Cold, Cold Privacy

Last night as I was wandering out of a rehearsal, I heard some little kid tell his parents "Hey, it's not that cold." Everyone around agreed as it was finally about 43 degrees out, which is almost shorts weather. Coloradoans are sturdy folk, even though none are native. Really we're sturdy transplants hardened to massive weather dramas.

I was thinking about this today as I ate lunch in a Boulder park. I had brought my lunch thinking (foolishly) that the park would be a quiet place to eat. Trails and parks in Boulder are empty only when it's 20 below zero and three feet of snow is actively falling. Even then, if you were to sit in a park eating lunch, there would still be the 65-year-old man jogging by in way too tight spandex shorts. Everyone was out in force today jogging, biking, roller blading, and all basically moving forwards at a tremendous speed.

My lunch ended in an odd fashion when I noticed two guys taking pictures of me with a camera on a tripod. I can only hope the dirty looks I gave them and the finger I showed (it was one of ten) were both in focus without much jostling on their part. At least my lunch was good.

An Erinku:
fingers cold
toes cold
window
open anyway

ARGH!

It was an innocenet bumper sticker, lovingly tucked away in the corner of the window "Club Sandwiches, Not Seals." The bad taste of capitalizing every word notwithstanding, the idea seems fine at first: clubbing seals is bad. But then logic kicks in (damnit) and you realize that a club sandwich is not a veggie sandwich. So the bumper sticker is, in effect, saying seal cruelty is terrible but all's fair in the name of turkey and bacon. Perhaps if the seal meat didn't go to waste...but wait, don't the locals traditionally eat seal meat? Or would a clubbed seal club sandwich be all right? Or what if it was free-range clubbed seal (oh, wait...don't they live in the wild?) on that club sandwich, but without the pig and turkey?

I get snarkily logical when I'm cranky. I'm cranky because a project I've spent three weeks working on was deleted all the way back to the beginning this afternoon. If the person who deleted it can't fix it, I've got hours and hours of re-doing ahead of me. ARGH!

An Erinku:
I adore
calzone
I am hungry
now

Choices of Fuzzy Wuzzy

I know this person, who we'll call Fuzzy Wuzzy. Fuzzy had a single dream, which he talked of routinely. One day, during a move to California to be a financial-blah-blah-boring-person (not his dream), he started talking to someone about what he really wanted to do. Oddly enough, the stranger was in the process of retiring from Fuzzy's dream situation. Stranger offered Fuzzy his dream...and Fuzzy declined. I have talked smack about Fuzzy ever since.

And now I'm in a position similar to Fuzzy. Something I've been wanting for YEARS has become available. Am I a chicken? You betcha. Do I know what I'm going to do about it? Not yet...I've put a moratoreum on any life-changing decisions until after my 30th birthday (T-Minus one month and counting). I can see why Fuzzy declined, but as I would like to respect myself in the future, I'm plotting away...

An Erinku:
I dream
of dirt
I dream
of ease

Lost Lake, Part One

With months of random walking behind me, today during my six mile walk, I found the first missing lake. It was a lovely lake, covered in ice and ducks (as a lake should be). In the distace was the blue of the second lost lake. I was most pleased, but was far too tired to make it to lake two.

I have nothing else to report. While the walk last week ended at a surprise wine tasting in an industrial park winery, today's walk ended with me coming home to large amounts of water. I've got to practice...

An Erinku:
plastic bag
too soon
claimed
by Dylan

Not My Fault

A few days ago, a lady called my day job to complain about the sturdiness of our glass bottles. Apparently, she's twice bought a bottle of some herbal tincture, managed to drop each bottle on the floor and was upset that the glass broke. She wanted to complain and get replacements for these.

My coworkers and I came up with an idea: how about you not drop the bottles on the floor? Co-worker Dribbles came up with a better idea: how about you sit on the floor when you open the bottles? I did not send her a replacement and kindly reminded her that they were made of glass and that glass can break when dropped four feet above the floor.

When driving places, I will often see big trucks out and about (it should be illegal during rush hour to hold up traffic by going 20 miles below the speed limit) and they have large bumper stickers announcing "Stay back 40 feet. Not responsible for broken windshields."

Now I know we've got a terribly litigious society, but is a bumper sticker really a good enough waiver? Can I hit pedestrians with my car as long as I've got a sign denying culpability? How about a crazed ax murderer with a disclaimer on the ax handle? These thoughts haunt my early morning hours....

An Erinku:
burnt
garlic bread
tasty on
one side

Feeling Crappy

Since we brought Dylan home on February 1st, I've gone through food poisoning and a horrific cold. Tonight, as I'm leaning in my chair feeling nauteous (nauetous? natious? grr...can't spell tonight) pukey, I'm wondering if I can really blame the cat. He does enjoy having me spend the whole day on the couch with him though. Bleh. I don't feel so well....

An Erinku (in slowness):
singers
loud enough
to cover
the choir next door

Again, Again

I know that time is arbitrary. For instance, the whole Y2K freak-out is completely off depending on which ancient calendar you use. I keep this in mind as my 30th birthday approaches.

I have made the recent decision that my 30th year is the year I don't judge myself from an external point of view. (Ah, I've had a beer and I'm getting more abstract than I should be) I mean that I am often judging my life (often as a failure) from the point of view of someone else. Like from a parent's point of view...or a grandparent, or a teacher, or a co-worker, or some random doofus on the bus, etc.

As I've judged externally forever, I'm interested in my life from my point of view. It will be an exercise in I-don't-know-what. I think that just me judging me will relieve a bunch of stress...

An Erinku:
kitty paw
trapped in
fridge
yelling for release

List and Repeated Cello Story

I am a freak about writing TO DO lists. They're pretty sad, since most days look like this:
Monday (bus)
lunch: walk
p.m.: choir announcements, practice

Tomorrow-Tuesday (drive/cello)
lunch: walk
p.m.: choir, rehearsal

And that's it. I guess it's to remember to bring my cello, since the last time I bussed with the cello I met scary, scary people... It was a dark and stormy night in Spokane (Washington) and I was coming back from being the entire cello section of the Whitworth University Orchestra (so small). A guy settled across the aisle from me and said "Cello, right?" My "um-hum" was to discorage him from talking any more (stranger danger). He seemed normal, with vague tan pants and the usually preppy polo top.

Undeterred by my non-committal "um-hum" he contined, "My wife used to play cello. She was great." I nodded in his general direction, hoping this would resolve itself soon. "It was beautiful to hear. She was in a lot of different groups and would play all different styles." I practiced staring at the window, willing him to shut up. My stop was still blocks and blocks away. He continued, getting louder, as other bus people stared, "She loved to practice all the time until they murdered her. Those bastards, they murdered her!"

I instantly dinged the bell to scamper off at the next stop, completely freaked out. I am always willing to stop at a bowling alley with cello in the rain to get away from scary bus people at night.

An Erinku:
O mug
first casualty
of kitty
assault

Five Short Minutes

Being on the other side of grad-student-dom is odd. They are cranky, caffeinated, up late, up early, dirty lots of dishes, have books strewn from door to couch, and are always on the computer working on research and papers. As Chris is showering right now, the computer is free for about five blissful minutes. I don't remember being that cranky when I was in school, but then that was a few years ago.

I think about life with a grad student as I follow paper trails through the Hobbit Hole. I've been thinking about going back to school (I am such a junkie!) for music or library science in 2009 or so, but I don't know if our one useful computer could take it. A good side of life with a grad student is that there is ALWAYS coffee ready (I do remember that). As the shower has stopped and the sweet smell of my favorite percolated drugs wafts to my nostrils, I think my computer turn is over. Wafts is a good word and if I spelled it wrong, then wafts still is a good word.

An Erinku:
laundry
always determining
my level of
clothedness

Self-Love

After a bout of food poisoning right before a week-long cold, I've finally managed to reach the point of "I lost 35 pounds (in two years...nothing like losing 1/3 pound per week)." Just a little self-back-pat. And as such, my newer pants are now baggy. As there are no major holidays in the short future (thanks a lot Thanksgiving and Christmas), I'm thinking about buying some pants. And some underwear suspenders (still a brilliant idea). I'm celebrating by drinking a beer, while sucking a cough drop, after eating some brussel sprouts (mmm...still loving those sprouts!!!!!). Menthol-flavored Hornsby tastes like crap.

An Erinku:
Algernon
your presence
again
marked by poo

But Not

I can't hear out of either ear very well. It's like having a brain fog, but not. It's like wearing a muffler, but not. It's like having having a cold, really.

There are days, which I call Cosmic Days, where every single work phone call, project, package and person coming in the door is for me. Today was a day like that, only with the feeling of cotton-ball-ears. It made for a few interesting conversations...something about astroturf, another something about die cuts and another something about more astroturf. At least, I think it was astroturf. I'm not sure why that would be a topic, but I can't think of anything that sounds like astroturf, but not.

Right now, the choir is practicing in a cool, muffled sort of way. I need to get better fast because I'm still wandering around in a mild daze...

An Erinku:
blue phone list
tacked on
yellow wall

Foggy

There is something very final about clicking "SEND" on an email. It's almost scary how quickly these things can go out. While I've not been the sender of a mistaken embarrassing email, I worry about it sometimes. I've sent emails that are half-finished, so the worst that is said of me is that I end communications abruptly (which is true).

Today, while thinking of these things and coughing frequently, I realized I still have a lost belt. The fact that my pants were hitting about mid-thigh was my clue. In desparation, I used a binder clip to "hold the fold" of my gigantic pants. I think "Gigantic Pants" would be a cool band name. Ducky once told me that she rolled up some plastic wrap in a belt-like fashion during a pant emergency.

And while thinking of these things and coughing frequently, I notice there are many, many thumbtacks in the ceiling of the choir office. The ceiling is very high and I'm wondering just how bored you'd need to be to climb on a desk/chair/ladder to stick pins in the ceiling.

And while thinking of these thing and coughing frequently, I realize that I'm in a sickness-induced brain fog where everything is equally interesting and the only thing I want to do is sleep.

An Erinku:
little tissue
you keep
my hands
clean

Cats, Colds, and Concerts

The new kitty in the Hobbit Hole, who is now officially Dylan Carmello, has a decided preference in his toys. He dive-bombs the bag containing all manner of kitty delights (feathered bells, belly-balls, bally-mice, etc.) and has taken out one feathered mouse daily to play with. All the other toys have been left in the bag, shunned. I am always impressed when pets have decided preferences in things. I really should get over it as I've got decided preferences in things.

I'm in the middle of a life-sucking cold and am not feeling particularly creative, clever or anything else except tired and cranky. I hope the person who gave me this (I've narrowed it down to people on my morning bus ride) has emergency construction in front of their bedroom window all summer long beginning with jack-hammers at 5:00 a.m. every day of the week. One can only hope for fairness in a world where some punk on a bus can give you a cold.

l;pp (Dylan likes to type while doing laps)

And I've got a concert this afternoon. I desparately need some coffee to get my day going before I warm-up. Cough cough, sneeze, cough.

An Erinku:
Algernon
your absence
noticed by
lack of mouse poo

Sickies

I'm sneezy with many, many non-innocent sneezes. I think a cold is trying to start just in time for the weekend. It has preoccupied me all day long and I've washed my hands like I've got obsessive-compulsive disorder so as not to spread germs. I'm being anal about it this year because one of my co-workers managed to come to work with Influenza A, which then sickened someone else who, in turn, managed to come to work with Influenza A. Nothing like spreading the love.

And while it's amazing they were able to drag their disease-ridden corpse-like selves to work, the fact that they are spreading this nasiest of flu bugs around has me wanting to kick their asses once they get better (the first person is still sounding sick three weeks later for gods' sake--and yes, that's a deliberate apostrophe placement). Honestly, if you have a fever of 103 and are thinking death is a better alternative to feeling like hell, maybe you shouldn't go to work! Just a cranky I-don't-want-the-damn-flu thought.

Being sick in public should be illegal. I mean most of the cold medicine is now behind the counter requiring i.d. and all sorts of signatures so you already feel like a criminal if you want to buy some Nyquil. Making illness illegal is just the next step. From there, you can make stupidity, ugliness, and not tipping your barista illegal as well. How grand life looks when you're catching a cold!

An Erinku:
kitty
curled
ignoring the
blaring tuba

Cornered

I've just been cornered by an angry German (?) singer who is mad that rehearsals were canceled for the caucuses. I stood there with key and cello in hand, trying to unlock the office door and back away from her simultaneously. It was tricky and involved my cello being used as a doorstop while I pretended to understand what she was saying (big, big accent for my little, little ears). I made enough non-committal sounds that must have been vaguely pacifying because she moped off and let me move on with my evening.

I read in a book once (I think it was called Blink and it talked about how quickly people make first impressions) about how certain types of people will always be approachable. These are the people you stop and ask directions, or if you can sit by them on the bus, or if they are using the extra chair at their table and so on. These approachable people have little in common other than they are approachable, be they hippie, punk, biker, goth kid, etc. I am an approachable person and I am often cornered by angry German singers. More than should be statistically possible.

An Erinku:
phone pad
listing numbers
do I
care to call back?

Kitty

We adopted a kitty last Friday. He's eight months old and has a flair for playing with noisy toys at 6:00 a.m. If he were human, I'd find him oddly ugly. He's cute as a kitty (orange and white).

He has a few potential names: Carmello (yes, like the basketball player, but also like a carmel-covered marshmellow) and Dylan (the kitty has lots to say, but you can't understand him...much like Bob Dylan). There's also Luffie (yup, like the pirate) and Chomper (yup, like the pirate's talking reindeer friend) and Yoshi (like Mario's buddy). The Hobbit Hole has many, many influences.

Anyway, we're stuck between names. This evening I called him "Noisy Carmello Dylan, Jr." which seems to work well, but will not fit on a pet tag. I also keep calling him "Poo" but that's because the upstairs orange and white kitty is called "Poo" (thus, I'm not clever). I have no other news. If any clever combination of names occurs to any of you lone readers out there, please let me know. Naming kitties has taken up my weekend. Also playing noisy toys with a noisy kitty...

The moral of today's story: humans are the only species who understand sarcasm...or should.

An Erinku:
kite,
in bag,
yet to be
flown