledge that as a thought. Just like whenever someone brings up the parkway / driveway nonsense. Things have funny names. Get over it. Don’t even mention it because it is neither observant nor comedic. Just shut up.

But all of that does not fall under “be yourself” but “stop being a douchebag,” which again, is not “be yourself” but “CHANGE yourself.” And that is change we can believe in. Yes! We! Can! (Seriously, stop.)