You going for the moustache, John? Since about tenth grade, I've heard that question on a semi-weekly basis. I'm always quick to say no, but my response isn't worth much. Because even if the questioner means to ask if I was growing out a moustache on purpose, the question reminds me that -intended or not-there is sinus fur above my upper lip.
Let's get a couple of things straight. Five-o-clock shadows are not the problem here; full-blown facial hair isn't either. Heck, when I was eight, I wanted sideburns so badly that I grew them using the hairs on my head; they were my only available resources at the time.
It's not even the sub-set, the mustachioed community, that upsets me. I think moustache-growth is a wise choice for a lot of people, but just not for everybody. Pilots? They thrive at mustach-ing. Male flight attendants, too, even though we're talking a totally different style. I'm a 20-year-old sophomore who hasn't fully filled out yet; my facial hair grows in three shades darker than the stuff atop my head, and that's when the beard area grows in at all.
I wasn't necessarily looking for a holiday theme within this developmental dilemma, but one struck me the night before I flew home from college. I had been invited to a themed party, and the theme happened to be moustaches. By late afternoon that day, many of my friends were drawing, painting, and even transplanting hair to the space beneath their noses. Coincidentally, I hadn't the time to partake in my usual 8:00 A.M. electric razor session that morning, and had some thick material of my own to flaunt. For once, I was proud to show up at a party with the moustache-in-training that had been unwanted at all parties prior.
When people asked if I was going for the moustache that night, I proudly nodded in affirmation. Oftentimes, we are quick to take things for granted that don't always come in handy. Maybe it's because I only found reason to be thankful for my moustache this close to Thanksgiving-but it certainly exemplified a whole class of sometimes-useful things that we should keep in mind during the holiday season. Like the bedroom I only sleep in during vacations from school; or the steel envelope opener in my drawer, which I only bother to use when there are onlookers to impress as I open letters.
Even if the occasions when they're useful are far and few, appreciate the many great things in your life this Thanksgiving. But enough about me - and you have yourself a Happy Thanksgiving!
Peace, Love, and Personalized Media,
- John the Intern
There's a unique newspaper published in my hometown called The Happy Herald. Its underlying concept is noble as can be: give South Florida all the news that's fit to print, as long as it's positive and perky. The result is a weekly, fourteen-page digest that includes everything from human interest pieces, to human interest pieces about pets. To boot, it's also known for celebrity interviews, and other hallmarks of an optimistic entertainment section (I infer there are no in-house movie critics.) It's easy for the cynicism-seeking reader to take stabs at optimistic journalism, but I shouldn't be complaining; distributed for free at local restaurants, The Happy Herald is meant to supplement rather than deprive its readers of the grisly stuff.
But I still can't respect the journalists behind Herald like I do staffs of other publications. They just have it so much easier when it comes to prioritizing articles! See, normally, the editorial task is two-fold: a New York Times desk editor might first rank the day's articles by "importance" and "relevance," then decide—of those deemed equally important—which type of story deserves the top headline spot. You know, sniff out whether readers want the tragic articles or the uplifting ones with their morning coffee. There are a host of other emotions that articles can evoke from readers, and deciding which tonal genre deserves page prominence is as subjective a task as any. The job is infinitely simpler when all news is good news, though—so Happy Herald offers one solution.
This reconciling of a mixed audience's favorite emotions has always been a problem for news services. It's only worth bringing up now because DailyMe found a better way to make it work! It's called Meme It, a feature that just went live on the site this past month. Like "Digg It" and "Stumble It," it's a way for readers to mark the online news articles that they think other people should see. Only this time, users must also indicate how the article makes them feel. The available emoticons include "uplifting," "tragic," "enlightening," and even "weird," but the choice is all yours. And I bet you can guess what happens when enough users submit their opinions: you'll will be able to reorganize recent articles by emoticon! Great for all the Grumpy Gus's and Negative Nancy's seeking the most tragic stories atop their online digest. I dare say, a great editorial obstacle overcome.
For the frigid, emotionless type who won't be able to take advantage of our new feature — I'm sorry.
Peace, Love, and Personalized Media,
- John the Intern
http://DailyMe.com
If I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t have had more than five birthday parties throughout childhood. That’s about how many it takes before the responsibility starts to outweigh the honor. Now don’t get me wrong, the first couple times were great—the birthday boy’s only duty was to celebrate good times--and leave the rest to Mom. But that’s before I learned how to talk. And write. All of a sudden I was turning six, and realizing that my annual celebration of life had become a burden. The decisions to make were now many (the theme? invitees? goodie bag contents? the thank-you notes—wearying; and the trick candles?) No longer surprising.
Having abstained from birthday hosting for the past decade, I was noticeably ambivalent when Mrs. Boss asked me to assist in planning DailyMe’s Launch party. She offered to share some of the responsibilities once she saw the look on my face, but it didn’t really matter. Because it was me who placed the first phone calls to the venue, the caterer, the cupcake store, cameraman, and virtually everyone else involved. If you have ever planned a party before, you know how this works: the guy who places the initial call to a party service becomes the “contact,” and it’s very difficult to transfer the role.
Now a couple weeks into the planning, the event is almost there. Not that the process hasn’t been without its headaches. To name one, the cupcake people! I don’t know about you, but I would have thought cupcake-makers formed a humble industry. But I guess that doesn’t hold for stores that deem themselves “cupcake designers;” they can be downright arrogant. Needless to say, I expect their product to be delicious.
Other than that, the party is coming along nicely, and I don’t really have any more complaints. Well, besides the fact that I wasn’t invited. Ironic, I know. I was so angry when I found out that I cursed the person who made the guest list…until I remembered that it was me. Turns out I would have been invited, only the venue is a club on South Beach that does not allow guests under 21 years of age. Very sad turn of events.
I don’t want to be a complete party pooper though; this party is going to be awesome. It’s on Saturday, August 2nd at 7:00 p.m. Fun guaranteed. Plus, you never know who’s going to hide inside the DailyMe cake to sneak past the bouncers…
Happy 4th of July everyone – Be safe!
Peace, Love, and Personalized Media,
- John the Intern
If I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t have had more than five birthday parties throughout childhood. That’s about how many it takes before the responsibility starts to outweigh the honor. Now don’t get me wrong, the first couple times were great—the birthday boy’s only duty was to celebrate good times--and leave the rest to Mom. But that’s before I learned how to talk. And write. All of a sudden I was turning six, and realizing that my annual celebration of life had become a burden. The decisions to make were now many (the theme? invitees? goodie bag contents? the thank-you notes—wearying; and the trick candles?) No longer surprising.
Having abstained from birthday hosting for the past decade, I was noticeably ambivalent when Mrs. Boss asked me to assist in planning DailyMe’s Launch party. She offered to share some of the responsibilities once she saw the look on my face, but it didn’t really matter. Because it was me who placed the first phone calls to the venue, the caterer, the cupcake store, cameraman, and virtually everyone else involved. If you have ever planned a party before, you know how this works: the guy who places the initial call to a party service becomes the “contact,” and it’s very difficult to transfer the role.
Now a couple weeks into the planning, the event is almost there. Not that the process hasn’t been without its headaches. To name one, the cupcake people! I don’t know about you, but I would have thought cupcake-makers formed a humble industry. But I guess that doesn’t hold for stores that deem themselves “cupcake designers;” they can be downright arrogant. Needless to say, I expect their product to be delicious.
Other than that, the party is coming along nicely, and I don’t really have any more complaints. Well, besides the fact that I wasn’t invited. Ironic, I know. I was so angry when I found out that I cursed the person who made the guest list…until I remembered that it was me. Turns out I would have been invited, only the venue is a club on South Beach that does not allow guests under 21 years of age. Very sad turn of events.
I don’t want to be a complete party pooper though; this party is going to be awesome. It’s on Saturday, August 2nd at 7:00 p.m. Fun guaranteed. Plus, you never know who’s going to hide inside the DailyMe cake to sneak past the bouncers…
Happy 4th of July everyone – Be safe!
Peace, Love, and Personalized Media,
- John the Intern
Greetings from Florida! I arrived here but a week ago, and can't help but feel that my summer is off to a late start. There I was Friday, finally on the transcontinental flight home, so antsy to arrive that I couldn't even watch the in-flight episode of Two and a Half Men. And by the time I did reunite with my friends and acquaintances later that night, the conversations were way off; my “catch-up” questions were just too May. By mid-June, “how did finals go?” is passé.
Work-wise, though, I came home just in the knick of time. DailyMe had earlier agreed to take me back for another round of interning, and it wasn't until early June that they cleared me office space. Turned out to be worth the wait: by the time I got back, they had cleared me a whole suite’s worth of space. Well, not me personally. More precisely, Sales and Marketing--the two groups I work with--recently moved to a different set of offices within our building. This was partly to help accommodate the burgeoning company's staff increase, but also to give the Sales and Marketing a little space as they matured into teenage departments. The CEO even let them get bunkbeds in their new pad.
So I've been relegated to the new suite with another recent hire and Mrs. Boss--but the function goes hand in hand with the new features on DailyMe's site. DM just incorporated some news organization tools meant to help readers find the most important news at a given time. Users can still prioritize DailyMe’s articles based on their personal preference survey, but now they can also see what headlines our editorial board thought worthy of attention along with the most popular news of the day, DailyWe, as determined by what fellow DM’ers are reading.
I don't mean to wax nostalgic, but it felt funny to experience another DailyMe launch so soon after returning. It was more than 7 months ago, but I remember the original service's initial Beta launch like it was yesterday. I had just finished my first summer internship, and watched the old site go live on a laptop screen not unlike the one I'm viewing now. Reliving that excitement all over again last week was great, and I hope we continue the trend of one grand unveiling per summer. Pretty soon, I'll have seen more launches than an astronaut's wife and the mayor of Cape Canaveral combined.
Until then, though, I’m just happy to be back and be bloggin’.
Peace, Love, and Personalized Media,
- John the Intern
I just finished my freshman year of college, but—I must say—the occasion felt less momentous than anticipated. This is probably because, unlike other years, it wasn’t really defined by a discreet, culminating moment. You know, the one you come to expect after the first twelve transitions from academic year to summer: a bell rings, papers start flying, kids start rejoicing, and—although it’s optional—the song “School’s Out Forever” should begin playing somewhere in the background.
By those standards, 13th grade ended in somewhat disappointing fashion. Everyone finished their exams at different points in the week, and I was one of the stragglers. And even once all the academic obligations were out of the way, it was still no occasion to deck the halls with reams of loose-leaf. Quite the opposite, actually: dorm rooms had to be spic, span, and thoroughly emptied of our possessions by move-out day. The worst part is that I couldn’t even play “School’s Out Forever” because I had already sent my speakers to storage. Somewhere, Alice Cooper was wincing.
But “all’s well that ends well” isn’t a saying I always ascribe to. On the whole, freshman year was good to me. Maybe it was me who wasn’t good enough to it. I could have flossed more, slept less, checked my mailbox more, spent fewer monies. But what am I saying? “Self-improvement” is something to think about at the end of the real year, not the academic one. I’m just happy to be back within 30 miles of DailyMe’s Florida office again.
I'll be working part-time for my favorite personalized news service this summer, and can't wait to be back. Expect to read about some intern adventures that are twice as funny, twice as wacky, and twice as office-y as last year's.
As Always - Peace, Love & Personalized Media,
- John the Intern
There’s a rumor going around that my school plans to rid itself of all printed books and literature in the next 25 years. Somehow I doubt it’s true, but the hypothetical is funny to think about. The transition would just leave too much space. It would be gratifying to see my alma mater blossom into the least claustrophobic school in the country, but that’s about the only foreseeable perk. Space saving is cool and so is the security of digital archives, but let’s face it—books and shelves are essential ingredients for aesthetically-pleasing interior design. To get rid of one would be to render the other useless, and then what would we fill rooms with? Still, after experiencing a year’s worth of frustration at campus libraries and bookstores, the solution doesn’t seem all that bad.
On the surface, my college’s undergraduate library is no more offensive than the one at my high school: No drinks allowed, no talking allowed, and—if you really have to—try not to be too loud. The major difference, though, is that my high school library was just a study space with decorations. Here, I have to interact with the leather-bound stacks that once served as background. And I’ve learned that checking out books is harder than it used to be. Of course, then I only researched within the kids’ section (where the books are arranged by color, and separated into “pop-up” style or “not”.)
Today I have to contend with something called the Dewey Decimal System if I want to find the right title. The name may sound like it belongs to some sort of candy-making machine, but mark my words-- DDS is not delicious or systematic. It’s just an ineffective method of sorting books. Here is the argument I would have with the guy who invented the Dewey Decimal System (presumably Mr. Dewey):
ME: “With all due respect, sir, I find it much easier to find books in stores, when they are classified by genre and positioned alphabetically-by-author. Why don’t libraries just do that?”
MR. DEWEY: “Well does your hot shot bookstore even have an eighth as many texts and multimedia as a college library?”
ME: “No, but a bookstore exists that carries eight times as many books as my bookstore. You can alphabetize no matter how many you have.
MR. DEWEY: “By gosh, Lad, I stand corrected. You have decimated my decimals.
But don’t get me wrong, it’s not like campus bookstores aren’t irritating in their own right. Go in to buy a hoodie your first week there (obligatory,) but don’t waste your time when it comes purchasing books at the beginning of term. 40% of the time they are cheaper elsewhere, 40% of the time you can borrow one from someone who already took the class, and 20% of the time they aren’t even necessary.
Books complicate my life these days, but I’m still glad that they exist. Whether they die out at the hand of the computer scanner--or else by something more Bradbury-esque--I’ll appreciate them while I can.
Peace, Love & Personalized Media,
-John the Intern
There’s a rumor going around that my school plans to rid itself of all printed books and literature in the next 25 years. Somehow I doubt it’s true, but the hypothetical is funny to think about. The transition would just leave too much space. It would be gratifying to see my alma mater blossom into the least claustrophobic school in the country, but that’s about the only foreseeable perk. Space saving is cool and so is the security of digital archives, but let’s face it—books and shelves are essential ingredients for aesthetically-pleasing interior design. To get rid of one would be to render the other useless, and then what would we fill rooms with? Still, after experiencing a year’s worth of frustration at campus libraries and bookstores, the solution doesn’t seem all that bad.
On the surface, my college’s undergraduate library is no more offensive than the one at my high school: No drinks allowed, no talking allowed, and—if you really have to—try not to be too loud. The major difference, though, is that my high school library was just a study space with decorations. Here, I have to interact with the leather-bound stacks that once served as background. And I’ve learned that checking out books is harder than it used to be. Of course, then I only researched within the kids’ section (where the books are arranged by color, and separated into “pop-up” style or “not”.)
Today I have to contend with something called the Dewey Decimal System if I want to find the right title. The name may sound like it belongs to some sort of candy-making machine, but mark my words-- DDS is not delicious or systematic. It’s just an ineffective method of sorting books. Here is the argument I would have with the guy who invented the Dewey Decimal System (presumably Mr. Dewey):
ME: “With all due respect, sir, I find it much easier to find books in stores, when they are classified by genre and positioned alphabetically-by-author. Why don’t libraries just do that?”
MR. DEWEY: “Well does your hot shot bookstore even have an eighth as many texts and multimedia as a college library?”
ME: “No, but a bookstore exists that carries eight times as many books as my bookstore. You can alphabetize no matter how many you have.
MR. DEWEY: “By gosh, Lad, I stand corrected. You have decimated my decimals.
But don’t get me wrong, it’s not like campus bookstores aren’t irritating in their own right. Go in to buy a hoodie your first week there (obligatory,) but don’t waste your time when it comes purchasing books at the beginning of term. 40% of the time they are cheaper elsewhere, 40% of the time you can borrow one from someone who already took the class, and 20% of the time they aren’t even necessary.
Books complicate my life these days, but I’m still glad that they exist. Whether they die out at the hand of the computer scanner--or else by something more Bradbury-esque--I’ll appreciate them while I can.
Peace, Love & Personalized Media,
-John the Intern
It’s always relieving to hear that an event will occur “as sure as the seasons turn,” but I think the figure of speech itself is misleading. After all, the transition from winter to spring is hardly a sure thing: we leave it up to a groundhog—not a discreet turn of the calendar—to tell us when we need trade snow for pollen. We have historically put our seasonal fates in the hands of a burrowing buck-toothed mammal, and it turns out those aren’t good hands at all; they’re paws, and chancy ones at that. I call for a new annual reference point to mark the turning of these seasons—one that is consistent, and unlikely to be pushed back six weeks just because some varmint can’t see his shadow.
So what are our other contenders? We could do the ole’ first day of the month—get “springy” on March 1st. I don’t think, though, that many things are in bloom by then in certain parts of the country. The first day of spring is supposed to be representative of spring, and it defeats the purpose of picking a new day if that day still carries the burdens of winter.
Then what about ‘dem “Ides of March,” which falls right on the 15th each time. It sounds like the first approximation of a good seasonal marker—consistent year by year, appropriate weather-wise—but I fear Shakespeare gave it too much of a bad rap. It would be silly to pick an important new date that stands stigmatized from the start.
Bottom line: we need a marker with a good reputation, and few events fit the criteria as neatly as March Madness (formally known as the NCAA Men’s Division 1 Basketball Championship. It is inarguably the best play-off tournament set-up of any spectator sport, and it makes sunshine a requirement of yesterday. That is, even if its March 20something starting date isn’t late enough to guarantee good weather, most people are satisfied enough with the light emanating from their television screens to not notice. Late enough, reputable enough, and not contingent on the weather outside—I think we’ve found the perfect occasion for a Back to Spring celebration.
I guess only one question remains: is March Madness popular enough for this new significance to work its way into collective memory? I’d vote yes, and for a reason. The Tournament involves only single-elimination games, so viewers are always watching two teams with everything on the line. The mere suspense behind such a reckoning is bound to get anyone excited, regardless of his/her level of fanhood prior to the game. Also, it provides conversation fodder for weeks on end. This is important, because the departure of winter means no more generic comments about the weather.
In sum, I call for the abolition of Groundhog Day followed by the inauguration of March Madness’s play-in game into the Season Turner Hall of Fame. C’mon people, lets lend some credence and constancy to the old saying.
Go Stanford & UNC!!!
Peace, Love & Personalized Media,
-John the Intern
It’s mid-February, a time of year typically characterized by chilly weather and the red glint of St. Valentines Day. On a college campus in the wake of the 2008 Presidential Primaries, though, these are negligible conditions. The political climate here is hot, and I’ve only seen red when it’s accompanied by white and blue. All I’m trying to say is that my school, presumably like all others, has gotten really into this election. And like anywhere else, no two students are very like-minded on the matter.
Walk through the campus plaza on a given afternoon and you’ll be given a million different sides of the story: vote for him, vote for her, vote for the other him, vote for the old guy. At least Ron Paul’s people tried not to impose less than the others, asking only that I YouTube their candidate. Considerate, except I still use a 56K Modem; that’s still asking a lot of me.
As an impressionable freshman just shy of 230 months old, I feel pressure from all sides. People more verbally affrontive but not necessarily more informed than me are trying to push my hand in all sorts of directions. It’s a time that calls for self-inquiry. Who do I want to lead my country? Should I even belong to a major party? My generation has been raised on the “none of the above” option, so it’s not my nature to feel satisfied with choice A or choice B. That is, until I found out that only members of a major parties can vote in primaries.
So I ultimately compromised my round views to fit into a square party’s peg, but I wasn’t very enthusiastic about it. Without enthusiasm, it seemed a feat to brave the long line at my polling station. Fortunately the mail-in-ballot I had acquired earlier allowed me to bypass the queue. I was surprised that most of the other people turned out the old-fashioned way, waiting for hours on end to cast their vote on the spot. We’ve all heard about poorly informed political decisions, but these were poorly informed methods of getting the piece of paper on which they could make these political decisions.
It is important to note that the ballot wasn’t all about choosing a new president; in fact, there were three additional legislative propositions for my state to vote on. I answered “no” to all of them without reading descriptions, because my parents didn’t raise me to be a “yes man.” And isn’t that the sort of logic that has driven the system for years? Not a rhetorical question, I seriously want too know if my reasoning seems too faulty.
Peace, Love, and Personalized Media.
-John the Intern
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Berk Boy said:
I totally know what you mean. There are so many things we take for granted that we don't know are... read more
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Miss Spider (Charlotte) said:
this made me feel...... loss for words. Well written Im enjoying it! read more
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Ms. Behavin said:
You planned an awesome party that you can't even attend? What the???? Hmmm... Something about that just does not seem... read more
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