One of the best things about my job is meeting new people and finding cool opportunities for students. As a result, Iām getting to know my hometown of Atlanta and its residents even better.
There is a big difference in terminology in the higher education world versus the professional world. I go back and forth between the two, so I hear plenty of jargon in both.
I went to a presentation about Atlantaās workforce last week. Plenty of discussion of past, present and future.
While it was interesting and productive in general, I heard a ridiculous amount of lingo.
Hereās a taste:
āWe have to incent someone to learn new skills.ā Please. No. Can we just provide an incentive? Or encourage someone?
āI talked to someone offline.ā Good LORD. Can you just talk to someone? Letās leave āofflineā for tech.
āWe wanted to internship these students.ā Internship is a noun, not a verb.
āPre-skilling,ā āre-skilling,ā āup-skillingā and āout-skilling.ā Oh. My. God. Can we just say ātrainingā instead?
āWorkstream.ā Iām OK with āworkforceā (barely) but not āworkstream.ā
āInternal ecosystem.ā Really? This is unnecessarily complex. Company culture is slightly better.
In fact, one of my dissertation advisors yelled at me for not āelevating my languageā like standard scholarly journal writing. I replied that the āelevated languageā is why most people donāt like to read these journals. Especially professionals in the industry of interest.
ATLANTA ā Though he could not see through the fringe of hair, Dominic C., 15, resisted the idea of a haircut. Clearly, his trepidation was warranted, as the resulting cut nearly ruined his social and academic life, according to him. What masqueraded as barely any cut at all to those around him, was, in the teenās opinion, the worst thing that could have happened to him. In his life. Ever.
āHe asked me if he could stay home from school,ā said Eddie C., the teenās father. āI hope you told him ānoā in a hot second,ā the teenās mother replied when she heard.
Beth C. exhibited no sympathy for the teenās plight. The heartless woman even was reported as telling Dominic C., āI donāt understand how you can want a haircut, but want no hair to be cut at the same time.ā
The shattered teen tried everything to hide the effects of what he called, āthe worst cut of my life.ā First, he tried a ski mask. Then added a hoodie. Then enlisted both parents in a campaign to use various hair products to regain some sense of style — exactly what style was unclear, however.
āListen,ā Beth C. finally said to the aggrieved teen, āI donāt know what the problem is. It looks exactly the same to me as it did before.ā
His mother had the audacity to show him a photo of that time in third grade when she cut her own bangs. She then claimed her situation was worse. āI had an inch of hair on my forehead!ā she said. āYours still hits your eyebrows.ā
The teen recovered in time to be able to make it to school the next day. The family is accepting notes of sympathy from other parents of teens.
I’m so excited that my badgering has paid off. Here’s another guest post. The Royce had a birthday last week, and it prompted some reflection.
I’ll be back next week with a story about the eldest. Parents with teenagers will relate.
Love,
Beth
This is The Royce in his natural habitat.
Aging vs. Old: A Rant
Guest post by The Royce
So, yesterday was my birthday. And thatās good because, hey, another trip around the sun, right? But somewhere along the way — in the last, oh say, few years or so (I donāt know whatever) — it occurred to me that, while I am not old (yet), I am, in fact, aging. Maybe Iām finally āof a certain ageā — whatever the hell that entails — because, while Iām definitely still an easygoing person, little things are starting to grind my gears just a bit.
Like those damn neighborhood kids walking in my yard! LOLJK. (Note from Beth: I don’t think he is, in fact, JK.)
Though itās commonly *cough* invariably *cough* attached to middle age and miracle creams, signs of aging actually applies to things other than crowās feet and smile lines.
Iām talking about the less-obvious, non-physical signs of aging. Because like it or not, every day of every year, youāre aging. You just donāt notice it.
Until you do.
And then you notice it again. And again. Itās a lot like buying a new car that you thought was unique and rare until you drive off the lot and thereās three of the same vehicle waiting at the first intersection you get to.
On Jan. 13, 1974, the Super Bowl was on my seventh birthday, and I got to watch my favorite team, the Miami Dolphins, become two-time world champions against the Minnesota Vikings. Not a bad day for a kid.
In 2020, the game is three weeks later, two hours longer, and the pre-game show lasts half a day. WTH?
When did that happen?
You see, thatās not old. Thatās aging.
Recently I went out with my lovely wife to meet some friends visiting from out of town. We arrived a few minutes early and looked over the drink menu while we waited.
Iām sorry, but WTF?! How did a cocktail get to be $14 in this town? (Note from Beth: They live in Savannah.) Did I teleport to Manhattan when I walked
through the door to this place?
Again: Not old. Aging.
You know why people donāt go out as much when they get a little older? Itās less about being tired and more because we donāt want to get bent over paying those ridiculous prices every time we feel like having a nice meal somewhere. Hey, how about we go out for dinner and have a couple glasses of WELL SHIT THERE GOES A HUNDRED BUCKS.
No, itās not denial. Old will, with some luck, arrive eventually.
But for now ā¦ nah, not old. Merely aging, just like I have every day of my life. And considering the alternative, Iām fine with that.
Seriously, though. Would it kill the little cretins to stay off my lawn?
Dear Friends Who Were Shocked I Didn’t Call Someone Out on Chauvinist Crap,
Y’all (rightfully) pointed out that it was not like me to stay quiet when someone says something backwards or dumb. I defended myself in this instance saying that the fellow in question was about 90 and deaf, and I’m a new member of the organization.
Still.
At the very least, I should have just made a joke about it right then and there.
But here’s a followup:
I had lunch yesterday with the female past president who was sitting next to our elderly subject when he made the comment. She was the first female member and first female president of this organization. And, in fact, some members left the organization when she joined. Granted, this was 30 years ago.
I shared with her my mortification. She said she was shocked too, as this man has always been a huge supporter of women in the club, herself included.
We talked a while. In short, our 94-year-old friend may have some cognitive decline that caused his commentary.
So.
Saying something wouldn’t have made a difference. And I know everyone else at the table felt the same way I did, so no education needed there.
But still, I’ve learned a valuable lesson.
See/hear something: Say something — anything!
It’s a good reminder for everyone: Things won’t change with silence.
At one point, Amy says she is going to be an “ornament to society,” and I was reminded of something that happened at the weekly meeting of this professional group earlier in the day.
The group is mostly older white men. (Typical.)
The leaders of the membership committee solicited ideas for increasing membership via distributing selected topics at each table. My table had the topic of how to increase membership among women.
The oldest dude (about 90 and deaf) at a table of four men and four women actually said this:
Their husbands are working 8-10 hours a day bringing home the bacon. It shouldn’t be too hard to recruit more women as their schedules are more flexible.
Right.
And there was silence.
Now, I’m a brand-new member of this group. I didn’t feel comfortable barking at this man that I work 8-10 hours a day bringing home the bacon. Instead, I got up to get coffee from the coffee table.
A woman who is a past president of the group was sitting next to him. She looked properly mortified. I don’t know if she said something to him privately later. I’m going to ask her at the next meeting.
When I shared this anecdote with my boss, who is a former member of this group (and an older white male, it should be noted), he also was mortified.
But he asked a crucial question:
He wouldn’t have said something like that about an ethnic minority group or the LBGTQ community. Why did he feel it was OK to share outdated views of women?
Why indeed.
It’s time to stop being “ornaments to society.” How do we do that? What should I have done? What about the other women at the table? What should I do now?
Please share your thoughts.
And go see “Little Women” whether you have read the book or not.
“The world is hard on ambitious girls.” That’s right, Amy.
My last post resonated with a few of my female friends. A college friend, “Sue,” wrote the following that she said I could share as a guest post. (And you know I love a good guest post.)
See you Monday with fresh content from me, courtesy of Gideon.
Beth
My own non-resolutions
By “Sue Buckley”
This year, I will not:
Keep those heels I think that I might wear just one more time. You know the ones. My knee and ankle ā¦ done.
Brexit quietly or vote for Trump. I demand IQ tests with a score range of at least superior or gifted — depending upon the scale — for all voters.
Wear all that odd jewelry Iāve accumulated over the years. In fact, I may give it away.
Obsess over the last time I changed the kitchen sponge. (Trust me: This haunts me.)
Blurt out what I āreally thinkā during a video call. It’s impossible to hide my face. Learned this from experience, and itās easier without the visual.
Say yes when I mean no. I was taught this during my formative years, but it wandered back in. I donāt have to spend my time anywhere or with anyone if itās not valuable (true friends and family excluded).
Not shut up about menopause. I donāt care how boring it gets. They donāt tell you this shit.
Not finish my book. (Beth and I have the same goal.) Itās happening this year.
Observe and report 