Sam's Backup Page

So, quite a while ago I promised you guys a post on Presentation Performance For Introverts. I was inspired to do this when I attended a conference recently, but really it's been brewing for a long time.

It has always struck me as strange, at the conferences I've attended, that so many of the presenters are so bad at it, even when they're visibly not shy people. They ramble, they get confused, they speak in the most soporific, soothing monotone that puts people directly to sleep.

It baffled me for a long time because starting in my freshman year of undergrad I was rigorously trained in presentation technique. At least twice a year I had to mock-interview and present my portfolio, from my first year of undergrad up through my third year of grad school (when I also had to present and defend my graduate thesis). I had to present in most classes, because as theatre professionals we'd be expected to talk a lot about process to our teammates. I was competing, in a sort of nobody-really-wins way, with actors and dancers, people who are very comfortable in front of others, so I had to hit at least a certain level of competence.

I'm not a happy person when you put me in front of a crowd. I hate presenting and will do almost anything to avoid it. But I am very good at it, because I had it more or less beaten into me.

And I know how much easier it is on the psyche to give a good presentation than to get up onstage and promptly start dying.

So I thought I would write about some techniques that have helped me become, if not a dynamic presenter, at least a competent one, because most of the books and articles I've read on this subject suck. Protip: if you ever read an article whose title ends "For Introverts" you can assume that a majority of the advice will boil down to "don't be an introvert". Presentation advice in particular usually begins and ends with "Do it until you're comfortable with it".

The hell with those assholes. I will never be comfortable presenting. So this is not for people who are inexperienced. It is for people who are terrified. Although it's okay if you're terrified and inexperienced.

(Most of my how-to articles start with "Books about this suck". I should look into whether I have an attitude problem or whether everyone else is just more willing to lie.)

( Presentation Performance for Introverts )

Conclusion (Again)

This is all a lot to remember, and there's no reason you should freak out trying to do everything I've said here. For one thing, it'll probably give you some kind of seizure.

The point, the ultimate crux of all of this, is that there's basically nothing you can do to stop being afraid. This isn't about not being afraid; I can talk for hours about how the audience is made up of people just like you and nobody's going to judge you for existing and you will probably never see these people again. All that is irrelevant, because fear is irrational. If fear were rational, we'd be way less afraid of public speaking and way more nervous every time we got in a car.

All of this is about giving a good presentation while afraid -- knowing the formulas, knowing the social boundaries, and understanding what makes a good presentation. In the end, as with most things in modern life, it's about the importance of information, and how that information is expressed.

And now, some words from the experts:

How not to Powerpoint
Chicken Chicken Chicken

R came over tonight. It was a very literary night!

R: So, I'm doing gigs with [That girl who once bought us hamburgers] in Boys Town like, last week and two weeks in December.
Sam: Are you becoming a star?
R: Yesterday I was walking down Belmont and two guys stopped me and said they loved seeing me play.
Sam: You're the toast of the gayborhood.
R: You know who loves me? Gay guys and bluesmen.
Sam: Catchy title for a book.

[one pizza later]

R: If I had five hundred dollars I would throw a HUGE party. We'd have a DJ. And gumbo. I'd get a soupiere to come in.
Sam: A soupiere?
R: Like a soup chef.
Sam: Seriously?
R: It's gumbo, man. I have to take it seriously.
Sam: With soupieres.
R: Yeah. For bisques and such. Hey, that's a catchy title. You gotta write a book called Bisques And Such.

So apparently I'm writing a book called Bisques And Such.

I suspect lobstermen will be involved.

I'm pretty sure soupiere is not a word for a soup chef. But only pretty sure.

From my kitchen window, I can see into the flat directly across from me. In the living room there is a man.

In a full-on tuxedo. Standing in front of the TV.

Playing Guitar Hero.

Common sense tells me that he probably just came from a wedding or something, but after all people used to dress up to fly on airplanes. I like to imagine that there is a society out there somewhere of Formal Gamers, who get fancied out in tuxes and morning suits and kilts with Prince Charlie jackets and ball gowns and cocktail dresses and then play video games. The Royal Society For The Promotion Of Dignified Digital Competition.

I would submit this to Penny Arcade for their consideration, if I dared.

Everything I own is tidy. This is what happens when most of what you own is in boxes in Austin.

Still, hooray for cleanliness! I have been cleaning my flat in anticipation of Guests and I have been cleaning my computer in anticipation of the New Computer, Oh Baby. Everything that's ready to go is in a file called "Migrate" and everything else is lined up in order what I need to do in order to make it ready to go. I've kept my files a lot more organised than I thought I did, actually. The only messy area was my portfolio, mainly because art is hard to organise and also I saved a copy of every resume I ever sent out. Most of them are deleted now except for the really brilliant ones. Also, I am a genius and saved all the installer files from every program I own.

I'm thinking of modding the Inspiron once my stuff is off it. Dunno what it'll be yet; steampunk's kind of been done, but I'm thinking of painting the back of the monitor to look like a TARDIS, then reworking the keys with alien-lookin' letters and raised faux-wood ridges on the wristguard. I've painted laptops before, notably the white laptop with LONER stenciled on in gold, and it's amusingly transgressive.

I fly out of here on the 31st to go home for New Year's; Mum is very excited and cooking lots of things. Should be a nice, mellow time, especially without Bernard around. Though I'm sure he'll manage to call and make a nusiance of himself eventually. His latest trick is defaulting on his student loans, which Mama Tickey cosigned, so now Sallie Mae is harassing my octogenarian grandmother. Way to be a man, Bernard.

Just now I had a dream that I was in a horror film, and part of my job was to figure out who was going to die next and/or put myself into the position of someone who would survive (albeit terribly mentally scarred, of course). The idea was that the church we were in was under siege by zombies and/or ghosts who would eat people until all the "payments" on some piece of property the church stole from them were made. We had to make payments at specific locations, any way we could -- either the worth of the payment (someone's diamond necklace) or the amount in some other worthless object (by the end we were paying in lots of 200 to 400 M&Ms).

Now, they'd already picked off the old guy who didn't believe in them, everyone who'd tried to cut and run, and the Brave But Not Very Quick-Witted Martyr, among others. I had survived by 1. not being the one to make the payment at the underground swimming pool and 2. making sure I was the one who had to hide on top of the cabinets and listen to the screams while they slaughtered people in the church kitchen. Seriously, my brain is so twisted I don't know where to begin.

Anyway, it was down to me, Carl, and Chloe, two young kids who were in charge of the M&M supply. Carl was getting on all right with counting out the M&Ms for a payment that had to be put in the very back pew, but Chloe was making a payment in an exposed position near an open door, and the zombies had guns. Fucking zombies shouldn't be allowed guns, you guys. That should be in the rules somewhere.

So there I am, using a door to block the gunshots aimed at Chloe and realising that this is the part where I sacrifice myself so the kids can make the last two payments and be the sole survivors, when my alarm wakes me up. And I swear to god I had this moment of Oh HELL NO send me back. Chloe's got to finish the payment without getting shot!

Alternate Universe, or just me needing therapy? You be the judge!

ETA: On re-reading, this wouldn't be a bad plot for a horror film. Especially the man waking up at the end.

I applied for four jobs today. SOMEBODY GIVE ME A COOKIE.

I realise that four jobs is not a lot. It only took me about an hour. But the last time I applied to a job was August, because after that I spent most of my time packing all my belongings into boxes and freaking out. Don't underestimate the amount of daily time needed for freaking out. Also, I think that if you spend an hour sleeping or eating french fries or watching postseason baseball it is not comparable to spending an hour writing cover letters. Therefore, I shall institute a new time-measurement system akin to light-years, which will be called Brain Hours. While I did indeed only spend one Real Hour applying to jobs, it was actually four Brain Hours as measured on the Hedd Achë Scale (things always sound more scientific in German). At the bottom of the Hedd Achë scale are things like watching fluffy clouds go by and riding trains and at the top are things like babysitting toddlers, writing cover letters, and building Ikea furniture.

Commentary post-hack: I'd forgotten how awesome the concept of the Brain Hour is.

( The Application Process )

Right, so, others have asked before and others will ask again, but this time, I am asking.

Since I have had just one too many rum and cokes. And Sundays are always boring anyway.

A MEME!

Anonymous posting is on.

What gets you off?

(In fic, of course. Textually speaking, as it were. :D )

*runs away to sleep*

Commentary post-hack: OH MAN WHY ARE THE COMMENTS GONE. Original url: http://www.livejournal.com/users/copperbadge/884296.html
Second Commentary post-hack: Reviving this meme at this location -- feel free to answer! Non-anonymous answers will be deleted.

The army doesn't hire mechanics, private!

They hire Fleet Technical Support Specialists!

I swear I am not making that up.

Also, I'm not a big fan of the "say ten nice/nasty/neurotic things about your flist or people on your flist" memes, because, well, it just throws people into confusion and when your friended to friend-of ratio is 1:15 it reads as elitist.

Commentary post-hack: As of October 2008, my friended to friends-of ratio is 1:23.

But I like cluegirl's idea of saying ten things to ten people who are not on your flist and, ideally, who do not even know your journal exists.

1. Please Stop Capitalising Every Word In Every Sentence You Write Before I Forcibly Take Away Your Shift Key.

2. Not to judge you morally, because I'm okay with it if you are, but if you're taking money in return for sex you are performing acts of prostitution. You ought to at least call it what it is, if you really aren't ashamed of it.

3. I know you're married now and neither of us are sixteen anymore but I think you should know that if you offered I would totally still commit adultery with you. And you are the only person I can say that about.

4. Okay, you can complain the room is dim if the blinds aren't open or you can complain that open blinds let out the air-conditioning but you cannot do both in a single week.

5. I would marry you purely for your ability to make moist butter cookies.

6. Oh my god, please bathe. Please, please, please bathe.

7. Don't think I didn't notice that you never cashed my postdated check. I promise I'm paying it forward.

8. You are proof that there can be Crazy Dog Ladies as well as Crazy Cat Ladies, and that is why I love you.

9. You have no idea how badly I wanted to work for you or what a fabulous opportunity you missed in ME.

10. Thank you for making her laugh.