there is a show on a&e every sunday night called intervention that james (hi james!), one of my former-work-b.f.f.s, got me addicted to. each episode of the documentary style reality show follows the lives of individuals who are losing the battle with their addiction, and whose friends and families feel the only remaining option is to hold an intervention. but the "protagonists" (or would druggies and alchies be antagonists?) don't know about the intervention until the end of the show. (makes you wonder if they just think that the tv cameras that are following them around are part of their hallucinations.)

given my experience watching the show and the knowledge base i acquired writing a thesis in college about mentally disturbed people and their drug and alcohol problems (surprisingly not a first hand account of my undergraduate freshman floor), i can only conclude that i must be on crack.

because i was called in for what is known as "intervention" here on monday by my accounting professor.

(way to go, deb. get your ass into a good school and blow it before real classes have even begun.)

and although i aim to break the stereotypes often prescribed to women in power (by degrading myself, objectifying good looking women, and making fun of cheerleaders), i cried.

twice.

my wonderfully kind professor assured me i would be fine but that i needed to raise my hand in class more. and when asked a question in class, answering with "i have no fucking clue" wasn't actually appropriate.

i suppose i should have anticipated it, but i feel really, really stupid here. i'm not talking about stupid-the-way- my-former-former-boss-made-me-feel stupid. i'm talking like stupid-try-holding- a-conversation-with-a-dual-PhD-navy-seal- fulbright-scholar stupid.

my dad says that's what i am (read: he is) paying for. had i known that, i would have happily taken a diamond tennis bracelet and a bwm and stuck with my low-lying, low-risk, low-profile (but high-shit-talking) job. seems like everyone would have been happier that way. including harvard.

i wonder if they are reallllllly going to regret taking a chance on this nonprofit-save-the-world kid. i think the business school would have been better off taking another investment banker or a twelfth peace corps volunteer.

they want me to whip out a balance sheet, an income statement, and distinguish the difference between financing a company with debt versus equity? think they'll take an update on angelina jolie or a synopsis of "so you think you can dance season two" instead? that i can do.

most importantly, my professor was intervening on my vocal self-deprecation: a talent i've come to hone over the last few years. since i couldn't tell him it was one of my few talents that i have been hoping to leverage into a book deal, i mentioned in passing that it had to do with some rough times i encountered as a professional. turns out that being in business is as much about knowing the answer as it is pretending like you do.

seems like that worked out well for enron, no?

so in the meantime, i promised my professor that i'd start talking and thinking about myself more positively. after a few days of thinking this through, here's what i've got: i may be dumb as rocks, but i can compete in the cleavage contest with the best of 'em.

and as far as i'm concerned, that's a pretty good start.

i think the intervention went well. the guys here certainly appear grateful.

today's post is brought to you care of an email that jessica -- my new best business school friend -- sent to her family this week.

What I learned about probabilities at Harvard Business School

The probability that you will get more than 5 hours of sleep a night...1%

The probability that the person you are talking to is smarter than you...99%

The probability that your professor will cold call you when you have no idea what is going on in class...99%

The probability that you will find yourself making jokes about COGS, CAGR and Decision Analysis...99%

The probability that you will think the jokes about COGS, CAGR and Decision Analysis are funny...99%

The probability that no one outside of your HBS class will think that the jokes about COGS, CAGR And Decision Analysis are funny...99%

The probability that you will once again beg your mother to send care packages like when you were in summer camp...99%

The probability that you will find a new appreciation for your 8th grade Ti-82 graphing calculator...99%

The probability that you will consider a summer job working in Investment Banking or Consulting...99%

The probability that you will get a summer job working in Investment Banking or Consulting...99%

The probability that you will seriously regret taking a summer job working in Investment Banking or Consulting...99%

The probability that you will do anything to procrastinate doing your reading for class (like making insane lists and sending them to everyone you know)...100%

rumor has it that i've only been in school for a week. yet the discernable chewed cuticles, the noticeable increase in gray hair, and the escalated dosage of xanex since i started school last sunday would lead you to think that i've been a prisoner of war for the last twenty-four years.

if i leave here in four years with a sense a humor, it'll be a miracle. or a system failure.

some have quietly confessed that this past week has been an emotional rollercoaster for them. which is a huge deal because it turns out that admitting weakness here is like hopping into shark-infested waters with a sign that reads "bait."

and while i appreciate the openness that comes with meeting people for the first time, i'm not on an emotional rollercoaster -- or any rollercoaster for that matter. i'm on the tower of terror.

after six grueling days here at business school, i've learned that a typical work week is six days, a good time is spreadsheets, a slacker is someone who leaves his/her study group before midnight, and the standard unit of measurement is in hundreds-of-million of dollars.

i've learned that "going out for a drink" really means networking, that banging one's head against a case is supposedly a good thing, and that no matter how remarkable one's resume is -- the guy's resume next to you is way more impressive.

i've learned that married people can be cool, pressure is mostly self-imposed, and that even though you were once the smartest kid in class -- if you hesitate to raise your hand, you won't have a chance to beat out the other 64 over-eager, over-achievers in the classroom.

i've learned that prefacing any question with "this is a dumb question" makes you sound smarter.

i've also learned that if you get called on and have nothing intelligent to say, say something witty and irrelevant instead. (particularly if you were making a list of stuff to buy at CVS and had not been paying attention for the last few minutes. hypothetically, of course.)

in spite of all this newfound knowledge gained in just 6 short "work days," i've learned that the best thing about business school and its misogynistic demographics is one of those things that has nothing to do with the learning that happens in or out of the classroom:

it's the fact that business school is the only place in the world where the line for the men's room is always longer than the one for the women's.

... i learned in kindergarten.

• the teacher says it's okay to ask stupid questions, but it's really not. everyone will laugh at you and roll their eyes behind your back.
• coming to school dressed in something comfortable is way more important than looking cute.
  
• you cannot be trusted to choose your own seat in class and should expect your teacher to choose it for you.
• don't hit people. (unless they deserve it.)
• the teacher will get mad at you if you call out the answer without raising your hand.
• everyone should wear a name tag.
  
• a "pee-pee" break between classes is a necessity (albeit called a "coffee break" that serves fresh brew and pastries in business school).
• there's no need to leave your seat for different class subjects. the teachers will rotate to your classroom.
• the break during the afternoons is quite obviously for napping. any alternative would be a complete waste.
• if you don't clean up your own mess, someone else will probably do it for you.
• share knowledge. unless it gives you a competitive advantage in class.
• live a balanced life. and by balanced, they mean get up early, stay up late, and don't plan to do anything in between expect study.
• when you go out in the world, watch out for the older students who might kick your ass, keep your eye out for your first kiss, and always -- always -- make friends who have more money.

after 4 hours of class, 3 different professors, 2 bouts of nausea, and 1 exploded soda all over myself in the opening minutes of my first class, i'm kindly reminded of the working life perks we take for granted as professionals.

following the discovery of the open fly on my jeans, i'm also kindly reminded to check my zipper after i pee in the mornings. (i know how to make quite the first-impression.)

indeed, both observations worthy of noting.

given the ungodly hours i've already put in today and the dozen that await me, many questions have besieged me. what the hell is a quick ratio (and how come it's not any faster)? how the hell am i supposed to know the sensitivity points for a napa valley wine maker? who the hell does that kid who keeps shouting out without raising his hand think he is?

and most prominently: what the hell am i doing here?

because here's what my experience has been so far:

the case lesson says: the kettle is black.
the question to answer for class: what color is the kettle?

my answer: the kettle is black.
( i even highlighted the sentence where it said that it's black on page three.)
the correct answer: although the kettle might look black under a certain light -- which it has a .25 chance of being beneath -- the kettle is actually midnight blue. and if you know anything about the industry, you'd be able to project that it's not really a kettle; it's a teapot.

nevermind the four hours i put into studying the kettle ... i mean teapot ... myself and the three invested into the teapot with six far-smarter study partners who at least knew what the thing was called.

how quickly i'm reminded that the admissions committee's gamble on a certain nonprofit communications associate is not looking to turn out in their favor. they should have stuck with 34 red.

albeit only the first day of class and the obvious nature of my inadequacies here, i must admit that i have learned two very important business thingies (thingies being a technical term for we inept):

the smarty-pants pronunciation of finance is not fiiiinance; it's fin-ence.

and

a business doesn't have a strategic praauuu-cess; it's proooo-cess.

everything else they talked about today was overridden by this newfound important knowledge.

and if that's not worthy of my tuition, then the very good-looking israeli i'm assigned to sit next to in class -- who color-codes his notes and unwittingly moves closer to me as the class proooooogresses -- is worth every dollar.

those europeans are a funny bunch.

stories to come ...




















eve ensler would be proud of rome's affirmation to women: go labia!
(rome)





















in case you don't speak spanish, this reads: we don't serve alcohol to minors under 8 year old.
(barcelona)






















in case the resolution isn't high enough to read the note on this package it says: toy knife for baby.
(venice)


































presents for everyone!
(sienna, tuscany)






















bet you didn't know that michelangelo's last masterpiece was a metallic pink balloon animal sculpture.
(venice)






















an unfortunate name choice for a store ... or is it?
(madrid)






















the subtleties of shopping in madrid. by the way, the woman standing outside didn't just happen to be passing by. she winked at eric; i bitch-slapped her.
(madrid)






















an unfortunate name for an elevator company.
(venice)






















every city should have mechanical camel rides in lieu of historical sites.
(vienna)






















"don't get your balls caught in the metro doors" warning sign.
(rome)






















"no dancing 'the running man' on the metro" warning sign.
(rome)






















in case you don't speak german, this sign is pronounced "good fart!"
(vienna)