America’s favorite cartoon sea sponge and the rest of the gang from Bikini Bottom offer some surprisingly valuable lessons about life in the workplace.
Nickelodeon‘s SpongeBob SquarePants, with its brightly hued colors and juvenile hijinks, may seem like the last place you should look for business or career advice. But if you take a slightly closer look at SpongeBob’s madcap energy and Mr. Krabs’ relentless pursuit to sell Krabby Patties, you’ll notice some familiar workplace scenarios — and some surprisingly important lessons.
So what can you learn from the gang from the underwater city of Bikini Bottom? We decided to take a closer look.
1. SpongeBob SquarePants has integrity that every entrepreneur and employee should emulate.
When Mr. Krabs, in one episode titled “The Graveyard Shift,” tells his staff that the Krusty Krab will now be open 24 hours a day, SpongeBob is thrilled. In the episode “Just One Bite,” when Squidward sneaks into the Krusty Krab in the middle of the night to secretly eat some Krabby Patties, he spots the famed sea sponge and asks why he is there. “I always come here at 3 a.m.,” SpongeBob replies. “This is when I count the sesame seeds.”
Lisa J. Rinkus, president of LJPR, a West Newton, Mass.-based public-relations firm, says one of her favorite pastimes is hanging out with her daughter after school and watching SpongeBob SquarePants. “During the shows,” Rinkus says, “we chat about SpongeBob’s incredible work ethic, his ability to work with what he has and make the best of every situation. I can’t understand why many parents don’t let their kids watch SpongeBob. It’s chock full of great lessons — business and otherwise.”
2. Don’t stray from your core competency.
In “The Krusty Sponge,” a restaurant critic applauds SpongeBob as one of two reasons to visit the Krusty Krab (the Krabby Patty being the first reason). Mr. Krabs is deliriously excited by the idea of promoting SpongeBob as another reason to visit his restaurant. So excited, in fact, that he goes overboard, changing the name of the restaurant to the Krusty Sponge and making perennially disgruntled employee Squidward wear a SpongeBob costume. SpongeBob, meanwhile, is made to run a SpongeBob train outside the restaurant. In effect, the restaurant’s main reason for being — the food — is ignored. And just as one might expect to happen in real life, customers then become sick after eating the food.
Another example of this is “the episode when Pearl, Mr. Krab’s daughter, wants to change the menu and marketing strategy of the Krusty Krab” to be trendier, says Anu V. Murthy, avowed SpongeBob fan and president of Rex, a full-service wholesale intermediary offering agencies access to worker’s compensation markets nationwide. “SpongeBob felt absolutely uncomfortable with it because it strayed from the ‘core’ strategy.”
As it turns out, Pearl ended up leaving the restaurant, which returned to normal. “Lesson? Stick to your knitting,” Murthy says.
3. Quality counts.
In the episode, “Born Again Krabs,” Mr. Krabs forces SpongeBob to sell an old, filthy, germ-infested Krabby Patty that was found under the grill. Mr. Krabs can’t stand the idea that this patty, which could have been used to make money, would be allowed to go to waste. However, weeks go by, and the Krusty Krab loses a lot of business until Mr. Krabs, trying to prove the patty is perfectly good, eats the food and winds up in the hospital.
Then there’s the “Patty Hype” episode in which SpongeBob starts his own stand, selling “pretty patties” — Krabby Patties that are different colors. SpongeBob ended up having approximately 46,853 customers. Unfortunately, the colored patties literally make the fish in Bikini Bottom change different colors.
“SpongeBob comes up with a patty that seems to be, on the surface, what everyone wants,” Murthy explains. “It was short-lived because, in the end, everyone was [ticked] off because the patties ended up changing and was not what the customers expected.”
The lesson entrepreneurs can take away, Murthy says, is that you should “be sincere in what you are selling. Customers aren’t idiots. They will learn quickly what you are all about. Long-term strategy is key for customers.”
And, of course, we haven’t even mentioned Mr. Krab’s arch-enemy, Plankton, who is always trying to steal the Krabby Patty formula. Plankton clearly recognizes that the formula’s quality would attract customers, but he’s too lazy to come up with anything superior on his own. Instead, his restaurant, the Chum Bucket, is recognized throughout Bikini Bottom for serving inferior, pathetic food.
4. You get what you pay for.
When Mr. Krabs shoots a Krusty Krab TV commercial, he shoots it himself, to bring the production costs down, and he pays for the cheap time slot of 3:28 a.m. Not surprisingly, few fish in Bikini Bottom see it.
In “Krabby Land,” Mr. Krabs figures he can make a fortune if he has a playground for kids at his restaurant (shade of McDonald’s and their playgrounds). It’s a mess, cheaply made and not very safe. By the end of the episode, the children have tied up Mr. Krabs and are feeding him lima beans. If you’re cheap in a way that insults your customers, you’re the one who will likely lose in the end.
5. Don’t let your work take over your life.
Joe Wos, executive director of the ToonSeum, Pittsburgh’s Museum of Cartoon Art, notes that “with the exception of Patrick, everyone in the show has very defined jobs, and at least half the show revolves around their jobs, which is something you don’t see in a lot of cartoons. They take their jobs very seriously in SpongeBob.”
Wos adds that in the episodes where SpongeBob “loses his job or spatula, his life falls apart, and if you think about it, that often defines our own situations as well. When we lose our jobs, our world literally falls apart. I think one of the greatest examples of that is the episode where SpongeBob loses his name tag. Literally and figuratively, it’s a complete loss of identity.”
True enough, when SpongeBob discovers his name tag is gone, he freaks out until he faints. In this animated moment — at least it can seem this way after the 27th viewing with your kids — SpongeBob becomes something apart from a simple cartoon on a children’s cable channel. It is a cautionary tale for the 21st century businessperson, a warning to everyone, from the CEO down to the lowliest fry cook, that while it’s swell to be at one with your career, you can always take things too far.
Geoff Williams is a frequent contributor to AOL Small Business and is the co-author of the book Living Well with Bad Credit. He is currently trying to convince his editor on the merits of an article that looks at the business lessons one can learn from iCarly.
Arthur squints in the darkness -– which is ridiculous since he’s on the phone. He can’t see the person he’s talking to. And yet — it’s Eames. Nothing is too ridiculous when it comes to Eames.
“Alarmed,” Arthur repeats into his mobile phone.
“Yes.”
According to Arthur’s alarm clock it’s four-twelve in the morning. He rolls over and bats at his pillow. “Why are we alarmed?” he says into the cool pima pillowcase.
Eames makes a soft snort. “We are not alarmed. I am alarmed. And you -– you should be asleep.”
“And yet you called anyway from –-”
“Mumbai -– but you already knew that, didn’t you?”
Arthur yawns. “Did I?”
“When presents arrive that could only be from you, then yes, you know. And yes, I feel alarmed. Are you dying? Have you hit your head? Been kidnapped? Is it an incurable illness? Do you need a kidney?”
Arthur can just make out the Santa Monica lights peering around the edges of the heavy draperies in his bedroom. Plus, even in the middle of the night, Los Angeles never goes truly dark -– too much smog.
“Eames, make sense.”
“I am making sense,” Eames says with something akin to exasperation. Although if it’s Eames it has the potential to be fond exasperation. Hopefully. “Do try to keep up with the conversation.”
“I was sleeping, there was no conversation.”
“Don’t be dense, there’s always a conversation going between us. It simply picks up where we left off last time.”
Arthur rubs the sleep from his eyes. “The last time I saw you–”
“Stockholm. IKEA. We were looking for a kitchen table.”
“No, I’m pretty sure we weren’t engaging in domestic activities the last time I saw you.”
“Domestic terrorism doesn’t count?”
“Don’t say that on the phone. Not even as a joke.”
Eames is quiet for a moment. “I am duly chastened.”
“Good. You’re chastened; I’m exhausted; I’m going back to sleep and you’re going away.” Arthur tries to find the disconnect button on his Blackberry in the darkness. LED screens are not friendly to the recently awakened.
“Arthur,” Eames voice is tinny, persistent.
Arthur sighs. “Yes?”
“The teabag. It’s –- those are diamonds, aren’t they?”
“Your perceptiveness impresses me yet again.” Arthur can feel the smile curling the corners of his mouth –- which is perfectly acceptable since Eames can’t see it.
“What’s –- why?”
“Why what?”
“Why’d you buy me diamonds?”
“Because it’s our anniversary.”
“Our anniversary? What anniversary?” Eames demands. “We haven’t been together seventy-five years. We’re not even seventy-five if you combine the sum of our years on this earth.”
“I thought you weren’t good at math.”
“I’m perfectly capable of doing basic maths, thank you very much.”
“Then you shouldn’t tell scurrilous falsehoods to let people think otherwise.”
“People are idiotic. Fascinating but idiotic.”
Arthur can hear the faint whir of a helicopter overhead. Ah, Los Angeles. The soundtrack of a city. He burrows deeper under his blankets. “Are you calling me an idiot?”
“Don’t be provocative.”
Arthur has to laugh.
“Obviously I did not mean that, feel free to be as provocative as you like,” Eames says. “But this still doesn’t explain this diamond-encrusted tea bag. Or our anniversary.”
Eames seems quite caught on the anniversary part of the equation, which means Arthur has accomplished his goal. “Well, if you can’t figure that out, you’re on your own.”
“Arth—”
“I’m going to sleep, Mr. Eames.” This time Arthur does hang up the phone. He puts the ringer on vibrate, sets the phone on the maple nightstand and goes to sleep with a smile on his face.
He is a romantic –- in his own way.
Arthur’s cleaning his stove when his Blackberry chirps at him.
FedEx delivers anywhere in the world it turns out — even ?à L?t in the middle of monsoon season.
Arthur rinses the rag he’s using under hot water and sprays 409 on the tile. He’s not concerned about the hygienic state of his counters as much as he’s worried about food particles getting on his books.
Arthur keeps his books everywhere: in the kitchen, under the sink in the bathroom, piled on each other in the hall closet.
There are stacks of books on his bedroom floor and causing the shelves in his dining room to sag dangerously. Large books, small books, paperbacks and hardbacks, books from secondhand stores and eBay and Amazon and those cardboard boxes that people leave on the curb in West Hollywood when they’re moving.
Seconds later a familiar ring tone rents the air. Cooler Than Me, indeed.
Arthur has to smirk to himself even as he hits the answer button on his phone. “Speak,” he says crisply into the microphone.
“Speak?” Eames’ tone is all aggrieved irritation as it broadcasts into the air. “I am not a Beagle; I do not ‘speak.'”
“You don’t speak? Then how are we having this conversation? Telepathy?”
“I have my moments,” Arthur says as he piles the new Andrea Levy novel, a Dale Carnegie, a Honoré de Balzac and a battered copy of Darwin’s On the Origin of the Species into what’s supposed to be the bread basket.
Arthur doesn’t eat a lot of bread. He’d much rather have a muffin or a croissant.
There’s a moment of silence. “It’s teal,” Eames says eventually.
“It is teal?” Arthur mocks. “Don’t you think you should see a doctor about that?”
“Yes, you are terribly amusing, but try to be serious for a moment.”
“I’m always serious.”
“You most certainly are not. You’re one of the most inappropriate people I’ve ever come across.”
“One time I asked you for lube — one time — and that’s all I ever hear about anymore.”
“You asked me in front of the Archbishop of Canterbury.”
“I was trying to extract a chalice from a hole the size of a Ribena box. I needed help.”
“Archbishop.”
“We were dreaming.”
“Somewhere in the world my mother was appalled and didn’t even know why.”
Arthur makes a derisive noise. “Since when do you have such delicate sensibilities?”
“I think my subconscious is irreparably harmed.”
“Clearly the shirt is my penance.”
Eames clears his throat. “It has a pattern.”
“Well, it did when I picked it out.”
“It’s silk.”
“I bought it in Hong Kong. Were you expecting polyester?”
“Arthur.”
“Does it fit?”
“You know it does.”
“I could be wrong.”
“You’re never wrong.”
Arthur laughs as he takes several juice glasses from the sideboard and puts them away. “If you keep telling lies like that your nose is going to precede you into different time zones.”
“Fine, you are often wrong, but always charming and contrite. Except for those occasions when you’re a sanctimonious, prescient arse.”
“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Arthur says.
“I hardly think that that–”
“—if you include remarks about my Moleskine, my condescension, my lack of imagination, the funereal state of my wardrobe, the stick up my ass, and that one time you informed me I was so boring I could put the dead to sleep.”
“Your good memory is not conducive to our relationship.”
Arthur wrings out the rag in the sink and folds it over the faucet to dry. “You love my good memory,” he says.
“Don’t cloud the issue with facts,” Eames complains.
The answering machine is winking at Arthur when he gets back from his morning run along the Promenade, down to Venice, and back up Ocean Avenue. He cracks open his Odwalla and hits the flashing red button.
I’m in Tuvalu. Why am I even bothering to tell you this? Do you have a GPS tracker on me? I’ve discarded three phones. Is it embedded under my skin? This is not Casino Royale, Arthur –- and certainly not if you’re Vesper.
*beep*
It fits. Perfectly. When did you measure my head?
*beep*
Does this mean you’re concerned that I might die from skin cancer? Because if we’re at the point where we’re talking about health concerns I think we need to address your caffeine habit and that predilection you have for children’s fruit sweets. You thought I didn’t know about that — but I do.
Arthur’s so busy laughing that he nearly falls into the wall while trying to strip off his wet socks and damp t-shirt.
The phone rings again, and Arthur hits the speakerphone on the handset. “Enjoying yourself?”
“I don’t wear hats.”
“But you should,” Arthur says.
“And this is your contribution to my sartorial expansion.”
“I thought between the hat and the shirt we’d reach a nice compromise. Something you like and something I like.”
“I had no idea we were at the stage of our relationship where compromise was something we actively engaged in.”
There’s a pause.
A long pause.
“You’re right,” Eames says eventually. “We’re far past that part.”
Arthur scratches his jaw before he sets his hands on either side of the phone and leans into it. “Far past it,” he agrees.
“I’m not that far away -– geographically speaking.”
“I’m pretty sure Tuvalu is further away than say, the Valley.” Arthur’s going for nonchalance. He thinks he carries it off pretty well –- if you ignore the slight wobble in his voice.
“Planes are fantastic things.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Eames says.
“Are we talking figuratively or literally?”
“Whichever one you want it to be.”
Arthur rasps out a laugh as he pushes sweaty hair off of his forehead. “After all this time?”
“Remember what I said about clouding the issue with facts?” Eames says lightly.
“Of course -– it’s why you like my brain.”
“Quite.”
“So, Tuvalu.”
“It’s lovely here this time of year.”
“You’re in the South Pacific. It’s lovely there the entire year.”
“Have you thought about taking a holiday?”
“Being at home is a holiday, Eames.”
“Says the man who’s probably doing nothing beyond cleaning and organizing.”
“And reading. Don’t forget the reading.”
“Is this the part where I use an unnecessary term of endearment and ask you to reconsider what you consider a holiday?”
“Could be.”
“You need company.”
“I do?”
“Yes.”
“Are you volunteering?”
“I wasn’t planning on sending Daniel Craig in my stead.”
“I like Daniel Craig.”
“Perpetuating jealousy is not the way forward.”
Arthur ponders this. “But it could be a good detour,” he decides.
“Sarah Cynthia Silvia Stout would not take the garbage out,” Eames says by way of greeting.
Arthur pauses in alphabetizing his DVDs -– okay, realphabetizing his DVDs. “Did her parents ground her and send her to her cupboard underneath the stairs?” he asks the phone he’s cradling between his right ear and shoulder.
“This is Shel Silverstein, not J.K. Rowling.”
Arthur pauses to snort while sorting Dave Chappelle, Fight Club, Planet Earth and Apocalypse Now into their respective piles. “Shel Silverstein?”
“Yes, strangely enough a tome called Where the Sidewalk Ends was waiting in my seat on my connecting flight to Honolulu.”
“Do flight attendants always give you books when you fly? Is this their way of avoiding your attempts at conversation?”
“No, I got the impression that this was someone else’s way of keeping me occupied.”
“You should thank that person.”
“You’re right -– thank you.”
“Why are you thanking me?”
“It’s from you.”
“Is it? I don’t remember sending any children’s books to Hawaii.”
“Plausible deniability. Do I want to know how you did this?”
“Probably not.”
Eames makes a noncommittal noise. “You know kids today just aren’t as tough as they used to be.”
“They don’t have to be -– they live in bubbles of indulgence and Play Station.” Arthur carries on with his sorting: Jules and Jim, 8 Women, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Red Cliff. “They’re all winners. They don’t play, they don’t think, they’re given everything -– it’s all bullshit.”
“Were you a tough kid?” Eames asks.
Arthur laughs wryly. “Fuck no. I was a ninety-eight-pound weakling until I was fourteen and hit puberty. And then I was a hundred-and-thirty-pound weakling -– but I discovered Jujitsu.”
“And the tormented became the tormentor?”
“No, the tormented just learned how to run faster.”
“Shall I find all those mean bullies and teach them a lesson?” Eames asks. His tone is aiming for light and it’s almost there, but there’s something slightly off. A hint of something that might be anger. It’s appreciated in its own way, but Arthur doesn’t need Eames to fight his battles; he can do that all on his own. Most of the time.
“All the guys I went to school with are now bald, overweight, couldn’t get it up even with Viagra and lead miserable lives with wives who hate them. I think karma taught them a lesson just fine.”
“I had no idea you were so spiritual.”
“I’m not –- I’m thirty years old. I’m not a child; what goes around comes around — you just have to give it time.”
“This is very true. So where does that leave poor Sarah Cynthia Silvia Stout?”
“Probably in the same boat as little Peggy Ann McKay.”
“What happened to her?”
“Read the book and find out.”
Arthur likes frayed t-shirts.
He likes ratty jeans and comfortable hoodies and Ella Fitzgerald, The Strokes, John Legend and Chet Baker.
He likes fixing the holes in his socks with yellow thread regardless of the color of the sock, and blue popsicles.
He loves the palm trees in his backyard and the fact that Santa Monica is always ten degrees cooler than the rest of Los Angeles.
On the rare days when he manages to get most of these things at the same time he’s incredibly pleased. Especially when it’s a Tuesday morning and he doesn’t have to worry about the sounds his neighbors make interrupting his serenity.
Right now Arthur is sitting on a lounger underneath the grove of palm trees in his backyard. The sun is struggling to cut through the fog from the water and the smog from the city. Currently it’s only mildly successful.
“Take the A Train” is cascading through the open kitchen window as Arthur alternates between his third blue popsicle of the morning and sewing up the holes in a mismatched pile of socks.
One of the great joys of being an adult is doing what you want when you want and not having to justify it to anyone.
“So this is what you get up to when I’m not around to supervise?”
Arthur’s popsicle drips on one of his heather gray socks. He pulls the sugary treat out of his mouth and looks down at the stain wryly before looking up at Eames.
“You ruined my sock,” he says by way of greeting.
Eames is standing by the side of Arthur’s house with a leather valise and a canvas bag at his feet that says Keep Calm and Carry On. “I flew for two days to see you,” Eames counters. “More importantly, your mouth is stained blue –- I hardly think the shock to my system is comparable to a stained sock.”
Arthur licks his lips. “I think that’s highly debatable,” he says, taking in the unlaced combat boots, the fitted navy jeans, the shirt and cardigans and –- is that a waistcoat?
“Debate away,” Eames says, sauntering across the lawn, his boots crunching various palm leaves underfoot. “And while you do, please tell me how I’ve never seen you with stubble before? This is a grave oversight on your part and I feel horribly cheated.”
Arthur finishes the last of his popsicle with a lascivious slurp. Eames comes to a stop at the foot of his lounger as Arthur licks his fingers. “The depths of your cruelty knows no bounds,” Eames says.
“It’s why you like me.”
“It must be.”
“You look nice,” Arthur says thoughtfully.
“I thought it was the least I could do –- not offend your sartorial sensibilities.”
“I like your clothes -– they just wouldn’t work on anybody else.”
Ella’s singing along with Louis Armstrong. Po-tay-to. Po-tah-to. Eames nudges the chair with his knee and Arthur moves the socks back into the laundry basket.
Eames drops down beside him, and Arthur rests both of his legs on Eames’ lap. Eames rubs his shins. “This all seems rather anticlimatic, you know.”
“I wouldn’t want to be too easy,” Arthur says soothingly. “I can go blow up the nearest American Apparel or a Starbucks if it’ll make you feel better. Perhaps fuck a couple of people I don’t care about or sell you to the unhappiest client I can find and then insist I didn’t mean it.”
Eames frowns. Arthur reaches over and brushes away the lines marring his forehead. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what? Look pensive and thoughtful?”
“Is that what you’re aiming for?”
“It’s better than looking constipated.”
Arthur barks out a laugh. “Yes, yes it is.”
Eames grins at him. “You know for someone so buttoned up and precise, you’re all over the place. It’s terribly endearing. I’m afraid I’ve succumbed to your innumerable charms and your blue lips.”
“This from the man who makes a living charming people.”
“Yes, I’m supposedly the Whore of Babylon, Bernie Madoff and Houdini all at the same time.”
“That must get rather tiring.”
“Well, according to your gossip you’re a tragic figure on par with Oedipus and Montgomery Clift. And you’re a serial monogamist. Or a dirty slut. Or a virgin. Depends on the day of the week.”
“I heard that about myself, too.” Arthur’s fingers are stroking along the back of the hand Eames is resting on Arthur’s right knee.
“Clearly what we need is a holiday from all of these great expectations and pejorative rumors,” Eames says solemnly.
“It works for me.”
They sit there for several moments, listening to Ella, feeling the breeze coming in from off of the Pacific, doing nothing at all but being. Together.
Eames picks up Arthur’s hand and turns it over. He traces the lines on Arthur’s palm with the tips of his fingers. It tickles a little; Arthur’s fingers twitch. He watches Eames touch him.
He looks up to find Eames watching him watch Eames.
“Did I ever say Happy Anniversary?” Eames asks.
“We have an anniversary?” Arthur mocks softly.
“The anniversary of the first job we ever did together.”
“You remembered.”
“It’s also the anniversary of the first time you shot me.”
“Very romantic,” Arthur agrees.
“The eighth anniversary is supposed to be bronze and pottery, but the bronze vase I wanted to nick for you went missing before I got to steal it from the Getty. I hate it when that happens.”
“You know the Getty’s been having authentications problems,” Arthur says sagely. “It might’ve been a knock-off.”
“You mean the gift I’d stolen could’ve been a fake? Does nobody stand by their ill-gotten gains anymore? Shameful.”
“Isn’t it.”
“This does, however, only leave me with one present for you.”
“Which is?”
“Me.”
Arthur wrinkles his nose in distaste, and Eames’ face shutters a bit. And then Arthur smiles and tugs Eames forward. He leans in and kisses the right corner of Eames’ mouth. His lower lip. The left corner.
Eames looses a soft noise and his thumb rubs the week-old stubble at Arthur’s jaw.
“So what are we doing on this holiday of ours?” he asks, voice low.
“Nothing,” Arthur says, leaning back against the chaise and tugging Eames with him. “Absolutely nothing at all.”
Eames shifts around, finally coming to a rest with his back pressed against Arthur’s chest. Both of his hands are clasping Arthur’s hand against his sternum.
Arthur can feel every inhalation. Every exhalation.
“So can I use that diamond-encrusted teabag you got me?” Eames says. “It’s PG Tips.”
“That’s a fourteen-thousand-dollar teabag. If you use it, I’m kicking you out.”
“Not very practical, is it?”
“Since when are you practical?”
Eames laces their fingers together. “We must work on your relationship with tact.”
“Tact and I get along just fine.”
“Not when it comes to me.”
“Tact is reserved for people who need it. You require a heavier touch – like an anvil.”
“Very droll,” Eames says; Arthur squeezes his hand. “No complaints about the timing?” he asks.
“Why? Are we late?”
Eames chuckles. “No thoughts that we’ve taken too long to get here? No whingeing about waiting on me or me waiting on you?”
“You get there when you get there.” Arthur kisses the top of Eames’ head. “I think the important thing is that this is happening at all.”
“There’s no such thing as the right time,” Eames says.
Tech geeks and Facebook enthusiasts are filling America’s theaters to see The Social Network, a film about Mark Zuckerberg and the founding of the now ubiquitous social networking site. We won’t spoil the plot for you, except to say that it does not paint Zuckerberg in an especially flattering light. Facebook’s founder (though wildly successful) is portrayed as being selfish, stuck-up and disloyal to his closest friends. (Not surprisingly, Facebook far from endorses the movie: Zuckerberg, according to the New York Times, has called the movie “fiction.”)
But while the movie is hardly a sterling example of etiquette, it does offer some outstanding big-picture lessons about personal finance and money management.
Be Decisive
For all Zuckerberg’s unsavory traits (and the movie portrays plenty) there is no denying his decisiveness. When the idea of allowing Facebook users to list their relationship status on their pages sprang to mind, he didn’t scribble it down in a notebook and tell himself he’d do it later: he ran to his dorm across a snowy field in flip-flops to code it right away. When he decided to expand Facebook, he immediately dispatched marching orders to his team about infiltrating other Ivy League schools.
When it comes to our financial affairs, many of us are not nearly as decisive. We’ll skim through articles about investing or retirement planning, but how many of us would immediately invest into an index fund or set up an IRA? If you already have, great! If not, resolve to be more decisive about your money. As soon as it becomes clear that you ought to be doing something, get down to doing it.
For all his good intentions, Eduardo Saverin (Mark’s then business partner and best friend) failed to see the big picture of what Facebook was becoming. Like any good businessperson, he looked at Facebook’s exploding user-base and saw something to be monetized. Thus, he constantly pressured Zuckerberg to start hooking up with advertisers and capitalizing on the popularity of the website. But Zuckerberg staunchly resisted. After all, he said: thousands of people were falling all over themselves to join Facebook every day, just the way it was. Cluttering up the site with ads could have destroyed Facebook’s growth for a relatively pitiful amount of money.
A similar lesson applies to you and your financial life. Like most people, you probably have long-term goals: maybe it’s home ownership, a new car, or the dream of some day starting a business. The only way to reach these goals is by making sacrifices in the short-term. Sure, you could theoretically spend your latest raise on a $5,000 wardrobe, but how long will that delay your dream of owning a home?
One aspect of The Social Network that isn’t getting much attention is how little money Facebook spent early on. Facebook (today worth over $25 billion) required just $19,000 in startup capital before getting VC funding. $19,000 is no small sum in most situations, but in light of what Facebook ultimately became, it’s barely a drop in the bucket.
The way Facebook stretched that money so far is by using it only for what mattered most: servers, good ones and lots of them. This concept is one we can all follow. In his New York Times best-seller I Will Teach You To Be Rich, Ramit Sethi tells readers to “spend extravagantly on the things you love, and cut costs mercilessly on the things you don’t.” If you can live with bargain brand toilet paper or peanut butter or taco shells, for instance, there will be more money to spend on the entertainment, clothes or hobby that you truly love.
In The Social Network, Mark Zuckerberg is often seen bragging about how smart he is. If Harvard’s network security team really knew what they were doing, it wouldn’t have taken them four hours to shut Facemash (Zuckerberg’s first website) down. If the Winklevoss brothers were truly Mark’s intellectual peers, they would’ve built Facebook instead of just thinking of something similar. It’s easy to dismiss all of this as arrogance, but that arrogance was well backed by intelligence.
In personal finance as in business, it really does pay to be knowledgeable. Your financial life is important. While money isn’t everything, the decisions you make about mortgages, savings and investments play a major role in shaping what kind of lifestyle you have. Luckily, you don’t need to be a Harvard-educated genius to make smart financial decisions. Just do your homework. Educate yourself on key financial topics by reading books and articles. Be open to constructive criticism and continuously examine whether you’re on the right track.
The success of “The Social Network” at the box office this past weekend has many mid-20-somethings nostalgically reminiscing back to the days of “The Facebook” (circa 2004), long before the advent of so-called “privacy settings.” It was a carefree time when users needed a .edu e-mail address from a select network of schools and coeds openly posted party pics without any sort of inclination that their drunken, underage photos would seen by a prospective employer or, worse, a curious aunt or parent. Six years, hundreds of millions of users, and billions of theoretical dollars later, Mark Zuckerberg’s online Frankenstein continues to be the most culturally relevant social network on the Internet.
It also continues to be the ultimate online depository for women to upload photos of themselves. In turn, every warm-blooded man with a pulse and an Internet connection has squandered countless hours gawking at pictures of hot female friends — and friends of friends — on Facebook. After hours of our own thorough analysis, we’ve compiled the 15 most common photo tricks girls use to heighten their sex appeal and inflate their hottness in their Facebook photos. Check them out after the jump.
15. Posing for Group Photos with the Infamous “Angled-Knee Trick”
Facebook must have entire servers dedicated to storing photos that are a mirror image of the example above. When a group of girls huddle up to take a photo, the posture is almost universally the same: shoulders back, one knee slightly bent, and a foot forward at an angle. Points on the hotness scale skyrocket for showing some skin.
14. Posing for Group Photos with the Infamous “Strong-Arm Trick”
The so-called “Strong-Arm Trick” is pretty much a bastard cousin of the knee-out trick, as demonstrated above in the lake vacation photos of Oregon’s Cheerleading squad. It’s traditionally an optical illusion for tough girls (think rowers and field hockey players) to lose camera pounds in their arms. The basic protocol is a three-step process. First, the girl angles her body toward the camera. Second, she places her hands on her hip. Third, she pushes her funny bone back toward their shoulder so either (a) the muscle doesn’t bulge out or (b) flab on the front and back of her arm doesn’t jiggle when the photographer snaps the picture.
13. The Bend-Over Trick
Chicks love to show off how well they can do the ChaCha slide on Facebook by posing for pictures with their hands on their knees and their asses extended in full grind position. This is also a precursor to common way #9, below.
12. The Bend-Over, Squeeze-the-Boobs Trick
Yes ladies, we’re staring at your ones-and-twos. Unlike the traditional bend-over pose, the purpose of this classic Facebook photo is to highlight the subject’s glorious rack, thus taking the attention off of the girl’s face. It’s a blissful optical illusion for a butterface, and especially effective when the boobs are squeezed together.
11. The Girl-on-Girl Hug Trick
It’s a common pose for girls who wish to show their warm affection for each other.
10. The Cheek-to-Cheek Kiss Trick
This pose takes the affection one level forward. Also, note the boob-grab. It’s another common motif in many-a girl’s scandalous Facebook photos.
9. The Sex-Position-with-Another-Girl Trick
Even if it’s just a little innocent grinding, girl-on-girl doggystyle pics push the evenlope one step close to straight-up girl-on-girl lesbian action.
8. The Bathroom Mirror Self-Portrait Trick
This is without a doubt the most narcissistic type of Facebook photo. More often than not, the type of women who pose in the mirror aren’t even attractive. It’s a surefire sign of an attention whore who is usually so desperate for online gratication that she’s willing to turn the camera on herself in a bathroom mirror before blasting it out to the Internet. Unless it’s a photo of your buddy blacked out and hurling cheap vodka and Domino’s pizza at 3 in the morning, there’s nothing more disgusting than a Facebook photo taken in the same room dedicated to taking a shit.
7. The Bag-Over-the-Stomach Trick
Beware of the girl who has an enormous, over-sized purse over her abdominal region in every Facebook photo. The dining hall and all those empty beer calories were not kind to her freshman year. There’s an 85% chance she’s concealing a Roseanne-esque sumo stomach behind that expensive Italian Christmas present from Daddy. Or else she’s pregnant.
6. The Headshot Trick
Blah. Maybe in real life you’re a smoke show, but the world will never know. In fact, you’ve already sent the general public a message: “Pet rocks, cottage cheese, and aluminum siding have more personality than me.” It also screams: Don’t forget to tip your struggling-actress/model waitress.
5. The Profile Pic with an Hotter/Uglier Friend Trick
Some smokeshows go to bitchy extremes in order to look better, even when it involves falling on the proverbial grenade.
4. The Never-Smiling-in-a-Photo Trick
Ugh. These are almost as bad as the girl who posts a head shot as a photo. Seriously, just look at the camera already and stop pouting. This girl is quick to untag herself from any and every album. No matter how loaded this girl gets, there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell she’ll smile.
3. The Black and White Profile Pic Trick
Terrible acne? Paler than Tilda Swinton? No problem! All too often chicks resort to black-and-white profile pics as a nifty solution for fixing all those f-ugly blemishes without make up.
2. The Ass Shot Trick
Hey, if you got it, flaunt it. The ass-toward-the-camera, face-over-the-shoulder pose is a perennial favorite in BroBible’s office. There’s nothing like a great ass to take attention away from a girl’s other features. Unlike the example above, very few women have the hot, USDA-certifed rump roast to justify a decent ass shot.
1. The Duck Face Photo Trick
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Want to look like a skanky female D-bag? Channel your inner-Scrooge McDuck in a Facebook photo.
Bonus: What my Bioengineering Professor gave us today
Yes, yes, yes, you are very busy. That’s why you meet deadlines at the last minute. Or after. That’s why you cruise into meetings 15 minutes late. It’s why you forget details or schedule two tasks for the same time or have 500 unanswered emails in your inbox. It’s why you can never take a vacation, or even a full weekend off.
Or is it? Maybe poor time management is simply a bad habit. Maybe you can learn to organize and control your time better. Because let’s face it, time management is really self management.
Consider taking a look at these classic time management tips. One, or two, or three, may work for you:
1. Obvious tip one: Make a to-do list (electronic or paper). Put the most important item first and work down from there.
2. Obvious tip two: At the end of your day, review what you’ve done and make a new list for the next day. In order of importance.
3. Be ruthless about setting priorities. Make sure that what you think is important is really important.
4. Learn to differentiate between the important and the urgent. What’s important is not always urgent. What’s urgent is not always important.
5. Carry your to-do list with you at all times.
6. All things being equal, do the hardest, least fun thing first. Just get it over with!
7. If a task takes less than five minutes, do it right away. If it takes longer, put it on the list.
8. Deal with E-mail at set times each day, if possible. If you need to check messages as they arrive, limit your sessions to less than five minutes.
9. Schedule some uninterrupted time each day when you can concentrate on important tasks, even if you have to take refuge in a conference room or at the library.
10. Another approach: Before you check your E-mail or voicemail or get involved in the minutiae of the day, devote a solid hour to your most important project.
21. Bottom line to items 19 and 20: Learn to delegate, wherever and whenever you can.
22. Aim to handle pieces of paper only once. Same for E-mails. Read ‘em and deal with ‘em.
23. Reward yourself for completing tasks on time. No fun stuff until the work stuff is done.
24. Organize and declutter your workspace so you don’t waste time looking for things.
25. Schedule demanding tasks for that part of your day when you’re at your peak.
26. Group related tasks (e.g., sort papers on your desk and then file them). It’s more efficient.
27. Use down time (e.g., waiting for meetings to begin) to, for example, update your to-do list or answer E-mails.
28. This advice applies to life outside work, too. It’s better to be excellent at a few things than average at many.
29. Don’t be afraid to get projects done early. It takes them off your mind, and it doesn’t mean you’ll just be given more to do.
30. Create the business environment that works for you. Adjust the lighting, turn off your E-mail pinger, get that cup of tea. Set the stage and get to work.
I can’t tell whether or not this a good proposal or a horribly shitty one. There are parts of it that are more logical and make sense and there are parts that I don’t feel are really true. Is a rock deep….or weak? I guess it could be. Can love be weak? You can have a weak amount of love, but if you truly have love, wouldn’t it be strong? I think this guy was trying to be more clever than he really is. I wonder if she said yes. Maybe this whole proposal is supposed to be an oxymoron. In that case it’s brilliant. Either way….that’s a nice rock.
“I feel alarmed.”
