It started off innocently, I was going to be a jaguar in the school play. I practiced my roar, I practiced jumping out at people, and I got laryngitis two days before the show. With stage lights blaring, my acting debut had me jumping out from behind construction-paper trees and squeakily roaring. It was supposed to be scary, but the audience laughed.
A few years later, stage lights blaring, I misspelled "dormancy." It turns out that it's a variation on dormant. It turns out, it only has one "o."
Many years later in grad school with stage lights blaring, I read a poem about the power of croissants to stop rampaging chipmunks. At the end, one person in the audience laughed. It was my roommate. It really was a funny poem.
And so, I find playing cello to be better. It's something to hide behind. I've not fared well on my own.
An Erinku:
kitties don't
respect
wrapped
presents
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Heat Makes Me Stupid
I'm absolutely convinced my day job is setting out to reduce employee costs. While all companies do this, my day job has stepped up a level by having the heaters keep the temperature at roughly 95 degress all day. I suspect that as people wilt, melt, and generally go away, the University can hope everyone will use up their sick/vacation time and then!! People will not get paid when they go home hot! (Lately I'm very much a fan of misplaced exclaimation points. And periods.)
My wee office has a wee window, which I open all the way as soon as I arrive. By the end of the day of having freezing air combating the radiator, it's a balmy 80 degrees in my office.
Anyway, the absolute worst part of this is that the bathrooms are warm like sauna (big like bear). And while I seriously wouldn't mind a cold toilet seat by then, the heat just makes the bathrooms smell more...bathroomy. It's gross. So now I pee like a race horse (very fast as opposed to just on my way somewhere) and hold my breath. And I worry this is all part of the plan. By holding my breath, I could become dizzy, knock myself out, use up my sick/vacation days and then!!
Moral of today's story: hot bathrooms are a boring topic. Again, my moral is more of a fact.
An Erinku:
sock,
one missing
the other
under bed
My wee office has a wee window, which I open all the way as soon as I arrive. By the end of the day of having freezing air combating the radiator, it's a balmy 80 degrees in my office.
Anyway, the absolute worst part of this is that the bathrooms are warm like sauna (big like bear). And while I seriously wouldn't mind a cold toilet seat by then, the heat just makes the bathrooms smell more...bathroomy. It's gross. So now I pee like a race horse (very fast as opposed to just on my way somewhere) and hold my breath. And I worry this is all part of the plan. By holding my breath, I could become dizzy, knock myself out, use up my sick/vacation days and then!!
Moral of today's story: hot bathrooms are a boring topic. Again, my moral is more of a fact.
An Erinku:
sock,
one missing
the other
under bed
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Services For Hire
I was thinking this morning about "Adopt-A-Mom." In college I had one. She worked for the school and would often have a few students come over for real food, a chance to pet her dogs and cats, and just be in a real house for a while with her and her family. It was a nice change from being in a dorm every day. Several of my friends had other Adopt-A-Mom types, too. This made me wonder if everyone has that experience in college.
It makes a certain amount of sense. You have students who are 600 miles or so away from home (me), who grew up with pets and real food and family members (again me), who are then living in a closet-shaped dorm room (me) with a stranger and are subsisting on bagels, lattes, and spaghetti (me). It doesn't take much to impress a young college student like that. Mashed potatoes will certainly do it.
Anyway, it was a lovely thing and I visited her often thoughout college. When I left, she had taken several new freshmen under her wing, so I assume the cycle is still going, though her own daughters are probably in college by now. Thank you, Mary!
An Erinku:
crumb trail
from scone
to coffee pot
to tummy
It makes a certain amount of sense. You have students who are 600 miles or so away from home (me), who grew up with pets and real food and family members (again me), who are then living in a closet-shaped dorm room (me) with a stranger and are subsisting on bagels, lattes, and spaghetti (me). It doesn't take much to impress a young college student like that. Mashed potatoes will certainly do it.
Anyway, it was a lovely thing and I visited her often thoughout college. When I left, she had taken several new freshmen under her wing, so I assume the cycle is still going, though her own daughters are probably in college by now. Thank you, Mary!
An Erinku:
crumb trail
from scone
to coffee pot
to tummy
Lap Kitties and License Plates
Now that's getting cooler in the Hobbit Hole, Dylan has decided that he is, in fact, a lap kitty. This makes for an interesting time because I have a cello player's lap which is not conductive for lap kitties. So he continues to jump up, purr to pretend everything is all right, then get fed up, jump down and bite at my feet. We've been going through this all day. It's really a boring story and I'm getting little bite marks on my socks.
While driving into Boulder this morning, I realized I'm highly disturbed by personalized license plates. I was following something like "IAM23" and I figured out that it's mostly disturbing because the messages are never clever. Then something like "BUFFFAN90" drove by. That might be interesting at first glance, thinking that someone is fond of nudity, but alas. The Buffaloes are a football team. Not a clever license plate even if BuffFan 1-89 was already taken.
It's a problem in multiple states and I have no solution for this. Perhaps something honest like "$$WASTER" or "NTCR8TVE" would be nice. Maybe there are good personalized plates out there and I've just not seen them yet. I'll keep hoping.
Moral of today's story: string cheese really is squished together mozzerella. Really.
An Erinku:
you circle
parking lot
you won't get
a better spot.
While driving into Boulder this morning, I realized I'm highly disturbed by personalized license plates. I was following something like "IAM23" and I figured out that it's mostly disturbing because the messages are never clever. Then something like "BUFFFAN90" drove by. That might be interesting at first glance, thinking that someone is fond of nudity, but alas. The Buffaloes are a football team. Not a clever license plate even if BuffFan 1-89 was already taken.
It's a problem in multiple states and I have no solution for this. Perhaps something honest like "$$WASTER" or "NTCR8TVE" would be nice. Maybe there are good personalized plates out there and I've just not seen them yet. I'll keep hoping.
Moral of today's story: string cheese really is squished together mozzerella. Really.
An Erinku:
you circle
parking lot
you won't get
a better spot.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Relief
I've finally taken to walking for my lunch break at the University. I'm a creature of habit and once things get changed around, it takes a while for any patterns I like to emerge. While walking today through heavily-housed neighborhoods (I miss my old path), I started to realize with horror that I hadn't laughed at someone for days. I routinely laugh with people and with people laughing at themselves, but to laugh at someone representing the whole of humanity is something that needs done almost daily.
I was especially worried because I know that humanity hasn't had an epiphany over the last week. Nor has it reached enlightenment. Humanity, collectively, is still as odd as ever and when days go by without my pointing and laughing at someone, it means I'm not paying attention. And that's upsetting.
I started walking faster, hoping for some sign of collective stupidity to make me feel better. And then, a motorcycle appeared. One of those very loud ones that try to impress you by bursting your earlobes. Or eardrums. Anyway, pearched atop was a heavily-leathered young man (it was very cold in Colorado today). And he was very slowly moving forward because his hands were occupied. One hand was plugging his ear against the noise of his bike and the other hand was holding...a cell phone.
Over the motorcycle's noise, his conversation went like this: WHAT?? WAIT, WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU. NO, WHAT DID YOU SAY? WHAT?? TALK LOUDER. WHAT??
With my faith in humanity completely restored, my walk returned to its normal pace and I enjoyed the beauty of the suburban landscape.
An Erinku:
free bus pass
lingering
too long on
desk
I was especially worried because I know that humanity hasn't had an epiphany over the last week. Nor has it reached enlightenment. Humanity, collectively, is still as odd as ever and when days go by without my pointing and laughing at someone, it means I'm not paying attention. And that's upsetting.
I started walking faster, hoping for some sign of collective stupidity to make me feel better. And then, a motorcycle appeared. One of those very loud ones that try to impress you by bursting your earlobes. Or eardrums. Anyway, pearched atop was a heavily-leathered young man (it was very cold in Colorado today). And he was very slowly moving forward because his hands were occupied. One hand was plugging his ear against the noise of his bike and the other hand was holding...a cell phone.
Over the motorcycle's noise, his conversation went like this: WHAT?? WAIT, WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU. NO, WHAT DID YOU SAY? WHAT?? TALK LOUDER. WHAT??
With my faith in humanity completely restored, my walk returned to its normal pace and I enjoyed the beauty of the suburban landscape.
An Erinku:
free bus pass
lingering
too long on
desk
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Fear of Contagion
Like a contagious plague, pregnancy is spreading through several circles of my friends. This is similar to the plague of engagements that spread a few years ago. It's creepy. There is talk of belly bands and loose shirts. There are stories of ucky diapers and the general displaying of boobs in action. It's creepy. I was thinking about this today as I was hanging out with various friends in various states of infection. I didn't share any glasses with them, washed my hands frequently, and made sure not to touch my hands to my face.
I really have nothing more to say about it. It's creepy.
What else is creepy is alarms. I thought about this today, too. Car alarms, burgler alarms, alarm clocks, smoke alarms, and onward. We are indeed constantly alerted to many different things. I visited a house once upon a time in a gated community (speaking of creepy). The people had multiple burgler alarms and car alarms. I remember thinking, "Seriously? Like a burgler is going to navigate through this hellish display of human conformity of a housing development and seek out your Toyota and flat screen t.v. to steal? Seriously?" It was a community surrounded by a huge fence for god's sake. I think people would notice a t.v. sailing over the fence and the video cameras would catch a suspicious driver leaving in your car. Of all the things to be afraid of, I pick catching pregnancy way over getting robbed in a gated community.
Moral of today's story: you don't have to like pink milk. I do. It's strawberry-flavored goodness on a cold, dark autumn evening.
An Erinku:
squirrel, you
dart, stop, scamper
on the road
just move already.
I really have nothing more to say about it. It's creepy.
What else is creepy is alarms. I thought about this today, too. Car alarms, burgler alarms, alarm clocks, smoke alarms, and onward. We are indeed constantly alerted to many different things. I visited a house once upon a time in a gated community (speaking of creepy). The people had multiple burgler alarms and car alarms. I remember thinking, "Seriously? Like a burgler is going to navigate through this hellish display of human conformity of a housing development and seek out your Toyota and flat screen t.v. to steal? Seriously?" It was a community surrounded by a huge fence for god's sake. I think people would notice a t.v. sailing over the fence and the video cameras would catch a suspicious driver leaving in your car. Of all the things to be afraid of, I pick catching pregnancy way over getting robbed in a gated community.
Moral of today's story: you don't have to like pink milk. I do. It's strawberry-flavored goodness on a cold, dark autumn evening.
An Erinku:
squirrel, you
dart, stop, scamper
on the road
just move already.
Friday, November 7, 2008
It's Heavy!
After visiting the local watering hole for my regular Thursday night socializing, I started ranting about the dumbest thing in the world: names. More specifically, I know someone we'll call Bob, who met and married another person named Bob. They had sex at some point, had a child and named it...Bob. This is by far the stupidest thing I can fathom. It's awful from all perspectives! There are thousands of names you can call someone (some of those are even real names) and to...
Gah, the stupidity of it weighs me down.
An Erinku:
sneezing
powerful
equalizer of
non-silence
Gah, the stupidity of it weighs me down.
An Erinku:
sneezing
powerful
equalizer of
non-silence
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Pink Milk and Politics
Tonight I'm drinking pink milk. It's a holdover from childhood when I wasn't very impressed with chocolate milk (or any type of chocolate, really). I still love pink milk with an absurd passion. It got me through my junior year in college--though milk was scarce at times because my roommate was/is terribly fond of dairy.
While drinking pink milk, I was thinking that I'm glad the election is over. I've got a wide variety of folks I hang out with and having them bickering politics over their beers sucks. This sort of beer-fueled debating would be obsolete if everyone just drank pink milk and became Independants.
After years of bouncing politically (great band name) from third-party to third-party, I finally became an Independant. I'm always amused by the assumptions made about third-party people. Really, if Libertarians are just like Republicans and the Green Party folk are really Democrats, don't you think they would, I don't know, register as those main parties? I've been Libertarian and in the Green Party and never felt moved to join in a big party. And I firmly believe that Independent means you need to do your research. It doesn't mean I'm undecided. Too bad the phonebots these past few weeks didn't agree. Assumptions. Hmm.
As I've had to sit through a great many rants these past few weeks, I'm thinking an evening home (after multiple rehearsals) with my pink milk is enough social contribution from me. Chris pointed out that I continuously get into situations where I'm the "shunned outsider" (another great band name). Being an independent is just another step on that road. I suppose drinking pink milk could be, too. Now where's that accordian...
An Erinku:
frozen
toe-tips
radiate cold
through sock
While drinking pink milk, I was thinking that I'm glad the election is over. I've got a wide variety of folks I hang out with and having them bickering politics over their beers sucks. This sort of beer-fueled debating would be obsolete if everyone just drank pink milk and became Independants.
After years of bouncing politically (great band name) from third-party to third-party, I finally became an Independant. I'm always amused by the assumptions made about third-party people. Really, if Libertarians are just like Republicans and the Green Party folk are really Democrats, don't you think they would, I don't know, register as those main parties? I've been Libertarian and in the Green Party and never felt moved to join in a big party. And I firmly believe that Independent means you need to do your research. It doesn't mean I'm undecided. Too bad the phonebots these past few weeks didn't agree. Assumptions. Hmm.
As I've had to sit through a great many rants these past few weeks, I'm thinking an evening home (after multiple rehearsals) with my pink milk is enough social contribution from me. Chris pointed out that I continuously get into situations where I'm the "shunned outsider" (another great band name). Being an independent is just another step on that road. I suppose drinking pink milk could be, too. Now where's that accordian...
An Erinku:
frozen
toe-tips
radiate cold
through sock
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Waiting for my cookie pick-me-up
Today at work, I dressed as "The Princess the Papparazzi Forgot." Almost all of my workplace took today off. Apparently Halloween is a University holiday for many. And so. I only had to explain the costume once...to someone who wasn't meaning to listen to me. They just liked my tiara. What they didn't know is that my tiara comes out several times each year (like on my birthday). Which means that I, again, didn't really dress up for a costume event.
And now small people dressed in various attire are stampeding the Hobbit Hole because we're giving out Snickers (I only buy candy that expresses contempt). I've had a boring day. My apathy has carried over to my dinner (two cookies and toast...not the healthiest of dinners the last two days) and into my party preparations for this evening. I'm hoping the cookie sugar-rush hits soon.
This evening's Halloween party is a musical one hosted by a pianist and I'm to bring my cello with. I have no idea if my cello should be dressed up or not. Maybe I'll put a sock on top in a jaunty fashion and call it good. Man, I'm boring today.
An Erinku:
little juice
little cheese
bowl of rice
fridge inventory
And now small people dressed in various attire are stampeding the Hobbit Hole because we're giving out Snickers (I only buy candy that expresses contempt). I've had a boring day. My apathy has carried over to my dinner (two cookies and toast...not the healthiest of dinners the last two days) and into my party preparations for this evening. I'm hoping the cookie sugar-rush hits soon.
This evening's Halloween party is a musical one hosted by a pianist and I'm to bring my cello with. I have no idea if my cello should be dressed up or not. Maybe I'll put a sock on top in a jaunty fashion and call it good. Man, I'm boring today.
An Erinku:
little juice
little cheese
bowl of rice
fridge inventory
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