I am sitting at my computer for the third hour in a row. I must confess to having not been hard at work for all of this time – unless you count compulsive checking of email and facebook as work. At a stretch could it be classed as networking?
Surrounded by my clothes drying on any object that I can hang them from, papers on the exciting world of video analytics for my consulting project and random other student essentials – it is a glamorous existence.
The present dilemma is quite how to achieve the metamorphosis from jeans-pony tail- going-to-the-pub mode to little-black-dress wearing person. This Saturday night is the Sir Paul Judge Black tie Christmas party. What could be described as a hot ticket on the JBS MBA calender.
There has been a spate of new haircuts amongst the fellas in the MBA – I think they are definitely onto something there. Hmmm… what else?
We have spent rather a large part of this past term thinking about our own assumptions – how they influence our behaviour and how we respond to others. In a few weeks we have 2500 words to submit about the positive and negative consequences of our assumptions.
Last night I unchained myself from my desk and ventured out with a group of people, most of whom I didn’t know. The girls were mainly undergraduates. Here was a group of very bright women, amazingly attired in little black dresses – I did feel rather plain and practical in my jeans.
Well.. I did have to cycle home and it was cold.
Anyway, this sort of group always makes me feel old and cynical as I hear about their hopes for bright and wonderful careers where no limits exist. However, last night was odd. I listened to a 23 year old lament about how old she was, all the adventure being over now, and a 25 year old explain that women just can’t be surgeons.
I have clearly been listening in class and didn’t launch into a full throttle attack. Tempting but maybe I am mellowing?
Today as I think about the conversations I am amazed that people still hold assumptions based on age and gender. Further, that while these factors can be limiters they do not preclude you from going for it, if the passion is there.
I am so pleased that as a female 35 year old, living in a different country, starting a new career path, that one of my assumptions is optimism.
In my pigeon hole at JBS was a brown envelope today. Brown envelopes are always ominous. They engendered a some what pavlovian response in me. Sweating, thumping heart. Fortunately no drooling as with Pavlov’s dogs but reasonably basic physiological responses!
The MBA is full of all things new. And this was the first formal piece of assessment so if nothing else getting through would be quite symbolic. In some way it would help to settle the decision to take the chance in the business world.
And while huge amounts of time is spent by the faculty in emphasising the collaborative, non-competitive ethos of the school – they can not stop you competing with your own expectations. It would also to be fair that while we are a diverse group of students the one thing aligns us is the slight tendency toward Type A behaviour so I suspect that I am not alone about placing quite a large bit of meaning on the outcome.
The great and fab news is that I got through with not to shabby a mark. Phew!
This is the question on the lips of the inhabitants of my house. I share with an eclectic group of postgraduates, 7 of us in total, from 6 different countries, 3 girls and 4 guys. I think on the whole we get on, the usual difficulties about who buys the next lot of toilet paper, who is due to clean the shower and trying to remember who need to put out the rubbish this week.
The latest mystery is the missing peanut butter.
Quite possibly at another stage in life I would have felt outraged for my flatmate and his missing spread. However, today I just think that maybe someone was just hungry!
It is quite a peculiar thing being back in this type of share living again. I have a cupboard in the kitchen, a shelf in the fridge and all my toiletries are in my bedroom. I think Cambridge is full of people living in this kind-of half life. There are at least 4 houses in my street that must be grappling with mass living.
It seems to be all part of the return to student life. I will however know that I have truly regressed when I eat nothing but vegemite toast……
It took me a while to work out where I wanted to live in Los Angeles. One of the deciding factors in my choice of Venice (by the beach on the Westside) was that the beach suburbs are 10 – 15 degrees cooler than the Eastside and Valleys. I love Venice as a local cafe says “where art meets crime”. There no sense of it being a cookie cutter Los Angeles suburb there a great mix of people, cafes, second hand shops, bars and all by a fabulous beach.
Now if I was to move again, I would think about Culver City, Mid- Wilshire/ Fairfax area or West Hollywood. I would love to live near Sunset Boulevard in Silverlake but it is just too far from the beach and airport. I am not brave enough to live downtown and the amenities just aren’t there. I don’t get Santa Monica – too many people and too many high street shops.
So down to business- where to find a house:
I found our first house on craigs list I think a lot of agents put houses there as well as other places. Be quick the places go fast. I was lucky to meet the owner and she accepted my application without US references.
We found our current house via Sabbatical homes - the advantage of this site is that the houses are often are furnished which meant we could get a bigger joint. It is pretty hit and miss.
Local estate agents are worth speaking to as they can act as a broker and find you a house here is one for Venice.
The other site I like is the multiple listing services which has a watered down version of the site that the agents use. The other advantage is that it is a good way to get to know the rental market in various suburbs.
Good luck!
Monday evening was Guy Fawkes night. The anniversary of the Gun Powder plot. Essentially, a group of English Roman Catholics attempted to blow up the Houses of Parliament as a way of removing the Protestant King and his court.
Cambridge had an amazing fireworks display, staged on the Midsummer common. While I am uncertain as to who was right or who was wrong, as the light disappears and winter approaches there is something fabulous about looking at the sky and seeing it splattered with coloured light.
Last year I wanted to go but was overwhelmed by the thought of the drive. This happens a lot to me in LA, I think about driving downtown or to Pasadena and then I think about facing the traffic – will it be worth it?
But this year I was determined brave the journey to experience this annual event. I roped in six others and with military planning and hand drawn maps we headed to the Day of the Dead celebrations in Hollywood – and it was most definitely worth the effort.
The Day of the Dead is a Mexican festival to honour and celebrate of the lives of the deceased. The celebration in Los Angeles is one of the bigger ones outside of Mexico. It was one of the most original and vibrant events I have ever seen. I loved the Mexican iconography and I was very moved to see the beautiful altars that had been created to celebrate heroes and family members.
The main stage
Two family members created an altar of all the things their lost ones had loved.
one of the altars
As we left the road was blocked by this car – I am not sure he will be quite so pleased he made the effort. (no one was seriously hurt)
There is nothing quite like walking into a hall, rows of identical wooden tables, your pens held together with an elastic band, to make you feel like an 18 year old again! There is also the strange experience of being reduced to a bizarre series of numbers. This is to prevent the marker identifying your name and metering out preferential treatment to a lucky few. The added requirement of remembering these numbers can be enough to tip precariously stored knowledge out!
I thought I had done away with this experience.
Anyway, there I was on a Monday morning wishing and hoping that I would get through the next 90 minutes with my confidence intact. I would say there was only one truly dire moment, with 5 minutes to go I realised that the value was 1.4 not 14. Talk about frantic recalculation!
I am not able to say how it turned out – I have to wait until the 19th of November for that.
I suspect by then the focus will be elsewhere. And the experience of being 18 again at the beginning of this week will be returned to memory, or at least until January when we have the next series of exams – groan.
