Allow me to be uncharacteristically bitter for a moment. I feel guilty even considering it, but... eh.
I hate New Year's Eve. I hate the ball drop. I hate the kissing at midnight. I do not like this holiday, despite the hullabaloo and brouhaha that will occur on into perpetuity. This could, partly, be due to the fact that my significant other for the past six New Year's Eves kissed someone else at the stroke of midnight. Each and every year. Why? Because it was funny. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.
And I thought I had plans for tonight, until my "person" failed to call me. And I've been the one doing the calling for the past week or so. So. I guess that's that.
I'm considering going down to the Bay to watch the fireworks alone, but that just seems even more depressing than what I'm doing at the moment: sitting in my apartment alone, nursing a sprained left knee, and drinking a glass of two-buck Chuck.
Wow, I think this might be the angriest of all posts. Fret not, tomorrow morning I will awake as my typical effervescent self. Allow me to wallow for a few minutes. Or maybe the next 3 1/2 hours. sigh
Sunday, December 31, 2006
What is right?
I cannot bring myself to turn on the television, to watch the news. Is anyone else bothered by the fact that we all seem so entranced by the graphic video of Saddam Hussein's execution? Don't get me wrong, I fully believe that he was an evil man. And I completely understand that I, living entirely removed from his influence, do not have the same appreciation for the gravity of his death as someone who lived under his fist. I simply cringe at the exuberance the general public seems to be displaying at the visual image of his death. I don't know what is right. I feel like a traitor for even thinking we should preserve some basic dignity for all people, particularly when reviewing the myriad atrocities that occurred at this man's whim. Maybe I should be stronger, maybe I should be able to face his death with the resolute judgement that so many seem to possess. Frankly, maybe this is a critical flaw in my personality. I simply do not, however, hold that trait. I feel an overwhelming sadness when I think of the life and death of this man. Perhaps what it comes down to is that he, in life, embodied many of the darkest parts of humanity. Now, in death, I am afraid that he has managed to conjure up a small part of himself in our hearts, causing us to hunger for the scent of blood.
Maybe I'm full of crap. I just don't know what to think. Instead, I choose to disengage, making myself not only socially irresponsible, but also cowardly. All of you who are wiser than I, what do you think?
Maybe I'm full of crap. I just don't know what to think. Instead, I choose to disengage, making myself not only socially irresponsible, but also cowardly. All of you who are wiser than I, what do you think?
Friday, December 29, 2006
A year in review
I know I've been bad about posting recently. In part, this has to do with the fact that my family has been in town for the holidays. Also, I've been a whirlwind of social activity (cough), which has put a damper on my blogging time. Mostly, though, I've been doing a lot of reflecting upon the past year. This has been a year of massive life changes, a year of heartache and euphoria, a year of transition, discovery, and revelation. I feel like 2006 has been the year of becoming an adult, and also of becoming more of a person than I was before. Don't get me wrong, I feel like I've always been a distinct personality with a concrete set of values and all that jazz. I just feel like this past year has forced me to define who I am and what I want. And, to be completely honest, I feel like the majority of that has hit me within the past few months. A quick-and-dirty list of the good, bad, and ugly of 2006:
1. Finishing school.
2. Resigning from a job for the first time, simply because it was a bad fit. Oh, and telling my boss that I disagreed with her ethics. Awesome.
3. Giving up on a love that I nurtured through thick and thin for a quarter of my life.
4. Learning how to let go of a friend.
5. Rebuilding my relationship with my sister after six years of living far apart.
6. Building a home for myself in a city I love.
7. Getting my first real job.
8. Hating my first real job.
9. Discovering that I can love my first real job.
10. Learning to accept my body as it is, without the need to torture myself.
11. Buying the world's greatest pair of jeans.
12. Beginning to pay off my student loans that resulted from seven years of college education.
13. Remembering that I am a girl.
14. OH! Starting a blog!!!
15. Ahem. Packing away my childhood teddy bears, because really, what 26-year-old woman should still be sleeping with those??? crickets
16. Reconnecting with lost friends.
17. Creating my own family (pictures to follow. I need more time to define exactly what I want to say on the subject.)
18. Pursuing someone who I'd liked for a while, with no assurances that my feelings were reciprocated.
19. Learning to hope that maybe my feelings were reciprocated.
20. Buying a sofa.
21. Letting go of (or, at least, learning to compromise on) a dream.
There are more, naturally. It was a big year, and one list cannot hope to contain all the changes. I look forward to 2007, feeling more hope than I have felt in a long time. I hope this is the year that I learn to take command of my own destiny. I hope this is the year when I accept that I am enough, just as I am. I hope this is the year when I will learn some great truth about the universe that rocks me to the core. Frankly, I hope this is the year when I love someone who rocks me to the core. And I hope this year I will grow more, with less hurt than in 2006. Maybe that's impossible, but it is what I hope for.
These are not resolutions, mind you. I'm saving that list for Monday. In the meantime, it is enough to just look back and remind myself how far I've come. Thanks, 2006. And please don't take offense to this, but I'm glad you're over!
1. Finishing school.
2. Resigning from a job for the first time, simply because it was a bad fit. Oh, and telling my boss that I disagreed with her ethics. Awesome.
3. Giving up on a love that I nurtured through thick and thin for a quarter of my life.
4. Learning how to let go of a friend.
5. Rebuilding my relationship with my sister after six years of living far apart.
6. Building a home for myself in a city I love.
7. Getting my first real job.
8. Hating my first real job.
9. Discovering that I can love my first real job.
10. Learning to accept my body as it is, without the need to torture myself.
11. Buying the world's greatest pair of jeans.
12. Beginning to pay off my student loans that resulted from seven years of college education.
13. Remembering that I am a girl.
14. OH! Starting a blog!!!
15. Ahem. Packing away my childhood teddy bears, because really, what 26-year-old woman should still be sleeping with those??? crickets
16. Reconnecting with lost friends.
17. Creating my own family (pictures to follow. I need more time to define exactly what I want to say on the subject.)
18. Pursuing someone who I'd liked for a while, with no assurances that my feelings were reciprocated.
19. Learning to hope that maybe my feelings were reciprocated.
20. Buying a sofa.
21. Letting go of (or, at least, learning to compromise on) a dream.
There are more, naturally. It was a big year, and one list cannot hope to contain all the changes. I look forward to 2007, feeling more hope than I have felt in a long time. I hope this is the year that I learn to take command of my own destiny. I hope this is the year when I accept that I am enough, just as I am. I hope this is the year when I will learn some great truth about the universe that rocks me to the core. Frankly, I hope this is the year when I love someone who rocks me to the core. And I hope this year I will grow more, with less hurt than in 2006. Maybe that's impossible, but it is what I hope for.
These are not resolutions, mind you. I'm saving that list for Monday. In the meantime, it is enough to just look back and remind myself how far I've come. Thanks, 2006. And please don't take offense to this, but I'm glad you're over!
Monday, December 25, 2006
Merry Christmas
That is all there is to say. May you and yours have a blessed holiday season, and a happy new year!
Saturday, December 23, 2006
How not to start a date
Note to self:
When someone takes you to a lovely, posh party, please consider the following carefully. When the servers bring around a tray of oysters, and you know you hate oysters, do not attempt to eat one of said oysters. If you should make the foolhardy decision to try and look cool by eating an oyster, do not choke, gag, and spit it out into your napkin.
That is all.
When someone takes you to a lovely, posh party, please consider the following carefully. When the servers bring around a tray of oysters, and you know you hate oysters, do not attempt to eat one of said oysters. If you should make the foolhardy decision to try and look cool by eating an oyster, do not choke, gag, and spit it out into your napkin.
That is all.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
We didn't start the fire
This is not my story. This did not happen to me. But when you (you know who you are) called to tell me about it, I had to share it with the world. And stories are always best told in the first person. Also, since we just talked for about ten seconds, I am adding in details. Why? Because this is how I imagine it happening.
Ahem.
So, I was at this singles party. And I was having a really good time, talking to this cute boy. I wasn't really paying attention to my surroundings, trying to make eye contact and look seductively through my eyelashes. I laughed at something he said, and leaned cutely against the wall behind me. Thirty seconds later, I smelled something funny. Cute boy looked up at me, his eyes widened, and he grabbed for the nearest curtain, throwing it over my head to quell the flames bursting forth from my hair. After he'd successfully put the fire out by smacking me in the head a few times, I finally noticed that I'd leaned into a menorah. It's alright, though. For the rest of the night I got to introduce myself to everyone as the hottest girl in the room.
To you, I grant limitless points. Ten just won't suffice. I don't think even 100 will do it. You have as many as you want.
Good work!
Ahem.
So, I was at this singles party. And I was having a really good time, talking to this cute boy. I wasn't really paying attention to my surroundings, trying to make eye contact and look seductively through my eyelashes. I laughed at something he said, and leaned cutely against the wall behind me. Thirty seconds later, I smelled something funny. Cute boy looked up at me, his eyes widened, and he grabbed for the nearest curtain, throwing it over my head to quell the flames bursting forth from my hair. After he'd successfully put the fire out by smacking me in the head a few times, I finally noticed that I'd leaned into a menorah. It's alright, though. For the rest of the night I got to introduce myself to everyone as the hottest girl in the room.
To you, I grant limitless points. Ten just won't suffice. I don't think even 100 will do it. You have as many as you want.
Good work!
Monday, December 18, 2006
The History of Us
I come from a family mired in tradition. We've discussed this before, so this should not come as any kind of shock. Maybe I'm weird, but I've never really thought of this as a bad thing, even as a teenager. Okay, so Fruitcake Day is my personal hell, I'll cop to that. But, in general, I love family traditions. I love making biscuits from my great-grandmother's recipe. I love hanging the Christmas tree ornaments that I made with Memo when I was two years old. I love the tortoise shell comb that I keep in my cedar chest. I love that I have a cedar chest.
Living in the South, tradition was a part of every day. People there do things a certain way simply because that's how they've always been done. In the mountains, traditions seem slightly more malleable, like the creation of Bluegrass based on the influences of a few hundred years of folk music. In San Francisco, I feel like tradition is a bit like water: continuously swirling around my ankles, slipping through my fingers, inconstant and reliably undependable. Living here makes me feel somehow more "old school" than I've ever felt before.
Case in point: every year my family makes jam. We've done this for four generations, in lieu of giftcards or whatnot for teachers, friends, and colleagues. The recipe, while really simple, is a mass of edits, proportion changes, and scribbles. This year, I made my own jam for the first time. I felt an enormous sense of pride staring at the plastic cups lined up on my kitchen table, capped in wax and covered with saran wrap and green ribbon. And then, handing it out to my coworkers, I felt the strangest mixture of embarrassment and shyness. It was the kind of feeling I used to get in elementary school, whenever I had something to say and wanted to raise my hand. How odd is that?
I suppose that there is a part of me that still feels slightly out-of-place in this uber-trendy city. I feel somehow as though, by upholding traditions, I am betraying the forward-thinking person I present myself to be. Intellectually, I know that's ridiculous. And, regardless of the small insecurity I feel, I know that I will not change into someone who throws my history to the wind. It was just a surprise to meet this piece of myself that I thought I'd outgrown.
This is so stream-of-consciousness, and I have no idea what I wanted to say. (Way to go with the planning of this one, right?) So yeah. I guess that's all for now. Will you send me your traditions?
Living in the South, tradition was a part of every day. People there do things a certain way simply because that's how they've always been done. In the mountains, traditions seem slightly more malleable, like the creation of Bluegrass based on the influences of a few hundred years of folk music. In San Francisco, I feel like tradition is a bit like water: continuously swirling around my ankles, slipping through my fingers, inconstant and reliably undependable. Living here makes me feel somehow more "old school" than I've ever felt before.
Case in point: every year my family makes jam. We've done this for four generations, in lieu of giftcards or whatnot for teachers, friends, and colleagues. The recipe, while really simple, is a mass of edits, proportion changes, and scribbles. This year, I made my own jam for the first time. I felt an enormous sense of pride staring at the plastic cups lined up on my kitchen table, capped in wax and covered with saran wrap and green ribbon. And then, handing it out to my coworkers, I felt the strangest mixture of embarrassment and shyness. It was the kind of feeling I used to get in elementary school, whenever I had something to say and wanted to raise my hand. How odd is that?
I suppose that there is a part of me that still feels slightly out-of-place in this uber-trendy city. I feel somehow as though, by upholding traditions, I am betraying the forward-thinking person I present myself to be. Intellectually, I know that's ridiculous. And, regardless of the small insecurity I feel, I know that I will not change into someone who throws my history to the wind. It was just a surprise to meet this piece of myself that I thought I'd outgrown.
This is so stream-of-consciousness, and I have no idea what I wanted to say. (Way to go with the planning of this one, right?) So yeah. I guess that's all for now. Will you send me your traditions?
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Armed for battle against the germies
I have a cold. My face feels like it is entirely full of solid grossness. Never fear, noble reader! I have just armed myself with Sudafed (alas, the pharmacy was closed, so I had to get the crappy "non-pseudophedrine" kind), Thera-Flu, and tissues with lotion. I also have four movies sitting here: Best In Show, Spinal Tap, A Mighty Wind, and The Muppets Christmas Movie. And despite the fact that I would much rather be partying like the social butterfly I am (cough), I am in for the night.
We'll talk soon.
We'll talk soon.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Stuff I HAVE accomplished today (update!)
Um, hi. Sallie Mae rocks my universe.
I have been biting my nails, wondering how in the name of all that is holy I am supposed to pay my student loans. And then, in a moment of sheer genius, I went to the Sallie Mae website, where I discovered that I qualify for
Dun dun DUNNNNNNN
Income Sensitive Repayments.
I am imagining the sound of those three words amplified into a stadium, with loads of reverb.
I think I just lost 15 pounds of stress weight!
I have been biting my nails, wondering how in the name of all that is holy I am supposed to pay my student loans. And then, in a moment of sheer genius, I went to the Sallie Mae website, where I discovered that I qualify for
Dun dun DUNNNNNNN
Income Sensitive Repayments.
I am imagining the sound of those three words amplified into a stadium, with loads of reverb.
I think I just lost 15 pounds of stress weight!
Stuff I haven't accomplished today
1. Figured out why my checkbook and bank account balances are consistently off by $91.
2. Hugged anyone.
3. Fixed my hair so that it doesn't look like a brillo pad/poodle hybrid.
4. Remembered to eat anything.
5. Picked anything up off the floor of my house.
6. Avoided tripping over the multitude of crap on the floor of my house.
7. Found a sofa for my apartment.
8. Scheduled the Christmas Tree Decorating Party that I've been telling everyone about for a week or so.
9. Gotten in touch with the friend with whom I've been playing drunk phonetag for about, oh, a week!
10. Figured out how to help the man with the extremely strong accent who keeps leaving voicemails on my phone at work.
11. Devised a plan for increasing my alcohol tolerance, so that I am not comatose by the end of Ballet season.
12. Come up with any ideas of what to get my brother for Christmas.
13. Mascara'd my right eyelashes.
14. Completed my morning Sudoku puzzle, even though it is categorized as "Easy."
15. Shaved my legs, even though I'm wearing a skirt today. (oops)
16. Done anything at work aside from writing this blog entry.
Ten points for me? Maybe not...
2. Hugged anyone.
3. Fixed my hair so that it doesn't look like a brillo pad/poodle hybrid.
4. Remembered to eat anything.
5. Picked anything up off the floor of my house.
6. Avoided tripping over the multitude of crap on the floor of my house.
7. Found a sofa for my apartment.
8. Scheduled the Christmas Tree Decorating Party that I've been telling everyone about for a week or so.
9. Gotten in touch with the friend with whom I've been playing drunk phonetag for about, oh, a week!
10. Figured out how to help the man with the extremely strong accent who keeps leaving voicemails on my phone at work.
11. Devised a plan for increasing my alcohol tolerance, so that I am not comatose by the end of Ballet season.
12. Come up with any ideas of what to get my brother for Christmas.
13. Mascara'd my right eyelashes.
14. Completed my morning Sudoku puzzle, even though it is categorized as "Easy."
15. Shaved my legs, even though I'm wearing a skirt today. (oops)
16. Done anything at work aside from writing this blog entry.
Ten points for me? Maybe not...
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Definition of Happiness
My weekend in Charlotte was pretty good.
There was lots of cleavage, lots of wine, lots of smiles, and lots of spooning.
Life is good.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Um... yeah...
So it's come to light that I may or may not have drunk-texted a few thousand of you last night.
Ten points for me!
Sorry...
Ten points for me!
Sorry...
Homeward bound
I'm sitting in Liz's apartment in North Carolina. Liz and Leah are both out for their run, and I am... not. As much as I say I'd love to run a marathon, these gals are crazy! Inspiring, but insane. Seriously.
This trip has allowed for a lot of self-reflection. I'm coming to terms with the fact that the South is not "home" anymore. I've almost gotten killed at least three times because I tend to cross the street under the assumption that traffic will stop. I've glared at men in bars who dared light a cigarette. I've grimaced at big hair and shoulder pads. Looking at my home from an outsider's vantage point has been odd, to say the least. As I'm writing this, however, I'm reminded that I had the same reaction to all of this when I went to college from my tiny mountain town. If it's possible, I think San Francisco has turned me more into myself. I am someone who wears layers of sweaters and likes the fog. I am someone who lets my hair air-dry and then pulls it back in a rubber band. I am someone who likes *gasp* indie rock and folk music. These are not "deep" levels of my personality, but they are something that set me apart from other women in the South. They are things that I had to train myself to change in South Carolina and Houston. While I love the South, most of me is not a "southerner."
Other epiphanies from the trip: I want to stay in the Bay Area. I am not sure how long I want to stay, but the fact is that I want it to be my home. I'll always miss seasons, always miss snow, but I think it is where I need to be at this point in my life. And that might mean that playing the flute for a living is not my top priority. Saying that out loud (or, at least, writing it down) gives it a certain sense of reality that I've been fighting in my head. I don't know what I want to do. I still love playing, and I always will. Maybe that will lead to something. I guess I'm just realizing that I'm the kind of person who'd rather have a happy, fulfilling life than a particular career. Not that I think an orchestral career wouldn't make me feel fulfilled, but I don't think it's the only answer to that problem.
There really isn't any point to this posting. I wanted to get my thoughts out, and what better vehicle than the blog? No conclusions, only the thought that I am excited to get on a plane tonight and go home.
This trip has allowed for a lot of self-reflection. I'm coming to terms with the fact that the South is not "home" anymore. I've almost gotten killed at least three times because I tend to cross the street under the assumption that traffic will stop. I've glared at men in bars who dared light a cigarette. I've grimaced at big hair and shoulder pads. Looking at my home from an outsider's vantage point has been odd, to say the least. As I'm writing this, however, I'm reminded that I had the same reaction to all of this when I went to college from my tiny mountain town. If it's possible, I think San Francisco has turned me more into myself. I am someone who wears layers of sweaters and likes the fog. I am someone who lets my hair air-dry and then pulls it back in a rubber band. I am someone who likes *gasp* indie rock and folk music. These are not "deep" levels of my personality, but they are something that set me apart from other women in the South. They are things that I had to train myself to change in South Carolina and Houston. While I love the South, most of me is not a "southerner."
Other epiphanies from the trip: I want to stay in the Bay Area. I am not sure how long I want to stay, but the fact is that I want it to be my home. I'll always miss seasons, always miss snow, but I think it is where I need to be at this point in my life. And that might mean that playing the flute for a living is not my top priority. Saying that out loud (or, at least, writing it down) gives it a certain sense of reality that I've been fighting in my head. I don't know what I want to do. I still love playing, and I always will. Maybe that will lead to something. I guess I'm just realizing that I'm the kind of person who'd rather have a happy, fulfilling life than a particular career. Not that I think an orchestral career wouldn't make me feel fulfilled, but I don't think it's the only answer to that problem.
There really isn't any point to this posting. I wanted to get my thoughts out, and what better vehicle than the blog? No conclusions, only the thought that I am excited to get on a plane tonight and go home.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Leaving on a jet plane
I'm flying to Charlotte, North Carolina tonight. I'll be taking the red-eye, and arrive fresh-smelling and beautiful at 10 a.m. Eastern Standard Time.
Crickets
I'm really excited for this trip, as I'll be hanging out with my two best girl friends for the first time in almost two years. There will be wine, cake, more wine, stupid flute duets, wine, and more wine. Liz is creating a typed itinerary including "bra/panty pillowfight." Try to contain your excitement, boys.
The odd thing, though, is that this will be my first time leaving San Francisco in nearly a year. This realization has kind of thrown me for a loop. I'm generally a pretty frequent traveller. Not that I go anywhere exciting, I just tend to be on a plane an average of 5 or 6 times each year, usually headed to music festivals or auditions. The fact that I've hunkered down in one city for such a long stretch is odd. And, while I am counting down the hours until I board a plane (13 hours and 27 minutes to go...), I'm strangely anxious about leaving the world where I feel comfortable. I've frequently noticed the way that San Franciscans seem to forget that the rest of the world continues to function outside of the Bay Area. I've always scoffed at them, at the slight arrogance of this notion. It's somewhat humbling to realize that I've developed the same kind of feeling. I'm sort of ashamed of this bubble that I've built around myself.
So tonight I'll be stepping outside of my new comfort zone, flying back towards home and southern accents, fried chicken, and the two people who know me better than anyone else can currently claim. And I'll be back on Monday. The world will keep turning, and I'll be having a great time. Don't wait up for me!
Crickets
I'm really excited for this trip, as I'll be hanging out with my two best girl friends for the first time in almost two years. There will be wine, cake, more wine, stupid flute duets, wine, and more wine. Liz is creating a typed itinerary including "bra/panty pillowfight." Try to contain your excitement, boys.
The odd thing, though, is that this will be my first time leaving San Francisco in nearly a year. This realization has kind of thrown me for a loop. I'm generally a pretty frequent traveller. Not that I go anywhere exciting, I just tend to be on a plane an average of 5 or 6 times each year, usually headed to music festivals or auditions. The fact that I've hunkered down in one city for such a long stretch is odd. And, while I am counting down the hours until I board a plane (13 hours and 27 minutes to go...), I'm strangely anxious about leaving the world where I feel comfortable. I've frequently noticed the way that San Franciscans seem to forget that the rest of the world continues to function outside of the Bay Area. I've always scoffed at them, at the slight arrogance of this notion. It's somewhat humbling to realize that I've developed the same kind of feeling. I'm sort of ashamed of this bubble that I've built around myself.
So tonight I'll be stepping outside of my new comfort zone, flying back towards home and southern accents, fried chicken, and the two people who know me better than anyone else can currently claim. And I'll be back on Monday. The world will keep turning, and I'll be having a great time. Don't wait up for me!
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
A past-tense verb
My major task of the day: to design a San Francisco Ballet-specific MadLib. Do you remember MadLibs? You'd plug in words on a list, and then you'd read the whole thing aloud. It was invariably hilarious. Some of my most serious stomachaches have been the result of MadLibs.
So for our meeting in two days, I am in charge of the "ice breaker." Seeing as I am oh-so-busy on a day-to-day basis (read: today I only completed three Sudoku puzzles... watch out!), I was given all the creative license in the world. After clearing the idea of a "SFB MadLib" with the higher-ups, I have literally spent over half my day turning the "About The Company" portion of our website into something that will hopefully illicit gales of laughter from the staff.
I'm not sure what part of my job description this fulfilled, but I say "bring it on, baby!"
So for our meeting in two days, I am in charge of the "ice breaker." Seeing as I am oh-so-busy on a day-to-day basis (read: today I only completed three Sudoku puzzles... watch out!), I was given all the creative license in the world. After clearing the idea of a "SFB MadLib" with the higher-ups, I have literally spent over half my day turning the "About The Company" portion of our website into something that will hopefully illicit gales of laughter from the staff.
I'm not sure what part of my job description this fulfilled, but I say "bring it on, baby!"
Monday, December 04, 2006
Il Divo
is basically the worst thing I've ever heard in my entire life.
I just threw up a little bit in my mouth.
I just threw up a little bit in my mouth.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Counting the ways
I've had my grandparents on the brain for the past few weeks. The only bad thing about living in San Francisco is that I'm several thousand miles away from them. I'm truly blessed, in that all four of my grandparents are still alive and living independently. Naturally, there have been countless health scares, and each takes a battalion of pills each day, but I still feel pretty fortunate. I am the oldest grandchild on both sides of my family, meaning that I naturally receive an untold number of requests that I "settle down and start a family" (Hello, and welcome to 1948!), but as irritating as that may be, I know it simply means that they care. And, to be perfectly honest, I would love to have all four of them at my wedding, as unlikely as that may be (particularly as I am not even dating anyone seriously at the moment). The wonderful thing about the grandparent/grandchild relationship, I think, is that we can get away with saying things to one another that no one else in the world can say. For example, if anyone else in the world kept badgering me about a husband and babies, I'd probably rip their head off. But with my grandparents, I actually find it slightly adorable. On the other side of the coin, I am the only one in the world who can lecture my Granddad about his hearing aids, or give him crap for being grumpy. I often feel that I have a "get out of jail free" pass with them. I love that I am the only one allowed in the kitchen with Grandmom while she's making Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner. The past two Thanksgivings I've actually felt a keen sense of sadness thinking of someone else taking over my tasks.
Memo was a porcelain artist when I was growing up. She always smelled like slip, paint, and turpentine. Although she hasn't painted in years, I will always associate those smells with her. Papayo will always smell like freshly cut grass to me. When I was a kid, he used to let me ride on the riding lawn mower with him. The one stipulation was that the blade had to be turned off before I climbed aboard, meaning that I got my ride after the grass was completely cut. Their yard is genuinely huge. As a kid, it seemed endless. Trees were covered in wisteria vines, and whole sections were overgrown. They had vast flower gardens, which they planted specifically to look like they'd just occurred in nature. Their yard is full of large, gray boulders. When my mom was growing up, Papayo pulled some of the smaller, flatter rocks together and made a "secret staircase" down from the brick patio into one of the side gardens. When I was about 15, I made it a special project to clean out that section, which had been completely overgrown. Memo and I planted daffodils after it was clear, and they still bloom every spring. Daffodils will always represent Memo and Papayo's house. There was also one special boulder, dubbed by a three-year-old me as "The Big Rock." I spent hours playing on that rock, living in my imagination. Looking at it now, it's still sizable, but not as epically humongous as in my childhood eyes. Every time I go to their house, however, I make it a point to go out and sit on The Big Rock, and ponder life a little bit.
Granddad used to make up songs for me. "Rockie rockie, row row," is definitely the most memorable, and the most frequently recurring. If and when I do have a family of my own, this will be a song that I'll sing with them. When I was 2nd grade and didn't know my multiplication tables, Granddad made it his mission in life to make sure I learned them. He'd mail me index cards each week and call at the end of the week to quiz me. He owned a service station for a long time, but became an elementary school teacher later in life. I envy his former students. My imagination, my silliness comes directly from Granddad, as though it had been transfused through an IV. Grandmom always smells like baby powder to me. She is one of the most sensitive people I know. She cries whenever we leave, and she is embarrassed by it every single time. She is super easily stressed out. A few years ago, we invited my best friend, Nick, to Thanksgiving with us. When we told her he'd be coming, she panicked that we wouldn't have enough food! Now, granted, my family is large. Usually there are around 25 of us at Thanksgiving. We always have a huge amount of food, including turkey, ham, stuffing, mashed potatoes, creamed corn, green bean casserole, pink jello salad, rolls, and four kinds of pie. But that year Grandmom convinced herself that there simply wouldn't be enough. So she supplemented by doubling the amounts of each side dish, meaning that she literally made 20 pounds of mashed potatoes. It was insanity, and so wonderful and quirky that it still makes me smile.
Having had them with me for my entire life, I know a lot of my personality comes from each of them. They are all so special to me, and I miss them every day. I know, without question, that they are not reading the blog (for reasons which I will share someday, as they are hilarious), but I wanted to write them this "love letter" anyway. So, to four of the most important people in my universe, thank you for everything you are and have been and will be.
Memo was a porcelain artist when I was growing up. She always smelled like slip, paint, and turpentine. Although she hasn't painted in years, I will always associate those smells with her. Papayo will always smell like freshly cut grass to me. When I was a kid, he used to let me ride on the riding lawn mower with him. The one stipulation was that the blade had to be turned off before I climbed aboard, meaning that I got my ride after the grass was completely cut. Their yard is genuinely huge. As a kid, it seemed endless. Trees were covered in wisteria vines, and whole sections were overgrown. They had vast flower gardens, which they planted specifically to look like they'd just occurred in nature. Their yard is full of large, gray boulders. When my mom was growing up, Papayo pulled some of the smaller, flatter rocks together and made a "secret staircase" down from the brick patio into one of the side gardens. When I was about 15, I made it a special project to clean out that section, which had been completely overgrown. Memo and I planted daffodils after it was clear, and they still bloom every spring. Daffodils will always represent Memo and Papayo's house. There was also one special boulder, dubbed by a three-year-old me as "The Big Rock." I spent hours playing on that rock, living in my imagination. Looking at it now, it's still sizable, but not as epically humongous as in my childhood eyes. Every time I go to their house, however, I make it a point to go out and sit on The Big Rock, and ponder life a little bit.
Granddad used to make up songs for me. "Rockie rockie, row row," is definitely the most memorable, and the most frequently recurring. If and when I do have a family of my own, this will be a song that I'll sing with them. When I was 2nd grade and didn't know my multiplication tables, Granddad made it his mission in life to make sure I learned them. He'd mail me index cards each week and call at the end of the week to quiz me. He owned a service station for a long time, but became an elementary school teacher later in life. I envy his former students. My imagination, my silliness comes directly from Granddad, as though it had been transfused through an IV. Grandmom always smells like baby powder to me. She is one of the most sensitive people I know. She cries whenever we leave, and she is embarrassed by it every single time. She is super easily stressed out. A few years ago, we invited my best friend, Nick, to Thanksgiving with us. When we told her he'd be coming, she panicked that we wouldn't have enough food! Now, granted, my family is large. Usually there are around 25 of us at Thanksgiving. We always have a huge amount of food, including turkey, ham, stuffing, mashed potatoes, creamed corn, green bean casserole, pink jello salad, rolls, and four kinds of pie. But that year Grandmom convinced herself that there simply wouldn't be enough. So she supplemented by doubling the amounts of each side dish, meaning that she literally made 20 pounds of mashed potatoes. It was insanity, and so wonderful and quirky that it still makes me smile.
Having had them with me for my entire life, I know a lot of my personality comes from each of them. They are all so special to me, and I miss them every day. I know, without question, that they are not reading the blog (for reasons which I will share someday, as they are hilarious), but I wanted to write them this "love letter" anyway. So, to four of the most important people in my universe, thank you for everything you are and have been and will be.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
Things that have made me happy today!
1. It's a beautiful, sunny, cool day in the city.
2. I woke up with the sun on my face, meaning I was warm for the first time in, oh, a week or so!
3. I spent yesterday evening hanging out with fabulous friends.
4. Walking down to the bus stop, passing the markets, the air smelled like autumn.
5. Apple season!!!
6. I just finished a load of laundry, and this new detergent I bought smells awesome!
7. I went to buy a new pair of jeans, since my current ones seem to have stretched out beyond compare. And what did I discover? Apparently I've shrunk two sizes! YES!!! (Gents, I know this means nothing to you, but girls, can I get a "Hell yeah"?)
8. Leaving the store, I encountered this beautiful, old golden retriever, with a white face. She and I chatted for a while, which always leaves me incomparably thrilled with life.
9. Amoeba records. And my new Kathleen Edwards CD, which I will now be listening to obsessively.
10. I've already gotten two hours of practicing done today! Ten points for me!
11. Pierre has decided to stop acting like a jerk. Which I realize makes me sound even more like a crazy cat lady, but he's been a complete asshole for the last week or so.
12. Messages on my voicemail from friends.
13. Oh, and happy birthday Ryan Gardner! Woooooohoooooooooooo!
2. I woke up with the sun on my face, meaning I was warm for the first time in, oh, a week or so!
3. I spent yesterday evening hanging out with fabulous friends.
4. Walking down to the bus stop, passing the markets, the air smelled like autumn.
5. Apple season!!!
6. I just finished a load of laundry, and this new detergent I bought smells awesome!
7. I went to buy a new pair of jeans, since my current ones seem to have stretched out beyond compare. And what did I discover? Apparently I've shrunk two sizes! YES!!! (Gents, I know this means nothing to you, but girls, can I get a "Hell yeah"?)
8. Leaving the store, I encountered this beautiful, old golden retriever, with a white face. She and I chatted for a while, which always leaves me incomparably thrilled with life.
9. Amoeba records. And my new Kathleen Edwards CD, which I will now be listening to obsessively.
10. I've already gotten two hours of practicing done today! Ten points for me!
11. Pierre has decided to stop acting like a jerk. Which I realize makes me sound even more like a crazy cat lady, but he's been a complete asshole for the last week or so.
12. Messages on my voicemail from friends.
13. Oh, and happy birthday Ryan Gardner! Woooooohoooooooooooo!
Friday, December 01, 2006
Job crap
I really am trying to have a positive, devil-may-care attitude about my current profession. I'm attempting to go with the flow and look at my job from the perspective that it's a short-term fix to a long-term problem. I am trying to be mature and realize that it's my first job, and no one gets the dream job on the first try. (If you've managed it, please don't tell me. I'll cry.)
But for one moment, I need to be juvenile and whine about the lack of gratification I feel on a daily basis. Folks, my major task of each and every day is printing and stuffing envelopes. Yes, I work for San Francisco Ballet, a fabulous arts organization. Yes, I adore my boss. Yes, I feel appreciated by my coworkers for the job that I do. But it is really difficult for me to accept that as "enough." I'm not going to kid myself into thinking I'm one of the greatest brainiacs of our generation, but I frequently feel like my skills are being completely wasted. I look forward to the odd day that someone needs me to write an acknowlegement letter for them, because it's an excuse to actually think. I am constantly walking from office to office, asking people to gie me something to do. I am not someone who enjoys sitting idle, particularly not when I can think of a million other things I'd rather be doing. Thus far today, I have mailed about 150 letters, printed 400 or so envelopes, and talked on the phone to several elderly donors. I have also given dietary advice to someone down the hall who was freaking out about the fat in his salad dressing, checked my email 8-bazillion times, and spun around in my chair. I talked on the phone with one of my former bosses, who needed help with a formatting question. I ate lunch, and have stared at the wall for an obscene amount of time.
I don't mean to be a snob, but people, I have a masters degree. I know, I know, it's in music, but come on! I am at a loss as to how I can alter my current situation in a minor way in order to make it more bearable. The thing is, I love my life. I am generally happy on a day-to-day basis. I just feel this major sense of frustration when I'm sitting in my office, feeling like I'm coasting down a road to nowhere.
Blargh!
But for one moment, I need to be juvenile and whine about the lack of gratification I feel on a daily basis. Folks, my major task of each and every day is printing and stuffing envelopes. Yes, I work for San Francisco Ballet, a fabulous arts organization. Yes, I adore my boss. Yes, I feel appreciated by my coworkers for the job that I do. But it is really difficult for me to accept that as "enough." I'm not going to kid myself into thinking I'm one of the greatest brainiacs of our generation, but I frequently feel like my skills are being completely wasted. I look forward to the odd day that someone needs me to write an acknowlegement letter for them, because it's an excuse to actually think. I am constantly walking from office to office, asking people to gie me something to do. I am not someone who enjoys sitting idle, particularly not when I can think of a million other things I'd rather be doing. Thus far today, I have mailed about 150 letters, printed 400 or so envelopes, and talked on the phone to several elderly donors. I have also given dietary advice to someone down the hall who was freaking out about the fat in his salad dressing, checked my email 8-bazillion times, and spun around in my chair. I talked on the phone with one of my former bosses, who needed help with a formatting question. I ate lunch, and have stared at the wall for an obscene amount of time.
I don't mean to be a snob, but people, I have a masters degree. I know, I know, it's in music, but come on! I am at a loss as to how I can alter my current situation in a minor way in order to make it more bearable. The thing is, I love my life. I am generally happy on a day-to-day basis. I just feel this major sense of frustration when I'm sitting in my office, feeling like I'm coasting down a road to nowhere.
Blargh!
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Check and check
November is ending today, and--with it--NaBloPoMo. I can't believe I actually completed this challenge. Let's face it, some days have been more interesting than others. But it's been a fun month of airing my personal philosophies on life, happiness, and whatnot. I've also found myself becoming somewhat obsessed with posting, checking stats, etc. blah blah. I've discovered new blogs that I enjoy checking in on every day. Mostly, I've rediscovered the joy of writing. I suppose that was the whole point of the challenge, but it has taken me somewhat by surprise. Even in casual conversation, my vocabulary has evolved over the past month. I've remembered the way certain words feel in my mouth, the way they sound, the sheer beauty of language. That sounds ridiculous, I realize, but words have always been something I love. I guess I'd gotten so used to music being the main sound of my day-to-day life that I'd forgotten how musical language can be.
This is sounding absurd, so I'm going to just halt that train in its tracks.
As I said yesterday, however, my computer is broken. I'm glad November has run its course, as my internet time is currently somewhat limited. So, it's been fun, and it's definitely been a catalyst in making me want to post more. But I'll probably be somewhat sporadic in posting for the next few weeks.
(Watch, you'll check in tomorrow and I'll have posted three times... I've also learned that I'm a master of eating my words.)
This is sounding absurd, so I'm going to just halt that train in its tracks.
As I said yesterday, however, my computer is broken. I'm glad November has run its course, as my internet time is currently somewhat limited. So, it's been fun, and it's definitely been a catalyst in making me want to post more. But I'll probably be somewhat sporadic in posting for the next few weeks.
(Watch, you'll check in tomorrow and I'll have posted three times... I've also learned that I'm a master of eating my words.)
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Pout
I've been floating around in a bubble of contentedness all day. My bubble has been impervious to a vast array of negative things, including: 1) The incorrect information on the DMV website that caused me to waste a significant amount of time this morning. 2) The death (again) of my beloved computer, which will invariably cost me three-hundred bucks to fix. 3) A stomachache. 4) One of my friends being treated abominably by a jackass.
But my bubble could not withstand someone lying to cover their own behind and implicating me in the process. And yes, it could not have been a more obvious lie. But lord, folks, are we five years old???
I feel grumpy!
But my bubble could not withstand someone lying to cover their own behind and implicating me in the process. And yes, it could not have been a more obvious lie. But lord, folks, are we five years old???
I feel grumpy!
Goodnight, Moon
I should not be awake. It is nearly 2 am on a Wednesday morning, and I'm spending tomorrow at the DMV. Sad, but true.
But y'all, I just had the best night. And the moon is exactly at its halfway point, and I love that. And I may or may not have just drunk 2 glasses of wine on an empty stomach.
Let's just call it an evening, shall we?
But y'all, I just had the best night. And the moon is exactly at its halfway point, and I love that. And I may or may not have just drunk 2 glasses of wine on an empty stomach.
Let's just call it an evening, shall we?
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas!
There's a Christmas tree in the lobby of my building! I walked through the glass doors (which, incidentally, I always try to open the wrong way... I'm so cool...) and the scent was like a hug. Today is one of those incredibly beautiful days in San Francisco. The sky is absolutely clear and the sun is shining. Although it looks like summertime, the air is that special kind of cold that turns everyone's cheeks pink without feeling unpleasant. And now someone is making cinnamon toast in the kitchen, and it smells like heaven.
Is there a limit to how much I can love life? Because right now I feel pretty freaking happy! Have a great Tuesday, everybody!
Is there a limit to how much I can love life? Because right now I feel pretty freaking happy! Have a great Tuesday, everybody!
Monday, November 27, 2006
Comeuppance
So, remember how I was all proud of myself because I walk like a dancer? Remember that? Remember how I was preening over my grace and beauty? (Oh, right. I don't remember that part, either.)
Today I tripped. And fell. Tripped on the too-long hem of my too-long blue jeans. And fell flat on my face, in the hall, in front of two principal dancers and what seemed like a million members of the corps de ballet. And no, this wasn't just a "whoops, there goes Abbersnail," kind of trip. This was epic. This was Abs goes flying across the hall, attempting to dislodge her high heel from her pants leg, flailing her arms, and generally causing pandemonium. This was a collective gasp from a bazillion itty-bitty ballerinas. This was a WHAM on the floor that may or may not have been mistaken for an earthquake.
I'm fine, thanks for asking. My pride is perhaps a bit bruised. As is my left elbow. And my ass. And maybe my right knee.
And if you're sitting there attempting to figure out exactly how I managed to bruise that collection of body parts in one fall, believe me, you're in good company.
Serves me right for feeling all glamorous and stuff. Or whatever it was that I was feeling.
sigh
Today I tripped. And fell. Tripped on the too-long hem of my too-long blue jeans. And fell flat on my face, in the hall, in front of two principal dancers and what seemed like a million members of the corps de ballet. And no, this wasn't just a "whoops, there goes Abbersnail," kind of trip. This was epic. This was Abs goes flying across the hall, attempting to dislodge her high heel from her pants leg, flailing her arms, and generally causing pandemonium. This was a collective gasp from a bazillion itty-bitty ballerinas. This was a WHAM on the floor that may or may not have been mistaken for an earthquake.
I'm fine, thanks for asking. My pride is perhaps a bit bruised. As is my left elbow. And my ass. And maybe my right knee.
And if you're sitting there attempting to figure out exactly how I managed to bruise that collection of body parts in one fall, believe me, you're in good company.
Serves me right for feeling all glamorous and stuff. Or whatever it was that I was feeling.
sigh
Communication meltdown
I have to be completely honest. I sometimes do not love the myriad ways in which we communicate via computer. I realize that it's ironic to be talking about this on the blog. There exists, however, an innate problem with electronic communication. Instant messaging, email, and especially text messaging lack several aspects of human interaction that we take for granted. For example, tone of voice is immediately lost in electronic communication. One cannot sense sarcasm, sympathy, or humor when one is presented only with words. Particularly in the example of text messaging, we tend to express ourselves in as few words as possible. I seriously dislike the substitution of "u" for "you," "2" for "to," and so forth. As someone who still writes letters (as in, the ones that require a stamp for delivery), I find these brief snippets of conversation confusing, at the very least. I don't love myspace comments substituting for real conversation. I've been a perpetrator of this on many occasions. Sometimes it's just easier to leave someone three sentences on their myspace page, rather than picking up the phone and playing a frustrating game of phone-tag. I have no defense, other than laziness.
I think, though, that the biggest part of the problem is that we've lost the ability to communicate via written word. I had several friends in college who had managed to graduate from high school having never written a paper in their lives. I'm floored by this. I love writing (obviously). I love picking through my brain to find the perfect word, the word that expresses exactly what I'm feeling. I love the sounds of words rolling off my tongue. I love that English is a language of synonyms, where verbal variety is truly the spice of life. I am someone who re-reads my own blog entries for a few days afterwards in an attempt to remove duplications of a word within a posting. And, while I recognize that this is completely Type A of me, I wish that people would consider their syntax more carefully. I hate reading something that someone has sent me and spending the day wondering, "What did that mean? Are they angry with me? What are they trying to express? Should I call them?" And I hate not knowing what to expect if I, in fact, decide to pick up the phone. I diligently work to make sure my words can be taken at face-value, that I can be comprehended both intellectually and emotionally. I'm sure I'm more successful some days than others, but I absolutely consider it every time I press "send."
So yes, this is just a short rant about communication. But it's also something that, to me, brings up the fundamental nature of friendship. If I don't care about someone enough to pick up the phone and spend 20 minutes of my life ascertaining how they are, what they're doing, etc. blah blah, then why am I attempting to keep them within my circle of friends? Now, for those of you with whom I do communicate mostly via myspace/email/blog/what-have-you, please don't take this as any indication of my feelings for you. It's just something I've been considering. I'm frustrated with my own inability to communicate how much I care about my friends. I have no conclusions tonight. I don't have any great insight into this problem. I know that I'm just an old-fashioned girl living in a world to which I absolutely must adapt. I know that I have to grow a thicker skin and not worry so much about "what did s/he mean by such-and-such." I just miss beautiful writing. I miss our ability to use our language to express what it is that we actually mean. And I'm slightly afraid that it is only going to get worse, until we are a culture of people who speak in monotone and use emoticons to convey sentiment.
Any thoughts? Am I being a pretentious you-know-what, here? I could really use some feedback on this one.
I think, though, that the biggest part of the problem is that we've lost the ability to communicate via written word. I had several friends in college who had managed to graduate from high school having never written a paper in their lives. I'm floored by this. I love writing (obviously). I love picking through my brain to find the perfect word, the word that expresses exactly what I'm feeling. I love the sounds of words rolling off my tongue. I love that English is a language of synonyms, where verbal variety is truly the spice of life. I am someone who re-reads my own blog entries for a few days afterwards in an attempt to remove duplications of a word within a posting. And, while I recognize that this is completely Type A of me, I wish that people would consider their syntax more carefully. I hate reading something that someone has sent me and spending the day wondering, "What did that mean? Are they angry with me? What are they trying to express? Should I call them?" And I hate not knowing what to expect if I, in fact, decide to pick up the phone. I diligently work to make sure my words can be taken at face-value, that I can be comprehended both intellectually and emotionally. I'm sure I'm more successful some days than others, but I absolutely consider it every time I press "send."
So yes, this is just a short rant about communication. But it's also something that, to me, brings up the fundamental nature of friendship. If I don't care about someone enough to pick up the phone and spend 20 minutes of my life ascertaining how they are, what they're doing, etc. blah blah, then why am I attempting to keep them within my circle of friends? Now, for those of you with whom I do communicate mostly via myspace/email/blog/what-have-you, please don't take this as any indication of my feelings for you. It's just something I've been considering. I'm frustrated with my own inability to communicate how much I care about my friends. I have no conclusions tonight. I don't have any great insight into this problem. I know that I'm just an old-fashioned girl living in a world to which I absolutely must adapt. I know that I have to grow a thicker skin and not worry so much about "what did s/he mean by such-and-such." I just miss beautiful writing. I miss our ability to use our language to express what it is that we actually mean. And I'm slightly afraid that it is only going to get worse, until we are a culture of people who speak in monotone and use emoticons to convey sentiment.
Any thoughts? Am I being a pretentious you-know-what, here? I could really use some feedback on this one.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
An unexpected compliment
As we've discussed, I hate my walk. Not that it wrecks my life or anything, but it's something that people tend to notice about me, and frequently comment upon. In fact, at Hardly Strictly Bluegrass, a friend called me on my cell. He was sitting up on a hill a few hundred yards away, and saw me crossing the field. Amidst a mass of people, how did he know it was me? My walk. Now, I realize that this is not a bad thing. I know that it's unique, blah blah blah. Most of my friends tell me that my walk is, at turns, funny, happy, or even sexy. But folks, I grew up with a mom who didn't particularly want a daughter with a unique/sexy/funny/happy walk. She used to make me practice walking around the house, telling me which body parts to move more and which to move less. From a distance she'd see me and roll her eyes. She still frequently expresses her annoyance with the way my body moves. Mistakes not to repeat, I realize, but still a major cause of self-consciousness.
Generally speaking, as a result, I just don't like people even mentioning it. Any mention of my distinct gait causes me to instantly adjust every step I take, making me look even more ridiculous. Wednesday, however, I received the most random compliment from the most random source, and I've been glowing all weekend.
Walking down the hall in the ballet building, I noticed one of the Ballet Masters walking towards me. For those of you who don't happen to work at a ballet company (that'd be every single person reading the blog, I realize), a Ballet Master is someone who makes sure the dancers are staying true to the choreographer's wishes. Their responsibility is to keep the dance as pure to the original vision as possible. These people watch dancers all day long. Their job is about studying movement, knowing how to convey movement through words. I think it's like living poetry, if that makes any sense. At any rate, as I approached this particular Ballet Master, he grinned and said, "You still walk like a ballerina. It's for life, you know."
So I haven't danced in several years. So I've gained an-amount-of-weight-that-will-not-be-mentioned since last I was dancing. I still walk like a ballerina. I walk like a dancer.
Take THAT, Mom!
Generally speaking, as a result, I just don't like people even mentioning it. Any mention of my distinct gait causes me to instantly adjust every step I take, making me look even more ridiculous. Wednesday, however, I received the most random compliment from the most random source, and I've been glowing all weekend.
Walking down the hall in the ballet building, I noticed one of the Ballet Masters walking towards me. For those of you who don't happen to work at a ballet company (that'd be every single person reading the blog, I realize), a Ballet Master is someone who makes sure the dancers are staying true to the choreographer's wishes. Their responsibility is to keep the dance as pure to the original vision as possible. These people watch dancers all day long. Their job is about studying movement, knowing how to convey movement through words. I think it's like living poetry, if that makes any sense. At any rate, as I approached this particular Ballet Master, he grinned and said, "You still walk like a ballerina. It's for life, you know."
So I haven't danced in several years. So I've gained an-amount-of-weight-that-will-not-be-mentioned since last I was dancing. I still walk like a ballerina. I walk like a dancer.
Take THAT, Mom!
Saturday, November 25, 2006
I love the Ferry Building
I left the house at 7:30 this morning. The cats decided that 6:30 was my wake-up call today, and for some reason I was incapable of returning to sleep. 7:30 seemed as good a time as any to leave, so I strapped on my trusty green trainers and headed to the Ferry Building.
When I first moved to San Fran, the Ferry Building is where I got the first of my four simultaneous jobs, which supported the Year From Hell. (If you've known me for any length of time, no explanation is needed. If you don't know what I'm talking about, I'll spare you the details. Suffice it to say, the commencement of the Year From Hell is really what started the Existential Life Crisis, so we'll just leave it at that and move on.) Anyway, I sold organic produce at one of the shops inside. If you don't know the Ferry Building, let me tell you, it is a foodie's paradise. Each shop specializes in one particular type of food. There's Acme Bread, home of an amazing variety of artisan breads made fresh all day. My store, Capay Organic, sells beautiful produce. The Ferry Plaza Wine Merchant has both a lovely wine bar, as well as a full shop with some of the best customer service around. Cowgirl Creamery is also located in the Ferry Building, and I've spent many a dollar there.
I adore the Ferry Building. There is no better people watching in the city. Saturdays also feature the city's largest open air farmer's market, and I could literally spend hours sitting by the bay and watching the world go by. I always feel a rush of pleasure walking through the doors. There's a very particular smell to the building. I spent enough time there that it smells like home to me. I love the polished cement floors and the small square mosaics on each wall between the stores. I love the hand-painted signs above the shops. I love that, until recently, I still knew every person who worked the storefronts.
My favorite place to hang out is Far West Fungi. My friend Ian runs the store, and my friend Andy works for him. Andy was the first person I met at the Ferry Building. At that time, he sold chocolate. He was always so nice to me that when he changed shops and began working for Ian, I changed my allegiances, too. That's the definition of loyalty: trading chocolate for mushrooms! Ian has effectively created an addict of me, though. I yearn for April to arrive and bring morels back to the store. I dream of the scent of truffles. I love the textures and colors of the different things that come in around the year. These two guys are a blast to hang out with, so I make a point of parking behind the counter and harrassing them whenever possible.
So today, when I arrived and discovered that Far West was swamped, I did what any foodie/friend would do: I offered to help out. It was such a fun day! I loved being back in the world of "work" requiring me to be social, answer questions (Where's the bathroom? Where's the Slanted Door?), flirt with old men, and tell jokes to little kids. I loved getting gigantic hugs from everyone when I finally left. (Maybe they were just happy that I was finally leaving??? Who knows!) The Ferry Building is always so alive. So, while I am 100% exhausted right now, having effectively spent half my day there, one thing is for certain: I had a truly fantastic day! Thanks, guys!
When I first moved to San Fran, the Ferry Building is where I got the first of my four simultaneous jobs, which supported the Year From Hell. (If you've known me for any length of time, no explanation is needed. If you don't know what I'm talking about, I'll spare you the details. Suffice it to say, the commencement of the Year From Hell is really what started the Existential Life Crisis, so we'll just leave it at that and move on.) Anyway, I sold organic produce at one of the shops inside. If you don't know the Ferry Building, let me tell you, it is a foodie's paradise. Each shop specializes in one particular type of food. There's Acme Bread, home of an amazing variety of artisan breads made fresh all day. My store, Capay Organic, sells beautiful produce. The Ferry Plaza Wine Merchant has both a lovely wine bar, as well as a full shop with some of the best customer service around. Cowgirl Creamery is also located in the Ferry Building, and I've spent many a dollar there.
I adore the Ferry Building. There is no better people watching in the city. Saturdays also feature the city's largest open air farmer's market, and I could literally spend hours sitting by the bay and watching the world go by. I always feel a rush of pleasure walking through the doors. There's a very particular smell to the building. I spent enough time there that it smells like home to me. I love the polished cement floors and the small square mosaics on each wall between the stores. I love the hand-painted signs above the shops. I love that, until recently, I still knew every person who worked the storefronts.
My favorite place to hang out is Far West Fungi. My friend Ian runs the store, and my friend Andy works for him. Andy was the first person I met at the Ferry Building. At that time, he sold chocolate. He was always so nice to me that when he changed shops and began working for Ian, I changed my allegiances, too. That's the definition of loyalty: trading chocolate for mushrooms! Ian has effectively created an addict of me, though. I yearn for April to arrive and bring morels back to the store. I dream of the scent of truffles. I love the textures and colors of the different things that come in around the year. These two guys are a blast to hang out with, so I make a point of parking behind the counter and harrassing them whenever possible.
So today, when I arrived and discovered that Far West was swamped, I did what any foodie/friend would do: I offered to help out. It was such a fun day! I loved being back in the world of "work" requiring me to be social, answer questions (Where's the bathroom? Where's the Slanted Door?), flirt with old men, and tell jokes to little kids. I loved getting gigantic hugs from everyone when I finally left. (Maybe they were just happy that I was finally leaving??? Who knows!) The Ferry Building is always so alive. So, while I am 100% exhausted right now, having effectively spent half my day there, one thing is for certain: I had a truly fantastic day! Thanks, guys!
Friday, November 24, 2006
Ode to Malia
Things I love about Maliavale:
1. Her use of nice, neat, declarative nouns to describe her mood. Happiness! Sadness! Confusion!
2. This card, which she gave me a bazillion years ago, and which I still adore and keep on my refrigerator.
3. The fact that we survived the tiniest apartment with the largest bugs in the world.
4. The fact that we survived one of said bugs being squished by someone (coughMark) and left on the uppermost part of her bedroom wall.
5. Squirt, the greatest beta ever!
6. Despite the fact that our year as roommates was arguably the bitchiest year of my life, she still talks to me. (Um, yeah. Sorry about that.)
7. Fling. Or The Speakeasies. Whatever their incarnation, I wouldn't have shared it with anyone else.
8. Being repeatedly left off the guest list of above band.
9. The first time she made my cheesy pasta, I love that she put in the whole block of cheese before shredding it. Then called to see why it wasn't melting.
10. She ate everything I ever made for her, even if it was god awful. Being my first year of cooking, most of it was. (Um, again with the "sorry about that" business.)
11. Stella, the cutest puppy ever!
12. Sophomore year Halloween! That costume! That hair! Still cracks me up.
13. I love that she always talks me down from the ledge when I'm having a meltdown about my job.
14. My papers were always immaculate when I lived with her. Ten points for living with a future copy editor!
15. Broken hearts are always best shared with friends.
16. Her amazing, brilliant, beautiful smile! It always makes me happy to see in pictures, old and new.
17. The faith she gives me in myself that one day I will be able to run far enough in one go to participate in a race.
18. How she reminds me what I actually liked about college.
19. Her love of silly kid jokes!
20. What's not to love?
Happy birthday to my former roommate and forever friend! When the hell did we get old? You inspire me every day, in every way! (Yay rhyming!)
1. Her use of nice, neat, declarative nouns to describe her mood. Happiness! Sadness! Confusion!
2. This card, which she gave me a bazillion years ago, and which I still adore and keep on my refrigerator.
3. The fact that we survived the tiniest apartment with the largest bugs in the world.
4. The fact that we survived one of said bugs being squished by someone (coughMark) and left on the uppermost part of her bedroom wall.
5. Squirt, the greatest beta ever!
6. Despite the fact that our year as roommates was arguably the bitchiest year of my life, she still talks to me. (Um, yeah. Sorry about that.)
7. Fling. Or The Speakeasies. Whatever their incarnation, I wouldn't have shared it with anyone else.
8. Being repeatedly left off the guest list of above band.
9. The first time she made my cheesy pasta, I love that she put in the whole block of cheese before shredding it. Then called to see why it wasn't melting.
10. She ate everything I ever made for her, even if it was god awful. Being my first year of cooking, most of it was. (Um, again with the "sorry about that" business.)
11. Stella, the cutest puppy ever!
12. Sophomore year Halloween! That costume! That hair! Still cracks me up.
13. I love that she always talks me down from the ledge when I'm having a meltdown about my job.
14. My papers were always immaculate when I lived with her. Ten points for living with a future copy editor!
15. Broken hearts are always best shared with friends.
16. Her amazing, brilliant, beautiful smile! It always makes me happy to see in pictures, old and new.
17. The faith she gives me in myself that one day I will be able to run far enough in one go to participate in a race.
18. How she reminds me what I actually liked about college.
19. Her love of silly kid jokes!
20. What's not to love?
Happy birthday to my former roommate and forever friend! When the hell did we get old? You inspire me every day, in every way! (Yay rhyming!)
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Happy Fruitcake Day!!!
In order to understand my family, first you have to understand fruitcake. And no, I’m not referring to the fact that my family is full of fruits and nuts. While this may be the case, I’m actually talking about a yearly “bonding” experience that occurs within my family. You see, every year, right around Thanksgiving, my family gathers at my grandparents’ house to make fruitcake. Knowing even that much is giving you cold sweats, I’m sure. Ah, if it were only that simple. Believe me when I tell you that the fruitcake extravaganza is beyond explanation. You see, it all started with my great-great-grandfather. (Already you think I’m kidding. But wait, it gets better.) Great-great-grandfather Hickerson, felled a great big oak tree. Rather than burning it as firewood or something like that, what did he do? With nothing more than a humble hatchet, Great-great-grandfather Hickerson carved three beyond-gigantic bowls from its heart. According to a legend of biblical proportions, he then decreed that each year until the end of time, the Hickerson family would reunite these bowls and create the most diabolical fruitcake known to mankind. The fruitcake must be no less dense than brick, and must have a shelf life of no fewer than three decades. Bear in mind, this was before the days of chemical preservatives.
Now, most families would have long-since disregarded such a completely insane command. And if that were the case, we wouldn’t have a story. I leave it to you to decide whether this was fortunate or not. Regardless, my family did the one rebellious thing it has ever done: my family threw laziness to the wind and insisted upon honoring Great-great-grandfather Hickerson’s wish. Thus, each year in late November comes the day I dread beyond all others: Fruitcake Day.
Fruitcake Day, begins with the ritual reuniting of the bowls. Papayo, my grandfather, writes a poem each year to commemorate the event. Papayo decided to begin writing poetry about ten years ago when he acquired his first computer. I’m not sure why this inspired such poetic fervor, but I’d personally like to kill the person who encouraged him to purchase the computer. Alas, so it begins:
“Welcome, everyone, to Fruitcake Day! Now, as we all know, today will be the traditional making of the fruitcake, but we also have several other special activities planned!!! Uncle Earle has brought photos of the bear he killed with a bow and arrow, and we’d like everyone to take a moment to admire those. Additionally, we were unable to acquire an adequate amount of vanilla extract to substitute for the brandy in the recipe, so there will be genuine alcohol present today. Everyone, please be careful, and avoid prolonged contact with the blood of Satan. Any family announcements?”
I should point out that "family announcement time" is the time that everyone stares at me, the oldest grandchild, in the hopes that I'm going to shock them with the news that I'm getting married and will be having a baby five minutes afterwards. No such luck.
(My grandmother, Memo) “Ooh, everyone, wait until you hear Papayo’s poem this year! Read it, Eddie!!!”
“Mama! (chuckling) Well, do y’all want to hear it? Yes? Well, alrighty. Here goes!”
Now, at this point I always hope against hope that we will be spared mentions of God, Jesus, or wildlife. It’s not that I have anything against religion, but this part of my family loves God with a passion unseen by most living outside the Bible Belt. Yes, this side of the family is Southern Baptist, and proud of it. As for the wildlife, my grandparents volunteered as park rangers for most of my childhood. You would not even believe the stories that brings up!
“Ahem. So this year’s poem is inspired by a scene I observed out the kitchen window a few weeks ago. Marveling at the splendor the good Lord created, I could only put my thoughts down in Psalm!
Chipmunks like to roll all around
They are the Squirrels who live in the ground.
Tunnels they have, maybe under your feet
There they play, take naps, and sleep.
But now they are out
And with chippy voice they shout
Just what we all want to say:
Happy happy happy
FRUITCAKE DAY!!!”
Followed by wild applause.
I need a drink.
As I said before, however, alcohol is a BIG "no no" in my grandparents' house. My parents are both around 55 years old, and they still hide their booze when Memo and Papayo come to visit. In my childhood, it was always one of the most important tasks in preparation for their arrival. You had to make sure you hid it where there was no way they'd find it, because they are also innately interested in the inner workings of any home. It's insanity, I tell you, insanity. Memo and Papayo have been teetotalers for their entire lives. The ancient fruitcake recipe, however, includes a small amount of bourbon. Usually, they prefer to drench the batter in four or five bottles of vanilla extract, rather than obtaining the bourbon. Occasionally, however, Papayo sneaks off to a liquor store three counties away to buy a small bottle of the real stuff.
The actual making of the fruitcake batter falls to the women of the family. Since these bowls are antique and hand-made, no electronic appliances are allowed anywhere in their vicinity. And y'all, we make a lot of fruitcake. We're talking about enough fruitcake here that it requires
wait for it
60 eggs. Yes, sixty. All of which are mushed up with the rest of the super-sticky batter BY HAND. Spoons be damned, we mix this crap up with our fingers. As a child, this was all good fun, but in retrospect... ew. The worst part, however, is that, as kids, we were all forced to lick one of the fingers of the main fruitcake mixer's goopy hands upon completion of the mixing of the batter. Alas, all of my photographs of this occurring are in Virginia, but trust me, you're probably better left imagining things.
After the batter is made and poured into eight-gajillion bread tins (many of which pre-date the Civil War), the Men Of The Family are called in. Why? Because their job is now to decorate the fruitcakes with more candied fruits and nuts. Just to state the obvious, this is my father's personal hell. I believe he said that when he married my mom, he thought this was just part of the "hazing" ritual. No such luck, Dad, no such luck. The fruitcakes are then all packed into the oven, which is set at 350 degrees, and they bake for FOUR HOURS.
About five years ago, however, someone didn't set the oven correctly. Instead of a mild 350, the poor cakes roasted in the infernal heat of a 500 degree oven. They ended up like bricks. We all laughed about it and chalked it up to just one year of no fruitcake (DEAR GOD, WHAT WILL I EAT???). Memo and Papayo, however, were determined to enjoy the fruits of their labor. After some research, they found that they could steam the sliced fruitcake over some of the remaining bourbon. After trying it, they were thrilled! It took some time, though, so after several tries, they decided to edit the instructions somewhat. They heated the bourbon in the microwave, poked holes in the fruitcake-brick, and simply poured the hot bourbon over the top.
Let's pause here for a moment. I'm going to let this sink in. My 70+ year old grandparents, who have never had alcohol in their lives, are now eating a VERY dense cake soaked in warm bourbon.
Then they drunk-dialed my mom to tell her about their success.
I think we'll stop there for today. Happy Thanksgiving, everybody! Oh, and Happy Fruitcake Day, too.
Now, most families would have long-since disregarded such a completely insane command. And if that were the case, we wouldn’t have a story. I leave it to you to decide whether this was fortunate or not. Regardless, my family did the one rebellious thing it has ever done: my family threw laziness to the wind and insisted upon honoring Great-great-grandfather Hickerson’s wish. Thus, each year in late November comes the day I dread beyond all others: Fruitcake Day.
Fruitcake Day, begins with the ritual reuniting of the bowls. Papayo, my grandfather, writes a poem each year to commemorate the event. Papayo decided to begin writing poetry about ten years ago when he acquired his first computer. I’m not sure why this inspired such poetic fervor, but I’d personally like to kill the person who encouraged him to purchase the computer. Alas, so it begins:
“Welcome, everyone, to Fruitcake Day! Now, as we all know, today will be the traditional making of the fruitcake, but we also have several other special activities planned!!! Uncle Earle has brought photos of the bear he killed with a bow and arrow, and we’d like everyone to take a moment to admire those. Additionally, we were unable to acquire an adequate amount of vanilla extract to substitute for the brandy in the recipe, so there will be genuine alcohol present today. Everyone, please be careful, and avoid prolonged contact with the blood of Satan. Any family announcements?”
I should point out that "family announcement time" is the time that everyone stares at me, the oldest grandchild, in the hopes that I'm going to shock them with the news that I'm getting married and will be having a baby five minutes afterwards. No such luck.
(My grandmother, Memo) “Ooh, everyone, wait until you hear Papayo’s poem this year! Read it, Eddie!!!”
“Mama! (chuckling) Well, do y’all want to hear it? Yes? Well, alrighty. Here goes!”
Now, at this point I always hope against hope that we will be spared mentions of God, Jesus, or wildlife. It’s not that I have anything against religion, but this part of my family loves God with a passion unseen by most living outside the Bible Belt. Yes, this side of the family is Southern Baptist, and proud of it. As for the wildlife, my grandparents volunteered as park rangers for most of my childhood. You would not even believe the stories that brings up!
“Ahem. So this year’s poem is inspired by a scene I observed out the kitchen window a few weeks ago. Marveling at the splendor the good Lord created, I could only put my thoughts down in Psalm!
Chipmunks like to roll all around
They are the Squirrels who live in the ground.
Tunnels they have, maybe under your feet
There they play, take naps, and sleep.
But now they are out
And with chippy voice they shout
Just what we all want to say:
Happy happy happy
FRUITCAKE DAY!!!”
Followed by wild applause.
I need a drink.
As I said before, however, alcohol is a BIG "no no" in my grandparents' house. My parents are both around 55 years old, and they still hide their booze when Memo and Papayo come to visit. In my childhood, it was always one of the most important tasks in preparation for their arrival. You had to make sure you hid it where there was no way they'd find it, because they are also innately interested in the inner workings of any home. It's insanity, I tell you, insanity. Memo and Papayo have been teetotalers for their entire lives. The ancient fruitcake recipe, however, includes a small amount of bourbon. Usually, they prefer to drench the batter in four or five bottles of vanilla extract, rather than obtaining the bourbon. Occasionally, however, Papayo sneaks off to a liquor store three counties away to buy a small bottle of the real stuff.
The actual making of the fruitcake batter falls to the women of the family. Since these bowls are antique and hand-made, no electronic appliances are allowed anywhere in their vicinity. And y'all, we make a lot of fruitcake. We're talking about enough fruitcake here that it requires
wait for it
60 eggs. Yes, sixty. All of which are mushed up with the rest of the super-sticky batter BY HAND. Spoons be damned, we mix this crap up with our fingers. As a child, this was all good fun, but in retrospect... ew. The worst part, however, is that, as kids, we were all forced to lick one of the fingers of the main fruitcake mixer's goopy hands upon completion of the mixing of the batter. Alas, all of my photographs of this occurring are in Virginia, but trust me, you're probably better left imagining things.
After the batter is made and poured into eight-gajillion bread tins (many of which pre-date the Civil War), the Men Of The Family are called in. Why? Because their job is now to decorate the fruitcakes with more candied fruits and nuts. Just to state the obvious, this is my father's personal hell. I believe he said that when he married my mom, he thought this was just part of the "hazing" ritual. No such luck, Dad, no such luck. The fruitcakes are then all packed into the oven, which is set at 350 degrees, and they bake for FOUR HOURS.
About five years ago, however, someone didn't set the oven correctly. Instead of a mild 350, the poor cakes roasted in the infernal heat of a 500 degree oven. They ended up like bricks. We all laughed about it and chalked it up to just one year of no fruitcake (DEAR GOD, WHAT WILL I EAT???). Memo and Papayo, however, were determined to enjoy the fruits of their labor. After some research, they found that they could steam the sliced fruitcake over some of the remaining bourbon. After trying it, they were thrilled! It took some time, though, so after several tries, they decided to edit the instructions somewhat. They heated the bourbon in the microwave, poked holes in the fruitcake-brick, and simply poured the hot bourbon over the top.
Let's pause here for a moment. I'm going to let this sink in. My 70+ year old grandparents, who have never had alcohol in their lives, are now eating a VERY dense cake soaked in warm bourbon.
Then they drunk-dialed my mom to tell her about their success.
I think we'll stop there for today. Happy Thanksgiving, everybody! Oh, and Happy Fruitcake Day, too.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Bitter Bob Bites the Proverbial Dust
I am officially declaring an end to the Existential Life Crisis. To be completely honest, I got bored with it several weeks ago. I'm tired of psychoanalyzing myself every twenty seconds and coming to the conclusion that I don't have a clue. Who cares? Life goes on, and I still probably won't have a clue when I'm eighty. So I'm not living the life of my dreams. It's my responsibility to make my own opportunities! I'm tired of feeling like I'm missing some kind of instruction manual to life, and I'm ready to just write my own. I still have my moments of terror, the "what-ifs" welling up over every coherent thought in my brain. But really, who doesn't? It's time to get over it.
Also, upon re-reading my blog as of late, I've noticed that postings with the ELC label are actually more accurately described as my overall thoughts on life. I haven't actually written anything truly ELC-worthy in a while.
As such, I am debuting a new label! (Ready? All together now! Oooooh! Aaaaaaah!) From this day forth, all Philosophical Discussions Of Life In General will feature the label "Deep thoughts."
Oh, and I promise I'll write something that's actually interesting later today. I know you were worried.
Crickets
Also, upon re-reading my blog as of late, I've noticed that postings with the ELC label are actually more accurately described as my overall thoughts on life. I haven't actually written anything truly ELC-worthy in a while.
As such, I am debuting a new label! (Ready? All together now! Oooooh! Aaaaaaah!) From this day forth, all Philosophical Discussions Of Life In General will feature the label "Deep thoughts."
Oh, and I promise I'll write something that's actually interesting later today. I know you were worried.
Crickets
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Sweet Jebus
I have just learned something that I never needed to know. Prepare yourself.
Deep breaths.
There exists in the world a jazz band called
The Dick Hyman Chorus and Orchestra
I only wish I were kidding.
Deep breaths.
There exists in the world a jazz band called
The Dick Hyman Chorus and Orchestra
I only wish I were kidding.
By our powers combined...
I've been thinking about cartoons today. Don't lie, you know you still think about cartoons, too! I'm sure everyone thinks this about the shows they grew up with, but I remain convinced that we had the best cartoons when we were kids. In light of my confidence in this fact, and because I haven't done a list in a while (!), today's list is Cartoons That I Love And You Should, Too!
1. Looney Toons - Still crack me up. There's something so simple and silly and wonderful about them. And come on, the Bugs Bunny opera is just the greatest thing ever.
2. He-Man - The number one cartoon of my childhood. I have so many distinct memories of watching this show at my friend Robbie's house. For some reason, I also have a sensory memory of rice krispies treats that seems to accompany this. I'm not sure if that's accurate, or not.
3. She-Ra - Along the same lines as above. And does anyone else remember the episode where they met and discovered that they were brother and sister?
4. The Smurfs - I was never one of y'all who all seem disturbed by Smurfette being the only girl. Probably because I was usually the only girl in my group of friends.
5. Gummy Bears - All I can say is: Magic and mystery are part of their history, along with the secret of GUMMY BEARY JUICE!
6. Captain Planet - I still know every word to the theme song of this cartoon!
7. Duck Tales - Ah, Disney Channel, your magic held such sway over me.
8. Muppet Show - Although not a cartoon (so much better!), I will always associate this show with my childhood. And, like Looney Toons, it still cracks me up. A lot. (Will, you know what I'm talking about!)
The list is sure to get longer, but that's all I can think of at the moment. Leave me comments with your favorites!
1. Looney Toons - Still crack me up. There's something so simple and silly and wonderful about them. And come on, the Bugs Bunny opera is just the greatest thing ever.
2. He-Man - The number one cartoon of my childhood. I have so many distinct memories of watching this show at my friend Robbie's house. For some reason, I also have a sensory memory of rice krispies treats that seems to accompany this. I'm not sure if that's accurate, or not.
3. She-Ra - Along the same lines as above. And does anyone else remember the episode where they met and discovered that they were brother and sister?
4. The Smurfs - I was never one of y'all who all seem disturbed by Smurfette being the only girl. Probably because I was usually the only girl in my group of friends.
5. Gummy Bears - All I can say is: Magic and mystery are part of their history, along with the secret of GUMMY BEARY JUICE!
6. Captain Planet - I still know every word to the theme song of this cartoon!
7. Duck Tales - Ah, Disney Channel, your magic held such sway over me.
8. Muppet Show - Although not a cartoon (so much better!), I will always associate this show with my childhood. And, like Looney Toons, it still cracks me up. A lot. (Will, you know what I'm talking about!)
The list is sure to get longer, but that's all I can think of at the moment. Leave me comments with your favorites!
Monday, November 20, 2006
TGIM
Thank God It's Monday. This weekend was so absurdly awful that it was actually truly laughable. Let's put it this way: the high point of my weekend was a friend calling me to see if there was any way I'd be willing to help him remove something that was wedged in his ear. Seriously.
But looking forward to the future, it's nearly Thanksgiving! I'm sad that I'll be missing T-day with my grandparents, but I love this holiday, regardless. I've been planning my Thanksgiving-day post for weeks now, and I'm a little bit too excited about it, not going to lie. Thanksgiving is, more than any other day, all about family and tradition. Christmas is a close second, but for me the ritual of Christmas is actually begun with Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving day was the first day of "Christmas music" when I was growing up. We'd pile into the car on the way to Grandmom and Granddad or Memo and Papayo's house and crank up the first of our Christmas CDs. I love Christmas music to distraction. Thanksgiving was like the kickoff.
And let's not forget stuffing. Or Aunt Nancy's chocolate french silk pie. Lord help me, my mouth is watering!
Thanksgiving also represents the best quality time I get with my grandparents all year. Especially at Grandmom and Granddad's, my status as "oldest grandchild" comes with the benefit of being the only person allowed in the kitchen. Grandmom is obsessive about this. I am the Official Turkey Taster, the Official Arranger of Food, and now the Official Whiskey Sour Assistant.
Thank God it's Monday, and thank God we're entering my favorite time of year.
Happiness!
But looking forward to the future, it's nearly Thanksgiving! I'm sad that I'll be missing T-day with my grandparents, but I love this holiday, regardless. I've been planning my Thanksgiving-day post for weeks now, and I'm a little bit too excited about it, not going to lie. Thanksgiving is, more than any other day, all about family and tradition. Christmas is a close second, but for me the ritual of Christmas is actually begun with Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving day was the first day of "Christmas music" when I was growing up. We'd pile into the car on the way to Grandmom and Granddad or Memo and Papayo's house and crank up the first of our Christmas CDs. I love Christmas music to distraction. Thanksgiving was like the kickoff.
And let's not forget stuffing. Or Aunt Nancy's chocolate french silk pie. Lord help me, my mouth is watering!
Thanksgiving also represents the best quality time I get with my grandparents all year. Especially at Grandmom and Granddad's, my status as "oldest grandchild" comes with the benefit of being the only person allowed in the kitchen. Grandmom is obsessive about this. I am the Official Turkey Taster, the Official Arranger of Food, and now the Official Whiskey Sour Assistant.
Thank God it's Monday, and thank God we're entering my favorite time of year.
Happiness!
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Fish in the sea
Last night my friend Brian said something to me in passing. He said, "Such-and-such guy sounded like a lot of work." At the time, the statement seemed inconsequential. Granted, at the time, I was also drunk. However, as the night wore on and I sobered up, I began to think about this more. I began to wonder about this really rather "nail on the head" assessment of my entire dating history. Events of this morning have driven the point home even more.
I date men who are a lot of work. (Okay, let's be completely honest. I am attracted to people, even as friends, who are a lot of work. You know it's true, and many of you have called me on it. Ahem.) I don't know why this is. I'm actually a fairly low-maintenance person. And no, I'm not saying that relationships should be easy. Far from it. I fully expect to put in a lot of work when I eventually find my partner for life. I just hope he'll want to put in an equal amount. And I definitely want our lives together to be good far more frequently than they are bad.
Maybe I'm expecting too much. Maybe the notion that there is someone out there who'll meet me halfway is niave. Previous generations didn't have to deal with the double-edged sword that is globalization of dating. The dating pool is so huge now, it's like an endless supply of new and exciting people to meet. If one person possesses a trait that annoys you, then HEY!--the next might not have that particular quirk. On the other side of things, however, I guess part of the reason my last relationship dragged on well after it was over is that we both felt like we'd just hit a "rough patch," and we needed to just power through it. My parents have had rough times and good ones, and following their model of staying together through thick and thin seemed paramount.
So the question really is this: How much work is the right amount? And how do you know when your relationship (or dating-interest, or whatever the hell people call each other these days) is more about the work than how you feel about each other? And how do you find the happy medium between the instant gratification of starting something new and hanging on to something that's not right, simply because of loyalty?
And before you read too much into this and wonder exactly who I'm talking about, who is this person that's causing me to question this, let me go ahead and give you the answer:
The person is myself.
I date men who are a lot of work. (Okay, let's be completely honest. I am attracted to people, even as friends, who are a lot of work. You know it's true, and many of you have called me on it. Ahem.) I don't know why this is. I'm actually a fairly low-maintenance person. And no, I'm not saying that relationships should be easy. Far from it. I fully expect to put in a lot of work when I eventually find my partner for life. I just hope he'll want to put in an equal amount. And I definitely want our lives together to be good far more frequently than they are bad.
Maybe I'm expecting too much. Maybe the notion that there is someone out there who'll meet me halfway is niave. Previous generations didn't have to deal with the double-edged sword that is globalization of dating. The dating pool is so huge now, it's like an endless supply of new and exciting people to meet. If one person possesses a trait that annoys you, then HEY!--the next might not have that particular quirk. On the other side of things, however, I guess part of the reason my last relationship dragged on well after it was over is that we both felt like we'd just hit a "rough patch," and we needed to just power through it. My parents have had rough times and good ones, and following their model of staying together through thick and thin seemed paramount.
So the question really is this: How much work is the right amount? And how do you know when your relationship (or dating-interest, or whatever the hell people call each other these days) is more about the work than how you feel about each other? And how do you find the happy medium between the instant gratification of starting something new and hanging on to something that's not right, simply because of loyalty?
And before you read too much into this and wonder exactly who I'm talking about, who is this person that's causing me to question this, let me go ahead and give you the answer:
The person is myself.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Bourbon
I love bourbon. I especially love bourbon when I've had an incomparably crappy week. I really have nothing more to say. I know that the blog has, of late, disintegrated into inane prattle about meaningless daily events. Or worse, pictures of said meaningless daily events. But dude, it's Nablopomo. I am not interesting every day of the week. Sorry!
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Happiness = Cable TV
I have happily lived without cable for over a year. I don't miss the TV sucking me in for hours on end. While I love shows on some cable-only channels (coughTLCcough), I've managed to become completely addicted to network shows. I don't actually miss having cable that much, except for the notable days when nothing is on or I'm home sick.
Today, however, I broke down. Puck has managed to destroy our antenna, yet again. Zero of our six channels are working. And sure, I considered going out and buying another one. But upon investigating cable prices, I discovered that I can have crystal-clear reception in any weather for a mere $16 per month. Y'all, that is money well-spent.
So I'll still only have 12 channels. But they will all work, all of the time. Words really can't express how excited I am about this. Does that make me seem like a pathetic excuse for a human being? Maybe, but hey... what's the use of a day job if it can't buy a few shallow creature comforts?
Okay, so maybe we shouldn't talk about the 40% off sale at Anthropologie...
Today, however, I broke down. Puck has managed to destroy our antenna, yet again. Zero of our six channels are working. And sure, I considered going out and buying another one. But upon investigating cable prices, I discovered that I can have crystal-clear reception in any weather for a mere $16 per month. Y'all, that is money well-spent.
So I'll still only have 12 channels. But they will all work, all of the time. Words really can't express how excited I am about this. Does that make me seem like a pathetic excuse for a human being? Maybe, but hey... what's the use of a day job if it can't buy a few shallow creature comforts?
Okay, so maybe we shouldn't talk about the 40% off sale at Anthropologie...
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Once upon a time...
the San Francisco Ballet was hosting an event at the Four Seasons. The event began respectably. Wine was poured,
costumes were admired by all!
The highly professional staff of SFB treated the costumes with reverence,
fringing on adoration!
But as the night wore on, patience thinned. The ever-eager staff found their energy flagging. Only wearing the crown of the queen from Sleeping Beauty could save their waning spirits! And so, the crown was donned by one and all!
Alas, even the power of such a magical accessory could not revive them. More drastic measures were required! The staff searched high and low for the perfect outfit to rejuvenate their bedraggled spirits. They witnessed the good,
the bad,
the ugly,
and the downright horrifying,
but with little success. And so, they left the Four Seasons, pausing only to harrass one poor bellhop on the way out the door.
Thank you, Four Seasons, for enduring what is, to us, just another day at the office.
costumes were admired by all!
The highly professional staff of SFB treated the costumes with reverence,
fringing on adoration!
But as the night wore on, patience thinned. The ever-eager staff found their energy flagging. Only wearing the crown of the queen from Sleeping Beauty could save their waning spirits! And so, the crown was donned by one and all!
Alas, even the power of such a magical accessory could not revive them. More drastic measures were required! The staff searched high and low for the perfect outfit to rejuvenate their bedraggled spirits. They witnessed the good,
the bad,
the ugly,
and the downright horrifying,
but with little success. And so, they left the Four Seasons, pausing only to harrass one poor bellhop on the way out the door.
Thank you, Four Seasons, for enduring what is, to us, just another day at the office.
Monday, November 13, 2006
GMattB
This is one of my best friends in the whole, entire world. We grew up a few blocks from one another. Now he's a biologist, working with fish. It's really endless, the things I could say about him, but I'm tired, and this is my cop-out version of a post! More later...
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Saluting the second quarter-century
Today is my 26th birthday. I've never been big on my own birthday. Generally, the week prior is fraught with an extensive identity crisis and an intense evaluation of "what does it all mean?" This year was no exception, but today I feel good. Part of it is the fact that I've gotten a BAZILLION phone calls from people I love, making me feel really super special. Part of it is that I just played a concert, and it was a blast (despite a near-disaster involving a music stand). Having Jeremiah in town has been great, as is having my sister around. I'm getting ready to go here to eat with someone I really enjoy, which is always fantastic. Mmmmmmm... Coconut rice...
So, to all you beautiful people out there:
Thanks for making this the best birthday in many years. I love you all!
So, to all you beautiful people out there:
Thanks for making this the best birthday in many years. I love you all!
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Sleep is good
I have never been a good sleeper. I sleep through the night, on average, once a month or so. Invariably, I wake up at least twice during the night, go to the bathroom, get a drink of water, and go back to sleep. When I'm stressed out, the "go back to sleep" part of that equation is less likely.
So, maybe it's the fact that I've done nothing really except sleep for the past two days. Or maybe it's the fact that the penicillin is killing the nastiness, and I just hadn't realized exactly how bad I was feeling (call me the eternal optimist). But this morning I feel like a bazillion dollars. I am not tired, my body is not creaky. Sure, I still woke up three times last night, but I actually slept really hard in between waking up. So hard, in fact, that I didn't wake up when I received three phonecalls (and voicemails) and two text messages. I'm not going to lie, that makes me feel a little bit like a superhero!
And, because the last two days have been sick days, I feel like I've already had my weekend. But hark! It is Saturday, and there are still two full days of lounging around. Um, and rehearsals and concerts, but whatever. OH! And Jeremiah is here, and I am so excited!
I can't wait to hang out with one of my close friends, someone who totally gets my short-hand speech and doesn't judge me when I (invariably) do something awkward or moronic. Hoorah!
Y'all, this is going to be a good day. I can feel it.
So, maybe it's the fact that I've done nothing really except sleep for the past two days. Or maybe it's the fact that the penicillin is killing the nastiness, and I just hadn't realized exactly how bad I was feeling (call me the eternal optimist). But this morning I feel like a bazillion dollars. I am not tired, my body is not creaky. Sure, I still woke up three times last night, but I actually slept really hard in between waking up. So hard, in fact, that I didn't wake up when I received three phonecalls (and voicemails) and two text messages. I'm not going to lie, that makes me feel a little bit like a superhero!
And, because the last two days have been sick days, I feel like I've already had my weekend. But hark! It is Saturday, and there are still two full days of lounging around. Um, and rehearsals and concerts, but whatever. OH! And Jeremiah is here, and I am so excited!
I can't wait to hang out with one of my close friends, someone who totally gets my short-hand speech and doesn't judge me when I (invariably) do something awkward or moronic. Hoorah!
Y'all, this is going to be a good day. I can feel it.
Friday, November 10, 2006
It's the cake that matters
Deep thoughts at work, ladies and jellybeans...
Friend: The thing is, I like almost everything about this guy. He's sweet, he's smart, he gets me...
Snail: Absolutely. There's just the lying issue.
Friend: Right. And I have to remember, the other stuff is just the icing on the cake. And the trust thing, that's the real stuff.
Snail: Definitely. After all, I always scrape the icing off my cake. It's the cake that matters.
Friend: Yeah, the cake matters. The cake is the important part.
Snail: That should be our new motto.
Friend: This is a pathetic conversation. And now I'm hungry.
Snail: Me, too.
Friend: The thing is, I like almost everything about this guy. He's sweet, he's smart, he gets me...
Snail: Absolutely. There's just the lying issue.
Friend: Right. And I have to remember, the other stuff is just the icing on the cake. And the trust thing, that's the real stuff.
Snail: Definitely. After all, I always scrape the icing off my cake. It's the cake that matters.
Friend: Yeah, the cake matters. The cake is the important part.
Snail: That should be our new motto.
Friend: This is a pathetic conversation. And now I'm hungry.
Snail: Me, too.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Today's word is "gross"
I have strep throat. Which is thoroughly disgusting, and which I haven't had since I was a kid. In fact, I am taking antibiotics for the first time since (ready?) age 13. I generally don't break down and take antibiotics, as I feel they are really over-prescribed, but when I saw the pockets of pus on my tonsils...
Hey, the title of the post should have warned you. Don't go acting like you were blindsided by the pus.
Gross item of business, number two: My friend's cat left him a pile of dead rats on his doorstep this morning. And by "pile," I mean that there were four gigantic, post-mortem rats. She is totally, completely, and utterly diabolical, but this is noteworthy for several reasons. Primarily, despite plotting my demise for several years now, last week was the first time she'd ever actually killed anything. Since then, rats have appeared daily at his door. I think she's just practicing for the day when I next visit. She'll whip out her first claw and slice me, nose to naval.
Gross item number three: My next door neighbor has a massively phlegmy cough that won't stop. It makes the walls shake. It is disgusting. I think he must stand right next to our joint wall whenever he coughs, just to maximize the gross quotient.
On the upside of things, however, GO VIRGINIA! I cannot believe my homestate elected a democratic Senator! Way to get 'em, vee-ay! Virginia is for lovers! (Seriously, that's one of our state slogans. And really, it qualifies as "gross," don't you think?)
And just to round out this post, the awesomest moment of my day? When my doctor looked down my throat and shrieked. Literally. Why? Because even he found it gross.
It's nice to know I have such a dramatic effect on people.
Hey, the title of the post should have warned you. Don't go acting like you were blindsided by the pus.
Gross item of business, number two: My friend's cat left him a pile of dead rats on his doorstep this morning. And by "pile," I mean that there were four gigantic, post-mortem rats. She is totally, completely, and utterly diabolical, but this is noteworthy for several reasons. Primarily, despite plotting my demise for several years now, last week was the first time she'd ever actually killed anything. Since then, rats have appeared daily at his door. I think she's just practicing for the day when I next visit. She'll whip out her first claw and slice me, nose to naval.
Gross item number three: My next door neighbor has a massively phlegmy cough that won't stop. It makes the walls shake. It is disgusting. I think he must stand right next to our joint wall whenever he coughs, just to maximize the gross quotient.
On the upside of things, however, GO VIRGINIA! I cannot believe my homestate elected a democratic Senator! Way to get 'em, vee-ay! Virginia is for lovers! (Seriously, that's one of our state slogans. And really, it qualifies as "gross," don't you think?)
And just to round out this post, the awesomest moment of my day? When my doctor looked down my throat and shrieked. Literally. Why? Because even he found it gross.
It's nice to know I have such a dramatic effect on people.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Hinging on the homestate
Come on, Virginia! Let's get those democratic votes in!
Let me just state, for the record, how much I dislike George Allen, the incumbent senatorial candidate who currently appears to be losing. He was Virginia's governor when I was in high school, so I have a longstanding dislike of the man. The summer prior to my senior year, I was "nominated" to attend Girls' State, a week-long version of my personal hell. The premise of Girls' State was that we'd set up a mock government to learn how governments of all levels function. In reality, Girls' State was an excuse to remind us that we were inferior as females. We were required to wear skirts with stockings at all times, all dormitory rooms were inspected nightly for neatness... the list is endless, really. I've honestly blocked out most of the rules, but trust me. I had exactly zero friends for that week. I was miserable.
The upside, however, is that one of my all-time proudest moments occurred at Girls' State. Then-Governor George Allen came to speak to us. He droned on for over an hour about the evils of young people today, blah blah blah. I was just nodding off into the world of daydreams when suddenly he began to yap about teen pregnancy. He wanted, he said, to implement public school programs to teach young women about the inherent evils of sex. Young women had to learn that teen pregnancy was an issue over which they were solely responsible. Abortion was just a teen girl's way of avoiding the consequences of her sins, and birth control merely a tool to allow those sins to fester, unchecked. Abstinence, the only real option, was left in a woman's hands. Men were incapable of checking their urges, etc. As he talked, my astonishment grew. This moron was standing in front of 2,000 rising seniors who possessed the highest academic honors in the state. I mean, be mindful of your audience! After he finished telling us how much God and all the world hated us for being girls, he continued talking about the car tax, or some other inane topic. Finally, Q&A time was announced. Several girls asked questions about what it was like to be governor, when he had first wanted to pursue a career in politics. I couldn't believe no one was bringing up the horridly insulting diatribe ended only moments before. So, as primly as I could, I raised my hand. And someone called on me. My heart was pounding.
Good afternoon, Governor. Thank you for coming to speak to us today. I was fascinated by your plan to educate young women about our responsibilities in the issue of teen pregnancy. I was wondering, however, if you planned to initiate a similar program for young men, so that they too can be honored with the right and responsibility of their role in reproduction? It seems to me that pregnancy at any age is a two-part equation, and young men should be equally educated on that fact.
He hemmed and hawed and made some asinine excuse for his oversight as 2,000 of the best and brightest of the state of Virginia cheered their approval.
So, my hope for today's election count? I hope he gets bitch-slapped.
That is all.
Let me just state, for the record, how much I dislike George Allen, the incumbent senatorial candidate who currently appears to be losing. He was Virginia's governor when I was in high school, so I have a longstanding dislike of the man. The summer prior to my senior year, I was "nominated" to attend Girls' State, a week-long version of my personal hell. The premise of Girls' State was that we'd set up a mock government to learn how governments of all levels function. In reality, Girls' State was an excuse to remind us that we were inferior as females. We were required to wear skirts with stockings at all times, all dormitory rooms were inspected nightly for neatness... the list is endless, really. I've honestly blocked out most of the rules, but trust me. I had exactly zero friends for that week. I was miserable.
The upside, however, is that one of my all-time proudest moments occurred at Girls' State. Then-Governor George Allen came to speak to us. He droned on for over an hour about the evils of young people today, blah blah blah. I was just nodding off into the world of daydreams when suddenly he began to yap about teen pregnancy. He wanted, he said, to implement public school programs to teach young women about the inherent evils of sex. Young women had to learn that teen pregnancy was an issue over which they were solely responsible. Abortion was just a teen girl's way of avoiding the consequences of her sins, and birth control merely a tool to allow those sins to fester, unchecked. Abstinence, the only real option, was left in a woman's hands. Men were incapable of checking their urges, etc. As he talked, my astonishment grew. This moron was standing in front of 2,000 rising seniors who possessed the highest academic honors in the state. I mean, be mindful of your audience! After he finished telling us how much God and all the world hated us for being girls, he continued talking about the car tax, or some other inane topic. Finally, Q&A time was announced. Several girls asked questions about what it was like to be governor, when he had first wanted to pursue a career in politics. I couldn't believe no one was bringing up the horridly insulting diatribe ended only moments before. So, as primly as I could, I raised my hand. And someone called on me. My heart was pounding.
Good afternoon, Governor. Thank you for coming to speak to us today. I was fascinated by your plan to educate young women about our responsibilities in the issue of teen pregnancy. I was wondering, however, if you planned to initiate a similar program for young men, so that they too can be honored with the right and responsibility of their role in reproduction? It seems to me that pregnancy at any age is a two-part equation, and young men should be equally educated on that fact.
He hemmed and hawed and made some asinine excuse for his oversight as 2,000 of the best and brightest of the state of Virginia cheered their approval.
So, my hope for today's election count? I hope he gets bitch-slapped.
That is all.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Talking dirty
Ah, gentle readers, prepare thyselves. This is not a story for the faint of heart. Nor for the underage. Nay, I say unto you, continue reading at your peril.
Ahem.
My sister works at a mental health "halfway house." It is, frankly, as shitty a job as she could possibly have, but it pays the bills and is helping her save up some cash for her imminent return to the U.K. Sis is a remarkably normal person, at least in my view. We'll get into a philosophical discussion on the definition of "normal" some other day. I consider her to be a lovely human being, and so should you. Many of her co-workers at said institution, however, defy conventions of "normalcy," blurring the lines between what is socially acceptable and what is, shall we say, creepy. Or gross. In this case, I think "gross" is as apt a word as any.
It has recently surfaced that one of the counsellors has been viewing pornographic websites on the company computer at night. As in, while everyone else in the house is sleeping, this guy has been... uh... enjoying himself. Literally. The company, however, cannot fire him without meeting a sufficient burden of proof. That means that each day, someone has to go on the computer's history and print it out. Today, however, the printer apparently wasn't functioning. Meaning that my sister, my sweet, innocent, normal sister, had to read the listing of websites out loud over the phone to her boss. Let's just take one moment to ponder some of the options here:
"At 4:25 a.m. a site called giganticgonads dot com was accessed. At 4:42 he moved onto lusciousboobies. Next was a site named hotkittymonkeylove."
Way to go, sketchy co-worker. Way to go.
Ahem.
My sister works at a mental health "halfway house." It is, frankly, as shitty a job as she could possibly have, but it pays the bills and is helping her save up some cash for her imminent return to the U.K. Sis is a remarkably normal person, at least in my view. We'll get into a philosophical discussion on the definition of "normal" some other day. I consider her to be a lovely human being, and so should you. Many of her co-workers at said institution, however, defy conventions of "normalcy," blurring the lines between what is socially acceptable and what is, shall we say, creepy. Or gross. In this case, I think "gross" is as apt a word as any.
It has recently surfaced that one of the counsellors has been viewing pornographic websites on the company computer at night. As in, while everyone else in the house is sleeping, this guy has been... uh... enjoying himself. Literally. The company, however, cannot fire him without meeting a sufficient burden of proof. That means that each day, someone has to go on the computer's history and print it out. Today, however, the printer apparently wasn't functioning. Meaning that my sister, my sweet, innocent, normal sister, had to read the listing of websites out loud over the phone to her boss. Let's just take one moment to ponder some of the options here:
"At 4:25 a.m. a site called giganticgonads dot com was accessed. At 4:42 he moved onto lusciousboobies. Next was a site named hotkittymonkeylove."
Way to go, sketchy co-worker. Way to go.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Smells like Teen Spirit?
Just so you know, this is a completely meaningless post. Basically, the Sis has gone to bed, and I have no one to bitch to. I'm just saying.
I bought new lotion today at TJ's. I love lavendar-scented things, and those are pretty tough to mess up, so that's usually what I go for. Safe, pleasant, unobtrusive.
I slathered it all over my body about a half hour ago, and now I smell like ass. Seriously, this stuff does not smell good. Blech. Nor is my skin baby soft, or whatever the hell this particular brand of lotion promises.
Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
I bought new lotion today at TJ's. I love lavendar-scented things, and those are pretty tough to mess up, so that's usually what I go for. Safe, pleasant, unobtrusive.
I slathered it all over my body about a half hour ago, and now I smell like ass. Seriously, this stuff does not smell good. Blech. Nor is my skin baby soft, or whatever the hell this particular brand of lotion promises.
Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Ten Points!
So I took the plunge. I finally clicked the link on blogger that said:
What's better than a new box of crayons? New blog templates!
I trusted, I experimented, and I decided that I like this new look better... at least for today.
I'm also exceedingly proud that I finally figured out how to put all my favorite people on my sidebar. If you want to be added, just remind me. I am constantly forgetting people's blogs, and I sometimes feel a little bit embarrassed admitting exactly how much I read them!
Onward and upward!
What's better than a new box of crayons? New blog templates!
I trusted, I experimented, and I decided that I like this new look better... at least for today.
I'm also exceedingly proud that I finally figured out how to put all my favorite people on my sidebar. If you want to be added, just remind me. I am constantly forgetting people's blogs, and I sometimes feel a little bit embarrassed admitting exactly how much I read them!
Onward and upward!
Friday, November 03, 2006
Back to basics
Tonight is a big night. I'll be performing in my first orchestra concert in almost a year! Reflecting on that fact really takes my breath away. Until about a year ago, it wasn't uncommon for me to play 3-5 performances of some kind each week. These days, a red-letter week involves me even picking up the flute that many times. No wonder I've been feeling so disconnected from myself! This week has been busier than hell, but also really thrilling. As I wrote about yesterday, Wednesday's concert really put me in a good place. Monday night, at our rehearsal for tonight's concert, it was an absolute pleasure to sit and count my rests and just absorb the rehearsal atmosphere.
I'm not going to lie to you, I'm actually pretty nervous for tonight. My sound is simply not what it should be at the moment, and I'm a little bummed about that. But I'm also a realist, and I know that the best possible way to recover from my slump in practicing is to perform. Performing really is the lifeblood of my personality. Tonight will be the first time I've donned my all-black concert attire in quite a while, and I'm actually looking forward to it! I'm trying to remember how much I really love the pre-concert adrenaline that some call nerves and I call excitement. I really can't wait to get out on stage and do what I love most in the world.
On a slightly different note, however, tonight will be the third time this week that I've driven to Berkeley straight from work and stayed until nearly 11pm. And boy, is that overrated!
But back to good stuff. Going to rehearsals and concerts this week is making me think seriously about starting some type of regular performing opportunity. I mean, obviously I'm taking professional auditions, but there's no substitute for getting out on stage. I'm thinking of maybe forming some kind of chamber ensemble locally. The problem is that I'm not sure how many of my fellow "young professionals" would be willing to perform for free, at least initially. Things to think about...
At any rate, that's what I have buzzing around in my head today. Updates tonight, I'm sure.
I'm not going to lie to you, I'm actually pretty nervous for tonight. My sound is simply not what it should be at the moment, and I'm a little bummed about that. But I'm also a realist, and I know that the best possible way to recover from my slump in practicing is to perform. Performing really is the lifeblood of my personality. Tonight will be the first time I've donned my all-black concert attire in quite a while, and I'm actually looking forward to it! I'm trying to remember how much I really love the pre-concert adrenaline that some call nerves and I call excitement. I really can't wait to get out on stage and do what I love most in the world.
On a slightly different note, however, tonight will be the third time this week that I've driven to Berkeley straight from work and stayed until nearly 11pm. And boy, is that overrated!
But back to good stuff. Going to rehearsals and concerts this week is making me think seriously about starting some type of regular performing opportunity. I mean, obviously I'm taking professional auditions, but there's no substitute for getting out on stage. I'm thinking of maybe forming some kind of chamber ensemble locally. The problem is that I'm not sure how many of my fellow "young professionals" would be willing to perform for free, at least initially. Things to think about...
At any rate, that's what I have buzzing around in my head today. Updates tonight, I'm sure.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Yefim Bronfman
I'm about to get all music-nerd on you. Prepare yourself.
I just got home from a recital with Yefim Bronfman, Gil Shaham, and Lynn Harrell. I've told several people this already tonight, but my soul feels good. I have seen all three of these gentlemen (yes, Lynn Harrell is a man) play many times, and I always feel a kinship with performers I've followed for a while. Add to that the fact that I've played in an orchestra accompanying each of them, and perhaps you can understand. It would be like admiring your favorite band for years, suddenly meeting them, and then seeing them again in concert after a long hiatus.
Lynn Harrell and Gil Shaham are both incredible, there's no questioning this. But the reason I spent thirty bucks on the ticket is definitely Fima Bronfman. Bronfman is my favorite pianist. As a disclaimer, I should state for the record that I don't know all that much about pianists. I know what I like and what I don't like, but I can't give you specifics. At any rate, this is a man who knows how to work a piano. The first time I heard him play was my first summer at the Aspen Music Festival. I was playing in the orchestra, and he performed Beethoven's Emperor Concerto with us. I've heard this concerto a zillion times in my life, but never the way he played it. I still literally get shivers up my spine when I recall the way he played the main motive of the first movement. The only comparison I can think to draw is this:
Do you remember how it felt the moment you realized you were in love for the first time? Do you remember how it felt on your skin when that person touched you? Bronfman touches the piano as if it is his first love, as if it is the most beautiful woman in the world. When he touches the piano, it sighs, almost involuntarily. Sure, this is a big man, and when he wants to he can make the piano sing, laugh, cry, or scream. But my favorite moments are the sighs. I can feel his playing in my whole body. His playing feels like falling in love. Frankly, he is not what I'd consider a physically attractive man. But whenever I hear him, I fall in love with him, just a little bit.
Concerts like tonight give me hope. I feel more serene tonight than in a long time. I can't wait to lie in bed and replay the entire two-hour concert in my head, attempting to store it there for the rest of my life. I wish I could hear it again, just so I could digest it a little more fully. I wish I could just follow Fima Bronfman around a turn his pages for a living.
Alrighty, music nerd time is over for one evening. Goodnight, one and all. I'll be dreaming that I'm a piano.
I just got home from a recital with Yefim Bronfman, Gil Shaham, and Lynn Harrell. I've told several people this already tonight, but my soul feels good. I have seen all three of these gentlemen (yes, Lynn Harrell is a man) play many times, and I always feel a kinship with performers I've followed for a while. Add to that the fact that I've played in an orchestra accompanying each of them, and perhaps you can understand. It would be like admiring your favorite band for years, suddenly meeting them, and then seeing them again in concert after a long hiatus.
Lynn Harrell and Gil Shaham are both incredible, there's no questioning this. But the reason I spent thirty bucks on the ticket is definitely Fima Bronfman. Bronfman is my favorite pianist. As a disclaimer, I should state for the record that I don't know all that much about pianists. I know what I like and what I don't like, but I can't give you specifics. At any rate, this is a man who knows how to work a piano. The first time I heard him play was my first summer at the Aspen Music Festival. I was playing in the orchestra, and he performed Beethoven's Emperor Concerto with us. I've heard this concerto a zillion times in my life, but never the way he played it. I still literally get shivers up my spine when I recall the way he played the main motive of the first movement. The only comparison I can think to draw is this:
Do you remember how it felt the moment you realized you were in love for the first time? Do you remember how it felt on your skin when that person touched you? Bronfman touches the piano as if it is his first love, as if it is the most beautiful woman in the world. When he touches the piano, it sighs, almost involuntarily. Sure, this is a big man, and when he wants to he can make the piano sing, laugh, cry, or scream. But my favorite moments are the sighs. I can feel his playing in my whole body. His playing feels like falling in love. Frankly, he is not what I'd consider a physically attractive man. But whenever I hear him, I fall in love with him, just a little bit.
Concerts like tonight give me hope. I feel more serene tonight than in a long time. I can't wait to lie in bed and replay the entire two-hour concert in my head, attempting to store it there for the rest of my life. I wish I could hear it again, just so I could digest it a little more fully. I wish I could just follow Fima Bronfman around a turn his pages for a living.
Alrighty, music nerd time is over for one evening. Goodnight, one and all. I'll be dreaming that I'm a piano.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Checking it twice
Welcome to NaBloPoMo. Count me in, ladies and jellybeans! I'm not really sure why I want to do this. Partly, I think, it's my continued need for setting goals. I am a very goal- and task-oriented person by nature. I keep lists. And lists of lists. And I really feel a high from crossing something off one of said lists.
Each morning, upon arriving at the office, I sit down and make a list on one of my many sticky notes. When my boss arrives, I chat with her to ascertain not only if there are additional items to add, but also what the priority of all items might be. I then create a new list, detailing how I will run my day. I've done this since I can remember. In grad school, my list-building compulsion hit its all-time high, usually resembling something like this:
7:00 - up
7:15-7:30 - tea
7:30-8:15 - shower, dressed, make bed
8:30-9:00 - bike to school, locker
9:00-10:45 - class
11:00-12:00 - practice
12:00-1:30 - lunch, errands (see below)
1:30-5:00 - warm-up, orchestra
And so forth.
Seriously. You think I was making it up? Just wait. I've misplaced my old planner at the moment, but there will be photographic evidence asap.
My list making skills have also made a frequent cameo appearance in the blog. They show up here, here, and here. And that's just in October alone.
Okay, that's scaring me now.
Despite sounding too Type A for my own good, I think my list-making tendencies counterbalance the general lack of stability in my chosen profession. There will never come a day when I have achieved everything possible for a musician. I will have to practice every day until the day I stop playing for good and all. Every day I will play the same warm-up, every day I will try to make certain things more perfect. Never will I wake up and say to myself, "Well, that's done. Good work. You've learned to play the flute."
Crossing things off my list gives me that sense that certain tasks are achievable. Once completed, they are done. I never have to do them again.
So bring it on, NaBloPoMo. You're on my list!
Each morning, upon arriving at the office, I sit down and make a list on one of my many sticky notes. When my boss arrives, I chat with her to ascertain not only if there are additional items to add, but also what the priority of all items might be. I then create a new list, detailing how I will run my day. I've done this since I can remember. In grad school, my list-building compulsion hit its all-time high, usually resembling something like this:
7:00 - up
7:15-7:30 - tea
7:30-8:15 - shower, dressed, make bed
8:30-9:00 - bike to school, locker
9:00-10:45 - class
11:00-12:00 - practice
12:00-1:30 - lunch, errands (see below)
1:30-5:00 - warm-up, orchestra
And so forth.
Seriously. You think I was making it up? Just wait. I've misplaced my old planner at the moment, but there will be photographic evidence asap.
My list making skills have also made a frequent cameo appearance in the blog. They show up here, here, and here. And that's just in October alone.
Okay, that's scaring me now.
Despite sounding too Type A for my own good, I think my list-making tendencies counterbalance the general lack of stability in my chosen profession. There will never come a day when I have achieved everything possible for a musician. I will have to practice every day until the day I stop playing for good and all. Every day I will play the same warm-up, every day I will try to make certain things more perfect. Never will I wake up and say to myself, "Well, that's done. Good work. You've learned to play the flute."
Crossing things off my list gives me that sense that certain tasks are achievable. Once completed, they are done. I never have to do them again.
So bring it on, NaBloPoMo. You're on my list!
Saturday, October 28, 2006
DST
I love Daylight Savings Time. I wish it was the default time of the world. Tonight, changing the clock to "fall behind," I am a little bit sad. Despite the knowlege that we'll return to DST in a few short months, I always resist the hour-earlier darkness that this time of year signifies. Tomorrow, when the sun blares in my window even earlier, I will feel so alive! Alas, the feeling will fade at 6pm, when darkness descends and kills the buzz of early daylight. Granted, the end of DST is never as bad in Cali as it was in Virginia. I'm not sure if it was the increasing cold of this time of year, or the bleakness that generally is my hometown in winter, but November always heralded in several months of depression in my childhood. As much as I love (LOVE!) the snow, several months of oppressingly cold temperatures, of ice on sidewalks, of 5:00 darkness always took their toll on my psyche. In San Fran, winter means months of damp, tons of rain, and occasional weeks of sudden, shocking summertime. I love living in California. While I miss the change of seasons, and the feeling of anticipation that they bring with them, I love the surprising bursts of summer-like weather that occur at random.
Goodbye, summer! We'll see you in a few months, and we welcome you back for your short visits through the November-March season of rain. My white white white skin and I will be awaiting your return in April. Until then, have fun in the Southern hemisphere. Drink a few umbrella drinks for me!
Goodbye, summer! We'll see you in a few months, and we welcome you back for your short visits through the November-March season of rain. My white white white skin and I will be awaiting your return in April. Until then, have fun in the Southern hemisphere. Drink a few umbrella drinks for me!
Friday, October 27, 2006
A sign of the times
I must be growing up. I just willingly submitted to a shot. I feel an embarrassing amount of pride in myself at this moment!
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
The long haul
Tomorrow night is the Chairman's Council Dinner for SFB. I've been working late every night in preparation. There's really not much else to do, just remember everything I need for the event. As Jill said tonight, the past three days I've truly felt as though I'm "working for the man." Granted, in my case "the man" happens to be a non-profit arts organization, making my corporate slavery something of a noble cause. Despite the "good cause" part of all of this, my spirit today feels drained. I miss playing. I miss the feeling of sitting in an orchestra. I miss doing something at which I feel not only competent, but nearly-exceptional. I miss falling in love with my profession every day. Sitting in my office, I feel isolated from real life, from the heartbeats of real people. Although teaching elementary school last year felt a bit like my energy was being sucked out of me, I miss the interaction with my kids and their parents. I miss hugs every day from six-year-olds.
Realistically, I know this is the Existential Life Crisis talking. I know that no one is who they want to be in their mid-twenties. How can we be? We are torn by the sudden juxtaposition of who we dream of becoming and who we have to be to pay the rent. For the first times in our lives, we are forced to face the possibility that our identities are not tied to our jobs. For my entire life, if asked who I was, I would reply "I am a flutist." Today, I don't know the answer to that question. Who am I? I am a generally happy person. I am a loving person. I hope that when I die, people will say I was a good person. I hope that when I am old, I can look back and say I loved as fully as possible. I hope I can say I made someone's life better.
I'm not intending to be depressing today. I'm not sad, simply contemplative. Part of it is working late for the past three days. Part of it might possibly be the two glasses of wine I drank after I got home tonight. Most of it, I'm convinced, is the fact that I'm turning 26 in a few weeks, and I'm feeling farther from knowing who I am than ever. When does this end? When will I wake up and feel secure in my own skin? When will I believe that I'm enough as I am? And does this happen to everyone?
Realistically, I know this is the Existential Life Crisis talking. I know that no one is who they want to be in their mid-twenties. How can we be? We are torn by the sudden juxtaposition of who we dream of becoming and who we have to be to pay the rent. For the first times in our lives, we are forced to face the possibility that our identities are not tied to our jobs. For my entire life, if asked who I was, I would reply "I am a flutist." Today, I don't know the answer to that question. Who am I? I am a generally happy person. I am a loving person. I hope that when I die, people will say I was a good person. I hope that when I am old, I can look back and say I loved as fully as possible. I hope I can say I made someone's life better.
I'm not intending to be depressing today. I'm not sad, simply contemplative. Part of it is working late for the past three days. Part of it might possibly be the two glasses of wine I drank after I got home tonight. Most of it, I'm convinced, is the fact that I'm turning 26 in a few weeks, and I'm feeling farther from knowing who I am than ever. When does this end? When will I wake up and feel secure in my own skin? When will I believe that I'm enough as I am? And does this happen to everyone?
Monday, October 23, 2006
Things I love
I feel like I've been kind of a downer for the past few posts. Not that I've had a bad few days (they've been fantastic, truth be told), I just haven't said anything without the somewhat unfamiliar tinge of sarcasm. Chalk it up to tiredness and me feeling a little bit like "Billy Badass." In light of that, however, I am taking a moment to rhapsodize on the first 25 things that pop into my head that I absolutely, without question ADORE.
1. When I'm in good playing shape and in performance, when everything seems to work and I lose the world around me.
2. Perfect kisses.
3. The first burst of sunshine after days of gray.
4. Fires in the fireplace.
5. Laughing so hard that my stomach hurts for a solid hour afterwards.
6. The feeling of pride after baking a cake from scratch.
7. Waking up with the warmth of a cat on my feet.
8. Tangible people-smells. I'm not talking gross smells here, folks. I just mean distinct scents that people have, the kinds that will always remind me of someone particular.
9. The feeling I get when someone tells me I made their day be being nice to them.
10. Soft T-shirts. Sweet jebus, I can't get enough!
11. And cheese. Any kind of cheese, in any circumstance.
12. The dream of my own home.
13. Really, really cold chocolate ice cream. None of this halfway melting shit. I want to have to chew it!
14. Seeing my friends become parents. It's scary and astonishing and beautiful, all at the same time.
15. Feeling inspired by people I love. How is it that you are all doing such amazing things with your lives? I feel so far behind, but I'm so proud to know you!
16. Lavendar.
17. Mmmmm, backrubs. Sigh.
18. Mix CDs are definitely one of my favorite things in the whole world. Don't be fooled by the fact that they are number 18. I love love LOVE them.
19. Lying underneath the Christmas tree and staring up at the lights when the room is dark. I don't think I'll ever get tired of this.
20. Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis, by Ralph Vaughn Williams.
21. Great big bear hugs, the kind that wrap you up and make you feel like you're protected from everything bad in the world.
22. Memories of my high school UU youth group. I don't think I've ever felt that safe.
23. Spaghetti. I swear, I've eaten spaghetti at least once a week for my entire life, and I NEVER get sick of it.
24. Fresh flowers in my apartment. I miss having a garden at home, and flowers make me feel like I'll have a garden again someday.
25. The message that my Grandmom and Granddad left on our answering machine this weekend. I will save it forever. It's just the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.
1. When I'm in good playing shape and in performance, when everything seems to work and I lose the world around me.
2. Perfect kisses.
3. The first burst of sunshine after days of gray.
4. Fires in the fireplace.
5. Laughing so hard that my stomach hurts for a solid hour afterwards.
6. The feeling of pride after baking a cake from scratch.
7. Waking up with the warmth of a cat on my feet.
8. Tangible people-smells. I'm not talking gross smells here, folks. I just mean distinct scents that people have, the kinds that will always remind me of someone particular.
9. The feeling I get when someone tells me I made their day be being nice to them.
10. Soft T-shirts. Sweet jebus, I can't get enough!
11. And cheese. Any kind of cheese, in any circumstance.
12. The dream of my own home.
13. Really, really cold chocolate ice cream. None of this halfway melting shit. I want to have to chew it!
14. Seeing my friends become parents. It's scary and astonishing and beautiful, all at the same time.
15. Feeling inspired by people I love. How is it that you are all doing such amazing things with your lives? I feel so far behind, but I'm so proud to know you!
16. Lavendar.
17. Mmmmm, backrubs. Sigh.
18. Mix CDs are definitely one of my favorite things in the whole world. Don't be fooled by the fact that they are number 18. I love love LOVE them.
19. Lying underneath the Christmas tree and staring up at the lights when the room is dark. I don't think I'll ever get tired of this.
20. Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis, by Ralph Vaughn Williams.
21. Great big bear hugs, the kind that wrap you up and make you feel like you're protected from everything bad in the world.
22. Memories of my high school UU youth group. I don't think I've ever felt that safe.
23. Spaghetti. I swear, I've eaten spaghetti at least once a week for my entire life, and I NEVER get sick of it.
24. Fresh flowers in my apartment. I miss having a garden at home, and flowers make me feel like I'll have a garden again someday.
25. The message that my Grandmom and Granddad left on our answering machine this weekend. I will save it forever. It's just the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Blargh
I feel like I could sleep for the rest of my life. My brain is like mashed potatoes in my head right now. Too much partying this weekend? Yeah, you could say that. I have started and deleted this post at least ten times, and I still have no idea what to write about. So, here's some stream-of-consciousness dribble that's been swirling around inside my gray matter.
I hope Barak Obama runs for President. Every time I hear him speak, I find myself nodding in agreement. I also like the idea of having a President who can express him/herself intelligently. Imagine the possibilities. By the same token, I hope to god that John Kerry does not run again.
Apparently John Cougar Mellencamp's Jack and Diane is following me around.
Why is it that certain days I can't seem to find enough to write about, and some days I want to post six or seven times? And why, on the days that yield several good ideas, do I never remember to write down the "extras?"
I can't get the image of Sely in Renaissance garb out of my head. I love it!
I wish it would snow. I miss the smell of the air before a snowstorm. The fog rolled in today, and somehow simulated the feeling of that anticipation before the sky opens and the snow falls. I am absolutely dreaming if I think I'll see snow any time soon.
This post is abysmal. I do not know if I'm going to be able to complete this. Maybe I should just hit the hay. This is ridiculous!
I hope Barak Obama runs for President. Every time I hear him speak, I find myself nodding in agreement. I also like the idea of having a President who can express him/herself intelligently. Imagine the possibilities. By the same token, I hope to god that John Kerry does not run again.
Apparently John Cougar Mellencamp's Jack and Diane is following me around.
Why is it that certain days I can't seem to find enough to write about, and some days I want to post six or seven times? And why, on the days that yield several good ideas, do I never remember to write down the "extras?"
I can't get the image of Sely in Renaissance garb out of my head. I love it!
I wish it would snow. I miss the smell of the air before a snowstorm. The fog rolled in today, and somehow simulated the feeling of that anticipation before the sky opens and the snow falls. I am absolutely dreaming if I think I'll see snow any time soon.
This post is abysmal. I do not know if I'm going to be able to complete this. Maybe I should just hit the hay. This is ridiculous!
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Friday, October 20, 2006
A love letter to all y'all
Yesterday I made a new friend. The kind of new friend that I can just tell is going to be a friend for a long time. I'm not sure what it is that lets us know, without a doubt, that someone is supposed to be a part of our lives, but I love that feeling. Maybe I put too much stock in the instinct of friendship, but it has yet to lead me astray. It's almost instantaneous, this knowlege, and it always takes my breath away a little bit. Those of you reading my blog (the ones who know me, at any rate) might be interested in knowing that I've felt some degree of that for each of you. I have distinct memories of each time it happens, this stunning realization that I am seeing a piece of myself reflected back from your eyes. In my post from a few days ago, I made some self-righteous comment about not needing a "soul mate." The preposterous thing about this claim is that I feel so complete when I think of my friends. You are all companions for different bits of my soul. I feel like I can rely on you for advice, that I could call you at any crisis and trust your wisdom to pull me out. I don't reflect often enough upon how completely lucky I am to have so many of you who are precious to me. You may be spread all across the country (and around the world), but you are the kind of friends that I can see once in three years and pick up from where we left off. So, last night, meeting someone who may join your ranks, I could only feel like the luckiest girl in the world. Thank you to each and every one of you for making my life better every single day.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Somebody's In-between Girl
First order of business for the day:
Congratulations to Will for the job offer! I am SO proud of you, and I am really excited to hear about your new pet insurance. Watch out, world!
Now back to our regularly scheduled programming.
The Existential Life Crisis has been roaring in full force for the past few days. I have never been an indecisive person. True, I don't trust my gut as much as I should, but I've generally run into my mistakes at full speed, realizing only months later the sheer stupidity of my actions. Recently, however, I feel paralyzed by the simplest of choices. Should I cancel my gym membership or keep it? Should I move into a cheaper apartment when my sister moves out? What do I want out of the wonderful world of dating? Am I doing the right thing by keeping a "day job," rather than playing full-time? Has the last year-plus of my life been one gigantic mistake? What color should I paint my toenails? Okay, so not so much on the last one, but the others are true. I feel like most of us are going through this right now. What is it about age 25 that seems to prompt this identity crisis? And why does it seem unique to our generation?
When my father turned 30, he had a major ELC. He quit his job as a high school band director, went home, and told my mom over plates of spaghetti that he was going to become an insurance salesman. He could work from home and make way more money in way less time. The only problem was this: My dad hates selling stuff. He'd sit in the basement for hours every day, staring at the phone. One day my mom got him to 'fess up that he hadn't made a single phone call. They moved to Blacksburg and entered graduate school a few months later. That decision led directly to my dad getting his current job (as, yes, a band director again), so I suppose the ELC had eventual positive ramifications. At least, I hope that's the lesson to be learned here.
The mid-twenties are, by their nature, an age of instability for most of us. Getting out of the fishbowl of school forces us out of every comfort zone we've ever known. We suddenly have to find ways of making friends without the convenience of sharing a major interest with everyone we see daily. Rather than being surrounded be people within a five-year age range, suddenly we're stuck with the label "adult." It's a word I tiptoe around like a colicky baby that's finally asleep; if I disturb it, I'll suddenly be forced to face reality and deal with my own discomfort. While the hurricane that has been plowing down my personal life for the past year seems to be subsiding (Please, not the eye of the storm. I've had enough.), I still feel my boat rocking, threatening to capsize at any minute.
I definitely used waaaaaay too many metaphors in that last paragraph, didn't I?
When I was a kid, I hated shopping. I still refuse to go clothing shopping with my mom. Why? Because, according to her, I am permanently "in between sizes." Clearly, we are all overly sensitive to our mothers' criticism of our bodies, but her analysis always makes me feel that there is something fundamentally wrong with me. And right now, I feel like my life is in between sizes. I'm not sure if this is just some kind of adolescent stage, where my life needs to grow into its feet (if that makes any sense), or if I just have to learn how to alter the world around me the way I alter my clothes.
I feel like this is my most convoluted post ever. I'm not really expecting any responses from the greater world, but does anyone else feel this way? Are there any good answers out there?
Congratulations to Will for the job offer! I am SO proud of you, and I am really excited to hear about your new pet insurance. Watch out, world!
Now back to our regularly scheduled programming.
The Existential Life Crisis has been roaring in full force for the past few days. I have never been an indecisive person. True, I don't trust my gut as much as I should, but I've generally run into my mistakes at full speed, realizing only months later the sheer stupidity of my actions. Recently, however, I feel paralyzed by the simplest of choices. Should I cancel my gym membership or keep it? Should I move into a cheaper apartment when my sister moves out? What do I want out of the wonderful world of dating? Am I doing the right thing by keeping a "day job," rather than playing full-time? Has the last year-plus of my life been one gigantic mistake? What color should I paint my toenails? Okay, so not so much on the last one, but the others are true. I feel like most of us are going through this right now. What is it about age 25 that seems to prompt this identity crisis? And why does it seem unique to our generation?
When my father turned 30, he had a major ELC. He quit his job as a high school band director, went home, and told my mom over plates of spaghetti that he was going to become an insurance salesman. He could work from home and make way more money in way less time. The only problem was this: My dad hates selling stuff. He'd sit in the basement for hours every day, staring at the phone. One day my mom got him to 'fess up that he hadn't made a single phone call. They moved to Blacksburg and entered graduate school a few months later. That decision led directly to my dad getting his current job (as, yes, a band director again), so I suppose the ELC had eventual positive ramifications. At least, I hope that's the lesson to be learned here.
The mid-twenties are, by their nature, an age of instability for most of us. Getting out of the fishbowl of school forces us out of every comfort zone we've ever known. We suddenly have to find ways of making friends without the convenience of sharing a major interest with everyone we see daily. Rather than being surrounded be people within a five-year age range, suddenly we're stuck with the label "adult." It's a word I tiptoe around like a colicky baby that's finally asleep; if I disturb it, I'll suddenly be forced to face reality and deal with my own discomfort. While the hurricane that has been plowing down my personal life for the past year seems to be subsiding (Please, not the eye of the storm. I've had enough.), I still feel my boat rocking, threatening to capsize at any minute.
I definitely used waaaaaay too many metaphors in that last paragraph, didn't I?
When I was a kid, I hated shopping. I still refuse to go clothing shopping with my mom. Why? Because, according to her, I am permanently "in between sizes." Clearly, we are all overly sensitive to our mothers' criticism of our bodies, but her analysis always makes me feel that there is something fundamentally wrong with me. And right now, I feel like my life is in between sizes. I'm not sure if this is just some kind of adolescent stage, where my life needs to grow into its feet (if that makes any sense), or if I just have to learn how to alter the world around me the way I alter my clothes.
I feel like this is my most convoluted post ever. I'm not really expecting any responses from the greater world, but does anyone else feel this way? Are there any good answers out there?
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