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This is Ben Shaoul (the one in the sweater and cap), who was the subject of a story in the NYTimes Metropolitan section today. The most frustrating part of this story about Ben Shaoul, Great Neck, Long Island-raised (obviously) heir to a Persian Jewish real estate dynasty and community college drop out turned tycoon is not that he’s gentrifying the East Village, because maybe he’s just taking part of the inevitable, nor that he’s completing construction with no regard for anyone’s safety, because, sure, he’s a businessman first, nor that he’s bullying out rent-controlled tenants and then pointing to the fact that no court or city agency has ever found that he’s violated anything when of course they haven’t, because the tenants are small and he is big and rich and that is the way the world is.
No, the most frustrating part is that, in response to all that, Ben Shaoul’s complaint is that people don’t have enough nice things to say about him. That they don’t tell him what a nice guy he is and what a good job he’s doing. That a reporter says to him, “People say that you turned off their heat and said their apartments were for rent when they clearly weren’t and did construction that endangered the people who are living there and that you have no sign of stopping because you are getting richer and more powerful and nothing else matters” (I’m paraphrasing), and all he can say is, “I’m a regular guy, I have feelings. Is it hurtful when people write things that are bad. Yeah, it’s hurtful” (I’m not paraphrasing at all).
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Written Wisdom: On Twitter last night (Or, A Tale of Two Emails)
I woke up this morning to two emails.
One was from a woman at the international office of the university at which I will be doing research in the fall.
The other was from a friend, asking how I set off a mutual acquaintance, to whom I have not spoken since junior year, on Twitter last night.
(WARNING: It’s about to get real angry up in here)
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This is an Actual Conversation That I Heard Last Night
- Girl 1: I'm inviting him here because I want to see him play with my friends.
- Girl 2: Yeah.
- Girl 1: Leini's not going to be here, but that's okay, because she gets bitchy when she's drunk. Like, she's honest, and I love that about her. But she'll be like, "I'm just telling you what I think!," and I'm like, "Don't!" Like, obviously, if I'm bringing a guy to this bar at 2:30 in the morning...
- Girl 2: Yeah, if that's what you want to do, do it!
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Bold Realizations!: Apparently I’ve Been Addressing My Emails Like I Hail From the 19th Century
My mother, upon finding out that I begin my emails:
To Whom it May Concern,
I hope this finds you very well.
told me that that hasn’t been how people begin letters for about two centuries.
I just wish somebody—anybody, really—had told me this before I went through almost all of undergraduate life addressing strangers—including professors and employers—thusly through correspondence. Because now I am finding myself not very well. Not very well at all.
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Bold Realizations!: Hate, Hate, Hate, Love You
It turns out that complaining about how much you (read: I) hate something ad nauseum will make you love it.
I told anyone who would listen how much I hated Ke$ha. Shortly thereafter, I became Team Kesh.
I grew up hating the song “Last Christmas.” Last year, I wrote a long, long blog post about how much I hate it, and why it is, in fact, the worst Christmas song.
It just came on my radio, and my heart leapt with glee.
I think it goes like this: You decide that you hate something. You talk about how much you hate it. You start listening/looking for it, so that you have the opportunity to express your hate. You become glad when you hear/see it, ironically. You become glad when you hear/see it, but actually.
No word yet on whether or not this extends to humans. I am hoping not. I do not know if there is a man equivalent of “Last Christmas,” but I do not want that. I do not want that at all.
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Bold Realizations!: Yes, I would like some cheese with this whine & wine
You know a day’s been something else when you end it drinking wine out of a water glass.
Okay, SO. Today I met with a pre-law advisor at my school. Long story short, meeting with a pre-law advisor before you have taken the LSAT is not so fun. (In my defense, I haven’t taken it yet because I was busy a) not taking the LSAT and b) being in Russia.) Next time, I’m just going to tell him not to worry, because I have a brillsauce* plan for this whole “application” thang.
ROLL THE CLIP, ELLE.
*It includes using “brillsauce” in my personal statement. THE ROAD TO J.D. IS PAVED WITH SPILLED BRILLSAUCE.
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Bold Realizations!: I mean, it’s about the end
I am studying for my Russian finals. Yes. Finals. With an “s.” The good people at Bard-Smolny broke Russian as a Second Language into five classes (conversation, phonetics, writing (which is less about writing and more about correctly punctuating academic papers), grammar, and reading. And we have a final in each n’ every one.
Obviously, studying for these finals has led me to a conclusion that has nothing to do with anything that will be on the test. AHEM:
I like studying Russian as a means to an end. Which is to say! I like being able to speak Russian (better than I once did), and read Russian (better than I speak it), and so on and so forth. But actually studying Russian? No. That I do not like.
Some people actually enjoy the process of learning languages. They like putting the different grammatical pieces together to form a linguistic puzzle. They like the semantic nuances. They like learning new words in a different tongue. (Aside: Who decided that “tongue” is an acceptable substitute for “language.” And does, “It’s a foreign tongue!” disgust anyone else? Like, get that foreign tongue out of your mouth, you know? End aside.) And that’s really good for them!
But I am not one of those people.
Now, how to explain this in Russian on my exams…
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