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Monthly archives for September 2010
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Kiki’s Big Adventure: End of the Road, Part II
I have always been delighted at the prospect of a new day, a fresh try, one more start, with perhaps a bit of magic waiting somewhere behind the morning.
—J. B. PriestleyIncredibly, it’s been just over a month since I pulled into town. Feels like I’ve been here for ages. I still can’t say for sure what it is that’s so different about where I’ve chosen to plant myself or what makes it so damned enchanting. Is it something inherent to the place … the fact that it’s not Boston … the simple act of starting over itself?
In all likelihood, it’s a little from columns A, B, and C.
When I was 17, I had a falling out with my father that led to a long estrangement. The following year, I decided to legally change my last name to the one I have now, Hammann.
It was weird, at first, signing my new name and answering to it in class. I found myself having to explain the change to people fairly often, as my old acquaintances crossed paths with the new ones. I don’t recall exactly what I told them, but as I wasn’t terribly fond of people knowing my business, I’m sure it was some stripped-down version of the truth.
When I got married, I kept my “maiden” name, and nearly everyone assumed it was a feminist statement. I let people believe what they wanted. The truth of it, though, was that my new name had become very precious to me … because, in the whirl of hormones and college and family tragedy that defined my eighteenth year, I’d chosen the name for myself.
That’s a difficult thing to describe to someone who’s never felt the need to be completely divorced from someone or something, to begin again from scratch. Of course, at 18 … and even 26, I was just too immature to realize that everyone feels that way sometimes, to varying degrees, or that we all go about forging ourselves every day, through decisions big and small. And things that we choose … that we create ourselves … well, they often have a special beauty only we can appreciate.
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And Why Are You Waiting?
I’ve always been a bit morbid. Not Wednesday Addams morbid, really, but definitely somewhere on that continuum. I attribute my morbidity, such as it is, to another quality of mine, which when I was a kid people called “being sensitive” … taking things very much to heart, worrying about stuff most children didn’t seem to be aware of in the least, and generally railing against the unfairness of, well, just about everything.
My mom flipped out once when she caught me in the backyard handling a dead bird, over whose funeral I was just about to preside. I was outraged that she valued my health more than the poor avian soul. I could go on: My first existential crisis … at age four. The group home for homeless folks I designed when I was 14. (I was to be the architect and director of the non-profit I would found and run. Naturally.)
I felt pain very acutely. That’s how I think of it now. Me. Birds. The homeless. Wherever there was pain and angst—or the potential for either—I found it and assumed responsibility for it.
Not much has changed. As one of my oldest friends said to me recently on my visit back home for my high school reunion, “You’re still Kirsten. Just more so.” I still fret over problems of the soul and the human condition and things like that.
What has changed, though, is that after decades of trying not to be so sensitive, I’ve finally just accepted it. I’ve learned to cope with it, to see that it’s one of the things that makes me me, mainly by learning to laugh at myself … and letting others do the same without assuming it’s an indictment of my character. Case in point, a recent exchange with Em Em:
Em Em: oh shit! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
Em Em: i mean, i already said it, so it escaped me
Kiki: well, you already wished me happy birthday on facebook … that’s where it counts!
Em Em: true dat! i love facebook birthdays
Kiki: me too!
Em Em: it makes up for all the other 364
Kiki: is it too grim that i feel like it gives me a good sense of what the turnout will be at my funeral?
Em Em: i wouldn’t say grim, i would say … optimistic
Kiki: you don’t think that guy i worked with 4 years ago who i never talked to then, and still don’t, won’t come to my funeral?
Kiki: or the girl who i was in brownies with?
Em Em: i mean, i’m sure you’ll have a good turnout, but i don’t think all the FB randos who wish everyone a happy birthday will be the main contingent
Em Em: wait – is that a jinx?!
Kiki: oh, i’ll give it to you
Kiki: it’s a pity jinx tho, so long as we’re clear on that
Em Em: no, my jinxes are just more philosophical than yours. i mean, you’re so CONCRETE
Em Em: my jinxes are CONCEPTUAL
Em Em: jeez
Kiki: genuine LOLWhat got me to thinking about all this was a plaque a saw this morning while walking little black dog.
I’ve read or heard the sentiment before, but something in seeing it framed in such a way really struck me. I turned it over in my mind … more than once, if you must know. Is there someone out there I’d regret not talking to, an apology owed maybe, a confession, a proffer of forgiveness?
But as I dwelt on the idea of my mortality and possible lingering regrets (if dead people can have regrets), what came to mind were all the little things, well, to be more precise, the things that seem little but aren’t, the things that have meant the world to me, for whatever reason, and were only acknowledged as small kindnesses … or worse, as duties.
Holy Henry James-esque sentence, Batman.
Anyway, I thought of the person who returned my lost $20 bill to the store manager, at a time when I very much could not afford to lose $20. I thought of the person who betrayed a family member’s confidence to tell me my marriage was over. I thought of the first stranger to comment on my blog. I thought of the friends who stuck by me when I had zero to give and could only take, take, take. I thought of the aunt who sends me cards of encouragement whenever life throws me a setback, however minor.
In fact, if I’d not stopped to write this post, I’d still be thinking of people who’ve done me a good turn at one time or another.
As I pondered all this, though, I remembered my exchange with Em Em and it occurred to me that most of the people I’d thought of will be at my funeral one day. (Well, not the guy who returned my 20 bucks, but you know what I mean.) And some loved one will have the sad duty of sending thank you notes to them for coming or for the lovely flowers, the kind card, whatever.
But why leave that task to someone else? What about sending a pre-funeral thank you note … myself?
Okay, maybe I am Wednesday Addams morbid.
I still think it’s a good idea. In the grand scheme of things, coming to my funeral is probably one of the more minor things people will ever do for me. I mean, technically, I’ll get nothing from it at all. But now … now people are doing stuff for me left and right, stuff I know about and things I may never realize, and all of these collective kindnesses are making existence as I know it possible.
Sure, people go to funerals for themselves and for the other survivors, and the thank you notes are for that, not for being a part of the person’s life in the first place. That only means that all that being a part of someone’s life—the fun and the messy, alike—goes essentially unrecognized.
Yeah, there are “Thinking of You” cards and “Just Because” cards, but I think most people reserve those for the VIPs. What about the day players, the character actors? Those are the ones who really fill in the bleachers at a good funeral, and they’re no less important to the fabric of a life than the headliners.
I dunno, maybe it’s a crazy idea to start formally thanking people for their contribution to my life. It sounds a little nutty when I write it all out like this. I’m curious … any of you ever try something like this? Anyone ever get something like this?
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Some Semi-Serious Thoughts on Online Marketing … Er, Dating: Part I
As you may know if you’re a regular reader, I’ve been married. So, naturally, I know how to plan a romantic vacation for two, how to split up household chores, how to select the right tie for every conceivable occasion, how to listen to boring work stories and nod in all the right places. In short, I know how to be with a man, how to be part of a couple.
But in 2004, after my divorce, I found myself (begrudgingly) dating again for the first time in over 11 years. To help you understand just how incredibly long a period that is, the last time I’d been on a first date I was barely out of my teens, e-mail was only for computer science majors, and Sir Mix-a-Lot had a song in the Top Ten. In short, at 31, I had zero knowledge of or experience with dating an adult male.
That’s when I first tried online matchmaking, as it was called then.
I had no choice, really. I owned my own business and worked from home. I wasn’t much of a bar-scenester, though I made valiant, if less-than-skillful efforts in that regard. I had my circle of close girlfriends, and they dragged me to book readings and cookouts and costume parties. But no one asked me out. In fact, in all my time as a single woman in Boston, no one save the occasional cab driver and cable guy ever asked me out IRL. Not once.
Anyway, all this is to say that I stand before you now with a full and robust understanding of what it’s like to be new to the strange world of online dating and to be flummoxed at the prospect of pitching oneself to scores of complete strangers. So, what follows are some thoughts about online dating and suggestions for those who decide to wade into the fray—from a comrade.
Choosing a Handle
Firstly, let’s have a defining of terms. I call online dating user names “handles” not screen names or profile names or any other such thing. As a child of the ’70s, I love Smokey and the Bandit and CB lingo, so maybe that’s an influence. Overall, though, I think handle is a more appropriate way to describe the function of an online moniker, too.
See, a screen name is something that’s meaningful to you, something you can remember … something you use to log into your online banking account. A handle is a nickname, something others will remember, something relatively unique to you and your personality or background.
I don’t think it’s overly dramatic to say that for an online dater, the handle is the first hurdle to true love.
“What about profile pictures?” I hear you ask. “The profile itself?” Obviously, those things are important, but in my experience, the handle often provides the first opt-out opportunity. It is the first exit ramp on the highway of love, if you will allow just one more banal metaphor.
What I mean is, sure, I’m not likely to respond to someone with no picture or profile no matter how brilliant the handle, but someone with a gorgeous picture, a witty profile, and a handle of bedroomsavvy is going in The No Pile. Period. I don’t care if he feeds orphaned kittens with an eyedropper in his free time. Ew. Ew. Ew.
If, however, your profile picture is fuzzy or goofy but your handle is radar_oreilly, I just might reply. Same goes if your profile could use a thorough proofing but your handle is fydor.
Clearly, these examples are unique to me … I like M*A*S*H and Dostoyevsky. I Shouldn’t Be Alive and Clive Cussler may be more up your alley, but the point is, a good handle has personality. It tells me something about who you are and what you like. At the very least, it intrigues me enough to want to find out on my own.
In many ways, an online handle should have the same elements as a good brand name. And I’m not talking about social media, personal branding bullshit, but, seriously, would you rather eat at Chinese Restaurant or Happy Panda? Rather date tallfunguy37 or thefunsmith? Yeah. Me, too.
Of course, there’s no simple formula for a good handle. It takes some creativity and wit to come up with one that’s apt, and that’s part of what makes it important. It’s a way to demonstrate not only how you think of yourself but how you then go about conveying that.
For example, I saw a guy recently with the handle ndahole. Golf’s not my thing, but I give that one good marks for creativity in conveying personality. Where this one breaks down for me, though, is in the execution … the wit part of things. I mean, he probably meant his handle to be read as “n da hole,” but I and my warped … warped-ness couldn’t help but see “nd a hole.” Not a great connotation for a dating site, and—rightly or wrongly—I assumed his intelligence was not what it could be.
Another one I saw: rapero. I’m not kidding. Rapero. To attract women. As handles go, I’d say this is right up there with murderisfuno or liketoinflictpaino. I don’t care if your last name is Rapero. I don’t care if rapero means “I like long walks on the beach” in Portuguese. It is, far and away, the worst online dating handle I’ve come across.
I did a little Twitter–Facebook poll recently to check that the root “raper” is as negatively charged as I, personally, find it to be. Bottom line is, yes. Yes, it is. Given the choice, everyone who responded to my poll would rather date a guy named Peter File (say it outloud three times quickly) than one named John Raper.
It’s silly. It’s prejudicial. It’s everything wrong with the world today. But it’s no less real or true. Words matter. Names matter. Choose your handle carefully, boys and girls.
To be continued …
Next time: Know Your Audience and Positioning
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More Arduous than You Can Imagine
Much as I love it here in California—and I do love it—life here is not all wine and roses, any more than it was back in Boston. In recognition of this fact, I hereby resume the series formerly known as Urban Ennui … featuring yours truly and the incomparable, you might even say mighty, Em Em … wherein we discuss my recent interview for the position of barista at a local coffee shop.
[8:52:33] Kiki: and this dickbag this morning is all “i want u to think about whether 8$ an hour is *worth* it to you”
[8:52:48] Em Em: what?
[8:52:57] Em Em: who was this??
[8:53:02] Kiki: the manager at [XYZ Coffee Shop]
[8:53:18] Kiki: wants me to think about it for a few days and let him know if i still want to apply
[8:53:21] Kiki: !!!
[8:53:28] Em Em: what a fucking asshole!
[8:53:32] Kiki: srsly … the biggest tool
[8:53:42] Kiki: look at my tweets from this morningcafe manager tried to talk me out of applying … work’s “more arduous than you can imagine.” dude, i paved driveways one summer … i KNOW arduous.
also, he used the word “deployment.” man. take yourself too seriously much? it’s fucking coffee.
i pray to god i get the job. he would make for excellent tweet fodder.
[8:53:50] Kiki: just like a tool in every conceivable way
[8:54:16] Em Em: omg
[8:54:25] Em Em: MORE ARDUOUS THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE
[8:54:30] Kiki: right?
[8:54:32] Kiki: and it’s like don’t presume to know what’s worthwhile to me
[8:54:34] Em Em: i don’t often do this but – LOL!
[8:54:43] Kiki: haha
[8:54:53] Kiki: he went ON and ON
[8:54:56] Em Em: espresso-slinging: MORE ARDUOUS THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE!
[8:55:02] Em Em: omg i fucking love it
[8:55:15] Em Em: it’s like working in the salt mines, dude!
[8:55:21] Em Em: THE FUCKING GULAG!!!
[8:55:25] Kiki: lmfao
[8:55:26] Kiki: i mean, at [the coffee shop I previously worked at] we never stopped. at least not on my shifts
[8:55:44] Kiki: so it’s not like i was sitting on my ass reading tolstoy or some shit
[8:55:46] Em Em: that is seriously the funniest shit i’ve heard in a while
[8:55:57] Kiki: haha
[8:55:58] Kiki: right?
[8:56:18] Kiki: and he was like “it’s dirty” … i mean u would think it was digging ditches
[8:56:34] Em Em: well clearly you had your best “hothouse flower” impression going
[8:56:44] Kiki: i guess so
[8:56:49] Kiki: do i look so delicate?
[8:57:11] Em Em: were you wearing your wobbliest stilettos?
[8:57:20] Kiki: haha
[8:57:22] Kiki: plus in the 15 minutes i’ve been here at starbucks, they’ve had more customers than the whole time i was at [XYZ Coffee Shop]
[8:57:42] Kiki: AND he was like “the industry has totally changed since you were in it” … in 2005
[8:58:05] Em Em: changed HOW?
[8:58:15] Em Em: seriously – this guy – OY!
[8:58:19] Kiki: just a crazy fuck who thinks he’s running missions to afghanistan or something
[8:58:32] Em Em: that is fucking hilarious
[8:58:35] Kiki: i mean, deployment?
[8:58:44] Kiki: as in getting people their coffee in a timely manner
[8:58:49] Em Em: seriously, was he having ptsd flashbacks or something?
[8:58:56] Em Em: it’s like jacob’s ladder!
[8:58:56] Kiki: HAHAHAHA
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Name's Kirsten. I'm a splitter of hairs, a hillbilly, a rock horns devotee, an ellipses-lovin' fool, and queen of the conceptual jinx. I'm also a geek and the grateful human of littleblackdog. I do this and that and some of the other … up to and including writing this here blog.
random linkage
cheese for dinner by kirsten k. hammann is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
SuperMini by unnerkrunt and nocreativity.