Apologies for the heavy tone of my previous post. I was in one of those melodramatic "what am i doing with my life???" moods. I've realized that one of the most important determinants of success is persistence. And that's what I'm doing. Keep on keepin' on.
Speaking of young women succeeding in a big way -- I just found out that one of my fav profs from Stanford won the John Bates Clark Medal this year. She is Susan Athey, a 36-year old economist now teaching at Harvard. The Clark Medal is about as huge as you can get in economics, and she is the first woman to ever win it. This is the same award Steven Levitt (Freakonomics) won a few years back.
I took Susan's Imperfect Competition class at Stanford. This class is what first peaked my interest in business / entrepreneurship, and Susan was also the inspiration behind Jess and my research on Zara. In addition to her ground breaking econ research (check), Susan also has two beautiful young children (check, check) and a husband who teaches econ at Harvard too (check +).
I of course never really quite understood the magnitude of Susan's academic accomplishment until now, but what always struck me about her was her energy. She was clearly incredibly intelligent, but also fun and vibrant and loving life. I'm so happy for her. Congrats Susan!!
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
what is failure?
i've been thinking about failure a lot lately. it's a scary word, and the thought of it makes my stomach hurt. but, when I focus on it a bit more, really try to imagine failure as a part of my life, it all sort of just dissolves...i'm not sure that failure really exists, at least not for the likes of you and me. in any case, I certainly won't be a failure to myself.
i think failure would be living a life without happiness. so it's ultimately in my control...and i'm pretty fucking happy right now.
another uncertain summer awaits. wish me luck. i know at least it will be a summer of love. and that's all i want, for this and every summer that follows.
i think failure would be living a life without happiness. so it's ultimately in my control...and i'm pretty fucking happy right now.
another uncertain summer awaits. wish me luck. i know at least it will be a summer of love. and that's all i want, for this and every summer that follows.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Priorities
I just want to throw this idea out there. You can take it or you can give it right back.
1. WORK DAYS
Why do we work 5 out of the 7 days....who thought of that? How did that happen? Seriously...was it the Puritans?
2. THE WORK/LIFE CYCLE
Whose bright idea was it that we have to work really hard while we are young to enjoy all the money and assets we accumulate along the way, when we are old, saggy, and jaded? I have an idea. When you are young, you should be allowed to squander a ton of money and time. Just live a lavish life, gallivanting around with your other young friends, eating, drinking, laying around, going out, enjoying life....buying things, yachts, cars...whatever. Then, when you get really old and wrinkly and unattractive, you are put to work in an office for like 12-18 hrs/day....How can this possibly work? Well, you can take out like $5M, let's say, and party it all away in your golden youth. Then, b/c you took out that much $, you are forced to work super hard in your old decrepit age, without complaining. You essentially take out credit and work it off later - much later.
3. WORK HOURS
Yet again, who thought of this? What is with work winning the majority of people's time? I don't get it. When "they" got together to talk about how they would run their society, who was the jackass who was like, no, little Cleetis, we can't work for only 2 hours a day...it can't work that way, we have to work from 9am to 5pm, or even more! but not less!
5. W***
Work is an unattractive word.
6. EUROPEANS AT WORK
Don't get me started: 4 or more weeks of vacation. 3-hour lunch breaks....they have their priorities sorted out.
just kidding, guys, work is cool. it's so fulfilling. a chance to achieve Maslowe's top need on his little hierarchy of needs....self-actualization or something.
Gucci, Prada, yachts & booze or self-actualization...it's so hard.
1. WORK DAYS
Why do we work 5 out of the 7 days....who thought of that? How did that happen? Seriously...was it the Puritans?
2. THE WORK/LIFE CYCLE
Whose bright idea was it that we have to work really hard while we are young to enjoy all the money and assets we accumulate along the way, when we are old, saggy, and jaded? I have an idea. When you are young, you should be allowed to squander a ton of money and time. Just live a lavish life, gallivanting around with your other young friends, eating, drinking, laying around, going out, enjoying life....buying things, yachts, cars...whatever. Then, when you get really old and wrinkly and unattractive, you are put to work in an office for like 12-18 hrs/day....How can this possibly work? Well, you can take out like $5M, let's say, and party it all away in your golden youth. Then, b/c you took out that much $, you are forced to work super hard in your old decrepit age, without complaining. You essentially take out credit and work it off later - much later.
3. WORK HOURS
Yet again, who thought of this? What is with work winning the majority of people's time? I don't get it. When "they" got together to talk about how they would run their society, who was the jackass who was like, no, little Cleetis, we can't work for only 2 hours a day...it can't work that way, we have to work from 9am to 5pm, or even more! but not less!
5. W***
Work is an unattractive word.
6. EUROPEANS AT WORK
Don't get me started: 4 or more weeks of vacation. 3-hour lunch breaks....they have their priorities sorted out.
just kidding, guys, work is cool. it's so fulfilling. a chance to achieve Maslowe's top need on his little hierarchy of needs....self-actualization or something.
Gucci, Prada, yachts & booze or self-actualization...it's so hard.
Travel Tips - Rio
So, apparently Rio de Janeiro is notorious for lacking in decent accommodations. Which is strange b/c I wonder where Snoop Dog and Pharrel stayed, ate, and partied when they filmed their video in Rio.
But, if you go to Rio, here are just a few little tips:
1. Accomodations -
Don't believe the Portinari Design Hotel - I did. I believed their fancy website and outstanding lighting and photography. I also believed Travel and Leisure (which I always rely on), when they told me it was a good value - the only design hotel in Rio. Well, the whole thing about the Portinari being a "design" hotel is a joke. I should have taken my own pictures and posted them on this blog just to uncover the shenanigan they have going on in that hotel. It was like a Motel 8...let's just say. And then, there was this whole shenanigan where they charged my card when I tried to cancel the reservation after seeing the horrible room we were given. The hotel manager, a fellow Spaniard, offered me the honeymoon suite if I would come back again. Long story short, a couple of friends and I stayed at the hotel our last night in Rio, and it was so ridic. They had us wait like 1/2 hour for the room....then, we go up to the room and guess what? they had turned the conference room into a makeshift hotel room and tried to pass it off as such - which was awkward. they even went through the trouble of covering up the sign that read: Conference Hall with a sheet of white construction paper. so, of course, we ripped the paper off and took photos by the sign. then, i asked for a safe deposit box and never got it. then, i was told to make sure i checked out soon, as it was around 1pm....at which point I said, right, b/c you guys are waiting for the next guests who are going to occupy the conference room - which elicited a little chuckle from the hotel manager. All in all, an awkward letdown. total diappointment, and frankly, it was just irritating. irritating. and that's not good.
2. Food - there is a lot of good food in Rio, actually. So, head to:
Zuka - really cute place and super good food, and great service!
Copa Cafe - but make reservations
Pecado - really cute decor/atmosphere and super yummy food, and great service!
Zaza - definitely make reservations
3. Activities - paragliding.
Despite the incredibly awkward gear you have to don, it's amazingly exhilarating. You cannot beat the view and the experience. Just make sure you don't get ripped off with the price.
Foresta da Tijuca - forest.
It's really nice and lush and verdant and there are waterfalls, and views. definitely worth exploring.
Favela - ghetto.
If your taxi driver will do it, drive through a favela. it's incredible.
5. Angra dos Reis
T+L and several locals told me it's beautiful. didn't get to go, but apparently it's gorgeous to take a boat ride around there.
6. Beaches
They are ok. But, we come from the West Coast....so......
8. Best experience ever
Go to a soccer game at Maracana stadium. I've been to the world cup.....and this has more energy than some of the games I went to. I can safely say the brazilians at Maracana had more energy than the Swedes at world cup.
9. Going out
I'm a bit more of a grandma these days, so the only place we checked out one night was Baronneti. It was a letdown. It was kind of like an under-18 club with bad music, watered down drinks, a cover charge, and unfriendly people...I mean, we ended up having a dance party anyway, making lemonade out of lemons, but it was a challenge w/ the bad music.
10. Job Opportunities
If anyone feels like teaching kids in Brazil, I know of a school looking for teachers.
But, if you go to Rio, here are just a few little tips:
1. Accomodations -
Don't believe the Portinari Design Hotel - I did. I believed their fancy website and outstanding lighting and photography. I also believed Travel and Leisure (which I always rely on), when they told me it was a good value - the only design hotel in Rio. Well, the whole thing about the Portinari being a "design" hotel is a joke. I should have taken my own pictures and posted them on this blog just to uncover the shenanigan they have going on in that hotel. It was like a Motel 8...let's just say. And then, there was this whole shenanigan where they charged my card when I tried to cancel the reservation after seeing the horrible room we were given. The hotel manager, a fellow Spaniard, offered me the honeymoon suite if I would come back again. Long story short, a couple of friends and I stayed at the hotel our last night in Rio, and it was so ridic. They had us wait like 1/2 hour for the room....then, we go up to the room and guess what? they had turned the conference room into a makeshift hotel room and tried to pass it off as such - which was awkward. they even went through the trouble of covering up the sign that read: Conference Hall with a sheet of white construction paper. so, of course, we ripped the paper off and took photos by the sign. then, i asked for a safe deposit box and never got it. then, i was told to make sure i checked out soon, as it was around 1pm....at which point I said, right, b/c you guys are waiting for the next guests who are going to occupy the conference room - which elicited a little chuckle from the hotel manager. All in all, an awkward letdown. total diappointment, and frankly, it was just irritating. irritating. and that's not good.
2. Food - there is a lot of good food in Rio, actually. So, head to:
Zuka - really cute place and super good food, and great service!
Copa Cafe - but make reservations
Pecado - really cute decor/atmosphere and super yummy food, and great service!
Zaza - definitely make reservations
3. Activities - paragliding.
Despite the incredibly awkward gear you have to don, it's amazingly exhilarating. You cannot beat the view and the experience. Just make sure you don't get ripped off with the price.
Foresta da Tijuca - forest.
It's really nice and lush and verdant and there are waterfalls, and views. definitely worth exploring.
Favela - ghetto.
If your taxi driver will do it, drive through a favela. it's incredible.
5. Angra dos Reis
T+L and several locals told me it's beautiful. didn't get to go, but apparently it's gorgeous to take a boat ride around there.
6. Beaches
They are ok. But, we come from the West Coast....so......
8. Best experience ever
Go to a soccer game at Maracana stadium. I've been to the world cup.....and this has more energy than some of the games I went to. I can safely say the brazilians at Maracana had more energy than the Swedes at world cup.
9. Going out
I'm a bit more of a grandma these days, so the only place we checked out one night was Baronneti. It was a letdown. It was kind of like an under-18 club with bad music, watered down drinks, a cover charge, and unfriendly people...I mean, we ended up having a dance party anyway, making lemonade out of lemons, but it was a challenge w/ the bad music.
10. Job Opportunities
If anyone feels like teaching kids in Brazil, I know of a school looking for teachers.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Jazz Band
If you knew me in middle school you would remember me as that girl who told on the jazz band for smoking pot. There were 5 of us actually, but I’m the one you would remember. I became a social pariah after that and in part chose to go to a small out of the way high school just so I wouldn’t have to look any of them in the eye. There are of course plenty of reasons not to do drugs, but the only thing I knew at the time was what I had seen on those after school specials (a frying egg and a kid forgetting to pick his little brother up from school). So when Sebastian confronted me after school that day I drew a blank.
Fast forward a decade and I can think of plenty to say to Sebastian. Ironically at that secluded high school I managed to fall into a wild crowd and saw first hand what they were trying to convey on those TV specials. There was my best friend Ben who gave up a ticket to the Ivy League for a senior year of raves and serotonin boosters. There was Brittany who aborted her stillborn after one particularly bad stint. And Chuck…I lost contact with Chuck but later found out that he had messed around with heroin one too many times.
But I couldn’t tell Sebastian about any of this now. God knows I have no right to lecture anyone about drugs. I after all watched those scales come to life in the Stanford Tiki Gardens – shrooms. I spent a New Year’s Eve in love with crowds of people dragging their fingers through my curls – ecstasy. I tripped off the Candy Apple man’s distorted face in Disneyland – acid. I had heart palpitations at that Coldplay concert in Berkeley – pain killers. I watched that old African woman enveloped in flames with diamonds cutting her hands – Amsterdam drug…should have asked. And then there were all those Paris mornings, leaning out my window watching the morning rise in an iry haze – Sebastian’s drug.
And despite all the warnings my brain never fried and I never forgot to pick my niece up from school. Looking back I can perhaps attribute my success with drugs to strict moderation. I for example never developed a habit, and never had my own stash. It could also have been my wise drug choices. I after all refused the coke that night at Danielle Steel’s mansion and I always left the room when they brought out their needles.
I can tell myself all I want that I was smart, but I know as much as the next person that it was all luck. Every single “memorable” experience I have had on drugs has been equally dangerous.
The shrooms leading us up that 30 foot shaky ladder to the clock tower. The ecstasy high convincing us that we were sober enough to drive. The space mountain acid trip followed by the most terrifying hallucinations. That night on pain killers when I was sure that I was going to die. The question mark Amsterdam drug ultimately leading me to unsafe sex. And those Paris mornings…the problem with weed is that it puts your life in slow motion, and years at a time can be lost in a blur.
So yes, I fully expect that I will become like those hypocrite parents, telling their children how much different it was in the 70s. But for what it’s worth Sebastian, if I was thirteen again I would have done it differently. I wouldn’t have told on you and the jazz band. I would have minded my own business and left it to a higher power to decide whether to call it a phase or whether you would have ended up like Ben, Brittany or Chuck – may he rest in peace.
~karen
Fast forward a decade and I can think of plenty to say to Sebastian. Ironically at that secluded high school I managed to fall into a wild crowd and saw first hand what they were trying to convey on those TV specials. There was my best friend Ben who gave up a ticket to the Ivy League for a senior year of raves and serotonin boosters. There was Brittany who aborted her stillborn after one particularly bad stint. And Chuck…I lost contact with Chuck but later found out that he had messed around with heroin one too many times.
But I couldn’t tell Sebastian about any of this now. God knows I have no right to lecture anyone about drugs. I after all watched those scales come to life in the Stanford Tiki Gardens – shrooms. I spent a New Year’s Eve in love with crowds of people dragging their fingers through my curls – ecstasy. I tripped off the Candy Apple man’s distorted face in Disneyland – acid. I had heart palpitations at that Coldplay concert in Berkeley – pain killers. I watched that old African woman enveloped in flames with diamonds cutting her hands – Amsterdam drug…should have asked. And then there were all those Paris mornings, leaning out my window watching the morning rise in an iry haze – Sebastian’s drug.
And despite all the warnings my brain never fried and I never forgot to pick my niece up from school. Looking back I can perhaps attribute my success with drugs to strict moderation. I for example never developed a habit, and never had my own stash. It could also have been my wise drug choices. I after all refused the coke that night at Danielle Steel’s mansion and I always left the room when they brought out their needles.
I can tell myself all I want that I was smart, but I know as much as the next person that it was all luck. Every single “memorable” experience I have had on drugs has been equally dangerous.
The shrooms leading us up that 30 foot shaky ladder to the clock tower. The ecstasy high convincing us that we were sober enough to drive. The space mountain acid trip followed by the most terrifying hallucinations. That night on pain killers when I was sure that I was going to die. The question mark Amsterdam drug ultimately leading me to unsafe sex. And those Paris mornings…the problem with weed is that it puts your life in slow motion, and years at a time can be lost in a blur.
So yes, I fully expect that I will become like those hypocrite parents, telling their children how much different it was in the 70s. But for what it’s worth Sebastian, if I was thirteen again I would have done it differently. I wouldn’t have told on you and the jazz band. I would have minded my own business and left it to a higher power to decide whether to call it a phase or whether you would have ended up like Ben, Brittany or Chuck – may he rest in peace.
~karen
Sunday, April 1, 2007
Hot or Not
It’s out of style to admit it, but it is more important to be hot than smart…Effortlessly hot.
-- Kat Jiang, high school senior, 2400 SAT
A recent article in the NY Times discusses the pressures faced by a group of 17-year old high school girls in a yuppy
I think many of us have faced this smart vs. pretty conflict since our grade school years. I even wrote one of my college essays about the challenges of being the only cheerleader in my AP classes. (yes, I was a cheerleader. I grew up in a small town in
For me, a big part of the learning and growth during high school was about becoming comfortable with myself. Learning to be hot and hang out with the cool kids, without being afraid to admit that I’m smart and care about grades and intellectualism and college. By the spring of my senior year, my high school class had decided that I was the Most Intelligent Female and had the Best Smile. I’d like to think that they were right, and that I had succeeded in “being myself,” and being respected for it.
But when I went to college, I started feeling the same insecurities again. Even at Stanford, I somehow always felt like the nerd who was studying while everyone else was partying. And the cool kids still didn’t give a shit about intellectualism, or the Fed. To make matters worse, people seemed to think my cheerleader smile was fake and annoying.
It wasn’t until junior year rolled around and everyone started interviewing for internships that I finally began feeling respected for my nerdiness. Suddenly, those with good jobs were the coveted ones, and I was fortunate enough to be one of them. So eventually I came to terms with being “geeky chic” and finally came into my own.
But the underlying insecurity never really went away. It wasn’t that I suddenly stopped caring about what others thought; it’s just that others started caring about the stuff I was good at.
And so, the self-doubt remained – am I hot or not? The truth is, no matter how far society progresses, women are still judged on attractiveness first. And I’ve never really felt up to the mark. Maybe it’s because I was a brown girl growing up in the Bible Belt. Or because I’m short and curvy. Or because I have unruly hair. Or because I’ve never really been one of those girls who’s worshipped for her beauty. I’ve always questioned my hotness, because I’ve always judged myself based on what others think.
Until now. I am happily married with an enviable sex-life. My husband tells me I’m the hottest woman in the world, and, I can see myself in the mirror while he’s saying it. I look pretty damn good. I’ve come to realize that it doesn’t matter that I’m not tall, with silky hair and a flat stomach. And it doesn’t matter what others worship. I enjoy looking at myself. I am beautiful in my own way. And I’m pretty smart too.
Monday, March 26, 2007
She's Pretty Smart
Question: Am I smart and pretty, or am I pretty and smart?
It’s not the deepest question I’ll admit, not one that is going to change the trajectory of my life once answered – but all the same, I’ve decided that it is one worth asking. I refer to this particular subject as my “Carmen Complex.” Carmen was a sophomore when I was a senior on my way out of Stanford. She had thick brown hair, piercing green eyes, and…let’s just say that she was the big hit on our sorority’s topless rafting trip. The boys obsessed over Carmen, and rightfully so. She teased them with her low cut sweaters and the way she chewed on her pencil when she was studying. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention – she was smart.
I think of Carmen three years later as I sit in front of my boss discussing my promotion. I like to think I am being promoted because I am smart and that it is just a coincidence that all the other women in my office wear pants and button down shirts while I wear skirts and v-necks. Even still, as my boss explained the responsibilities of my new role as a manager I couldn’t help but wonder if the slightly uncomfortable wonder bra had played a role.
No no no…I am smart and then pretty…right Carmen?
You might question then how I approach my day to day if I am so interested in being an intellect. Why the cleavage and the knee high boots? Why the Banana Republic fishnets and the lip plumper? And why after becoming so dolled up do I then feel I have to spend so much time convincing strangers that I am actually quite smart (or at least smarter than them)?
Example 1: Even at the ripe old age of 25 I still do the occasional modeling gig. Yeah sure the money is good, but I mostly just like getting my picture taken (that is the pretty side talking if you haven’t guessed). Now you would think that for an easy grand I would just shut up and smile for the camera right? Au contraire! By the end of every shoot, everyone knows that I went to Stanford, that I am fluent in French, and that I am studying Arabic. While all the other models are relaxing getting their makeup done, I have this uncontrollable urge to find the one intellectual person on the shoot (perhaps the photographer) and start up a conversation about the US economy and the likelihood that Bernanke will cut interest rates. Hopefully by the end of the shoot they’ll say, wow that girl was pretty smart.
Example 2: My Tokyo Session finance hours attribute to some late nights when the safety of taking the train home is questionable. Needless to say I have met some characters and occasionally these characters work up the courage to ask me out. I politely indulge them and admittedly partake in a measured amount of flirting before I shake my head and tell them I am married. But the worst is yet to come. For some reason on these nights I decide to switch up my language when calling my husband to tell him when I will be at the station. Even though roughly 80% of all of our conversations are now spoken in my native tongue, I will call him and say “Tu me cherche? Je t’attends alors.” (Are you coming to get me – ok I’ll wait). It’s painfully obnoxious, but I get this weird thrill when the guy does a double take. I imagine him thinking “Wow she speaks French, that girl is pretty smart.”
I could go on and on with examples of times when I have inappropriately tried to display my intelligence. Discussing my FX trading strategies with the guy standing in line next to me at the burrito shop – inappropriate. Trying to explain the Black-Scholes model to my hairdresser as she is warming the curling iron – inappropriate. It’s the adult version of that kid in class who seemed to raise her hand even before the teacher had asked the question. Only this time the kid has abnormally plump lips and is wearing a v-neck, knee-high boots, and fishnets (ok ok…not at the same time).
So this is my dilemma. Let’s go back to Carmen.
On Sunday nights after a series of wild parties she’ll probably never remember, I would often find Carmen in the library studying until 2am in the morning. I remember that I often felt quite unintelligent reading my books about nuclear proliferation while she sat there juggling physics and mechanical engineering. She was I’ve decided both the prettiest and the smartest girl I have ever met.
And this is my concern: When men hit on Carmen does she ever whip out her calculator and tackle mathematical theories? Does she ever feel the need to drop the “S-Bomb” at the grocery store when the cashier checks out her rack? Does she even care that the world will always see her as Pretty and then Smart – that they’ll notice her chest, eyes, and hair before they register the words that coming out of her mouth? I guess my greatest fear is that Carmen doesn’t have a complex, and that true intellects (whether they look like Dianne Feinstein or Angelina Jolie) don’t feel that they have to prove to anyone that they are smart – they just are.
It’s not the deepest question I’ll admit, not one that is going to change the trajectory of my life once answered – but all the same, I’ve decided that it is one worth asking. I refer to this particular subject as my “Carmen Complex.” Carmen was a sophomore when I was a senior on my way out of Stanford. She had thick brown hair, piercing green eyes, and…let’s just say that she was the big hit on our sorority’s topless rafting trip. The boys obsessed over Carmen, and rightfully so. She teased them with her low cut sweaters and the way she chewed on her pencil when she was studying. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention – she was smart.
I think of Carmen three years later as I sit in front of my boss discussing my promotion. I like to think I am being promoted because I am smart and that it is just a coincidence that all the other women in my office wear pants and button down shirts while I wear skirts and v-necks. Even still, as my boss explained the responsibilities of my new role as a manager I couldn’t help but wonder if the slightly uncomfortable wonder bra had played a role.
No no no…I am smart and then pretty…right Carmen?
You might question then how I approach my day to day if I am so interested in being an intellect. Why the cleavage and the knee high boots? Why the Banana Republic fishnets and the lip plumper? And why after becoming so dolled up do I then feel I have to spend so much time convincing strangers that I am actually quite smart (or at least smarter than them)?
Example 1: Even at the ripe old age of 25 I still do the occasional modeling gig. Yeah sure the money is good, but I mostly just like getting my picture taken (that is the pretty side talking if you haven’t guessed). Now you would think that for an easy grand I would just shut up and smile for the camera right? Au contraire! By the end of every shoot, everyone knows that I went to Stanford, that I am fluent in French, and that I am studying Arabic. While all the other models are relaxing getting their makeup done, I have this uncontrollable urge to find the one intellectual person on the shoot (perhaps the photographer) and start up a conversation about the US economy and the likelihood that Bernanke will cut interest rates. Hopefully by the end of the shoot they’ll say, wow that girl was pretty smart.
Example 2: My Tokyo Session finance hours attribute to some late nights when the safety of taking the train home is questionable. Needless to say I have met some characters and occasionally these characters work up the courage to ask me out. I politely indulge them and admittedly partake in a measured amount of flirting before I shake my head and tell them I am married. But the worst is yet to come. For some reason on these nights I decide to switch up my language when calling my husband to tell him when I will be at the station. Even though roughly 80% of all of our conversations are now spoken in my native tongue, I will call him and say “Tu me cherche? Je t’attends alors.” (Are you coming to get me – ok I’ll wait). It’s painfully obnoxious, but I get this weird thrill when the guy does a double take. I imagine him thinking “Wow she speaks French, that girl is pretty smart.”
I could go on and on with examples of times when I have inappropriately tried to display my intelligence. Discussing my FX trading strategies with the guy standing in line next to me at the burrito shop – inappropriate. Trying to explain the Black-Scholes model to my hairdresser as she is warming the curling iron – inappropriate. It’s the adult version of that kid in class who seemed to raise her hand even before the teacher had asked the question. Only this time the kid has abnormally plump lips and is wearing a v-neck, knee-high boots, and fishnets (ok ok…not at the same time).
So this is my dilemma. Let’s go back to Carmen.
On Sunday nights after a series of wild parties she’ll probably never remember, I would often find Carmen in the library studying until 2am in the morning. I remember that I often felt quite unintelligent reading my books about nuclear proliferation while she sat there juggling physics and mechanical engineering. She was I’ve decided both the prettiest and the smartest girl I have ever met.
And this is my concern: When men hit on Carmen does she ever whip out her calculator and tackle mathematical theories? Does she ever feel the need to drop the “S-Bomb” at the grocery store when the cashier checks out her rack? Does she even care that the world will always see her as Pretty and then Smart – that they’ll notice her chest, eyes, and hair before they register the words that coming out of her mouth? I guess my greatest fear is that Carmen doesn’t have a complex, and that true intellects (whether they look like Dianne Feinstein or Angelina Jolie) don’t feel that they have to prove to anyone that they are smart – they just are.
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