On Over-sharing, Both Good and Bad

I suspect that my attempt today to write a primer on the irony of over-sharing on-line will only end in me not getting zapped by a bolt of Charlton-Heston-inspired lighting thrown down by the G-d of the Old Testament due to the fact that said Yahweh is old. He’s old, He’s cranky, He’s pissed off by celebrities with their misspelled “religious” tattoos [Kabbalah is not a real religion! My Jewish ancestors in Lithuania did not suffer through endless pogroms for Madge and her vadge to become Jewish…Jews have enough issues!], and the racist sh*t trending on Twitter (you know Twitter alone pisses Him off beyond belief. Between Twitter and Mitt Romney’s incompetence, He’s got to be seriously torn as to which is better proof of the de-evolution of our species…and then you bring in the fact that Katie Lee and a sentient being named 'Hoda' are on American TV and that Old Man is all, “I can’t. I just… I can’t.”)

So, boys and girls, let me get back to this piece about why people can't discuss being unemployed on-line but feel comfortable over-sharing about their kids’ inability to be potty trained, or what they ate for the past four years, when they used to have body issues but now, now they’re totally fine and Zen goddammit and not at all racked by self-loathing because who wouldn’t choose to eat wheat bulgur or flax seeds or…shut up. Seriously. When people like this send me friend requests on Facebook, they bring my inner anorexic to the surface, and she wants to say, “Those Gluten-free faux-chicken tacos make your ass look big.” Especially when said people have nauseating quotes painted on the walls of their homes about worshipping their Earth Mother. (Yeah? Why do I suspect your horsesh*t just made our Earth Mother seriously start chain-smoking a carton of Newports, pop open a cold one, and eat a bag of pork rinds, muttering “God..dammit.”)

Anyhoo. My point being: so people can overshare everything on Facebook and social media in general, from eating their placenta (oy!) to unfortunate photos of themselves without makeup (NO!), to what they ate to what stupid things their kids said…but then these same people, when in my office, when I suggest that the main reason their job search is probably not working out, is because spending 4 hours a day on-line flirting, shopping etc., with a whopping 12 minutes spent scrolling through jobs on Monster.com, does not a realistic job search make, and maybe, just maybe they might want to alert their friends and family that they are unemployed, before they’re forced to switch over to the barter system…these same people look at me as if I had two heads. “Tell people?? Tell people…I’m unemployed? Are you crazy?” Right. Am I crazy? Because I’m the one posting unfortunate photos of me weighing myself every 3 minutes and eating sweet potato fries and bulgur burgers because I’m totally, like totally, Carlota, like so at peace with myself, la la la! You’re right. I’m the crazy one here.  (Grrrrr…)

I guess my point is: perhaps we all need to hold hands and sing Kumbaya together, since our priorities seem to be a tad f**ked up, n’est pas? Why can people talk casually about getting laid or giving birth or getting drunk or whatever…but admitting to being unemployed is a shame?  Really? What does this say about our relationships with one another? We constantly have to pretend everything’s awesome or people will run from us screaming?  We can never be honest? Listen, I have zero time anymore to pretend things are fantastic if they’re not. I need to fix sh*t so I can move forward, since I already wasted years living a life that on paper was fantastic but in reality was me being screamed at by certain TV “personalities” at 4am…par-tay!

Example: Many people who read my pieces about going to law school, and how it was a mistake 99 ways from last Wednesday,  were at first surprised I’m so honest…but then, usually—unless they’re a**holes—they say things like, “But I really appreciated that piece. It spoke to me.  Made me feel less alone.”  

If you’re unemployed, or you’re frustrated in your career, but your public social media persona is all about how cool and sexy you are…don’t blame all 500+ of your on-line friends. Don’t blame your “friends” if at 3am, you feel alone and unloved.  Most people will only see you as you present yourself. If you want help, if you truly want to connect, stop posting about what you ate (or, for Gd’s sake, eat some Key Lime Pie with a side of cocaine, so I don’t want to vomit all over your flax seeds) or what cool club you went to (also, if you’re having so much super duper fun in the club, how’d you have time to take all of those photos of you standing around? Just sayin’…), and be honest about who you are and what you need.  Then, email me @ carlotazee@gmail.com, and let’s get that career search on!

Channukah Hints, Jewrican Factoids #4: Don't cheat yourself

Like a great many people, I am ambivalent about success. It probably has something to do with not being 26 anymore: you want something big, but you know how hard life can be and you worry about failure. You want something important...but do you really want it?
 My latest play for example. There was a period of about two months when it was 100% done...but I couldn't get myself to print it out and send it to my agent. I kept saying, "Oh, I'll do it tomorrow. I just have to [fill in the excuse]." I kept having to check the spelling, or the formatting, or "brood." In reality, it was just the idea of sending it to my agent and having her say, "I hate it." (She would have been dead to me, but anyway.)
 But what if she loved it...? That would be scary also, right? The idea that I'm sending my play out into the world and people, strangers, will see my characters, my ideas, my words, brought to life? Whoa... Long-story short: I got over myself, sent it out, and am now actively seeking to get it produced. It was a mixture of ego, whining and financial necessity.
So I have some issues...but I cop to them, and then I go all out.
What drives me crazy, on the other hand, are people who are ambivalent about success, but instead of confronting that demon, they instead do a seriously half-assed  job and then absolve themselves of all responsibility. They say: "Well, I did everything possible. So, it's not my fault." Those people make The Kitten  cranky.
Perfect example: I had a client this summer who put up a website to promote his art, mentioned it once on his Facebook page...and then basta! No mas. Never updated the content, never promoted it--did not in fact even have business cards, till The Kitten and I looked at him in horror--basically, never gave anyone a reason to visit his site after the first time. But he had a website right, so any day now, any day, the Guggenheim people would be calling to ask him what kind of suitcase he wanted them to deliver the cash in. When I suggested to him, that he join the rest of us in 2011, by getting a Facebook fan page, and hey, why not, selling his art on his website, and making use of Twitter, he kept saying, "Yeah, I'll get to it, I'll update it once and it'll be awesome."  Once? Don't hold back, kid.
And yet, when I asked him if he was afraid to be successful, he bristled. "No, not  at all: I'm very ambitious." Huh.
So, here's my hint: do not cheat yourself. It's fine, it's normal, it's human to be fearful of things we want. It's normal to be ambivalent about achieving your dreams...but if you decide to do something, go all the way! Do not cheat yourself. Don't do the minimum and then wonder why nothing happened. Because while you're cheating yourself...someone else has committed to themselves and their dreams and is going hard, kid.
Jewrican Factoid #4: I've lived in a lot of different places--Brooklyn, Taxachussetts, Russia, Washington, D.C., New York--and people always assume I'm something different. In Russia, I swear to god, people would ask me what my nationality was, and then say, "Well, Carlota, I know you can't be American, because you're so well-educated." Oy. In D.C., the cab drivers would always ask me what part of the Homeland (Ethiopia) I was from. Considering how stunning Ethiopian women are, I'd say something like, "The part known as the Upper West Side?" (Zing!) In New York, men assume I'm Dominican. Recently, in Jackson Heights, I was yelled at for not speaking Hindi and "denying my heritage." And yet, I'm just me: Jewrican and proud, nu?