MegaZord for Hire

I'm currently at the Claremont Hotel Bar, drinking scotch and getting a little more work done for the day.

As much as I wish I actually lived this Mad Men-esque lifestyle (sans womanizing and false identity), I'm actually here because I dropped off my friends at a career fair. Yes, my budding little college buddies are in "real person" training, working on their ass kissing networking skills.


I find it a little ironic. I did literally nothing to prepare for real life, but I was handed a job that I should be waaaay more grateful for. I sit and complain about waking up early and having to use my brain for 10 hours a day, but do you remember how crazy it was to even imagine having a job someday? All the career fairs and workshops and resume building. It was like you needed to figure out your entire life the day after graduation.

I was looking through my computer for a work file, but I came across an article I wrote when I applied to write for the Daily Cal.

I didn't get the job, which was a God-send because having a responsibility in college would really cut into my "do abso-fuckin-lutely nothing" time. For those of you who know me, you'll notice there are a couple white lies here and there.

A couple takeaways after I read this:

• I can't write for shit anymore
• I repeat a lot of crap in this blog
• You aren't what you do. Who you are, truly are, depends on what you do with what you're given. We aren't guaranteed our dream job right away, but the only way to get closer is to take advantage of every opportunity thrown our way. Everything happens for a reason - make sure that reason is a good one.

--
-->

Perfectly Boring

Yesterday, while my roommate and I were enjoying a lavish and nutritious dinner of Spaghetti-o’s and beer, she paused between bites and asked, “Am I boring?”

How the hell do you answer that?

Better yet, how do you answer that without sounding fake? Now my roommate is anything but boring. Works a full time job with 17 units and still manages a good human to textbook contact ratio. She’s incredibly passionate about what she does and no two days are alike because she goes into each day wanting something new.

So, here’s the dilemma. How do you convince someone they’re awesome without shamelessly singing their praises? For some reason, we’ve all gotten into the habit of finding more truth in criticism than praise. I tried enumerating the many things I admired about her and what she does, but it was going to take more than “I don’t fall into a coma when you speak,” to convince her.

So, as a last resort, I asked, “Well, what’s your definition of boring?” A few moments of silence and she replied, “I don’t know. Something that isn’t interesting, I guess.” I decided to play asshole’s advocate and asked what she thought “being interesting” meant. A couple more annoying generic questions produced a satisfying definition: to be boring means to not want anything for yourself.  

Now, there’s a difference between wanting something and wanting something for yourself. You can want to go to Cal, you can want to go to grad school, you can want world domination. But why do you want it and who do you want it for? If it’s to impress people, save your time. These days people are impressed by cat videos and planking. What will happen when you finally get what you want? Will you come to a stand still or will it present new opportunities to grow?

From freshman year of high school or even before, we start getting lectured and “taught” how to build a good résumé. We must be (of course) “well-rounded.” Oh, that keyword we all know and love. Résumés, college apps, what have you, are supposed to show how smart and, well, interesting we are.

At a young age, we’re taught/convinced/fooled into thinking that one needs X amount of volunteer hours, be president of 4 clubs, cure cancer, and compose 2 (perhaps 3) symphonies to even be on our way to a decent résumé. In high school, I, too, fell victim to this myth and signed up for debate, dance team, Amnesty International, and band. I volunteered at a nursing home and a soup kitchen, and played three varsity sports while maintaining a respectable GPA.

Six college rejection letters later, I found myself signing up for community college classes wondering where I went wrong. I did what I was told. I hit every category, rounded every edge of my being as well as possible.

I just had to sit down with my older sister and my application and asked her to pinpoint exactly where I went wrong. I was the ideal candidate. I had it all, right? She mulled it over, set it down and simply said that I had given her a grocery list when I should have given her a menu.

With a little consideration, my sister’s unusual and cryptic criticism made me realize that my I gave her a list of things that I’ve done, a checklist of skills I have but haven’t synthesized into something I could offer a university. You don’t feed someone ingredients; you give them well-prepared dish that reveals the chef’s familiarity with each ingredient, which ones work well together, and how to accentuate only the best flavors.

I could play an instrument, but did I love music? I won races, but was I an athlete? I had some mean jazz hands, but was I a dancer? I was too busy being Mrs. Potato Head, interchanging pieces in the appropriate holes to make it look “right” when I should have been the MegaZord from Power Rangers, joining my strengths and my best attributes into a powerful, unstoppable force of good.

Don’t lie. That metaphor landed.

Obsessing over being the ideal student or being “perfect” is an insane waste of time because perfection is an instant, not a state of being. If perfection were a destination, we would eventually come to a stop. Seeing it as a moment in time keeps us moving, keeps us working toward the next time everything in our world just clicks and we find a new opportunity to grow.

Perfection is that moment when you find that one incorrect decimal place and come out with the right answer. Perfection is when you declare your major. Perfection is when you know what you want, not necessarily how to get it.

Einstein said, “Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.”

You aren’t your résumé. It’s a piece of paper that can be tossed out, thrown away, outdated. Your ideals and perception of perfection should evolve with you because you won’t ever reach perfection. You meet it. When you do, cherish it, embrace it, remember it, because in an instant, it’ll pass, ready for the next game of hide and seek. 

--

Thanks for reading.

Ang

Always time to talk about love :)

Love. We're gonna talk about love.

A little while back, someone very important to me decided to leave a short but unforgettable comment on my Facebook.

My friend, Brian, is one of those guys you can't help but squeeze to death every time you see him. He's an incredible musician, quite the engineer, and an exceptional beer pong player (unless he's playing me). Best of all, Brian is just one of those people who I could talk to forever.

My favorite part about these conversations is that Brian often gets confusing. Whether he's leading me through something he learned in physics or explaining some random fact that he happened to find on the internet, I sometimes get lost, but Brian will never give up on me or the conversation. He will explain it til I understand it.

I love Brian because he makes me think.

He actually makes me to think whether I want to or not. I can't tell you how many conversations I've navigated in a drunken haze, but I absolutely love it because I always learn something new. I learn something new about the world or about the way I think about the world.

This Facebook post was no exception. He wrote:

Sometimes, I wish the 'like' function on Facebook could be applied to people. Because sometimes I don't just 'like' Angie Picardo's link, or her video, or her picture, or her post. I 'like' the whole package, and it pains me that this cannot properly be expressed with a single click on everyone's favorite social networking hellhole.

However, when I really start delving into this dilemma, I realize that the 'like' button could never even begin to compliment you on the same order of magnitude that I intend my compliment to reach. Thus, it would be demeaning to this entire relationship for me to use it (supposing this were even an option). It would be an insult. Even still, I want the option.

Anyway, this has been fun. Your usual style and grace (more specifically, my need to express my appreciation for it) has provided a sufficiently long distraction from my study of mass inflation instability, which I will now return to.

Love,
Anonymous

Now, most people would give an "Aw, gee thanks" or a "you're so sweet."

That's not how we do shit roun' hurr. Brian doesn't just compliment or gush. He could very well leave a simple "yer prettyyyy" on my wall. As accurate as that statement would be, it wouldn't be his style.

Nope. Brian made me think. I thought about and engaged with his comment because that's what it deserves. That's what he deserves. My response:

Dear Anonymous,

Unfortunately, I will have to disagree. Facebook may only allow for a single aspect to be “liked” at a time, but that is the very nature of love that many overlook. 

If we were given a button with which we could “like” an entire individual, we may only do it once. After that, the only option is to “dislike.” To me, that is a very black and white option in a very gray world. To like (or love) a person all at once, in their entirety, is impossible only because we are constantly changing. We could find something we don’t like or could find something new that makes us like them even more. Then what? We find a SUPER “like” button?

No. Facebook got it just right because love is based on the collage of stolen moments, those seconds in time when you feel connected to that person, when the only reason you’d ever let go is because of the hope that you’ll get to come back and feel your heart catch fire all over again. When you like their status, their link, their picture, you like them in that present moment. 

And all we have is the present. 

When I click to like Brian Grubbs’s profile picture or his status about Reggie eating his joint; when I see the smile of content defeat when I make the last cup in one-on-one; when he hugs me so tight that after we let go I can feel all the blood rush through my heart—that is when I am able to love him. 

I am able to love him, fully love him, when I can do it over and over again.

So, Anonymous, don’t chastise Facebook for not allowing us to “like” an entire being with a single click. That’s too easy. Love is difficult, it’s dynamic, it’s painful, it’s beautiful. It’s love that makes us want to delve deeper into a person in order to find yet another reason to love them. It’s the opportunity to individually “like” aspects of a person’s profile that make us scour our newsfeed and explore their page just for the chance to click and “like” love yet another part of them. Love is what keeps us coming back for more.

Sincerely yours,

Angeli M. Picardo

When I say I love someone, it's not just because they're nice, or smart, or because--as Colbie Callait put it-- they "make me tingle in a silly place."


I believe that someone you love, truly love, is a person who makes you feel; a person who moves you, challenges you, makes you more than you were ten seconds ago. I reserve my love for people who remind me that I have a mind, body and soul that are absolutely extraordinary.

No, Bri Guy and I are not romantically in love, but we share a connection that I think even married couples are missing. I love Brian because he makes me feel. Whether it's with big, hold-you-til-you-choke hugs or by making me think so hard my brain melts, Brian reminds me that I am here, I am alive, and I've got a lot of exploring to do.

If I've ever told you that I love you, it's because you have made me notice, understand, and love something about myself. If I've ever told you that I love you, you have somehow moved me in a way that no one else has and probably ever will. Thank you :)

Hang on to the people who make you feel, who make you want more. They're the ones who'll somehow keep you grounded but help you fly to higher heights than you've ever imagined.

So, here's to love, ya'll. Cheers.

Gradu-8.

I just stepped out of my very last college class. Perhaps even the last class I ever take.

For the last 18 years of my life, I’ve been a student. I learned how to read and write, how to do simple and (way too) complicated math. I learned how to navigate a library, suck up to a teacher; I learned how to pass a test, how to fail one and bounce back. I learned how to buy books for cheap and be okay with selling them back for scraps. I learned how to sleep in class without getting caught, and how to text without looking like I’m fondling and smiling at my crotch.

I spent a good amount of the last 18 years learning to be a student.

At the end of my last class, my teacher said his thank you’s and good luck’s, then it all of a sudden hit me. Up until this point I hadn’t really thought about the future or what happens next, but when the campanile rang at the end of class, all I wanted to do was raise my hand and ask, “Well, wait. Now what?”

What do I do with everything I’ve learned in the past 18 years, 18 weeks, 18 minutes? I had all this knowledge and I had no freakin’ idea what to do with it.

I had no idea, but I didn’t think it was all a waste of time. No way in hell.

One of my teachers constantly quoted William James throughout the semester, saying, “Life is in the transitions as much as in the terms connected.” We don't just hop from one phase to the next, measuring our success when we feel we've reached the end and are ready to summarize.

Among many other things, I am a student. It's not a way to define yourself; it is more so a state of mind.

Yeah, man. A state of mind, and stuff. 

I feel that it’s when people are too connected to the idea of being a college student that they find themselves vowing to do anything to stay an extra year, dying to have just one more day.  

What I have come to understand is that I am not a student. I am a person who has made a vow to learn, to grow, and to make myself better every day. Nowhere in my contract does it say that this ends when I step out of the classroom. If anything, all I’ve done is step into an even bigger classroom, one where every single person is both a teacher and a classmate.  

At Cal, everything I’ve learned has been and forever will be useful to me for the rest of my life, and, if I play my cards right, for generations after me. As we all know, everything can be a lesson. And, of course, I’m gonna give you a top 3. What’s an Angie blog post without a little countdown? 

3. What’s one of the worst feelings EVER? Answer: Having to poop at school.

I don’t even like pooping at people’s houses. I would rather punch myself in the face 6 times than poop anywhere but my house.

So, God decided to punish me a few times this semester and make me need to poop at school. I could either walk approximately 15 miles (aka maybe ¾ of a mile) home or brave the public bathroom and make it a group effort. What did I do? I met myself half way and found pretty much the only single stall bathroom on campus (*cough* moffitt library right by FSM).

Lesson: You’re gonna have to make compromises. There’s no point in wasting your time and effort just to make something convenient for you. There are going to be things (like pooping) that need to be done whether you like it or not. But that doesn’t mean completely sacrificing yourself for the cause. There is always a way to make a situation at least a little better, a little easier. It’s all about give and take. Get the job done, but never lose yourself in the process.

2. I almost didn’t graduate because I decided to be a lazy ass and take the fewest amount of units possible. I tried to spin it like I was going to make more time to blah blah blah blah blahhhh, but really, I was just lazy.

Long story short, I dropped this class and that but then realized (after the add/drop deadline, of course) that I was 1 unit short of the limit needed to graduate. Less than a unit actually—0.2 units.

When I realized what I had done, my initial reaction:

The second:

I AM A FUCKING ASSHOLE. I AM THE STUPIDEST PERSON TO EVER WALK THIS PLANET AND SO IS EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THE REGENTS FOR GRANTING ME EVEN A SINGLE DOLLAR OF SCHOLARSHIP MONEY. ANGELI PICARDO, YOU PIECE OF SHIT MORON, GO DIE IN A WHALE’S ANUS.

 

I was upset.

But after I got a little bit of emotion out of my system, I started on my quest for 1-unit classes. Oh yeah, because to hell with taking a two, three, or, god forbid, FOUR unit class.

Learn your lesson, Ang.

A few days of searching and no luck. Thankfully, I’m a whiny bitch and my friend Marie heard me complaining and told me to join her organic gardening class. It was 1 unit, once a week. Easy.

Organic gardening. At that moment, I remembered totally shitting on this course last year thinking that it was some hippie bullshit I’d never be a part of. Too bad it was the only thing keeping me from going a couple thousand dollars into debt just for one god forsaken unit.

Lesson: An oldie but goodie—never take anything for granted. You never know who or what will be the difference between passing and failing, life and death. I am a firm believer in that everything happens for a reason. Every event, every person, every emotion that somehow makes it into your life is there for a reason. Never overlook something or someone as insignificant because the second you do, it could turn out to be your only lifeline.

1. At the beginning of the year, I applied to write for The Daily Californian, Cal’s school newspaper. I applied to be a columnist because I thought it would be cool to see my words published, but wanted to write something a little more light-hearted and enjoyable. I sent in my samples, a few ideas for future articles. I even got invited for an interview. But—you guessed it—I didn’t get the job.

I was so sad. Why wouldn’t they take me? Was I not good enough? Did my breath smell during the interview? I was so sad, and it wasn’t until I picked up the next day’s Daily Cal and read the column that I got pissed. I read through it and was furious because all I could think was, “I am a WAAAAY better writer. I could write this shit in my sleep for God’s sake. Those morons. They freakin’ missed out.”

And at that moment, I fell in love with my writing again. I fell in love with my writing and since then, my writing was mine again. Papers were easier to write because I wrote in my own voice. I didn’t write for my teacher. I wrote what I thought was right, and something as simple as believing what you’re saying could mean the difference between a good and a great paper.

Lesson: Fail. Fail because to fail means to find clarity. Even just a little, even for just a second. That could make all the difference. You find ways that don’t work and often learn to appreciate positive aspects that you wouldn’t have paid attention to otherwise. Failing forces you to take a step back and re-assess the situation at hand so your second try is definitely better than the last.

In two weeks, I will be a University of California graduate only because I failed so hard in the past. When we fail, we can either lie down and feel sorry for ourselves or we can try again and do better than the last time with our new found knowledge.

Well, to me, the harder you fall the higher you’ll bounce back.

You can fail—it is only when you give up that you become a failure. No failure is too great to overcome. No obstacle too big. No problem to difficult to fix. Even though the outcome may not be what you expected, it could (and often does) turn out to be far better than you had ever dreamed.

It’s safe to say that I learned a lot in my time as a student. I didn’t learn everything, but I learned a whole lot more than what was on any of the hundreds of syllabi I got over the years.

Man. That’s a lotta trees.

So, to my buddies who are still toughing it out, still out there in the trenches of Wheeler, Pimintel, Doe, or any of the other educational battlefields out there, enjoy your time. It’s not about the grades. If you spend your time with your nose buried in a book, all the important shit is going to pass right by you.

Go out. Get hammered. Rage and study just as hard. Get shit done, but the only way you’ll get through it is if you remember that you’re doing this for you and only you.

The future will work itself out if you focus on being the best you can be right now.

E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle.

“And then we emerged to see the stars again…”

You may go through hell, but if you give it everything, you’ll come out on the other side unscathed and all the wiser.

You’re alright. Everthing’s gonna be alright.

Just because my time is no longer measured in semesters doesn’t mean the clock struck 12 and I’m ridin’ dirty in a pumpkin and my fantasy’s over.

I don’t see graduation as a next step—just a change of terrain. From kindergarten to Cal, I’ve been training for almost everything that could be thrown my way. Whether rocky roads or smooth sidewalks, I plan to hit the ground running.

My next goal: don’t eat shit.

It has been mother fuckin’ real, Cal. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

GO BEARS.

"A season, a reason, a lifetime"

One of my favorite (YouTube) musicians does something called “One Take Sessions.” Just one take. No re-do’s. Just one shot.

I’m doing a little spring cleaning in my brain before finals. Here’s a post I’m writing in a single draft. A long time coming, but just one take. This is partially due to time constraint (PROCRASTINATION), but mostly because I want it to be candid. 

Will it make any sense? Who cares? The right people will understand every word.

Four years ago, I was 19 years old.

Four years ago, I studied abroad.

Four years ago, I was lost, but then realized that I knew the way all along.

If you’ve read this blog before, you know how important study abroad was for me. It was my first year of college and I wasn’t where I wanted to be. 

The difference between being 23 and 19? I now know (and, more importantly, understand) that I am the only thing standing in my way.

I let myself be sad and feel sorry for myself the first 8 or so weeks of community college, but then I decided to make a change. I did something for myself. It had nothing to do with my major, had nothing to do with a career path.

It was just something I wanted for me. The first thing I wanted just for me.

Whenever I mention study abroad, people think about the stereotypical American student who wants nothing more than to get hammered and not feel guilty because what happens abroad, stays abroad (unless Facebook has anything to say about it). But that’s not the case! This was no ordinary trip.

Yes, there was alcohol. Yes, there was dancing. Yes, there was kebap. But most importantly, there was love. Genuine, whole-hearted, unconditional love.

We were there for each other in every sense of the phrase. Whether someone needed a shoulder to lean on when drunkenly stumbling home from Twice or Space Electronica, or if they just needed a really, really great, squeeze-you-so-hard-you-can’t-breathe hug after a rough day, we were always there for one another.

Before the trip, we were strangers. After, we are family.

Every person you meet does something to change you. Some people will change our lives forever, but that doesn’t mean you won’t ever say your goodbyes. Some people come into your life unexpectedly, but they could turn out to be just what you needed to finally start to become everything that you truly are and have always wanted to be.  

“Every person is a new door to a different world.”

We all see the world around us. We see that grass is green, the sky is blue, dogs bark, cats meow. But it is only through these incredible people in our lives that we truly feel and understand the world around us.  

Before certain people enter our lives, some things are seemingly insignificant.

Starfish. Feathers. Trees.

Some things won’t have meaning until someone helps you finally see them for the first time. These people help you on the path to creating a world of your own. A world that you’d be happy and proud to live in.

To my Firenze family—you made me see the sky. Some showed me how to truly feel the summer sun on my skin. Some made me see the stars dance for the first time. Some showed me that the sky isn’t a reminder of what I cannot reach; it’s a reminder that when I stop trying to simply reach the top, I’ll be able to enjoy the ride and see that I’m free to soar, to live in a world filled with an infinite amount of possibilities.

When I studied abroad, I literally had the best sleep of my life. I slept on a couch right next to our living room windows, and even though I slept like this every night,

I fell asleep knowing that if I were lucky enough to wake up in the morning, I’d open my eyes to everything I wanted.

I’d open my eyes to the azure, Florentine sky.

I miei amici, my Firenze loves, by falling in love with you, I was able to fall in love with me.

A very wise man, Mr. Danny Gamboa, told us that you meet people for a season, a reason, or a lifetime.

I love and miss all of you so much. You are all with me for a lifetime. “For this to never end.”

Four years ago, I was 19 years old.

Four years ago, I studied abroad.

Four years ago, I began to see the world in color.

Thank you.

Because of you, I see the trees.