There is a glob of time called the past, a glob of time called the future, and I’m walking on the sidewalk of now. At some point in the glob of past, I started listening to Pandora radio on my computer. It has introduced me to some excellent new bands. As I spend many waking hours with some sort of music on in the background, it’s nice to change the source every now and then.
Today, I had my usual cup of coffee with breakfast. I started on the travel mug ‘o coffee goodness while waiting in the typical traffic jam. I had a local radio station on which was playing the typical good music. We inched forward. More good music. And onward. Until this one seriously annoying, way overplayed song came on.
I grumped. I sipped coffee. And still the drum machine and auto-tuned music came through my speakers. I realized I was super annoyed because I’d told Pandora, probably repeatedly, that I hated this band, that I didn’t want to hear this song, and my pre-coffee-saturated brain blamed the local radio station for not respecting my mouse click. One day soon, I know it’s coming, you’ll be able to connect your favorite real-life radio station with Pandora with your iPod. It’ll probably just be easier to insert a USB port into your arm. Hmmm. My pre-coffee thoughts are a bit disturbing today.
Moral of today’s story: tires belong on cars. They should not fly off and hit the windshield of the car behind you during rush hour. I saw the aftermath: folks were looking somewhat stunned and the car was looking a little tippy.
An Erinku:
stripey socks
under boring pants
layers
I dress in sarcastic layers
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Where I Wear My Grumpy Pants
This past year, I've gotten more than my fair share of upsetting phone calls. This is just one of many reasons I only use a cell phone now. The odds are that since I never answer my phone (due to the bizarreness of my waking hours), and since it would be just too awkward to leave an upsetting message, I should be avoiding upset. I thought of this again today after I got an upsetting phone call. So. I'm listening to my new favorite band, drinking my favorite boxed wine, and am planning to read a book from my new favorite genre (one that I have mercilessly made fun of for years).
As I feel the only two things I've done for the last 18 months is bitch bitterly about my life exploding into spectacularly festive flames and making myself laugh occasionally, I'm looking for new adventures. Ones that specifically don't have phone access. And ones that specifically involve drama that doesn't revolve around me. And if these adventures were to involve Hornsby's® Hard Cider, then that would be just peachy. Or apple-ly. Or something.
The worst part of all this is that I'm finding fewer things funny. I seriously doubt that humanity has had a collective epiphany and is no longer silly; I think I'm just wrapped up in super-stupid drama and it collects most of my attention. But I digress, and complain, and drink bad wine from a box. I'm going to ask the universe for a dose of funny tomorrow because I'm annoying myself intensely. Bah.
An Erinku:
chair dancing
wearing a blanket cape
and cow slippers
I am that girl
As I feel the only two things I've done for the last 18 months is bitch bitterly about my life exploding into spectacularly festive flames and making myself laugh occasionally, I'm looking for new adventures. Ones that specifically don't have phone access. And ones that specifically involve drama that doesn't revolve around me. And if these adventures were to involve Hornsby's® Hard Cider, then that would be just peachy. Or apple-ly. Or something.
The worst part of all this is that I'm finding fewer things funny. I seriously doubt that humanity has had a collective epiphany and is no longer silly; I think I'm just wrapped up in super-stupid drama and it collects most of my attention. But I digress, and complain, and drink bad wine from a box. I'm going to ask the universe for a dose of funny tomorrow because I'm annoying myself intensely. Bah.
An Erinku:
chair dancing
wearing a blanket cape
and cow slippers
I am that girl
Friday, January 22, 2010
Dammit, Quit Calling Me That!
I'm 31, almost 32. I have a few gray hairs. I have grown-up-girl hips. I'm almost (ALMOST) twice as old as the freshmen at the university. Fine. I realize they were born in 1991 (and I twitch a little bit here). And I realize they are all prodigies and can smack me around. Fine.
What I don't like is that one of my teachers routinely introduces me, as "Erin, the Old Lady." This makes me twitch just a little bit more. For playing purposes, I was matched with another old person in my class, but he's not quite as old as me. He's 27. I suppose since we both managed to live through the 80's, we should reminisce about the good ol' days of jelly shoes, hair bands, and neon pink leg-warmers.
This is not gymnastics. This isn't ice skating or being a math whiz (is it true that once they hit 20, they are done?). This is music. I've already been warned that it's harder for older people to train their muscles to do new things. Right. Since I'm so old, my arthritis will kick in any moment. I'm already past my prime, so why bother?
Just because I've gotten my ass kicked by ever composer I come by, doesn't mean I'm a lost cause. Just because I suck at roughly half my instrument, doesn't mean I'm giving up. And just because I'm drinking a whole pot of decaf coffee tonight, doesn't mean I won't be fiesty. Dammit. I think another hair just turned gray.
Moral of today's story: it is possible to melt part of the inside of a microwave in less than four minutes. DAMMIT, another hair turned gray!
An Erinku:
pink and green kite
waiting patiently
for spring
to fly
What I don't like is that one of my teachers routinely introduces me, as "Erin, the Old Lady." This makes me twitch just a little bit more. For playing purposes, I was matched with another old person in my class, but he's not quite as old as me. He's 27. I suppose since we both managed to live through the 80's, we should reminisce about the good ol' days of jelly shoes, hair bands, and neon pink leg-warmers.
This is not gymnastics. This isn't ice skating or being a math whiz (is it true that once they hit 20, they are done?). This is music. I've already been warned that it's harder for older people to train their muscles to do new things. Right. Since I'm so old, my arthritis will kick in any moment. I'm already past my prime, so why bother?
Just because I've gotten my ass kicked by ever composer I come by, doesn't mean I'm a lost cause. Just because I suck at roughly half my instrument, doesn't mean I'm giving up. And just because I'm drinking a whole pot of decaf coffee tonight, doesn't mean I won't be fiesty. Dammit. I think another hair just turned gray.
Moral of today's story: it is possible to melt part of the inside of a microwave in less than four minutes. DAMMIT, another hair turned gray!
An Erinku:
pink and green kite
waiting patiently
for spring
to fly
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Language Run Amok!
On my fabulous two-week trip to Oregon, I saw the sights, drank the coffee, sampled the beer, and enjoyed all the live music that happens in a state that enjoys the complex beasts known as musicians. I even put in my fabulous nose ring during my stay to show that I am more hip than my Colorado address would indicate (I did live in Portland for a little while, after all).
My trip home involved many, many hours of waiting in a variety of airports. I ate more than one airport meal and drank more than one airport latte. I also got to go through more than one security check-point. I've been through the air-puffer machine, the whole body scanner, the regular scanner, and one time they swabbed my shoes with some sort of clear liquid.
Right after one of my security adventures, the guy looked up and excited said, "OOOOH, I like your nose ring!" I thanked him and he then continued on to say, "You look all homely, but then there's that nose ring!" Classy. I am the homely girl with a nose ring.
Moral of today's story: homely (adj) 1. lacking in physical attractiveness; not beautiful; unattractive. I know what words mean. I can only hope that the security guy meant a different word. Although it was a funny moment to ease the tension of failing to get on eight different flights.
An Erinku:
spicy nachos
boxed wine
Cuong Vu recording
Thursday
My trip home involved many, many hours of waiting in a variety of airports. I ate more than one airport meal and drank more than one airport latte. I also got to go through more than one security check-point. I've been through the air-puffer machine, the whole body scanner, the regular scanner, and one time they swabbed my shoes with some sort of clear liquid.
Right after one of my security adventures, the guy looked up and excited said, "OOOOH, I like your nose ring!" I thanked him and he then continued on to say, "You look all homely, but then there's that nose ring!" Classy. I am the homely girl with a nose ring.
Moral of today's story: homely (adj) 1. lacking in physical attractiveness; not beautiful; unattractive. I know what words mean. I can only hope that the security guy meant a different word. Although it was a funny moment to ease the tension of failing to get on eight different flights.
An Erinku:
spicy nachos
boxed wine
Cuong Vu recording
Thursday
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