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soft moodfeels

Listen to soft moodfeels by discintus #np on #SoundCloud

dicintus’ October playlist

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I Want to Be With You

by discintus

Last chapter 

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A playlist featuring Metronomy, Danny Brown, William Onyeabor, and others

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P, S, A (Please, Seriously, Ask)

P, S, A (Please, Seriously, Ask) is a column where I, Julia Berke, invite readers to ask questions they’re uncomfortable bringing up to their partners, friends, family, halal grill masters, dive bartenders, subway riding peers, etc. I have a Bachelor of Arts in Sageism from the School of Hard Knocks and will do my very best to provide nuggety wisdom to those who are seeking it.

This month, we’re featuring a question that is rife with toes to step on and murky waters. It’s hard to tell what to do when you’re having a problem with a person who is holds the key to financial bliss:

“Lately, my boss has started taking me aside and yelling at me because I didn’t do what he wanted, although I followed the directions of my assignment exactly. He’s also insisting that I was in meetings I know I wasn’t in and that I have said and done things I haven’t said or done. It’s making me crazy and I don’t know what to do.” - Seriously Asked by Anonymous

As Liz Lemon would say on 30 Rock about a man who put his fantasy football league draft before your third anniversary of your first trip to meet his parents, “That’s a dealbreaker!”

In all seriousness though, gaslighting is, in my opinion, one of the deadliest sins of mental warfare. It is a ruthless form of manipulation that pits a person’s own mind against itself. Gaslighting should never be used. It’s a shame it exists in the first place. I could go on about how much gaslighting makes my stomach turn, but I digress.

The best offense against a person who is trying to euthanize your career via poisonous management skills and immature behavior is, simply, a good defense. A good defense looks like just being honest. If you honestly weren’t in a meeting, provide proof of what you were doing while that meeting was in session. Think about it like providing evidence in a court of law: what’s your alibi? If the meeting was in the conference room from 10:05 to 11:47 am on Wednesday, September 21 in the Year of Our Lord 2016, provide time stamps of emails you sent when you were supposedly in that meeting. Ask people who were in that meeting if you were there as well. It may seem really nit-picky and kind of useless, but ultimately you will have built a case where you’re not implicitly calling your boss a liar, but you’re showing them how wrong they are.

If tasks, responsibilities, and protocol seem to be slipping under your feet like a rug being pulled out from under you, it is okay to explain what you believed those initial responsibilities were. You are, after all, not in charge. It is not your job to know what your boss wants exactly if they are not relaying that information. You are not a mind reader, and you let them know that. Saying things like “if you could be more specific, in the future, so we can avoid any confusion further down the road,” that’s A+ office peon practice. In that one sentence, you are acknowledging that you want to do what your boss wants, are concerned about the future of the company and the work you produce, and are willing to do whatever it takes to make everything hunky dory.

If all of these tactics are rendered useless to someone who is so unhinged, then it may be wise to plant your feet in the ground and stand tall. Choosing when, and more importantly where, to pick fights is the key to this last ditch effort to be heard. Never ever say anything that could be misinterpreted in an email. Only use email in noninflammatory ways, such as to schedule a meeting to have a talk about what’s been going on or ask for clarification. If things start to boil up, call.

When it comes down to it, the proof is always in the pudding, and that means cold, hard evidence. There’s a reason Hill has some pages of her private-made- public email account missing, and that’s because she probably said things that could either be A. misconstrued or, even worse, B. reveal iffy governing tactics. When you sit down with your boss, make sure someone from HR is there. A witness is always key, especially if you are being verbally (and mentally) attacked by a superior. That is, after all, not good business practice.

I wish you well, Anonymous, because being at odds with a higher up is no fun and often leaves us 20-somethings fearing for our lives. To speak more broadly, I’ve come to notice a trend among the friends I’ve made from college, who have since graduated. We are all willing to put in ridiculous hours, work incredibly hard, and bend any which way to please the powers at be.

We’re then slammed in the media as “Millennials Who Are Entitled and Don’t Have Real Jobs.” As I’ve said before, the proof is in the pudding. You’ve worked hard and you’re dealing with an unfair hand that was dealt by terribly inept CEOs. Ultimately, you could always quit your job and travel the world. I hear your 20s are good for that.

Stay cool, mes pomplamooses!

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A playlist featuring Toto, Public Image Ltd., Mala Rodríguez, and others

Rose’s October playlist

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A playlist featuring 10 Years, Perfume Genius, Vance Joy, and others

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Subway Stories

by Rose Martinez

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One Day - Rocky Hardee

09/28/16

I woke up at 1am, after missing my team’s League of Legends practice, I answer the angry text and facebook messages and head into the kitchen. On the toaster, I find and decided to tear through the leftover chicken parmesan I made earlier in the night. It was delicious. After cycling through various screens (TV, 3DS, Phone, Computer) I fell back asleep around 4:15.

At 6am, I wake up to take my brother, Emory, to school and give him my $20 for lunch money; I didn’t have change. I head back home and find myself unable to fall back to sleep, I decide to do some laundry and make some phone calls. As I’m hanging my second load outside, I get a call about an interview I did they day before. They offer me a job.

By 9am, I eat breakfast, more chicken parm, or as Tom Haverford calls it “chicky-chicky-parm-parm.” I have a problem. I engage in a tug of war with my brother’s dog, MJ. We never let her win, but she’s a good sport. She knows it’s all about the game.

Noon comes around and my editor sends me notes on my latest project, I dive right in immediately. Two hours of editing later, it seems clean enough to send out into the world. I celebrate with iced tea. 3pm rolls in and I’m back on League of Legends. It’s an abusive relationship, the highs are incredible and the lows are insufferable. I play for six hours with various partners. We win more than we lose.

I jump in the shower at 9pm, getting ready to scream mid-2000s emo hits at the top of my lungs and celebrate (and mourn) with Lone Star Beer and Fireball Whiskey. I head to the trap to play smash bros and trade stories with the trap boys. By 4am, I’m home and I walk into the door. I heat up the last of the chicken parm and brew myself some bedtime tea. After my meal, I soak my socks in tap water, and wring them out so that they’re just damp. Then I go to sleep, and hope that Ron Swanson didn’t lie to me. He hasn’t yet.