I think as part of growing up we all tend to hear the same sort of advice and platitudes about looking for silver linings and making lemonade when things are bad. Yes, I think in general you should try to find something positive from a bad situation. I think that by doing so, you are forced to try and see beyond gut reactions and emotions and change your perspective. By learning something about yourself and your reactions to certain situations, you can become better equipped to handle the next situation that comes along. Because we all know there is going to be another one coming along, don’t we?
My Favorite Mistakes
Nobody likes to be wrong. Except if it works to our advantage. Even then, I don’t like the idea of being wrong. But, since it is unavoidable all the time, here are some times in my life when I was just plain wrong and the outcomes that seemed to (eventually) work to my advantage.
Burning Down the House
My college roommate my freshman year was a good friend of mine from high school. I would have even gone so far as to say that at one point we were practically best friends. However, our senior year of high school we had a bit of a falling out and I decided that I didn’t want to live with her once we got to college. She panicked. She pleaded, and finally I agreed to live with her. HUGE mistake!!!! We don’t need to go into specifics here, but it was a bad scene (including a small fire). The result of this was that I looked for excuses to not be in our room with her. I spent a lot of time getting to know the other people that lived down the hall. The result? A new roommate and other fantastic life-long friends that I love dearly and still keep in touch with today.
The Path Not Taken- Looking Back Just Strains Your Neck
Ever see the movie Sliding Doors? Do it. Do you ever spend time thinking about how your life would have been different if you had only…..? Of course you do. I think we all do that. I think problems can definitely arise when you spend a little too much time dwelling on what might have been and not enough time dealing with what is in front of you. My path not taken is probably obvious to anyone that has known me longer than…. (Hmm, actually, I don’t know what the timeframe would be.) Ok, so maybe not totally obvious. My path not taken was marriage. In a nutshell: I was close once, but it never happened. For me, having it NOT happen was a life-altering event in itself. No one that knows me thinks the decision was a mistake. No one. Still, I have a tendency to look at it in a stripped down fashion: I wanted something and I didn’t get it, ergo failure. In the bigger picture of my life, it’s not a failure at all. It’s more of a book ending. A final period before starting an entirely new book. The outcome of that decision has been, well….life-altering (ok, so I need a thesaurus). Everything about my life is different. It was also a good lesson in realizing that what you want isn’t always what you need. I think of this every time I see a dessert menu or a shoe store.
Closing a Door and Opening a Window
Yeah, it’s a reference to the Sound of Music. Cheesy, but it was stuck in my head, so what are you gonna do? What I get out of this is that no situation is so bleak that there are no choices left and no reasons for hope. In blacker moments of my life, I have often thought the most destructive emotion we have isn’t hate or anger, but hope. Hope makes you cling to ideas or people or situations that are better left behind you. Now normally, I consider myself to be an optimist and don’t really dwell on such dark things, but hey we all have our bad days. In general, I would say that when faced with a bad situation, I seem to do a couple of things consistently: I freak out (what? You were expecting meditation? Have you MET me?) and then I try to figure out the message. What am I supposed to learn from this? Why is the universe taking the opportunity to bitch-slap me once again? I find that by looking for some sort of meaning, that I am able to see past the emotion. Not a path for everyone, but it works for me. This leads me to my final point…
Signs, Signs, everywhere are Signs
I don’t know what your beliefs are. I don’t even care what they are as long as you aren’t trying to convert me. For me, I have decided to take the path that there are no accidents or coincidences in this world. The people that come into our lives are there for a reason, things like traffic, weather, your health, your co-workers, the IRS, or whatever you think is conspiring against you, is also probably happening for a reason. Everyone has the ability to learn so much everyday from the things around them if they will only learn to pay attention. Now me, I am impatient. No really, I am. It has come to my attention more than once that I need to learn more patience. Well, I’d like to take some time right now and thank the Universe for relentlessly and ruthlessly continuing my education on that. Yes, that’s sarcasm, but there is some sincerity to that as well. I try and remind myself to pay attention to what’s going on around me. If I make a mistake, so be it. Chances are, another opportunity is coming around again for me to get it right. Don’t be afraid to fail. Be more afraid of never learning anything from it.
Final thought: A Joke for you. How do you make God (or insert your preferred deity here) laugh? Plan your life.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Anger Management- Blowing to Avoid Blowing Up
I keep a list of possible blog topics saved on my laptop. One of the topics I have is on Road Rage. I hadn’t really felt properly inspired to complete it yet, but that was before a couple of events that happened yesterday.
The first event was actually quite funny. My cube mate unexpectedly gave me a birthday present. Good things do indeed come in small packages. She gave me a small package called the Stress Buster Box. The box contained a booklet and a blow up toy: a red bat. I thought it was a little telling that someone that I have barely known 2 months bought me an anger management gift. Hmm. After thanking her, my first thought was to blow up my bat and start smacking my laptop (the client one which once again was HANGING for no good reason). I decided the wiser and probably more professional course of action was to read through the booklet instead. It actually contained practical information about anger management. I was amused by some of the suggestions, especially once I realized I was already doing some of them.
The second event happened while trying to get back to my hotel this evening. Normally, my commute is no more than 10-15 minutes. Today was about an hour due to road closures in the area because of all the recent rain and subsequent flooding. Soooo, as you can imagine, sitting in traffic and dealing with all the people weaving in and out of lanes jockeying for position is enough to make me want to turn kamikaze and start ramming into people. (It’s a rental car, right?) Instead, I found myself frantically reaching for my iPod so I could listen to Keane or Sade or even Enya for crying out loud. As I reached into my purse, I saw the Stress Buster kit. That’s all it took. I started to laugh because I could just imagine what it would look like to other drivers to see me:
a) blowing up the bat,
b) whacking the dashboard, steering wheel, etc with said bat, and
c) doing all of the above while wearing my iPod earphones and singing along to Keane or Sade, or even Enya for crying out loud. (You really can’t sing Smooth Operator and carry off road rage convincingly)
The first event was actually quite funny. My cube mate unexpectedly gave me a birthday present. Good things do indeed come in small packages. She gave me a small package called the Stress Buster Box. The box contained a booklet and a blow up toy: a red bat. I thought it was a little telling that someone that I have barely known 2 months bought me an anger management gift. Hmm. After thanking her, my first thought was to blow up my bat and start smacking my laptop (the client one which once again was HANGING for no good reason). I decided the wiser and probably more professional course of action was to read through the booklet instead. It actually contained practical information about anger management. I was amused by some of the suggestions, especially once I realized I was already doing some of them.
The second event happened while trying to get back to my hotel this evening. Normally, my commute is no more than 10-15 minutes. Today was about an hour due to road closures in the area because of all the recent rain and subsequent flooding. Soooo, as you can imagine, sitting in traffic and dealing with all the people weaving in and out of lanes jockeying for position is enough to make me want to turn kamikaze and start ramming into people. (It’s a rental car, right?) Instead, I found myself frantically reaching for my iPod so I could listen to Keane or Sade or even Enya for crying out loud. As I reached into my purse, I saw the Stress Buster kit. That’s all it took. I started to laugh because I could just imagine what it would look like to other drivers to see me:
a) blowing up the bat,
b) whacking the dashboard, steering wheel, etc with said bat, and
c) doing all of the above while wearing my iPod earphones and singing along to Keane or Sade, or even Enya for crying out loud. (You really can’t sing Smooth Operator and carry off road rage convincingly)
So, as I said, just seeing the kit was enough to take the steam out of my road rage. So I just listened to the iPod and sang at the top of my lungs until I got to the hotel.
Some of the ideas I had for the original blog included:
- Playing whack-a-mole with other cars. I think about a giant mallet coming out of the top of my car and smashing the cars in front of me. Especially when they are in the left lane and won’t get out of my way.
- Having a message board on the top of my car offering “suggestions” to other drivers. The logistics are too hard for that one.
- The James Bond car- complete with machine guns that appear at the touch of a button from my dashboard.
- A Road Rage Language and Gesture Primer- Learn how to read lips while looking in your rear view mirror at the driver you just cut off. Learn the different hand gestures used in driving. Chances are that gesture the other driver just gave you didn’t mean “Hey I like that necklace you’re wearing!” but was probably more likely something like “I’m going to rip that ear bud out of your head and strangle you with it. GET OFF THE PHONE!!!!) Wow, imagine your embarrassment.
- Who’s Honkin? –A primer on the language of horns. Tell the difference between the friendly tap as if to say “Excuse me, hate to interrupt, but perhaps you might have noticed the light has changed?” and the less friendly laying on the horn as you are a) trying to recall your deductible on your collision insurance, b) allowing the wail of the horn to act like a TV censor covering your string of expletives, and c) loudly questioning the other driver’s heritage and wondering if one or more of his ancestors were perhaps related (and then married) to each other, thus diluting the gene pool and making good driving skills a genetic impossibility. Tragic!
Fun ideas, but I suppose I shall just have to be satisfied with the red bat. Wow, it’s weird to dedicate an entire topic to a phallic shaped blow up toy that says “The Stress Buster” along the side. That’s sooo not where I thought this blog would be going.
Destination Unknown
There’s a New Kid in Town
I moved around a lot as a kid. Being the new kid in a new town and school is never easy or fun. One of the benefits of coming from a large family is that no matter where you go, the rest of your posse is there too. It may not sound so great if you don’t happen to get along with them. I think by default we knew that until we managed to make other friends, we were stuck with each other and may as well make the best of it. I think we did a fine job. Little bits of drama here and there, but overall I would count my sisters and brother and even my father as the best friends I will ever have in this life. The best part of course being that they already know where all my skeletons are buried and they love me anyway.
Wouldn’t it be Good?
With friends, it is naturally going to be a bit different. Since I moved so much, I always seemed to be saying good-bye to someone. I think it could have been very easy to just not bother to make friends at all. My perception of myself in school is being kind of shy at first. Just blending into the background while trying to size up the situation. I learned to read others at an early age. I also learned to put on a brave face and fake my way through all sorts of situations (like all teenagers, I’m sure). I also tried to think of moving as a way to reinvent myself. A clean slate, you know? I don’t think I was ever able to carry that off, but I spent a lot of time thinking about it. (Seriously, how did I NOT become an actress???)
Always Something There to Remind Me
Anyway, back to friends. On the one hand, I consider myself to be a rather sentimental person. I remember birthdays, I remember little details from conversations I’ve had over the course of a lifetime. Everyone I know has a file folder in my head. Maybe this stems back to the idea that by moving so much I always ran the risk of being forgotten by my BFF of the moment. I’ve always thought that perhaps my greatest fear (even greater than bugs and horses) was the idea of being forgotten. Therefore, I made a point out of remembering others. That kind of makes sense, right? That whole “Treat people as you would like to be treated” thing. I also made a point of finding my “Best Friend” as soon as possible after a move. I mean, who knew how long I was going to be there?
Goodbye to You
The other side of this coin is that saying good-bye sure does get easier. Maybe I just make smarter choices when it comes to friends, maybe I’ve been forced to do it so much that it has just become another item on my checklist of things to do before moving. Maybe it’s just part of the growing process and I am making mountains out of molehills. Whatever the case, I made an observation once to someone with a memory that rivals mine. I said something to the effect that I have different friends for different occasions (who doesn’t?), and generally I am juggling only a few at a time. Therefore, there was a “friend rotation” and people moved in and out of that rotation accordingly. My friend (who will NEVER, EVER be out of the rotation, I swear) has never let me forget said comment.
Moribund the Burgermeister
Yeah, so today I just turned you all into my therapists. If you managed to stay with me to the end, thanks. You just got a little more insight into me. Today is Marienne’s birthday. I could have made the entire entry today about her. However, my file folder indicates to me that while she would secretly love it, she would be a little uneasy having the spotlight. (I can sense her squirming right now) So, there you go. I diverted attention to me. (What are BFF's for?)
Oh, and here’s a game for you. Each section heading is a song title. Do you know who sings them? This last one for this section is also for Marienne. I just liked the title.
I moved around a lot as a kid. Being the new kid in a new town and school is never easy or fun. One of the benefits of coming from a large family is that no matter where you go, the rest of your posse is there too. It may not sound so great if you don’t happen to get along with them. I think by default we knew that until we managed to make other friends, we were stuck with each other and may as well make the best of it. I think we did a fine job. Little bits of drama here and there, but overall I would count my sisters and brother and even my father as the best friends I will ever have in this life. The best part of course being that they already know where all my skeletons are buried and they love me anyway.
Wouldn’t it be Good?
With friends, it is naturally going to be a bit different. Since I moved so much, I always seemed to be saying good-bye to someone. I think it could have been very easy to just not bother to make friends at all. My perception of myself in school is being kind of shy at first. Just blending into the background while trying to size up the situation. I learned to read others at an early age. I also learned to put on a brave face and fake my way through all sorts of situations (like all teenagers, I’m sure). I also tried to think of moving as a way to reinvent myself. A clean slate, you know? I don’t think I was ever able to carry that off, but I spent a lot of time thinking about it. (Seriously, how did I NOT become an actress???)
Always Something There to Remind Me
Anyway, back to friends. On the one hand, I consider myself to be a rather sentimental person. I remember birthdays, I remember little details from conversations I’ve had over the course of a lifetime. Everyone I know has a file folder in my head. Maybe this stems back to the idea that by moving so much I always ran the risk of being forgotten by my BFF of the moment. I’ve always thought that perhaps my greatest fear (even greater than bugs and horses) was the idea of being forgotten. Therefore, I made a point out of remembering others. That kind of makes sense, right? That whole “Treat people as you would like to be treated” thing. I also made a point of finding my “Best Friend” as soon as possible after a move. I mean, who knew how long I was going to be there?
Goodbye to You
The other side of this coin is that saying good-bye sure does get easier. Maybe I just make smarter choices when it comes to friends, maybe I’ve been forced to do it so much that it has just become another item on my checklist of things to do before moving. Maybe it’s just part of the growing process and I am making mountains out of molehills. Whatever the case, I made an observation once to someone with a memory that rivals mine. I said something to the effect that I have different friends for different occasions (who doesn’t?), and generally I am juggling only a few at a time. Therefore, there was a “friend rotation” and people moved in and out of that rotation accordingly. My friend (who will NEVER, EVER be out of the rotation, I swear) has never let me forget said comment.
Moribund the Burgermeister
Yeah, so today I just turned you all into my therapists. If you managed to stay with me to the end, thanks. You just got a little more insight into me. Today is Marienne’s birthday. I could have made the entire entry today about her. However, my file folder indicates to me that while she would secretly love it, she would be a little uneasy having the spotlight. (I can sense her squirming right now) So, there you go. I diverted attention to me. (What are BFF's for?)
Oh, and here’s a game for you. Each section heading is a song title. Do you know who sings them? This last one for this section is also for Marienne. I just liked the title.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Does your shape define the shape of your life?
“If I didn’t have boobs, I would run everywhere.” This comment was said to me very matter-of-factly over dinner one night this weekend. I thought it was the funniest thing I had ever heard (it was even funnier because it was said in complete seriousness). For those of you out there in the same boat (and by boat I mean bra that you could use as a sail), think about this. How does the shape of your body affect your lifestyle? I’m not talking about normal weight gain issues. God knows I don’t want to dedicate any time to that boring topic. I am really thinking more about some of the things I could get away with if I was shaped a little differently. ThreeL (my college roommate) and I talked about this for a while that night. It was fun. Here are some thoughts (fueled by wine and chocolate).
Wanna Race?
Following along the lines of her first thought about running everywhere, I wondered if having a different shape would improve my life productivity? If I were able to run everywhere (and right now that sounds damn painful), would I get more things done? Would I save time getting ready in the mornings because I wouldn’t have to spend time picking out a bra to wear? What could I do with the extra time? Get more sleep? Read more? Research mutual funds for my retirement plan? Build orphanages in third world countries? Or would I just buy more shoes?
Conquering your fear of Hopscotch
I don’t like to exercise. I would be lying if I said my shape had anything to do with it. I think I could be shaped like a stick and I would still hate to exercise. However, I wonder if I would be more likely to try some different exercises if I wasn’t carrying these things around. Would I buy a trampoline? Could I have been an ice skater? A gymnast? Maybe I would just be silly and jump on the bed? Would I be a better bowler? Have the perfect golf swing? Take up archery? A whole world of track and field events could have opened up for me.
Separating my Chin from my Waist- Failing the Pencil Test
God save me from the shelf bra!!!! They are awful. BUT, if I was shaped differently, think about all the fashions that I could really take advantage of: halter tops, tank tops (with shelf bras), tube tops, miracle bras, chunky sweaters, turtlenecks, peasant blouses, sundresses with spaghetti straps, strapless ANYTHING and on and on. Basically, all the things I have tried to successfully own and wear at some point in my life only to look frumpy, lumpy, and round. Like an apple on a stick. With no neck. And more importantly, there would be no “skin touching skin” phenomenon. Maddening!
My baby sister is currently working with the elderly. She recently told me that she has seen my future, and it isn’t pretty. Have I considered reduction surgery? Have I considered it? Sure. Would I do it? Nah. For as interesting as it is to think about such radical changes, I would never do it. For better or worse, they are part of my identity. If I have to walk around with a wheel-barrel instead of a walker one day, so be it.
Wanna Race?
Following along the lines of her first thought about running everywhere, I wondered if having a different shape would improve my life productivity? If I were able to run everywhere (and right now that sounds damn painful), would I get more things done? Would I save time getting ready in the mornings because I wouldn’t have to spend time picking out a bra to wear? What could I do with the extra time? Get more sleep? Read more? Research mutual funds for my retirement plan? Build orphanages in third world countries? Or would I just buy more shoes?
Conquering your fear of Hopscotch
I don’t like to exercise. I would be lying if I said my shape had anything to do with it. I think I could be shaped like a stick and I would still hate to exercise. However, I wonder if I would be more likely to try some different exercises if I wasn’t carrying these things around. Would I buy a trampoline? Could I have been an ice skater? A gymnast? Maybe I would just be silly and jump on the bed? Would I be a better bowler? Have the perfect golf swing? Take up archery? A whole world of track and field events could have opened up for me.
Separating my Chin from my Waist- Failing the Pencil Test
God save me from the shelf bra!!!! They are awful. BUT, if I was shaped differently, think about all the fashions that I could really take advantage of: halter tops, tank tops (with shelf bras), tube tops, miracle bras, chunky sweaters, turtlenecks, peasant blouses, sundresses with spaghetti straps, strapless ANYTHING and on and on. Basically, all the things I have tried to successfully own and wear at some point in my life only to look frumpy, lumpy, and round. Like an apple on a stick. With no neck. And more importantly, there would be no “skin touching skin” phenomenon. Maddening!
My baby sister is currently working with the elderly. She recently told me that she has seen my future, and it isn’t pretty. Have I considered reduction surgery? Have I considered it? Sure. Would I do it? Nah. For as interesting as it is to think about such radical changes, I would never do it. For better or worse, they are part of my identity. If I have to walk around with a wheel-barrel instead of a walker one day, so be it.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Keane – If Loving You is Wrong; I don’t want to be right!
I (Heart) bedwetters! Soccer Moms Unite!
It’s not easy being a Keane fan. Read any review of their music and you see many comparisons to Coldplay, Travis and Radiohead. And those are the nice ones. Some of the more unkind ones call it “Mom-rock” and “Music for bedwetters.” Ouch. I find these descriptions hilarious and while I would love for them to be very successful, I also enjoy the small venues, cheap tickets and relative anonymity of the group in the US. The fan base seems to be the on the younger side, I’d guess about 16-25 in many cases, judging by the crowds and the number of Moms there. It also means that in general the average Keane fan is very nice (or afraid of me, but more on that later).
We’re already Best Friends
I have seen Keane perform live 5 times now. In a 2-year span, that seems like a lot, right? Each show I get closer to the front. The show on Friday night had me so close that I was able to touch the singer. Twice. I had no idea I would have that opportunity. Others have asked me if I have tried to meet them. How can I explain it? I will not go out of my way to meet them. It’s the difference between fantasy and reality. In my mind, I have no doubt we could all be best friends. Reality couldn’t possible match that. And, much like actors that get compared to the characters they play, musicians are also putting on a show for the public. I have no doubt that they are somewhat different in their private life. Why would I set myself up for that kind of disappointment? Now, I can’t stop them from trying to meet ME……
Tunnel Vision eBay- Missing the bargain gene
I understand the purpose of eBay. I understand the concepts of sales and bargaining and even haggling. Understanding and practice are very different things. I discovered eBay as a place to buy Keane crap. And by crap I mean that I have a set of refrigerator magnets. I have quite a bit of crap actually, because I don’t use eBay as it was intended. I see, I want, I buy. My prices are set so high that it is rare for me to not get what I want. And I WANTED the refrigerator magnets!!!
Throwing elbows for sweat- putting a moratorium on germs
Concerts are one of the places where you can’t avoid germs and personal space invasion. In fact, you need to consider both of these as weapons in your concert-going arsenal. As I mentioned, I was very close to the stage on Friday. There was a couple that tried to get past me. (This guy had to be well over 6 feet tall. Was he really going to have a bad view from anywhere in this place?) No way was that going to happen. THIS was how close I was.....
I am not a violent person, really. My bark is much worse than my bite. (Biting is mean and spreads germs.) However, when it comes to something I have strong feelings about, I feel I am quite capable of committing all sorts of acts that would make the national news and leave friends and family dazed and confused and saying, “I knew she had a sharp tongue, but I never realized she was part Warrior-princess. She had moves that would make Xena look like one of the Solid Gold dancers.” Needless to say, I wasn’t going to budge from my spot. I think tall-dude and his girlfriend (who was VERY afraid of me) figured that out once they were caught between me and ThreeL (my gorgeous roommate from college who went with me. Thanks for having my back!).
Here is a picture that actually has me in it. The girl in green was the only one in front of me...
So, aside from the violence, the personal space invasion, and the constant presence of germs (and the ever present threat of flying sweat from the singer), I had the time of my life. The pictures taken on my phone are terrible. The website for the venue seems to post pictures of various shows, so I am hoping they will do the same for this show. There is a very good chance I will be in one of them. And, of course I will be checking eBay for the same. If it’s there, it’s mine, I promise you that. So back off.
It’s not easy being a Keane fan. Read any review of their music and you see many comparisons to Coldplay, Travis and Radiohead. And those are the nice ones. Some of the more unkind ones call it “Mom-rock” and “Music for bedwetters.” Ouch. I find these descriptions hilarious and while I would love for them to be very successful, I also enjoy the small venues, cheap tickets and relative anonymity of the group in the US. The fan base seems to be the on the younger side, I’d guess about 16-25 in many cases, judging by the crowds and the number of Moms there. It also means that in general the average Keane fan is very nice (or afraid of me, but more on that later).
We’re already Best Friends
I have seen Keane perform live 5 times now. In a 2-year span, that seems like a lot, right? Each show I get closer to the front. The show on Friday night had me so close that I was able to touch the singer. Twice. I had no idea I would have that opportunity. Others have asked me if I have tried to meet them. How can I explain it? I will not go out of my way to meet them. It’s the difference between fantasy and reality. In my mind, I have no doubt we could all be best friends. Reality couldn’t possible match that. And, much like actors that get compared to the characters they play, musicians are also putting on a show for the public. I have no doubt that they are somewhat different in their private life. Why would I set myself up for that kind of disappointment? Now, I can’t stop them from trying to meet ME……
Tunnel Vision eBay- Missing the bargain gene
I understand the purpose of eBay. I understand the concepts of sales and bargaining and even haggling. Understanding and practice are very different things. I discovered eBay as a place to buy Keane crap. And by crap I mean that I have a set of refrigerator magnets. I have quite a bit of crap actually, because I don’t use eBay as it was intended. I see, I want, I buy. My prices are set so high that it is rare for me to not get what I want. And I WANTED the refrigerator magnets!!!
Throwing elbows for sweat- putting a moratorium on germs
Concerts are one of the places where you can’t avoid germs and personal space invasion. In fact, you need to consider both of these as weapons in your concert-going arsenal. As I mentioned, I was very close to the stage on Friday. There was a couple that tried to get past me. (This guy had to be well over 6 feet tall. Was he really going to have a bad view from anywhere in this place?) No way was that going to happen. THIS was how close I was.....
I am not a violent person, really. My bark is much worse than my bite. (Biting is mean and spreads germs.) However, when it comes to something I have strong feelings about, I feel I am quite capable of committing all sorts of acts that would make the national news and leave friends and family dazed and confused and saying, “I knew she had a sharp tongue, but I never realized she was part Warrior-princess. She had moves that would make Xena look like one of the Solid Gold dancers.” Needless to say, I wasn’t going to budge from my spot. I think tall-dude and his girlfriend (who was VERY afraid of me) figured that out once they were caught between me and ThreeL (my gorgeous roommate from college who went with me. Thanks for having my back!).
Here is a picture that actually has me in it. The girl in green was the only one in front of me...
So, aside from the violence, the personal space invasion, and the constant presence of germs (and the ever present threat of flying sweat from the singer), I had the time of my life. The pictures taken on my phone are terrible. The website for the venue seems to post pictures of various shows, so I am hoping they will do the same for this show. There is a very good chance I will be in one of them. And, of course I will be checking eBay for the same. If it’s there, it’s mine, I promise you that. So back off.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Today I Miss My Grandma
I was getting ready for work this morning and letting my mind wander about various topics for today. I was steering toward gift-giving as a topic since I went shopping last night for a birthday card for a co-worker. (Happy Birthday, Cynthia!) Out of nowhere it dawned on me that for the first time in 35 years I am not going to have a birthday card waiting in my mailbox from my grandma. It was a bit of a shock actually.
So, after I re-applied my make up, I realized that this was the only thing I was going to be able to write about today. Today I miss my grandma. I wear her original wedding band almost every day. Here is one of my favorite pictures of us.
Ah well, I'm sure I could ramble on for awhile about this. Needless to say, she was very special to me and a lot of very good childhood memories and just general family feel-good stuff comes from having spent time with her and my grandfather (I have his golf clubs now).
Not to end this on a downer, but I really hate the reality of entering this phase in my life where I seem to be accumulating/inheriting things from dead relatives. It's creepy and sad.
Have a nice day.
So, after I re-applied my make up, I realized that this was the only thing I was going to be able to write about today. Today I miss my grandma. I wear her original wedding band almost every day. Here is one of my favorite pictures of us.
Here is a picture of the costume she made for me for my first musical. It was Alice in Wonderland and I was the Queen of Hearts (naturally). One sister was the Doo-Doo bird, my brother was a mushroom, and my baby sister was a sunflower. Grandma let me borrow one of her dresses (she and I could do that for many years, which I always thought made me special) and then she made my cape and big pouffy skirt with hearts on it. (I now have her sewing machine too) The best was the crown. I had the yarn wig of course made out of pantyhose and yarn ringlets that were glued to it. (It sounds bad, I know) And my crown was a KFC bucket that we spray painted gold and I glued sequins and glitter on it. Good grief, I have the biggest smile on my face like I was truly royalty. I got to wear make up (my early experience with red lipstick) and carry a scepter filled with candy hearts (which I ate during the performance, when not yelling "Off with her head!" at the appropriate times.)
Ah well, I'm sure I could ramble on for awhile about this. Needless to say, she was very special to me and a lot of very good childhood memories and just general family feel-good stuff comes from having spent time with her and my grandfather (I have his golf clubs now).
Not to end this on a downer, but I really hate the reality of entering this phase in my life where I seem to be accumulating/inheriting things from dead relatives. It's creepy and sad.
Have a nice day.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Six Degrees of Cheese Whiz- Welcome to My Nightmare
Ok, I need to take a break from the travel ranting series. Partly because I am starting to get tired of my own whining and partly because of what happened to me last night and this morning.
I had a nightmare this morning. The alarm clock of course woke me at the exact time when I would have started to panic or at least when I would have probably made myself wake up anyway. Anyone know anything about dream interpretation? I have books on it and if I had more time, I would probably include links to some sites here for you. Maybe I’ll come back and edit this later.
Now I don’t know about you, but I am generally pretty good about remembering the details of my dreams. So when I woke up this morning, I immediately shut off the alarm and then grabbed the note pad by my bed and started scribbling all the details I could recall. If I couldn’t remember the words, I went with feelings or impressions. I tried to capture as much as possible before it all slipped away.
From time to time I have dreams that seem to center around a theme. For me, it seems to be tornados and teeth. Weird, huh? Not at the same time, but those 2 things seem to pop up regularly. This morning’s nightmare was about tornados.
So to the best of my knowledge, I can remember being in a house with my family and we were packing up and moving. I remember that Dad was carrying boxes out the door. I was upstairs feeling a little annoyed with one of my sisters. She apparently had borrowed my tube of red gift-wrap for a gift she gave me. I was annoyed because now this tube of gift-wrap wasn’t going to be with all my other gift-wrap, which was already packed away. Anyway, my brother was outside on a swing set and I went out to talk to him. I was annoyed with him because he was annoyed with my Dad. I have no idea what we talked about, I just remember being annoyed.
So then we were in front of this building. I don’t know where we were. There was a huge church next door. This thing was enormous. Makes me think of the Kremlin. And it was bronze. Weird. Anyway, Dad made some comment about being careful today because there were supposed to be storms in the area and possibly tornados. I piped up and pointed and said, “There’s one right there.” Sure enough, there appeared a tornado. It started off as the traditional funnel and then it turned the same bronze color as the church and it had some sort of weave pattern to it. It then swiped past the church and seemed to latch onto one of the spires and twist it like it was a piece of taffy. The spire briefly became a statue of the Madonna (and no, not the Material Girl) and then disappeared. I could hear my baby sister scream (like I have never heard her scream before, even in pain) and say something about God, but I don’t remember what it was. Then it was just about getting inside before the tornado reached us.
Once inside this building, we looked for stairs down to the basement. Suddenly, there were stairs everywhere and it looked like some MC Escher drawing. We ended up splitting up and I went down one set of stairs alone, while the rest of my family went down a different set. (Very symbolic, I think) And I was suddenly about 9 months pregnant as I tried waddling down the steps. We all reached the basement at the same time and we weren’t alone. And I was no longer pregnant.
Bono was there. Yeah, you heard me. Bono. And he was chain-smoking. He didn’t seem particularly worried about what was going on. He was rambling on about something, but I don’t remember what. I do remember the wall-to-wall windows (in the basement?) that let us see what was going on outside perfectly. The tornados had changed shape. There were 4 of them now in a cluster. Instead of a traditional funnel shape, they looked like the glass covers you might see on a cake stand. Sort of squared-off at the top, but open and round at the bottom. And they were bronze. Sitting outside these windows in a lawn chair was George Michael. He was wearing his leather jacket from the Faith video and flip-flops, I believe. He didn’t seem too worried about what was going on either. (Maybe he had passed out) And my Dad was calmly describing what was going on as if he were narrating an episode of Storm Chasers.
One of the funnel clouds started to descend over the building. At that point, the building started to shake like an earthquake and the noise was like a freight train. There was also a lot of pressure building in my chest like the G-forces you feel when you are on a roller coaster. I think I had just screamed, or maybe just started to scream when the alarm went off.
So, now I have to try and figure out what it all means. I LOVE self-analysis, so I have been consumed with trying to figure this out. That means starting with what was going on before I went to bed. Last night I went downtown and finally had some cheese steak. I went to both Pat’s and Geno’s. (I liked Geno’s better.) You can get cheese whiz on your sandwiches. Brilliant. So, I tried those and then I was watching a CNN interview with Angelina Jolie before going to sleep. Oh, and my birthday is on Saturday. Now with all that information, here is my initial analysis.
When ordering a cheese steak, there are rules involved. To disregard them means not only no service, but I am sure some sort of public humiliation. So, at Geno’s I ordered the Wit-Out, Wiz, which means a cheese steak without onions and with cheese whiz. So, the fact that the spelling of Whiz was changed to wiz on the menu caused me to think about The Wiz or The Wizard of Oz, which of course deals with a tornado. Hmmm. (That’s where the 6 degrees of Cheese Whiz comes in.) And then the whole Bono/ CNN interview with Angelina (who just had a baby)/ me being pregnant (or bloated from the cheese steak) scenario isn’t so hard to figure out either I guess. And then there was the wrapping paper and the tornados shaped like cake stand domes that could all reference the upcoming birthday. How George Michael fits in is anyone’s guess, although his birthday is the day after mine. Isn’t this fun?
I had a nightmare this morning. The alarm clock of course woke me at the exact time when I would have started to panic or at least when I would have probably made myself wake up anyway. Anyone know anything about dream interpretation? I have books on it and if I had more time, I would probably include links to some sites here for you. Maybe I’ll come back and edit this later.
Now I don’t know about you, but I am generally pretty good about remembering the details of my dreams. So when I woke up this morning, I immediately shut off the alarm and then grabbed the note pad by my bed and started scribbling all the details I could recall. If I couldn’t remember the words, I went with feelings or impressions. I tried to capture as much as possible before it all slipped away.
From time to time I have dreams that seem to center around a theme. For me, it seems to be tornados and teeth. Weird, huh? Not at the same time, but those 2 things seem to pop up regularly. This morning’s nightmare was about tornados.
So to the best of my knowledge, I can remember being in a house with my family and we were packing up and moving. I remember that Dad was carrying boxes out the door. I was upstairs feeling a little annoyed with one of my sisters. She apparently had borrowed my tube of red gift-wrap for a gift she gave me. I was annoyed because now this tube of gift-wrap wasn’t going to be with all my other gift-wrap, which was already packed away. Anyway, my brother was outside on a swing set and I went out to talk to him. I was annoyed with him because he was annoyed with my Dad. I have no idea what we talked about, I just remember being annoyed.
So then we were in front of this building. I don’t know where we were. There was a huge church next door. This thing was enormous. Makes me think of the Kremlin. And it was bronze. Weird. Anyway, Dad made some comment about being careful today because there were supposed to be storms in the area and possibly tornados. I piped up and pointed and said, “There’s one right there.” Sure enough, there appeared a tornado. It started off as the traditional funnel and then it turned the same bronze color as the church and it had some sort of weave pattern to it. It then swiped past the church and seemed to latch onto one of the spires and twist it like it was a piece of taffy. The spire briefly became a statue of the Madonna (and no, not the Material Girl) and then disappeared. I could hear my baby sister scream (like I have never heard her scream before, even in pain) and say something about God, but I don’t remember what it was. Then it was just about getting inside before the tornado reached us.
Once inside this building, we looked for stairs down to the basement. Suddenly, there were stairs everywhere and it looked like some MC Escher drawing. We ended up splitting up and I went down one set of stairs alone, while the rest of my family went down a different set. (Very symbolic, I think) And I was suddenly about 9 months pregnant as I tried waddling down the steps. We all reached the basement at the same time and we weren’t alone. And I was no longer pregnant.
Bono was there. Yeah, you heard me. Bono. And he was chain-smoking. He didn’t seem particularly worried about what was going on. He was rambling on about something, but I don’t remember what. I do remember the wall-to-wall windows (in the basement?) that let us see what was going on outside perfectly. The tornados had changed shape. There were 4 of them now in a cluster. Instead of a traditional funnel shape, they looked like the glass covers you might see on a cake stand. Sort of squared-off at the top, but open and round at the bottom. And they were bronze. Sitting outside these windows in a lawn chair was George Michael. He was wearing his leather jacket from the Faith video and flip-flops, I believe. He didn’t seem too worried about what was going on either. (Maybe he had passed out) And my Dad was calmly describing what was going on as if he were narrating an episode of Storm Chasers.
One of the funnel clouds started to descend over the building. At that point, the building started to shake like an earthquake and the noise was like a freight train. There was also a lot of pressure building in my chest like the G-forces you feel when you are on a roller coaster. I think I had just screamed, or maybe just started to scream when the alarm went off.
So, now I have to try and figure out what it all means. I LOVE self-analysis, so I have been consumed with trying to figure this out. That means starting with what was going on before I went to bed. Last night I went downtown and finally had some cheese steak. I went to both Pat’s and Geno’s. (I liked Geno’s better.) You can get cheese whiz on your sandwiches. Brilliant. So, I tried those and then I was watching a CNN interview with Angelina Jolie before going to sleep. Oh, and my birthday is on Saturday. Now with all that information, here is my initial analysis.
When ordering a cheese steak, there are rules involved. To disregard them means not only no service, but I am sure some sort of public humiliation. So, at Geno’s I ordered the Wit-Out, Wiz, which means a cheese steak without onions and with cheese whiz. So, the fact that the spelling of Whiz was changed to wiz on the menu caused me to think about The Wiz or The Wizard of Oz, which of course deals with a tornado. Hmmm. (That’s where the 6 degrees of Cheese Whiz comes in.) And then the whole Bono/ CNN interview with Angelina (who just had a baby)/ me being pregnant (or bloated from the cheese steak) scenario isn’t so hard to figure out either I guess. And then there was the wrapping paper and the tornados shaped like cake stand domes that could all reference the upcoming birthday. How George Michael fits in is anyone’s guess, although his birthday is the day after mine. Isn’t this fun?
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Metal Tube Torture Part II (Trials and Tribulations of a Road Warrior)
Once you actually get on the plane, there is a science (well at least an art) to finding a seat that you think you can deal with for the duration of your sentence. Again, I am basing this on my current experience with no seat assignment. It has a weird kind of musical-chairs-meets-the-Amazing-Race feel to it. You line up, there is a ribbon like belt in front of each “start” line, the audio system announcing each boarding group like it was introducing countries at the Olympics (and each group does have it’s own flavor and for some reason are prone to cheering when their group is called.), and so forth. It seems that the only thing missing is the starter gun. (Probably a good idea not to have firearms.)
Since you have to get to the airport so early in order to line up, you need to take advantage of the time and survey the crowd to figure out whom you are going to need to avoid at all costs. The small kids that are currently being wound up by bored passengers looking to pass the time, the loud talkers, the complainers, the people hacking up a lung, the snifflers, schmoopy and schmoopy who just might get it on in the boarding area, the bachelor/bachelorette parties that are already drunk, you get the idea. This is what you are working with and you have to decide pretty quickly what you think you can handle and what you can’t. Of course, if you are there as early as I am and are therefore getting on the plane first (that is, after all the special groups and the entourage that amounts to at least 20 people), you need to have a strategy in place to attract/repulse candidates that will be doing time with you. (And since you can’t carry a taser, you have to rely on body language and some good old common sense.)
Even without having a degree in Math, I know from experience that the younger the child, the louder the scream and the more rows you are going to need between you. They can carry a frequency that no iPod can compete with. It can find your spine and grab on with both hands and just start shaking. I estimate at least 5-6 rows at a minimum. And, since they are going to get on the plane before you anyway, you can generally find a seat that is far enough away so as not to threaten your sanity.
Unfortunately, there is only so much you can do before you are just at the mercy of not enough seats and too much of everything else: flesh, illness, bad breath, body odor, perfume clouds, and small talk. What are you going to do now?
Throwing Daggers with Your Eyebrows (a new twist on the Jedi Mind Trick)
Look into my eyes. Listen to my voice. I am not the person you want to sit next to on the plane. (God I wish this actually worked!!) I won’t talk to you (promise!), I won’t look at you, and if you try to engage me in small talk you’ll get MmmHmm noises at best. I will pretend that the most amazing things are going on outside the window so I can act as if you don’t even exist. I will put my headphones on immediately even if I am not playing any music, or I will bury my head in a book, magazine, barf bag, play dead, or whatever it takes to make you think I am too busy (or dead) to acknowledge you. I will almost never ask you to get up so I can use the bathroom, I follow all the rules, and I will never invade your personal space. To me, I sound like the ideal travel companion. Why wouldn't you want to sit next to me? Doesn’t matter. Look into my eyes and listen to my voice. I am NOT the person you want to sit next to on the plane. Keep moving!
Since you have to get to the airport so early in order to line up, you need to take advantage of the time and survey the crowd to figure out whom you are going to need to avoid at all costs. The small kids that are currently being wound up by bored passengers looking to pass the time, the loud talkers, the complainers, the people hacking up a lung, the snifflers, schmoopy and schmoopy who just might get it on in the boarding area, the bachelor/bachelorette parties that are already drunk, you get the idea. This is what you are working with and you have to decide pretty quickly what you think you can handle and what you can’t. Of course, if you are there as early as I am and are therefore getting on the plane first (that is, after all the special groups and the entourage that amounts to at least 20 people), you need to have a strategy in place to attract/repulse candidates that will be doing time with you. (And since you can’t carry a taser, you have to rely on body language and some good old common sense.)
Even without having a degree in Math, I know from experience that the younger the child, the louder the scream and the more rows you are going to need between you. They can carry a frequency that no iPod can compete with. It can find your spine and grab on with both hands and just start shaking. I estimate at least 5-6 rows at a minimum. And, since they are going to get on the plane before you anyway, you can generally find a seat that is far enough away so as not to threaten your sanity.
Unfortunately, there is only so much you can do before you are just at the mercy of not enough seats and too much of everything else: flesh, illness, bad breath, body odor, perfume clouds, and small talk. What are you going to do now?
Throwing Daggers with Your Eyebrows (a new twist on the Jedi Mind Trick)
Look into my eyes. Listen to my voice. I am not the person you want to sit next to on the plane. (God I wish this actually worked!!) I won’t talk to you (promise!), I won’t look at you, and if you try to engage me in small talk you’ll get MmmHmm noises at best. I will pretend that the most amazing things are going on outside the window so I can act as if you don’t even exist. I will put my headphones on immediately even if I am not playing any music, or I will bury my head in a book, magazine, barf bag, play dead, or whatever it takes to make you think I am too busy (or dead) to acknowledge you. I will almost never ask you to get up so I can use the bathroom, I follow all the rules, and I will never invade your personal space. To me, I sound like the ideal travel companion. Why wouldn't you want to sit next to me? Doesn’t matter. Look into my eyes and listen to my voice. I am NOT the person you want to sit next to on the plane. Keep moving!
Monday, June 19, 2006
Metal Tube Torture Part I (Trials and Tribulations of a Road Warrior)
Let's face it. Airports can bring out the worst in people. This of course makes them a great place to people-watch. I would love to be able to pick the people that make it on the flight with me, like an episode of Survivor. I want to be able to vote people off my plane. (Like the couple sitting next to me right now playing Black Jack. Grrrrr!!!!) Evidently, Ididn't look sufficiently crazy, ill, mad, diseased, horny, drunk or any other trick I might try to get people to not sit next to me. How do you fake whooping cough, I wonder? Maybe I should buy myself one of those bird flu masks and put it on as soon as I sit down. Hmmm.. In the meantime, here is some ranting on travel pretty much guaranteed to make you think twice before going anywhere with me (unless you have small children under the age of 5, in which case I will just need to borrow one of them to board early.)
Crowded flights - Crowded flights seem to be the norm. After 9/11 and with the airlines in such financial trouble, there are fewer flights out there. It sucks. Airlines that give you seat assignments are good as long as you belong to one of their frequent flier programs. If you are flying an airline that doesn't give out a seat assignment, then you have be prepared to camp out at the airport so you can stand in line for the cattle call only to be passed up by the mothers with kids, the elderly, and all of the relatives that travel with these "special groups" so they can board before me too. I have no problem with the people that need extra time to board. What I a problem with is the "entourage" that accompanies them. "Isn't it nice that all 15 of us are taking grandma to Vegas?" (This is where I am going to need to borrow your kid, thanks.)
Leisure travelers. Nowhere to go and all day to get there. Ever notice how these people are the most impatient travelers? Really. Any road warrior is not going to be surprised or suffer a meltdown if their flight is going to be delayed. Is it annoying? Hell yes. But it isn't exactly cause for hysterics. The leisure traveler takes it as a personal affront and thinks the "squeaky wheel" act that gets them a discount on their meal at Max and Erma's is going to get them some preferential treatment from the airline. These people are dreaming. They also don't understand the concept of stowing all of their luggage when they sit in bulkhead. Apparently, they think no one is going to notice the giant shopping bags behind their legs. Or that holding everything on your lap is ok.
Happiness is an empty middle seat. I don't know if I can adequately express what kind of bliss this is. I become a much nicer person when I have an extra seat between me and the germ-carrier otherwise invading my personal space. The best is when they don't talk to you. Aren't I just a ray of sunshine? Did I mention I want to kill the couple next to me?
A lot of this venom aimed at my fellow traveler is probably coming from being only 7 weeks into a 14-week project. Or, it could be the couple sitting next to me. The lady sitting next to me is now on her third trip to the bathroom. We've been in the air an hour. I gave up trying to sleep when she repeated for the 5th time (yes I was counting) how much she LOVES, LOVES, LOVES take off. It's her favorite part. She was mildly amusing when she was trying to put her seatbelt on backwards, but I am still done with her and her schmoopy sitting next to her. They are clearly a very positive and life-affirming couple going to Vegas for a fun filled weekend. I want them to SHUT UP!!!!! (Hey, even Road Warriors get weary.) Those of you that will still speak to me, stay turned for thoughts on making small talk (and how to avoid it) and living in a popular tourist destination: profiles of people arriving and departing Las Vegas.
Crowded flights - Crowded flights seem to be the norm. After 9/11 and with the airlines in such financial trouble, there are fewer flights out there. It sucks. Airlines that give you seat assignments are good as long as you belong to one of their frequent flier programs. If you are flying an airline that doesn't give out a seat assignment, then you have be prepared to camp out at the airport so you can stand in line for the cattle call only to be passed up by the mothers with kids, the elderly, and all of the relatives that travel with these "special groups" so they can board before me too. I have no problem with the people that need extra time to board. What I a problem with is the "entourage" that accompanies them. "Isn't it nice that all 15 of us are taking grandma to Vegas?" (This is where I am going to need to borrow your kid, thanks.)
Leisure travelers. Nowhere to go and all day to get there. Ever notice how these people are the most impatient travelers? Really. Any road warrior is not going to be surprised or suffer a meltdown if their flight is going to be delayed. Is it annoying? Hell yes. But it isn't exactly cause for hysterics. The leisure traveler takes it as a personal affront and thinks the "squeaky wheel" act that gets them a discount on their meal at Max and Erma's is going to get them some preferential treatment from the airline. These people are dreaming. They also don't understand the concept of stowing all of their luggage when they sit in bulkhead. Apparently, they think no one is going to notice the giant shopping bags behind their legs. Or that holding everything on your lap is ok.
Happiness is an empty middle seat. I don't know if I can adequately express what kind of bliss this is. I become a much nicer person when I have an extra seat between me and the germ-carrier otherwise invading my personal space. The best is when they don't talk to you. Aren't I just a ray of sunshine? Did I mention I want to kill the couple next to me?
A lot of this venom aimed at my fellow traveler is probably coming from being only 7 weeks into a 14-week project. Or, it could be the couple sitting next to me. The lady sitting next to me is now on her third trip to the bathroom. We've been in the air an hour. I gave up trying to sleep when she repeated for the 5th time (yes I was counting) how much she LOVES, LOVES, LOVES take off. It's her favorite part. She was mildly amusing when she was trying to put her seatbelt on backwards, but I am still done with her and her schmoopy sitting next to her. They are clearly a very positive and life-affirming couple going to Vegas for a fun filled weekend. I want them to SHUT UP!!!!! (Hey, even Road Warriors get weary.) Those of you that will still speak to me, stay turned for thoughts on making small talk (and how to avoid it) and living in a popular tourist destination: profiles of people arriving and departing Las Vegas.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Apples and Bananas (Happy Father’s Day)
I imagine that being a Dad is hard. Being a single one even more so. Having to wear all the hats in the house at the same time had to be a thankless and exhausting ordeal. It’s easier to look back on that time now and feel some appreciation for the effort and humor that went in to raising 4 kids on a shoestring budget. With that in mind, and probably because I am hungry while writing this (except for bananas), here are some fond memories of life with Dad.
Apples in the Spaghetti Sauce
Dad was the main cook in the house. Living on a budget meant thinking outside the box when it came to food and certainly not tolerating any picky eaters. Most meals were a free-for-all (except for pizza, which was a formal affair with knives and forks). If you didn’t get in there, then you watched your brother eat it all. Pasta in general was a cheap and easy solution as far as meals go. The secret (and there were many) was in the sauce. Dad ended up putting lots of secret ingredients in food. Most of the time it just meant a liberal helping of Worcestershire and wheat germ. He also put apples in the spaghetti sauce. He claims it was to absorb the acidity of the tomatoes. We soon adopted a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy when it came to meals.
Banana show and tell
The birds and the bees talk with your kids is probably not the easiest discussion you will have to have with them. If you are trying to figure out a memorable way to do it, think about this. Dad decided to use a show-and-tell approach. One day, there he was, armed with a banana and a handful of condoms. Hopefully, I don’t need to draw you a picture here, because I have essentially repressed the rest of that day.
Omelet Sandwich
Another recipe-on-a-budget option is eggs. You can do a lot with eggs (including, but not limited to hiding the leftovers). Sometimes you don’t really have an appreciation for culinary creativity until someone outside the family bears witness. One morning while I was in college, my Dad came up to visit. He brought breakfast with him. My roommate seemed very curious about the strange baggie, so I told her what it was. An omelet sandwich. This in and of itself wasn’t really that strange. What she seemed to find fascinating were the ingredients. (She was unaware of the food policy) I told her to just close her eyes and try it. It was good, and she agreed. I believe she also asked, “Are those hotdogs and rice?” Yes. Yes, they were.
Apple-Butter-Cider-Donut
Dad was always in the mood to play games. Board games, card games, video games, he was up for all of it. He won most of the time, which seemed totally unfair, but I suppose helped shape us in ways we may not even be fully aware. (I do enjoy beating the pants off my 9-year-old nephew at Battleship and my 4-year-old niece at Chutes and Ladders.) Anyway, one of the car games we would play was SOO beyond I Spy. We would test our memories by naming something using every letter of the alphabet. I think one time we made it all the way through and back again before we quit (hence, the apple-butter-cider-donut title). I think we probably just got hungry.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad. Love You Too.
Apples in the Spaghetti Sauce
Dad was the main cook in the house. Living on a budget meant thinking outside the box when it came to food and certainly not tolerating any picky eaters. Most meals were a free-for-all (except for pizza, which was a formal affair with knives and forks). If you didn’t get in there, then you watched your brother eat it all. Pasta in general was a cheap and easy solution as far as meals go. The secret (and there were many) was in the sauce. Dad ended up putting lots of secret ingredients in food. Most of the time it just meant a liberal helping of Worcestershire and wheat germ. He also put apples in the spaghetti sauce. He claims it was to absorb the acidity of the tomatoes. We soon adopted a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy when it came to meals.
Banana show and tell
The birds and the bees talk with your kids is probably not the easiest discussion you will have to have with them. If you are trying to figure out a memorable way to do it, think about this. Dad decided to use a show-and-tell approach. One day, there he was, armed with a banana and a handful of condoms. Hopefully, I don’t need to draw you a picture here, because I have essentially repressed the rest of that day.
Omelet Sandwich
Another recipe-on-a-budget option is eggs. You can do a lot with eggs (including, but not limited to hiding the leftovers). Sometimes you don’t really have an appreciation for culinary creativity until someone outside the family bears witness. One morning while I was in college, my Dad came up to visit. He brought breakfast with him. My roommate seemed very curious about the strange baggie, so I told her what it was. An omelet sandwich. This in and of itself wasn’t really that strange. What she seemed to find fascinating were the ingredients. (She was unaware of the food policy) I told her to just close her eyes and try it. It was good, and she agreed. I believe she also asked, “Are those hotdogs and rice?” Yes. Yes, they were.
Apple-Butter-Cider-Donut
Dad was always in the mood to play games. Board games, card games, video games, he was up for all of it. He won most of the time, which seemed totally unfair, but I suppose helped shape us in ways we may not even be fully aware. (I do enjoy beating the pants off my 9-year-old nephew at Battleship and my 4-year-old niece at Chutes and Ladders.) Anyway, one of the car games we would play was SOO beyond I Spy. We would test our memories by naming something using every letter of the alphabet. I think one time we made it all the way through and back again before we quit (hence, the apple-butter-cider-donut title). I think we probably just got hungry.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad. Love You Too.
The Perfect Mixed Tape (Killing Me Softly….with all the choices)
I have tried writing this piece a couple of times now. I really didn’t think it would be such an ordeal. I love mixed tapes. It’s an audio timecapsule generally created for the purpose of immortalizing a relationship or a friendship. There is sweat and effort, and finger coordination between the record and pause buttons involved in a mixed tape.
Yes, you can do things much easier now burning playlists to CD’s. Where is the pain? Where is the sweat? Where is the rhythm you get into using the FF button to cue up the next song? I don’t know that you get the same sense of accomplishment from burning a CD. (I clearly have my cranky pants on a little tight today.)
So what kind of mixed tapes are lurking in your music collection? I only have a few left. Some of them are from friends from college. (Poopsie- I found my copy of Strawberry Fields by Candy Flip) And of course, there are all the relationship tapes. Those are always pretty funny, don’t you think? I love the drama of the relationship tape. They have themes and everything. Some of the themes I can see (and have been guilty of creating):
I’m Too Sexy Mix-
This seems to crop up as a bogus anniversay/birthday gift for the couple who has not been dating long. You don’t really want to go out and spend money, but you have to do SOMETHING and girls like that kind of sentimental crap. They like the idea that you made something just for them. Nevermind that it only contains songs that YOU like. It’s the thought that counts, right? Man, I fell for that every time. I probably still would.
We are Soulmates Mix-
These songs can probably all be found on a Time Life CD compilation. I should know, because I have them all. Secret Love, anyone? AHHH!
We've had our ups and downs but I still believe in us mix-
This is just denial about the fact that one or both of you are tired of things, but a little something is better than nothing, right? These are the songs you might hear when “talking to Delilah” or making a long distance dedication with Casey Kasem. Just sick. No pride at all.
This is your last chance mix and This is REALLY your last chance mix-
Remixes! Because you really aren’t covering any new ground here, right?
You Broke My Heart, I Want to Break Your Legs-
Kind of a cross between a Country heartbreak/ Heavy Metal rage/ Jagged Little Pill –anthem type stuff. Got that? You’re all over the place emotionally, so why shouldn’t the tape be as well? It’s called a MIXED tape.
I guess there really isn’t such a thing as a Perfect Mixed Tape. At least not for me. I would need to make one for every mood and situation. Ah Hell, playlists are a lot easier.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Wearing Big Girl Panties (avoid becoming the “crazy cat lady” of your neighborhood)
Sisters are doing it for themselves
You know what? I do lots of stuff by myself. Eating in restaurants, going to the movies, going to concerts and shows, and generally doing whatever the Hell I may feel like doing. About the only thing I haven’t done alone is going on vacation. That just doesn’t sound like much fun. Anyway, the point is, I am not hiding in my apartment instead of going out and doing things alone.
I love you, Don’t call me
That being said, I have been known to hide in my apartment rather than go out and do anything, alone or not. All clear on that? Yes, well, what I mean is, I find that I enjoy my alone time and I don’t always need to go out and find entertainment. The trick is to find the balance. Not always easy. I spend a lot of time being social for work. When I am on my own time, I find that I don’t want to be very social. So I’m not.
The Name Game
Being the new girl in town (and after a year, I really can’t keep calling myself a new girl), I can count on one hand the people in town that would be able to pick me out of a line up. This causes concern only because I feel like I should have done a little better than that in 12 months time. To be fair, I have spent a lot of time traveling. That’s why this thing is called Vegas Gypsy and not Vegas Hermit or Shut In or Anti-social extrovert (?), or something equally weird.
So, quit worrying about me. I have my big girl panties on and I’m not missing out on anything that I haven’t decided to miss out on. And I couldn’t possibly become a crazy cat lady because I don’t like cats and I travel too much to keep an animal anyway. Crazy Dust Bunny Lady might be more likely.
You know what? I do lots of stuff by myself. Eating in restaurants, going to the movies, going to concerts and shows, and generally doing whatever the Hell I may feel like doing. About the only thing I haven’t done alone is going on vacation. That just doesn’t sound like much fun. Anyway, the point is, I am not hiding in my apartment instead of going out and doing things alone.
I love you, Don’t call me
That being said, I have been known to hide in my apartment rather than go out and do anything, alone or not. All clear on that? Yes, well, what I mean is, I find that I enjoy my alone time and I don’t always need to go out and find entertainment. The trick is to find the balance. Not always easy. I spend a lot of time being social for work. When I am on my own time, I find that I don’t want to be very social. So I’m not.
The Name Game
Being the new girl in town (and after a year, I really can’t keep calling myself a new girl), I can count on one hand the people in town that would be able to pick me out of a line up. This causes concern only because I feel like I should have done a little better than that in 12 months time. To be fair, I have spent a lot of time traveling. That’s why this thing is called Vegas Gypsy and not Vegas Hermit or Shut In or Anti-social extrovert (?), or something equally weird.
So, quit worrying about me. I have my big girl panties on and I’m not missing out on anything that I haven’t decided to miss out on. And I couldn’t possibly become a crazy cat lady because I don’t like cats and I travel too much to keep an animal anyway. Crazy Dust Bunny Lady might be more likely.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
The Girl from Ipanema (The Day the Muzak died?)
So, I’m standing in the elevator this morning at the hotel. On board with me is one of the cleaning ladies with her vacuum. After the polite good mornings were exchanged, there we stood, seemingly absorbed in the colored lights indicating our slow descent to the lobby. It seems to me this would be a good time for some Muzak, which is conspicuously absent. Not that I always need music playing, Muzak or otherwise. I generally have some sort of internal life soundtrack going on in my head anyway. Do you ever notice that sometimes a song will pop into your head and it seems to coincide beautifully with whatever you happen to be doing or feeling at the time? I love that. Happens all the time.
So, I’m standing in the elevator this morning at work. On board with me is no one. Again, I appear to be absorbed in the lights making their way up to my stop on 4. And, there is no music playing in this elevator either. Since I listen to so much music all the time, the silence is very obvious. So, my internal soundtrack steps up and I end up with some fragment of a song that seems to appear in a lot of elevator scenes in movies. I decide to do some research on the Internet about elevator Muzak, which leads me to the song I was thinking of and today’s title, The Girl from Ipanema.
Apparently, this song claims to be the second most recorded popular song of all time, behind “Yesterday” by the Beatles. Interesting. And yet, I had no real clue what the lyrics were. So I looked them up. It’s basically about a girl walking past a shop everyday on her way to the beach and driving the local boys crazy because she never seems to notice them. This song is the Poster Child for elevator muzak. The movies that I saw mentioned for it were The Blues Brothers (thanks, Dad), Catch Me if You Can, and Simply Irresistible. Those were just a few. It’s a catchy bossa nova, so now I am going to have to download it to the iPod. (Now, if I could just convince my friend Katie to sing it.)
So, I’m standing in the elevator this morning at work. On board with me is no one. Again, I appear to be absorbed in the lights making their way up to my stop on 4. And, there is no music playing in this elevator either. Since I listen to so much music all the time, the silence is very obvious. So, my internal soundtrack steps up and I end up with some fragment of a song that seems to appear in a lot of elevator scenes in movies. I decide to do some research on the Internet about elevator Muzak, which leads me to the song I was thinking of and today’s title, The Girl from Ipanema.
Apparently, this song claims to be the second most recorded popular song of all time, behind “Yesterday” by the Beatles. Interesting. And yet, I had no real clue what the lyrics were. So I looked them up. It’s basically about a girl walking past a shop everyday on her way to the beach and driving the local boys crazy because she never seems to notice them. This song is the Poster Child for elevator muzak. The movies that I saw mentioned for it were The Blues Brothers (thanks, Dad), Catch Me if You Can, and Simply Irresistible. Those were just a few. It’s a catchy bossa nova, so now I am going to have to download it to the iPod. (Now, if I could just convince my friend Katie to sing it.)
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Yesterday I was a Dummy. Today....I am better.
This is my first entry. I spent some time reading up on blogging and trying to decide who to use. Looks like Blogger.com is it. I really like the Blogging for Dummies book by Brad Hill who made the topic easier to understand (duh.)
Anyway, I'm sure I'll make my fair share of mistakes along the way.
Anyway, I'm sure I'll make my fair share of mistakes along the way.
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