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Constructive Criticism, or “I Think You Could Have Done Better…”

Wednesday, August 24th, 2011

When I was in college, I decided there was no better way to make myself completely homicidal than to double major in Fine Art, and illustration. Five hundred bottles of caffeine pills later, I realized these majors were not for me. As much as I loved staying up until 5am working on a full written parody movement on an Ernest Hemmingway story, I felt like there was something better out there for me.

Even though my education in the art department didn’t last too long, I did gain some valuable experience points. Being an *extremely* minor internet personality sort of reminds me of being an art major. I create something to show other people, then I get critiqued. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s bad. Sometimes people really like it. Sometimes people despise it. Sometimes people are downright honest with you in their criticisms. And sometimes that stings. After all, you spend time making these videos, or artwork, or novel, or whatever it is, and when people don’t like it, it’s a tough pill to swallow.

There’s always talk about people not being able to accept constructive criticism, that they have “thin skin.” Could be true. Some people *don’t* take constructive criticism well. My best friend in art school got incredibly irritated whenever ANYONE suggested his stuff was anything other than perfect.

I think there are a few problems with constructive criticism. My experience was not pleasant, and not for the reason of “I can’t handle the TRUUUUTH” way.

Every week in my creative art studio, we’d post a piece on the wall, so that everyone could critique it. It always went the same way, and the comments were ALWAYS the same. “I think you could have done this better” or the classic, “I like it!” I believe people become frightened to give truthful criticism. Granted, not EVERYTHING needs to be critiqued. Sometimes you just like something. But in this case, none of us in that art class had the guts to be truthful, and actually speak what is on our minds. The internet operates on a different level. Nobody is in the same room, nobody has to look you dead in the eye and tell you your severed head sculpture is terrible (it wasn’t THAT bad, dammit), and you can even give criticism anonymously. It’s a little harder to accept criticism from people you don’t know, and can’t see. I think it has to do with not knowing who that person on the other side of the monitor is, and not knowing what their experience is. In my art class, we were all artists. I appreciated a fellow artists opinion. Posting videos on the net, well. I don’t know WHO is critiquing my work, or what experience they have, or if their advice can actually help me. It’s hard to take a screen name seriously.

Even so, at the end of the day, I always look at constructive criticism positively. In fact, I owe a lot to advice I’ve gotten from other people, and tips I’ve learned just by reading the comments section on my articles, or my videos. I know how hard it is to be brutally honest, so I would never discard something I feel will help me in the end. It takes time to watch someones video and come up with thoughtful critique. This isn’t to say I’m going to agree with everyone. There cannot be a united opinion on everything. We wouldn’t be diverse people if there was. But I appreciate advice, and if someone doesn’t like something, I brush it off, and improve. And for people who have a hard time accepting critique: don’t take it as a personal slight. People have some great ideas out there, and we shouldn’t push them aside over a few hurtful, but truthful comments.

Forever in Blue Jeans

Monday, June 20th, 2011

Dear Dad,

Happy Father’s Day!  Kind of late in the day, but I didn’t forget.  I just moved out of our old house into a new apartment today.  You know that 50 pound mattress I had in my room?  Totally just lugged it up 3 flights of stairs.

Mom is doing okay.  She bugs me on a constant basis, so everything is normal in that respect.  Some interesting things have happened over the course of the year.  I actually started making videos.  ….Don’t look at me like that.  I know it seems odd, having been incredibly camera shy as long as I could remember, but it’s been interesting.  Finally coming out of my shell a bit, like you have always wanted me to.  There is a guy I let into my life (I know, I know; you’re probably smirking and trying to think of something to say to humiliate me).  He is a good guy, you can trust him.  I feel good about him.  He makes me feel war—-WHAT!?!?!  Okay, sorry.  Going into gross territory, there.  Just know that I feel as loved as you made me feel when you were here.

Things had gotten complicated for awhile.  You probably already knew that though.  I think I lost focus for a time, and anything that remotely resembled happiness, I pushed away.  I know that’s not what you wanted for me, and if I could take some things back and correct them, I would.   But I can’t do that now.  I can only push on and hope that somewhere, you can see my progress, and you are still proud, no matter how badly I fuck up.   And trust me, I can fuck up pretty badly sometimes.  I have good people in my life though.  I think I still carry around this general distrust for people, which I probably picked up from you.  It’s not realism Dad, it’s PESSIMISM.   Argue it all you want, but you know I’m right.   But I have surrounded myself with good people who you may or may not approve of.  Also, stop forcing Neil Diamond onto my car radio.  I can only listen to “Solitary Man” so many times, here.

I miss you.  See you in dreamland.

<3 Sarah

Butterfly Kisses Are Better

Friday, April 29th, 2011

I’ve been thinking a lot lately.  After much deliberation, I have come to the very essential conclusion that I in fact, do not take any kind of pleasure in what is otherwise known as “French Kissing.”  There are absolutely no physical benefits to tongue kissing, except maybe tasting the other persons saliva, and you BETTER HOPE they were not eating pizza while drinking orange juice prior the lip lock.  I’m not sure why I equate pizza and orange juice with bad things.  I think we can all agree that pizza and orange juice can be described as what vomit tastes like.   You want none of that shizz.

Let me distinguish though; open mouth kissing is entirely okay.  As long as you keep the tongue FAR AWAY FROM ME.  I’ve found this is a growing fear within me in that, every time I am kissing someone, I get completely paranoid that the person will try to slip their tongue into my mouth.   Then the kiss goes by slow and awkward, cause I am trying to keep my lips locked together and REALLY CONCENTRATE on what’s going on.  I also end up opening my eyes because I become completely distracted.  Then the other person opens their eyes, wondering what the hell is going on.  Then we stare in a embarrassed silence.  And I say something completely charming to clear the air.  ”…..that was nice…..?”

….Not that I am speaking all from experience!  I’m a totally good kisser, and I don’t need to get defensive about it! (totally being defensive.)

Of course, this aversion to tongue hockey might have something to do with my first kiss incident, which went something like this.  Names will be changed to protect the dimwitted.  Let’s just call him Smelly!

(Me and Smelly are sitting on my couch in the basement.  I am 15.  Smelly is looking around with shifty eyes.)

Me:  Let’s watch a movie.

Smelly: (points somewhere behind me) LOOK OVER THERE.

Me: (Is a stupid naive teenager and looks away, interested)

Smelly: (Shoves his face into mine and gives me the most sloppy kiss ever.  Pretty sure he licked my teeth.)

Me: …..um.  Thanks.  How about Waynes World?

Needless to say, that relationship lasted a mere month or so.  Probably because he kept trying to clean out the inside of my mouth with his freaking tongue.  I honestly, genuinely, cannot find anything sexy about this.   And teeth bumping is the absolute worst.  Whenever I bump teeth with someone, I imagine two metal panels scraping together, and sparks flying around and shrieking noises happening.  Or maybe I am just nitpicking.

The moral of the story here, is wear deodorant, because if we happen to kiss in the future and I tell a story about it, I won’t choose a completely offensive and juvenile name to represent your being.  MUAH!

Victoria’s Secret: Awkwardsville

Thursday, March 3rd, 2011

For whatever reason, I decided I needed a new bra.  …Actually, the reason was pretty clear:  my dog had chewed up my favorite bra (the one with the stripes) and my other bras just seemed sub par.  I don’t know why.  The other ones just didn’t have the comfort factor, or the straps kept falling, or just…whatever.  The fact of the matter was certain.

I needed a new bra.

As it turns out, I received a rather nice chunk of cash as a result of my taxes.  Completely unexpected, but incredibly satisfying.  Suddenly, my bank account no longer had moths and domesticated beetles running around it.  With this new found wealth, I decided to buy a new bra.  And hell, why not go all the way and buy something WAY OVER PRICED from Victoria’s Secret!  I decided to bring a male friend, just in case I got approached by anxious looking women wielding tape measures.

The first thing I noticed when I entered the store was the smell.  Everything smelled like red flavored.  Red flavor is often described (by me) as strawberry flavors, cherry flavors, cinnamon, apples, and so forth.  Not Watermelon though!  Watermelon is a green flavor.  I wasn’t entirely irritated by the smell, until I made the mistake of spraying some on my wrist and nearly making myself high off of mixed perfume smells.  Coconut and pear are not compatible smells.

I also noticed that EVERY WOMAN THERE was adjusting their bras!  This was not very encouraging.  I was hoping they didn’t purchase their bras at Victoria’s Secret, and were uncomfortable in them.  Maybe they just liked touching their own breasts.

I could sense the tension between my male friend, and the rest of the store.  I was told Victoria’s Secret was designed to make men feel comfortable going there with their girlfriends/wives/sex partners.  Unfortunately, my male partner was approached by a sales woman, thinking he was indeed, a female.  So my warning to all men is:  If you have long hair, you probably don’t want to go in there.  Not even *I* felt very comfortable in there!  Maybe I should have touched my boobs more.  How am I supposed to feel comfortable when everyone is fondling themselves?!

I found a cute bra.  It happened to be a push-up bra.  It had laces on it.  When I got home and tried it on (I hate dressing rooms), I had went from a C cup, to a DD cup.  I could NOT get my favorite shirt over my chest.  I’m not quite sure what I was thinking when I bought it.

My male friend threw a fortune cookie at my boob, and it BOUNCED off from the immense padding.  I AM LYING TO THE WORLD.

……But I gotta admit, I feel sexy in it.

…..IT’S A SEXY LIE.

Anyways, that’s my experience with Victoria’s Secret.  I’m not sure why I felt the urge to share.

She Got the Way to Move me, Cherry

Saturday, January 22nd, 2011

Well, well, well.  So it seems to be that time of the year again.  No, not tax season…even though I really should start working on my taxes.   Have I ever mentioned my Birthday is on Tax Day?  It is.  Have I ever mentioned how badly I would like a robot for my birthday?  I do.

….Anyway.  January 21st/22nd is the date my Father passed away from cancer eleven years ago.  Every year I usually do something in tribute to him.  As I mentioned in a previous blog, I once donated my hair (and got a mohawk Doo-hickey.  I looked like LaRoux.), however, due to the insane awkward hair stages I had to go through after that, I decided I won’t be donating my hair anymore.  So for the past 3 years, I’ve been writing blogs on this date.  Which works out well for me, because you have no idea the cost I spent in hair gel some years ago.

I miss my Dad almost everyday.  It is not very frequent that I become sad over this; mostly I remember the good times and look back rather fondly.  I wanted to do something he might be proud of me for, so I got some people together (Todd and Paw) and reviewed the Monkees movie, Head.  Most people will not be aware that I chose this review as sort of a tribute, but it is, and that is why I wanted to review it.   The Monkees was actually something my Dad and I shared.  I remember watching the sitcom with him as a little girl, and him laughing hysterically at the zanyness.  ….Actually, half the time he seemed to be laughing at absolutely nothing.  Just…sort of sitting there.  Chortling.  I question this.

Even though the review seemed to be more cynical in nature, I know my Dad would love the review.  He was fairly cynical in nature (though he insisted he was “realistic”).  So, this review is for you, Dad.   I know it came off as me ribbing on the movie a bit, but if I didn’t like the movie, I wouldn’t rib on it.  I make fun of things I like.  Which is why I can’t seem to get a date these days.

I never know exactly how to feel on this date.  Part of me thinks I should grieve.  However, grieving is absolutely no fun at all.  Another part of me thinks I should celebrate his memories, but then I’d feel guilty for feeling happy on a sad day and BLAH BLAH BLAH.  You know what I mean.

I usually get somewhat wound up.  But, I feel content.  I often wonder what my Dad would think about my youtube videos, or my placement on TGWTG.  I want to say he’d be my biggest fan, but I am not sure anyone can top Paw.  Heh, what a stalker.

Wherever you are, Dad, enjoy this review.  I miss ya.

Love,

Sarah