Lindy Hoppin' Linus

Thoughts on (and lessons learned from?) Wicked

2008-06-25T20:25:00.004-05:00

...To those who'd ground me
Take a message back from me:
Tell them how I
Am defying gravity!
I'm flying high
Defying gravity!

A couple of weekends ago, I went to see Wicked on Broadway in NYC. Brought my mom and grandma to see it, and the City, since they get out to the East Coast so seldom, living in Minnesota and all... I was pretty awesome, I must say. Though, I was a little disappointed by the second half of the show. There were certainly good numbers in the second half, but on the whole, the second half was a little anti-climactic after the first half. There was simply nothing in the second half to give a resolution that lived up to the climax at the end of the first half. Maybe I've just been spoiled with other shows on Broadway: Phantom, Les Mis, Rent, Joseph... I dunno, and I hate saying there was something about this show that I didn't like - because over all I felt it was really powerful, and did the story quite well. I just didn't fully feel the second half like I expected to...

That said, Wicked has an amazing soundtrack! I can't get the songs out of my head. And it's kind of amazing to me at how relatable the lyrics can be to life - given the fantastical fictitious world this musical depicts...

I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
and we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return...
...I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you...

...because I knew you
I have been changed for good.

Makes me think of the friends I've made over the years. Or the friends I knew in college that I just got to see again at my 5-year college reunion last weekend! :) Amazing how much people have an effect on you, huh? Or even how much the absense of people can affect you.

Or...

Something has changed within me
Something is not the same
I'm through with playing by the rules
Of someone else's game
Too late for second-guessing
Too late to go back to sleep
It's time to trust my instincts
Close my eyes, and leap...

Kinda describes the feeling of changing to adulthood, huh? How many times have I felt I'm taking a leap of faith into my future over the past 4 years since I moved to Boston? There was never a manual of how to do this thing I call life... I've just been driving by the seat of my pants and trying to figure out where I want life to go. But, this song gives you a fantastic mantra to recite with that leap of faith in the next lines of the song (after the ones above):

It's time to try
Defying gravity
I think I'll try
Defying gravity
And you can't pull me down...

But, my all-time favorite right now directly relates to my life in many ways:

Dancing through life
Swaying and sweeping
And always keeping cool...

...Nothing matters
But knowing nothing matters
It's just life...
So keep dancing through...

And that's where I'll leave this rather crazily constructed free-flow-thought post. Keep dancing through life. In my humble opinion, it's the best way to find happiness wherever you go! :)

Free-flowing bubbles of ...what?

2008-06-09T23:59:00.003-05:00

How is it that people affect us so much? And by "people" I mean individuals, groups, crowds of strangers, that random person that bumped into you at the grocery store yesterday... think about it. People are an intricate part of our lives - and as much as we'd like to be above the effects they have on us, in the end we're always wrong. We let people affect us simply by not wanting them to affect us. We let them affect the way we view the world, the color of shirt we wear or don't wear, the song we skip on the radio.

I just watched Fried Green Tomatoes for the first time in my life - and it's one of those movies that I think, after I've watched it, "how did I never see this movie until now?" Ha ha ha. Guess it's just one of those things...

It's one of those movies (if you've never seen it yourself) that hits everyone differently. Different people catch different messages from it - and I imagine that if I watch it again 6 months or a year from now, the movie will affect me in an entirely different way. But this time around, what really struck me was how many different ways people can affect us. It made me ponder a bit - how much the different people in my life affect me.

Friends: who are there whenever I need them - just a phone call away. They calm me, keep me sane, help me remember my own ridiculousness, boost me up when I feel low. That sort of thing.

Family: who all too often get neglected because "they'll always be there" - but whose opinion matters more than anyone else on earth.

Dancers: different people in the dance scene affect the way I feel about my own dancing abilities in very different ways. The way someone looks at me when I dance - are they judging me? Good or bad? Or the way a particular dancer moves - I want to emulate or stay away from said movement patterns.

New acquaintances: always make me wonder how I appear to others who don't know me well. What's their first impression of me? Good, bad, ugly? And does it change over time, or remain relatively the same?

Female friends: make me remember why I love being a woman. Help me get more in touch with the feminine side of life, especially when I forget to remember that I'm quite the looker myself. Laugh at me and my crazy boy stories. Tell me their crazy boy stories and make me wonder how they came to be a part of those stories.

Guy friends: always make me feel at home - like big/little brothers. I can sit back in the couch, not even have to talk, and get back in touch with those tom-boy roots of mine.

Good friends - guy or girl: allow me to just be. No worries of judgement or embarrassment or threat. I can be me, dressed down, goofy, nerdy ol' me.

Men: aw men... boys... guys... whatever you want to call them (in the intricate leveled system of labeling based on the very subjective process of judging age vs. maturity level to determine whether they get assigned "boy" "guy" or "man" and also tied into how well you know him: 'boy' is casual acquaintance/hook-up turned into "not sure if we're friends or more but we talk a lot"; 'guy' is a dude you like but haven't necessarily done anything with except perhaps a few dates; 'man' is a dude you're dating, but only if you're older than college-age... and those are just my rough definitions...) - why do they have such a lasting effect sometimes? Old boyfriends, who pop up in my thoughts every so often and send an embarrassed glow to my cheeks as I remember something I'd said or did and was embarrassed that he suddenly knew about it. First dates gone awry - why did they go awry? Did he not like me? Or was it the other way around? Random others - hookups, run-ins, crushes both mutual and one-sided... all seem to eventually boil down to: "hmm, what next? Anything? Nothing? What are the rules here? Do any rules exist? What's he thinking? Do I want to know?"

Haha - funny how thoughts bubble out of my mind sometimes before I even fully recognize they're there. I start typing, and POW! there are suddenly endless words trying to vie for space to adequately, though never quite thoroughly, express what exactly it is that's on my mind. Heh. Amazing how brains work, really. That one can be thinking about something so intently, without really knowing that one is thinking of it at all. And while that something is brewing in one part of the brain, 10 other things decide to run through one's head as well - all vying for position, getting conscious-thought time when they can grab it. It astounds me. Because, in addition to all of that musical chairs that's happening in my mind, it still runs my entire body - reminds me to breathe, to see and interpret and adjust. To sense, touch, taste, smell, hear. To acknowledge the air around me, the number of people in a room, gauge the feeling of said people (which gets me back to how much people - whoever they are - affect us). It also governs the way I will feel. And who knows how that happens??? Is it because of the thoughts - positive or negative - that run through my head? Or is it something else? Can I actually control my emotions simply by changing thought habits? Or is it more complicated than that? Or is it completely random? [Hmm, like this post has become...]

Ha, funny. I don't think I'll ever fully make sense of how it all fits together, no matter how hard I try....

I tried so hard,
And got so far,
And in the end, it doesn't even matter...

...doesn't stop this brain from continuing the attempts to make sense of it all, though. :)

[Happy reading? Don't worry if you don't follow - this is free-form writing if I've ever seen it... I have my doubts about whether I'll be able to go back in a week and read through it and make any sense of it myself.]

When old adages go wrong...

2008-05-15T22:26:00.003-05:00

Sure, two heads are better than one, if you’re collaborating on a project with another person. But what if you grew another head? I’m not sure that it rings true in that case…

An apple a day will certainly NOT keep the doctor away if all you eat each day is one apple.

A watched pot never boils slower than an unwatched pot. Time can be relative in some instances, but this is not one of them…

You know, the grass is greener on the other side of the fence because the neighbor just spray-painted his yard bright green for St. Patrick’s Day…

Sticks and stones may break your bones but words will ALWAYS hurt you if they’re made out of hard plastic and hurled at you…

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but Styx and (the) Stones will ALWAYS make me rock out in my living room.

A rolling stone gathers no moss. Hmm. The same could be said for the Rolling Stones, I suppose – which is good, they’d look weird with a bunch of moss all over them…

There’s no such thing as a free lunch unless someone else pays for it.

It's a fact of life that you can’t have your cake and eat it too if there’s no more cake left.

What you know can’t hurt you …unless you what you don’t know is that an anvil is about to fall on your head.

Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise unless he works the night shift.

Sure, it doesn’t matter if you win or lose, it’s how you play the game. But if you play poorly, you will likely lose.

2008-05-13T18:55:00.002-05:00

Have you noticed how Boston just exploded in color over the past week and a half? One day: grey, drab, dull, end-of-winter-y. The next: greens and blues and reds and yellows and purples and pinks and oranges everywhere! Birds chirping, sun smiling warmly, leaves fully stretching out from their buds... the world is alive with movement once again!

It's funny. This time of year has always been bittersweet for me. Generally speaking, while I love the colors of spring and the longer days and the sunshine (and even the occasional rain shower), I also grieve the loss of the winter weather, the cold days, the breath I can see in front of me, the numb feeling on my cheeks when I'm outside for a walk, the cozy feeling of cuddling up under blankets at home. Usually, this time of year, I say a sad goodbye to my winter as I gear up for another hot and sweaty summer - which I normally don't look forward to.

But this year, it's different. Maybe my perspective is changing as I gain years in life... or maybe New England has changed my view of the seasons... or maybe this year is just different...

This year, I'm happily saying goodbye to winter. We had a good run, it was fun while it lasted, but hey, it's time to move on and go our separate ways for awhile. [Until next year, so long and take care of yourself, Winter.]

Instead of dreading the idea of sweaty summer days, I've been looking around me a lot over the past weeks as Boston has exploded into an amazing spring. And it seems like the city, our whole corner of the world, has been hiding from something. Afraid to show it's face. Caught up inside itself - scared to show it's true self. Throwing on the mask of winter, self-conscious, and anti-social. Just passing the days by, perhaps even wishing it weren't so, but not able to get itself out of its reverie of despair.

And then, suddenly, one day, it woke up - as if out of a dream - and realized its real worth, its good qualities. Passed a mirror for the first time in months and saw a beautiful reflection staring back at it. And then, BOOM! A broad smile hit its face, it unfolded itself from its self-made cocoon, and jumped up to go out and play. Meet up with old friends, make new ones, look up at the sky and twirl around in the warmth of the sun and the cool tickle of grass beneath its feet. With a twinkle in its eye, it takes a good look at itself, and throws away that mask, all of those debilitatingly self-conscious thoughts, and strolls boldly and confidently down the street - smiling for no other reason than just simply to smile.

I guess it strikes me as odd that this is the first time this feeling has really struck me at the birth of spring. But I guess in the past I've always been so caught up in saying goodbye to my beloved winter, that I've forgotten to notice the wonder of spring. (It could also be that I'm still getting used to a real spring - since in Minnesota, you miss spring if you blink... here in New England, we get a full-blown spring!)

I got off the T really early in my commute home today from work... and walked about a mile and a half to make it home... smiling at the hustle and bustle of people enjoying the beautiful weather outside. I'm a big fan. I like this feeling of spring. And, [sorry Winter], I think spring might becoming my favorite season...

I just love this joyous birth of life at the end of a long drab winter!
[*gasp* - I cannot believe I just said that about my old beloved winter!!!]

Upside-...up?

2008-04-05T09:25:00.002-05:00

Ever wonder what the world would be like if it turned upside-down for the day? [So, maybe you don't, but after reading this, perhaps you will...?]

'Course, you'd still be "right-side-up" in relation to the way things used to be - to heighten the effects of the world turning upside-down so you can better appreciate the change.

What would things look like?

We'll say, for the sake of simplicity, that gravity stays relative to whatever position you or anything else is in. So, your gravity stays "down" to you, while everything else has it's gravity "down" to it (which would be "up" to you). Then, I suppose the question would be what would happen to your gravity if you touched something in the "upside-down" world? Or, likewise, what would happen to its gravity? Would it be a matter of which thing had more mass? For example, if you touched a lamp or something with less mass than you, would it yield to your gravity? And, similarly, if you touched a sofa or something with more mass than you, would you yield to its gravity? That seems plausible... though it'd be awfully weird. And then, following this vein, if you touched something of equal mass, would your collective gravities cancel each other out, making you both temporarily weightless? And you'd both just sort of float there - sandwiched between your equal forces of gravity pressing down on each other? Hmm, really odd... and totally sweet!

But, perhaps that's not what would happen at all. Perhaps, since your 'world' is significantly smaller than the rest of the world (that has been turned upside-down), if you touched anything in the upside-down world, you'd automatically change to its relative gravity direction? That'd be really weird, too - and almost eliminate the whole point of this whole idea. Let's say that this is not what happens, just because it doesn't suit my needs for this imagined world. :) [I love being able to make the rules...hehehe.]

Maybe nothing happens to your gravity or the gravity of the object/person/whatever you touch. Maybe you both keep your relative gravity. -Yeah, actually, I really like that. Okay, I'm now officially defining this as the rules for gravity in this upside-down world (minus you, who's still right-side-up).

But that's all the practical stuff. I guess I'm more interested in what everything would look like from the upside-down perspective. You know how if you look at someone's face upside-down for an extended period of time, your vision realigns itself to make that person's chin seem to be the top of his/her face? And it looks oddly both correct and really off? Yeah, imagine that happening to the whole world!!!

Pictures would realign themselves. [What would the Mona Lisa look like upside-down?]
Your favorite landscape views would have grass above and sky below. Skyscrapers would point "down" in relation to you. You'd walk on the ceiling of buildings - have to dodge lights instead of furniture as you walk. There's a whole score of crazy things that would change perspective in all sorts of cool ways! The possibilities! [Ooh, brain overload. Pause for readjustment...]

It's also kinda fun to imagine what the rest of the world would be thinking when they saw you walking upside-down relative to them. I mean, as far as they're all concerned, they never changed orientation. YOU did. So you'd be like the ultimate party-trick to them. Or a really fantastic magician. Or some crazy anomaly. -Let's be serious...all of those things would be pretty freakin' cool, right? :)

[So, a little odd for a Saturday morning? Definitely. But what else are you gonna do on Saturday at 9:00 am when you've woken up and want to sleep more but can't make yourself fall back to sleep? I'd like to see you come up with something better.]

Twitter-pated

2008-03-07T13:25:00.004-05:00

The smell of spring is once again floating in the air. And with it comes more sunshine and warm days, rain replaces snow and ice, and the world begins to wake up for another year.

It's a fun time of year. Buds begin to peek out of trees and flower beds, the sun actually starts to warm your face when it shines, and birds chirp once more. You know, it's funny. Every year, when spring approaches, I hear birds chirping for the first time since winter began and realize that I haven't heard them all winter. Every spring, it's a pleasant surprise to once again hear the chirping birds outside of my window. And it's not a 'oh, good, they're back' sort of feeling. For me, it's more a 'oh yeah, I forgot birds exist and chirp and twitter around' sort of feeling.

For as much as I like winter, I really have come to appreciate the change of seasons from winter to spring. It's refreshing, like a huge breath of fresh air. I walk outside and just have to smile - if only because the world is suddenly smiling back at me. This is the time of year when I remember that winter can be a bit of a strain, especially in the late months of winter. And I remember that Boston does seasons incredibly well.

It's also the season for shaking up romance. Relationships end, begin, move to next steps. Remember the second half of Bambi (after Bambi's mother dies and he goes off to spend the rest of his winter with his dad), when the Owl describes "twitter-pated" to Bambi and his pals? Yeah, he's totally right. And it doesn't just happen to forest animals. Humans are no different. Giddy and giggly females oohing and aahing over some guy, young males on the watch for new pretty faces. Sure, life isn't completely ridiculous like this every minute of every day, but you know you see it here and there as you walk down the street, or catch a movie, or go to the grocery store. It's the 'twitter-pated' season. And it affects all of us in some way or another. And as much as people may scoff at this seasonal ritual of ridiculous behavior, it's actually rather fun.

It's funny that it's this time of year. Well, maybe not funny "haha" - but just kinda strange that you can almost set your clock by the 'twitter-pated' season.

Oh, the equinox is almost here, time for 'twitter-pation'!

You hear people say that there must be "something in the air." And they're not all that far off from the truth, however figuratively they were speaking. 'Twitter-pation' must come from that feeling of being alive once again. The end of the 'hibernation' season of winter... it's now time to stretch our wings and see the world with new eyes... the world's waking up and feeling beautiful again - and so are we!

A sudden yearning for the suburbs??? What IS this?

2007-09-01T11:58:00.000-05:00

My new favorite place in the Greater Boston area: Watertown Square, and few blocks on each street shooting off from the Square.

Why? You may ask. You may even go on to say, "You live in Boston, for Pete's sake! Why oh why is Watertown suddenly so cool?"

And, it's a valid question. Watertown is a suburb, feels like a suburb, looks like a suburb, and through MBTA travel, you can only get to it by bus (if you're not from around here, this doesn't make as much sense to you, but anyone from Boston will tell you that that is a sure sign of a suburb).

Let me list a few things right off the bat:
1. Watertown is where I go every two weeks to get a massage from a good friend and fellow dancer. And let me tell you - she's amazing! She really knows her stuff and she's really good and giving advice and relating the massage therapy to my life (or her other clients' lives, as it were).

2. I just found the Watertown Library. Cutest place EVER!!! I'm sitting in a little bay window type thing in a wooden chair with legs on the front and rocking slats on the back. Really comfortable. Wifi free everywhere in the building AND it's way more reliable than the BPL-Copley Wifi.

3. This little breakfast/lunch place across the street from the Library. Really good food and really cheap! Friendly people, great atmosphere. I'm a fan.

So, ultimately, this boils down to and "I wonder..." moment.

I wonder if I miss the suburban life - the slower pace, the friendlier atmosphere, the cute little places."

It's a good question, yeah? [Okay, okay, it technically wasn't even a question, but a statement offered up to promote discussion. I get it, I get it. We move on.]

And I think the answer to my 'non-question' is yes, in some ways I do miss the slower life on a non-city. I say "non-city" because I don't know if I want the true suburban life back - with it's housing developments and urban sprawl and soul-sucking blandness. But a cut little suburb like Watertown? Yeah, I dig it. It's close enough to Boston, but far enough away to get away from the city atmosphere and "hurry" mentality.

Does this mean I want to move to Watertown? I don't know. Not right now. I don't think I'm quite ready yet to give up my life o' glammer in the city quite yet. I like living in Boston a lot - I like that things are always just right there, that all forms of the T are readily accessible for me. That I can walk just about anywhere I want to go. I couldn't walk to Boston from Watertown without allowing myself a good portion of my day for walk-time. But, perhaps in a couple of years - if I'm still in the Boston area - I may one day be posting to this blog from a permanent Watertown location. Who knows?

A blogger's epiphany - or, a rediscovery of the real reason I'm here.

2007-08-26T23:24:00.000-05:00

Wow. It's really been awhile since I last wrote anything. I guess you could say I needed a break from the blog world.

But why? you ask...

And it's a valid question. A question with a very good answer, too.
[Well, maybe "good" isn't the right word. More like, a very definite answer.]

Well... you say, probingly.

Right. Okay. Here goes...

I stopped because I started to feel all of this pressure when posting to this blog. Pressure to live up to the image I want people to see when they read this - whether they know me or not. Pressure to make myself believe that I was feeling a certain way. Pressure to post something in line with the way I wanted to be feeling at the time, instead of what I was actually feeling. And so, this blog became something that only allowed me to be the "ideal me" that I expect myself to be. It's a lot to live up when you set yourself standards that you can't ever live up to because they don't fit you right. I found myself editing as I typed...going back and deleting lines because I worried what x person or y person would think. At first, it was little edits - like a misspelling. And I said to myself, "Oh, but I edit emails like that, too. That's okay." But really, it was a path I never wanted to start on. I promised myself, when I started this blog, that I would write what I felt - what came out on the screen - WITHOUT EDITING - just me, raw, with no worries about who's reading it or what they think.

And that's exactly what I didn't end up doing.

As I told more and more people about it, excited as I was that I had this wonderful vault of me in my own little online space, I started writing more and more to one person or another. Or editing based on what a certain person would think if they ever read it. It wasn't always the same person. It didn't always happen everytime I sat down to write. But I created this pressure from what I thought others would think if I wrote something that suddenly didn't allow me much room to write anything.

And suddenly, I'm left wondering why I even have this blog at all if all I ever do is write what I think other people want to read, or what other people think Is "me."

It's not that I don't want people to know I have this blog, but there was something safe about the anonymity when I first created it. Something that allowed me to feel I could write the truth about what I feel - the whole truth - without the fear of being judged. We all fear that judgment that others rain down upon us. Because it happens, everywhere. Everyone does it - everyone judges everyone else. I judge other people all the time. And sometimes I have to kick myself for the things I find myself thinking about another person - remind myself that I have no right to judge him/her.

But, that's not what this post is about. Another day perhaps. For now, back to the subject at hand.

I think what ultimately did me in and made me stop posting for 2.5 months is that I found myself emailing myself blog topics that were "safe" and "neutral" to post about - that wouldn't put me under judgment - that would show me only in a certain light - that wouldn't *really* push any major buttons. And they were so boring. So not what I wanted to write about on this blog. I would sit with my fingers on the keyboard just staring at the screen - no words flowing to my head. It was like I was back in 9th grade trying to write my report on some subject for Civics class but having no words to put to paper because the subject matter interested me not at all.

So, I stopped. I couldn't do it anymore. It had to end.

Instead, I took my summer and traveled. I went to Lindy Hop events all over New England, went down to DC, went up to Montreal quite a few times. I focused on fitting myself back into my life. And I've come out on the other side of summer realizing that I miss this blog - I miss what I originally intended it to be. To quote my own blog heading: either "a portal into the complicated workings of my mind" or "just a loosely connected string of ideas that pour out of my head and ooze into the keyboard of my laptop." Ultimately, I left that for any reader to decide. The important parts of that, however, are: 1) a portal into my mind - meaning this is really who I am, just me, that's what you get; and 2) ideas that pour out of my head and ooze into the keyboard of my laptop - meaning it's not edited, it's not fine-tuned, it's just raw one-sided conversation in a way. Me talking at the screen through my fingers on the keyboard. The fact that the words happen to be public for anyone to read is supposed to be utterly beside the point.

It's time to go back to that original way of thinking. To the original purpose for which this blog was created. It's time to take my blog back for myself. And to hell with what anyone reading this thinks about me.

And tonight - what's on my mind? I'm sick of being alone.
[I've said it before. I imagine it won't be the last time I say it.]

I look at my life, and I'm really happy with it. I am, truly. I have a great job that I love. I work with intelligent people who challenge me every day and appreciate my skills and talents and who accept me as a vital part of the team. I live in a great apartment, in a place where I feel more settled than I've felt since I left home for college 8 years ago. I love to dance, and I have the means with which to pursue that hobby to my heart's content. I have a wonderful, supportive family. I have great friends here in Boston and still back at home in the Midwest.

But I don't have that "special someone" [however hokey that sounds, it's hard to put it any other way]

It's not that I can't be happy without a guy in my life. It's not that I have nothing to live for because I have no boyfriend. Far from it. I'm often the person saying I don't need someone, that I can do things on my own and be happy with who I am. And I can. I'm very self-sufficient. I've worked hard at that for the past 5.5 years (since my last - and only - real relationship). I think the feeling of being dependent on another person really scared me. I won't live my life for another person, which is what I did in that first relationship, back in college. But not now. Now, I'll live my life for myself.

And that's all well and good. Except that I sometimes worry that I've gone too far, that I've become too attached to the single way of life, that I've closed myself off to allowing someone into my life enough to create a relationship. Have I? I don't think I'm closed off. If anything, I feel more open and honest with myself than I did 8 years ago when I met my first boyfriend. I'm pretty comfortable with who I am (let's be honest, no one can say they're 100% comfortable with who they are, and I'm no exception). And each day, I learn how to be even more comfortable with me.

Fabulous. Great. Superb. Splendid.

Why can't I meet a guy?
Why can't I meet someone with whom I can start a fulfilling relationship - or even just someone I can have fun with?

The loneliness factor doesn't consume me, really. It just hits me every so often when I'm confronted with too many couples - like walking through the Public Gardens on a nice day, or riding home on the T on a Saturday night after everyone's coming home from their Saturday night dates. Walking down the sidewalk in a college kid neighborhood or going shopping at the mall. It always hits me. And not so much because I despair of ever finding someone. No, really, it's mostly jealousy. I'm pretty jealous of all these people I don't know who've found someone to be with. Whether it's someone they're committed to or someone for "just right now" - I don't know. I don't know them. But the fact remains that they're with someone, and I'm seemingly perpetually alone. And sometimes it gets a little too far under my skin. What do I do with that? I haven't got anything to work with when that hits me. I haven't got anything to latch onto, any part of that to take control of. It's an emotion I'm afraid I'm not very good at. Jealousy. It's actually one of the emotions I shy away from looking at because I see it as really high on the negative emotion list and I try to keep myself positive.

But jealousy is a natural emotion. It can't be ignored. I need to let it out, right? Need to allow myself to feel it so I can try and understand it better - in hopes of finding a way to deal with it healthily when it hits me, or at least find a way to work with it when I feel it.

Jealousy. [It's a Natalie Merchant song, and it's an emotion I'm not all that comfortable with. Go figure.]

It makes me want something (or, in this case, someone that I don't have. It makes me forget about what I do have as I suddenly have an obsessive focus on what I don't have. And, as it affects me like this, I sort of close off to the world - decide I need to take an evening to veg out and wallow for a couple of hours until I can suppress it enough to get on with life. Is that unhealthy or what? So, maybe the way to work with it is to recognize and accept when it hits me, reassess, and focus my brain energy away from what I don't have and tick off some things that I DO have - thereby skirting around that whole "need a few hours to try and get the jealousy to go away" and instead move on with life. I can't control the fact that at that precise moment I don't have a boyfriend. But I can control where my thoughts are focused, and what they're focused on.

Maybe there's hope for me yet. I'm learning to work with my world and find the happiest way to exist within it, despite all of the negativity around me.

And I'm learning that the best way to find that happiness is to just be myself, lay it raw, open the gates and allow myself to be less than perfect - because I certainly can't expect myself to be perfect - that would require me to presume that I could be perfect.

Well, now that I've extracted a moral for myself out of my own rambling thoughts... [Ha!]

Doesn't really change that fact that I feel lonely tonight. That I'd like to have someone here. But, tonight's not my night, I guess. I'll have to wait for another night instead.

With that I'll leave you. Good night all.

[Okay, I totally lied. I'll really leave you with this: FOOT!]

Stop worrying!

2007-06-21T21:35:00.000-05:00

You know what my problem is? I worry too much.

How many times have you heard someone say that? Not many...
Think I'm wrong? Read it again...

People don't say, "You know what my problem is? I worry too much."
Yeah, now you're with me. They usually say, "You know what your problem is? You worry too much."

Where am I going with this? Back to the original statement:
You know what my problem is? I worry too much.

I do worry too much. And it's not usually about anything worth worrying about. It's odd. Oftentimes, when I find myself in a situation that would be worth worrying about, I feel calm and act on the mindset that things will turn out the way they turn out and there's no sense in worrying about it.

That said, I worry about the silliest things. Whether I'm thinking too much about something I can't control. Whether I should be stepping a certain way when I'm dancing. What will happen if I don't get my laundry done on the night I originally planned to do it on. When's the bus coming?--When's the bus coming?--When's the bus coming?

I say "the silliest things" because they are, when you really think about it.

Am I thinking too much about this?
Yes. You are. Stop thinking about how much you're thinking about it. Move on. If you're gonna think about it, you're gonna think about it. If you're not, you're not. No point in worrying about the time spent thinking (or not) about it.

Should I be stepping that way when I do a swing-out?
On the surface of things, that's a valid question. But context is key here. I generally ask myself that question while social dancing - exactly when I shouldn't be thinking about it. Save it for the practice session later in the week! For now, just enjoy a night of dancing!

What will happen if I don't get my laundry done tonight?
Um, it'll get done another night. So what if you planned to do it tonight? Things change, evenings fill up, rework the schedule. It's not the end of the world.

When's the bus coming?
When it comes. MBTA buses - not the most reliable timetable. If you're worried about being late (a somewhat more valid thing to worry about, to be sure), there's a very simple solution: LEAVE EARLIER.

It's so funny, because the problem is not that I don't know the obvious answers to my 'worrywart' questions. The problem is that I can't stop them from bubbling up. The nervous stomachache comes and I can't think straight and I'm off in worry-land again without really knowing how I got there. It always takes me a minute to get my bearings and understand what it is I'm worrying over.

It's something I'd really like to cut out of my life. Maybe it's impossible to cut out completely. We do have the word worry in our language for a reason. It's an emotional response just like anger and happiness and surprise. But the silly worrying over things I can't control needs to stop. I just don't know how to stop the cycle of worrying before I realize I'm worrying.

The worst of it is, sometimes when I get my bearings in worry-land, I figure out that I'm worrying about worrying too much, and find that I'm actually not really all that worried about anything in particular besides whether I'm worrying too much.

It's like an addiction, in a way. It's so ingrained in my system, that I find I don't know what I'd do if I wasn't worrying about something. And I don't like that at all. I'd so much prefer to be focused on something more worthwhile.

So, I'm outside the norm when I say:
You know what my problem is? I worry too much.

But, hey, it's true. Now I just need to figure out how to falsify that statement in my life and get on with other things.

Changes

2007-05-23T19:13:00.000-05:00

Wow, it's been a long time. And in that time, I became an even bigger nerd than I already was (...am?). I code shell scripts in Unix all day. And I ADORE it. Every day is a new puzzle! It's totally rad. Okay, so we know that's not really all I do...I also get to play with Excel! What could be better than this job? [Okay, I know most everyone reading this will say, "Uh, yeah, I can think of a billion things better than coding in Unix and playing with Excel all day..." - but all you people who say that are just fooling yourselves. Just sayin']

But, the point of this post is not to talk about my new job. Or how nerdy I am. [I'll leave that to you to talk about on your own time. I already know how nerdy I am, so I feel no need to discuss it further.]

No, really, the point is to talk about change. It struck me the other day at JUST HOW MUCH my life has changed since this time last year. May 2006 was my first hint at relief from the hellish existence I lived while working at BES. May 2006 still had a couple in Boston whom I couldn't stand to be around. May 2006 was the last month that I could say I'd never known what it was like to be unemployed. May 2006 I had yet to ever have been evicted from an apartment. May 2006 I still lived in Cambridge, and was pining over a boy long gone who was soon to move out of the country. May 2006 I had a very different set of friends, a very different style of life, a very different way of looking at things.

It's funny how much can change in a year. May 2007: I work in an office so completely different in every possible way from BES, I can honestly say that they're polar opposites. May 2007: I love my job, I don't have need to think about leaving, and I'm excited about my prospects of growing with and moving up in the company. May 2007: I don't really care about that couple anymore...they don't affect me...they live in a different state...when I do see them, it's cool. May 2007: I look back on the last 12 months and realize that I was unemployed for 7 of them. Wow. May 2007: I have lived in 3 apartments in the last year (including the one I was at in May 2006 - from which we were eventually evicted). May 2007: I went from Cambridge to Beacon Hill, and then came back across the river into Somerville. May 2007: pining over a different boy, though oddly, this current one is also not in this country. [It's quite possible he's a hot French-Canadian...quite possible.] May 2007: I have settled into a good group of people that I'm comfortable with, and that I feel like myself around. May 2007: I feel very settled in how my life runs these days - I've found my groove, if you will. May 2007: I see things with a much more "chill" attitude these days. Things are what they are, work with what I have the control to change and let the rest happen as it will.

It's amazing to me to look back on this year. And it's amazing to me to see, with all of the changes that I've been through in one year, how little the world actually changes. It's humbling in a lot of ways. I feel a strong sense of place in the part of the world I'm carving out for myself, and yet, in spite of all that, the world continues to run - my LIFE continues to run - no matter what details change, big or small.

Last year, I was constantly thinking about how I could make it to a dance weekend, or any possible way to get me out of the city and away from my day-to-day life. This year, I love my day-to-day life, I travel to all sorts of events, I've been to Canada twice for AMAZING dance events. [Yes, that's a major feat for me, as funny as it may seem to you. It's true, even though I've lived in Minnesota my whole life, I'd never been to Canada before December of last year. When I say I was in Minnesota my whole life, I pretty much mean that literally (with a few small exceptions).]

So, with all of the changes that have occurred over the past year, I have to wonder how the next year will look. Will it be as tumultuous a ride as the past year has been? Will it be more so? Or will it be calm and give me a year of relative peace? Where will I be a year from now? Grad school? -Probably not quite yet. In a different city? -Possible, but not likely...I like my current job way too much. In a different country? -Not very likely yet, although it is true that I have been saying for the last six months that I want to move to Montreal. Or more drastic than that even: married? -yikes, that would be crazy.

Ah well, time to sit back and enjoy the ride. One last observation before signing off, though: it's funny that I measure years on the Mays. It's the 5th month of the year...not like it's a quarter or halfway through. Not like it's January or December. Not even like it's my birthday month (it's not). I guess it always just seems to be the beginning of a bunch of changes, or a really new thing, or the month that I start looking forward to big changes or big events coming up in my life. Thinking about it, I've measured years on the Mays for quite awhile now. At least since college, since we took our last finals in the first week of June. But it's possible I even started before then. Maybe it's left over from the school mentality...because May's the last full month of school before summer vacation. So perhaps it's not quite that odd. Whatever, I still think it's a bit odd.

And on a loosely related subject, I'm now totally reminded of "Seasons of Love" from Rent... How do you measure a year?

In daylights?
In sunsets?
In midnights?
In cups of coffee?
In inches?
In miles?
In laughter?
In strife?
In five hundred, twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes...?

Or...
In diapers?
Report cards?
In spoked wheels?
In speeding tickets?
In dollars?
Contracts?
In funerals?
In births?

As for me, my measures are more like:

In career paths...
In apartments...
In new roommates...
In number of dance events...

But most importantly:

In distance from Mays...

My life is meaningless without the Internet!!! (What???)

2007-03-06T18:31:00.000-05:00

It's funny how much we take the Internet for granted these days, isn't it? You don't even really realize how much it means to your everyday life until you find yourself without it for a week. And suddenly, it feels like the world is shattering down around you.

Needless to say, this recently happened to me. I just moved, and my new roommate was gone for the week. And there was a password on her Internet wireless connection, and she didn't know it off-hand. And I found myself Internet-less.

I was actually pretty amazed at how lost I felt! No email readily available. No blog readily available to ooze thoughts into at random. No way to easily check how to get places by bus/T from my new apartment to the rest of Boston (I had to find and rely on those little bus schedule pamphlet thingies...*gasp*). No way to check the temp outside or the weather for the week. No access to info about the upcoming dance event I'm going to.

And I began to realize just how much my days are structured around using the Internet. I always check the weather each morning. I generally use MBTA in some capacity about 3-4 times a week to figure out how to get somewhere. I communicate mostly through email - especially with friends across the country. I generally expect one to two business items in my inbox that I have to act on in addition to friend correspondence. When I get bored, Yahoo! solitaire is where you're sure to find me. I read an online comic 3 times a week.

And on top of all the daily/weekly uses, here's the big thing that hindered my ability to lead a normal life last week: no Google to check up on the random things one finds oneself in need of checking from time to time! A word I needed to look up - sure, I have a real dictionary...but it's packed somewhere, and dictionary.com is so much faster anyway. Finding out about the show schedule of my favorite music group - yeah, had to put that off 'til this week. I wrote my last post in Word then pasted it and retroactively posted it (changed the date to the past) to make it an accurate account of my thoughts.

I mentioned in the beginning of this post that this is pretty funny. And it is. I find it all highly amusing. Why? Because 5 years ago this would not have been an issue for me. Well, okay, that's a lie. I'm older...maybe 10 years ago at this point. [Dammit, I am old! Where did all that time go???]

Point is: it's amusing to me because I can remember what it was like not to have this wonderfully useful and fantastically convenient Internet at my fingertips. I remember when it was all slow and rather useless and when it wasn't capitalized (internet vs. Internet). It was easier to look at the thermometer outside for the temp. Or call because not everyone had an email address. Or *gasp* use a real dictionary to look up a word I wasn't familiar with.

Funny how quickly the Internet crept into our lives and in some ways took over...

And funny how relieved I feel this week now that I have my email, blog, temperature, online solitaire and web comic right at my fingertips again.

Caffeine effects...

2007-03-02T23:23:00.000-05:00

So, I’m sitting here, at 11:23 pm on a Friday evening getting slowly groggier and groggier due to my sipping on a glass of Coke.

Yes, that’s right, you read that correctly. I’m getting groggy because I’m drinking Coca-Cola. The caffeinated kind, yes [because we know that was your next question].

Caffeine does not make me jittery, suddenly awake, wired, or alert. It actually does the exact opposite. It literally puts me to sleep. I don’t often buy Coke, I never drink coffee, and I can’t really drink caffeinated tea either. You can be sure that if I’m cracking open a can of caffeinated anything, I’ll be sleeping or zombie-like within the hour.

I’m not really sure why either. I certainly haven’t always been this way. In high school, I loved Mountain Dew. Coke was an okay alternative (though Pepsi was nasty…I didn’t touch that stuff). I also got into Surge and Kick when those came out in the late nineties. Lots of caffeine. But somewhere between then and the end of my undergrad years in college created this complete reversal in the effects of caffeine on my system. It no longer gets the jump-start; instead it merely starts going into sleep-mode.

What’s funny is that this post is actually written in two segments – not a common occurrence for me. I usually will write a post all at once, since I generally post in a sort of free-flow, train-of-thought sort of style. [At least, that’s the goal most of the time.] But I couldn’t finish it…my eyes kept drooping to the closing point, my head kept nodding to the side, and my brain got foggier and foggier to the point were I couldn’t string together sentences because I couldn’t keep thoughts straight in my head. It’s so weird – such a strange sensation compared to what one would expect from caffeine. It’s like I took a sleeping pill and it’s slowly but steadily taking effect. Except that it’s not a sleeping pill…it’s Coca-Cola…the king of caffeine!

I’ve been told that this reaction to caffeine could be explained as an immediate high followed almost instantly by a huge crash from the after-effects of the caffeine. I guess that could be true…and yet it doesn’t make sense in my head because I don’t feel any high when I first take a sip of my Coke (or whatever caffeinated thing I’m drinking). But then, perhaps the crash is so instantaneous that I don’t consciously notice the initial high. Who knows?

Just another one of those oddities about life, huh? Indeed…

"I will miss..." - the Beacon Hill Nostalgia Day

2007-02-25T03:02:00.000-05:00

Moving time again. Which means that today was "Nostalgia Day" for me. The day when I suddenly miss every little bit of the neighborhood I'll be leaving. Nostalgia - such a happy, depressing, exciting, sad feeling. Completely contradictory in its emotional nature. Ha!

Today, the list ran quite long as I reflected on all of the things that I loved about living here. Here's a randomly assorted list that attempts to get all of those things gathered together [but it's certainly not all-inclusive!]:

I will miss...
- late night talks with Pete
- the confused smell of several scented candles coming from Tim's room
- the slant of my room [a good 7-10 degrees, I think!]
- having a dishwasher
- the ease of living with Tim and Pete
- my view of the two Hancock towers from my bedroom window
- free heat
- the sore muscles of the 2.5 block uphill walk followed by the 4-flight stair climb to get home each day [yes, I'm crazy]
- the quaintness of the streets on the Hill
- Charles St 2 blocks away
- a really big Whole Foods at my disposal
- Fred's Video and Mike's Movies
- the cozy feeling of walking home through narrow, brownstone house lined streets
- my 10-minute walk to the Commons
- my crosstown walks to the grocery store and back
- my favorite Borders on Newbury/Boylston
- the Starbucks on Charles and Beacon - because it has to fit into the Charles St style instead of plastering itself green
- the new Charles/MGH T-stop
- my close proximity to the BPL at Copley
- the look on people's faces when I tell them I live on Beacon Hill
- my cute little laundromat
- the new laundromat I found this morning that I wish had always been "my cute little laundromat"
- dry cleaning stores on every other corner on the Hill
- the little yappy "punt dogs" on the end of everyone's leashes
- Tim's dumpster diving treasures
- listening to the boys practicing guitar/bass/songs behind the closed doors of their bedrooms
- my showerhead
- the "secret" entrance to a part of the Underground Railroad [it's not actually all that secret, but feels like it, and certainly more exciting if it's called "secret"]
- a new path to my front door every time I walk home
- discovering odd houses, sidewalks, streets, windows, stores, speed bumps on my walks through the Hill
- the fact that getting out of Beacon Hill is easier than getting in, since the one-ways change direction at the top of the Hill
- my proximity to my favorite view of Boston from the Longfellow Bridge
- the sense of connection to historical Boston from living in and around these old buildings on the Hill
- having the apartment number "4R"
- cobblestones, cobblestones, and more cobblestones
- eager tasters for new recipes I discover and attempt to replicate [Tim & Pete]
- Tim's mom's cookies [mmm...]
- Pete's stories and descriptions of work - I will never understand fully what he means, but it's always riveting because he's so animated in the telling of them
- my little spice/baking supply shelf
- climbing the counter to get at the stuff on the second shelf of my cupboard in the kitchen
- the pleasant feeling I always get upon entering the neighborhood
- the UPS store on Charles St
- Panificio
- Antique stores galore!
- half sliding down the icy hills when leaving my apartment
- the rooftop computer room on an adjacent building on our street [complete with computer and comfy chair and desk!]
- rolling around my kitchen with my saved-from-the-garbage, $150+ office chair when I'm too lazy to stand up and walk the 3 feet across the room
- the crazy colors in the painting of a Beacon Hill streetlamp hanging in the living room
- the 3 bricks outside my bedroom window about whose whereabouts I've always been mildly curious
- hearing the things that are supposed to keep mice away constantly emitting their soft clicking in the background of the otherwise silent apartment

Oh, man, most of all...I'll just miss Beacon Hill!!!

[I love that I could have saved myself the trouble of writing the entire list just by writing that last sentence, which pretty much sums up the nostalgic feeling I'm talking about in this post...but then, no one ever accused me of being concise.]

Bubble gum and pencil shavings...

2007-02-20T22:53:00.000-05:00

Call in three months time and I'll be fine I know
Well maybe not that fine, but I'll survive anyhow
I won't recall the names and places of each sad occasion
But that's no consolation--here and now

So what happens now?
(Another suitcase in another hall...)

So what happens now?
(Take your picture off another wall...)

Where am I going to?
(You'll get by - you always have before...)

Where am I going to?

Man, job searching is certainly not an uplifting experience. The ups and downs, the back and forth, the false hopes and sore disappointments - it's a rollercoaster ride with your own life strapped precariously in the front seat, blindfolded. A recent disappointment of my own current job search put this song into my head. (Well, really just the chorus, but upon looking up the lyrics to ensure I had the right wording, the verse I included above struck a particular chord as well.)

I guess I'm struck by how so much of life can seem like a blind rollercoaster ride. Not necessarily even referring to any one area of life. Just life in general. It's unpredictable. It's exhilarating. It's terrifying. It's calm one minute and bumpy the next. It's amazingly adept at making our stomachs leap and our hearts race unexpectedly. It both makes us wish that we were anywhere but on this ride and that the ride would never end. It's hard to say whether its more fun to have someone beside us in the coaster car or whether the ride is more fun if that car is void of company - both are true at different points in the ride.

But we're never gonna survive unless we get a little crazy...

I suppose those are Seal's words, but I hear them from Alanis Morrisette on my computer. It's true, though, right? I mean, I'm going on and on about this rollercoaster ride we call life - describing it's similarities with what we know of actual rollercoaster rides. But what does that really say? That life is crazy. It's unpredictable. It's fun, exciting, and scary. And then Alanis pipes in to remind me that we need to be a little crazy in order to survive this ride we've elected to take. [Okay, one could make the argument that we don't actually elect to take the ride at all, but that we're forced into the car upon birth...but I'm not gonna get that philosophical today. I leave it to you to ponder if you choose.]

Crazy - not in the "clinical" sense. More like getting a little crazy in the way we approach life, the way we take control of certain situations, the way we interpret experiences as they happen and after they've passed us by. Really, when you think about all the stuff we go through as individuals on our own coaster tracks of life, we kinda have to be crazy to continue to travel along those tracks, huh? There are so many things happening to challenge us - mentally, physically, emotionally. Job-searching and unemployment are the specific topics that I refer to in this post, but there are so many others. Love, relationships, friendships. Pursuits of happiness - in th workplace, in living situations, in hobbies and recreation, in social structures. Belief systems. Overall health - physical health, fitness, eating right - mental health - emotional health, admitting feelings we'd rather not, experiencing emotions we're not sure we can handle fully. Man, we're one crazy group of creatures!

I suddenly have no idea where I'm going with this. I guess I started it to get the Evita song out of my head, then to rant a bit in a general way about my displeasure in the job-hunt. But it got a little philosophical after listening to that Alanis cover of an enigmatic Seal song...and now I'm searching for answers to rather large life questions...or perhaps just rambling about big ideas and thoughts that bounce around in the background of my mind. Huh. Right then... now that I really have no conclusion, I'll leave you. [Hehe, man, I hate it when that happens...]

---
Oh, the title? Yeah, I dunno. It's as good a title as any for this post, I say.

A Toast to Winter

2007-02-05T09:27:00.000-05:00

It's finally cold enough to officially dub this season winter!!!

Which means that going outside requires the 10-minute layering process to guard against the biting winds and skin-numbing cold air. It means that you can see your breath in the middle of the day. It means that the smell of snow rides on the wintry breezes - that is, if it's warm enough to snow.

I can't say that New England knows winter quite as well as Minnesota does. I have to give the winter season to Minnesotans - they really know how to live this season to its fullest. And as Minnesota is rather famous for its wintry weather (making it hard for some people - particularly coastal natives - to believe that Minnesota enjoys a warm and balmy summer as well), I suppose it's suiting that they do it so well. But I will concede that New England does its best to create the cold, icy world of winter in all of winter's glory.

For me, winter is a magical world, bringing to mind fantastic words and phrases. Numbing cold - frost - frozen - chilly - billowing snow. With these come equally fantastic images of frosted windowpanes, warm fireplaces, steaming cocoa, snowmen in the front yard, and, of course, the wonderful "snow-baby effect."

Winter creates the world of frozen ponds, rivers, and gutter puddles. Its winds whip past us as we walk, pinching our cheeks and numbing our legs through our jeans. Scarves, hats, winter coats, mittens, ear muffs, face masks, boots, thick wool socks are the costumes of the season - which people use in different combinations to create a bubble of insulation to allow them safe passage from place to place through Jack Frost's Wintry Wonderland.

The joy of winter rests in those breath vapors dancing in front of you as you walk. Its in the thawing-out feeling that comes when you get inside from the cold - your cheeks once again easily movable as the numbness leaves them. Its ice skaters laughing on the Frog Pond in the Common. Its in the "blinking red" of the old John Hancock tower signaling "snow ahead." Its hot chocolate after a good frolic in the snow. Its cuddling up under blankets while watching the cold winds dance through the night, the frost slowly appear on the windowpane, the snow billow past creating a silent shining landscape of white. Its bright colored mittens, hand-knit scarves and hats, big lumpy coats hiding their occupants inside. And its the beginning of that Christmas song:
Frosted windowpanes,
Candles gleaming inside,
Painted candy canes on the tree.
Santa's on his way,
He's filled his sleigh with things -
Things for you and for me.

It's that time of year
When the world falls in love,
Every song you hear seems to say,
'Merry Christmas,
May your New Year dreams come true!'

Winter brings a sense of childhood back to everyone - even as we feel we've forgotten as we drive through the hazardous icy roads on our way home from work. We can't help but remember the days of our youth, when we raced our friends down the sledding hills, soaked our play-clothes completely from rolling in the snow, built the best snowman on the block, and kicked up the snow in front of us as we patrolled the white slopes of our own winter wonderlands. Memories of warm soup and hot cocoa after a neighborhood snowball fight fill our heads. The inevitable need to go to the bathroom just when Mom finished the 15-minute ordeal of wrapping us up to play on the cold, snowy Saturday afternoon. Winter meant Christmas - Santa - presents! It meant snow-days from school, or "dangerously cold weather days" by declaration of the Governor if you lived in Minnesota (and I imagine in the surrounding states as well). Winter creates that youthful spirit in our adult lives as we hear the new generation laughing and running and tumbling in wintry bliss.

There's something very satisfying in the feeling of being utterly chilled to the bone, then stepping into a warm, cozy living room with a cup of cocoa and a pair of fuzzy slippers. And something so satisfying about that cold bubble that you in your warm insulated bubble you create for yourself each day. So, as you shiver slightly underneath you numerous layers, looking out across the frozen river to the snowy roofs on opposite bank, I invite you to raise your thermos of steamy cocoa, full of bobbing mini marshmallows, and join me in toasting this cold, icy season. Here's to winter!!!

Yeah, I just burned my tongue, too. That's half the fun!

[This post was inspired in part by this wonderful season, but also in part from a request by a reader for a toast to winter after reading my toast to fall. Stay tuned as the seasons change yet again and perhaps inspiration will strike again to produce a toast to the spring!]

Age limits and dating...good idea or bad idea?

2007-01-27T17:39:00.000-05:00

Should there be an age limit on guys (or girls, if that's your preference) with dating potential? Should we have a "floor" and "ceiling" age (to steal terms from the math world). In other words, should we assign a minimum and maximum age limit to whom we'd consider dating?

I know that the answer is rather complex, and rests a lot upon your own age. When you're an adult, there's a law about the minimum age, sure. But most adults would set their age-minimum higher than that law requires, so that's not an issue. But as an adult, the age range that's reasonable to date within grows a lot bigger on either side. When you're in school, the age range is generally +/- 1 or 2 years on either side of your own age/grade. But in your twenties, things spread out. All the sudden, people over 30 aren't THAT old any more...mainly because you're approaching that age with every passing year. [Yes, I know that last statement was an egregiously obvious one, just roll with me, I'm still warming up.]

I can only imagine that the age range grows even bigger when you're in your 30s, and above even.

But what is this "age range" I keep referring to? Is it self-imposed and/or self-defined? I feel like it's partially an individual thing. Everyone has their own tastes and comfort zones. But part of that age range assignment comes from society's rules. There is a society-approved "age range" for different ages of your life. In high school, college, your 20s, your 40s, your 80s. Do we feel a need to tweak these age ranges to our own liking because society has already placed them there?

I'm now going to start talking from my perspective, since I can't begin to think that I can speak for everyone on this one. I've always said that my age minimum should be cut off at my brother's age. Anyone younger than my little brother - who's 5.5 years younger than I am - is off-limits. Well, that made sense when he was in grade school. How weird would it be for me to date a 15-year-old at age 18/19? Ew. Or a high school kid after I'd graduated from undergrad? More ew.

But he and I have gotten older...meaning our ages aren't that vastly different anymore. He's reached his 20s. I'm still in my 20s, obviously. Is it still as important to keep that strict age limitation? I feel like the answer might have to be 'yes' given that he's in college and I'm not. Kids younger than him are barely out of high school. That's a little odd. But at the same time, it's not completely unheard of.

And, I've also recently looked at my age-maximum limit. I've kept it at 30 for some time now, simply because that was a round number. But, I'm much closer to 30 now than I was years earlier when I set that limit. 30 isn't old anymore (like it was when I was in college). 30 is livin' it. 35 is happenin'. 30 is no longer a good limit. And I find myself wondering if I should even bother setting a new maximum age limit. Is there really a point? Age doesn't define personality. It defines amount of experience with the world and one's surrounding environment. It gives a general sense of how much maturity a person can be expected to have (although, we all know that's not a set determination, but I won't get into that too much here).

The reasons for having a minimum age limit seem more plentiful than having a maximum age limit, I think. Especially from where I sit. Too young, and they're still in school, or can't come out for a drink. That just seems a bit young. But too old? I'm not sure what "too old" means anymore. I don't think it has a set meaning, because it would depend on the person, really.

I say this all, I think about it all, and it seems as though I'm convinced that I should keep my minimum age limit and nix the maximum one. But, I don't think I can do that, honestly. There are surprisingly mature "young'uns" and surprisingly immature older men. I feel like my age-range of old is melting like a snowman in April. Slowly, steadily, the surrounding environment makes it impossible for me to keep the firm shape of that age range, just as the snowman starts frowning and thinning and thawing - essentially blurring around the edges.

"...and in the end, it doesn't even matter."

Well said, Linkin Park. In the end, whatever happens will happen. Take it in stride, leave the rest alone until it comes. Cross the bridge when you reach it, but no point worrying about it sooner than that. You've still got to travel in the road leading up to it.

Man, I'm into metaphors and similes tonight, aren't I? Huh...

The fifth season has arrived.

2007-01-11T00:14:00.000-05:00

The answer is decidedly no. It's not winter. Not in Boston. How do I know? Nothing on the "winter list" checks out.

Let's see...

Snow on the ground or in the air.
No. Nothing. Not even a thought in the clouds. Rain we get. But never snow.

Freezing temperatures that numb your face when you go outside.
Nope. No face numbing happening here. There are times when I don't even take my coat with me. Or I leave my scarf at home. My hat and mittens rarely make an appearance. What's the point of having all this terrific winter gear if I can never wear it???

See your breath when you're outside.
Only at night. But that doesn't count because you can see your breath at night on Fall and Spring days, too. So no. This one doesn't technically check out either.

Plant life dead and brown and essentially "hibernating" 'til springtime.
Definitely NOT! I see green grass when I walk by parks in the city. There were new buds on a tree on my street this morning when I walked past. I'm taking a camera there tomorrow and shooting a couple pictures if they're still on the tree tomorrow. Someone needs to tell that poor tree that spring isn't coming for another couple of months (or at least, it shouldn't be coming for another couple of months).

Icy sidewalks that take careful poise and balance not to fall on your ass when you walk on them.
'What's ice?' asks Boston's weather patterns. 'Nuff said.

The checklist does go on. I'm just hitting the highlights really. The stuff that I enjoy off of that winter checklist. I want to go outside all bundled up in my winter garb, watch my breath as I walk down icy sidewalks that always threaten to break my leg if I step wrong, and feel my cheeks get numb from the cold only to have that tingly thawing feeling when I go back indoors. I want freezing temperatures. I can't tell you how much I miss the negative degree weather of my youth in Minnesota. I remember fondly the days when it was 30-below with windchill. Or those few days of old when it was so cold out, it was too dangerous to go outside and the governor closed all schools in the state (we're talking 50- or 60-below with windchill). That's winter. That's what I want. I realize it doesn't get quite that cold in Boston due to the ocean effect. But at least give me some single digits here! And snow. There's no snow. I think it has snowed all of twice in Boston this year...once early on in the "so-called winter season" only to melt the next day...and the second time on 12/30 when I flew home from my holiday vacation to be with my family. But again. Didn't even stay. I don't think the ground has frozen...hence the green grass and the freakin' buds on the tree.

What's up with all of this? Worst excuse for a winter EVER!!! I keep threatening to move to Canada if I don't start getting snow soon. I always say it with a joking sort of tone. But perhaps it's becoming less of a full joke and more of a thought in the back of my head that could possibly come true someday. I want snow. The only real snow I've seen all winter was in Montreal when I went in early December. It snowed the entire weekend I was there. It was freezing cold outside. And I loved it beyond all description!!!

I'm boycotting the use of the term "winter" to describe the current state of Boston. It's more like fall/spring. But we're technically between the two, so perhaps I'll coin a new term for the season we're in. Because it's certainly not worthy of the title "winter." I think I will call this season Fring.

Hmm...
Fring. I like it. Silly, ridiculous, nonsensical. Best way to describe this less-than-adequate-attempt-at-winter season.

Turkish Delight...?

2007-01-04T00:36:00.000-05:00

Wow, it's been awhile, hasn't it? I guess the only way to explain is that "I've been busy" - as vague as that phrase is... Life does that "happening" thing, and before you know it, another year has passed, you're another year older (and deeper in debt/St. Peter doncha call me cuz I can't go/I owe my soul to the company store...)

Right. So, I had a topic. Turkish Delight.

What do you think of when you read that? Chronicles of Narnia, right? Perhaps, if you're as into the Chronicles as I am, you may even have gone as far as The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, or perhaps even as detailed as remembering this as the candy that Edmund asks the White Witch for during his first visit to Narnia. I haven't ever run into anyone that's ever actually had any. Most of my life, I thought it was a figment of imagination...a food conjured up for purposes of the story that C.S. Lewis was telling in The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. But, it turns out, Turkish Delight is real. It actually does exist, and there's some sitting next to me on the table as I type this.

I came home from the dance tonight (a very fun time at MIT, may I say, but that's a different topic entirely, and we all know I'm working on not digressing quite as much as I normally do...), and my roommate had made a pile of all of the candy and sweets he brought home with him from the holidays spent with family. At the top of the stack was this box of candy labeled "Apricot, Almond & Honey Turkish Delight."

What? Turkish Delight? said I. And I quickly got myself into that box to see what it actually looks like and, more to the point, what it actually tastes like.

And let me say: it's delicious. Quite the perfect thing to use as the enchanted food that the White Witch uses in The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe to ensnare Edmund into her little trap. It's a cube of sugary, gooey goodness covered in powdered sugar (or flour? no, most likely powdered sugar...more sugar that way). It's so incredibliy rich and sweet...there's no way I could have eaten more than one!

I love how gushing this post is...all about this candy that until very recently I didn't think truly existed. It doesn't really get to any real point or conclusion. Just a statement of fact. Maybe that's all it really needs, huh?

Turkish Delight: it's real and it tastes fabulous!

[...and now back to our regularly scheduled program...]

What popped into my head at 6:00 pm on a Thursday evening...

2006-12-07T17:56:00.000-05:00

Lilting
Animated
Undulations of
Grand
Humorous
Sounds

Simple
Movement
Implying
Light-hearted
Ecstasy

Honest
Aura
Predominantly
Preoccupied
In
Neatly
Exemplifying
Simple
Serenity

Montreal

2006-12-05T01:26:00.000-05:00

I'm in love with a new city. Okay, that's not precisely true. I should say I'm in love with a new dance scene...because really, I don't actually know the city of Montreal all that well. Just the few blocks I explored during my brief stay.
[But I'm rambling. And though we all know I'm prone to do that, perhaps I should at least attempt to stay on topic for the first part of the post.]

I went to Montreal this past weekend with two good friends of mine from the New England swing scene for a workshop weekend called Montreal Smackdown. And it was such a cool experience! The Montreal dancers are spectacular. The dancers from other parts of Canada are also spectacular. And we had amazing workshops with Skye and Frida. [Alright, if you're not a dancer, you won't understand the connotation of saying "workshops with Skye and Frida." And because this saddens me greatly that you may not understand, you should definitely Google them (please! if only to humor me! stop reading and go type them into Google right now!) and see how spectacular these two Lindy Hoppers are!!]

Okay, enough of the blubbering about the great dancing and great workshops and all that. Put some meat in this post already - you say, rolling your eyes a little (since statistically speaking, you are probably not a dancer, and so alas, you just don't know why all this "blubbering" is happening).

Well, I'm not done with the "great dancing and great workshops and all that." So there. Deal with me. [Hehehe...]

We got workshops that dealt with technique in Lindy and Charleston. We got workshops that gave us ideas on how to improve connection with each partner we dance with on the social dance floor. And we got theory. Lovely, lovely Lindy theory. Sunday was much less dancing and trying out moves that Skye and Frida showed us, and more about their philosophy of dance.

And I must say that the theory part of the weekend made these workshops even more worth it than they already would have been sans Lindy theory - Skye and Frida style. I'm really into theory, it turns out. My life revolves around theory. I tend to see things from two perspectives: theory and application. This may seem a little odd...and a little hard to wrap your brain around, so let me attempt to explain. I am very much a reflective thinker [haha, if you've read the rest of my blog, I'm sure you picked up on that fact already]. And to me, that reflective thinking leads to my own personal theory on life. If you think of that "theory of life" created through my thoughts and everyday musings as an ongoing draft of some overarching document to describe NINA, then you could say that through my daily reflections and random musings, I add things, I cross things out and rewrite them, I acquire knew knowledge to test against existing sub-theories, I update old and worn-out lines of thinking with new strands that I pick up from other people and other experiences. On the other hand, my everyday experiences and adventures (and what-have-you) are the application of my life in the world. They represent the applied side of things. The things I do. The things I have done. Actions, verbs in my life.

But, through all of this thinking and revising of the document stored in my brain, as well as the everyday elements of the applied side of life, I have come to realize that I don't actually understand something until I can connect the theory with the application. And this, alas, is where the explanation can get a little confusing. Let me give you an example. I used to have quite a hard time keeping track of my money (don't we all at this age?) and for the longest time I couldn't figure out why. I thought a lot about what I'd been taught, and what I liked and didn't like about the system I'd been taught. But when it came down to it, I was still living paycheck to paycheck, and really only thinking about the budget I continued to try and set up for myself. Somehow, the connection between theory and reality wasn't happening. It recently dawned on me what it actually means to budget your money and know where it comes from and where it goes. The connection between my theory and application finally got created...meaning that I have a reason to which I can relate for budgeting and keeping track of my money.

And that's the essence of this whole divide. I have trouble doing things for which I don't have a good reason. If I don't know the theory/reason behind something, then I won't fully get a grasp of why it's important or why I have to do it. Thus, I also probably won't do it all that well. So, I try to live for that connection. I will only truly learn something, only truly do something well, if I have a reason - or theory behind why I'm doing it.

This all, I believe, comes from my math major in undergrad. I was a strict math theorist. I wanted theory, theory, and more theory. I wanted to know why. I hated Calculus because I could never get a full answer to all of the "why" questions I asked my teachers. My experience with Calculus often led me, time after time, into situations where my teachers/professors would tell me that they couldn't tell me why because I didn't know enough higher level mathematics. I really think that that's ultimately what drove me to become a math major in the end. I wanted, craved even, those answers to all of my "why"s. [To give you the quick end of the Calculus story, I did end up liking it once I took Real Analysis, which essentially goes back and proves/explains the math involved in the complicated world of Calculus...to a point that allowed me to satisfy all of those "why" questions of old.]

On the other hand, while I loved my math theory, I never got through Physics. It's a sad thing, really. I always wanted to learn Physics, but it never quite made sense to me. The equations used for different physical systems in my Physics classes always seemed so random to me. I never understood why an equation was used for this particular system, or that particular function. It seems so odd that I was a math major but never finished 100 level Physics in college, I suppose. But it hits right at the heart of my "theory vs. application" divide in my brain. My math major was theory. Reasons why. Almost like a history of this equation and that function and this branch of math and that mathematical result. Physics is a pretty direct application of Calculus. It just never linked back to the theory I learned through my math major. I couldn't attach reasons why to all of the equations I was asked to learn and use for the Physics I was learning in class and in lab.

[Right, so remember how I mentioned earlier that I'm prone to rambling...or in this case, going off on tangents? Yeah. Case in point.]

Anywho. So. I have this "theory vs. application" divide in my brain. And I've found over the years that I've been dancing Lindy that I learn movements and steps much better when I have a reason for doing them. A theory to back them up, if you will. [Why yes, indeed I will.]

So, recently, I've really started to develop my own theory of the dance. What does Lindy mean to me? Why do I step here, or move this way, or turn that way? What makes a swing-out work? What makes it feel good (or bad)? And on that vein: what does Charleston mean to me? What are the mechanics involved with that dance and how do they differ from Lindy Hop? How are they similar? What makes a Charleston dance look good (or bad)? And so on...

Thus (whoo! back on topic!), I loved listening to Skye and Frida talk about their theories of the dance. It solidified in my mind the movements we'd learned in the workshops and really sorted out the things they were saying about each movement into a clear reason-based articulation of each step and weight-shift and body placement. And I find myself becoming a better dancer each time I connect more theory with the application of the dance movements I've learned and styled and danced over the years.

[I just realized that I actually didn't get fully back on the topic I originally started writing about. I was trying to talk about how much I love the Montreal dance scene. And I ended up not quite hitting the mark. I was close: talking about Montreal Smackdown and why I liked it so much. But alas, fell short of giving my reasons for loving this scene so much. Apparently I had other things on the brain than simply raving about the spectacular Montreal swing scene. Oh well. Get to know me well enough, and you'll find I'm a master at making this sort of thing happen. Start on one train of thought, end up somewhere else...could be near my original aim, or could be way off on a different target block entirely!

I will say, however, that I truly enjoyed my brief stint in Montreal because everything is in French there! Signs, conversations, food labels, everything! (Duh, you say, it's in Quebec...) It was just so exciting to be once again among French speakers. I was infatuated with France when I went during my senior year of high school, and a lot of that infatuation had to do with the actual language of French existing all around me. So Quebec/Montreal really reminded me of that. And I ate it up! I completely fell in love with the feeling of being in a French-speaking city again.]

Phi!!!

2006-11-25T21:26:00.000-05:00

I found the number phi in Boston Common the other day while wandering the city of Boston on a lovely Friday afternoon and strategically trying to avoiding the Black Friday crowds. [Not quite sure it worked...but that's an entirely different topic.]

I was walking past the Visitors' Center on the Tremont St side of the park, and happened to glance up at the sculptures that border the little circle in front of the Visitors' Center building. I was face-to-face with the one entitled Industry. And what do you suppose the man in the sculpture was working on? A dodecahedron!!! [Not sure what a dodecahedron looks like? Click here for a good picture and description.]

Who would have thought I would find such a fabulous polyhedron just hanging out in a sculpture in the middle of the city of Boston?

I suppose, however, that I should give a brief explanation of phi and it's link to the dodecahedron. I recently finished reading The Golden Ratio: the Story of Phi, the World's Most Astonishing Number, by Mario Livio, so the explanation is quite fresh in my mind. [And it's actually quite a simple relationship, without a lot of bells and whistles. The amazing properties of the number phi make the number infinitely cooler than it may sound here. Look it up, it's fabulous!]

The diagonals of a regular pentagon (all sides of the same length, all angles equal to 108 degrees) cut each other in what Euclid defined as an "extreme and mean ratio" (which later became known as the Golden Ratio or the number phi, equal to 1.61803399...). Thus, you would use phi in the geometric construction of a regular pentagon. The dodecahedron is a twelve-sided object whose twelve faces are all regular pentagons. The number phi is literally bursting out of the dodecahedron from every side!

And I suddenly feel quite a different connection with the Common because of this find. The Common is suddenly connected much more to my world of mathematical images and patterns and structures. I love seeing geometrical structures in architecture as I wander the streets of Boston and Cambridge. I pick out patterns in just about anything that can be formed into a pattern (including random patterns in asphalt, brick, cobblestones, etc.). And I love bumping into shapes and 3D geometrical objects in unexpected places when it's obvious someone explicitly put them there (in other words, not by natural causes - there was a plan for the placement of said shape or object).

I find it fascinating that a familiar place can change so drastically depending on the perspective with which I'm looking at it. Day vs. night, time of year, other people dwelling there, personal circumstances and moods. All of these affect one's view of a place. And it changes its appearance, feel, scent, sound, mood with these different perspectives. But, with all of that, a place can take on a whole new meaning to me with one little discovery. Truly amazing...

P.S. - Some of my favorite properties of this fabulous number phi are:
- [phi]^2=[phi]+1 (phi squared equals phi plus one)
- 1/[phi]=[phi]-1 (one over phi equals phi minus one)
- the Fibonacci numbers are intricately related to phi
- phi is found in the pattern of placement for a rose's petals, a sunflower's seeds, a fern's leaves, and a nautilus's chambers on it's shell
- other places that phi pops up: the pentagon, the pentagram (a regular star: the diagonals of a pentagon), the icosahedron (pretty much the "opposite" geometrical object of the dodecahedron), Penrose tilings, quasi-crystals...the list can go on and on...

Seriously. Look it up. It's a truly remarkable number!

What is Thanksgiving anyway? And why is it such a big deal?

2006-11-19T21:45:00.000-05:00

Why is Thanksgiving such a big deal? I mean, I know the philosophy and the old stories behind why it's supposed to be a big deal. But what has the holiday really become? I guess that's more what my question is.

It just seems to me that the holiday has become massive amounts of food (almost a competition for who can have more at their table and who can eat more of it at the table), and family politics, and huge amounts of food prep time, and sore bellies after the gorge-fest of dinner.

And of course, just like any other holiday in America, I we have to go through all the motions and hubbub and hoopla because it's a holiday and that's what people do. On New Year's we party all night and look for someone to kiss. On Halloween, we dress up and go door-to-door in our neighborhoods hoping to fill a bucket with candy and sweets and things. On St. Patrick's Day, we get roaring drunk on green beer, hopefully at Irish pubs (especially if you're in Boston). On Easter we search for baskets and dye eggs. On Christmas we give presents and sing carols and all that jazz. [I should, of course, make a shout out to holidays associated with other religions, but seeing as I don't know the customs of those holidays, I won't dig myself a hole by trying to inadequately describe "expected behaviors" of those holidays. I speak merely from my own experience, and I apologize for leaving out things I don't know enough about to include in my list.]

My beef, of course, is with Thanksgiving, so I will focus on this holiday in particular. But be sure that I do feel that question should apply to all of the major holidays of the year. (At least, in America, I can't speak for cultures in other countries since I don't belong to those societies.)

Thanksgiving. What are we supposed to do on Thanksgiving? Eat. And eat some more. And eat some more. We must have a huge turkey. And that turkey has to be roasted all day so that the whole house/apartment smells like turkey. We have to have lots and lots of side dishes to go along with this turkey, too. Obviously every family may have their own idiosyncratic additions to the side dish menu, but the required list includes stuffing (i.e. Stove Top, as my family used to say - kinda like "Kleenex" is used as the official term for a tissue with which one blows one's nose), mashed potatoes (in huge heaping mountains), sweet potatoes/yams with brown sugar and marshmallows on top, corn, green beans (perhaps the variation of green bean casserole substituted for plain old stand-alone green beans), gravy made from turkey giblets, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie. And we have to all fit at an enormous table set with the good dishes and the nice wine glasses (red and white wine must be served) - well, all except for the children, who are to sit at the smaller kids table (most often a card table) either next to the main table or nearby but in the next room.

And then, we must eat. We are required to take seconds; thirds are optional but highly encouraged after letting the firsts and seconds sit for a bit to digest a little.

Now, you may read this and think I'm batty for having a "beef" with Thanksgiving. After all, who should complain about having wonderful food made for you to eat and eat to your heart's content? Certainly I must be crazy for disliking this holiday.

But you haven't finished reading, or given me a chance to explain what I mean by having a beef with this holiday. I was merely setting the scene so we're all at the same place. Let me continue...

The requirements for this holiday do not stop with the food and the table arrangements and the number of helpings one takes at dinner. With every Thanksgiving, there must be politics. Family politics. If a couple just got married, whose parents to they have Thanksgiving with? If there are children involved and the couple is a bit older, then perhaps the family will come to their house...both sets of parents, and aunts and uncles and nieces and nephews will probably also come along for the ride. But then not everyone likes everyone else. Everyone is polite and friendly at first, of course, because after all - what a lovely dinner was made for all to enjoy. But bellies get full and people get grouchy as their discomfort of having too much food inside their bellies gets the better of them. Old arguments flare up. New arguments begin. Bickering over minor nothings is a rule, and taking sides according to family lines is a given.

People leave feeling heavy and too full to think they'll ever be comfortable again. Family social structure has yet again been ruffled. And lots of dishes lie in the kitchen waiting ever so patiently to be cleaned.

And then, after all that, you have turkey for a million years afterward. Turkey everything - to the point where you don't want to think the word any more, let alone eat another bite of it. You only regain your taste for turkey again after about a year, right in time for the next Thanksgiving, then you start the cycle all over again.

But wait, here's the best (or worst, depending on how you define your terms) part of the whole affair. What if you are missing one or more of those requirements? This is what kills me about this holiday. You feel GUILTY!!!

You feel bad that you aren't flying home to be with your family (if you're single) or you feel bad that you're not visiting either set of parents if you're a couple not able to travel.

...Or you feel sad that you don't know how to cook a turkey and feel inadequate for needing to order one pre-made.

...Or you feel embarrassed that your table is so bare if you can't afford to buy everything "necessary" to make a fabulous Thanksgiving dinner - or that your table doesn't have the exact required elements in the recipe for the "successful" Thanksgiving dinner.

It's the guilt factor that kills me about this holiday. You feel bad about yourself if you aren't stuffing yourself full of food or if you can't afford to travel to see family or if you simply make the choice not to travel for Thanksgiving in favor of traveling for Christmas instead.

[Alright, you caught me. I have quite the personal bias against this holiday. And I could go into the whys and wherefores and stories from Thanksgivings of old, but I feel I'd be getting off-track with my original train of thought. Not that that's never happened before in any of my posts...if you read my blog for long enough, you'll notice that I can have a tendency to run off-track and end on a point (or not a point, for that matter) completely different from where I started in the beginning of the post. But, I digress...]

Here's the thing:

We all know what we're supposed to do on Thanksgiving (and on all of the big holidays, I'm sure). But why? And do we actually know what we're celebrating anymore?

Thanksgiving is supposed to be a time to give thanks for what we have. And I believe that people in general think that they are doing just that. But that's not the main thought on their minds, poor things. They want the food. The goal of Thanksgiving has become the food.

Thanksgiving stories of old talk of pilgrims and Native Americans sharing what they have to create a nice feast that they can eat together in peace. All of my elementary school pictures to color during November are of peaceful meetings between these two groups of people. But that's a lie. They weren't peaceful. A simple lesson in U.S. History will tell you that things were not very much at all like what my old color pages would have my little 5th grade self believe.

Thanksgiving should not include guilt. "Giving thanks for what you have" is not a phrase that one expects guilt to play in to. So what if you don't have as big a table set out as Mr. and Mrs. Joe-Schmoe next door or Mr. and Mrs. Snooty down the street? What's it to them? And why should you feel like less of a person for it? It's not a competition. This holiday is not designed as a status indicator. The point is to give thanks for what you have, not pine over what you don't have.

Perhaps that's where a lot of my beef comes from. When did Thanksgiving stop being content with what you've earned, created, and accomplished and start being about what you wish you could have?

I don't believe that people take the time to sit back and remember what this holiday is supposedly founded upon. Or what they should be truly thankful for. Instead, it's become the Gorge-Fest. And I can't help but wonder why...

*sigh*
Now that I've written this incredibly long and bitter rant about Thanksgiving and all of it's ill-use in today's society, you all think I'm still so completely messed up for thinking this is a bad holiday. You all still think that I've somehow missed the point. And perhaps I have. Perhaps I don't really truly understand this holiday as much as I think I do. I must admit that as a possibility. But, in the interest of ending with a positive spin, since I tend to think smiling is a much better use of one's time than frowning or thinking bad thoughts, I will share with you my list of things for which I am thankful.

I'm having a small Thanksgiving with 2 good friends of mine, here in Boston. I don't go home for Thanksgiving. Our meal will not include anything near enough food with which to gorge ourselves. I (nor they, for that matter) see no point in it.

And I am truly thankful for these 2 friends to share a day with me that would otherwise turn into something lonely simply because I don't attach myself to the customs of this holiday like everyone else. I am thankful for my own family: my mom, my brother, my grandparents, my dad. I'm thankful for the incredible friends I know through swing dancing all over the country, but most especially in New England. I'm thankful for sunny days and blue skies. I'm thankful for the view of Boston over the Longfellow Bridge, and the fact that my walking commute to and from work allows me to see this - my favorite view of Boston - each day. I'm thankful for bad pop music that sounds so good, and for cheesy family movies and ridiculous "chick flicks" and exciting edge-of-your-seat action films. I'm thankful for the beauty of mathematics all around me, and for my ability to understand and truly appreciate the intricacies of that beauty. I'm thankful for old friends who know me better than I know myself. I'm thankful for cold days and fall foliage and serene winter nights. I'm thankful for my new apartment in my lovely new neighborhood, and for my fabulous new job that keeps me in a low-stress and happy-with-work-each-day state of being.

And for a million other little things that don't pop into my mind at this moment...

And for those little helicopter seeds. The ones that you can watch a hundred times in a row with a gleeful grin as they spin out of your hand to the ground below or whirl their way on a gust of wind to find new adventures away from the place on which they originally rested.

How did I get THAT song stuck in my head?

2006-10-19T20:11:00.000-05:00

What makes a song get in your head?

I often wonder this as I walk around with a song stuck in my head [I should note that it's usually broken-record-style in that it's one particular part of a song that plays over and over again. I rarely get through a whole song when it's stuck in my head.]

This week, I've had such a random assortment of songs running through my head at any given time, including (but by no means is this an exhaustive list): Buttons by the Pussycat Dolls, about 5 different Christmas songs, World I Know by Collective Soul, Billie Jean by Michael Jackson, and an assortment of Les Miz songs.

Some of them I know why I have in my head. For example: I went shopping today and one of the stores I was in was playing Buttons and poof! in my head. Fine. Easy to explain.

But why do I have Christmas songs in my head? Like The Most Wonderful Time of the Year, Let It Snow, The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire), and a couple of others. It's so random!!!

And why Les Miz songs? Perhaps this means I need to make a trip to NYC to see the play. I remember getting Phantom of the Opera songs in my head before I went to see it on Broadway last spring with my mom. But then, I knew I was going, so that's probably the reason those songs were in my head. Why I start humming On My Own in the shower or feel the need to put Bring Him Home and One Day More on my "random songs" playlist in iTunes...I can't explain it.

It's so odd to me, and whenever I'm hit with a random tune I'm completely fascinated with the idea of how the song suddenly started playing on the record player in my brain. [Or it could be a CD-player. It turns out I don't actually know what musical playback device my brain employs to play songs through my mind.]

Loosen up my buttons, baby (uh-huh)
But you keep frontin'
Sayin' what you gon' do to me (uh-huh)
But I ain't seen nothin'...

It's the most wonderful time of the year
With the kids jingle-belling
And everyone telling you
Be of good cheer...

I love him, but when the night is over
He is gone, the river's just a river
Without him, the world around me changes
The trees are bare and everywhere the streets are full of strangers...

And so I offer you this simple phrase
To kids from one to ninety-two
Although it's been said many times, many ways
Merry Christmas to you...

Oh man. I believe I've posted in the past about the idea of life having its own soundtrack played by the songs running through your head. I wonder what the assortment of songs in my head this week does for the overall theme of my current life soundtrack (i.e. the one playing as I type). It would definitely be one of the most random albums you could buy if you picked it up off the shelf at a music store one day, that's for sure...

Billie Jean is not my lover
She's just a girl...

Looking into the future of the little girl I once was...

2006-10-15T23:26:00.000-05:00

When I was a young girl I was obsessed with the thought of what I would be like when I was older.
[I'm sure I was not alone. Every girl, every boy I'm sure, every body wonders this at some point in their childhood. It's a natural thing to wonder.]

I'm not talking obsessed as in that's all I thought about day and night. Nor am I saying I tried to be older than I was. I was, am, and always will be proud of my youth and my youthful outlook on life. Perhaps fascinated is a better word.

Because I was. Fascinated. I was fascinated with what I would look like, how I would act, what would change about me, what I didn't want to change about me, what I would do with myself, who my friends would be, what my job would be, where I would live. I used to think about the whole package and wonder with all my little might who and what I would someday become.

I'd look in the mirror and wonder what parts of my face would change as it matured into a woman's face. I knew well enough that I'd always look like "me," but I also knew that certain parts would look older, would mature with time, would take on a more adult-like appearance. I'd examine my features in the mirror and try to imagine them shifted into an older person's face. Sort of like my imagination's version of the computer aging models that police stations use when trying to find a suspect or a long lost child or something.

I'd try to imagine what I'd wear as a woman in the work-world. What would my job be? Would I like it? Of course it'd be a job where I made lots of money, but I truly hoped it would be a job that I loved. (And really, I my little brain pretty much decided at the time that it would have to be a job I loved or I wouldn't dream of taking that job.)

I'd spend hours wondering who my husband would be. I'd try to imagine his face. Try to think of what he would say to me. What would his job be like? What would our children look like? What would our house be like, and where would we live? And let me tell you, I got pretty detailed in my imaginings. It changed day-by-day, year-by-year, but I could have drawn the blueprints of my house. I could have sketched portraits of my husband and children (granted, I'm not a portrait-artist, so they wouldn't have looked nearly as good as they did in my head). I could have written transcripts of imagined conversations we'd have. But I knew that those were all in my imagination. I wanted to know what the real stuff would be like.

As I became more aware of the world full of adults of varying ages, styles, cultures, customs, and stations in life, I began to wonder where I'd eventually fit in to that world.

It's funny - now I'm actually the adult I've always wondered about. I have the yet youthful, but definitely matured adult features in my face (down to a few tiny wrinkles forming under my eyes). I have a job. I have a life of my own. I have my friends. I have my habits and my hobbies. I have become the person I always wanted to know so much about when I was little. And as I was trying to fall asleep tonight, I was struck by this thought. I've reached a checkpoint on the road of my life as defined by the little girl I once was. I'm a young woman, living an adult life, in an adult world, fending for herself and living independently. I'm creating the reality I'd always tried to imagine in my girlish daydreams of old.

I can't help but wonder what that little girl would think if she knew that she'd someday be the woman I am now. Would she be excited to be living my life? Would she like who she saw staring back at her in the mirror? Would she be happy with what I've accomplished at this point in my life? Would she be sad that I'm not married with children on the way? Would she be proud of the person she was destined to become?

I feel certain she would indeed be excited to become the person I am today. I think she'd be proud of the life I've defined for myself thus far. Perhaps she'd lament the fact that there's yet no man of consequence in my life yet, but I believe she'd genuinely look forward to her future self. And I guess my only basis I have for this certainty is simply that when I look back on my life 10-15-20 years ago, I'm happy about the decisions I've made. I'm proud of the way I've handled myself - through tough situations and past mistakes. I do admit that I feel the lack of a man in my life, and that I want so badly to have someone to share my life with. But I'm sincerely happy that that want doesn't dictate how my current life is lived. I'm convinced that, though I'm far from perfect and though I may not have everything I hoped I'd have at this age, I always try to do the best I can with the hand I'm dealt. [And really, let's be honest, the part of me that wondered what my husband and children would be like hasn't left yet. It still is filled with wonder and anticipation about who that man will be and when I will meet him and how I will meet him, etc, etc, etc. And I'm kinda glad that sense of wonder hasn't left me.]

Certainly my little mind from my childhood days would not analyze quite much in depth. She'd see things in a simpler light. But I like to think that she'd smile at knowing she'd one day be me. That she'd think I was pretty, that she'd love that she would someday be a dancer, that she'd get excited about my plans for my career. I like to think that my small little self, wondering about her future, would take comfort in knowing that she'd grow up to be a successful, ambitious, caring, beautiful (inside and outside), and well-liked woman. I think she'd like my Beacon Hill sunsets, too.

[Note: this could potentially read as a way to toot my own horn and talk myself up. If so, then that's the reader's prerogative, of course. But, the way I see it, everyone needs to remind themselves what they like about themselves, and what they need to remember to see about themselves. This is, I guess, my way of reminding me that I feel like I'm on the right track and that I am indeed proud of who I've become. Because, in the end, if I'm not proud of who I am, what's the point in doing anything?]

This song just played as I wrote my last post, and it fits my mood all too perfectly!

2006-10-15T00:23:00.000-05:00

I believe the sun should never set upon an argument
I believe we place our happiness in other people's hands
I believe that junk food tastes so good because it's bad for you
I believe your parents did the best job they knew how to do

I believe that beauty magazines promote low self-esteem
I believe that i am loved when i'm completely by myself alone

I believe in karma: what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can't appreciate real love till you've been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye

I believe you can't control or choose your sexuality
I believe that trust is more important then monogamy
I believe your most attractive features are your heart and soul
I believe that family is worth more than money or gold

I believe the struggle for financial freedom is unfair
I believe the only ones who disagree are millionaires

I believe in karma: what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can't appreciate real love till you've been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye

(sigh)

I believe forgiveness is the key to your unhappiness
I believe that wedded bliss negates the need to be undressed
I believe that God does not endorse TV evangelists
I believe in love surviving death until eternity

I believe in karma: what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can't appreciate real love till you've been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye

The perfect day: what that means to me

2006-10-14T23:20:00.000-05:00

I'm on the top of the world lookin' down on creation and the only explanation I can find...

...is the warmth of companionship when I'm with my friends and the buzz of the city as it strolls through the autumn days on its way to another winter.

I had a truly beautiful Saturday. Really. Full of life, a perfect fall day, lots to do, and the hours crept by slowly but pleasantly--allowing me to savor each moment as it passed. I caught up with a friend at our volunteer job that we do every Saturday (but lately either she's been gone or I've been gone, so we haven't seen each other for a couple of weeks). And after a relaxed lunch at home, reading one of my favorite books of all time (Emma, by Jane Austin), a friend called to say he was in the neighborhood, so I spent a few hours walking the downtown area with him and his mom (who was in town for the weekend to visit). Then, 2 newer friends (whom I met this past summer) came to see my new apartment, meet my new roommates, and spend the evening with me. We cooked dinner together, watched a movie together, and had a grand time the whole way through.

I guess the point of this post isn't so much to create a mini-synopsis of my day. [Completely random side-note: I love the word synopsis . There's something so charming about the mixture of its spelling and its definition, isn't there?]

The point is to make the observation that I'm a very lucky person. I have a world of friends with whom I enjoyed spending time. On the phone with old friends from school or my wonderful family. Out for a walk with friends I've gotten to know during my now two year tenure in Boston. Dinner and a movie with new friends with whom I'm getting better acquainted. A night out on the town with friends I made last year who enjoy livin' it up in the night life of the city.

I have friends to spend time with doing all of the things I love doing. Friends to compliment every side of the person I've come to define as me. I am such a social creature. I love being around people. I find them fascinating to watch, to interact with, to talk to. People are so fun because their all, as individuals, so very different. And because of my love of people and social interaction, I also find myself often a part of many different social circles. To find such amazing people in each of these circles I belong to - people I have the privilege of calling my friends - makes me a truly lucky person.

It's also fun to have days like these, you know? You don't always get to enjoy such an exquisitely perfect Saturday. I like to savor the joy I get in having one of these perfect days while the memory of it is so fresh. It renews my sense of beauty in the world. It renews my happiness with life and all it brings to me. It renews my sense of wonder at how life is so intricately sewn together to create the complexities, obstacles, joys, sorrows, and true happiness that we all bump into as we jostle our way through the crowds of other beings that are written into the novel of our existence.

Hmh. There's just nothing left to say except that I love this life that I live! :)

Feed your whole self

2006-10-07T19:57:00.000-05:00

"Food for the body, food for the mind, food for the heart, and food for the soul."

I was just getting ready to settle down for the night and watch a movie, when that sentence popped into my head with such a strong force that I had to write it down. It sort of fits with the sentiment/mood/motion of life that I'm in right now.

And I like it a whole lot.

Food for the body
My goal for this year [note: I still measure "a year" in terms of the school calendar. A year starts in September, and thus ends in August.] is to learn how to cook. And I don't mean just mom's meatballs or grandma's hotdish [read: casserole for all you New Englanders out there]. I mean really learn how to cook. Learn what spices will add which flavors. Learn what works best when putting foods together. Learn to bake more complicated things.

But, as I've been starting this process of learning to cook, I've found myself paying much closer attention to eating healthily as well. I try to put together balanced meals when I'm trying out a new recipe. And I've been consciously not eating as much junk food because I know I have good-tasting stuff at home that's much more healthy.

I also have become a lot more active in the last few years. I dance like crazy. I walk almost everywhere in Boston. I'm starting some new dance classes. And I've started to do pilates and stretching regularly on a regular basis. I feels wonderful. I find I sleep better, which in turn rejuvenates my body so it's ready for a new day each morning when I wake up. I'm feeding my body wholesome, good things to satisfy it's natural hunger.

Food for the mind
I read a lot more than I have been used to in the past. I write more (here and other places). I've found people who like to discuss matters. People I can have engaging conversations with and from whom I can learn new things. My new job is teaching me new skills. I allow myself time to ponder questions that pop into my head at random times throughout my days and weeks and months.

I'm also beginning to think about actually going back to school for a graduate degree. It's always been a goal, but an untouchable one. I'm starting to be able to focus on a tangible reality that includes school. It's very exciting. And as I think about this, I consider taking extension courses just to start exercising my brain a little more than it's been used to over the past few years. All of these things feed my mind with the stuff it craves--active brain usage and exploration.

Food for the heart
I've made some amazing friends over the past year. People I really care about and people who truly care about me, instead of people who are there as companions but have little else to tie me to them. These friends have taught me the value in laughing and sharing joys and sorrows. They've shown me what true kindness is. They've taught me to open my world up to allow people to love me.

And that's not to say that I am consciously completely opposed to love. I'm not. I love love. (haha--that sounds funny) But I've always shied away from showing it or allowing someone to show it to me. And I'm also not speaking about romantic love, but friendly love. There have been very few people in my life that I allow to get that close to me, close enough to see everything about me and have the chance to truly love me for who I am. It's a very vulnerable state that I tend to lock up so securely that no one can get in.

Now, these friends are new, they haven't made it all the way in. But they're showing me what it means to earn a person's trust enough for that person to open themselves up fully without feeling that, in that vulnerable state, others will attack. These people aren't doing this consciously with a lesson plan in hand mind you, but merely through their actions and interactions with me and with each other. It's an amazing experience. They are providing the food for my heart, allowing it to fill up with the stuff it desires and deserves.

Food for the soul
I have been searching for quite sometime now. Searching for my beliefs, my faith. Do I fit into a religion? Do I believe in God, like I was brought up to believe? Do I consider myself Christian, as I was brought up to be? Searching, laying to rest and trying to forget, picking back up and searching again...for not quite ten years now. 8 perhaps. That's a long time. And my soul has felt empty since I first began to question and stray from the religious path laid out for me.

Quite recently, I have discovered a group of amazing people who have helped me understand more clearly what I was searching for, and in some cases, they've actually helped me find the answers to some of the questions I've had in my head for 8 years or more. Through them, I have been able to calm my world down enough to ponder my beliefs. With their help, I've discovered that I do believe in God, but that I do not believe God "belongs" to one religion. God does not actually belong to any religion, but is the God of all of us. And we all know God in our own way. Different religions talk about God in different ways. Some have a different word/name for God. Some name many forms of the Ultimate Being. And then there are some people who don't place themselves in any religion. Who believe they are completely secular. But they too speak of God in their own language.

I don't mean to preach here. I simply wish to impart this amazing revelation that I have recently stumbled across. A revelation that has brought me to a sense of peace. A revelation that is very new to me, and that I continue to explore and consider everyday. I am finding ways to fill the void that my soul has been in for so long, and feed my soul with the richness of faith that it yearns to embrace.

Healthy eating and living, education and reflection, true friends and people to care about, growing in my faith with each passing day.

Food for the body, food for the mind, food for the heart, food for the soul.

A toast to the fall

2006-10-02T21:37:00.000-05:00

It's starting to get cold...

...which means I get to break out my store of coats...

...and my store of scarves, hats, mittens, gloves...

...and winter is coming!!!

I must say, however, that although I adore wintertime, there is something magical about the fall. And I think I've come to appreciate this season so much more since I moved to Boston. Minnesota has fall, sure, for about a week between summer and winter. [Okay, perhaps I exaggerate a little...it might actually be 2 weeks...haha!]

But New England really knows this season well. I must say it gets a one-up over Minnesota for the fall season. The leaves gradually change their color; they lazily fade out of their green summer color, and then one day burst into brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows for one last hurrah before the winter hits. The air gets cooler. Not cold, but crisp. I don't think one can truly appreciate the description of a "crisp" day until they've experienced a New England day in the fall. Crisp. Mm, love it. The wind blows in a certain way that's very distinct to fall. It whistles a bit more, and tousles your hair in a playful, hap-hazard way. It carries the scent of fall with it everywhere it goes. And that's the thing...the wind is everywhere with you during the fall. Anywhere I go, the wind is right there beside me...seemingly skipping along beside me and giggling to itself as it pretends to ignore me over and over again.

People wear scarves in the fall, too. That I love! I love that look of a light fall coat with a scarf wrapped around the neck. There's something so cozy about that look on a person. It makes me think of sipping apple cider with a cinnamon stick in it in front of a fireplace, watching the wind whip around in its playful way out of the window.

And really, that's what fall is. It's apple picking and cider sipping. It's pumpkin carving and pie making. It's scarf donning and pleasant evening walks in the crisp cool air right before dusk. It's colored leaves riding the wind and birds flying south in preparation for the coming winter. It's knitting a sweater or scarf or hat with mug of warm soup beside you. It's the smell of a fireplace and the scent of cinnamon and other yummy spices wafting from open windows.

I constantly feel the need to breathe in deeply to take in the fall air and then let out a big sigh of contentment (heh, just did). There's a beauty to the fall that no other season can claim. A beauty, a magical element, a sense of tranquility and thoughtfulness that the other seasons can't quite give.

So, raise your mug of steaming apple cider, hold the cinnamon stick to the side, and take big sip. Here's to the fall!

The Hill (and surrounding City) is alive with the sound of my music...

2006-09-23T21:29:00.000-05:00

So, I've been thinking lately...

[Well, really, when haven't I been "thinking lately" about something or other?]

If my life had a soundtrack, what songs would play?

It's an interesting question, to be sure. It would, of course, include multiple CDs. "Nina, the Soundtrack" would have to be a huge album in order to chronicle my life adequately. And the genres would have to be all over the map. A little bit of jazz, a little bit of blues, a little bit of fast-tempo swing/Charleston stuff, of course. There would also be quite a bit of pop music, especially from the 90s. But there'd be some great hip-hop stuff, a few rap songs perhaps, some bluegrass (the fast instrumental stuff, no lyrics), a couple of mellow alternative songs maybe, definitely some fantastic harmonied a cappella, some classic cheesy Broadway and Disney stuff, some smooth classical/instrumental numbers, even a *gasp* country song or two, and I think it just wouldn't be complete without some rockin' techno/electronica stuff...

Man. But the actual songs that would make the cut? What a project that would turn into! I don't think I'm even going to start down that road...I'd never finish this post!!!

But, it's fun to think about sometimes...especially day-to-day as I walk around the city, or take a stroll around The Hill, or when I'm at work, at home, at a dance (when the soundtrack is playing for me already, haha). I always have a song in my head. Day and night, doesn't matter. I'm walking to work? - Yep, humming a song. Sitting at my desk? - Got a chorus running through my head (if I'm not listening to music at that given moment). Going to or from a dance? - You can be sure I'm playing a jazz tune in my head that I dance to while waiting at an intersection or riding on the T. Sometimes I have more than one song playing at a time! [Let's be serious...those times are like a chaotic party scene exploding in my head. I don't recommend the two-songs-in-your-head-at-once idea if you can help it...]

I do also dream with songs playing in the background on occasion. [Dream interpreters, eat your heart out...?]

The point is that I love that my life is so full of music. Everywhere I go, there's a song playing...whether a store that's actually got music in the background, or just a place that puts a particular song in my head. Every moment is filled with a song. Sometimes, that song is a improv'ed version of the sounds of the city. Sometimes it's a random artist in the Common or on the T. Sometimes it's a lively conversation. Sometimes it's happy, sometimes sad or somber. But always music. Music that creates the soundtrack for the dance of life...at least the dance of my life.

[I may sound ridiculously corny in this post. But so what? It's true. And sometimes, a girl just has to be a little corny, right? Right.]

First observations of my new neighborhood:

2006-09-22T17:38:00.000-05:00

So, I recently moved into an apartment in Beacon Hill. And I gotta say...I love this neighborhood. It's narrow roads, it's near-45-degree-angle hills, it's tightly-packed buildings, it's cute little street lights... It's such a charming place to live. In my 3 weeks of living here, I've started to form some conclusions from my observations. We'll see if they continue to hold true (so make that my disclaimer that I don't hold myself to these opinions at this point...they may change)...

- I'm convinced everyone in Beacon Hill has a dog. No matter what time it is that I leave my apartment or come back home, there is ALWAYS someone walking their dog. ALWAYS.
- Shafts between buildings create great breezes to cool down your apartment.
- Rooftop views of Boston are superior to any other view of the city. Especially when the rooftop reminds you of that scene from Mary Poppins after dark.
- Beacon Hill is made up of two distinct demographical groups: rich people and young twenty-somethings. The rich people have the huge condos/apartments/houses that are squeezed into impossible spaces with beautiful views out of their windows. The young twenty-somethings inhabit the basement apartments and small 4th floor apartments.
- If you live in Beacon Hill, you do not refer to the area as "Beacon Hill" but just simply as "The Hill." After all, there is only one hill...
- Trash collection is better here than anywhere else in the city. They pick it up 3 times a week!
- Beacon Hill is close to everything. Bostonians are notorious for claiming everything is a "five-minute walk" away...well, those people must all be from Beacon Hill.
- The "intersection" that makes up the beginning of Charles Street and the end of Cambridge Street and the entrance and exit ramps onto/off of 93 and the end of Storrow Drive (pause to take a breath) is quite possibly the most dangerous and confusing mess of cars in the city.
- You shouldn't live here if you're on the Dunkin' Donuts side of the Dunkin' Donuts vs. Starbucks battle. There might be one near the Hill, but there are 3 Starbucks at the base of the hill (that I've counted thus far).
- Rich people throw out really cool things in their trash (my roommate is quite the expert at finding excellent stuff on other people's stoops.
- The best adjective to describe this neighborhood is cute. And everyone got that memo. That's the way everyone describes my place when they see it.
- Everyday here looks like something from a postcard. Even the rainy days.
- The laundromat is always a happenin' place. There are always loads of people (hehe...and loads of laundry) there. Definitely a new hang-out spot for me.

I think I'm definitely going to like it here. The Hill and all its quirks really matches my personality well. :)

Thoughts on moving day

2006-08-30T23:07:00.000-05:00

Which is...tomorrow.

Well, okay. You got me. It's midnight now, so technically moving day is TODAY. Whatever. I've always said that it's not tomorrow until you've gone to sleep and wake up again.

Anywho.

It's weird. This place was my first real apartment. I had planned on staying longer than a year. I was gonna really settle into myself and my life in this place. I was set.

But then life happened, as it always seems to do, right? Life happened, and we (my roommate and I) had to move out. Say goodbye. She's gone, finished moving out tonight, actually. And I'm moving to a different apartment tomorrow...

...with different roommates...

..in a different neighborhood...

There will be different sounds to get used to. Different smells. Different living arrangements. Different styles of living with new roommates. Different walk to a different T stop. Different commute to work. Different proximity to places I know.

There will be new faces on the street. New neighbors I haven't met. New conditions to get used to. New hangouts to establish.

[Man, reading this back, I make it all sound so bad...]

There are a lot of exciting things about this move, of course. I'm moving away from Cambridge...that's certainly a loss. I've loved living in Cambridge. But I'm moving to Beacon Hill. I've walked past that neighborhood so many times with so many friends and commented on how much I would love to live in that part of Boston. The streets are so quaint. The apartments are small but cozy. The neighborhood is so authentically Boston (at least from my limited experience with the city). My new roommates are really cool, really chill. I have a dishwasher. I have to climb 4 flights of stairs to get to my apartment, after walking up a hill.

[Okay, that last one sounds like a bad thing, and on the days I'm exhausted, it may become one, but think of it the way I do: my stomach will be flat, I'll lose that little bit of flab I've been fighting with for 3 years, and I'll have more energy from the forced exercise I have to do every day. I lived on the 4th floor of a dorm twice in college...freshman and senior years. And both years, I shed pounds like you wouldn't believe, and I felt so alive and ready for the world. Believe me, it'll be great.]

But, despite all that I have to look forward to, I will miss this place. I'll miss the open space. I'll miss laughing at commercials with my roommate. I'll miss the huge parties we had here. I'll miss the space I had to dance around in...and have blues parties in. I'll miss the free laundry in the basement. I'll miss the feeling of living in a house, not just an apartment. I'll miss my homey little neighborhood that reminded me of home in Minnesota so much.

I'll miss a lot. But right now, I can't get myself to focus on that even (let alone trying to focus - and failing - on the things I have to look forward to in my new apartment). Right now, I'm just restless. I want out. My life is packed in a series of labeled boxes, ready to be packed into a car and driven over to my new place. The apartment is barren...stripped of its life. It's rather cavernous and distinctly uninhabited. I've been avoiding this feeling like the plague. This feeling of emptiness as I walk through the hallway and pass by each room. I tend to hole up in my room...the only room left that has enough stuff to still look lived in. It's a scary feeling. There's a sense of finality rushing through this place. An ending being written as I desperately try to look the other way. I can hear the door closing behind me for the last time. I can see the memories start fading into the recesses of my brain, to be called back as hazy but happy reminders of a cherished apartment from my past.

I wonder if it always feels like this when you move out of an apartment. Perhaps not. If you hate a place, you don't generally feel this homesick for it before you even leave. But I can't help but wonder about my restlessness, my premature homesickness, my nostalgic feelings - are they all intensified because this was my first real apartment?

It's certainly not the most profound of questions. People don't go around pondering this thought every day. But seriously, is it because this was the first place I could really call my own? I paid the rent for this place, and the utilities. I lived in it. I helped bring life to these walls, floors, rooms. And now I'm leaving it. I'll take with me some wonderful memories, but I have to say goodbye.

You know, maybe that's what this is all about. Maybe that's why I'm sitting here, unable to sleep, wondering what's on my mind and not really able to fully grasp it. I hate goodbyes. I actually go out of my way to avoid them whenever possible. I'm bad at them. I feel awkward saying all of the things one is supposed to say at a "goodbye" meeting/event/gathering/whatever. I don't know what to do with myself once I've said the actual word (because you always say it before the actual end of whatever situation you're in). I'd rather have "goodbye" be the last thing said, and then people move on to the next thing they're doing (going home, moving away, etc.). Like on the phone. The last thing you say is "goodbye." Then you hang up. It's simple. Real-life goodbyes are awful. But that's exactly what I have to do here. Say goodbye to my current (very soon to be former) roommate. Say goodbye to my wonderful first apartment. Say goodbye to this fabulous neighborhood.

Perhaps I'm just creating a lot of unnecessary melodrama around this whole moving and saying goodbye stuff. I tend to put way too much emphasis on the firsts in my life, and there's never any good reason for it. All that does is skew my perception of what the given "first" actually is.

Whew, I'm a little off-topic now, huh? Perhaps I will end by reiterating a previous question:
Is all this restlessness, premature homesickness, and nostalgia coming at me with greater force because this is (WAS!) my first apartment? Hmmm...

Better than the funnies section of the Sunday newspaper!

2006-07-11T21:11:00.000-05:00

A friend recently told me about this feature on Craigslist... it's call Missed Connections. And it is HILARIOUS!!! I started reading them today, and couldn't stop laughing. They're rather ridiculous, but most of them are endearing because of their ridiculousness. :) In some ways, it makes you want to read and see if someone posted about you, you know? What if some handsome stranger fell for me while riding the T? Right out of a movie, huh? [Right out of that Lance Bass movie about finding the girl on the L in Chicago, to be specific...haha!]

Check it out: http://boston.craigslist.org/mis/

Let the hilarity ensue. (Oh, and P.S. if someone reading this goes onto the site and ends up hooking up with someone who posted about them, post a response...it'd be fun to know if I indirectly was the cause of a connection...hahaha!)

Females asking males out on dates...

2006-06-30T21:07:00.000-05:00

Is there anything wrong with me asking a guy out for a movie (or dinner or a walk in the park for that matter)?

I see nothing wrong with this. I ask a guy out because he seems interesting and I want to get to know him better. How else can I do that unless I ask him out? And, if he's not interested, he'll say 'no.' And fine, we move on. But if he says 'yes,' then I get my chance to see more about who he is.

But, somehow this is often viewed as an over-aggressive tendency of a feminist. Our society traditionally has put women in a more passive role. And while today we have much more gender equality, the roles in relationships and courting and dating are still pretty strictly defined by society's standards.

The guy asks out the girl.
This is somehow a societal law that, in some people's minds, cannot be changed. To them, it's an axiom of the dating world (akin to an axiom of the real numbers, hence the use of the word: axioms need not be proved true because they are already true...and so it follows that they cannot be proved untrue either). A girl who asks a guy out is considered impatient, too forward, compromising her place in the interaction between man and woman, guy and girl (whatever you wanna call it).

I'm not saying that girls should always ask guys out. I'm just saying that it's not a privilege only reserved for the male side of our species. Some guys are shy...and waiting for them to make a move may mean no move will ever be made. Why should I give in to that simply because I'm female?

You may notice the somewhat irritated tone to this post. [If you didn't, this is me telling you it's there. Reread and you'll catch it, I'm sure.] I don't apologize for that tone in the least. It is irritating to me. Women are allowed at the top of huge corporations...we've become CEOs, Company Presidents and VPs, Board Chairs, celebrated scientists and academics, inventors, business-owners and organization-founders. And yet, we're not allowed the freedom of asking out a guy without being seen as an aggressive female threatening the male role in a relationship/dating interaction (whatever you want to call it).

You know, it more than irritates me. It irks me. I'm an Independent Woman (Destiny's Child throws their hands up at me), I'm a confident person with goals, ambitions, and dreams of success. I'm capable of living on my own and taking care of myself. And yet, society will look at my initiative to ask out a guy as inappropriate boldness. What is that? Why? Why, why, WHY?

Last night (or could have been the night before), I watched the Sex and the City episode in which Steve breaks up with Miranda because "they're from 2 different worlds." And I completely agreed with Miranda's assessment of the situation: she asks if she's being punished for being a successful female. (Now, of course, in this episode, the issue was money and not asking out a guy...but work with me people.) Steve obviously says that's not the case, but on some levels, it was (is?).

I have no real point for this post. Other than to say that nothing will make me stop feeling it's okay for me to ask a guy out. Sure, I always wish for guys to ask me out as well...but not because they would be fulfilling their roles as men in the dating process. (More because then I'd have a clear sense that they are interested.) But, in the end, if I want something, I'm going to go get it. Waiting never did anything but make me obsess about how long I'd have to wait.

Happiness+Nostalgia=Way too attached...

2006-06-04T18:31:00.000-05:00

Why is it that happiness so often gets placed on specific nouns? Places, things, people. And nostalgia is the glue. Go on vacation, when you come back you wish you were back at that place because you "had so much fun and were so happy there." Move to a new home, you think back to the old home and the good times you had there and worry that you "won't be as happy in the new place as you were in your old home." People define happiness in terms of how much money they have/make, what kind of 'stuff' they own, or if they can buy that thing they saw in the store the other day because it will be a new thing to do for the next few days or weeks before they find something else. You have a great time with someone, and suddenly that person is all you can think of...time spent with that person seems like the only true way to be happy...or at least the way to your greatest happiness.

But, it's not true. Because places change. Buildings are leveled and new buildings built up. New people move into the house and change the way it looks, smells, feels, sounds. [Yeah, I left out tastes , because what are you gonna do, lick the walls?] Things get old, they break, they get lost. And really, it's all just stuff. It can be replaced. And people are great, but in the end, they're not you. You may have fun with them, you may feel happiest when you're with them, but they're not with you 100% of the time.

What's actually important? Happiness isn't defined by any one specific noun. But you see how our whole society is wrapped around the idea of finding happiness in a noun. Any noun. Take your pick. We're all guilty of it.

Happiness goes beyond any one noun. And I would love to say where happiness is actually derived from...but you're not that lucky. I wonder that myself. But that's not the point of this post.

The point is more just to ask why we do this. There are times when the brain focuses happiness on one specific thing. And then when you eventually realize that that thing/place/person alone isn't gonna make you happy, there's this sense of let down. And why? Because of that focused sense of happiness...glued to that thing/place/person by an overwhelming sense of nostalgia...

So yeah. I guess, in the end, I'm writing this post to ask why? Why do we do this to ourselves? [Yes, really, when I say "we" I'm actually asking why I do this to myself.] And with that question then comes why is it so hard to let said thing/place/person go once we realize we're doing this?

And I guess I don't mean "let go" as in totally forget about. More like "let go" so that the nostalgic focus of happiness is eliminated and just the enjoyment of a memory is left...

Less attached and more a piece of my unique life history.

2006-05-31T21:03:00.000-05:00

Sit, and wait for the words to come

   Blank is my mind
         like the bright white of a clean sheet of printer paper

   Empty
         of thoughts
         of words
         of feeling
         of action or reaction
                  opinion or observation

And yet, the rhythm of those unspoken
                                                      unwritten
                                                         unthought-of words

         courses through my entire being,
         like a train speeding down endless miles of railroad track to the
                  rhythm of its own engine

Where the words have gone - I don't know.

         But I take comfort in knowing that the poem will be waiting
                  when I find them.

One...two...

2006-05-26T17:34:00.000-05:00

What is it with the number 3? It's everywhere.

Think about it...

- 3 meals a day
- 3 parts of the psyche: the Id, the Ego, and the Superego
- 3 levels of schooling: elementary, middle, and high school
- 3's company
- 3's a crowd
- 3 Blind Mice
- 3 Little Pigs
- 3 Bears
- 3 Billy Goats Gruff
- 3 Musketeers (the people and the candy bar)
- 3 Stooges
- Huey, Dewey, and Louie
- Movies and Books come in trilogies all the time
- Triplets in music
- Most people have 3 names: first, middle, last

Okay, so after setting this list aside for about 10 minutes and coming back to it now, I guess it doesn't seem quite as mind-blowing...this number 3. Maybe it's just that I've been noticing the number 3 a lot lately. Hm. Wonder why?

Ah well... the world's a mystery sometimes. Just the way I like it.

Oh to find the words to say...

2006-05-23T16:53:00.000-05:00

Have you ever experienced something that ended up meaning so much to you that you find yourself lacking the ability to describe the feelings evoked within you from said experience? And this...confusion (for lack of a better term...because I don't really feel that I'm confused, per se) becomes a tremendous force that envelopes your entire world for the next few days as you try to process exactly how much this experience meant to you?

Alright, time to get a little more specific...

That's how I feel about my experience up in the Catskills, visiting my friend at the zen monastery. Something about my visit (indeed, probably more than just one 'something') has touched me so deeply, that I am having a very difficult time processing how I currently feel. Different emotions fight to the surface. The ones you would expect: happiness from getting to see my friend and learning about what he's up to, sadness from having to leave so soon, perhaps you would even expect (if not immediately bring to mind on your own) that I would feel amazement at seeing something so different from the world in which I live. And those are all there, certainly. But that's just the beginning. There's so much more in there. I just have yet to find the words to adequately describe how I feel. [I actually keep wondering if there even are words to describe everything I feel about this visit...]

In a lot of ways, though, I know there are some thoughts/feelings inside that I don't want to share with the world. That are mine, that belong to no one else. (Surely, on some basic level, that can be said about any emotion/thought/experience/idea. But most of them are shared with someone, somehow making them less yours.) Perhaps one of the reasons I'm having such a problem processing this: so many people want to know about my time up there...what do I want to tell them and what do I want to keep for myself?

Of course, there are many other reasons for my difficulty in processing all of this...one of the main ones being that it has not even been 24 hours since I experienced all of this, so there's been no chance for the perspective I will ultimately gain with the distance from the experience after the freshness of the experience has worn off.

But bits and pieces rise to the surface of my mind...

It was truly wonderful to spend that 25 hours with my friend. He and I talked nonstop for all but perhaps 7 or 8 of those hours...well, talked nonstop or sat in silence together. Something I've always enjoyed about him...that he's comfortable just sitting in silence for awhile. Still enjoying my company as much as I still enjoy his, we just simply don't need to talk at that particular moment. But, it was like reconnecting with a person with whom I'm never afraid to be myself. [Can I say that I love people like that? (And who doesn't, really?) It takes so much mental stress out of the equation.]

The strongest and clearest emotion that I have been able to identify is an amazingly powerful sense of calmness. That has lasted me the entire trip back to Boston (i.e. 8+ hours on buses) and my entire day today. And it's still there. I really love this feeling. It makes the world look different in certain ways.

I have begun to detect a pattern in my behavior whenever I feel this way...when I feel something that I have a hard time explaining with mere words. I turn on my music (these days on the iPod, years ago I'd be pulling out a CD) and listen until I find a song with lyrics and a mood that seems to fit in with what I'm feeling. It usually isn't the whole song...most often it's a verse or chorus, or a couple of phrases even. But it just clicks into my self-reflective state and I feel a little less emotionally muddled.

Music does that to me...allows me to connect my ball of unprocessed emotion and thoughts into the melody and harmonies and ride along for awhile. Music has always hit me deep in my soul. And that's what happened to me up in those mountains. Those 25 hours have touched my soul.

I wish I could capture those moments. Hold on to them. Step back into them and wrap myself up in them all over again. But then again, I'm glad that's impossible. Because I have them all stored in my memory.

In my last post, I said that I thought that perhaps something huge was going to happen while I was up there, since it seemed that the universe had taken particular notice of my life as of late. Turns out, something big did happen. And I feel it deep inside of me. If only I could find the words to explain it, to describe it, to tell myself what "it" is...

Philosophical pudding...a mixture of musings that could possibly end in a point, or could drift off quite aimlessly into the abyss.

2006-05-17T17:56:00.000-05:00

I know, I know...it's been over a month. You all thought I'd disappeared or something, huh? No, just been NEVER HOME for the past MONTH!!! Whew! And I'm going out of town this weekend, too... I must be nuts...

But seriously, down to business. Have you ever had the feeling that something was almost fated to happen? Everything falls into place, you have no way to try and not let it happen...it's like the whole universe is set on making this thing happen. And it's almost as if you have little choice in the matter. Other elements in the universe have decided for you.

Yeah, I know. Sounds really hokey, and very off-in-left-field. Not usually my style. But I mentioned before that I'm going out of town this weekend. I tried to get out of it, thinking I should spend a weekend at home. I emailed my friend to ask if I could come a different time. No. The person I'm visiting wrote back and said possibly the one thing that would make me change my mind and decide to go.

Heh. I'm going.

[For the record, I am really excited about going. And I'm glad the universe has decided to push me there. Haha.]

But that's not all. The weather (as we all are much too aware of) has been less than dry for the past week and a half. And the weather leading up to my visit is all rain, the weather after my visit is all rain. But the days I'm there? Sunny with a few clouds. Very pleasant days. Weird, right?

This visit also comes out of hearing from a friend (i.e. the person I'm visiting this weekend) I knew back when I was in college and had sort of lost touch with. I'd see him when I visited home, but that's different. And randomly, I got this email from him...and now I'm going out to the middle of nowhere in upstate NY to visit.

It just all seems a little odd when you put it all together. And it makes me wonder, if the universe is so bent on making this happen, is something huge and life-changing going to happen while I'm there? Let's be serious, the universe isn't usually interested enough in the lives of mere individual souls to push all of the pieces together to make something happen on its own, right? So, I have to wonder...

And now for something completely different...

...but semi-related, I guess.

About 2 years ago, right when I moved to Boston, a friend and I had this discussion/argument going about whether time has always existed and is merely a discovery made by man or rather an invention of the human race to make better order of its surroundings. It was a very interesting discussion. He and I would take a side (usually opposing, although there were the rare times when we agreed) and argue it, but ultimately come to a point where we convinced ourselves that the other side of the argument was correct, then reassess and dive in to argue again. It was quite the cycle. And I don't think that either of us has truly decided what we think the answer is.

To that point, then, I found a quote the other day that I found quite relevant to this old discussion topic, and now it's got my mind churning up about the whole question again: is time a discovery or an invention?

This quote I found is by Jok Church:
The measurement of time is a human invention.
It exists only because humans agree on the ways time is measured...seconds, minutes, days.
When we change from daylight to standard time,
it's only because we agree on it.
But time itself doesn't need a clock or us.
Time flows measured or unmeasured.
It flows with or without us.

In a nutshell, old Jok is saying that the measurement of time is man's invention, but time itself is man's discovery. Time has always existed, it's just that we humans needed a way to order it in our minds, a way to understand it on our terms.

What's funny is that this idea never occurred to either my friend or me. We even went so far as to define "time" so we were on the same page. But the word "time" can mean both "time itself" and the "measurement" of time. So really, the question seems simpler if you make that distinction.

I love this...I feel suddenly like a door has been closed on an old hole from the past. Unfinished business has just called its final day.

Summing up...(or drifting away...?)

I feel very philosophical lately. I quote song lyrics on my Gmail chat account when I hear something that makes my brain start cranking its gears. I email quotes to myself that make me think about things differently. And I'm doing something this weekend that it seems I had little to do with in terms of making the event happen.

But think about the last line of that Jok Church quote: "[Time] flows with or without us." It's so true. Humans, being the sentient creatures that we are, tend to fall into the trap of thinking we have some sort of ownership of this world, our Earth. Our lives run through Earth's everyday existence, we change things, we move things around, we manipulate our surroundings to our own liking. But in the end, we're but a whisper of a moment in the Earth's life. A small spot that will eventually, one day, fade away again. We have no control over the movements of time, the ordered chaos of the universe. It exists with or without us.

One of my favorite sayings is: "Life goes on and the world's still turning." I use it when something crummy happens that I'm not too enthused about or when something doesn't quite go my way. I say it to remind myself (and perhaps others involved) that if I take a step back, it really doesn't make all that much difference. On an earthly scale, it's meaningless. Equated to the difference between 1001 and 1002 when you're out on the infinite plane. There is no difference. It's insignificant. We move on.

And I've recently been coming to the realization that this idea is really a central part of my personal philosophy. At the end of the day, the human era on Earth is just another occurrence in this planet's vast, infinite life. Now, that's not to say that our lives mean nothing. That we have nothing to live for. Quite the contrary. We make our own lives exactly what we want them to be. I love my life. And it's interesting feeling to know that I am, on an infinite plane, completely insignificant, and yet, on my own plane I live to be as significant as I can be. To make my mark on the world and the people around me.

I'm reminded of this most especially when times like my visit this weekend happen...when I feel I have little control over what's going on. That I my actions have little effect on what's actually going to happen in this specific event. The difference between an ant blowing on a piece of lint (it goes nowhere) and me blowing on said piece of lint (it whips off in a swirl of air from the force of my breath upon it).

How's that for a way to start someone's personal identity crisis...feeding one the question of "why am I here?" It's certainly one of my favorite questions, along with it's sister question: "what is the meaning of life?" Because, as I ask myself what the answer could possibly be, I sometimes stop to chuckle at the absurdity of the question when viewed from the perspective of Earth or the universe. On those scales, does it even matter? Not really. But it fascinates me. And what draws me to this question even more is that it fascinates the entire human race. We all yearn to know why we're here. And we all answer it for ourselves in different ways. Religion, art, philosophy. In the end, it won't matter what our individual answers are, it won't matter if we all agreed on one answer.

So why ask it?
Why not?

We're here now, aren't we? And with the little section of time that we're allotted in this infinite span of time, we certainly have to do something with ourselves. Why not do something that makes us happy? You want my opinion? The goal of life, the meaning we all seek, is happiness. That's what our actions inevitably come down to. Think about the decisions we make. We make them in pursuit our personal definition of happiness. That's our purpose. That's our "meaning." That's our "reason for existence." Happiness.

You know, the Peanuts gang hit it right on the proverbial nose in the musical You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown. The final number has the whole cast singing about what happiness is to each of them. Happiness is what we all strive for. What we feel most comfortable and safe with. What calms our wandering souls and gives us a sense of peace. Happiness is as simple as "finding a pencil, pizza with sausage, climbing a tree" or even "tying your shoe for the very first time." (Really, if you haven't heard this song, or at least read the lyrics, you should do so. It's very soothing.) Happiness sums it all up.

[Of course, I could be wrong. Who really knows? But, the way I see it, better to create a meaning for our insignificant existence that evokes pleasant, feel-good emotions rather than harsh, bitter, or worse, unmotivated and disengaged emotions, right?]

Spring is upon us!

2006-04-09T22:03:00.000-05:00

I love spring. Flowers bloom, leaves regrow and turn a bright, beautiful green, the sun shines longer each day, and people awake from their winter hibernation mode.

Don't get me wrong, we all know how much I love winter and the cold weather that comes with that wonderful season...it's just that you've caught me at the one period of time where I get a little sick of the whole winter thing. At this point in the year, the snow is gone (assuming we got any, which we didn't really at all this year) but the drab, dead-looking trees and grass are still waiting for the breath of spring to blow life back into them. And the weather can never decide whether to be cold or lukewarm or warm or cold again. So don't blink, or you might miss the small window of time in which you can actually catch me say a few complaints related to the cold weather. Haha!

But, back to springtime. Now, in MN, the awakening from winter hibernation seems gradual, as people start going to parks more and more, they start showing up outside for longer periods of time, they start walking around town more often. It's almost slow enough that you don't notice it happening. Very midwestern feeling. Slow, but not ridiculously so. Just a nice, easy pace to the awakening from the winter hibernation period.

But here in Boston, there is no gradual awakening. There is no slow and easy transition into the post-hibernation period. It's as if people here can't believe it's actually warm out again. I've walked around the city all winter long, and not really run into too much traffic on the sidewalks because few people really brave the winter weather for a nice, peaceful walk or run. But these days (we're talking in the last few weeks here) the city of Boston seems to have tripled its "outside population." It's amazing! Suddenly people are everywhere! They fill the sidewalks, the streets, the parks, the stores, the cafes and restaurants. Sort of like a mass awakening from this winter hibernation. It's as if they all called each other and planned on the day when they'd simultaneously hit the streets of the city and show their bright new spring faces. Craziness!

And it makes me wonder where they all come from. It's like a huge crop of people just descended on the streets of Boston. Suddenly we have a population again! A pedestrian population to make Boston look once again like a pedestrian city.

Sure, in a practical sense, I understand that Boston has a large population and that it's a very condense city. So logically, it follows that each person lives somewhere in the endless apartment buildings and houses that one can find in this city and it's immediate suburbs. But it's just surprising to suddenly see all these people all at once. [Remember, this coming from the girl used to a gradual transition to a non-hibernating population back in the old Midwest.]

I said at the beginning of this post that I love spring. I have to say, though, that the experience of spring in Boston makes the transition from winter that much more fun and exciting for me. It's energizing to see all the people outside, walking the streets, talking and laughing and hanging out...instead of the winter alternative of huddling into their coats, running into warm buildings, and generally avoiding going outside when at all possible. My walks through the city are invigorating as I pass random people humming to themselves, smiling at passersby, talking to friends, and enjoying the sunshine and warmer temperatures. It makes me want to stand on a roof somewhere and shout:

Hello people of Boston! Glad you've all awakened once again from winter hibernation and shown your beautiful faces in our wonderful city once more! See you around town!

Thanks for making me smile, Boston. See you around town!

Random musings on a Friday afternoon...

2006-04-08T21:24:00.000-05:00

Ever have one of those overly philosophical days...or weeks, even? That's been my week. Heavy on the introspection, extra helpings of personal philosophy sessions parading through my thoughts, and double doses of random philosophical musings popping up in mid-train-of-thought.

My favorite from the week?

I was eating lunch on Friday, rockin' to some classic pop music on my iPod, and the phrase gender-neutral came to center stage in my head. I don't remember the train-of-thought leading to it...not even sure I'd be able to adequately draw the map if I did remember...so we'll just move on, shall we?

gender neutral

It's a phrase I hear a lot in today's world. Related to being more gender-equal about things, more PC in the workplace, and also related to certain actions by a given individual of either gender. But, if you think about it...that's all the colloquial use of the phrase. If a word is gender-neutral, it can be used for either sex. If a person is described as "gender-neutral," it could mean that he or she doesn't exhibit the stereotypical traits of either sex.

But think about what "gender neutral" actually, literally, means. Neutral-gendered. Equal-gendered. Does that mean both? Does that mean neither? Is it possible to even be "neither-gendered?" It means that the scales aren't tipped in either direction...neither to the female nor the male side. It's dead-centered between the two genders.

I guess I don't really have anything more profound to say about this phrase than that. It's just an interesting tidbit to ponder. Not necessarily even that deep, I suppose. Just a funny notion...

You learn something new everyday...

2006-03-29T15:54:00.000-05:00

Imagine if you will:

You've wandered into a private tea party, the kind of which you have never experienced before. You figure you must be early, because most of the seats are empty. The only two guests currently there are rather eccentric, so you sit quietly and watch with growing curiosity and amusement as they sing and dance and enjoy their tea and bread and jam.

It isn't long before they notice you, and at first you are afraid they will hurt you for barging in on their private party. But you soon feel welcome, in fact, you feel more as if you had been expected to tell the truth... They sit you down between them and ask you the usual questions one is asked at a tea party. How do you take your tea? Milk? Sugar? They offer you bread with butter and jam. But, as you begin to settle into the party, ready to sip your tea and enjoy some interesting conversation from your new-found friends, you realize that this is no ordinary tea party. You are never actually able to get a sip of tea as they continue to move themselves (and you between them) down the table to different chairs. A half-glass of tea is served by cutting a tea cup in half vertically and tea poured into one half (how it doesn't fall out, you're not entirely sure...). And the conversation is on the most odd and random of topics, that you have a hard time keeping up!

As you muse distractedly on these observations, you are startled out of your thoughts by one of your "hosts" (for lack of a better term, being that you are not sure who the hosts of the party are, but no one else has yet shown up for this party) asking you a particularly random question.

"How is a raven like a writing desk?"

You decide this must be a riddle, and you absolutely adore riddles. So you repeat it to yourself a few times to let the question sink into your head. Meanwhile, you are vaguely aware of the fact that your "hosts" seem to have moved on to a completely different topic without waiting for you to give an answer or giving you the answer to the riddle. A little odd, a little annoying, but still, you are determined to find the answer to this riddle!

You repeat the question again, muttering it aloud to yourself in hopes of hearing it a bit differently if you voice the words. And suddenly, your "hosts" stop in mid-discussion and look at you as if they've seen a ghost. They start trembling and stuttering and screaming that you've gone mad. Then, they kick you out of the party! The nerve! They were the ones that originally asked you that question, so if anyone is mad, it is most certainly them, not you.

As you walk away, you hear them once again fall into their merry little song, drinking tea and switching chairs, apparently oblivious to the fact that they are the only people at a table set for a party of at least 20. And you realize that you never did find out the answer to that riddle, or question, or whatever it was.

[So, if you haven't yet figured out that I am describing a scene from Alice in Wonderland in second person, then you need to freshen up on your Disney movies.]

Why? Well, I came upon the answer to the riddle online today, and I was always one of those children who watched that movie and was left feeling just a bit empty because I wanted to know the answer to the riddle. It didn't stop me from enjoying the movie again and again, but it always made me mad that the riddle was left unsolved!

So, again, the question:

How is a raven like a writing desk?

And the answer?

Poe wrote on both.

It's just so satisfying. A childhood weight has suddenly been lifted. I feel so enlightened! Or simply just that much more in the know. [Which was probably the real issue. I have always hated not knowing something. The answer to a question or a problem. A secret known by others but not by me. Whatever it was, if I knew I was out of the know, I hated it. And so, I am now in the know for one more thing. Ah, the satisfaction of knowledge...however great or small it is!]

The amazing finds on the iTunes Music Store...

2006-03-23T20:08:00.000-05:00

Deep down in the bowels of the iTunes Music Store are some of the most hilarious songs ever created and put on CD...and they are yours for only $0.99 each!

What songs? What songs? you scream at me, so excited to know what craziness exists on iTunes you can hardly stand it.

Try a search for "Arnold Schwartzenegger."

Arnold Schwartzenegger!!! you scream at me again, in total disbelief. (And with every right, I wouldn't believe me either if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes/heard it with my own ears...) [Turns out there's another person I know who wouldn't believe me purely on principle, but that's a little jab I had to stick in there to poke fun at said person...sorry for the digression. Back to "Ah-nold".]

No. I'm not joking. Would I kid about something as hilarious as this? I think not. Seriously. There is an album entitled Arnold Schwartzenegger's Total Body Workout. The cover features the current Governor of California in a pink muscle-tank with high-rise pink shorts and a wicked 80's haircut, leaning on some free weights. So classic, I might just fall out of my chair. [And yes, for the record, I did in fact say "wicked." The Minnesotan in me is getting pushed aside by the new Bostonian emerging inside...craziness.]

The actual "music" on the album (oh yes, there's music) is from various artists singing our favorite 80's tunes, and dubbed over these tunes is Arnold's voice counting leg-lifts in a set or the amount of lunges you've done so far with him on his album!!! Can you even believe it??? You must check this out. It's the most hilarious thing I've heard in quite some time now!

And because iTunes only gives you about 30 seconds of any given song, all you really hear is a bunch of stuff that Arnold says totally out of context, dubbed over a classic 80's pop song. It's actually pretty easy to let your mind wander into the good old gutter when listening to this stuff. And what makes it even funnier is the total lack of emotion or interest in Arnold's now-famous accented voice. Truly worth the last 15 minutes I've spent listening. [I did actually fall out of my chair the first time I heard Ah-nold saying "Don't use your legs" and "And go for that stretch" over the top of 867-5309/Jenny and when I heard "5 more...up, down, up, down, up, down...and one big one...yes" over top of Journey's Don't Stop Believing .]

This is too much! you say to me, between gasps for air as you laugh yourself almost to death at the mere thought of what I've just described to you.

And to you I say:
Go.
Access iTunes. [If you don't have it, you know a friend who does, and they'll appreciate this as much as you do.]
Search Pop and Artists for "Arnold Schwartzenegger" [Make sure to spell it right!]
And listen and laugh to your heart's content.

You don't even have to pay the $0.99 per song for this entertainment...it's all there, free for your listening pleasure. [And, let's be serious, it wouldn't be as funny if you had the whole song to listen to...too much real context.]

Smile!

2006-03-18T16:03:00.000-05:00

Why is it that the world looks so much brighter when you have a smile on your face? Especially a smile that won't leave even if you wanted it to? Seriously. I've been walking around today, worked my shift at the Dance Complex, went to the grocery store...and I can't stop smiling, and the world is so bright and happy looking.

A smile is truly an amazing thing. It puts a warm feeling all through my body. When passed along to others, it shares with them that warm feeling. And it makes me feel good to see that other people are smiling because I smiled at them. I think people can forget what a simple smile can do to lighten a mood, to brighten a stormy day, to warm up a cold day...

I know that there's some scientific reason why smiling brightens a mood...endorphins being released and such. But it goes beyond science... A smile is almost like its own entity. It travels on its own, beyond your conscious awareness of how your smile is affecting you and others. And it's always amazed me how much smiling at another person can affect him/her. I remember a time in high school when a classmate once told me that her day was always brightened by the smile I gave her when I walked into the classroom. It was toward the end of the year, and she and I were partners for an in-class project, and we were chatting about this and that, and she just slipped that comment into a lull in the conversation. I didn't realize I'd been doing it...I always smiled at people in high school...much more than I do now, actually. I loved walking through the halls with a smile on my face, and when the smile wasn't there, people noticed. This girl enjoyed this part of the day because she always saw my smile and it made her happy, she told me. And you notice that I still remember this, what 10, 11 years later. Smiles are powerful things. They don't take much to accomplish, and yet they do so much for so many people. This girl and I were both deeply affected by a smile I had on my face as I walked into the classroom. I've always thought that was so cool.

A thought just struck me... People go through life pursuing happiness, right? I mean, you hear the phrase "pursuit of happiness" over and over in our culture. We (the generic "we" is what I mean here) have hobbies that we do for enjoyment, we search for a job that makes us feel good, we search for people in our lives (friends, romantic partners, or whomever) that make us happy, we go to movies to laugh (well, the comedic movies, that is), we tell jokes and funny stories for amusement, we perhaps are thrill-seekers--using the risk-factor to give us a rush of happiness in the activity. We all are constantly chasing happiness (and experiencing it, too...it's not a fruitless chase). I wonder if, sub- or unconciously, we're all merely searching for the feeling that comes with a smile. Happiness and smiles go hand-in-hand, right? That's one sure indicator of happiness...a smile on your face. Smiles feel so good...I wonder if we seek happiness for the smile of it...?

Beware the Ides of March...

2006-03-15T18:46:00.000-05:00

So goes the famous line from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar; a phrase that every American child grows up hearing and a phrase that makes March 15 a little dark around the edges in our minds. Am I right? You know I am. Even if we don't necessarily notice it's the Ides of March every March 15, or even remember that the Ides of March is March 15, the phrase always evokes a sense of foreboding in our minds.

My coworker and I were talking about this yesterday, trying to remember what day the Ides of March falls on (March 15th? 5th? 7th?). And so today I Googled "Ides of March" because, let's be serious, you can find anything you want to know on Google. And the first hit was a site that talks about the origins of the Ides of March, and what "Ides" really means. [Which, of course, made me read on...we all know that phrase, sure, but who really knows what "Ides" means?]

Apparently, "Ides" comes from a group of 3 words that labeled the time of month on the Roman calendar. Their calendar was organized in months around these three days: Kalends (the 1st day of the month), Nones (the 7th day in March, May, July, and October; the 5th in the other months), and Ides (the 15th day of March, May, July, and October; the 13th in the other months). Now, I realize this is very confusing, but don't worry, it gets even more confusing! The other days of the month were named according to their relation to these three days. They were counted backward from the Kalends, the Nones, or the Ides. Thus, today would be the Ides of March, but yesterday would be Pridie Ides (Pridie being Latin for "on the day before"). March 3 would be V Nones, that is, the 5th day before the Nones. [I realize, doing the math, that that seems weird...but the Nones was counted in those 5 days.]

In fact, the website lays out part of the month of March according to this system, and I did a bit more research on it to finish out the month, just so that the geeks in all of us that are now trying to figure this out won't get a headache from thinking too much:

March 1: Kalends
March 2: VI Nones
March 3: V Nones
March 4: IV Nones
March 5: III Nones
March 6: Pridie Nones
March 7: Nones
March 8: VIII Ides
March 9: VII Ides
March 10: VI Ides
March 11: V Ides
March 12: IV Ides
March 13: III Ides
March 14: Pridie Ides
March 15: Ides
March 16: XVII Kalends
March 17: XVI Kalends
March 18: XV Kalends
March 19: XIV Kalends
March 20: XIII Kalends
March 21: XII Kalends
March 22: XI Kalends
March 23: X Kalends
March 24: IX Kalends
March 25: VIII Kalends
March 26: VII Kalends
March 27: VI Kalends
March 28: V Kalends
March 29: IV Kalends
March 30: III Kalends
March 31: Pridie Kalends
[Now, the disclaimer to the information above: it may not be 100% accurate. I did a bit of research and tried to figure out what the days of March would have been, but if I got it wrong, sorry! From what I read, the months in which the Ides fell on the 15th (March, May, July, and October) all had 31 days.]

I found out a bunch of cool stuff, too, while researching info for naming the days in March! Apparently, March was the first month of the year, named for the god Mars. The Roman calendar (pre-Julius Caesar's reforms to make the calendar a bit easier to follow) was originally based upon the lunar phases (which is probably the reason it was so messed up to begin with since the moon's phases aren't uniform). The names of the days were also based on the lunar phases. Kalends signified the new moon and the Kalends period spanned the phases beginning with the day after the full moon until a new crescent was spotted after the new moon. Nones signified the day that the moon reached its first quarter and the period of Nones spanned from the first sighting of the new crescent moon (the day after Kalends) to the first quarter. Ides signified the full moon and the period of Ides spanned from the day after the first quarter moon to the full moon. [The obvious question is, of course, why they didn't have a specially named day for the third quarter moon, but instead had the period of Kalends last for two full phases of the moon, but hey, they're the Romans. We can't begin to try and understand their crazy ways...]

The calendar shifted away from the lunar phases sometime around the 5th century B.C., and the month lengths became fixed. That's when March got 31 days (according to the site I looked at) along with May, July, and October. And the Kalends, the Nones, and the Ides were given specific days in those months, instead of being based upon specific times in the moon's phase cycle. [Good job, Romans, way to make a bit more sense...]

So, now I've completely geeked out about the Ides of March. It ain't just the day Julius Caesar was warned about in Shakespeare's play. I think this is fascinating. Probably not enough to research any further, but a fun thing to do with my Wednesday evening post-dinner, to be sure. I hope you derive just as much enjoyment out of this as I did!

Suddenly thrown back in time from an old college shirt...

2006-03-05T10:27:00.000-05:00

Today is a t-shirt and jeans sort of day. No need to look especially fashionable or cute today...just a throw-on-some-clothes-and-go sort of Sunday. And so, I pulled out a shirt that I haven't worn in a very long time...a shirt from my freshman year of college from my dorm's "URP," or "Union of Residential Planning." I lived in the dorm most coveted by the students...it always filled up first during room draw, it was located on the East Side of our small campus, but closer to the center of campus than any of the other 8 dorms, and it had the sweetest rooms...big and roomy...lots of space...all that jazz. So, my "URP" decided to endorse our dorm as the best dorm on campus, ensuring it's everlasting superiority over other dorms at Carleton. We put together a big gala, and invited the "big-wigs" from the administration (the prez and vice-prez, the deans, etc.), as well as students from other dorms, professors, and any staff that worked in our dorm. And we created a document that we entitled The Endorsement of Nourse, that we planned to have read at the gala and then have all of the attendees sign (which they did, obviously, because everyone knows it's the best dorm).

So, back to this shirt. It's basically the yearly shirt that our "URP" (known as NURP for Nourse Union of Residential Planning) created. And on the back is the language from The Endorsement of Nourse. As I read it through again, after so many years after this event, I had a good long laugh at how silly we can be in college, and also how inventive and creative.

Now, I'm sure you're wondering what The Endorsement of Nourse says, right? Well, without further ado, here it is...may it be immortalized in the webpages of this blog...

The Endorsement of Nourse

Wherefore, in the course of human events, there arrives a time when the Fates necessitate a pause from one's daily routines, to acknowledge the truths which bind our lives together. On this day, in the waning hours of the millennium, we unite with our fellow sisters and brothers to consecrate these premises in the name of all that is honored and sacred.

We, the people of the Nourse Union of Residential Planning, in the purposes of declaring our superiority over those residences whose grounds we share and to ensure that this preeminence never be infringed upon, do ordain this to be the Endorsement of Nourse.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all Dormitories are not created equal. These exists, in the Eastern district of the campus of Carleton College, one building that far exceeds all others in beauty, refinement, dignity, class and luxury. This building, The Residence Hall of Nourse, we acknowledge to be that very structure.

And so, by my signature, I recognize the dominance of Nourse over all other edifices at Carleton College.

And, of course, here is where we had people sign our Endorsement. Hilarious, right? I read this thinking, man, were we arrogant! But at the same time, a survey of the school would show significantly more than half the student body (and quite possibly more than 75% of students) agree that Nourse is the best dorm on campus.

It's fun to go back and think about all of the fun I had at Nourse...I lived there 2 of my 4 years in college. But freshman year took the cake! We had a Gutter Sundae in the hallway of my floor--we bought a bunch of rain gutters from the hardware store (enough to span the length of our floor, we're talking a good 4-5 yards at least), filled them with scoops of all different flavors of ice cream (including sherbet for our lactose intolerant people), set toppings on the side of the gutters all the way up and down the hallway, and then ate ice cream with everyone in our dorm! It was awesome.

We also used to have regular Nerf gun wars in the first floor lounge, using the Nerf gun collection of one of the seniors on the first floor (he had to have like 9 or 10 of them...incredibly ridiculous! We also played "bumper chairs" with the first floor lounge chairs...they were soft and comfy chairs that you could curl up in, but they had wheels, and were the perfect size to get up speed going backward by kicking your feet off the ground. Way better than bumper cars! Way better!

That was the year that the senior that hung out in our lounge used to fold me up and drop me in a trash can every time he saw me. I apparently reminded him of a girl they used to do that to his freshman year...and since he was a whole foot taller than me, there wasn't much I could do about it. At least he always checked to make sure that the garbage can didn't have anything slimy or gross in it... haha!

That was also the year we haunted our dorm and made my floor (the 4th floor) the scary floor...including fake blood in the bathroom and someone jumping out of the shower, ghostly looking people walking up and down the hallway, and the "Sixth Sense" room...where a friend and I made my room completely dark, and very, very cold, and then, once everyone filed in to the center of the room, we slammed the door shut and crept around the shivering group of college kids whispering
"I see dead people..."
"They're everywhere."
"Everywhere..."
"Everywhere..."
--etc. until everyone was completely freaked out. Then, we paused and then my friend would flick on a flashlight under his face (painted hideously for better effect) and I'd grab someone's leg. Then, amid screams and squeals, I'd rush back to the door and open it, and everyone would run out. It was so cool. We scared huge macho sports players, and people who walked in with skepticism in their voices (i.e. "What's this all about...ooh, dark...scary...eh...).

Man, it's fun to reminisce about my time at Nourse. It was a very good year. And this shirt (getting back to the original topic...how often does that happen in my head???) reminds me of all of that. The crazy characters I lived with in the dorm, the friends I made, etc. I'm getting all sappy and nostalgic now. :) But really, it set the standard for my time at Carleton...and I think I enjoyed the next 3 years even more because of all of the crazy fun I had during my frosh year.

Good times, man. Good times...

Ode to my Electric Blanket

2006-03-05T09:24:00.000-05:00

There are very few things better than a warm cozy bed to snuggle into every night. The covers are warm, the mattress is warmed up...the air outside of the bed may be icy, but that cold air can't penetrate the warmth provided by my electric blanket.

This feeling rivals the feeling of curling up next to a warm, toasty fire in the fireplace, or a nice hot mug of cocoa after a long walk out in the cold. No more shivering under the cold blankets until my body heat warms a spot in my bed for me to cuddle into. If anything, sometimes my problem now is that my bed might be too warm. Ha! Now I don't have to sleep with a sweatshirt and socks at night. Because my electric blanket ensures that I will slip into a world of warmth in which I can comfortably fall asleep.

I got my electric blanket for Christmas this year. Best gift ever! I just plug it in maybe a 1/2 hour to an hour before I go to bed, and when I'm ready to climb in, I turn off the heating unit and unplug it and I'm off to dreamworld in a cozy little warm cocoon made by my electric blanket.

As I type this, I'm sitting under my blankets, my electric blanket on low, keeping the chill from the air away from me. It's amazing how this simple of a thing (my electric blanket, that is) can do so much to make me happy! [Granted, with me it doesn't take much at all, being that I'm one of the most easily amused people I know...]

Boston = Minnesota? To me...perhaps...

2006-02-23T00:07:00.000-05:00

Do you have a view, a scene, something that you could sit and literally watch for hours? Something, perhaps, that most people walk by without really noticing? Or, perhaps they notice it but don't see it the same way you do?

Bet you can guess that I have one of these scenes. Bet you already guessed that that's what I'm blogging about today. Bet, if you've read my blog before, that you could probably even guess what that scene is.

Only my favorite view of Boston's skyline, as seen from the Longfellow Bridge. Over-looking the water, the silent giants towering above the lines of old buildings and steeples from old churches. It's got such a layered effect...I always see something new every time I look at it.

But I've talked on and on about how much I like looking at this view of Boston. Check out my archives to hear more about what I have to say about this scene. No, the real reason that I'm writing today is because I find it curious how those scenes become favorites. What makes a thing, a scene, an action so intriguing to a person that he/she could literally sit and watch it for hours? Obviously it has a whole lot to do with the person and his/her unique personality and preferences. But, what I think is cool, is that everyone has something that they can say this about...that they will never tire of watching.

For me, it's peaceful, calming. It helps me unwind from the stress of work, or helps me let go of the muddle of too many thoughts racing through my head. It's become my own little ritual to watch that scene as I pass by it on the T to and from work. And I find myself feeling a little off if I miss a day. I peek through people when the train is crowded, just to catch a glimpse of "my skyline." Because that's how I think of it. It's my Boston skyline, because it's become such a personal scene.
Something about this view of Boston speaks to me...clears my head. The gentle, unassuming way that the two towers of Boston mingle with the lesser buildings surrounding them. The quietness that seems to pour out of this scene. The familiarity of certain buildings that I've come across on my walks through the city. The casual beauty of the mix of tall buildings and water of the Charles in the full view of this scene.

I don't know why it continues to throw me into a state of wonder everytime I look at this skyline. But, I always feel a bit like a child looking at snow for the first time, or peering through the windows of a candy store. Filled with awe and wonder and excitement, humbled by the great size of what I see before me, rendered a bit speechless because of the magic of what I see.

In an odd way, it reminds me of Minnesota...looking at a scene of the woods near a lake, or looking out over a field of wheat or corn, or watching wild grass blowing in the wind. Two very different worlds...one a developed, fast-paced city, the other a vast amount of wild, undeveloped land. But somehow, both put me in such a serene and contented mood. Somehow, they're so very simiilar. Somehow, this view of Boston always reminds me of home.

My absence from my blog of late...

2006-02-21T23:36:00.000-05:00

Part 1
I haven't been blogging a lot in recent weeks. The gap between my last posts and the ones before is almost a month, I think. I've told myself it's because I'm busy...I'm always on the go. And, while that's true, it's not the full reason.

The truth is that I've become shy of the "audience factor" that comes with a blog. Not shy of the anonymous people that may read this or that on my blog, or even the people who find my blog and read the whole thing. I don't know them. I won't know them. The whole reason I like blogging so much is because I've always written in journals as if I'm speaking to someone...and a blog just makes that "someone" real.

No, I've become shy of my known audience. That is, either the people I know who read my blog on a regular basis (friends, family, etc.) or the people I perceive as possible readers.

But getting back to the main subject: this shyness has gradually made me think twice before posting something, in case I say something that someone I know might read in the future and judge me for. Ridiculous? That's what I said to myself as I came to realize that I've been doing this. And it's been a gradual thing over the past couple of months. Stepping carefully around subjects that are important to me but more neutral and less personal.

But, really, I started this blog because I wanted a place to write myself into. If I wanted a political commentary or a discussion forum, this blog would be named something else or I would have used a different medium to put forth my ideas. No, this blog is for me. Regardless of who reads it. Because, in the end, if they don't like what they read, then we probably won't get along all that well. This is me.

Part 2
So, why the "Part 1" piece of this post? And now what's the subject of Part 2? Read on, my friend, and all will become clear...

Why is it that girls define their worth based on what guys think of them? Or how many dates they've had in a given length of time? Or how many boyfriends they've had (or serious relationships, flings, etc.)? I mean, think about it. So many girls (and women, too...I use "girls" in the generic sense meaning all females, for future reference) worry over why a guy hasn't called, or what a guy may be thinking, or what not to say to make sure a guy will like them. Girls stay in a relationship that's unhealthy because they figure it's better than being alone, right? Having a guy is almost like a status simple among the female side of the species. Oh sure, we all say that single is the way to go, but you'll hear us later lament about all the girls who have a guy and how much we'd like to get one ourselves. One of our own, that wants to be with only us. [Okay, that last sentence could be mistaken as meaning he's into multiple girls...but you know what I'm saying, right? It's just the stupidity of the English language and needing to match the number I was writing in. I'm too tired to go back and figure out how to make it less awkward. So we move on...]

An example:
You meet a guy. He's nice, he seems funny, he's got a smile that would melt any heart, and gorgeous brown eyes (or blue or gray or green...pick a color, pick a feature). You hang out with him, say on a Thursday evening, for a few hours. Great conversation, lots of fun. You go home walking on clouds. That excitement is pouring out of you. And he's so hot!

Fast forward through the weekend (you were pretty busy that weekend). It's Monday. No contact from him. You begin to wonder--not a lot, of course, but just a tad--is he really into you as much as you he was last Thursday (or Wed or whatever day you hung out with him)? But whatever, you've got Mon night plans, so you put it out of your head. Tuesday comes. You've got a semi-formed plan in your head about how long to wait before giving him a call. But it'd be sooo great if he called you. You freak out to all of your friends: when should I call him? why hasn't he called? is this normal? what if I wait too long before calling back? what is too long?

Suddenly, this is all you think about. You reanalyze every piece of your time together and highlight parts that could have made him like you less. That must be it, you start telling yourself. Like the saying goes: he's just not that into you. That's why (only 4-5 days after you saw him last) he hasn't called.

What does this illustrate? A dependency on what he thinks of you. If he doesn't like you, if he never calls, if he seems aloof and uninterested when you call him back eventually, it'll be awful! You'd conclude that there must be something wrong with you. And then you'd brood over how to make whatever's (supposedly )wrong with you somehow different so it's no longer wrong. ...whatever that undefined "something wrong" is...

But, this is all wrong! It's not what he thinks. It's what you think. Because, in the end, there's no guarantee that he (or some other guy, or some other guy after that) will always be around to reassure you that you matter. But you will always be around yourself. And you have the power to tell yourself that you're worth it.

Turns out, it's quite possible that I'm speaking from personal experience. I do feel like I forget what I think of myself because I get preoccupied with what other people think of me. And I hate that. It's a horrible feeling. Fear of what others think...probably one of the worst fears you can have. And probably also one of the hardest habits to break: to just stop worrying what others think and do what you do because you want to do it, not because someone else thinks you should.

And really, this goes beyond my little scenario with the guys...it's at the base of peer pressure, at the base of insecurity of self, at the base of so many people's lives. So many people in today's world act on what others tell them to do, just so that they'll be liked, or fit in. And I know what I describe sounds like childhood peer pressure. But, it happens to adults, too. Often in much more subtle, but powerful ways. We just know how to hide it better so it's not as obvious that we're acting under peer pressure.

If society today tells us anything, it's to conform. Don't break out of the norm. Don't cause a scene. Keep things smooth. Keep them simple. Tension and disagreement is a hassle. Children learn this on the playground, in their social circles at school, on their favorite TV program. Teenagers succumb to this...drugs and alcohol and sex enter the picture. Or bad grades to keep up an image. Or harsh words to a former childhood friend because they run in a different social circle. Adults then continue this in the workplace, at the grocery store, with friends at a movie or while they're out shopping. Our world has become one great big blob of conformity.

Thus, we have to worry about what others think of us, because if 'they' disapprove, we've broken out of the norm and into a realm of unconformity...and become *gasp* a rebel. Such awful connotations surround this word...because it's equated with dropping out of the norm, out of the conformist world that we live in.

Taking this back a step to my earlier example with guys. Girls feel the need to be a cookie-cutter "perfect" girl. Beautiful, proper, right height, right weight, right age, right breast-size, right thoughts and actions and interests.

And, thinking back about all that I've written, it all just seems to silly to me. Utterly ridiculous when it's all spelled out in front of me.

And yet, I'm just as much a victim of this need to conform as the next person. I like to tell myself that I'm not, and it's certainly true that I run my own way for certain things. But, let's face it, I do worry about what others think of me, and I do still feel the need to fit into the mold that our conformist society has created for us all.

So I'm left wondering: is there a way to break free from that completely? Or will I always feel the need to conform to something?

[It's been awhile since I didn't edit a post before I put it up on my blog. This is the raw, uncut, and unedited version. (Okay, except for spell-checker. Biggest pet peeve of mine is misspelled words...) No holds barred, no thoughts censored to sugar-coated. Just the real deal as I see it, in my classic, rambling, stream-of-thought style. I look back at my intro beneath the name of my blog, and feel like I have once again returned to the feeling I want my blog to give off to whomever chooses to read it. Random thoughts flowing from my brain into my keyboard as I type. Just the way I like it.]

The joy of competition

2006-02-19T18:40:00.000-05:00

I went to a Blues Party at a friend's house down in Providence last night. We all made our way over after the big Providence Swings dance (an excellent time, to be sure). This is the second time there's been a Blues Party at this friend's house...she's got a sweet space for blues dancing.

At the first Blues Party she threw, we broke out the Jenga, and about 8 of us played. Another friend of mine (one of the 8 playing) is a pretty competitive player, as am I. It happened to work out so I was in front of him in the rotation for pulling Jenga pieces out of the tower. And so, of course, my entire goal was to make him lose. [I love that Jenga doesn't have a winner...it only has a loser. It just seems so weird since most every other game has a distinct winner.]

And the 2 of us just ripped into each other during that game. You never thought Jenga could be so cutthroat competitive, huh? Never heard trash talk over the table due to a Jenga game? Well, you've obviously never played with us. It makes the game that much more interesting. And Jenga is a favorite of mine. My brother and I grew up playing the game and practicing taking out the impossible pieces. So my Jenga hands are steady as they come. My friend is the same way...makes bold moves, takes pieces that are difficult to get out with the intention of making the tower more difficult for the next person to manipulate without toppling it. I didn't end up making him lose, but it was fun to make the tower precarious enough to almost make him lose every time the rotation came around to us. Everyone else in the circle kept getting more and more agitated because of the insanity that my friend and I were pulling to try and make each other lose. It was an intense game.

So, the point of this background story:
At the Blues Party last night, my friend and I broke out the Jenga again. And everyone else declined to play. (Well, the first time we played, one girl, who hadn't been at the first Blues Party, joined us and lost almost immediately...) So we went head-to-head. Just the two of us, playing a very intense game of Jenga. Trash talk reached a new level between us. And the gasps and tension from the audience around us made everything even more fun! And, guess who won? Oh, that'd be me. It was awesome! And, if you'll permit me a few bragging rights: I made a great that shot him the losing blow. I kept getting lucky and grabbing the side pieces that came out smoothly and easily. But I eventually picked one that just wasn't having it, and did not want to come out. Now, we'd been playing for awhile, so the bottom was four levels of single middle pieces stacked up, followed by a lot of other holes toward the bottom. [He and I very rarely, if ever, take middle pieces. Makes the game more interesting, and more challenging.]

I honestly thought I might lose for a second, as I began trying to get the piece out of the tower. The piece I chose was high up on the tower, so I didn't have the leverage of the tower's weight to counteract the pressure I had to use to get the piece out. Everyone around us was sure I was going to lose also. And the tower shifted a lot! But, as I jimmied the piece out, I could feel the shifts of the tower, and knew I could get the tower to stay up. [That's really what Jenga's all about: feeling the nuances of change in the weight placement and balance of the tower. If you pay attention to those nuances, you can be sure that 9 times out of 10 you can keep the tower up just by making sure you shift the tower into a balanced position again.] So, I copped a smug look mixed with the concentration face, and slowly took the piece out, slightly moved the tower to make sure it'd stay up, and plunked the piece on top of the tower. [Wild applause and gasps of surprise from a crowd that seconds before had been so pessimistic about my chances of winning the game.] The tower had shifted enough from my jimmying and wiggling to get that piece out, so that one more touch would make it topple. And sure enough, my friend went for a piece, and the tower came tumbling down. It was awesome.

Now, like I said before, I'm a very competitive person. So, winning (which is only possible in Jenga when you play with just 2 people, like the game I just talked about) always comes with gloating rights. And I really enjoy being in company of people who are as insanely competitive as I am, because then I can cash in on the gloating rights. It was awesome, as I said before. Later on, when I saw my friend again, I apologized for my somewhat excessive gloating display over the Jenga game, because to most people, that can be over-the-top and offensive even. But he just smiled and said, "No you're not." "You're right, I'm really not," said I. And then he chuckled and said, "Besides, I'd have done the same thing if I won..."

And that's what I love. I love people who are as into the competition as I am. People that will trash talk over a board or card game and then shrug it all off after the game is over. And it's hard to find people like that. I've realized that as I've gotten older. Many people can't take the heat. [Not that there's anything wrong with that necessarily, the intense heat of competition isn't for everyone.]

My friend and I are hard-core board game competitors. Most of our other friends decline to play one-on-one games with us because we get so into it, and we get into the strategy behind the game. Othello is another game at which he and I face off. Some people may say that that's a fault, something bad about both of us...evidenced by the fact that people don't want to play with us. And, I guess you could see it that way. But, the way I see it, everyone has to be able to have fun while they're playing a game. And I have more fun with a little trash talk during a game. He and I grew up in hard-core competitive game-playing families. So, true fun in a board game, for both of us, comes from the competitive nature of the game. Now, obviously, I'm not always that intense. You have to tone in down for others that aren't as into the competition. And I can still have fun at a more relaxed game. But my energy and excitement in any game is always more charged and fueled much more by that spark of competitive spirit from the other players against me.

Legalized CHEATING?!?!?!

2006-02-15T20:34:00.001-05:00

With a title like that, you have no choice but to read on...

Let me set the stage:
Students using their cell phones to text each other answers during their history test.
Other students looking up scholars' opinions on the book about which they're writing their English essay tests.
Students googling the meaning of words for their vocab tests on their PDAs.

A teacher's worst nightmare? Hardly. Actually, the teacher approves, and *gasp* even encourages this behavior!!!

...so says an article in the Wall Street Journal last month. Schools today are having increasing problems with the issue of cheating. We live in a world where students have cell phones that connect to the internet and have text capabilities with QWERTY keyboards on them. They have PDAs that Google as fast as the laptop from which I write this. The technological age puts a huge amount of information right our fingertips, and today's youth have become exceptionally adept at accessing and using this information in ways that schools are having a hard time keeping up with.

The obvious reaction (at least, the way I see it): don't let them bring these technological devices to class. The problem, if not totally solved, is significantly reduced. There will always be those students who try to pull stuff, and then there are consequences. But, for the most part, this would cease to be an issue.

This Wall Street Journal article, Legalized 'Cheating', dated January 21, 2006, speaks to a very different approach that some schools are taking on this issue. Instead of cracking down on the cheating, they are changing the definition of cheating in their classrooms. Teachers allow students to collaborate via text messaging while taking a test, or Google information during an exam. According to this article, the most important thing today is to teach students how to access information and use it properly, not merely memorize and regurgitate the subject matter being tested. The article goes on to claim that this issue mirrors the "upheaval caused when calculators became available in the early 1970s." Teachers and schools had to change with the times, rethink how they defined education, and eventually calculators were allowed in classrooms, on tests, and became an accepted part of our society.

But see, here's the thing...using a calculator on the math test is NOT the same thing as using a cell phone to text messages answers on a test to your friend. Calculators aren't giving you the answer. You have to understand the math concept at least a little bit in order to use the calculator to produce the correct answer. Texting your friends for answers on a test involves no thinking whatsoever. Looking up scholarly articles on the Internet to aid you in writing your essay exam is merely allowing you to parade around opinions without really doing any thinking on your own.

My opinion? [As if you had a choice other than to hear what I think about this...] This is only going to make our country stupider. These schools, these teachers, these classrooms are teaching their students that they don't need their own store of knowledge, so long as they know how to use the resources around them to find the information they need. Hey, great! No more thinking! Kids'll love coming to school now! No challenge for their brains. No work to do because it's already been done for them by someone else! All they have to do is find it.

Geez! No wonder education in the United States is getting worse. This is yet another agregious case of lowered expectations. If we can't expect kids to think on their own, to take a little responsibility for their education and, I don't know, study a little for that test, then we shouldn't expect to keep our role as a superpower in the global community. I know that's a huge jump to take, but think about it...how can we expect to continue to be a role model for other countries if we breed children that we then bring up to be idiots? Freedom of thought--one of the fundamental rights I enjoy, as do all my fellow citizens, as an American--is a powerful thing, perhaps even one of the most powerful options available to us in America. It sets us up to be individuals, to act and react on our own merits, to see the world around us and interpret it openly. It takes away the cage of ignorance. But, I couldn't even have the option of enjoying this freedom if I was brought up learning to use others' ideas as my own.

And I think that's where my utter disgust with this article and the idea it holds truly lies. It's not the principle of the issue of cheating. It's not a sense of traditionalism over what we consitute as "cheating." It's the fact that this concept (of letting kids collaborate or look up info on the web during a test) is killing their right to freedom of individual thought. It's killing their option to even know what freedom of thought is. They may grow up never even knowing what it's like to have their own opinion. They'll be dependent on what others say in order to know what they think about something. And what kind of place would America be with a bunch of blind sheep walking around thinking things that others have thought up for them? Not my America. Not yours either.

I know I took this to the extreme. I know I'm over-exaggerating the ramifications of this 'redefining cheating' thing. But, I did it for a reason. The people quoted in the article that are defending their new system have no idea what they are doing to these children. It's not enough to just get the kids through school and have them know the very minimum of an American education. If we want to raise the quality of our educational system, we have to push kids much harder and much further than they think they can go. Isolated actions like allowing kids to 'cheat' and redefining it as 'not cheating,' when taken separately, are not that big of a deal, sure. But when put together with all of the other crap happening in our country's educational system, all of those isolated actions suddenly meld to become a huge tidal wave of lowered standards and lowered expectations. It's bringing down our country, it's unfair to these kids, and really, it's just plain wrong.

Response to the comment about "Pete"

2006-01-27T23:31:00.000-05:00

Okay, read my post about where all the Metros are. You'll get the Pete reference.

One of my Wolves becomes a Celtics player

2006-01-27T22:57:00.000-05:00

I just heard on the news that Wally Szczerbiak, my favorite player from the Timberwolves, has joined the Celtics. And now, I have to go to a basketball game. Many basketball games. I love watching basketball...and I love the way Wally Szczerbiak plays... It only makes sense that I have to go watch him play now.

Oh man, I didn't really get into the basketball season last year because I couldn't watch my Wolves (no 1 million channels that would give me the option of watching non New England sports...). But, I can switch to the Celtics to see my favorite player. [Okay, I realize those die-hard sports fans may read this and think it's totally blasphemous that I just said that, but I've never been a team sports fan. I just like the sport itself, and every once and awhile I get attached to one player or another, but I'm really all about watching the sport.]

Woo! Basketball, Szczerbiak...in my city! I can hardly stand it!

Wednesday food

2006-01-25T19:48:00.000-05:00

Oh man, and now, the moment you've all been waiting for...

[or maybe just the moment I've been waiting for because I get to talk about it some more...]

My post about my fabulous (and somewhat mysterious if you read the post before this one...) Wednesday food.

There's a deli. Downtown. Couple blocks away from Post Office Square. Right next to the statue memorial for the Hungarian... something. [Man, do I feel insensitive now because I walk past it every Wednesday and can't even remember what the memorial is about.]

The Bull Market Deli. [insert loud fanfare and lots of cheering here]

The Bull Market Deli has a feature meal for lunch every day of the week. They're cute and small-business-y like that.

And on Wednesdays, their special is the Pilgrim Sandwich. [insert more loud fanfares and raucous cheering from out of control fans, at 10 times the volume of the previous fanfare and cheering]

Oh man. The Pilgrim Sandwich is the most heavenly sandwich I have ever had. And it's that much better for being made only once a week. By the time Wednesday rolls around, I crave it like mad! My entire office knows "Pilgrim Sandwich Day" by now. We don't have Wednesdays, we have "Nina's Pilgrim Sandwich Day" in the middle of every work week. [I have yet to get anyone in my office to get one of these delightful sandwiches, however. I've decided it's simply because they can't handle the sheer intensity that is the Pilgrim Sandwich.]

But I digress. You're screaming at me: For the love of God, Nina, just tell us what is in this sandwich already!!!
[Actually, Pete's screaming it, too, it turns out. Go figure.]

The Pilgrim Sandwich is quite simply Thanksgiving dinner in sandwich form. [Mouth watering yet?] It's got a layer of stuffing on the top, a layer of cranberry sauce on the bottom, sandwiching the thick, juicy slices of turkey in the middle of the two. Put on an over-sized braided roll, and slathered with a good helping of gravy before it's closed and cut and wrapped up in parchment paper. [If your mouth is not watering by now, then you better go run to the kitchen and drink a gallon of water because you must be completely dehydrated and thus unable to salivate.]

You see now why Wednesday is without a doubt the best day for lunch in downtown Boston?

I was sick last Wednesday, and we're talking stomach-flu-can't-eat-solid-foods sick, too. And therefore, I could not have a Pilgrim Sandwich for lunch last week. Turns out, I was sleeping when lunchtime rolled around. And I woke up around 1:00 or so from a dream about eating a Pilgrim Sandwich. This sandwich is that good! My mom is coming to visit me in April. She's flying in on a Wednesday. And we got her an early flight so that I can take her for a Pilgrim Sandwich for lunch. That's how amazing this sandwich is! It determines travel plans. It creeps into my dreams when I'm stomach-flu sick and repulsed by the thought of food. It renames Wednesdays in my office.

[Oh man, the power of this sandwich!]

There are some who will read this post and think I'm wacko, off my rocker, and completely over-obsessed to the point of lunacy due to the endless praise I give this sandwich. Let's get one thing clear: they've never had this sandwich. Let them judge and shake their heads in scorn. I don't care. There must be cynics in the world or it would be awfully boring. They just can't understand. Or won't.

Either way, don't listen to them. Don't be them. Go get yourself a Pilgrim Sandwich. Trust me, your Wednesdays will never be the same...

Where's a freakin' Metro when you need one?

2006-01-25T19:22:00.000-05:00

I went out for my lunch break today and stopped by my favorite deli to get my Wednesday food, [stay tuned, I will post about this next...although I can't believe I haven't posted about this amazing work of culinary art before!] then stuck my food in a paper bag and headed out the door for a quick stop at that big green & clear stand that's full of Metros. The idea was to grab one quickly, then head back inside the deli and sit down to eat my sandwich while I do the Sudoku and crossword [both of which I'm totally addicted to].

Now, I didn't actually know there was one right outside of the door, but I see so many clumps of paper stands around the downtown area that I figured there must be a Metro stand somewhere close by... [In case you're out of touch with the downtown area, there is quite literally a clump of free paper stands on every other corner in any direction you walk downtown. A little ridiculous, a little excessive, a little weird...yes, all of the above.]

Oh no. No Metro stand right outside the deli.

No matter, I tell myself. I'll just walk to the next block.

Uh-uh. None there either.

Nor at the next block...

...nor the next...

...nor the next.

Where are all the freakin' Metro stands??? I cry silently in my head, my delightful lunch still clutched under my arm in a paper bag, getting cold in the January air.

And so, 20 minutes later, I end up about 6 blocks up from the deli, having taken a detour that totaled about 12 blocks. Find the Metro stand I know about. Grab a Metro. And walk somewhere else to eat my Wednesday food so it's not completely cold by the time I eat it.

And that is my story. All for a stinkin' addiction to the Metro's Sudoku and crossword. My food was still warm enough for me to eat one half of it before it got cold, by the way, so it wasn't all bad...

But seriously, here's my shout to the world of Boston:

Get some more freakin' Metro stands in downtown Boston, for Pete's sake!!!

[Because really, Pete's pretty peeved about this lack of Metro stands in downtown Boston, too. And you don't wanna mess with Pete. Trust me.]

Dance is IN in Cambridge

2006-01-20T11:08:00.000-05:00

I recently started a dance practice group with a good friend of mine from the Lindy scene in Boston. It's a small group, just a few of our friends from the Boston scene, and recently a few more friends from the Providence Lindy scene. We have a lot of fun...it's great to get together and work out moves and timing and just dance.

Since we're still relatively new, we've been working on finding regular space in which to practice, because we've grown bigger than any of our living rooms can accommodate. So I've started researching places in Cambridge and Boston that rent out rehearsal space for dancers. And I was blown away by how many places do actually rent out space for pretty reasonable prices! Granted, they fill up rather quickly for weekend times, but still...there are so many options to go through!

Is it crazy for me to be so surprised by this? Maybe, maybe not. Since moving to Cambridge I've heard again and again that the City of Cambridge is known for its support of the arts, and dance is most certainly included in that. But I come from Minnesota originally [as if you hadn't figured that out yet...but just in case you hadn't...haha!] and finding space to dance in the Twin Cities was always a challenge for our Lindy scene. That's what I'm used to...the discussion of putting together a dance or something, and the inevitable hesitation because it'll be hard to find space to rent in which to dance.

But here in Cambridge, it's a completely different story. Dance studios and arts center abound. They're willing to give us space if they have it available, willing to negotiate prices if we want to use them as a regular rehearsal space, and the studios are spacious with good quality dance floors! It's like a dance rehearsal space heaven!

On the topic of dance in Cambridge, I'm also a little more amazed than I probably should be at the number of places that offer dance classes for really great prices. Perfect for students or young people a few years out of college who can't pay a lot for classes. [like me!] A little research online (we're talking maybe 10 minutes of web surfing) brought me The Dance Complex in Central Square, and the Boston Dance Alliance website, plus a bunch of other links from my google searches that I didn't pursue but were relevant to my research.

I must say, as a dancer looking to broaden her dance vocabulary into other forms of dance, I feel so welcome and wanted in this community. Cambridge, in my humble opinion, is the place for dancers to be!

My blog is just a Google search away...

2006-01-20T10:42:00.000-05:00

Turns out I haven't posted in quite a while. Weeks! And this is crazy, so here I am with a fresh new post. Woot! [And hey, if I get really crazy, I might even post twice today! CRAAAAZY!!!]

In the past few months, I've picked up a funny little pastime: collecting Google searches that bring up my blog in the top 10 sites on the results list. It's pretty simple really, using Site Meter to see what site referred people to mine. And I get the craziest searches that link to my blog! So I thought that I'd share a few, and keep a semi-regular report going of the new searches that bring up my blog. [Okay, yes, it's kind of a silly thing to collect. But if you don't expect silly things out of me by now, then you obviously haven't read my blog well enough...]

My all-time 10 favorites: [The parenthetical number at the end is what number my blog was ranked in that search.]

- Johnny Rockets+server's dancing and singing (#5)
- geek lindy (#4)
- hancock tower lights and their meaning (#1)
- irrational anger with age (#1) [of course, how excited I should be that my blog is ranked 1 on this search, I'm not entirely sure...]
- hoppin+colour (#1) --from Google Australia
- "sudden unconstitutionality" (#2, of only 2 matches) --from Google Uruguay
- definition: "rode the red" (#2)
- minnesotan cellular phone facts (#1)
- tough math proof (#2) --from Google India
- Red Had Linus Shriek (#1) --from Google UK

What I love about these searches is that quite often they have nothing to do with any of my posts directly, but are a conglomeration of things I've written about on my blog. I also love that I show up on foreign Google sites. I guess it's not all that odd, when you think about it. It just seems so cool...my blog is global! :)

No worries, I'll keep you all *posted* on new and exciting Google searches that reach my blog. [And, oh yes, that really awful pun was intended, hence the emphasis on the word...]

Cell Phone Nation has hit me full force

2006-01-05T20:11:00.000-05:00

Though our society is probably destined to one day appear in a history book labeled as the Technological Age, or something to that effect, I'm narrowing it down today to serve my own purposes (i.e. this post).

We live in a world of cell phones. Ever stop and try to remember what life was like without them? How did people meet each other at places? How did people stay in touch? Well, I'm not going to go into one of those crazy rants about how the "good old days were simpler and better without cell phones and oh how I lament that we can't return to those times." Because I don't lament it. I think cell phones are wonderful. But, I move away from the real reason for this post...lemme get back there.

........................

Okay, back. Brain took a detour. It happens.

Anywho...this world of cell phones that we live in. They're common things these days. They're not just phones, they're entertainment. Accessories galore. Ring tones and games and videos and cameras and text messages and on and on. As I said, we live in a cell phone world. Cell Phone Nation, you might call it [or rather, I might call it...]

Oh, I was very against having one for quite awhile. All through college I strongly resisted. Of course, my college made it pretty easy not to like them. Small campus, lots of outdoor space, lots of things to do. People that I went to college with hid their cell phones if they had them. You didn't carry a cell around campus with you. You only used it in the confines of your room for long distance calls home because that was cheaper. But nobody had (or admitted to having) a cell phone.

I finally got one when I had my first job because I'd be traveling and figured I needed a good way to get in touch with people. And so I joined the Cell Phone Nation. A simple phone. No bells or whistles or cameras or color or anything. This was 2003 people. Like the stone age for cell phones. [Okay, maybe a little less ancient, we certainly aren't talking huge mobile units that were bigger than your head...]

Simple. Sleek. Flip phone. It was pretty. All I needed. Cute little phone, nice big national plan. I was set. And then 2 years passed, and my little cell phone went and grew up and got itself outdated. Go figure. When I went to exchange it, I was looking for something just like my old phone. I didn't need color and cameras and bells and whistles. [Even though now the bells and whistles were commonplace, like Coke in a plastic bottle or 32 flavors of ice cream (and then some...)]

And guess what I found: the flip phone with a camera and a color screen was cheaper, lighter, and thinner than my old phone was. So, I took another step into Cell Phone Nation. The bells and whistles have reached me, too. I haven't as yet joined the world of cell phone accessorizing. I have yet to download a single ring-tone, or buy a single accessory for my phone. I try to keep it simple. Nothing fancy. [Who am I kidding. It's really only a matter of time before I get the hands-free set or break down and download ringtones or something. *sigh*]

Reading this, it may seem to you that I still am not a cell phone fan. You may wonder why I bother at all if I seem so opposed to them. I am indeed quite proud of my ability to resist most of Cell Phone Nation in all its accessorized, decked-out glory. But really, I love my little cell phone. It's the smallest and most easily accessible phone book I've ever owned. It's great for allowing me to keep in touch with old friends. It's invaluable when meeting anyone anywhere. And it's so much cheaper than having a land line. I, like most people in Cell Phone Nation, don't even have a land line. I exist on the phone lines only in the cordless, cellular realm.

So, what is the point of my post then? Okay, sure. I like my cell phone, even though I'm quite proud of my stubborn resistance of Cell Phone Nation taking over my own little world. So?

Well, with all the resistance to Cell Phone Nation, all the stubborn determination to stay simple in this age of cell phones, I now have two of them.

Two.

One for personal use, the "home cell phone." The second for work use, the "business cell phone." If you filled out an address book card in MS Outlook for me, you would have a number for Mobile 1 and Mobile 2 (since they haven't created labels for Home Cell and Work Cell yet...).

Two cell phones.

I've had the second for about 5 months now, so I've gotten used to it, I guess. At first, I forgot to answer it because it had a different ring sound, and because 'hey, I'm supposed to be technically not the hugest fan of cell phones, right?'

I guess this post comes from an experience this evening while walking home from the T after work. I had just gotten out of the station, and had my home cell out to call a friend, when my work cell rang. Now, because I was all mittened up and rushing to grab the work cell from my bag, I ended up walking down the sidewalk with my home cell in my left hand, still open and waiting to dial the friend's number, and my work cell open and raised to my ear with my right hand. See the picture? Nice sleek wool long coat that looks all business-y with all my wintry accessories (mittens, hat, scarf). Shoulder bag hanging to my right side. Headphones draped around my neck. Cell phone open and ready to use in my left mitten paw. Talking into a different cell phone held up with my right mitten paw. Walking down the sidewalk dodging oncoming pedestrian traffic in the end of rush hour sea of people walking home from the T. I was a caricature of the very thing I wanted to avoid: the person who's way too caught up in Cell Phone Nation. The person you pass on the street and shake your head at because they look so unaware of their excessiveness. I get the picture in my head and think I must have looked ridiculous! [Let's be serious. I probably did. I probably also looked like one of those snobby people wrapped up in only their own little world with a 'who cares about anyone else because my life is just more important' attitude. Haha.]

It's almost ironic, isn't it? Me with the 2 cell phones. I won't pull an Alanis and decide to call it ironic when it really isn't. (Oh man, that's a whole 'nother post just waiting to be written! [As is the fact that I just wrote "a whole 'nother" as I type-speak in my vernacular. Funny how 'another' has become 2 words...]) But it is funny that I'm the one who finds herself with not one, but two cell phones. Me, the girl who in college refused to carry a thought of ever owning a cell phone.

Welcome to my slice of Cell Phone Nation: population 3. My cell phone, my other cell phone, and I.

The Case of the School Board vs. the City [part 1]

2005-12-24T15:30:00.000-05:00

It's always so fun to come home. Catch up on old news from your family, see what's changed in your hometown--and what's stayed the same. And, if you're like me and grew up in a smaller town in suburban MN, hear the stories of all of the ridiculous antics that take place in the town.

This year's story tops them all!!!

Once upon a time, in a small suburb of the Twin Cities, there was a community that was growing very fast. So fast, in fact, that their high school had become too small to accommodate the amount of students entering ninth grade. And so, the School District decided to build a new high school in the city. A grand new high school, that would give the Students of the Town enough space to learn and grow and stretch their wings. And so, the School District began its search for a site upon which to build its grand new high school.

Many a site was visited, many a site was rejected for one reason or another. Not flat enough; too marshy and wet; too far away from the residential area; too close to the main highway. And then, one day, the School District found the perfect site. How joyful School District felt that day! Its dream of a new high school was that much closer to becoming a reality!

Throughout the whole process of searching for a perfect site upon which to build its new high school, the School District had many conversations and meetings with the City Council, so that the city would be aware of the School District's movements along its journey to the new school. On the day that the School District found its perfect site, the School District contacted the City Council and shared the wonderful news.

"We've found a site for our new high school!" the School District cried, almost overtaken by the joy of it.

"Fantastic!" exclaimed the City Council. "Where is this new site?"

And the School District, beside itself with glee, quickly told the City Council about their perfect site.

The City Council, upon hearing the news, congratulated the School District. "Well done!" the City Council said, shaking the School District's hand and smiling.

"Thank you!" came the excited reply. "We will begin preparations immediately for the approval and eventual building on the site. We are so excited!"

"Fantastic," said the City Council again.

And the School District, true to its word, began preparations for approving the site the very next day. It drafted a Referendum for the People of the Town. It publicized the discovery of its perfect site. And it looked at the perfect site from every angle, marveling in the perfect site's perfection.

Now, the only downside the School District found about the site was that the City Council had designated the area in which the perfect site was located to remain undeveloped until 2022. Upon further research, however, the School District soon learned that the rule could be waived if the development was in the best interest of the town. The School District worried over this for a little while, but soon shrugged off its worries when it realized that, in all of the many meetings and conversations it had had with the City Council, the City Council had never mentioned this rule as a problem for the perfect site. And so plans for the new school continued without any foreseen obstacles in the way.

The Referendum passed, adding the necessary monetary support for the school from the People of the Town. Plans were layed for the school's construction. Everything was ready to begin. There was just one last step that the School District had to take in order to get their plan for the new school underway.

And so, the School District met with the City Council.

"We have set all of the plans for our new high school at the perfect site," the School District told the City Council.

"Fantastic," replied the City Council.

"We have one last thing that we need to do so we can get underway," said the School District in a leading tone.

"What is that?" asked the City Council.

"We need to ask that you waive the rule prohibiting the development of the perfect site until 2022 so that we may start on construction of the school now," said the School District, a bit confused as to why the City Council seemed unaware that this question was the purpose for the meeting.

"Oh," said the City Council. "Well, sorry, but the answer is no. We will not waive that rule."

"What?!?!" exclaimed the School District. "How can you say this? You knew that we need to build this school now. You knew that we wanted to build the school on the perfect site. Why didn't you tell us that you would not waive this rule?"

"It never came up in our meetings and discussions," responded the City Council, annoyingly calm from the School District's perspective.

"This is outrageous!" cried the School District, rising to leave the meeting. "You have not heard the last of this."

And the School District left the room without another word.

A few days later, the City Council received notice that the School District was taking the City Council to court to have a judge force the City Council to waive this rule prohibiting development of the perfect site until 2022.

---end of Part 1---

...stay tuned for Part 2 of this story: the conclusion of the court case and the future plans for the new high school!

[This story is based upon real events from my hometown; however, parts of the story have been embellished to create dramatic effect and to reflect the opinions of the author.]

My favorite math proof

2005-12-18T22:04:00.000-05:00

I was math major in college, so it follows quite logically that I have a favorite proof. Mine happens to be the proof of a concept that most people use almost every day of their lives without really thinking about it. It's the proof that x*0=0, where x is any real number.

Most people think this a given. If you multiply a number (i.e. "something") by nothing, you get nothing. Simple enough. We all know this. But it's not a given, or in math-speak, not an axiom of the real numbers. The reason is that back in the days when the Greek philosophers (early mathematicians) were working out what numbers were and what theories rested with numbers, they didn't believe that 0 was a valid number. How can you have a symbol that represents the concept of nothing? they asked. It seemed counter-intuitive to them (and you can see why when you look at it like that, right?). So, every arithmetical calculation involving 0 that we take for granted had to be proven.

This history is only part of the reason that this is my favorite proof, though. The other reason is that it's such a slick proof. Concise, to the point, with a little trick that I just love! And now, you're curious what this proof looks like (even if you think you're not curious, I promise that you actually are). So, I'll type it out below. It looks better on a chalkboard, and if I could somehow put a chalkboard onto my blog and physically write the proof out on that chalkboard, I would. However, since that's not an option, this will just have to do (although I'm extremely sad that I can't use the shorthand symbols for "there exists," "such that," and "is contained in" because those always make the proof look so much cooler). Read on, and be amazed at the simplicity of this monumentous result of the real numbers...

Prove: x*0=0, where x is any real number.

Since x is a real number, and the set of real numbers is closed under multiplication, then x*0 is also a real number.

We know 0+0=0, thus x*0=x*(0+0)=x*0+x*0.

Every real number has an inverse, so there exists a y in the real numbers such that x*0+y=0.

It follows that x*0+y=x*0+x*0+y. Since x*0+y=0, using substitution, we see that x*0+x*0+y=x*0+0.

Since 0 is defined as the additive identity of the real numbers, then x*0+0=x*0, and thus x*0=0.

Ah, so slick. So sleek. So nice. Every time I go through that proof, it makes me smile. Hope you had fun with it, too!

The amazing power of floss

2005-12-17T01:35:00.001-05:00

With a title like that, who needs an opening, right? Haha. I was on my way home from work today [no, I know what you're thinking...I didn't walk home...I took the T and walked from there] ...on my way home from work, and I had the usual array of random thoughts running through my brain as I picked my way over the icy sidewalks. But the prominent thought pressing in my mind, making me walk faster to get home: I really want to get home so I can floss.

Okay, so this is probably not something you'd normally think about on your way home. And hey, I understand. It is indeed a rather peculiar thing to cause a person to want to get home faster. See, flossing - for me - is a way to release tension. I hold tension in my shoulders mainly, and after a long day at work (in this case, a long week at work, I look for any way to release that tension. [Don't we all?] I have found, recently, that simply flossing gives me that tension release. Every time I floss (even when I'm not particularly stressed out), I get that dull ache in my shoulders associated with tension release. Every time. And so, after a long day at work, my most pressing need when I return home is to floss my teeth.

Right, you say, chuckling under your breath and trying to hide it from me. This girl relieves tension by flossing? And now you've heard everything, right? Well, don't judge until you've actually tried it. I would love to be able to tell you why flossing my teeth relieves the tension I hold in my shoulders. If it made sense, I suppose it probably wouldn't be as interesting thing to post about beyond the initial shock factor I pulled from all of you.

And with that completely random thought of the evening, I bid you farewell.

My walk home...

2005-12-14T20:12:00.000-05:00

[I know I'm posting twice in one day. But I just have too much to comment on. You know you love it...more to read and more time spent in my little blog-world! What's better than that? :P]

I decided to walk home from work yesterday evening. What? you say. You don't understand if this is an impressive feat or a silly reference or simply me walking down the block to my apartment making it completely pointless to even mention. [Now, now. You know I wouldn't be writing this if it was completely pointless to mention...]

I work downtown, right near Government Center and State Street, down the street from Park Street and Downtown Crossing. In the Four Corners. You know what I'm talking about. And, as my little sidebar intro will tell you, I live in Cambridge. A bit of a hike, you say? Indeed. To give you an idea of the distance, it took me about an hour and a half to walk from my office to my apartment, at a regular strolling pace (not too fast, but not shuffling my feet either), with a short stop at a Starbuck's to grab some hot apple cider in the middle of my trek. A fair distance, to be sure.

Now that you've got that information straight in your head, I know the next thing you're thinking: um, December...in Boston...winter? cold? And you're right. It is most definitely winter...most definitely cold...it was around 15-20 degrees during my walk. Oh yes.

So we get to the last thought immediately popping into your head when you first read that I walked home from my office yesterday evening: She must be CRAZY!!!

Hehehe. And you're probably right. But let's move on from what you're thinking to what I was thinking (since I predict that is your next question for me).

I actually didn't mean to walk all the way home...it just sort of happened. [I know, I know, walking home for 1.5 hours in 20-degree weather doesn't just happen, right? Well, it happens to me. Let's not forget that I love winter and cold weather.]

When I left the office last night, I called a friend from college that I hadn't talked to in awhile. I was expecting to simply leave a voicemail message on her phone, because we rarely get to actually talk. In fact, we joke that we've become best friends with each other's voicemails since we seem to be so unavailable all the time. :) It's about a 5-minute walk to the T from my office, perfect amount of time to leave her a funny voicemail message that's just a little too long...my signature move on voicemail. But, instead of her voicemail, she actually picked up! Excitement! So we started talking, and I thought, "I can't get on the T right now, we haven't talked in ages!" So I decided to walk instead to the Park St station, with the intention of cutting the conversation off when I got there and resuming when I got off the T at Central.

But you know how these conversations go with someone you haven't talked to in awhile. There's so much to catch up on, so much to say, one topic leads to another, we get more excited about telling and hearing each other's stories...and then I just didn't want to get off the phone yet. Park St station came and went, and I continued on with the intention of getting on the T at Charles/MGH. I figured that'd be a good walk (especially since I wasn't 100% sure that I knew the way from Park St to Charles/MGH above ground so I figured I'd have a bit of getting lost time to add minutes to the conversation).

And then I was suddenly at Charles/MGH. [And I didn't get lost, let's hear a little applause, hey? That's quite a feat for me considering my track record for navigating above ground in this city...] I paused the conversation to ask my friend if it would be completely crazy of me to just walk all the way home. She said that as long as it was comfortable for me, she didn't see why not. [Wise words. And, let's be serious, I'm comfortable in single-degree weather with the right winter gear on, so I was set!]

So, I set off. The next stage in the journey, of course, was crossing the Longfellow Bridge into Cambridge. Walking over the river, all breezy and windy up there, potentially a lot colder than what it was merely on the ground. But, what the hay, right? I like cold. I was built for this kind of weather. I'm tough. And I decided I was all over this bridge. I can honestly say that I haven't experienced anything more beautiful in this city than the view from the Longfellow Bridge that night. My eyes actually started getting glossy, it moved me that much. Granted, I was talking on my cell as I walked and took in the view, but that didn't lessen at all the great and awesome power of this view. I've posted many times about this view...I see it everyday as I pass to and from work on the Red Line. But it's never been like this. I wasn't looking through a dirty train car window, first of all, so the images were clearer, sharper, more alive. I also can't see as much of the river when I'm on the T. There, last night, at the edge of the bridge, looking out over the Charles River at the John Hancock tower and the Pru, I saw the river turning to ice, with a section of water in the middle still lapping against ice already formed on the river. I saw an amazing bright and glowing view of the two towers and the lesser buildings surrounding them. I caught a bit of their reflections in what little water was left flowing in the river, mixed with the muted reflection of the building lights reflecting off of the ice that had formed over the rest of the river...the whole effect being the illusion of a light source emanating from the bottom of the river to help light my way across the bridge. It was breath-takingly beautiful. And the whole image was given the wintry touch when I saw my breath spilling out in front of me on the cold night air, blocking parts of my view for an instant as it moved on in the breeze flowing over the bridge and the river. And I think that's what made this picture complete. The atmosphere around me...the cold night air all around me, closing me in its wintry embrace. I love the arctic feeling of cold air filling the space around you as you walk with your warm wintry gear to protect you from the harshness of winter's cold world. It made the view from the bridge that night absolutely perfect. Better than anything I see from the T...at any time of day.

The rest of my walk home didn't really feel cold at all. I was full of an inner warmth from having experienced that view over the river. Sure, my fingers did start getting a bit stiff from the cold...hence the stopping by a Starbucks for a hot apple cider to keep my hands warm as I finished my walk home. But between the view from the Longfellow Bridge, the excitement of walking on a cold wintry night, and the cheery conversation with my friend over the phone, I sort of forgot that I should probably feel cold after walking for an hour and a half in 20-degree weather. [Huh. Oops.]

And, thinking back on that night, it was just what I needed to clear my head and feel alive and well and happy. Winter does that to me. It's refreshing. It's exciting. It's in my soul.

As I read back over this post, I realize that I mention quite a few effects from winter weather with a casual brush-aside sort of attitude. My fingers getting stiff from cold during my walk. The 20-degree weather I walked in. The chilling arctic breeze from the Charles as I crossed the Longfellow Bridge. And I can add a few things to the list: slipping along icy paths, the "frozen nostril effect," the numbness of my legs and toes by the time I got home. I realize, as I think back on the walk, that I take these all in stride...so much so that I forget they even happen. (I had to actually think hard to come up with that list of 3 that I added in this paragraph!) I actually enjoy all of these wintry effects. They come as part of the whole package. The way I see it, you can't truly enjoy cold winter weather without loving to some degree the numbness of limbs after extended periods in the old, that crazy "frozen nostril effect," the bone-chilling breezes that come during a walk in the cold night air, the ice slipping and subsequent reaction to correct for keeping balance. Anyone claiming to like winter, but not liking all of these small things associated with the season is merely a poser. I'm the real deal, man. 100% pure winter-lover. [Heh, I totally just made up another word to describe me. I'm on a roll tonight!]

[Turns out, I've never really analyzed to this extent why I like winter and cold weather so much. I'm not sure this post gives the complete answer either, but I feel oddly enlightened as to some of the workings of my brain surrounding my love of the cold...and in the end, that's the whole point of this blog, right?]

A retro-slanger

2005-12-14T19:56:00.000-05:00

I am a retro-slanger. This is my new term, used to describe my style of using slang in my everyday speech. It basically means that I use words resurrected from earlier decades, or else I tend to pick up terms and phrases at the tail end of their tenure as "the" slang word of present day speech.

Examples:
Good times...
Rad.
Groovy.
Hot. [ala Paris Hilton apparently, though that's not where I picked it up, but now I'm in the process of fading that term out of my vocabulary because of how many people seem to be against me saying that...who knew it was such a big deal?]

I guess I don't really have any real point for this post, other than to share the new word I coined to describe myself. Haha!

Doin' the wave

2005-12-08T22:39:00.000-05:00

Last Friday, I discovered that one of my favorite sandwich places in Cambridge, a place called Pressed, also exists in the downtown area near where I work. Woot! So, on Tuesday, I went there for lunch. And it was fabulous, I must say. I love that place! Check Pressed out online, and then get yourself in one of their Boston locations pronto! Sooo good!

Okay, but my purpose for writing this post was not to give my personal endorsement for this fabulous breakfast/lunch eatery. I'm here to tell you the story of my first experience with my newly discovered downtown location:

So, I went in. I checked the menu to see if they had different stuff than the Cambridge location...a few. Good, I thought, different flavor...different character. Of course I ordered what I normally do, not feeling overly adventurous that day, and walked over to sit myself on their bar stool/bar table by the front window. Two guys were finishing their lunch there, and I noticed as I walked past them that one was an older guy...like mid-forties...and the other was a younger guy...like late twenties. Huh, I thought. As I shed my winter gear, I looked up to see the younger guy looking at me. He looked down again at his sandwich when I caught him looking at me (and I chuckled to myself). I looked over at him again, and saw that he's quite the handsome fellow. Looked rather sharp in his business suit, long wool coat. And a cute face, nice eyes. As I mentally compiled this assessment of his features, he looked up again. My turn to bashfully look away (and I now giggled to myself).

As I started my lunch, he and the older guy he's with started chatting up the owner...they all seem to know each other, and the chat turned to lengthy conversation very quickly. [Hey, I didn't mind, more time to enjoy the fine looking man two seats down from me as he laughed and joked and talked with the older guy and the owner.]

But, the talking ended, and the two guys eventually got up to leave. The younger guy shot me another glance before he left with his companion. The older guy walked quickly on past the window, but the younger guy dawdled a bit, walking more slowly past the window. When he reached me on the opposite side of the window, he paused, looked up, and waved. He WAVED! I sat in split-second shock [how many times do you get random men waving at you?] before waving back with a bashful smile. And then he got a huge smile on his face and, I kid you not, would have skipped away were he not all dressed up in business attire.

A couple of minutes after he left, when I'd fully processed the events that just played out in my lunch period, I thought to myself, 'Seriously, that was way too cute for words. But wait, how is he gonna peek over at me for a good 15 minutes of our lunchtime overlap, and wave at me when he left, and not give me his number or ask me for mine?'

'How is he gonna WAVE at me and not find some way of getting to know more about me?'

*sigh* He's a guy. That's the answer. Unfortunate, yes. Realistic, though? Definitely. They just don't always seem to get it.

...he waved at me...

SNOW!!!

2005-12-04T09:22:00.000-05:00

IT'S SNOWING!!!

I love snow. I love the first snow. I love the feel of walking in snow.

I love it, I Love It, I LOVE IT!!!

It always makes me feel like a kid again. There's something so magical about snow, something innocent and wonderful and carefree about watching snow fall on the world.

Enough of talking about it...I'm going to get dressed and go enjoy the first snow fall of the winter!

Addition to Tuesdays With Morrie post:

2005-12-03T20:25:00.000-05:00

You the other thing that's cool...all of that took place here in the Boston area. Morrie lived in West Newton. He used to go out dancing in Harvard Square. He taught at Brandeis. It just adds that little extra connection to the story that I'm here in the Boston area. Makes me feel just a bit closer to it.

Go read this book if you haven't yet. If you have, go read it again. Allow it to fill your soul. Let Morrie help you once again try to see past all of the superficial things in your life to find what's really important. And hold on to that as life throws its curve balls at you.

Tuesdays With Morrie

2005-12-03T19:53:00.000-05:00

I just recently finished reading Tuesdays With Morrie. A book on everyone's list, or at least it should be. I've always meant to read it, but haven't been able to get around to it recently. Now, I'm not posting this to do a book report, so if you want to know about the story, you should just read it.

It just really touched me, as almost everyone who reads this book will agree. I finished the book during my lunch period last week, while eating a cinnamon-raisin bagel with peanut butter on it. [you may find this odd, but have you tried it? sooo good...] I was sitting by myself in a Bruegger's Bagel Shop, nose in my book, peanut butter spilling off of my bagel as I bit into it, and as I reached the end of the story, I felt tears start to roll down my cheeks. By the end of the book, I was close to sobbing, the tears steadily rolling down my cheeks.

Now, I'll be honest. I'm not a big crier when I'm in public. I would prefer to do my crying/sobbing/tearing up in private and then compose myself once again before others see me. So, I don't often cry in movie theaters unless the movie really hits an emotional chord with me. [Rent is an obvious example.] Books are even less successful at making me cry. Theater can do it, given the right show on the stage...musicals especially are good at bringing out my tears. But, all said, crying in a Bruegger's over a book that I just finished reading is not generally on the list of things for which I'm known.

Having said that, I found myself not at all embarrassed that I was sitting in a Bruegger's openly crying over the book I had just finished. There's something magical about that story. The way Mitch Albom tells it makes you feel you're right there learning with him as Morrie talks. After I closed the finished book, I sat, tears still rolling pretty steadily, and finished eating that delicious cinnamon-raisin bagel with peanut butter on it, and found myself not even needing to look around to see if other people were looking at me. Not that I didn't care, it just simply didn't matter. Let them look--maybe they'll see that I just finished reading Tuesdays With Morrie and either decide they need to read it or remember the feeling they had when they finished the book.

Man, that is such a wonderful feeling. I would love to feel like that all the time. Feel completely confident with myself so that I am able to express emotion, thoughts, ideas without worrying about what others around me will think. It's true, I don't obsess over what they might think...I've learned not to let others' judgments get in the way of what I want to do, but it's also true that most of us hold back somewhat for fear of what others will think of us. As stupid as it is, we all do this.

And Morrie touched me in such a way that day, that all of that fell away, and I was left with a great sense of inner peace. Sittin', cryin', eatin' my lunch, thinkin' about the lessons that Morrie left with all of us in this book.

And when my lunch hour ended, I calmly wiped my eyes with a napkin, collected my stuff, and walked happily out the door. My thoughts as I left Bruegger's centered on: "When I grow up, I want to be like Morrie. But in the mean time, I want to live life to its fullest so that I can look back and appreciate all that I did with my time."

It's like a New Year's resolution, but for life. One that is so important to follow through on.

A spurt of irrational anger, followed by a sudden notion of inner-growth...and the resulting look at a pretty scary little emotion called 'anger'

2005-12-02T18:37:00.000-05:00

It's interesting how we notice ourselves age. Physical changes are certainly an obvious indicator. Birthdays are another obvious way to see the passing of time in life. But beyond those, there are many, many little things, subtle things, that show us that we've gotten older. Culture changes, yes. Changes in locations, friends, occupations, definitely. But it's funny how random things will suddenly trigger the thought "Wow, I've definitely gotten older."

I was walking home today, feeling kinda down and cranky. [Disclaimer: been feeling cranky all week, so it was little surprise to me that Friday ended my work week and I was full of left over crankiness mixed with relief that the weekend will give me some down time in which to breathe and regroup.] I got my cell phone out to call someone...which is a common habit of mine when I walk places...I get bored and want someone to talk to so I don't end up counting how many steps it takes me to get from Point A to Point B. [No joke, I've done that before...judge how you will.] But there's one street on my walk home that my cell phone never gets reception on. I don't know why. Other people talk on their cell phones on this street. But never me.

This annoyed me beyond reason. Recall the crankiness. It always escalates petty annoyance into irrational anger. Ugh. And I suddenly had this gigantic urge to chuck my phone out into the street, or perhaps just ahead of me on the sidewalk several feet, then curl up on the ground and scream. [This is the part where you blink and say, "Where the hell did that come from?" while simultaneously creating the mental image with mild amusement of me throwing a tantrum in the middle of a Cambridge street.] But, I obviously didn't, or this would this post would have started in a completely different way... Instead, I shut my phone, sighed very deeply (enough to make the guy passing me on the sidewalk turn to look at what the noise was), put the phone in my pocket, silently cursed it as if it's the phone's fault, and continued walking down the Street of No Reception. And, as I walked and willed my mind not to stew over something this stupid, I was struck by the inner-growth I noticed. When I was younger, I had such a hard time controlling my temper. I spent many years learning how to quell irrational bursts of anger. And I'm sure had this incident happened to that "younger me," there would have been a bigger show of angry emotion (enough to make that guy passing stop and stare). But, I have learned to recognize the uselessness of certain displays of anger. [This story being one of those.]

And so, from this sudden realization of growth, I started thinking about how I've learned to deal with anger. How I've learned to feel it completely, but not let it consume me. How I've learned to experience the anger, but not throw it back out. How I've learned to let it flow through me and out again, instead of holding it inside as a way to pretend I'm not angry. And it felt good to see how much I've learned, how much I've grown in this little and subtle way. As I write this, I think back to the little cell phone episode, and play it back in my mind, and laugh at the ridiculousness of it.

I think it's interesting how hard it is to learn to deal with anger. It's one of the most powerful of emotions. And one that people deal with in such bad ways. People hold it inside of them because they think it's wrong to feel angry about something, then it comes out when they beat their family or shoot someone in a fight or yell at an innocent store clerk or snap at a well-meaning friend. People allow themselves to feel the anger but fall into the emotion until the anger has engulfed them completely, and they live their lives isolated from people or speaking negatively about everything or judging others' actions or losing their faith in the inherent goodness of others around them. Anger rips apart families, creates huge rifts in friendships, and tears at the fabric of relationships. And yet, we all feel it. We can't run from it, hide from it, or learn not to feel it.

I don't pretend to be an expert on anger. I don't pretend to know the right way to deal with anger. I don't pretend to know the most healthy way to experience anger. I do know that I can look back in my life at the anger I've felt and honestly say that I'm not embarrassed about feeling this emotion anymore. I can say that I have dealt with a lot of anger, and I have a fresh opinion about the emotion--a fresh approach to feeling it and a fresh perspective about how I let it effect me.

And, reading back over this post, I realize I've rambled a bunch. But the rambling has served a purpose. The irrational anger from 20 minutes ago on my walk home is gone. Not an ounce is left inside of me, bottled up for no good reason. It is true that I still bottle it up sometimes. I still harbor grudges every once and awhile without noticing right away. Like I said, I'm not a perfectly correct anger-experiencer. [that's my new word, like it?] But I keep learning about my way of handling the emotion, and keep growing as I find healthier ways to experience, express, and deal with anger.

No day but today...to see the movie...to share the message...to live the experience of Rent

2005-11-26T23:56:00.000-05:00

I just saw Rent the movie. It was...IS...so good! And I'm so glad that it is. I was worried that the movie would lessen the experience and the power of that story. I'm sure I wasn't alone in that worry. But the movie gave the story a fresh interpretation, gathered some amazing talent to play the cast of Rent, and blew its audience away with the same energy and inspiration that the Broadway production gives its audience members. I laughed, I cried, and I left the theater feeling very reflective--as I have done all 3 times I've seen Rent on the stage.

Rent is such a powerful story. A story about love, friendship, and what's truly important in life. A story that speaks to a generation of youth that feels very alone, very unnoticed, and very mobile--in the sense that we often don't stay in one place for very long. Rent, through its characters, its music, its emotion, its energy, carries a message of hope to all of us. We are not alone. We are not unimportant. Love is the binding force that keeps us going, that keeps us together, that helps us face each day. And we can't wait until tomorrow to share and rejoice in the gift of life all around us. Friends are here, now. Life is here, now. No day but today. And what's great about that message is that it applies to everyone, regardless of whether or not they have AIDS, like most of the characters in the show/movie. Life goes on, it's up to us to grab on and enjoy the ride. Otherwise, life will simply pass us by as we wait by the window for death to knock at our respective doors.

"I can't control my destiny. I trust my soul, my only goal is just to be. There's only now. There's only here. Give in to love, or live in fear. No other path. No other way. No day but today."

The indifferent balance between the Pru and John Hancock

2005-11-23T18:54:00.000-05:00

So, it's true, I'm still obsessed with this view. I still can't put my finger on what it is. There's something so peaceful and beautiful about the silence of the view as you pass over the Longfellow Bridge, the silent bustle of the cars passing on the Longfellow Bridge and on Storrow Drive across the river. And the silent giants that seem almost indifferent to their surrounding buildings which can't even hope to compare to the powerful height that the Pru and the John Hancock possess. It's completely mesmerizing for so many different reasons that I ponder every day to and from work. I love it!

I said that the Pru and the John Hancock towers seem indifferent to the buildings that surround them. They also seem pretty indifferent to one another. They're so completely different, for being in such close proximity to each other. The Pru is considered by many to be the uglier of the two...a tall box dropped in the middle of the Boston skyline. Many a person has asked me why I like this "eyesore" so much, in fact. The John Hancock is much more graceful and seems to blend into the flow of the skyline much more smoothly. More like it was built than plopped down. And their differences speak to their utter indifference toward one another. It's not even that they seem to fight. They've just found a co-existence that they can share through ignoring each other in their own silent, towering ways.

I've noticed quite recently, though, with the shortness of days that has come with the changing of seasons, that each tower gets it time of day to stand out as the dominant tower of the skyline. Again, not like they're fighting for this spotlight, but the way each was built allows both to show themselves more or less depending on what time of day they are viewed. In the morning, when the sun is up or rising, the Pru sticks out almost like a sore thumb in the skyline. [I can't truly say "sore thumb" because I like the Pru too much, but you catch my meaning.] The Pru was built in such a way that it almost repels the rays of sun and the warmth of light in the daytime hours. So the Pru dominates the skyline view from the Longfellow Bridge, while the John Hancock, with it's mirrored glass on all sides, catches and reflects the sunlight, blending into the colors of the sunrise and reflecting the rest of the city in it's lower half. It blends into the background, as if conceding the spotlight to the Pru if it cared enough to think of it's sister tower in the skyline (which, as I've already established, it does not due to the indifference between the two).

My ride home from work almost always finds me in twilight or darker parts of the growing evening. And at this time of day, the John Hancock finds its time to shine. Without the natural light of day, the mirrored sides of the John Hancock are no longer visible, and instead we see the lights emanating from the inside of the tower. Those lights demand the attention of those viewing this skyline, as they're the brightest in the full scope of this view. The Pru, on the other hand, dims itself into the background. One can see lights from the inside of the Pru as well, but because of all of the other material making up the tower that is the Pru, those interior lights are significantly dimmed, enough to make the Pru appear to step into the darkness of the background while the John Hancock demands the spotlight.

An interesting relationship these two towers have, right? A natural balance between their time in the foreground of this view off the Longfellow Bridge, without ever really appearing to notice the other tower's existence. Never a fight, never a push-and-pull, never a tug-of-war for attention, just a natural back and forth from foreground and background as the hours of the day pass them by.

Fascinating...

The colors of Boston

2005-11-20T20:59:00.000-05:00

I was riding the bus home from the Watertown Mall Target, and I was thinking about how I see Boston. Rather funny thing to think about on a Sunday evening bus ride? Perhaps...but I bet you could make a very interesting collection of stories out of the kinds of things people think about on the bus or the T, huh?

Anywho, back to my story. I was thinking about how I see Boston. And I realized that I see it in specific colors depending on where I am. Red for Cambridge, Somerville, Watertown, and places connected to the Red Line. Green for BU, BC, Allston, Brighton, Brookline, and places connected to the Green Line. And similarly for the other two lines. Downtown is a myriad of color because it's where the 4 colored areas of Boston collide and intertwine.

It's an interesting way to travel Boston...because in the periphery of my vision in any given place in the city and surrounding Metro area, I see the color of the area I'm in. When I see a map of the Boston Metro area, my imagination fills in the areas with their respective colors. When I see a new part of Boston, I mark it on my mental map with one of the 4 colors.

I guess, for me, it's just one more way to get to know Boston. One more way to see Boston for the unique and interesting city that it is.

Think in color

2005-11-19T14:03:00.000-05:00

Dream in color
See in color

Wrap color around you
Enjoy the wonder of a colorful world

And take pleasure in the explosion that a thousand colored bouncy-balls create when unleashed down a San Francisco street...

Colour like.no.other

What? 2 posts in one night? Unheard of!

2005-11-16T22:42:00.000-05:00

[and I'm using capital letters again...but it's not the same post, so there. Deal.]

Must share...the laughs...it's just too good to pass up...

My horoscope from Yahoo! -

The rest of the world may be dealing with jealousy and resentment, but you've received a free pass from the Universe. Share that optimism now with whoever inspired it. You know who to call. The ghostbusters? Hmmm... 555-2368...

[Okay...I looked that up online...but I get points for finding it right? I wonder who would answer if I actually called that number. The Ghostbusters did work in NYC...not too hard to figure out what the area code would be. But perhaps I'm just too lazy and not quite interested or geeky enough to make the effort... Hmm... This aside has gotten way too long...it's starting to become an entity all its own...almost completely separate from the main post! It's sort of reminding me of this book I read: "Book" by Robert Grudin, where the footnotes completely hijack the story for a good 6 or 7 pages. Quite hilarious. I highly suggest reading it.]

just because...

2005-11-16T22:33:00.000-05:00

...i haven't posted in awhile...

...life is good...

...creepy 33 year olds don't exist in my immediate surroundings (long story, see november 3rd post called "don't forget the rubik's cube" for a bit more info)...

...i danced so much this weekend i'm too tired to dance at all this week...

...i stayed up for 25 hours on saturday...

...my friend called from california and we talked about her wedding...

...i just finished watching 3 episodes of the gilmore girls (mild obsession, mild, i promise)...

...i'm more than mildly obsessed with the gilmore girls ;P...

...i haven't used capital letters once in this post and don't intend to at all...

...i'm smiling, happy, and want you to be smiling too!

The ultimate fans...

2005-11-07T18:36:00.000-05:00

...or ultimate mockers...

Either way, these 2 Chinese students are HILARIOUS!!! And they take their performance so seriously, too! Way to go and make complete fools of yourselves, and then post it all over the Internet. Rock on. I am such a big fan.

My favorite part is the guy I can only assume is their roommate sitting very calmly in the background, seemingly oblivious to them as he works/plays on his computer. Talk about concentration on his part...not to laugh his ass off!

This link needs to be a permanent fixture on my blog as well, so it gets a coveted place on my sidebar, but it must be highlighted by a post because it's that hysterical!!!

[Credit for leading me to the all the laughs this video has brought must go to my roommate, by way of her friends, for sending it to me.]

Spell what?

2005-11-03T21:22:00.000-05:00

I love spell checker. Not because I'm a bad speller...I'm actually quite anal about good spelling. No, because the spell checker program always comes up with the funniest 'corrections' for words it doesn't recognize. My latest favorite?

freakin' is not in the spell checker's list of words, so it decides I must have meant foreskin

Hil-ar-i-ous!

Don't forget the Rubik's Cube!

2005-11-03T20:36:00.000-05:00

We've all had them. The dates that were so bad, you get home and start laughing because it's so amusing you actually made it through without strangling him (or her)! And it's not just the one. No, we all have that secret arsenal of really horrible dates logged in our memories, ready to come up for air when we need a really good story at a party to get some laughs or when we're reminiscing with old friends about those things we did and will never really understand why. And they all fit into categories so well, don't they? The one where you got a flat tire. The one where neither of you talked the ENTIRE time. (Yeah, that was the one in 9th grade...) The one where you almost started chewing your arm off because you needed something to liven up the extreme boredom you felt. The one where he started talking about your 1 year anniversary on the first date. (Okay, so there were a couple of those...who's counting?)

Of course, I haven't listed every category, every scenario, every "classic date gone wrong" story type. I only highlight the ones that have happened to me personally. [Yeah, 'cuz I get to...it is my blog after all!]

And I can honestly say that in every one of those scenarios, except for the 9th grade one, I had my trusty Rubik's Cube with me. I didn't always intentionally bring it along. Sometimes I just simply forgot to take it out of my jacket pocket, or my car, or my purse. But it's been there with me through all of the torture, the uncomfortable silences, and truly "wtf" moments on every bad date I've had. (True, it's also been with me on the good dates, but that's not our topic this evening...)

It doesn't usually make an appearance. (That tends to be pretty rude in many social circles...) But it's become a source of comfort for me, a comfort that I haven't fully recognized until this week. (Yes, it might be completely true that I very recently had a pretty awful date, and the Rubik's Cube was indeed in my coat pocket the whole evening...) It's like having a security blanket in hard cube form, pocket-sized, and a bit less childish than a blanket. And any first date is awkward and a bit scary...it's nice to have something familiar to hold on to when I need to calm my nerves a bit.

Now, you've read this far, and your mind is filled with thoughts like:
"My god, what a geek!" or
"I cannot believe this girl brings a freakin' math puzzle with her on every date she goes on..." or
"That's so cute!" or
"Hmm, I'm totally stealing that idea for my date this Saturday in case it flops."

So, to answer the thoughts running through your mind, I say:
"Not 'geek.' Nerd."
"Believe it. You know you're just jealous that you didn't think of it first..."
"Um, yeah!" and
"I charge $5.00 per idea you feel you must steal from me. Pay up."

Okay, okay. Ha, ha. Answer the real question everyone's asking already!

Why a Rubik's Cube???

Quick answer: Why not?
Longer answer: I'm one of those people who always needs to be moving something, however subtle the movement is. I have a hard time paying attention to things unless something is moving...my foot during a movie, my fingers on the steering wheel while I'm driving, and oftentimes, my hands manipulating a Rubik's Cube as I'm walking home or listening to a friend or talking on the phone. Solving the Cube is a soothing exercise for me, something that comes almost second nature now because I've been doing it for so long. So, the Cube tends to be in a pocket or a purse or a bag of mine. And it always ends up with me somehow when I go out with someone. :)

Linus has his blue blanket. I have my Rubik's Cube. Little wonder we two are so alike...

The Red Line: a ride into my own personal history

2005-10-25T15:29:00.000-05:00

I love the Red Line. Let's be serious, most people agree with me. It's one of the smoothest, usually one of the fastest rides in the whole of the Subway system in Boston. But, my affinity for the Red Line goes beyond mere agreement with the majority of Bostonians on the subject of T travel...

Everyone, at some point or another, is intrigued with the idea of figuring out what their very first memory is. (It's true, you know it!) Mine, I found, after many years of "searching" (if you can call it searching...), is like a flash of video; mere seconds of animation. It is a memory of looking out of a window and seeing the rounded-off rectangle go from light to dark, light to dark, light to dark very rapidly.

When I first came to Boston (a year and a half ago already!), I lived on Harvard's campus while attending a 6-week course at the Harvard GSD. So, my experience with Boston's Subway that summer began with the Red Line. And my first ride on the Red Line that summer transported me into one of the most surreal experiences of my life. I was mindlessly watching out of the window of the car I rode in with my friends from my program, and suddenly, I saw in reality what had been flashes of played-back video in my memory for so long: the window, a rounded-off rectangle, was going light to dark in rapid succession due to the lights in the tunnel carved for the train's travel! I admit I let out a little shriek of glee and jumped to my feet, alarming the friends riding in the car with me as I ran to the window to watch it more closely.

It was like I suddenly put the last puzzle piece into a vast jigsaw puzzle in my mind. It was like a huge lightbulb flicked on, illuminating a corner of my brain that had been hiding in shadows for years and years and years. Let me bring you up to speed so you can better appreciate why this sudden illumination happened. I am Minnesotan through and through, I was born in Minnesota and lived most of my life in Minnesota. But I do say most. When I was 2, my family moved out east for a short 6-year stint. The first 2 of those 6 years was spent in Boston, well, Framingham technically. So, when I was 3 and 4 years old, I rode the T quite often with my mom and dad as we went different places around the city.

Now, I know what you're thinking, maybe it wasn't actually the Red Line I was remembering, but another line. How can I be so sure that it's the Red Line?

Ah, but I'm way ahead of you. I thought of that myself. So, I made a point to ride each color of the Subway system during that 6 weeks of my program at Harvard (at that time, I didn't know I'd be staying in Boston, and thought I wouldn't get a chance to figure this out anytime soon once I had left). On all of the other lines, I definitely was reminded of this flash of memory, but I never experienced the intensity of surreality on the Green, Orange, or Blue Lines like I did (and still do) on the Red Line.

And therefore, I conclude that my first memory was indeed formed from a ride on the Red Line some 2 decades prior to now. (Wouldn't it be cool if one could figure out the exact moment in time in which their first memory occured? I'm sure I rode the Red Line quite a lot in my 2 years as a child in the Boston Metro area, so it's impossible for me to know, but that would be pretty cool...)

And thus, my special affinity for the Red Line. Every time I ride it, I feel a sense of personal history. And when the car is mostly empty, and I can look out of the window across from my seat, I still get that surreal feeling of jumping back into the vaults of my memory. For the briefest of moments, I feel almost timeless.

What the phlebotomy?

2005-10-22T15:25:00.000-05:00

My roommate and I were on our way home from the Garment District (after buying stuff for our respective Halloween costumes!), and we passed a sign advertising "Cardio-Phlebotomy."

And suddenly I'm filled with a million and one questions:

What is "Cardio-Phlebotomy?"
What is a "phlebotomy"?
Can "phlebotomy" stand alone as its own entity, or does it always have to be preceded by "cardio?"
If "phlebotomy" can stand alone, then what's the difference between simple "phlebotomy" and "cardio-phlebotomy?"
Who came up with this word?
Why?

Okay, so that's really only 6 questions...but let's just say that I only wrote the highlights of the questions racing through my head at that moment. We move on...

So, after coming home, trying on our costumes, making adjustments to them, etc., I finally sat down to do a little research to answer some of these questions (let's be serious, I don't know that I'll ever be able to answer why someone would decide to make "phlebotomy" and actual word used in the English language...we turn our heads from a lot of strange words, right?).

My dictionary (my beloved Webster's New Universal Unabridged Dictionary) defines "phlebotomy" as follows:
the act or practice of opening a vein for letting blood as a therapeutic measure; venesection; bleeding.

Hmm, is anyone else suddenly reminded of the olden days "cure" for disease and sickness calling for the doctor to cut the patient and let them bleed the disease out? Rather archaic, yes? I saw this sign for "Cardio-Phlebotomy" on the window of a health and fitness place. So...you know where I'm going with this, right? WEIRD! It's got to be something a little...not like that...

Some more research on Google tells me that "phelobotomists" (those who are trained in "phlebotomy" of course) are "essential members of the health care delivery team who are primarily responsible for collecting blood specimens from patients for laboratory testing." Phlebotomists are also employed with blood donor organizations.

Okay. So. Perhaps this "cardio-phlebotomy" thing is just simply taking blood to test someone's cardio fitness? Somehow, it seems a little bit of an anti-climactic answer to my question about what it is... "Cardio-Phlebotomy" It just sounds like some sort of therapy...and my dictionary defines it as such. So...I'm still in the dark on this one.

What is "cardio-phlebotomy?"
How does it work in the realm of fitness?
If it's a form of therapy, how does said therapy work and why is it so therapeutic?

I'll let you know if I run across any further enlightenment regarding these questions. In the meantime, I've now learned a whole new set of words related to "phlebotomy"! Some of my favorites:

phlebotomize: bleed (though technically it means to "subject to phlebotomy")
phlebology: the study of the anatomy, physiology, and diseases of veins
phlebotome: a cutting instrument used for phlebotomy
phlebotomic: (of insects) bloodsucking

There are, of course, more words related...I only gave you the highlights (i.e. the one's I felt would be particularly amusing to throw into a conversation randomly).

Mmm, Mmm, good...for illness only...

2005-10-20T20:11:00.000-05:00

I am sick. I will prove it to you: I had Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup. Now, I don't know about other people, but I grew up with that soup being the stuff you get when you're sick. I actually can't stand the thought of eating Chicken Noodle Soup if I'm not sick. Huge aversion to it when I'm up and healthy. It's a total conditioned reaction, I know. But when I'm sick, there's something so soothing about the warmth and taste of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup that just doesn't exist when I'm healthy.

I'm not very good at being sick. I get really bored really quickly. I mean, sure, we all like the thought of being able to sit around all day and do essentially nothing, but being sick forces this "luxury" on you...it's no longer a choice you can make. And that's what I don't like...because now, all I would like to choose to do is get up and walk outside in the crisp and cold fall weather. Instead I'm cooped up with my sick self. (And wallowing in a vat of self-pity, it seems, as well.)

Haha...I was just reading over what I wrote above...I like how I felt I had to prove to you that I'm sick...and what's more, I like how the way I proved this to you was by saying that I'd eaten Chicken Noodle Soup. Of course, the whole idea was to tell the story of why that is proof of my being sick, but still, it all seems just a little absurd to me. :)

Well, my temperature is now still over 2 degrees above my norm (I'm usually 97.1, and I'm at 99.6 right now), and it's getting on toward 10:00 pm. I should end this and go to bed. Here's hopin' that I won't crave Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup when I wake up tomorrow. That's the sure indicator that I'm healthy once again!

Oh the randomness...

2005-10-15T13:33:00.000-05:00

...of little exchanges you have with strangers in a Trader Joe's parking lot.

My roommate and I went to Trader Joe's today to stock up for our big party tonight, and of course it was pouring when we finished and suddenly needed a way to get home...

We tried to call a taxi, but they wouldn't send one without an address [Who's ever heard of that???]

And suddenly, a taxi appeared in the lot, a soon-to-be-Trader Joe's-shopper stepping out into the rain. I ran over to catch the cab before it drove off and met the guy just as he was walking away from the cab.

As he walked by, I said, with my bags of groceries hanging at my sides, "You're my hero."

He paused, took in the wet, grocery-laden sight of me, and said, very simply, "I do what I can."

Hilarious. My roommate and I laughed all the way home about that one...

Where is "somewhere over the rainbow"?

2005-10-13T16:36:00.000-05:00

A chance for a glimpse at my amazingly random thought processes...

So, as I traveled home from work this evening (a lovely trip, by the way), the weather was trying to decide whether to sprinkle a few raindrops or save them for later, and I got to thinking...where there's rain, there's a rainbow, right? So, how come I've never seen a rainbow in Boston? And that got me thinking about all sorts of things involving rainbows...pots of gold and leprechauns, the colors on the color palette, and going over the rainbow, finding where it ends, ya know? We all grew up with that stuff. We also grew up with an insane fascination with that place "somewhere over the rainbow." C'mon, you know you're even now still fascinated with that somewhere deep inside, right? Where is that place? Somewhere over the rainbow...way up high...the place you've heard of in lullabies...where skies are blue...and the dreams you dare to dream really do come true.

Okay, so now I'm just quoting the song...[but I did say you'd get a glimpse of one of my randomly strung together thought processes--and now you have that song stuck in your head just like I do!]

But, getting back to that place "somewhere over the rainbow" (or, let's shorten it since I foresee me using that phrase as the name of this place quite often in this post: SWOTR). You've heard the song, so many times that the words feel like a part of you. You could sing it in your sleep! But have you ever stopped to think of where SWOTR actually is? Me neither...and that's where my thoughts led me today on my way home from work...

We learn from Dorothy, of Kansas, that SWOTR is a land called Oz. Okay. Let's run with that. Her version of Oz is a land filled with Munchkins, Witches, talking Scarecrows and Tinmen and Lions, an Emerald City, and a mysterious Wizard. A world alive with color (a drastic contrast with her drab, black & white Kansas farm) and totally different from the world she knows. A world she's always dreamed could exist, and one she was probably searching for when she tried to run away from home in the beginning of the story.

But what if that's not necessarily what Oz really is? Say I had gotten caught in that house in the tornado...where would I land after I'd traveled over the rainbow? I'm not convinced that I'd land in Dorothy's Oz. [You think I'm reading way too far into the story of the Wizard of Oz, don't you? Well, just run with me for a bit, humor me a little. You don't have to agree...]

SWOTR. The place of our dreams. A place so drastically different from what we're used to. Kind of like how Boston feels to me some days compared to my childhood home in a small suburb of the Twin Cities in Minnesota. Now, I'm not claiming that Boston is Oz. Well, not totally. But think about what "Oz" (aka SWOTR) represents. A place we long to see when home seems too dull, too commonplace, too 'been-there-done-that'. I left Minnesota because I needed a change of pace. I seeked out a place that was very different from what I'm used to. I wanted a different part of the country, a different style of life, a different type of people. I went in search of a city because I figured that would be very different from small-town/suburban life. And it is. Boston is sort of like my own SWOTR. It is a different color, a different place, a new group of people, a whole different world than the one I'm used to in Minnesota. I said that I'm not claiming Boston is Oz, but I do claim that Boston is my Oz. My SWOTR.

So, this got me to thinking: everyone has an SWOTR, right? They have to. Everyone dreams of a place different (and that tends to be paired with "better") than the place they are used to. The place they're from. Is a Bostonian's SWOTR necessarily Minnesota since my SWOTR is Boston? Certainly not. Other Minnesotans' SWOTRs may not necessarily be Boston, and there's really no sense of a reciprocal. I guess it doesn't even really matter what a given Bostonian's SWOTR is. What does matter is that said Bostonian (or Georgian, or Texan, or Minnesotan, or Canadian, or Mongolian, or whoever) has their own version of SWOTR.

My next question: is everyone's SWOTR a real place? Now, that's a tough one. One could argue, and have most of the world believe them, that Dorothy's Oz is not a real place. Hers was a fantasy, a fairy tale. I don't know that I can answer that for every single person out there, but generally speaking, I think that SWOTR, the abstract idea, is a real place. Perhaps when we find it, it isn't 100% the way we've imagined it to be, but it is real. And it seems to me that people, all people, are on a quest to find their own SWOTR. I'm not saying this is a world-wide obsession. No, no. I am saying that deep down inside, we are all looking for SWOTR. Perhaps it changes over time. Perhaps the SWOTR of my youth is different from my SWOTR today. I'm not sure (haven't thought that far yet). But it's that quest that drives us to seek out new places and new experiences. Something deep inside screams at us to explore and find new places, in hope of someday coming across SWOTR. And once you find it, it changes. Because wherever you are, there is always a place that is drastically different from your current location. Multiple places, in fact.

All of this pontificating about SWOTR and my Oz being different from Dorothy's Oz and so on...has reminded me of the lesson we learn from Dorothy and her adventure over the rainbow to her Oz: that place over the rainbow is the stuff of dreams, an amazing rush of new experiences and new sights, sounds, smells. But in the end, there's no place like home. In the end, after all of the searching for SWOTR, there will never be anywhere quite like home.

So, how does that tidbit fit into my string of ideas on the existence of SWOTR? Simple. Our whole life has this underlying quest to find SWOTR, the place of our dreams, the place so drastically different from where we are now. But what keeps us sane, what keeps us from wasting our lives away on an obsession with finding that place just beyond our reach, is that there is no place like home. Home is where the heart is. Home is where you hang your hat. Home is wherever you wipe your shoes at night. My definition of home is not a solitary place, but a place familiar enough to allow you ultimate comfort without need to worry about appearances or wrong ways of thinking, a place where you can just be yourself. And after all of that searching, deep inside of myself, day after day, for SWOTR, it's nice to remember that there really is no place like home.

To bring this to a close, I mentioned earlier in this post that I consider Boston to be my SWOTR. (So now am I again searching for a new SWOTR? Dunno, haven't been in Boston long enough...) So, in that scenario, where is "home?" Home will always be Minnesota. This scenario, of my SWOTR = Boston, is a different scale...in years and decades of life as opposed to the day-to-day. Over the next few years of my life, I know I will travel and try new places to live, but someday, I see myself returning to MN. I love my life in Boston right now, but it's a comfort to know that Minnesota is there, waiting to welcome me everytime I return.

Somewhere over the rainbow, where the excitement of a new world lies, that's where you'll find me. And when the dream fades, the journey beyond this rainbow is through, [oh, it's corny, you know it's coming] there really is...no place...like...home.

Providence at 1:30 am

2005-10-09T12:16:00.000-05:00

I went down to Providence last night for a swing dance. It was so fun! I love dancing down there...the people are great, the atmosphere is very chill, and the floor is to die for. [If any of you Providence people are reading this: beware...if you someday find yourselves sans dance floor...you'll know who took it!!!]

After the dance, I hooked up with some Boston people and we went out to downtown Providence for a late-night bite to eat (always necessary after an evening of dancing that goes late). The rain, by this point was coming down pretty steadily, so we huddled under rain jackets and umbrellas and walked quickly to the first place we found that was open: a Johnny Rockets. That looks like the funnest job in the world late-night Saturday night/early Sunday morning! The servers were dancing and singing to the oldies they play there, the customers were getting into the energy-charged atmosphere of the place. It was totally cool. Sippin' my hot chocolate, eating fries with way too much ketchup...a great way to end my evening of dancing in Providence.

But wait...it's not over yet! Oh no. People started making crazy comments about the weather and peering out the windows. From our booth, we couldn't see the streets, but could see the rain coming down as hard as ever through our window. So we didn't really think much of the exclamations about the weather. Hell, we'd walked through it, we didn't need to stare at it anymore. When we had paid and finally got up to go, we did catch a glimpse of the street through the window.

Oh dear God.

I'm sorry, did I say street? Heh. I meant RIVER!!! The street had flooded and the water was pouring down the hill of the street...water halfway up to our knees in some places, other places merely up to our ankles. People were huddled on sidewalk corners holding umbrellas looking like flimsy excuses for shelter from the rain still beating down, their faces screwed in disbelief at the sudden transformation of downtown Providence into a mockery of downtown Venice.

And we had to cross that giant river of too much rainwater to get to our car...

We set out trying to find a way across. To no avail. Since we were on a hill, everywhere we turned to try and head off the river, it turned with us on its way down the hill. We were already soaked just from walking out into the rain, shivering because the temperature had dropped and the rain was cold. We finally just sort of sucked it up and started jumping "over" the puddles to get across. Heh. I say it like that because "jumping over" consistsed of a vain attempt to miss the 1/2-way to knee-deep water puddles that landed us in the puddle, getting us to the other side of the street-river with shoes not merely 'wet', not 'soaked', not even 'squishy', but the sloshing feeling of water trapped in our shoes, our socks drowning in the small sea that were once our nice, dry shoes.

We had to do that 3 times.

Making it to the car, turning on the heat, stripping our feet out of the drenched socks, pouring out the excess water from our shoes...that was the best moment of our lives that evening. I got home still damp (after a 1/5 hour drive to Boston from Providence since the highway was drenched and the rain was still coming down as hard as ever) and felt akin to those marooned at sea. I walked through my door, locked it behind me, and literally shouted "LAND!!!" Good thing my roommate wasn't home or I would have woken her up with my exclamations of joy at being in a dry place once again. I immediately donned my bathrobe (after putting it in the dryer for a couple minutes to make it warm). And sat, it now being about 3:30 am, relishing the feeling of being warm and dry before heading to bed and drifting off to sleep to the sound of rain pouring down outside my window.

A last note:
My trips to Providence, I'm coming to realize, are never boring. They always become some sort of crazy adventure into the realm of the unknown (and completely absurd at times). I have a friend who's a grad student at Brown who claims that Providence sucks and that it's dull and lame and all that, and while I tend to agree when we compare Providence to Boston (I'd much prefer Boston over Providence!), I think back to my experience with Providence and realize that it is anything but dull or boring or lame when I'm there. I always come back from Providence with an almost-too-absurd-to-believe story to tell.

Sometimes I just love the Boston Globe...

2005-10-08T14:09:00.000-05:00

Blimp my ride
~Boston Globe, 10.5.2005

Blimp my ride? What? This is such a hilarious article...about the only actively employed female blimp pilot. A fun, human-interest story that I happened across while surfing the newspapers for Education News at work. Enjoy!

The only way I can express the feeling from 2:48 this afternoon...

2005-10-07T16:57:00.000-05:00

To you: I say Thank You.

You began with skepticism
- what will this experience bring to you?
- is this right as the next step in your life?
But that skepticism slipped away to reveal a raw passion--
Passion
that is hard to find in people.
Passion
that is contagious, compelling, continuous.

You returned each month with renewed energy to complete the seemingly impossible task before you.
A calm visage,
A clear focus,
A quiet aura,
And a sense of determination apparent in every step you took.
That energy served as a fire to light the inspiration you passed to those working for and with you.
And it is that concentrated flame that will burn anew as you move on to your next endeavor.

Oh yes, you leave prematurely,
The sense of loss is great as we all process this sudden shift in direction.
Oh yes, we will all mourn the suddenly empty chair that stands in your former place.
But the ache fades quickly
Replaced by pride, joy, excitement for the new path you move down.
The impassioned spirit that I came to enjoy in such a short time will serve you well.

I will miss you.
I will miss the silent power that resides in your fierce dedication to help those in need;
however that need shows itself to you.
But again I say: Thank You
For the honor of this brief moment of intersection in our lives.
You leave me with a strong hope for the future
For the places you go,
the things you do,
the people you touch,
All will flourish from the energy, the passion, the intensity that you pour into what you do.

A second helping of my search for a definition of beauty

2005-10-04T18:32:00.000-05:00

Today I saw someone on the T turn and look out of the window when we crossed the Charles (on the Red Line) on the Longfellow Bridge. And it made me happy...I never see people noticing the world around them while they're on the T. People tend to stay in their own little bubble of their own little world, trying not to overlap with other peoples' bubbles if they can help it. It also started me thinking again about this whole definition of beauty that I talked about in an earlier post.

Beauty. Beautiful. What do these words mean? And this guy on the T? Was he experiencing the view as something beautiful...akin to what I experience every day I ride the T over that bridge? Or was he looking at it differently? (Of course, I can really only speculate upon how he viewed the skyline view that I love...I didn't ask him or anything.) What about that view is beautiful to me?

[I've taken to thinking about this question in a personal way because I'm pretty much convinced that beauty is a personal thing. They say "beauty is in the eye of the beholder," right? It's personal. Everyone sees beauty differently, and in different things. So, I return to my personal definition.]

When I see the skyline from the Longfellow Bridge, especially at around sunset or sunrise, it just seems different than so many other scenes in Boston. As I think about this, I realize that my mind always takes in the space that I see in this particular view. Nothing crowded, room to breathe, and I never feel like I'm on the T when I see it. It's only when we reach the other side of the bridge and start the descent to the underground tunnel that I am pulled back to the reality of the train I'm sitting in. Time also seems to slow down, or stand still even. And I always feel like my head clears out when I'm looking at that view. Clears out and gets caught up in the two words I hear in my head everytime I see this view: How beautiful. So, do these things result from the beauty of this view? Or are they part of the package? Does something need to evoke these kinds of reactions to be considered "beautiful," or do they happen because the thing is beautiful and these reactions are the body's way of experiencing that beauty?

[I need that one more time.]

Does something need to evoke these kinds of reactions to be considered "beautiful," or do they happen because the thing is beautiful and these reactions are the body's way of experiencing that beauty? I think that they're reactions. I think it's the latter of the two. My body's and mind's way of tipping me off: "Nina! Look! We found something beautiful!" So, then, how does my conscious self (or sub-conscious or unconscious self, too, perhaps) know that somethings beautiful and it should therefore tip me off by the reactions that occur when I'm experiencing beauty?

Webster's New Universal Unabridged Dictionary (fully revised and updated) defines "beauty" as follows:
n. The quality present in a thing or person that gives intense pleasure or deep satisfaction to the mind, whether arising from sensory manifestations (as shape, color, sound, etc.), a meaningful design or pattern, or something else (as a personality in which high spiritual qualities are manifest).

So, the dictionary gives the definition in terms of the reaction one has to beauty. It doesn't need any further definition to justify the reactions. The reaction and the definition are one and the same. So why do I need more? Time to end this and ponder further... do I or do I not need more of a definition than the one my favorite dictionary tells me is sufficient?

These are a few of my favorite things...

2005-09-30T17:32:00.000-05:00

...the view of the Boston skyline from the Red Line crossing the Longfellow Bridge with sailboats all over the Charles on the way home from work...a great dance with a Lindy Hopper I've just met...almonds and craisins...a good book and a comfy perch in a park...Halloween costumes...Will & Grace...Seasons of Love...cold winters...homemade knit sweaters...Swedish Fish...blizzards...my George Foreman grill...a Wendy's Frosty...lazy Twins games at the Minneapolis metrodome...cereal and milk in the morning...lake country in northern Minnesota...pop, not soda...e-mails from friends I haven't heard from in awhile...people watching in downtown Boston...Shakespeare's Hamlet...Sketcher's shoes...my grandma's buttermilk pancakes...late night MadLibs sessions with my brother...the Ultimate Lindy Hop Showdown...the fresh feeling you get after flossing...weight-lifting...jumping in deep puddles after a rainstorm...talking to prospies about Carleton (my alma mater)...the call of loons near my grandparents' lake cabin...my iPod...Snood...the Shane Company Jewelers commercial...dooing the dishes...a good laugh about nothing in particular...

The definition of "beautiful"

2005-09-26T16:59:00.000-05:00

What makes something beautiful? What does an object, idea, person, place have to have to make it beautiful?

Lemme give you a for instance: It's generally agreed upon that roses are beautiful (this having no scientific merit based on stats or polls or whatever, just something that we as a collective species tend to regard as true). But what makes them so? Why is it that a person will stop or slow down on a walk to look at a rose? Why is it that when a guy gives a girl roses, she gushes about how beautiful they are? What makes them so? From a not-very-thorough spur-of-the-moment analysis of this question, I would say that it must have something to do with the color combined with the fragility of the petals and the intricate detail the bloom of the flower shows as it opens. Because, it occurs to me that there comes a time in a rose's life that it is no longer considered "beautiful." When I first mentioned the word "rose," you saw a fully bloomed, partially opened flower, probably red, on a long green stem with a few thorns and a couple of well-formed leaves. But what happens after about a week in a vase? The rose flower blooms completely, opens up, and the yellow stuff (I don't remember my plant anatomy anymore) in the center shows through wilted, partially dried up petals. The leaves are dead, the stem is withered, the rose is near the end of its life. It's no longer "beautiful." It's not necessarily "ugly" (and that's a term for a different discussion...), but it's not "beautiful" anymore.

Or is it? I mean, this post is designed to ponder the definition of the term "beautiful," right? So, maybe that wilted, withered, on-its-last-legs-of-life rose is indeed beautiful in its own right. Perhaps not by the commonly accepted view of "beauty," but in a completely distinct definition of the word.

Is something beautiful merely because it's not "ugly"? That's hardly a satisfying definition. The next question is obviously, "Well, what is ugly then?" Okay. Scratch that out. Begin again.

Is something beautiful if it gives you some sort of emotional reaction? That thought sits better than the first, surely. But it's far from complete. What type of reaction makes something beautiful? (I could also ask why that reaction happens when one is confronted with beauty, but then I feel I'd be leading this question a little astray from its target.) One generally gets a sense of happiness when confronted wtih something beautiful, yes? Okay. And that doesn't necessarily mean the "something" considered beautiful has to be peaceful or in the safest place or in a utopic surrounding. (American Beauty: the plastic bag. That was beautiful, in its random trajectory through the wind that controled its movement. And it was a piece of trash.) But it's more than simply the feeling of happiness. I want to say that there's a certain feeling of peace and/or tranquility in something that is beautiful. When I see something I consider beautiful, it allows me to slow down and observe it, allows me to shut out the craziness of life to consider and take in and experience its beauty. A song, a person, a picture, a part of scenery, an idea, a moment in time. But, is that slowing down and experience of beauty a result of the beauty or a necessary element in what makes that something "beautiful"?

This is where I will set down this thought for today. I will pick up the topic later and continue to try and find an answer...perhaps there isn't a real, true answer...but it's fun to think about, yeah? I'd love to hear others' thoughts on this subject. What makes something beautiful? How is "beauty" defined?

The Carleton Crowd

2005-09-25T17:39:00.000-05:00

The community of Carleton alums is not one I think will ever be duplicated...at least not in the other communities I will run across in my life. It's a global community of old friends that doesn't make distinctions between whether or not we were at Carleton at the same time. We all have a common bond of having experienced the world that is Carleton. The humbling experience that shows us who we really are...only Carleton style. I do believe that that last phrase "Carleton style" is about the hardest thing in the world to describe to people who don't know what it means. All of my Carleton pals know instantly to what I refer, and they go away thinking to themselves, "Yeah, I don't know how to describe that either..."

I went to a barbecue last night with a bunch of Carleton alums from my year (turns out there is a huge pocket of us in the Boston area...who knew?) and I had a blast!!! Catching up with people I hadn't seen in over 2 years, meeting people again who I recognized as a person I went to Carleton with, but didn't really know all that well while we were there. It was great! The kinds of conversations I can have with these people are on such a different level than conversations I have with other people I know in Boston because we can skip past the "initial conversation" talk...the "who are you, what do you do, why do you do it" sort of small talk, the guarded "I don't know how much of myself I can tell you since I just met you and I don't want you to judge me" talk that you have with people you don't know very well. The conversations I had last night were intellectually stimulating, always very familiar, and very candid and honest and open because, hey, they're Carleton people. I already know, on some levels, how they will react to me and how I should react to them...which is to say, I can trust that they won't judge me based on what I do or think or say because I know they will respect my differences and be interested in how we differ. It was such a good feeling to be among a group of people that I already felt so familiar with, even if I didn't really know them all that well from school. And nowhere else will I ever truly have that feeling of familiarity and safety in a group of people that I don't consider my "close friends." Nowhere else could I talk about personal experiences...ex-boyfriends, regrets, mistakes I've made, etc...with people that I haven't seen in years. There's just something about the Carleton bond that allows us to do that.

Granted, I can't do that with all alums...when we get out of the realm of our own class year, we tend to be a little more shy about personal conversation. But still, there's a sense of familiarity there. I went to an Admissions function for prospective students today out in Burlington, and hopped a ride home with an alum about 5 years my elder. He and I had such interesting conversations on the way home. He and I have met a couple of times, maybe, so we don't really have a lot of history of that "I just met you" type of conversation. But that doesn't matter...we're both Carleton people. So on some level, we already had that "initial conversation" without really having it. I think that that's truly spectacular.

As I read through this again, I realize that I haven't explained this well at all. I feel like I've tried and haven't come close to what I mean. But, see, that goes back to what I said in the beginning. There's just something about Carleton. Something that I can't explain, but something that every Carleton person (student or alum) already understands. That's the essence of why I enjoyed myself so much last night at the barbecue. I felt understood on a level that I don't always feel with other people...or if I do feel that, it's because I've known that person a looooooong time.

I wonder if this all makes me seem elitist and exclusive about my school and the people I enjoy hanging out with. I hope it doesn't. It's not that I can't fully enjoy someone's company unless they're from Carleton. It's not that I think their company is less worthy than the company of a Carl. If I was that elitist, I couldn't define myself truly as a "Carleton person." But everyone knows that feeling of being totally understood at the most basic level, right? The interactions you can have with people who understand you in that way are just...well, different. You never have to feel on the defensive about yourself. I very much hope everyone has a community like that somewhere...a group of people with whom they feel safe, with whom they don't feel judged, with whom they feel they truly belong just as they are. It's so important to have that...because life throws you curve balls when you don't expect them, life becomes a tangled web of appointments and responsibilities and demands on your time. It's nice to know that there are people with which you can shed all of that craziness and just be. Be yourself. Be content. Be happy. Be understood.

For me, I know I always have a community that allows me to just be Carleton-bred. And that makes me smile.

Go figure...

2005-09-20T21:10:00.001-05:00

I signed on to post an entry about whether our brain operates at some higher level, like a super-organism controlling us neandrathalic human creatures, with the idea of playing up a random thought going through my brain and using the idea that we only use around 10% of our brains. But, to make sure I had the right percentage number, I googled "percent of brain usage humans" (an aside to say that I absolutely love Google!) and hit a bunch of sites talking about the "10% brain usage myth."

Myth? I thought. It's a myth?

So I click on the link to read more. Turns out, there are a bunch of people who are rather angry about this whole "10% brain usage" thing. And I guess what they say makes sense. Arguments include: why would we evolve such large brains only to use 10% of them? Apparently, 10% of our brain is about the size of a sheep's brain, and we don't really compare neurologically to sheep. (Okay, sometimes I wonder when people are in large groups, but that's a topic for a more philosophical post not based on completely scientific reasoning.) Brain scans show usage in all areas of the brain. And neurological diseases like Parkinson's or Alzheimer's take away efficient usage of our brains, causing huge disabilities. Severe brain damage can occur with only a small portion of your brain physically damaged. One website proclaims at the top of it's page that "There is no scientific evidence to suggest that we use only 10% of our brains." That site goes on to accuse people of misinterpreting Einstein, and other scientists long dead. The media is blamed for promoting and cashing in on people's willingness to believe this myth. And, at the end of the article, I found myself nodding ponderously. "Huh," I think to myself, "I guess what they're saying makes sense." I also found myself laughing at the emotion oozing from the page. "Take a chill pill, dude," I silently advise the webpage's creator, "Apparently you're passionate about people not believing the myth, but you are borderlining the label 'crazed zealot'."

It's true that not everything you read on the Internet is true, but there were a bunch of links to more websites on this topic, and Google hit a few different sites as well on the topic. So, perhaps it is a myth, or perhaps the myth is a myth, therefore creating a negation and we're left with only 10% of our brains. I haven't read about it enough or thought about it enough to know what I think or if it's obvious that the 10% usage thing is a myth. All I know is that I'm highly amused by the emotional fervor with which this website was written.

And all I was gonna do was pose a semi-ridiculous, philosophical question that I though would be fun to ponder. Go figure. The Internet and its overabundance of knowledge (true or otherwise) strikes again. Ha!

To clarify: my views on this whole Pledge business

2005-09-19T18:41:00.000-05:00

Based on a comment by an anonymous passerby on my blog, I'd like to clarify my original rant about the sudden "unconstitutionality" (apparently I've decided that's a word) of the Pledge of Allegiance. (Thank you, by the way, to said anonymous commenter for making me clarify my thoughts.)

After talking to some friends and doing some Internet research, I've since discovered that the phrase "under God" was not originally in the Pledge. It was added during the 1950s when communism was a huge fear in democratic America and the government was obsessed with proving their purity and worth through 'godliness' to distinguish themselves from the "godless Commies." That's also around the time when they added E Pluribus Unum to our paper money. Click here for details. Good to know that the original Pledge was not religiously based.

I also went back to reread the article I linked in my last post concerning what was deemed unconstitutional. Turns out, the Pledge isn't considered unconstitutional, but the saying of the Pledge as is has been declared unconstitutional.

Semantics. That's all that is, my friends.

I agree that the "under God" phrase is offensive. I agree it should not be shoved down the throats of our children if they are not brought up Christian (or even if they are, but their parents still have a problem with the symbolic shoving down the throat). I do not agree, however, that the Pledge should be stricken from the memory and heart of this nation.

I stick to my original statement that the Pledge is a symbol of our country; so much more than a bunch of words we're forced to recite in elementary school. I was also required to memorize the Preamble to the Constitution. Being able to recite "We the People of the United States of America, in order to form a more perfect union..." (and so on) seemed a chore at the time, but now I think of it as a way to take personal ownership of another of our country's great symbols. And I think there is real worth in having that connection. It includes me a part of the American culture. It makes me stop and consider for a brief moment every time I hear those familiar words what they mean to me as an American citizen and what they mean to my country.

I will not say that America has it completely right (especially with Bush in power for 5 years now). I will not say that America is even close to perfect. I will not say that I agree with everything that our country does or that our country's leaders stand for. But that's the beauty of this country. I don't have to agree. That's what those American symbols stand for. The Flag, the Constitution, the Declaration of Independence, the Statue of Liberty, the Pledge. To me, they all come together to symbolize two things: my rights to freedom as an American citizen and the unity of our great nation under those freedoms.

They also symbolize each of your individual rights to disagree with everything I've just said here. And I respect that. I welcome that. I support that. It's the American way.

In the end, America does many things wrong. There are many days when I wonder why anyone could love this country. There are those times when I think maybe I'll move to Canada or France or somewhere else but here. But those days pass. (How wonderful it is not to be persecuted for having those feelings or to be in fear for even daring to think those thoughts!) But America also does many things right. (Who keeps score about whether they do more right than wrong? Not me. I don't feel the need.) And when I sit and think about it, as I'm doing right now, I don't know that I could easily pick up and leave. I'm too deeply rooted in the American culture. I'm proud to be an American. The Pledge, among all the others, is a symbol of that pride.

Maybe some think that I'm brainwashed into an American-culture-pushing-idiot who can't think for myself. I don't think I am. And I don't think teaching kids about all of those symbols early on (even making them recite the Pledge) is a tactic in brainwashing or unfair force-feeding. I think it's our duty as a country to continue the culture we've created, to continue the pride in our country through the symbols we have rooted in our history.

Take out the "under God" phrase. Make that unconstitutional. But don't make the recitation of the Pledge unconstitutional, thereby completely obliterating a symbol of our American pride.

The dancing...oh, the dancing...

2005-09-17T13:12:00.000-05:00

ULHS is the freakin' SHIT.

The dancing is quite amazing. AMAZING. The level of dancing, the level of energy, the level of mad awesome music... This is the place to be for any dancer who loves to Lindy Hop. The contests have been great...the Diversity Forum was insane...I can't even adequately describe it all. I've taken some pictures, I've taken a few video clips on my camera. I'll post some links for other videos of the weekend. In short, I will do my utmost to convince all y'all that you should have been there this year and so you should definitely go next year.

FREAKIN' AMAZING!!!

Oh, and I think I'm buying some new dance shoes...they let me try them out on the dance floor. I danced with Chance. It was beyond cool. I want those shoes. And I will dance with him again. :) Hehehe.

Say what?

2005-09-15T08:59:00.000-05:00

Okay, does anyone else think that this is completely and utterly counter-intuitive? All who say 'yes' raise your hand. But just don't put it over your heart to say the Pledge if you're reading this in a California public school. It's no longer allowed.

That's right people...the Pledge of Allegiance was ruled unconstitutional by a California federal judge yesterday. Yes, I know that it's because it includes the phrase "under God." But that's just the small details. Can we just take step back here and think about what that means? The Pledge of Allegiance, as taught to me, is one of the symbols of our country - like the Statue of Liberty or the Declaration of Independence or the American flag. It reminds us of what our country represents. Sure, as elementary school children, we don't really understand what the words mean as we recite them...but they get so engrained in our heads, that by the time we've grown up, those words become something more.

I pledge allegiance
to the flag of the United States of America
and to the republic for which it stands.
One nation
(Under God)
Indivisible
With liberty and justice for all.

A symbol. Of our country. That's unconstitutional. I can't stand it. It's too much.

You know, the Declaration of Independence mentions God:

...the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them...

or a more widely known part:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men were created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights...

Does that make it unconstitutional?

At least the Constitution doesn't mention God, other than to say that there's a separation of church and state. How funny would that be to declare the Constitution unconstitutional???

Read more in the article I found here. I guess it just sent me a little off-balance this morning...what a laugh!

Bring on the Newbies!!!

2005-09-13T20:48:00.000-05:00

Newbies absolutely rule! They're so impressionable, so fresh and new to the dance. It's like a whole new chance to mold a terrific dancer! I went to BU this evening to help teach a class of mostly freshmen how to Lindy Hop...well, at least start teaching them. It takes a while to really feel comfortable dancing Lindy. And it's fun to have them ask questions, try out new ideas, and awkwardly start the process of moving in rhythm, to the beat, and to the music.

At the same time, it's a big responsibility to teach newbies the dance. I'm shaping their eventual bad habits just through the words I use to explain something. I say "eventual bad habits" because I'm convinced there's no perfect way to teach someone to dance and have them understand everything exactly the way you meant it. That's the interesting thing about dancing, and about teaching dancing...it's all hear-say. It's an "I tell you something, I demonstrate, now you try" sort of thing. It's a trial and error, experimental, make mistakes and learn from them sort of thing. There's no perfect way to teach that. But having a bunch of new, dance-naive faces looking at you, hanging on your every word and trying to carry out your instructions to the best of their ability...there's just nothing like it. It's humbling, it's inspiring, it's a feeling of power and enhanced ability, it's a feeling of fear that they won't understand, it's awesome and troublesome and fun and agonizing. But most of all...it's a continuation of the swing scene. And that, my friends, is why newbies absolutely rule. They are the future of the dance. We are merely the history, the present, the constant. We are the already converted, the foundation. The newbies will carry on the traditions and stories and ideas of the dance into the future. They will shape the evolution of the swing movement. They are more important than, I think, most dancers give them credit for.

So, fellow dancers...be nice to your newbies. Welcome them, dance with them, try not to intimidate (hard, I know, they're like that when they start...). But most of all, respect them as an integral and important part of the scene. Happy are those dancers who know that the dance they love will continue into the future generations of our population.

Viva the Lindy Hop, and bring on the newbies!

The funny thing about horoscopes...

2005-09-11T20:01:00.000-05:00

...is that they're so vague, they almost always fit something in your life if you think about it hard enough. I grew up reading them for the sheer entertainment value they brought...reading them at the end of the day or week to see if they were "right." Ha! So, I'm glad that The Onion has my opinion of horoscopes and gone (as always) 10 steps beyond socially acceptible to bring me this for the week:

Leo July 23 - August 22
You will be shunned by some of the more traditional members of the tightly knit community of pornography directors for your tendency to ruin climactic moments by splashing the actresses with all the wrong bodily fluids.

Hilarious!!!

Age is so relative

2005-09-11T19:06:00.000-05:00

I've been at my new job for a couple days past 2 months now, so I've gotten to know the people in my office a bit better now. Enough so we can have those random hallway talks that only happen in offices (you know it's true...the hallways talks at school are just different somehow).

I'm the second youngest person in my office by about 5 or 6 months. The next oldest person is almost 6 years older than me, then it skips to about 8 years older than me, and on up. So, to most everyone in my office, I'm a baby. It's hilarious. Hallway talk about "the past" puts us in totally different positions. I was talking about the Gap CD (oh yes, I'm still all over that album...I love it, remember? See the earlier post "That mysterious Gap CD"), and I made the comment (similar to what I said in my post) about it being like high school when you found the perfect album--the one you can play in its entirety because all of the songs are so good. My coworker laughed and said, "I'm sorry, high school? When I was in high school, we were still buying cassette tapes..." This floored me...has the music industry really progressed that fast? I mean, she's in her early 30s, so I guess it has. It's just weird to think about not having CDs.

But I digress.

So, in my office, I'm the baby. But, I'm now in my mid-20s. I feel old! My little brother (who's 5 1/2 years younger than me) just started college this fall. My friends are starting to get engaged. I have a full-time job that I may stay at for more than a year. I have my own apartment. I pay electric bills for god's sake! I feel so old in comparison to what I've been used to in the past. I realize that in the great grand scheme of things I'm young, but in my mind, "young" is high school. "Young" is my mother's second graders. "Young" is even undergrads now. "Young" is not me.

Isn't it funny how you can be old or young just by changing your surroundings and the people you're with? And I can literally change from young to old in a manner of minutes, after leaving the office and hopping the T with the school kids going home and while I walk home near Harvard with all of the college students. It's a little disorienting sometimes. There's a brief period in which I feel almost ageless...neither young nor old, neither experienced nor naive. Just me. It's kind of an interesting part of my day actually...but that's a topic for another post...

An aside...

2005-09-10T12:38:00.000-05:00

When using the spell checker before I posted that last post, I discovered that the spell checker on this blog site didn't recognize the word blog. How weird is that?

Naps...

2005-09-10T12:07:00.000-05:00

I just woke up from a nap after having gone into work for a couple hours early this morning. And I have to say, it was the most wonderful thing that happened to me! I love naps. They're so refreshing! ...and comfortable ...and warm ...and cozy. I have the best dreams when I nap, I love snuggling under the covers as I fall asleep, and its rare that I wake up from a nap without a smile on my face.

I used to hate taking naps. It meant that I would miss something happening during the day, and I HATED missing things. People were up and about doing stuff...I wanted to be a part of it! People were playing a game...I'd miss the fun! People were going out somewhere...I'd be left behind! Most of my life, actually, I've been like that. It's like I've been living life waiting for others to do things so I can join them, instead of living my own life that may or may not coincide with what others are doing. And it took me a long time to realize that I was doing it. Even now, it's still a hard habit to break (and I'm reminded of a Chicago song now...). I catch myself waiting for things to happen still, and it's frustrating...because those little moments that happen now remind me of myself a couple of years ago...and give me a view of how I used to be. Man, was I lame! (Hahaha...how often do you read a blog in which someone accuses themselves of being lame in a positive tone of voice?) And what's sad is that I didn't realize that I was missing out on so much more because I was waiting for what others were doing before I moved my life forward. All of my life I've felt just one step behind my peers...and no wonder! I was...always waiting for them to start something before I followed suit. What a way to live!

These days I make my own choices. I wake up and decide what my day will be like. I sometimes have to turn down invitations to do things because I'm busy with something that I planned for myself. And its so refreshing. I feel like I've grown to catch up with my peers, in a manner of speaking, because now I'm forging ahead into the great unknown of a 20-something's world with the rest of them. And I make tons of mistakes. And it's wonderful...because they're MINE, not always someone else's that I just learn from. I meet my own people, I do my own errands (not do them when someone else is going to do them), I buy stuff because I want to (not because someone else is buying something and I want to be like them). Like waking of from this nap just now...on a metaphoric level I'm waking up from a 23-year-long nap to rediscover the world around me the way I want to see it. And it is a beautiful world!

It's funny...as I read over what I've written so far, I realize how completely childish this all seems. It seems like something that a person much younger than I should have figured out and moved away from. But, ya know, who cares when others figured it out? What's important is that I've figured it out now, and I have a whole life waiting for me to live the way I see fit to live it. The 'old me' would have gone on to worry over how long it took me to figure this all out. But what's the sense in that? Silly, silly, silly. We move on...

And so I leave you with a song lyric that I like to put up as an away message on IM when I'm in a certain kind of mood...this mood works well for it:

Time is a valuable thing--
watch it fly by as the pendulum swings,
watch it count down to the end of the day,
the clock ticks life away.

This can mean different things in different situations, obviously, but now? It's a warning. Don't let life pass you by. The clock is always ticking. Pick up and forge your own path, don't take the one already laid out for you. Robert Frost took the road less traveled, and it made all the difference. I take that to heart...I do my own thing...I go my own way.

And I take naps!

That mysterious Gap CD...

2005-09-08T19:57:00.000-05:00

You know the one... if you buy, like, $60 worth of stuff at the Gap, you get this CD called "Gap Favorites" which includes 8 really great artists singing a cover of their favorite song. It is an AMAZING CD. I'm not even joking here. I'm usually not one to go for the gimmicks and little excuses to make people spend more money in the consumer world, but this is worth the $60 worth of Gap clothes (plus, then you have $60 worth of Gap clothing, which is almost incentive by itself!). I won't tell you the secrets of the who and what on the CD... I want you to go get it yourself! Suffice it to say that I've had this CD for a week and I have listened to nothing else since I got it.

I love those kinds of CDs. The ones you can put on Shuffle/Repeat and listen to over and over again for hours on end. It reminds me of high school...before iPods...before Napster...before mp3s... when you had to buy the album if you wanted the song (because it wasn't always out on a single). And you had to be really smart about what you bought...if the album sucked, then you just wasted $10-12 (oh man, they used to be so cheap!) on a CD that really only got you one song. And we all have those CDs in our collection still. Granted, most of them have been converted into mp3s on our computers and the good songs put into our favorite playlists and on our iPods, but we still keep those CDs for some reason. (Girls, you know we all have that CD with the one song that we danced to with our huge high school crush at the Semi-Formal!) But, back to what I was saying: I love the CDs I can play over and over again. There's nothing quite like a good song, and when you get a whole CD full of them, it's like a little slice of heaven. A song can set the whole tone of a situation (movies know this, and bank on it like nothing else!). A song can make you happy when you're sad, or sad when you're relatively happy. A song can make you remember old times, and look forward to new times. It can inspire you, or set you into a deep sense of apathy. It amazes me what music does to our lives.

So, to conclude this rather rambling post: Go to the Gap. Buy a bunch of stuff, and make sure it's at least $60 worth. Get the mysterious CD before they run out of them. Pop it in your stereo. And be prepared to fall in love with the album...just like you did when you were younger! (Okay, if you're "younger" right now, as in you have no idea what I'm talking about when I say we used to not have mp3s...what a poor deprived child you are.) And enjoy the good music to be had from this CD.

That's my rare plug for retail gimmicks. Bookmark so you can remember and remind me one day that I once supported things of this nature. Ha!