There are times when you go to hike Hanging Lake. Hanging Lake was a big lake when a big old seismic shift happened, and half the lake dropped down a bunch, leaving the top half hanging. During the summer, this lake gushes down to the lower half, but in the winter, it's frozen over in intense prettiness.
I first hiked up there about eight years ago, in two feet of snow, cursing and sliding the entire way to the top to see the massive beauty. Today, with much less snow on the ground, I decided to hike it again. It's a mile hike, mostly straight up. Things were fine until the ice appeared about halfway up. I continued on, stepping carefully. And then, I slipped. I fell and landed on my wrist. And, on top of that, my pants ripped. I now had half a pair of daisy dukes and a half mile of upwardness to go. Sigh.
I tied my sweater around my waist, noticed my wrist was getting cranky, and continued on upwards. I hoisted up on local trees, carefully stepped on rocks, and continued on for another quarter mile. Until. I was faced with a hill of ice. My first step up involved a slip, a fall onto my other wrist, and sliding back down. I looked for alternatives, but all were slippy. After a few minutes, it was time to give up and I started back down the trail.
At points, I and my semi-daisy dukes did the little kid scoot action down especially slidy spots, where you sit down and let gravity pull you down the hill. By the time I reached the bottom, I had rocks in my shoes, two cranky wrists, and a very damp bottom. I headed straight to the big, big hot springs, soaked my various bits for several hours, and then had dinner with a well-deserved beer.
Although I didn't reach the top of the trail, I now have half a sexy pair of shorts and I can feel my knees and leg muscles gearing up for a big old scream session tomorrow in spite of hours in hot springs. And that's how I spent my New Years' vacation: bottom scooting down a mountain. Colorado!
An Erinku:
rocking out
my old flannel
again
woo-hoo 90's revival!
Friday, December 30, 2011
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Merry You-Know-What
Yesterday, while my dentist trip was going downhill very fast, I was listening to the radio station they had playing. The dj had wished "happy holidays" and wondered aloud how many folks said that. In came a flood of calls for and against it. One person was super scary and going down a pretty nasty path with name-callings and whatnot before he got cut off. It is a topic, it seems.
While the dentist drilled away, I started wondering about why I say "merry holidays" to folks. And...it's because I'm lazy. Even when I was little, instead of saying "Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!" (which are two separate holidays very close together), I'd just say "Merry Holidays!" or "Happy New Christmas!"
Now that my circle of folks has expanded, I can either say "Merry Christmas! Happy Hannukah! Happy Solstice! Happy Kwanzaa! Happy New Year (of many different types)!" among other good wishes, or I can continue to be lazy and say "Merry Holidays!" I think that's the way to go.
Moral of today's story: people are pretty cheerful this time of year and are just trying to find the best inclusive way to wish you cheerfulness, too. Merry Holidays!
An Erinku:
bowl chair
shifted to the left
so much more
tipping action
While the dentist drilled away, I started wondering about why I say "merry holidays" to folks. And...it's because I'm lazy. Even when I was little, instead of saying "Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!" (which are two separate holidays very close together), I'd just say "Merry Holidays!" or "Happy New Christmas!"
Now that my circle of folks has expanded, I can either say "Merry Christmas! Happy Hannukah! Happy Solstice! Happy Kwanzaa! Happy New Year (of many different types)!" among other good wishes, or I can continue to be lazy and say "Merry Holidays!" I think that's the way to go.
Moral of today's story: people are pretty cheerful this time of year and are just trying to find the best inclusive way to wish you cheerfulness, too. Merry Holidays!
An Erinku:
bowl chair
shifted to the left
so much more
tipping action
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
The "Nunya" School of Thought
While I mostly spend my Facebook life thinking about cookies, writing about my various adventures with gravity, freaking out about upcoming concerts, and extolling the wonders of bad 90's tv shows, this is a kind-of skewed view of how I really live. I do pay attention to local and world happenings and have definite thoughts about such things (recently someone was stunned that I had a very strong opinion on Putin's role in Russian politics, and them being stunned startled me). Anyway, I have a wide circle of folks with a wide circle of beliefs on everything and while I'm all up for discussions and debates on different topics, I don't find Facebook to be the most appropriate setting. While I do enjoy watching the occasional epic Facebook battle, flames and trolls and all, I'd much rather get my drama from bad 90's t.v.
Basically, it always seems to go back to the idea that we all have to share this crazy, little planet and sometimes the planet feels much smaller than it used to, since everyone is so connected and everyone has such different opinions about everything. And in spite of all the blah-blah bad stuff, and there's lots, I've learned that I'd rather default to finding the beautiful and funny. And sometimes that leads to the impression that I'm superficial and flaky...which I actually find to be pretty amusing, and creates a sarcastic feedback loop. Brilliant!
In real life, I'm pretty private and a big fan of the "nunya" school of thought, as in "nunya business" when it comes to overly-inquisitive acquaintances. And the impression of me being superficial and flaky just adds a layer of privacy on top of that...much like layers on a delicious cake. And even though I do have ridiculous adventures every few hours, I'm often not the sort of person who's going to blarp out my views on copyrights/education/religion/protesters in front of everyone, but that doesn't mean I haven't thought about the topics, researched, and often talked with folks on both sides of the fence. Once upon a time, I realized that registering as an Independent means I'm taking on a lot of responsibility to figure things out on my own...it doesn't mean I'm "undecided" like the phonebots, political mailings, and most folks assume.
I guess I'd rather be in a small group or one-on-one setting when talking about most charged issues, since the internet gives you a sense of immunity, which can lead to big old arguments you might not have in person. When I find that I'm completely on the opposite end of the spectrum as someone, I like to know where they’re coming from, since everyone’s world-view makes sense to them.
That being said, I've got a lot of the predictable views you'd expect from a person who knows a lot of musicians, artists, philosophers, who has several degrees in the arts, and who makes stealthy recycling trips around the neighborhood (since my current living space doesn't recycle). However, I've also got some opinions that would be different from my stereotype. For instance, while I believe strongly in gay rights (probably not a surprise), I also believe strongly in smoker's rights (which might be unexpected). Both groups have been through a lot and are both living on the margins. I could go on and on, but again, I don't think Facebook is the most appropriate setting.
Overall, this little blog could be interpreted as "if you want to know what I think about ___________, buy me a coffee and/or a beer and let the words flow." It seems today was a Tuesday for feeling a little less superficial than usual. Sometimes this happens.
An Erinku:
right shoe
just a bit
bigger than
left shoe
Basically, it always seems to go back to the idea that we all have to share this crazy, little planet and sometimes the planet feels much smaller than it used to, since everyone is so connected and everyone has such different opinions about everything. And in spite of all the blah-blah bad stuff, and there's lots, I've learned that I'd rather default to finding the beautiful and funny. And sometimes that leads to the impression that I'm superficial and flaky...which I actually find to be pretty amusing, and creates a sarcastic feedback loop. Brilliant!
In real life, I'm pretty private and a big fan of the "nunya" school of thought, as in "nunya business" when it comes to overly-inquisitive acquaintances. And the impression of me being superficial and flaky just adds a layer of privacy on top of that...much like layers on a delicious cake. And even though I do have ridiculous adventures every few hours, I'm often not the sort of person who's going to blarp out my views on copyrights/education/religion/protesters in front of everyone, but that doesn't mean I haven't thought about the topics, researched, and often talked with folks on both sides of the fence. Once upon a time, I realized that registering as an Independent means I'm taking on a lot of responsibility to figure things out on my own...it doesn't mean I'm "undecided" like the phonebots, political mailings, and most folks assume.
I guess I'd rather be in a small group or one-on-one setting when talking about most charged issues, since the internet gives you a sense of immunity, which can lead to big old arguments you might not have in person. When I find that I'm completely on the opposite end of the spectrum as someone, I like to know where they’re coming from, since everyone’s world-view makes sense to them.
That being said, I've got a lot of the predictable views you'd expect from a person who knows a lot of musicians, artists, philosophers, who has several degrees in the arts, and who makes stealthy recycling trips around the neighborhood (since my current living space doesn't recycle). However, I've also got some opinions that would be different from my stereotype. For instance, while I believe strongly in gay rights (probably not a surprise), I also believe strongly in smoker's rights (which might be unexpected). Both groups have been through a lot and are both living on the margins. I could go on and on, but again, I don't think Facebook is the most appropriate setting.
Overall, this little blog could be interpreted as "if you want to know what I think about ___________, buy me a coffee and/or a beer and let the words flow." It seems today was a Tuesday for feeling a little less superficial than usual. Sometimes this happens.
An Erinku:
right shoe
just a bit
bigger than
left shoe
Monday, December 12, 2011
A Mighty Beast
Today we are stalking the elusive early-morning Erin in her sleeping den. It's early, it's dark, and there is the white noise of a fan to keep out the sounds of cranky neighbors and late-night parties at the bar across the street. We spy a lump on the bed, with some toes peeking out...no wait, they've retracted into the blanket. All is quiet.
Suddenly, a click comes from the alarm clock! Instantly a hand shoots out from under the covers, smacks the snooze button, and disappears back underneath. From somewhere deep, a muffled “uh-uh” sounds. All is quiet.
Seven minutes later, the clock clicks again. The movements are repeated, only this time, the lump rotates while saying “uh-uh.” This is repeated five or six or eight times, with the “uh-uh”s sounding more sad each time.
Finally, the clock clicks again, but the hand misses the snooze button! Suddenly the sound of screeching violins and an opera singer in the middle of a loud something fill the room. The hand smacks around, continuing to miss the clock entirely! A head pokes out of the covers, sees the clock, and with a long “urmmm” of dismay, the alarm is turned off completely. All is quiet.
Some minutes pass. The lump rotates and then, with a loud sigh, sits up, and shuffles off to the shower. Our quest is over! We have seen the elusive early-morning Erin transform from a lump under covers to the zombie who will shortly be moaning for coffee. Rare indeed was this sighting! Next up: stalking the elusive “lost stripey sock of awesome!”
An Erinku:
mmphf, coffee brewing
my imagination
is fully awake
even though I'm not
Suddenly, a click comes from the alarm clock! Instantly a hand shoots out from under the covers, smacks the snooze button, and disappears back underneath. From somewhere deep, a muffled “uh-uh” sounds. All is quiet.
Seven minutes later, the clock clicks again. The movements are repeated, only this time, the lump rotates while saying “uh-uh.” This is repeated five or six or eight times, with the “uh-uh”s sounding more sad each time.
Finally, the clock clicks again, but the hand misses the snooze button! Suddenly the sound of screeching violins and an opera singer in the middle of a loud something fill the room. The hand smacks around, continuing to miss the clock entirely! A head pokes out of the covers, sees the clock, and with a long “urmmm” of dismay, the alarm is turned off completely. All is quiet.
Some minutes pass. The lump rotates and then, with a loud sigh, sits up, and shuffles off to the shower. Our quest is over! We have seen the elusive early-morning Erin transform from a lump under covers to the zombie who will shortly be moaning for coffee. Rare indeed was this sighting! Next up: stalking the elusive “lost stripey sock of awesome!”
An Erinku:
mmphf, coffee brewing
my imagination
is fully awake
even though I'm not
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Dangerous Times
I have been blessed with the ability to have ridiculous injuries when least expected. There was the recent whacking of my lip against a semi-padded arm rest, the whacking of my forehead against the edge of a sink during a spontaneous shoe-tieing incident, and the whole getting a papercut on my finger from a maxi pad (which really pushes the edges of reality, if you think about it). But nothing quite prepared me for my injury last night.
I was making pizza from scratch and, being mindful of the danger of slicing/dicing knives and hot pans from the oven, I was being fairly paranoid since I needed all my fingers working for today. I kneaded dough without incident and chopped up some green peppers, sun-dried tomatoes, and regular tomatoes just fine. I grated a pile of pepperjack cheese with zero drama and was thinking about what other awesome pizza topping I was missing.
I saw a happy onion on the table and this is where the story turns...weird. I cut some onion while using the old-fashioned bear-claw technique to avoid losing a fingertip. I finished slicing and felt a sharp, sharp pain in my thumb. Blood was happening, but the knife...the knife was nowhere near my thumb. It turns out that the ONION ITSELF stabbed my thumb! It had some stupid, old skin layers that had been peeled off near the root and some of those were cranky and pokey and sharp enough to stab my thumb, and events like this are exactly why I'm paranoid of peeing during a thunderstorm. How small are these odds, exactly? Grrr.
Moral of today's story: bad times when the vegetables fight back.
An Erinku:
epic bad 90's tv
epic bad box of wine
this is how
music school really goes
I was making pizza from scratch and, being mindful of the danger of slicing/dicing knives and hot pans from the oven, I was being fairly paranoid since I needed all my fingers working for today. I kneaded dough without incident and chopped up some green peppers, sun-dried tomatoes, and regular tomatoes just fine. I grated a pile of pepperjack cheese with zero drama and was thinking about what other awesome pizza topping I was missing.
I saw a happy onion on the table and this is where the story turns...weird. I cut some onion while using the old-fashioned bear-claw technique to avoid losing a fingertip. I finished slicing and felt a sharp, sharp pain in my thumb. Blood was happening, but the knife...the knife was nowhere near my thumb. It turns out that the ONION ITSELF stabbed my thumb! It had some stupid, old skin layers that had been peeled off near the root and some of those were cranky and pokey and sharp enough to stab my thumb, and events like this are exactly why I'm paranoid of peeing during a thunderstorm. How small are these odds, exactly? Grrr.
Moral of today's story: bad times when the vegetables fight back.
An Erinku:
epic bad 90's tv
epic bad box of wine
this is how
music school really goes
Cookie Musings
On a recent visit to Trader Joe's, I bought a suitcase full of cookies. It wasn't fully intentional; I kept running into cookies that looked fabulous and by the end of the shopping trip, I had a cart full of awesome yumminess...mostly in cookie form. I'd like to say that these cookies have a long full life ahead of them. Sadly, it turns out that gingerbread men dipped in chocolate are delicious.
I'm now about 15 hours away from my recital boards (the audition where I play my full recital for some faculty members who decide whether or no I can actually have my recital) and I'm getting antsy pants. The last time I had boards, about 12 years ago, I was the second person in the history of that school to fail. So. Today I practiced a bunch, ate a cookie or two, and am watching some bad 90's tv shows.
My life currently follows the same pattern as it did a few weeks ago, in spite of classes being over for winter break. I've still got lessons, rehearsals, and a first draft of my big-ass written project due on January 3. The good news is that I sometimes see sunshine, I have time to take walks, and I've surfaced enough to hang out with folks a little bit. And I just ate another cookie. Addictive, evil little things.
I suspect that after my boards tomorrow, I'll have some more energy to seek out funny things my fellow humans are doing and saying. I like very much that in spite of all the silliness I see, there is still plenty of silly left in the world. Perhaps tomorrow, I'll go explore and look for adventure. Until then, I've got cookies to eat and an eight-hour nap to take.
An Erinku:
whew!
lucky that improbable
plot twist happened there!
bad 90's tv is brilliantly bad.
I'm now about 15 hours away from my recital boards (the audition where I play my full recital for some faculty members who decide whether or no I can actually have my recital) and I'm getting antsy pants. The last time I had boards, about 12 years ago, I was the second person in the history of that school to fail. So. Today I practiced a bunch, ate a cookie or two, and am watching some bad 90's tv shows.
My life currently follows the same pattern as it did a few weeks ago, in spite of classes being over for winter break. I've still got lessons, rehearsals, and a first draft of my big-ass written project due on January 3. The good news is that I sometimes see sunshine, I have time to take walks, and I've surfaced enough to hang out with folks a little bit. And I just ate another cookie. Addictive, evil little things.
I suspect that after my boards tomorrow, I'll have some more energy to seek out funny things my fellow humans are doing and saying. I like very much that in spite of all the silliness I see, there is still plenty of silly left in the world. Perhaps tomorrow, I'll go explore and look for adventure. Until then, I've got cookies to eat and an eight-hour nap to take.
An Erinku:
whew!
lucky that improbable
plot twist happened there!
bad 90's tv is brilliantly bad.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
On Fear
As I was driving about the last few days with cello in tow, I heard an ad on the radio for a haunted house. The ad was going off about "what do you fear?" They listed the usual answers of death, dismemberment, torture, cannibalism, being alone, and the dark. I realized that, yes, these things are scary, but are more abstract fears than I typically encounter. I usually don't wake up each morning afraid of what the sadistic cannibals in my life are going to do to me.
When I noticed this, I then asked myself what it was, exactly, that scared me. And my answer was, "Living a life of compromised ideals." That is actually scary to me and is not something that a haunted house can really pull off effectively. I mean, are they going to have an enhanced picture of me at 50 looking sad that my life has been wasted? Probably not. That would be some high-tech haunted house features right there.
So that answers my question about why you don't typically see 30-somethings wandering around haunted houses: 30-somethings live in their own haunted houses and are trying to escape. Radio epiphanies are super annoying and I try to limit them to once a year now...
An Erinku:
yellow trees
of autumn
screaming color
in the face of gray.
When I noticed this, I then asked myself what it was, exactly, that scared me. And my answer was, "Living a life of compromised ideals." That is actually scary to me and is not something that a haunted house can really pull off effectively. I mean, are they going to have an enhanced picture of me at 50 looking sad that my life has been wasted? Probably not. That would be some high-tech haunted house features right there.
So that answers my question about why you don't typically see 30-somethings wandering around haunted houses: 30-somethings live in their own haunted houses and are trying to escape. Radio epiphanies are super annoying and I try to limit them to once a year now...
An Erinku:
yellow trees
of autumn
screaming color
in the face of gray.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Plodding
Today I realized I feel like an ass. More specifically: like a donkey. Even more specifically: like a pack-mule. I've been trudging through a two-year degree for four years now and I know the route. And as I stand at the edge of the field that is this (hopefully) final year, I'm spending a lot of time easing into it while chewing on some hay. It seems I'm a hybrid cow/pack-mule in my imagination.
While I'm there contemplating another round of trudging, I'm getting grumpy like an ass. And I see in various parts of my life a bunch of power plays and dramas and competition going on. A year or two ago, I would've be more involved and gotten all passionate about such things, but now I'm the old, cranky ass chewing on hay.
An example of this (from the musical part of my life) is the establishing the pecking order among the new and returning string musicians. It might seem important, but I don't care. Folks can show off their whatever concertos in the hopes of intimidating or inspiring others, but I am unmoved. I've been through four cycles now of seeing such things and I've got my own gigs and adventures going on. I'm highly focused on my little path that will get me through the year with the most efficiency. This is especially important in navigating that whole six month stretch from January through June with only one week of a break.
So I chew on my hay, watch all the power struggles buzzing around me like annoying biting flies, flick my cranky ass ears, and figure I'll start plodding this weekend. Onward and upward!
An Erinku:
proving
once again
rainbow blankets
match my freckles
While I'm there contemplating another round of trudging, I'm getting grumpy like an ass. And I see in various parts of my life a bunch of power plays and dramas and competition going on. A year or two ago, I would've be more involved and gotten all passionate about such things, but now I'm the old, cranky ass chewing on hay.
An example of this (from the musical part of my life) is the establishing the pecking order among the new and returning string musicians. It might seem important, but I don't care. Folks can show off their whatever concertos in the hopes of intimidating or inspiring others, but I am unmoved. I've been through four cycles now of seeing such things and I've got my own gigs and adventures going on. I'm highly focused on my little path that will get me through the year with the most efficiency. This is especially important in navigating that whole six month stretch from January through June with only one week of a break.
So I chew on my hay, watch all the power struggles buzzing around me like annoying biting flies, flick my cranky ass ears, and figure I'll start plodding this weekend. Onward and upward!
An Erinku:
proving
once again
rainbow blankets
match my freckles
Saturday, September 24, 2011
On Sleep and Riker's Beard
When I (finally) woke up this morning, my first thought was of watch gears. Even though I never sleep enough during the week to get fully wound up, I still manage to be a frenetic ball of energy anyway. But every so often, I end up sleeping a good 11 hours to wind up whatever gear is making up for my daily lack. And every few months, I'll sleep for about 19 hours straight, which I suspect is an ever bigger gear still. I'm pretty sure having mono in December was just what happens when all my gears wind down at the same time.
Anyway, last night was my 11 hour nap. I'm liking the idea that my little gears are all wound up, but I was sad to fall asleep to the opening credits of Star Trek, Next Generation on Netflix. Ooh, actually that's not true. I was making fun of Riker's beard and how he started to put on weight throughout the series because he was eating for two (himself and his beard). I thought that was really funny and THEN I feel asleep.
My coffee is done and my hashbrowns are...browned. Hmm. Food and coffee will finish the slow brain processing I've got going on. What a beautiful world to wake up to!
An Erinku:
pink sock
tossed towards
laundry basket
...not even close
Anyway, last night was my 11 hour nap. I'm liking the idea that my little gears are all wound up, but I was sad to fall asleep to the opening credits of Star Trek, Next Generation on Netflix. Ooh, actually that's not true. I was making fun of Riker's beard and how he started to put on weight throughout the series because he was eating for two (himself and his beard). I thought that was really funny and THEN I feel asleep.
My coffee is done and my hashbrowns are...browned. Hmm. Food and coffee will finish the slow brain processing I've got going on. What a beautiful world to wake up to!
An Erinku:
pink sock
tossed towards
laundry basket
...not even close
Monday, September 5, 2011
Vindictive Prayer
One of the topics I've been running into and thinking about this summer is vindictive prayer. That's where you get in an argument with someone, or meet someone who completely disagrees with your world view, and in order to end the argument, you spit out, "Oh, I'll pray for you." That's vindictive prayer and I'm pretty sure that using prayer as a threat isn't particularly helpful nor is it the original idea behind praying.
Anyway, as I've run into it a few times this summer but luckily haven't been on the receiving end of it (yet), I'm not sure what the proper response is. "Thank you," is probably the best way to go, but I'm not sure.
This morning, I realized that this vindictiveness crosses all different belief systems. I was cranky and I was meditating and I noticed that I was doing some vindictive meditation. Once I realized it, I started laughing because that's even more weak-sounding as a threat. "Oh, disagree with me, will you? I'll meditate for you!" And after a good laugh, I was much less cranky and able to meditate like I usually do.
Next up: Oh, disagree with me, will you? I WILL MAKE COOKIES FOR YOU!!! Vindictive cookie making: where all the cookies taste of bitterness.
An Erinku!
oh, coffee
too hot
too hot
now too cold
Anyway, as I've run into it a few times this summer but luckily haven't been on the receiving end of it (yet), I'm not sure what the proper response is. "Thank you," is probably the best way to go, but I'm not sure.
This morning, I realized that this vindictiveness crosses all different belief systems. I was cranky and I was meditating and I noticed that I was doing some vindictive meditation. Once I realized it, I started laughing because that's even more weak-sounding as a threat. "Oh, disagree with me, will you? I'll meditate for you!" And after a good laugh, I was much less cranky and able to meditate like I usually do.
Next up: Oh, disagree with me, will you? I WILL MAKE COOKIES FOR YOU!!! Vindictive cookie making: where all the cookies taste of bitterness.
An Erinku!
oh, coffee
too hot
too hot
now too cold
Monday, August 15, 2011
My Amazing New Superpower
Human bodies are weird. With all the saber-toothed tigers and hummingbird encounters humanity has had to deal with for however many years, our bodies have come up with some cool ways to thwart a large number of possible threats. For instance, this morning I learned I could levitate, just not for a very long amount of time.
It all started last night when I heard the maintenance guys wander by outside and wonder what the hell had happened to the bushes and flowers outside my window. A mystery indeed. So I did my thing of telling myself it wasn't my problem, finished reading my email and went across the street to practice. However, it turns out it was my problem.
There I was, completely horizontal and deeply asleep, when someone decides to saw through the sidewalk right outside my window. Somehow, muscles I wasn't aware of contracted and my entire horizontal body popped up through the blankets layers and I woke up wondering what that noise was, where my blankets went, and why I was bouncing.
It's good to know that when faced with the threat of a concrete cutter while I sleep, my body's instinctive survival response is to bounce on the bed. That has practical applications, I'm sure. Because everyone knows the best way to stop a rabid, rampaging chincilla is to bounce on the bed a few times.
Moral of today's story: no pillows were lost in said bed-bouncing.
An Erinku!
old lime
sad and hardened
bounced on my floor
gloriously
It all started last night when I heard the maintenance guys wander by outside and wonder what the hell had happened to the bushes and flowers outside my window. A mystery indeed. So I did my thing of telling myself it wasn't my problem, finished reading my email and went across the street to practice. However, it turns out it was my problem.
There I was, completely horizontal and deeply asleep, when someone decides to saw through the sidewalk right outside my window. Somehow, muscles I wasn't aware of contracted and my entire horizontal body popped up through the blankets layers and I woke up wondering what that noise was, where my blankets went, and why I was bouncing.
It's good to know that when faced with the threat of a concrete cutter while I sleep, my body's instinctive survival response is to bounce on the bed. That has practical applications, I'm sure. Because everyone knows the best way to stop a rabid, rampaging chincilla is to bounce on the bed a few times.
Moral of today's story: no pillows were lost in said bed-bouncing.
An Erinku!
old lime
sad and hardened
bounced on my floor
gloriously
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Crunch, crunch, munch, munch
My walk today involved visiting some trees that have decided it's fall and are already starting to lose their leaves. I was a bit surprised by this, but then I realized it's that time of year when I look forward to each weekend and then feel the dread of each weekend bringing me that much closer to the start of the school year.
And with all the falling leaves, I decided I really wanted an apple. And thus began the great apple quest. I drove here and there, basically exploring new-to-me parts of Denver. And then I found it. The perfect apple. And I ate it and it was super tasty.
Hmm. My story today isn't that exciting. I should have made up more drama to go along with the great apple quest. But sometimes, there is a calm evening of apple hunting before crazy busy-ness of school starts up again.
An Erinku (like a giraffe, only shorter, less yellow, no horns, and only two feet):
I wish
it was
cool enough
for hot cocoa
And with all the falling leaves, I decided I really wanted an apple. And thus began the great apple quest. I drove here and there, basically exploring new-to-me parts of Denver. And then I found it. The perfect apple. And I ate it and it was super tasty.
Hmm. My story today isn't that exciting. I should have made up more drama to go along with the great apple quest. But sometimes, there is a calm evening of apple hunting before crazy busy-ness of school starts up again.
An Erinku (like a giraffe, only shorter, less yellow, no horns, and only two feet):
I wish
it was
cool enough
for hot cocoa
Friday, August 5, 2011
Slightly Boring Today
Every so often, you sit down and take an inventory of your life. Specifically, your strengths. Since my top 10 rotate out every so often, I decided it was time to re-inventory:
10. Skeeball. I'm not as good as I should be, but it's still awesome sauce. One day, it will be an olympic sport...and I'll still not be on the team.
9. Taking naps. I had hot, hot mono action in December and slept weeks of my life away. I still nap routinely...and I'm awesome at it. In a competitive napping contest, I would win hands-down.
8. Mini-golf! High score wins! I always get the high score!
7. Making cookies. I'm not going to lie: working for years at a chocolate shop means that my cookies rock the casbah.
6. Making breakfast. For some unknown reason, breakfast items don't burn when I cook them. Which suggest that my meals are actually pretty good, except for when they burst into flame.
5. Drinking coffee. Yep.
4. Being sarcastic. Seriously, this shouldn't be a surprise.
3. Playing cello. Some days I'm terrible, but some days I'm surprisingly good. This has been a topic for the past year. And to quote my teacher, "On the days you're good...whoa! And then, those other days, it's...oh...whoa."
2. MarioKart. I am much better at MarioKart than I am at cello. And I've played it far less. There is some lesson about effort in there somewhere, or it just means that MarioKart is good trash-talk outlet for me.
1. Having adventures. Every. single. day. Since I was 12 or so. I have vague memories of being bored ALL THE TIME and I was actively looking for adventures. Eventually I realized that the adventures didn't need so much help from me. Then, they started happening on their own. And today, if I don't go out and about and adventure, adventure finds me. Since not all adventures are good ones, each day I try to take charge and offer a good adventure outlet.
Speaking of which, there is some daylight left, I've had some (burnt) dinner, and I think it's time to find the adventure du jour...
An Erinku:
stupid flip-flops
how many times
of ouchy walking
until they stop hurting?
10. Skeeball. I'm not as good as I should be, but it's still awesome sauce. One day, it will be an olympic sport...and I'll still not be on the team.
9. Taking naps. I had hot, hot mono action in December and slept weeks of my life away. I still nap routinely...and I'm awesome at it. In a competitive napping contest, I would win hands-down.
8. Mini-golf! High score wins! I always get the high score!
7. Making cookies. I'm not going to lie: working for years at a chocolate shop means that my cookies rock the casbah.
6. Making breakfast. For some unknown reason, breakfast items don't burn when I cook them. Which suggest that my meals are actually pretty good, except for when they burst into flame.
5. Drinking coffee. Yep.
4. Being sarcastic. Seriously, this shouldn't be a surprise.
3. Playing cello. Some days I'm terrible, but some days I'm surprisingly good. This has been a topic for the past year. And to quote my teacher, "On the days you're good...whoa! And then, those other days, it's...oh...whoa."
2. MarioKart. I am much better at MarioKart than I am at cello. And I've played it far less. There is some lesson about effort in there somewhere, or it just means that MarioKart is good trash-talk outlet for me.
1. Having adventures. Every. single. day. Since I was 12 or so. I have vague memories of being bored ALL THE TIME and I was actively looking for adventures. Eventually I realized that the adventures didn't need so much help from me. Then, they started happening on their own. And today, if I don't go out and about and adventure, adventure finds me. Since not all adventures are good ones, each day I try to take charge and offer a good adventure outlet.
Speaking of which, there is some daylight left, I've had some (burnt) dinner, and I think it's time to find the adventure du jour...
An Erinku:
stupid flip-flops
how many times
of ouchy walking
until they stop hurting?
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Don't Try This at Home!
A month or so ago, I went to an end-of-the-school-year party with some cellists. At this party, I was re-introduced to an old addiction of mine. I broke the habit years ago, but when it was my turn, I joined in, acting like it was something I ate every day, anyway. And I managed to wait an entire 24 hours before going to the store and buying a bottle of my own. I'm talking, of course, about Nutella.
It is evil, tasty, tasty, tasty goodness. You use it like you would peanut butter, only it's exactly 50 million times tastier. You go through life just fine until you try Nutella. Even once is too much because you'll suddenly realize your body has a need for chocolate hazelnut spread and suddenly everything else is considered of secondary importance until your tummy has just one more crepe with fresh raspberries and Nutella. Evil, tasty, tasty stuff.
I sometimes hear what folks think musician parties are like and I compare them to the parties I've been to. Yes, booze (beer or wine, usually). And now we can see: yes, drugs like Nutella. I roll with a dangerous crowd. And now, some Nutella on toast for breakfast!
An Erinku:
Frederick
my piggy bank
empty
but happy
It is evil, tasty, tasty, tasty goodness. You use it like you would peanut butter, only it's exactly 50 million times tastier. You go through life just fine until you try Nutella. Even once is too much because you'll suddenly realize your body has a need for chocolate hazelnut spread and suddenly everything else is considered of secondary importance until your tummy has just one more crepe with fresh raspberries and Nutella. Evil, tasty, tasty stuff.
I sometimes hear what folks think musician parties are like and I compare them to the parties I've been to. Yes, booze (beer or wine, usually). And now we can see: yes, drugs like Nutella. I roll with a dangerous crowd. And now, some Nutella on toast for breakfast!
An Erinku:
Frederick
my piggy bank
empty
but happy
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Religious/Tolerance
I'm up early because I'm getting ready to head back south to run our school's booth at the Colorado Springs PrideFest. Since the day job has some religious degrees, at events like PrideFest, we sometimes get folks who come up looking for a fight or a debate or want to tell their life journey. And perhaps you get this too, when sitting around showcasing engineering or music degrees, I don't know.
What I do know is that for the last few PrideFests, I worked at the table with some students. And it's interesting to me to hear their stories and see how they interact. Because it's not at all how I handle things.
And I guess I'm mostly sadly amused that while folks are celebrating all the different types of love (emotional, physical, and onward) at these PrideFests,and patting themselves on the back for being so tolerant, they then turn around and are appalled at each other's religions. So.
When the angry atheist comes up, I know how to talk with them, because I've been an angry atheist myself. When the "ha, ha, fooled you because I'm a BUDDHIST!" arrives, I've been the surprise Buddhist, too. I can relate to the over-the-top Christian, because I tried that for a week once and have friends still in that category. I can address the Wiccan, the New Ager, and the seeker because I've been all those things at one point too.
I see life a bit like a buffet: you always go for the stuff that makes you happy. And just like in a buffet, it's kinda pointless to get all upset that your neighbor didn't fill their plate with honey glazed carrots like you did. And it seems to make sense that if you are celebrating tolerance at a PrideFest, you should be aware of tolerance in general.
And yet, as I work these events, I hear students' talk about how they got in a religious argument with a Wiccan at a festival a while back and then prayed for her as she angrily walked away a (by the way, vindictive prayer: seriously? Prayer as a threat or as a vindictive act doesn't seem like the sort of thing that really helps anyone). And that makes me feel sad that the students, who are all in these degree programs to learn about theology/religion/spirituality, feel threatened when another point of view comes along. If you want EVERYONE to only eat honey glazed carrots, you don't go to the buffet; you should go to a restaurant.
Anyway, I'll be working again today. I'm excited to meet with folks who want to talk with me. I'm working with a student so I'm a bit curious to see what stories he has. I suspect he has an interesting life blind spot as he recently suggested I should become an ordained music minister. Considering he doesn't know me, I found this job suggestion incredibly amusing. And considering he didn't specify which denomination I should be ordained in, this suggests he believes everyone to be the same religion as he. Interesting.
And I know it's a weak comparison (I know, ok?), but just because I play cello, I don't assume that everyone I meet is a musician, let alone a cellist. But I will make this assumption when I'm at a music conference and I'm clumped with other cellists. And I study music (just like these other students are studying religion) and I don't even assume all the music major are classical musicians.
I also don't think everyone should be a musician (just like I don't think everyone should be an accountant, or a cliff diver, or a race car driver). I just know that folks are all different shapes and sizes when it comes to bodies, minds, emotions, and spiritually.
So. I think my goal today at PrideFest will be to treat everyone as if they are a suspicious oboe player and I'll try to convince them that the bassoon is a better choice. Or maybe I'll start pushing my cookie evangelism. EAT A COOKIE!!!
An Erinku:
it's seriously
way too early
for this deep
of a topic
What I do know is that for the last few PrideFests, I worked at the table with some students. And it's interesting to me to hear their stories and see how they interact. Because it's not at all how I handle things.
And I guess I'm mostly sadly amused that while folks are celebrating all the different types of love (emotional, physical, and onward) at these PrideFests,and patting themselves on the back for being so tolerant, they then turn around and are appalled at each other's religions. So.
When the angry atheist comes up, I know how to talk with them, because I've been an angry atheist myself. When the "ha, ha, fooled you because I'm a BUDDHIST!" arrives, I've been the surprise Buddhist, too. I can relate to the over-the-top Christian, because I tried that for a week once and have friends still in that category. I can address the Wiccan, the New Ager, and the seeker because I've been all those things at one point too.
I see life a bit like a buffet: you always go for the stuff that makes you happy. And just like in a buffet, it's kinda pointless to get all upset that your neighbor didn't fill their plate with honey glazed carrots like you did. And it seems to make sense that if you are celebrating tolerance at a PrideFest, you should be aware of tolerance in general.
And yet, as I work these events, I hear students' talk about how they got in a religious argument with a Wiccan at a festival a while back and then prayed for her as she angrily walked away a (by the way, vindictive prayer: seriously? Prayer as a threat or as a vindictive act doesn't seem like the sort of thing that really helps anyone). And that makes me feel sad that the students, who are all in these degree programs to learn about theology/religion/spirituality, feel threatened when another point of view comes along. If you want EVERYONE to only eat honey glazed carrots, you don't go to the buffet; you should go to a restaurant.
Anyway, I'll be working again today. I'm excited to meet with folks who want to talk with me. I'm working with a student so I'm a bit curious to see what stories he has. I suspect he has an interesting life blind spot as he recently suggested I should become an ordained music minister. Considering he doesn't know me, I found this job suggestion incredibly amusing. And considering he didn't specify which denomination I should be ordained in, this suggests he believes everyone to be the same religion as he. Interesting.
And I know it's a weak comparison (I know, ok?), but just because I play cello, I don't assume that everyone I meet is a musician, let alone a cellist. But I will make this assumption when I'm at a music conference and I'm clumped with other cellists. And I study music (just like these other students are studying religion) and I don't even assume all the music major are classical musicians.
I also don't think everyone should be a musician (just like I don't think everyone should be an accountant, or a cliff diver, or a race car driver). I just know that folks are all different shapes and sizes when it comes to bodies, minds, emotions, and spiritually.
So. I think my goal today at PrideFest will be to treat everyone as if they are a suspicious oboe player and I'll try to convince them that the bassoon is a better choice. Or maybe I'll start pushing my cookie evangelism. EAT A COOKIE!!!
An Erinku:
it's seriously
way too early
for this deep
of a topic
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Removal of cranky pants
Having lived around a variety of folks, I've picked up some good wisdom from various belief systems over the years. One of my favorites is a Buddhist idea that the mind is like the sky and emotions are like the clouds. The clouds pass across the sky and don't get stuck there. Another one of my favorites is the soothingly, rhythmically nice sign in a Naropa bathroom, "Please be mindful. Open door slowly so no one gets whacked in the head." I will sometimes chant this to myself as I walk down the street because it has so many peculiar Naropa things going on in this simple little phrase. And I totally can make fun of Naropa, in case anyone needs to see my credentials.
Anyway, I once upon a time realized that even though the sky seems like this remote beautiful blue thing way up high, there isn't a division between air up there and the air I wander through each day. Meaning that I am wandering about through the sky all the time. And while I do enjoy fog (it's clouds on the ground!), I'm not a cloud, no matter how cranky pants I get.
It's amazing how much better I feel after a hot bath, a good grump, and a bit of meditation. I was also mindful on opening my bathroom door. No one got whacked in the head during the writing of this blog.
Yet another Erinku!
wrinkled
toe tips
and James Brown songs
playing across the street
Anyway, I once upon a time realized that even though the sky seems like this remote beautiful blue thing way up high, there isn't a division between air up there and the air I wander through each day. Meaning that I am wandering about through the sky all the time. And while I do enjoy fog (it's clouds on the ground!), I'm not a cloud, no matter how cranky pants I get.
It's amazing how much better I feel after a hot bath, a good grump, and a bit of meditation. I was also mindful on opening my bathroom door. No one got whacked in the head during the writing of this blog.
Yet another Erinku!
wrinkled
toe tips
and James Brown songs
playing across the street
Friday, July 15, 2011
Cranky pants and Angry Pants
There are those days when I get angry about life situations. Like screaming into a pillow angry. Tonight was one of those "days." (Get it? It happened at night!) After much work on myself and much playing of MarioKart, I'm getting better than I was, but I'm one cranky-pants woman sometimes.
So tonight I sit on the couch and am bitter and Bubbles swims in circles either being a good pet or threatening to eat me if I don't cheer up. Grump. I suppose this is one reason I don't allow myself a lot of free time. Or why I limit my MarioKart losing. It's a good thing I rock at MarioKart. Grump. And I was having a lovely evening too! Alas. This calls for a cookie.
An Erinku:
cranky pants
don't really match
with anything I wear
bah, humbug.
So tonight I sit on the couch and am bitter and Bubbles swims in circles either being a good pet or threatening to eat me if I don't cheer up. Grump. I suppose this is one reason I don't allow myself a lot of free time. Or why I limit my MarioKart losing. It's a good thing I rock at MarioKart. Grump. And I was having a lovely evening too! Alas. This calls for a cookie.
An Erinku:
cranky pants
don't really match
with anything I wear
bah, humbug.
Friday, July 1, 2011
To the Google!
While washing dishes, I started thinking about many things. One of which was manservants. Once upon a time, I lived in an on-campus apartment and had many manservants do my (and my suite-mates) bidding. It was lovely. After washing dishes, I started googling many things and then realized my google history was a bit...odd. In the past 24 hours, some searches I've done for (listed in logical order):
"epic sauce"
"does Dave Foley really tap dance?"
"those Japanese wooden shoe things"
"psychic power that moves things around and answers my email"
"dammit google"
"that word for moving things with your brain"
"telekenetic ability to send email"
"Manservant a politically correct term?"
"Manservants washing dishes" (image search)
"Sexy manservants" (another image search, hoping for David Boreanaz to show up)
Sadly, looking up pictures for "sexy manservants" brings up pictures of Conan O'Brian and a picture of cupcakes. Google punishes me sometimes. Anyway, sometimes I think of random things while I wash dishes, but at least my apartment is on the clean end of the spectrum once again. And I think it's time to google "tap dancing geese" because I'm pretty sure I haven't googled that before...
An Erinku:
sunset time,I look out
my south-facing window
only to see
my landlord's butt.
Today is a very weird day.
"epic sauce"
"does Dave Foley really tap dance?"
"those Japanese wooden shoe things"
"psychic power that moves things around and answers my email"
"dammit google"
"that word for moving things with your brain"
"telekenetic ability to send email"
"Manservant a politically correct term?"
"Manservants washing dishes" (image search)
"Sexy manservants" (another image search, hoping for David Boreanaz to show up)
Sadly, looking up pictures for "sexy manservants" brings up pictures of Conan O'Brian and a picture of cupcakes. Google punishes me sometimes. Anyway, sometimes I think of random things while I wash dishes, but at least my apartment is on the clean end of the spectrum once again. And I think it's time to google "tap dancing geese" because I'm pretty sure I haven't googled that before...
An Erinku:
sunset time,I look out
my south-facing window
only to see
my landlord's butt.
Today is a very weird day.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
On Sports
I've noticed that football is a big deal in some parts of the country (say places like Kansas or something). And it got me to thinking about what I know about football. The answer is some, but my brain was too lazy to pull up the details. So I started writing down what I know and figured it would amuse myself and irritate those folks who really care about it.
There's eight or ten, or maybe seven people playing at a time. You've got a quarterback, the catching dude, a couple of frontlines-men, some backends-men, and some siderunners. Hmm. I think that's eight folks playing. The ball is chucked between the knees to the catching dude who starts looking around like a prairie dog, or a meerkat. He may actually be the quarterback. The ball is thrown around, people fall on each other, and running happens.
At some point, something happens and the referee throws his panties on the field. Arguing happens. Sometimes two pairs of panties land on the field. The t.v. commentators get excited and start diagraming geometry problems on the screen. Knowing that the last geometry class I took hurt my brain, I take a potty break. Or I check on the food preparations. Or I get a beer.
There is often talk of yards and something about downs and there is some inverted math problem involved with how many tries each team gets to move forward so much before it's the other team's turn to try. When a team reaches the end of the field, there is much cheering, just like what happens when I play checkers and my checker makes it across the field. However, unlike checkers, the players don't get crowned. They get six points, instead. Which is really a random number if you think about it. Basketball scoring at first seems random, but is actually pretty logical.
Anyway, six points happen, cheering happens, and then sometimes one of the dudes on the team morphs into a kicking dude (or maybe he's a separate dude who is waiting on the sidelines and practicing kicks with the cheerleaders). He shows up, has one leg way more muscular than the other, and kicks a non-round ball through two high-up spokes on a giant fork. Sometimes the football makes it through and then there is more cheering, followed by an enthusiastic round of ass-pats.
The game eventually runs out of time and the team with the most points wins...although, to hear the interviews afterward, the idea of winning because you have the most points seems too difficult for reporters to understand. They always ask things like, "What did you guys do to win?" If the players started answering correctly, the reporters would finally understand and stop asking each time.
Anyway. Football: ass-pats, panties on the field, and me taking frequent snack breaks, which is why baseball calls itself the American sport.
An Erinku:
working on homework
in the meantime
until more
adventures happen
There's eight or ten, or maybe seven people playing at a time. You've got a quarterback, the catching dude, a couple of frontlines-men, some backends-men, and some siderunners. Hmm. I think that's eight folks playing. The ball is chucked between the knees to the catching dude who starts looking around like a prairie dog, or a meerkat. He may actually be the quarterback. The ball is thrown around, people fall on each other, and running happens.
At some point, something happens and the referee throws his panties on the field. Arguing happens. Sometimes two pairs of panties land on the field. The t.v. commentators get excited and start diagraming geometry problems on the screen. Knowing that the last geometry class I took hurt my brain, I take a potty break. Or I check on the food preparations. Or I get a beer.
There is often talk of yards and something about downs and there is some inverted math problem involved with how many tries each team gets to move forward so much before it's the other team's turn to try. When a team reaches the end of the field, there is much cheering, just like what happens when I play checkers and my checker makes it across the field. However, unlike checkers, the players don't get crowned. They get six points, instead. Which is really a random number if you think about it. Basketball scoring at first seems random, but is actually pretty logical.
Anyway, six points happen, cheering happens, and then sometimes one of the dudes on the team morphs into a kicking dude (or maybe he's a separate dude who is waiting on the sidelines and practicing kicks with the cheerleaders). He shows up, has one leg way more muscular than the other, and kicks a non-round ball through two high-up spokes on a giant fork. Sometimes the football makes it through and then there is more cheering, followed by an enthusiastic round of ass-pats.
The game eventually runs out of time and the team with the most points wins...although, to hear the interviews afterward, the idea of winning because you have the most points seems too difficult for reporters to understand. They always ask things like, "What did you guys do to win?" If the players started answering correctly, the reporters would finally understand and stop asking each time.
Anyway. Football: ass-pats, panties on the field, and me taking frequent snack breaks, which is why baseball calls itself the American sport.
An Erinku:
working on homework
in the meantime
until more
adventures happen
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Sometimes grim
I am nearing a year and a half milestone in my life: in February 2010, I was diagnosed with (and began treatment for) post-traumatic stress disorder. I went through several rather horrible experiences in a rather short time through 2009 and my typical methods for dealing with life challenges completely failed me. It turns out there are some events you can't laugh yourself through. Currently, I'm still rather grim on some topics and I've still got baggage (or luggage, since that's a more travel-friendly way of looking at things). But overall, I'm finally starting to enjoy my 30's.
It seems that where I was raised (and it could be the filters I look through), it was quietly understood that only screwed-up folk went to therapy, not normal people, so I ended up stalling looking for help for about five months, until things were too tough for me to handle anymore. PTSD is not a fun adventure and one I wouldn't wish on anyone (no matter their level of ass-hat-iness).
I haven't been terribly open about the details to too many people and I'm currently working through that on my own. My adventure of writing a novel last Labor Day weekend revolved solely around my situation and the different levels of hell I've been through, which is another reason no one has seen the novel, besides me. I'm gathering courage to re-read it and send it out into the world (with a pseudonym, of course).
Anyway, I guess this public-service-like announcement is to say that sometimes life situations kick your ass and that there is hope and help for you. In fact, you probably have someone in your circle that has been to (or is currently) in therapy and can refer you to someone who can help.
There are many situations where the person on the receiving end of a bad adventure (I actively try not to think of myself as a victim) remains silent, which only perpetuates the idea that hurtful actions are all right. I'm a big fan of pretending that you only have one little life on this big, beautiful planet, and that you need to try to be the best person you can be. And I mean that in a concrete, real way, not some abstract bullshit rationalization of how your actions are theoretically helping humanity. No. Be as decent a person as you can all the time and in all your interactions. The end.
An Erinku:
oh, the pain
of heat and humidity
dear thunderstorm
please start now!
It seems that where I was raised (and it could be the filters I look through), it was quietly understood that only screwed-up folk went to therapy, not normal people, so I ended up stalling looking for help for about five months, until things were too tough for me to handle anymore. PTSD is not a fun adventure and one I wouldn't wish on anyone (no matter their level of ass-hat-iness).
I haven't been terribly open about the details to too many people and I'm currently working through that on my own. My adventure of writing a novel last Labor Day weekend revolved solely around my situation and the different levels of hell I've been through, which is another reason no one has seen the novel, besides me. I'm gathering courage to re-read it and send it out into the world (with a pseudonym, of course).
Anyway, I guess this public-service-like announcement is to say that sometimes life situations kick your ass and that there is hope and help for you. In fact, you probably have someone in your circle that has been to (or is currently) in therapy and can refer you to someone who can help.
There are many situations where the person on the receiving end of a bad adventure (I actively try not to think of myself as a victim) remains silent, which only perpetuates the idea that hurtful actions are all right. I'm a big fan of pretending that you only have one little life on this big, beautiful planet, and that you need to try to be the best person you can be. And I mean that in a concrete, real way, not some abstract bullshit rationalization of how your actions are theoretically helping humanity. No. Be as decent a person as you can all the time and in all your interactions. The end.
An Erinku:
oh, the pain
of heat and humidity
dear thunderstorm
please start now!
Friday, June 17, 2011
Home and back again
I've been putting off writing a blog because I feel I'm expected to write of the awesomeness of my adventures in Costa Rica. And yes, the adventures WERE awesome! I climbed up volcanoes, I zip-lined through rain forest, I sunburned epically at the beach, I got bit by mosquitoes that possibly carried a variety of new-to-me diseases, I saw monkeys and toucans and lizards, and I drank coffee in a blissful manner. This was all awesome and I had very few episodes of laughing at my fellow humans...and therefore not too many stories to share, especially since I took a boat-load of pictures and wrote somewhat descriptive captions for them.
All I know is that I'm a woman on the move and have a few short days left until my next out-of-state travelling adventure. 2011 is the year of travel, it seems. I was thinking of my year of travel and my lack of blog today at the day job. It's the time of year where I work many, many hours and come home to work on the projects that somehow migrated to my place. Right. I was thinking of things and stuff when a return student popped into my office because they needed a new i.d. card.
This is normal, since I'm the keeper of the picture-taking-camera. But. As I reached for the i.d. card log, I saw the student yoink something off my shelf and stick it in their pocket without missing a conversational beat. Since it was one of our promotional lip balms (which I hand out all the time to everyone, anyway) it wasn't really a big deal. Except my first thought was "Very experienced shoplifter."
I've worked retail for 18 years and some habits don't go away. Like the ability to spot sketchy behaviour. Or the ability to see someone yoink something off your shelf from the corner of your eye. So. Student got themselves a lip balm, a label as a thief, and a mental note to never invite them over for dinner. I like my forks too much to have them yoinked.
Moral of today's story: yoink is my favorite verb currently.
An Erinku (like lemonade with a twist):
It seems
I can't count to 16.
I reach 8 and think
"that's enough." Bah!
All I know is that I'm a woman on the move and have a few short days left until my next out-of-state travelling adventure. 2011 is the year of travel, it seems. I was thinking of my year of travel and my lack of blog today at the day job. It's the time of year where I work many, many hours and come home to work on the projects that somehow migrated to my place. Right. I was thinking of things and stuff when a return student popped into my office because they needed a new i.d. card.
This is normal, since I'm the keeper of the picture-taking-camera. But. As I reached for the i.d. card log, I saw the student yoink something off my shelf and stick it in their pocket without missing a conversational beat. Since it was one of our promotional lip balms (which I hand out all the time to everyone, anyway) it wasn't really a big deal. Except my first thought was "Very experienced shoplifter."
I've worked retail for 18 years and some habits don't go away. Like the ability to spot sketchy behaviour. Or the ability to see someone yoink something off your shelf from the corner of your eye. So. Student got themselves a lip balm, a label as a thief, and a mental note to never invite them over for dinner. I like my forks too much to have them yoinked.
Moral of today's story: yoink is my favorite verb currently.
An Erinku (like lemonade with a twist):
It seems
I can't count to 16.
I reach 8 and think
"that's enough." Bah!
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Shopping with Erin, or, Why I Can't Have Nice Things
It is well-known that there is some magical device just inside stores' doors that makes you forget everything you were there to buy. I combat this by reciting my list in the parking lot and out loud as I walk into the store (note: this is a LOT less creepy when I'm shopping with someone else). Today's trip had four items: plastic wrap, matches, tea-light candles, and Hornsby's hard cider. Pretty easy.
I found the candles right away, but still repeated them in my head, since I had a nice little song about plastic wrap, matches, tea-lights, and Hornsby's. As I walked through aisles, I kept singing my song in my head. However, at some point, I thought suddenly...of pandas. They are cute and fuzzy and eat bamboo. I continued to recite my list for a few more aisles, until I noticed it had changed to: plastic wrap, pandas, tea-lights, and Hornsby's.
I mentally grumped at myself to stay on target and continued my trek for matches (not pandas). I looked at many colorful things I do not want nor need. And I walked by a display of pretty pillows (I have a prettier one as a recent present), admired the colors, and kept walking. After a minute, I figured it was time to remember what I was looking for. My mantra assured me I was shopping for panda, pandas, pillow, and a panda. DAMMIT!
I found they had Hornsby's in stock (which is a whole other rant, by itself) and the plastic wrap was nearby. I thought of a cute panda-pillow that I'd seen in the last 24 hours and my inner shopping list was updated accordingly: panda, panda, panda-pillow, panda. Matches and plastic wrap lived in the same place, which made me immensely grateful, because I was now apparently on a panda shopping trip and couldn't remember anything else on my list.
As I got near the check-put, some useful portion of my brain exerted itself to add "trashy magazines" to the end of my panda list. This is actually true and good because I have another international trip coming up and magazines full of celebrity gossip are perfect for plane rides. I checked out, walked to the car, and noticed my inner monologue was happily singing about getting everything on my list: panda, pandas, panda-pillow, panda, and trashy magazines. I sometimes wonder if I killed too many brain cells at parties in the 90's.
An Erinku:
lighting candles
with matches
way classier
than lighters
I found the candles right away, but still repeated them in my head, since I had a nice little song about plastic wrap, matches, tea-lights, and Hornsby's. As I walked through aisles, I kept singing my song in my head. However, at some point, I thought suddenly...of pandas. They are cute and fuzzy and eat bamboo. I continued to recite my list for a few more aisles, until I noticed it had changed to: plastic wrap, pandas, tea-lights, and Hornsby's.
I mentally grumped at myself to stay on target and continued my trek for matches (not pandas). I looked at many colorful things I do not want nor need. And I walked by a display of pretty pillows (I have a prettier one as a recent present), admired the colors, and kept walking. After a minute, I figured it was time to remember what I was looking for. My mantra assured me I was shopping for panda, pandas, pillow, and a panda. DAMMIT!
I found they had Hornsby's in stock (which is a whole other rant, by itself) and the plastic wrap was nearby. I thought of a cute panda-pillow that I'd seen in the last 24 hours and my inner shopping list was updated accordingly: panda, panda, panda-pillow, panda. Matches and plastic wrap lived in the same place, which made me immensely grateful, because I was now apparently on a panda shopping trip and couldn't remember anything else on my list.
As I got near the check-put, some useful portion of my brain exerted itself to add "trashy magazines" to the end of my panda list. This is actually true and good because I have another international trip coming up and magazines full of celebrity gossip are perfect for plane rides. I checked out, walked to the car, and noticed my inner monologue was happily singing about getting everything on my list: panda, pandas, panda-pillow, panda, and trashy magazines. I sometimes wonder if I killed too many brain cells at parties in the 90's.
An Erinku:
lighting candles
with matches
way classier
than lighters
Friday, May 20, 2011
The life of McGuyver, an early-morning epiphany
So. It's the end of the quarter and I'm up super early today because I've got a performance starting in the next little bit. As I was brushing my teeth, I had another early morning epiphany: everyday interactions would be tough for McGuyver. Say you're him, running around in white tennis shoes and you cut your finger while fighting a bagel at the day job. You run over to someone efficient and say, "Hi! I need a band-aid."
The first thing everyone will think is, "Oho! And what else will he need to fashion a hang-glider? A band-aid, an old blue sock, and a paperclip!" While some people wouldn't say these things out loud, everyone would hand over the band-aid with a lot of expectation. And just imagine what happens whenever McGuyver needs a stamp for his letter!
Right, early mornings. This is the same time of day where I figured out sheep's roles in creating black holes and about sheep and their adventures of shrinking or not in the rain. Hmm. My early-morning brain worries about sheep and McGuyver. This is why I don't do early mornings. Time for coffee.
An Erinku:
I'm just
going to
rest my eyes
for a minute...
The first thing everyone will think is, "Oho! And what else will he need to fashion a hang-glider? A band-aid, an old blue sock, and a paperclip!" While some people wouldn't say these things out loud, everyone would hand over the band-aid with a lot of expectation. And just imagine what happens whenever McGuyver needs a stamp for his letter!
Right, early mornings. This is the same time of day where I figured out sheep's roles in creating black holes and about sheep and their adventures of shrinking or not in the rain. Hmm. My early-morning brain worries about sheep and McGuyver. This is why I don't do early mornings. Time for coffee.
An Erinku:
I'm just
going to
rest my eyes
for a minute...
Friday, May 13, 2011
Like a picture postcard
One of today's adventures involved me driving around a bit of Denver that was new to me. I was on a tiny little winding road that went past green, green pastures with horses, huge parks with budding trees, and a long stretch of single lane road that was lined with white lilac trees. This was in Denver proper, but felt like a bit of magic land. I think I sort-of know how to get back there...maybe.
As I was driving around in the sunshine in a leisurely fashion from point A to point B, I realized that I was happy in spite of the lilacs. Realizing this was a strange way of feeling, I thought about it for a bit as the road darted in and out of sunshine spots and tree shade. And I realized that looking a lilacs makes me a little bit sad. Lilacs are my second-favorite flower, especially when they are all out of control and growing tall and awkward. I then realized how many of my imagined future plans involved me planting lilacs at various possible homes for me. I guess I've always kind-of seen the act of planting lilac trees as a statement that *this* (wherever "this" happened to be) was a permanent home.
I had many lilac plans and all of them have fallen apart. I currently am lilac-plan free. And so looking at lilacs makes me a little sad. It's a good thing they are only my second-favorite flower. And it's good to realize some sad things when you are overpowered by happy things, like a surprise pretty drive on a late Friday afternoon in the sun. It's also good to come up with new plans, as I've been repeatedly advised. Lilac power, activate!
An Erinku:
my toes
chilly
blanket
so far across the room...
As I was driving around in the sunshine in a leisurely fashion from point A to point B, I realized that I was happy in spite of the lilacs. Realizing this was a strange way of feeling, I thought about it for a bit as the road darted in and out of sunshine spots and tree shade. And I realized that looking a lilacs makes me a little bit sad. Lilacs are my second-favorite flower, especially when they are all out of control and growing tall and awkward. I then realized how many of my imagined future plans involved me planting lilacs at various possible homes for me. I guess I've always kind-of seen the act of planting lilac trees as a statement that *this* (wherever "this" happened to be) was a permanent home.
I had many lilac plans and all of them have fallen apart. I currently am lilac-plan free. And so looking at lilacs makes me a little sad. It's a good thing they are only my second-favorite flower. And it's good to realize some sad things when you are overpowered by happy things, like a surprise pretty drive on a late Friday afternoon in the sun. It's also good to come up with new plans, as I've been repeatedly advised. Lilac power, activate!
An Erinku:
my toes
chilly
blanket
so far across the room...
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Choose Your Own Adventure
When I was growing up, I absolutely loved the “Choose Your Own Adventure” books and I loved “Mad Libs.” I've been thinking about both recently, because I once again found a Mad Libs buried in a pile of music and it has been making me very happy with its nonsense.
After years of growing up, I finally realized that life is like one of those adventure books (I'm not the sharpest cookie in the shed sometimes). However, the difference is with the adventure books is that I always died, usually pretty violently, by my third decision. And while that hasn't been the case in my real life, I do know I make some bad decisions from time to time, page by page, even.
I remember the last adventure book I read. I died pretty quickly and I got so frustrated that I read the book straight through until I found the ending I wanted. I then went backwards from there to figure out the decisions I would've needed to make to have a happy ending. I'm stubborn when I'm figuring something out. And I realized that every single decision was exactly opposite of how I thought and how my instincts worked and that I'd have never reached that ending on my own.
So. Instead of speculating too long on my chances of a happy ending in real life, I instead am looking at exactly how my decision-making process works before I am faced with a pit of hungry alligators. And while I'd like to think I'll never see a pit full of hungry alligators, I've had enough bizarre adventures that I'm not going to rule it out. And that is the _______ for the _______ of my _____.
Moral of today's story: I do try to go to bed early. And midnight-ish is early...kinda. At least I'm not up dorking around until 3:00 on a school night (this week...). FINALLY, a good decision!!
An Erinku!
I spend
much of the day
sitting in
rectangular rooms
creepy
After years of growing up, I finally realized that life is like one of those adventure books (I'm not the sharpest cookie in the shed sometimes). However, the difference is with the adventure books is that I always died, usually pretty violently, by my third decision. And while that hasn't been the case in my real life, I do know I make some bad decisions from time to time, page by page, even.
I remember the last adventure book I read. I died pretty quickly and I got so frustrated that I read the book straight through until I found the ending I wanted. I then went backwards from there to figure out the decisions I would've needed to make to have a happy ending. I'm stubborn when I'm figuring something out. And I realized that every single decision was exactly opposite of how I thought and how my instincts worked and that I'd have never reached that ending on my own.
So. Instead of speculating too long on my chances of a happy ending in real life, I instead am looking at exactly how my decision-making process works before I am faced with a pit of hungry alligators. And while I'd like to think I'll never see a pit full of hungry alligators, I've had enough bizarre adventures that I'm not going to rule it out. And that is the _______ for the _______ of my _____.
Moral of today's story: I do try to go to bed early. And midnight-ish is early...kinda. At least I'm not up dorking around until 3:00 on a school night (this week...). FINALLY, a good decision!!
An Erinku!
I spend
much of the day
sitting in
rectangular rooms
creepy
Friday, April 29, 2011
Trials and Tribulations (a second-person narrative)
There are times when you hit happy hour after work (and those times are brilliant fun) and then you come home to your cranky pet fish and thirsty avocado trees and realize that your apartment smells a bit...off. And then you realize that off smell is coming from your kitchen.
You (this note has apparently turned into a second-person point of view story) walk cautiously towards your sink knowing that it really has been a few days since the last round of doing dishes. And your sink smells like "Death At the Docks (with capital 'D's)."
And you vaguely remember making tuna fish sandwiches one night around 2:00 am when it sounded like a very good idea, but you also remember that tuna fish juice is gross and you used a lot of water to rinse away any stinkyness.
And so you start to do dishes, because this seems to be one of your annoying habits that you do after several happy-hour margaritas, never mind that you often drop something made of glass and get cranky with yourself the next day.
As you wash plates and cups and cutlery, you begin to feel smug since it's not so bad. Yes, there is a vague scent of the Docks (capital D) in the air, but it's being scrubbed away with each swipe of the washcloth. Until. Until. Until.
Until you put the bowls in the water. Phew! And you wash a few that are fine. And then...you pull out a bowl from under the sudsy water. It's like sniffing a dolphin. You make a face, throw the bowl back in the sink, and turn on your computer. Because when you are buzzed enough to make analogies that say anything was "like sniffing a dolphin" you know you should be writing that down instead of washing dishes. Even if one of them is evil-stinky and soaking in sudsy water.
Man, it is the day-to-day grind that makes for small, stinky adventures.
Moral of today's story: tuna fish is wicked dangerous.
An Erinku:
I know, I know
I should
be practicing!
But, I'm dealing with evil
stinky-dolphin-bowl
You (this note has apparently turned into a second-person point of view story) walk cautiously towards your sink knowing that it really has been a few days since the last round of doing dishes. And your sink smells like "Death At the Docks (with capital 'D's)."
And you vaguely remember making tuna fish sandwiches one night around 2:00 am when it sounded like a very good idea, but you also remember that tuna fish juice is gross and you used a lot of water to rinse away any stinkyness.
And so you start to do dishes, because this seems to be one of your annoying habits that you do after several happy-hour margaritas, never mind that you often drop something made of glass and get cranky with yourself the next day.
As you wash plates and cups and cutlery, you begin to feel smug since it's not so bad. Yes, there is a vague scent of the Docks (capital D) in the air, but it's being scrubbed away with each swipe of the washcloth. Until. Until. Until.
Until you put the bowls in the water. Phew! And you wash a few that are fine. And then...you pull out a bowl from under the sudsy water. It's like sniffing a dolphin. You make a face, throw the bowl back in the sink, and turn on your computer. Because when you are buzzed enough to make analogies that say anything was "like sniffing a dolphin" you know you should be writing that down instead of washing dishes. Even if one of them is evil-stinky and soaking in sudsy water.
Man, it is the day-to-day grind that makes for small, stinky adventures.
Moral of today's story: tuna fish is wicked dangerous.
An Erinku:
I know, I know
I should
be practicing!
But, I'm dealing with evil
stinky-dolphin-bowl
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Semi-responsible Thursday
It's official, after the typical navigating of the bizarre that happens every time I try to talk with my landlord-dude, I'm all set to stay in the Aquarium another year. And all my worrying was pointless (like it usually is); instead of a big rent increase, he looked at me blankly and asked what my rent was now. And I, being the compulsively honest person I am, told him. I sometimes think I should get better at lying and then I remember that lying is boring and takes up too much energy.
I'm here another year, with my Bollywood-loving neighbor on one side (he's playing the music now!) and my creepy wants-to-give-me-a-microwave-and-thank-me-for-finding-his-keys-when-I-didn't neighbor on the other, and the gentle newsletter reminders that residents are responsible for any puke their guests leave behind, what's not to love?
To celebrate my new lease, I stuck a warm beer in the freezer while I cooked dinner. This story has the predictable Erin ending in that I only just now remembered my beer, four hours later. Sigh. No matter how many times I scold myself about things like this, I still think they are a good idea at the time. Beer slushy is too cold and gives me a brain freeze. Boo.
Anyway, today's story has few adventures. I think it's to make up for my big adventure yesterday seeing Itzhak Perlman play. It was fantastic, in case I haven't already said that about 38 times already. However, I have a jam-packed weekend ahead and I'm surrounded by people all the time. Since people are silly and weird, it's only a matter of time before something exciting happens. Until then, I've got my beer slushy. Sigh.
Moral of today's story: bad ideas come in pairs. I just had a sudden thought that my laptop is warm and would melt my beer slushy quickly. Luckily my rational thought process pointed out that condensation and laptops have a long-standing disagreement and that my idea was a terrible one. Logic rocks!
An Erinku (in patience while my beer thaws):
empty taquito box
in recycling bin
the sadness!
I'll grocery shop tomorrow
I'm here another year, with my Bollywood-loving neighbor on one side (he's playing the music now!) and my creepy wants-to-give-me-a-microwave-and-thank-me-for-finding-his-keys-when-I-didn't neighbor on the other, and the gentle newsletter reminders that residents are responsible for any puke their guests leave behind, what's not to love?
To celebrate my new lease, I stuck a warm beer in the freezer while I cooked dinner. This story has the predictable Erin ending in that I only just now remembered my beer, four hours later. Sigh. No matter how many times I scold myself about things like this, I still think they are a good idea at the time. Beer slushy is too cold and gives me a brain freeze. Boo.
Anyway, today's story has few adventures. I think it's to make up for my big adventure yesterday seeing Itzhak Perlman play. It was fantastic, in case I haven't already said that about 38 times already. However, I have a jam-packed weekend ahead and I'm surrounded by people all the time. Since people are silly and weird, it's only a matter of time before something exciting happens. Until then, I've got my beer slushy. Sigh.
Moral of today's story: bad ideas come in pairs. I just had a sudden thought that my laptop is warm and would melt my beer slushy quickly. Luckily my rational thought process pointed out that condensation and laptops have a long-standing disagreement and that my idea was a terrible one. Logic rocks!
An Erinku (in patience while my beer thaws):
empty taquito box
in recycling bin
the sadness!
I'll grocery shop tomorrow
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Procrastinating taking out my contacts...
Yesterday, I thought I saw one of my ex-boyfriends. As in “an ex of Christmas past”...by a long time. It was creepy. He was older and pudgier (which is good, because so am I), but since I was in the midst of an “Erin Meltdown®” he, if it really was my ex (he had kids the right age and everything), totally won that ex-encounter as I had weepy eyes. I first saw him while I was on the phone and figured it was just weepy paranoia, but since he stared long back at me, I started thinking it might actually be him. Eight kinds of creepy. Dammit. I haven't seen him in forever long and I always figured I would win in any ex-encounter I had with him. Alas. You can't plan for the random encounter many miles from home.
Anyway, today was a better day. I wore my contacts most the day and noted that I was officially a lecherous old lady as I scoped out the hot, half-naked guys around me in the hot springs. I also realized, having nothing to listen to except other people's conversations, that being a musician-type is a blessing and a curse. I repeatedly heard folks going off about tunes they had stuck in their heads, which totally happens. Only, ALL of the songs stuck in their heads were jingles from commercials. I heard the Meow Mix theme, and the Baby-Back ribs thing, and onward. (Keeping in mind these were several different conversations from different groups of people). I realize that yes, I definitely get songs stuck in my head, but if I were to sing them out loud at hot springs, barely anyone would recognize the theme from a Puccini opera. Sigh.
I also realized that on any given day, there is a 50% likelihood that I danced in the shower to a mental version of a Prince song. This realization happened as I was shower-dancing in the public showers and noticed slight looks of alarm from fellow showerers. It turns out not everyone shower-dances to Prince songs playing in their heads. Next time, I'll dance around and sing the Meow Mix jingle; that should make people feel more comfortable.
One of my epiphanies this weekend is that I have reached the burn-out point in my seemingly never-ending music degree (two and half years and counting). I've been increasingly cranky the past two quarters with extra events that I am expected to do and I think about dropping out roughly once a week now. This, coupled with a few other cues, suggest that I've got the “life-changing winds” starting up again.
For instance, I spent my entire 20's working and saving up so that I (and others) could travel. Then, BAM, my 30s start, I find out everything I had been working towards was pointless and naive, I spend a few years pouting and being bitter, and I suddenly find that 2011 is full of travel. And I've got a trip planned roughly every four weeks through the rest of the year.
Some of the trips are bigger than others, but I figure I'm trying to make up for the last 11 years of working over-time without any reward except working over-time for the last 11 years. Hmm. That smacked a little bit of bitterness. Anyway, since I jumped into music school as a way of being a better musician (a long-time frustration), it was also another way of distracting myself from the awkwardness of life.
Now that I'm getting totally over music school, I'm taking that as a good sign that (despite slight hints of bitterness) I'm moving on to a new phase. And it's looking like this new phase will have me and my Birkenstocks traveling all over the place and back again. Epic. Again, I'm grateful that I mostly like my own company and that I'm a pretty good traveling companion to myself. Although, it does make picture-taking a bit more difficult. So it goes.
Moral of today's story: Gianni Schicchi! Actually, that would be TERRIBLE shower dance music.
An Erinku:
river
mountains
sun on snow
Colorado!
Anyway, today was a better day. I wore my contacts most the day and noted that I was officially a lecherous old lady as I scoped out the hot, half-naked guys around me in the hot springs. I also realized, having nothing to listen to except other people's conversations, that being a musician-type is a blessing and a curse. I repeatedly heard folks going off about tunes they had stuck in their heads, which totally happens. Only, ALL of the songs stuck in their heads were jingles from commercials. I heard the Meow Mix theme, and the Baby-Back ribs thing, and onward. (Keeping in mind these were several different conversations from different groups of people). I realize that yes, I definitely get songs stuck in my head, but if I were to sing them out loud at hot springs, barely anyone would recognize the theme from a Puccini opera. Sigh.
I also realized that on any given day, there is a 50% likelihood that I danced in the shower to a mental version of a Prince song. This realization happened as I was shower-dancing in the public showers and noticed slight looks of alarm from fellow showerers. It turns out not everyone shower-dances to Prince songs playing in their heads. Next time, I'll dance around and sing the Meow Mix jingle; that should make people feel more comfortable.
One of my epiphanies this weekend is that I have reached the burn-out point in my seemingly never-ending music degree (two and half years and counting). I've been increasingly cranky the past two quarters with extra events that I am expected to do and I think about dropping out roughly once a week now. This, coupled with a few other cues, suggest that I've got the “life-changing winds” starting up again.
For instance, I spent my entire 20's working and saving up so that I (and others) could travel. Then, BAM, my 30s start, I find out everything I had been working towards was pointless and naive, I spend a few years pouting and being bitter, and I suddenly find that 2011 is full of travel. And I've got a trip planned roughly every four weeks through the rest of the year.
Some of the trips are bigger than others, but I figure I'm trying to make up for the last 11 years of working over-time without any reward except working over-time for the last 11 years. Hmm. That smacked a little bit of bitterness. Anyway, since I jumped into music school as a way of being a better musician (a long-time frustration), it was also another way of distracting myself from the awkwardness of life.
Now that I'm getting totally over music school, I'm taking that as a good sign that (despite slight hints of bitterness) I'm moving on to a new phase. And it's looking like this new phase will have me and my Birkenstocks traveling all over the place and back again. Epic. Again, I'm grateful that I mostly like my own company and that I'm a pretty good traveling companion to myself. Although, it does make picture-taking a bit more difficult. So it goes.
Moral of today's story: Gianni Schicchi! Actually, that would be TERRIBLE shower dance music.
An Erinku:
river
mountains
sun on snow
Colorado!
Friday, April 22, 2011
Morning Relativity
Mmph. I was up early today in order to get started on my trip to the mountains for the weekend. And by early, I don't mean 10:00 am (which actually is early for me). My alarm first started buzzing at 5:30. I usually build in a few rounds of clock smacking before really getting up. And since it was so early, I set it to buzz instead of having it play music. When it's getting into the time of day that I'm never awake, my brain will incorporate any music into my dreams, complete with intricate dance scenes, instead of waking up. Sneaky brain.
I have a theory about the relativity of mornings. It's like that theory that the closer to the speed of light you get, the more heavy you become, and so you'll never go as fast as the speed of light because you'll weigh so much, or be too dense, or some physics type of thing involving mass. Anyway, my theory is that there is a point at some time each morning that the closer to it you try to wake up, the slower you will move.
Say you need to leave to catch a train at 6:15 am. You can get up at 5:45, run around, and barely catch it. Or you can get up at 5:15, sit on the bed waking up for what feels like a minute, look over and realize that you lost half an hour and that it's now 5:45 and you run around, and barely catch it. It always ends up that the earliest I can move around happens to be 5:45, no matter how early I try. This has been true for at least the last 20 years, so I bow to the inevitable and sleep as late as I can.
In the typical style of my life, I arrived a bit early to the train station only to find my train delayed by a lot. And the internet connection doesn't work. Alas. While I've been sitting here actively ignoring some lady's foot bonking my row of seats (it seems she's bored and isn't content with mere foot tapping to burn off energy) I'm thinking it's finally late enough that my body wants coffee. My body gets cranky with any food or drink (including caffeine) before 8:00ish, which adds to the paradox of me trying to get up early. And so my adventure continues...
An Erinku:
it appears
plaid
is making
a come-back
I have a theory about the relativity of mornings. It's like that theory that the closer to the speed of light you get, the more heavy you become, and so you'll never go as fast as the speed of light because you'll weigh so much, or be too dense, or some physics type of thing involving mass. Anyway, my theory is that there is a point at some time each morning that the closer to it you try to wake up, the slower you will move.
Say you need to leave to catch a train at 6:15 am. You can get up at 5:45, run around, and barely catch it. Or you can get up at 5:15, sit on the bed waking up for what feels like a minute, look over and realize that you lost half an hour and that it's now 5:45 and you run around, and barely catch it. It always ends up that the earliest I can move around happens to be 5:45, no matter how early I try. This has been true for at least the last 20 years, so I bow to the inevitable and sleep as late as I can.
In the typical style of my life, I arrived a bit early to the train station only to find my train delayed by a lot. And the internet connection doesn't work. Alas. While I've been sitting here actively ignoring some lady's foot bonking my row of seats (it seems she's bored and isn't content with mere foot tapping to burn off energy) I'm thinking it's finally late enough that my body wants coffee. My body gets cranky with any food or drink (including caffeine) before 8:00ish, which adds to the paradox of me trying to get up early. And so my adventure continues...
An Erinku:
it appears
plaid
is making
a come-back
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Weight of the sole
I am not a girly-girl. After years of being pale and freckled with people not sure how show me the whole make-up thing, I am mostly at peace with how I look unadorned. While I go for fancy pj's and pretty dresses, I'm completely minimalist with shoes. For a long time, I felt irritated that I have as many as seven pairs of shoes: tennis shoes, every-day walking shoes, Birkenstocks, brown work shoes, black work shoes, black high heels, and silver high heels. That was about four pairs of shoes too many.
In the last two weeks, I've increased my shoes by just under 50%, with a significant percentage purchased today. And all three new pairs are for my upcoming trip to Costa Rica. It turns out Birkenstocks don't like getting wet (as many times as I tried it with my old pair, it never ended well) and my walking shoes aren't designed for rain forest amounts of rain. So. I've got a pair of “amphibious” shoes (which makes me feel like a frog whenever I hear that word), a pair of plain old brown flip-flops, and a pair of “fancy” black and grey flip-flops (for any potentially dressy events during the adventure).
I feel the weight of these extra shoes and it makes me uneasy. I'm worried I'll suddenly bolt out, have a(nother) make-over experience, and start wearing big, big, big press-on nails. Sigh. And then I took a risk and got a mixed pack of hard ciders on my way home from the night job. Sadly, the “surprise” flavor was maple & brown sugar hard cider. It sounds all right, but it's pretty grody. All right. My buying hard cider is actually a pretty girly move. Now where did I put that nail polish...
An Erinku:
Falcor, enormous
neon orange
stuffed dragon
protector of the Aquarium
In the last two weeks, I've increased my shoes by just under 50%, with a significant percentage purchased today. And all three new pairs are for my upcoming trip to Costa Rica. It turns out Birkenstocks don't like getting wet (as many times as I tried it with my old pair, it never ended well) and my walking shoes aren't designed for rain forest amounts of rain. So. I've got a pair of “amphibious” shoes (which makes me feel like a frog whenever I hear that word), a pair of plain old brown flip-flops, and a pair of “fancy” black and grey flip-flops (for any potentially dressy events during the adventure).
I feel the weight of these extra shoes and it makes me uneasy. I'm worried I'll suddenly bolt out, have a(nother) make-over experience, and start wearing big, big, big press-on nails. Sigh. And then I took a risk and got a mixed pack of hard ciders on my way home from the night job. Sadly, the “surprise” flavor was maple & brown sugar hard cider. It sounds all right, but it's pretty grody. All right. My buying hard cider is actually a pretty girly move. Now where did I put that nail polish...
An Erinku:
Falcor, enormous
neon orange
stuffed dragon
protector of the Aquarium
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Cupcake Conspiracies
My epiphany of the day today is that it would be incredibly easy to take out a bunch of staff members and students at a small graduate school. All you’d need to do is put out poisonous cupcakes. This thought crossed my mind as I was reaching for a pink cupcake with sprinkles that was anonymously left in the lounge (thank you cupcake fairy!!!). I thought about this some as I ate said cupcake and while I licked pink frosting off my fingers. I suppose I could be all paranoid about it…but then I’d miss out on cupcakes. And who wants to live life without anonymous cupcakes?
When I start being mildly paranoid about desserts, I know it’s time for me to make a small exit from my normal world of stress, music, stress, hot baths, stress, and talking to my roommate-fish Bubbles. And so I’m heading off on an adventure this weekend by myself (Bubbles gets motion sick and prefers to stay at home). By-myself adventures are what I’m great at, so I’ve got some good expectations from this weekend.
Until then, I’m a working machine. Between day job, night job, and grad school, I’m surprised I haven’t stepped up my paranoia even more than “dessert-level.” If only all warning systems had a “dessert-level.” Hmm. I do seem to have more random trains of thought than usual. I wonder if I should get paranoid about that…
Moral of today’s story: cupcake.
An Erinku!
chai
of tasty goodness
I love you so
(though you burn my tongue)
When I start being mildly paranoid about desserts, I know it’s time for me to make a small exit from my normal world of stress, music, stress, hot baths, stress, and talking to my roommate-fish Bubbles. And so I’m heading off on an adventure this weekend by myself (Bubbles gets motion sick and prefers to stay at home). By-myself adventures are what I’m great at, so I’ve got some good expectations from this weekend.
Until then, I’m a working machine. Between day job, night job, and grad school, I’m surprised I haven’t stepped up my paranoia even more than “dessert-level.” If only all warning systems had a “dessert-level.” Hmm. I do seem to have more random trains of thought than usual. I wonder if I should get paranoid about that…
Moral of today’s story: cupcake.
An Erinku!
chai
of tasty goodness
I love you so
(though you burn my tongue)
Sunday, April 17, 2011
On why a cellist in her mid-30's won't put up with that.
So. It was announced today that instead of having one epic opera round of performances next year, the DU orchestra will do two. Meaning that instead of having one two-week round of 26+ hours of rehearsal (in addition to regular rehearsals and regular rounds of concerts), we'll have two. And that other professors, other music departments, and other school departments, instead of grudgingly forgiving students from not being able to practice for lessons/show up to class/make it to rehearsals/attend performances for two weeks each year, will need to frown about this for two separate rounds next year.
When extra rehearsals happen as a grown-up, professional performer, I get extra compensation (even if it's tiny bitty). Sadly, I don't get scholarships or any type of payment for this decision of theirs to increase (by a lot) the number of rehearsals this fall. But, in exchange, I do get to to turn down paying gigs in order to accommodate their stupid new schedule. RAWR!
In general, it'd be best for them to audition for an "opera orchestra" for those folks who are anxious to have additional orchestra gigs. I'm not taking this class for credit and I object to having to cancel paying gigs, classes I need to take, and going to my "night" job to attend all these excess rehearsals and performances.
If they can't stick to the Monday/Wednesday class schedule (with the occasional Thursday concert), I don't have time in my grown-up schedule to accommodate them. It isn't written ANYWHERE that string majors/grad students have to participate in orchestra (except maybe in folks' scholarship stipulations), which doesn't pertain to me as non-scholarship student. All my paperwork says that students have to participate in two groups per quarter, and only one group if the student is part-time. I'm part-time and I have spent the last two years participating in string quartets as my one group.
I'm in school to be a better cellist, not to be a classical musician. I suck tremendously as a classical cellist! And this orchestra, while being one of the best I've played in, takes up WAY too much time and isn't helping me out in my degree at all. I've got a healthy history of being a rock cellist and being a studio musician. I was sad that my technique was getting sloppy from all the rock music I was playing, so I started focusing on the classical training that is common for a cellist, instead, since music doesn't get more technically demanding than classical training.
I currently have no idea what classes I'll be taking in the fall or next spring, but I do know that no matter how much I get talked about in staff meetings (the sole reason I was SERIOUSLY pushed to play in orchestra this quarter), my finishing this stupid degree is my top priority over making some prof somewhere feel better about themselves. I'm a grown-up and I've been around the block with "requirements" for a degree. I've also been around the block of being the "problem" student discussed in faculty meetings; I'm over it. It doesn't threaten me at 33 like it did at 19. If I have a Tuesday night class that I need to finish this abomination of a degree, that class takes priority over an additional rehearsal that was arbitrarily decided on one April afternoon.
I'm rant-y today because I've been working on this degree for so long, because I've put up with a bunch of bullshit (musical and otherwise) this week, and because I'm too old and WAY too tired to deal with it longer than I need to. Screw politics. I'm a free agent.
/end rant
An Erinku:
I need
a basketball
friend to watch games with
(I like Blazers and Nuggets and am surrounded by folks who don't watch basketball, sigh)
When extra rehearsals happen as a grown-up, professional performer, I get extra compensation (even if it's tiny bitty). Sadly, I don't get scholarships or any type of payment for this decision of theirs to increase (by a lot) the number of rehearsals this fall. But, in exchange, I do get to to turn down paying gigs in order to accommodate their stupid new schedule. RAWR!
In general, it'd be best for them to audition for an "opera orchestra" for those folks who are anxious to have additional orchestra gigs. I'm not taking this class for credit and I object to having to cancel paying gigs, classes I need to take, and going to my "night" job to attend all these excess rehearsals and performances.
If they can't stick to the Monday/Wednesday class schedule (with the occasional Thursday concert), I don't have time in my grown-up schedule to accommodate them. It isn't written ANYWHERE that string majors/grad students have to participate in orchestra (except maybe in folks' scholarship stipulations), which doesn't pertain to me as non-scholarship student. All my paperwork says that students have to participate in two groups per quarter, and only one group if the student is part-time. I'm part-time and I have spent the last two years participating in string quartets as my one group.
I'm in school to be a better cellist, not to be a classical musician. I suck tremendously as a classical cellist! And this orchestra, while being one of the best I've played in, takes up WAY too much time and isn't helping me out in my degree at all. I've got a healthy history of being a rock cellist and being a studio musician. I was sad that my technique was getting sloppy from all the rock music I was playing, so I started focusing on the classical training that is common for a cellist, instead, since music doesn't get more technically demanding than classical training.
I currently have no idea what classes I'll be taking in the fall or next spring, but I do know that no matter how much I get talked about in staff meetings (the sole reason I was SERIOUSLY pushed to play in orchestra this quarter), my finishing this stupid degree is my top priority over making some prof somewhere feel better about themselves. I'm a grown-up and I've been around the block with "requirements" for a degree. I've also been around the block of being the "problem" student discussed in faculty meetings; I'm over it. It doesn't threaten me at 33 like it did at 19. If I have a Tuesday night class that I need to finish this abomination of a degree, that class takes priority over an additional rehearsal that was arbitrarily decided on one April afternoon.
I'm rant-y today because I've been working on this degree for so long, because I've put up with a bunch of bullshit (musical and otherwise) this week, and because I'm too old and WAY too tired to deal with it longer than I need to. Screw politics. I'm a free agent.
/end rant
An Erinku:
I need
a basketball
friend to watch games with
(I like Blazers and Nuggets and am surrounded by folks who don't watch basketball, sigh)
Sunday, April 10, 2011
On Oppression (of the fake sort)
Lately I've seen an extra large amount of complaint on Facebook about how various so-and-sos are feeling oppressed because of their views on whatever topic. And there is definite amounts of oppression in the world. But. It seems that every American feels oppressed about something, in some area of their life. Yet no one is claiming, "Haha! I totally oppressed little Timmy today!" So this leads me, again, to wonder about the fake-oppression mentality (again, stressing that there are absolutely folks who are being oppressed; people get bullied, oppressed, and killed for their race, their sexual orientation, their gender, and onward, and that is completely unacceptable).
This is more along the lines of what I consider the "wishful" oppression. Say that you act like an ass-hat and your friends call you on it. The only "oppression" happening there is your friends are oppressing your obliviousness to you acting like an an ass-hat. You probably weren't taking a stand for ass-hats everywhere and your friends aren't "the man" dragging you down. You were being an ass-hat and claiming oppression gives you victim status, with a little bit of a martyr air to it.
I have seen the fake oppression/persecution mentality in different folks I've met, my whole life (covering a spectrum of humanity). I honestly see it as a left-over of being colonized by folks who were being oppressed and persecuted several hundred years ago. Some traditions need to be let go.
Yes, there are things in life that aren't fair and there ARE cases of active oppression that happen. And I think we should work towards treating everyone the same, whether or not they ride a bike, love "Halloween" movies, are nudists, enjoy coconut in cookies or whatever. Everyone is just living the best life they can, making the best decisions they can, and being the best people they can be in whatever circumstances they're in. For the most part, there is no organized "other" out there trying to hold you down, they are too busy living their own lives and making the decisions they do with what information they've got.
Sigh. This all makes sense in my brain and probably comes across as this elitist little rant saying, "Suck it up and shut up." That's not what I mean. I'm just tired of folks whining about their different problems every day and making them sound like huge catastrophes of deliberate oppression, when there actually are huge catastrophes of oppression happening. There is a line between the two, and I think Americans are a bit fuzzy about that line. It's the difference between malevolence from an outside source and having a situation where you don't get your own way all the time. I have parts of my life that feel oppressed, but I'm aware that it's just the result of folks acting dumbly and not as a united front of oppression of me. I live my life as best I can and stand up for what I believe...and I suspect there are folks who think I'm actively oppressing them. So it goes. Alas, it would probably just be easier for me to wear a shirt that says, "Taking a stand for ass-hats everywhere."
An Erinku:
even
vegetarian diets
result in the death
of vegetables
This is more along the lines of what I consider the "wishful" oppression. Say that you act like an ass-hat and your friends call you on it. The only "oppression" happening there is your friends are oppressing your obliviousness to you acting like an an ass-hat. You probably weren't taking a stand for ass-hats everywhere and your friends aren't "the man" dragging you down. You were being an ass-hat and claiming oppression gives you victim status, with a little bit of a martyr air to it.
I have seen the fake oppression/persecution mentality in different folks I've met, my whole life (covering a spectrum of humanity). I honestly see it as a left-over of being colonized by folks who were being oppressed and persecuted several hundred years ago. Some traditions need to be let go.
Yes, there are things in life that aren't fair and there ARE cases of active oppression that happen. And I think we should work towards treating everyone the same, whether or not they ride a bike, love "Halloween" movies, are nudists, enjoy coconut in cookies or whatever. Everyone is just living the best life they can, making the best decisions they can, and being the best people they can be in whatever circumstances they're in. For the most part, there is no organized "other" out there trying to hold you down, they are too busy living their own lives and making the decisions they do with what information they've got.
Sigh. This all makes sense in my brain and probably comes across as this elitist little rant saying, "Suck it up and shut up." That's not what I mean. I'm just tired of folks whining about their different problems every day and making them sound like huge catastrophes of deliberate oppression, when there actually are huge catastrophes of oppression happening. There is a line between the two, and I think Americans are a bit fuzzy about that line. It's the difference between malevolence from an outside source and having a situation where you don't get your own way all the time. I have parts of my life that feel oppressed, but I'm aware that it's just the result of folks acting dumbly and not as a united front of oppression of me. I live my life as best I can and stand up for what I believe...and I suspect there are folks who think I'm actively oppressing them. So it goes. Alas, it would probably just be easier for me to wear a shirt that says, "Taking a stand for ass-hats everywhere."
An Erinku:
even
vegetarian diets
result in the death
of vegetables
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Neighbors
My new neighbor moved in a few months ago, directly from India. He is very quiet, keeps to himself, and seems nicely boring. But. My bedroom wall is his front room wall. And I know he plays Bollywood music until about 4:00 am and starts up again around 9:00 am. Since I routinely sleep with music on, anyway, it doesn't bother me at all on the nights when I sleep to his music. However, with his music playing, my dreams feature a lot more dance scenes and are significantly more colorful.
An Erinku:
coffee running
breakfast cooked
Bubbles fed
Sunday morning
An Erinku:
coffee running
breakfast cooked
Bubbles fed
Sunday morning
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Accents, or, There is no "W" in "dog"
For some bizarre reason, I have a bit of a southern accent. Never mind that I grew up far, far away from the south; everyone in the small town I lived in has this same accent. I figure the town must've been populated by a clump of southerners at some point. Anyway, when I got to college, I got made fun of for my accent...a lot.
It turns out there is not "w" in dog (dawg), nor is there a "u" in roof (ruff) or in root beer (rut bir). I spent a LOT of time and energy sounding like a person living in the northwest, and I got laughed at during the difficult period of learning to say "root beer." It's seriously difficult! "Rut bir" is a billion times easier. And for the most part I succeed in sounding like other people talk. Although, whenever I'm back in town, I instantly and unconsiously revert to my accent (since everyone else is talking that way).
I was talking and thinking about my accent this week. And then I listened to some "They Might Be Giants." And as I was singing along badly loud with "Birdhouse in your soul," I realized my accent popped up on a few words. I suspect accents are much like rabies. Wait, no. Bad analogy. Rabies don't go dormant. Hmm. One of those things that are dormant and then pop up when you least expect it....like bear. Accents are like bear.
And it turns out singing (or even saying) the line "though I admire the lot / I'd be fired if that were my job" makes me sound like a southener. It turns out that there is no "A" in fired (farred) nor no "u" in were (wur). Dammit.
An Erinku:
finally: groceries!!!
Woo-hoo
for bannanannananas
and cabbage (not together, blech)
It turns out there is not "w" in dog (dawg), nor is there a "u" in roof (ruff) or in root beer (rut bir). I spent a LOT of time and energy sounding like a person living in the northwest, and I got laughed at during the difficult period of learning to say "root beer." It's seriously difficult! "Rut bir" is a billion times easier. And for the most part I succeed in sounding like other people talk. Although, whenever I'm back in town, I instantly and unconsiously revert to my accent (since everyone else is talking that way).
I was talking and thinking about my accent this week. And then I listened to some "They Might Be Giants." And as I was singing along badly loud with "Birdhouse in your soul," I realized my accent popped up on a few words. I suspect accents are much like rabies. Wait, no. Bad analogy. Rabies don't go dormant. Hmm. One of those things that are dormant and then pop up when you least expect it....like bear. Accents are like bear.
And it turns out singing (or even saying) the line "though I admire the lot / I'd be fired if that were my job" makes me sound like a southener. It turns out that there is no "A" in fired (farred) nor no "u" in were (wur). Dammit.
An Erinku:
finally: groceries!!!
Woo-hoo
for bannanannananas
and cabbage (not together, blech)
Monday, March 21, 2011
China Adventures, Part 3 (Finale)
On my last full day in Beijing, I got an Erhu (two-stringed Chinese violin) for an early birthday present. While the tuning, sitting posture, bridge and bow are similar to a cello, the front of erhus are covered with python skin, which is kinda gross and kinda cool at the same time. Cellos would be much more bad-ass if the front was snake skin. I'm just saying. Anyway, there is an entire district in Beijing where the music stores live, just like there are bar districts and mall districts. The shop owner was VERY excited that I played cello and gave me a lesson on my new instrument. He spoke much better English that I spoke Chinese and he is an incredible, though very humble, player.
The next morning, I headed for the airport bright and early to start my long voyage home. The line at the check-in counter was pretty epic long. After two hours of waiting, I realized the flight was delayed. After three hours, it was finally my turn at the counter. I checked in and had an eight hour wait until my new flight time. This called for lunch, naps, and sudoku to fill my time.
A mere nine hours later, I was on a plane! The boarding process was an incredible event to watch. I've learned the cultural differences regarding organization: while in the U.S. it is considered incredibly rude to cut in line, the Chinese do it all the time. So. Instead of boarding the plane by rows or by section, the Chinese gate crew sounded an air horn. A loud cheer went up and everyone surged forward. It was awesome! On the way down the ramp, all bags were hand-checked (again) and everyone had a complete pat-down (again). We all sat down surprisingly fast, given the chaotic order folks entered the plane, and the the shortest night ever began. While my flight to Beijing had an eight-hour sunset, my flight back had darkness for about three and half hours.
During the flight, the American-only flight crew just about went mad. The same cultural norms that don't worry about standing in line showed up when it came to waiting for bathrooms, wanting to watch the brilliantly bright sunrise in the completely darkened cabin, and standing right in front of the movie screen when you get tired of sitting. The one translator was kept busy all night between complaining Americans and curious Chinese.
My flight out to Beijing had been about 90% Americans due to an enormous tour group taking up most the seats. However, my flight back was probably 40% American, which was much more amusing for me to watch. Once upon a time, I was in Greece and our tour guide there said Americans are the second-most whiny/complainy tourists, and this flight back from Beijing really demonstrated that. (French are the most whiny, according to the Greek guide. She also said that Americans usually calmed right down if they were promised air conditioning and shopping opportunities.)
My second favorite part of this airport adventure (after the airhorn boarding call) was a conversation I overhead in the waiting area. An American husband and wife were recording their experiences in China as YouTube movies; which I'm pretty sure were incredibly boring, based on the episode they recorded right behind me. They were bitching about the nine hour delay (of course) and their airport adventures trying to use their meal vouchers.
While I ended up having some awesome, noodly Chinese dish with my meal voucher, no problem, they had decided they wanted hamburgers and chocolate milkshakes. After they each took time to tell YouTube ALL the ingredients they ordered on their hamburgers (they seriously started off their list with, "two buns, meat..." They discovered, to their great surprise, that a Chinese chocolate milkshake and hamburger taste VERY much worse than the American versions. And this lead to great anger and indignation on their part. People are very silly it turns out. And thankfully, YouTube is now able to well-document that silliness.
Anyway, by the time the flight arrived in Seattle, all the connecting flights had already left for the day. The airline had re-booked everyone and we all had rooms at various hotels throughout the city. My body's unique way of coping with jet lag has been to sleep for three hours and then be awake for 10 hours. I have cycled through various times of day and was very grateful for the 24-hour Denny's next to the hotel that accepted meal vouchers.
I'll be very glad to be home again. Big, big adventures require some recharging time. I will hopefully return to a more regular life schedule quickly, since the world is eerily quiet at 3:30 in the morning. And on that note, I've been awake for six hours and want to use my final meal voucher on a delicious Seattle latte...
An Erinku:
despite
what restaurants think
melons aren't a
"tasty side of fruit"
Saturday, March 19, 2011
China Adventures, Part 2 (or, NOT Prince!)
Adventures round two had me visiting a variety of palaces, the Yonghe Buddhist Temple, and navigating the trickiness of buying things at the local markets (super- and otherwise). I quickly learned the written symbol for "meat" (since being a vegetarian is a bit tricky there), the symbol for "spicy" (since some of the peppers are brutal hot), and the symbol for noodles (since noodles are delicious).
And after a week, I was finally forced to use one of the scary squatting floor toilets. I'd already had a bit of wine and I absolutely didn't want to be the girl who fell into the toilet. I summoned all my balancing and focusing abilities and managed to remain adventure-free despite the incredibly awkward positions. Hole in the floor toilets are generally easier for guys to navigate. Anyway.
I learned that folks who complain about air pollution here in the states should really spend some time in Beijing to compare how good we currently have it here, even though there still is room for improvement. I never saw a clear day or night and the visability was often like a very heavy fog. After a few days, your nose is running constantly and your throat burns. Since it'd be bad publicity to how it really is, almost every day is declared a "green" or maybe a "yellow" level air quality day.
I suspect this intense level of pollution is a contributing reason that everyone spits there. All the time. In the subway, in the airport, in the elevator, and even in restaurants. Luckily (or perhaps in response to this) very few places are carpeted.
In this same vein, I routinely saw toddlers in ass-less chaps. Diapers seem to come off at an earlier age and if a toddler has to go potty, they do. Sometimes on the sidewalk. And if you think U.S. dog owners are bad about cleaning up "left-overs," this is worse. It's too bad really. I'd always assumed my first real-life encounter with ass-less chaps would be in the sexy 1980's-MTV-Prince fashion. Alas. Overall, I really wouldn't advise walking barefoot, anywhere, in Beijing.
And these were a few more of my adventures on the other side of the world...
An Erinku:
little dumpling
on my chopstick
dipped in
some unknown sauce
yummy
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
China Adventures, Part 1
One of the big good things about travelling is that you get to learn new things about the world and new things about yourself. While visiting the other side of the planet, I’ve learned that once you navigate around New York and Athens, Beijing is pretty easy to figure out…other than everything being written in Chinese characters. Luckily, there is a lot of written English in the subways and on many signs around town. Sometimes the translations are a bit unique (such as the slogan of my new local coffee shop, “More Sweet, More Smile!”) but it’s enough to figure out where you are going.
I have discovered that when left to my own devices, I am fully capable of living on noodles and dumplings for all my meals. I have also discovered that I know how to ask for beer, wine, and coffee in about five different languages now, which suggests what type of traveler I really am. I also realize that I am still completely terrified of the “hole in the floor” toilets, which are all over the place in public. And with stalls being optional, I am grateful for my bladder of steel to help me reach a “Western toilet” every so often.
In the past five days, I’ve visited the Forbidden City, Tiananmen Square, the Summer Palace, and the Temple of Heaven. I’ve already filled up the memory on my dinky, little camera so getting a memory card will be my next adventure in gesturing and pointing at what I’d like to buy. I’ve pretty much worn out my trusty sneakers, and I’ve still got trips planned in the next few days, which means I’ll need to decide how badly I need new shoes.
Overall, I’m very grateful for my sushi addiction, because it prepared me to handle my chopsticks pretty well (slippery noodle dishes are tricky, but I’m figuring it out because slippery noodle dishes are my current favorite). Speaking of which, it’s dinner-time and I’m thinking…dumplings.
The time change wasn’t so bad. My flight left Seattle around 5:00 pm, which meant that from my window seat, I got to watch an impressive 8 hour sunset. By watching back-to-back movies and reading for a while, I managed to stay up for 24 hours straight and sleep as soon as I arrived (around 10 pm) which put me right on my new time, no problem. My trip back will involve magic time-travelling capabilities, as I’ll arrive in Seattle four hours before I leave Beijing. We’ll see how that goes.
Right. Dumplings. And maybe a beer. And that’s the story so far…
An Erinku:
my favorite
purchase so far
a fuzzy, warm
panda hat
I have discovered that when left to my own devices, I am fully capable of living on noodles and dumplings for all my meals. I have also discovered that I know how to ask for beer, wine, and coffee in about five different languages now, which suggests what type of traveler I really am. I also realize that I am still completely terrified of the “hole in the floor” toilets, which are all over the place in public. And with stalls being optional, I am grateful for my bladder of steel to help me reach a “Western toilet” every so often.
In the past five days, I’ve visited the Forbidden City, Tiananmen Square, the Summer Palace, and the Temple of Heaven. I’ve already filled up the memory on my dinky, little camera so getting a memory card will be my next adventure in gesturing and pointing at what I’d like to buy. I’ve pretty much worn out my trusty sneakers, and I’ve still got trips planned in the next few days, which means I’ll need to decide how badly I need new shoes.
Overall, I’m very grateful for my sushi addiction, because it prepared me to handle my chopsticks pretty well (slippery noodle dishes are tricky, but I’m figuring it out because slippery noodle dishes are my current favorite). Speaking of which, it’s dinner-time and I’m thinking…dumplings.
The time change wasn’t so bad. My flight left Seattle around 5:00 pm, which meant that from my window seat, I got to watch an impressive 8 hour sunset. By watching back-to-back movies and reading for a while, I managed to stay up for 24 hours straight and sleep as soon as I arrived (around 10 pm) which put me right on my new time, no problem. My trip back will involve magic time-travelling capabilities, as I’ll arrive in Seattle four hours before I leave Beijing. We’ll see how that goes.
Right. Dumplings. And maybe a beer. And that’s the story so far…
An Erinku:
my favorite
purchase so far
a fuzzy, warm
panda hat
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
An average day in my life
In the span of one hour, I found out my passport had been delivered to some random business elsewhere in Denver and I was in the music building elevator when it decided to break. I did the emergency call button thing that I've always wondered about. The operator dude who answered seemed awfully surprised that I wasn't completely freaked out by being stuck in an elevator. I assured him that if I'd been plummeting down towards the basement, it would have been a completely different story. Since the elevator and I were just chilling between the third and fourth floors, it was a very calm adventure.
While he paged an officer and kept me on the line (in case things changed or I needed to remember that there was an outside world), I hung out in the elevator. In a way, it was a nice change from my frantic life pace of the past how-ever many days. After a bunch of minutes in a row, the elevator woke up from its nap and decided it was time to move up a floor and spit me out. I thanked the operator dude and dashed out the doors before I could get stuck again. I saw the officer had arrived and was doing magic elevator things, so I let him be.
Once I got back to the day job, I got flagged down because FedEx had picked up my passport package from where they mistakenly delivered it and brought it to where it was addressed. My adventures today were on the mild side, but they were bizarre enough to be adventurous. After working a bunch of extra time today, and having finished 95% of finals' stuff, I'm planning on a night in and plan on avoiding metal boxes that travel between floors for the rest of the day. Irony does power the universe, after all.
An Erinku:
somehow a bit of
worky-work made it
into my home
I am not feeling worky
Monday, March 7, 2011
A hodgepodge. Hodgepodge sounds like a type of soup, actually.
While I stare at an empty page, waiting to start my last paper for the quarter, I am reminded that of all my procrastination tools, I haven't resorted to blog in a while. I have, however, submitted to the complete evil that is Groupon. I was doing all right, snubbing their bikini wax ads and managing to resist good spaghetti deals, but when they were selling adventures at the local microbrewery, my mouse refused to do the automatic delete action. It also didn't help that they hadn't noticed my lack of buying anything and offered me a coupon, which means that my upcoming microbrewery adventure cost about $3. The next thing you know, I'll run out to buy and SUV, move to the suburbs and have a fish named "Bubbles." Wait...
Speaking of Bubbles, I've (at some point in the past) read that fish are smarter than we give them credit for and that they can actually recognize their humans. I do know that he hangs out in whatever corner of the tank is closest to me when I'm home and is very excited for breakfast each morning. And I feel like I love this fact enough that I've probably talked about it at least ten times. It may actually turn out that my fish is smarter than I am; he hasn't repeated himself to me, as far as I know.
I have few silly stories about my fellow humans. I'm sure the stories are tucked away in my brain, since I'm usually thinking of one and snickering to myself in the corner, but none are coming up. I suspect it's because I'm dealing with end-of-quarter drama. There has been a movement to change the name of "The Vault" to "The Aquarium" due to a very high number of fish-y references: my apartment complex is actually called "The Dolphin Apartments" for some bizarre reason, I have a long-running nickname of "Fishy," I am convinced I was a sea otter in my past life (explaining my inability to walk on two feet confidently), and I share the space with my 11-year-old companion Bubbles. The argument was made that my wall decorations even look like sea weed...except for the butterflies.
Anyway, this is hodgepodge of random moments from my days in Denver. This quarter has been rough: since I was so sick for so long, I was basically four weeks behind all term. Next quarter will have me taking a lighter course-load (although day-job overtime will probably make up any spare time I thought I might have) and I'm sure I'll be making fun of various things as they come up. For instance, I will be taking carillon lessons, because it's loud, it's in the bell tower in the athlete's building at DU, and I LOVE the idea of making the lacrosse team being forced to listen to me practice while they run laps. I have an evil streak that has only gotten larger as I've advanced through my 30's. I suspect I'll be one of those bitchy old ladies by the time I'm 40. I feel I've earned it.
Alas, I thought I had inspiration for the start of my class paper, but I realized it was along the lines of "this book made my eyeballs bleed from too much information from 1976 and would taste best marinated in garlic and roasted at 375 for an hour." I suspect that won't be a strong start. One of my previous jobs counted on folks relying on information from the 1970's to sustain it. I am a fan of evolution and living in the now that is about 40 years later than the 1970's. I'm just saying. And on that note, I should probably try to be a student (rather than a grown-up) and start on my paper. I should have it done in an hour or so, once I get going.
An Erinku!
oh little laptop
your blinky light is red
I'll plug you in soon,
be happy
Speaking of Bubbles, I've (at some point in the past) read that fish are smarter than we give them credit for and that they can actually recognize their humans. I do know that he hangs out in whatever corner of the tank is closest to me when I'm home and is very excited for breakfast each morning. And I feel like I love this fact enough that I've probably talked about it at least ten times. It may actually turn out that my fish is smarter than I am; he hasn't repeated himself to me, as far as I know.
I have few silly stories about my fellow humans. I'm sure the stories are tucked away in my brain, since I'm usually thinking of one and snickering to myself in the corner, but none are coming up. I suspect it's because I'm dealing with end-of-quarter drama. There has been a movement to change the name of "The Vault" to "The Aquarium" due to a very high number of fish-y references: my apartment complex is actually called "The Dolphin Apartments" for some bizarre reason, I have a long-running nickname of "Fishy," I am convinced I was a sea otter in my past life (explaining my inability to walk on two feet confidently), and I share the space with my 11-year-old companion Bubbles. The argument was made that my wall decorations even look like sea weed...except for the butterflies.
Anyway, this is hodgepodge of random moments from my days in Denver. This quarter has been rough: since I was so sick for so long, I was basically four weeks behind all term. Next quarter will have me taking a lighter course-load (although day-job overtime will probably make up any spare time I thought I might have) and I'm sure I'll be making fun of various things as they come up. For instance, I will be taking carillon lessons, because it's loud, it's in the bell tower in the athlete's building at DU, and I LOVE the idea of making the lacrosse team being forced to listen to me practice while they run laps. I have an evil streak that has only gotten larger as I've advanced through my 30's. I suspect I'll be one of those bitchy old ladies by the time I'm 40. I feel I've earned it.
Alas, I thought I had inspiration for the start of my class paper, but I realized it was along the lines of "this book made my eyeballs bleed from too much information from 1976 and would taste best marinated in garlic and roasted at 375 for an hour." I suspect that won't be a strong start. One of my previous jobs counted on folks relying on information from the 1970's to sustain it. I am a fan of evolution and living in the now that is about 40 years later than the 1970's. I'm just saying. And on that note, I should probably try to be a student (rather than a grown-up) and start on my paper. I should have it done in an hour or so, once I get going.
An Erinku!
oh little laptop
your blinky light is red
I'll plug you in soon,
be happy
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Hairbrushes cost about $6
Every few years, I chop off most of my hair and donate it to make wigs for kids who have cancer (locksoflove.org for those of you thinking this is a good idea, which it is!). I then start growing it out again. And every few years, there comes a time when I snap a brush in half while dealing with my hair. I have a long-standing hate with my hair. It grows really fast, fairly straight (except more curly rencently), and is monster thick. There is always the day that the thickness of my hair times the length is enough to snap a regular brush, and it always happens when my hair is just below shoulder length.
It actually doesn't hurt, since I and my hair have epic fights every morning and all nerves in my scalp seem immune to pain, but untangling half of a brush from a forest of hair is eight kinds of annoying and involves a minimum of six different swear words.
Anyway, I have reached that length and lost a good brush in a mighty battle. Luckily, I know my hair and had a replacement brush ready. As I muttered malevolently about my hair, my mom suggested I chop it all off again. I've got about three inches to go before I can donate. This means I'll be "pretty" for my graduate recital before chopping it all off to start the cycle again. Hair. Bah.
An Erinku:
I suspect
loads of laundry
to be gremlin-powered
(doubling in number in the night)
It actually doesn't hurt, since I and my hair have epic fights every morning and all nerves in my scalp seem immune to pain, but untangling half of a brush from a forest of hair is eight kinds of annoying and involves a minimum of six different swear words.
Anyway, I have reached that length and lost a good brush in a mighty battle. Luckily, I know my hair and had a replacement brush ready. As I muttered malevolently about my hair, my mom suggested I chop it all off again. I've got about three inches to go before I can donate. This means I'll be "pretty" for my graduate recital before chopping it all off to start the cycle again. Hair. Bah.
An Erinku:
I suspect
loads of laundry
to be gremlin-powered
(doubling in number in the night)
Saturday, February 12, 2011
New Math
Late last night/early this morning, I learned that marathons are always 26 miles long. I always knew they were long, but am not involved in that world, so I figured there was some variation. Since there isn't, I instantly liked the idea of using them as a unit of measurement. Such as, "The road trip is about 10 marathons long."
Then one of my houseguests mentioned that, when younger, they would measure drives by the number of Sesame Street (one hour) or Mr. Rogers (30 minutes) episodes. This lead to the discovery that if you drove 52 miles per hour (or two marathons per hour), Mr. Rogers = one marathon.
There was some speculation at one point about how Mr. Rogers would compare with the StayPuft Marshmallow Man now that he was 26 miles tall, and that Big Bird really is a huge canary. Then math was used to figure that if you walk a marathon, it will take 6-7 hours (if you're a fast walker), meaning that walking a marathon = one complete A&E Pride and Prejudice or one of the very extended Lord of the Rings movies.
This lead to idle speculation about the ratio of Mr. Darcys to Aragorns and my firm conviction of using Colin Firth as a unit of measurement (6'1" according to Goggle). Meaning that there are 22567.8 Colin Firths per marathon. I am absolutely convinced that continuing in this direction will lead to unraveling all the universe's secrets.
I'm up briefly in the middle of my night because, in my dreams, I was trying to figure out the number of Colin Firths per marathon. It's complex enough math that I needed to be awake. And now that it's 6:30, it's time to go back to sleep.
An Erinku:
I walk
about
40 Colin Firths
to work
Sunday, January 23, 2011
A Lame Version of "Heart of Darkness"
Today, I went directly into the heart of yuppy-dom (or preppy-dom). I had a gift card that I wanted to use, and the nearest version of the store was smack in the middle of Cherry Creek. Sigh. I resisted valet parking (which is a whole other rant, by the way, since malls don't need valet!) and I avoided being hit by a variety of expensive brands of cars. Just because you still drive a Hummer, doesn't mean you don't need to look before pulling out into traffic!
Right. I had a mental shopping list for my trip. I needed more coffee things for my new espresso machine and I needed a good-size, single-serve, spaghetti making pot because my usual one has been leaking Teflon and the word on the street is that's bad.
I bypassed an entire floor of red underwear (Valentine's day is coming up, it seems) and made it safely to the kitchenware section. After 20 minutes of looking, it seems that only crazy people want a single pot. The way to go is to buy a $400 12-piece set. I could feel the pent-up angst I've had building for a few days reach the point where I physically had to walk away from the section with my hands covering my mouth to stop me from ranting aloud.
I'm glad none of the helper monkeys there asked if I was looking for something, because I would have been terribly clear about what I was looking for: "Say you are a girl living alone. Say you want to make spaghetti. What would you use? Maybe something called a pot? Say you have pans and cookie sheets and don't want to spend $400 on yet more pans and cookie sheets. Say you are in this particular store right now looking for a single spaghetti pot. Oh store helper monkey, tell me: WHERE ARE YOUR POTS?!"
Like I said, I've had some crankiness building for a little bit. So that was my internal rant, physically held in by my hands over my mouth. I wandered over to the coffee section and was happy to see everything I was looking for. I filled my little basket with much coffee happiness, purchased my purchases and left as fast as I could. Yuppiness is contagious and my immune system is overloaded. If I come down with a case of Abercrombie & Fitch, I'll need someone to slap me until I submit. Wuf. Creepy.
An Erinku:
bowl chair of tipping
I'll sit here
watching chick flicks
until I feel better
Monday, January 17, 2011
One step back, two to the front
Lately, I've been dealing with the whole resentment thing. I won't forget and am struggling with forgiving. It's still too much fun to imagine several series of bizarre, increasingly humiliating events happening, like a hungry T-Rex parachuting in on some random Wednesday or the wild daydream of hiring ninjas to steal cookies while smacking heads around. So I imagine evil scenes and I write in my "anger" journal, which will be used as kindling the next time I go camping. I know who the most selfish people in the world are, and I will not be making them cookies any time soon. Pbbbt.
Right. Enough of the emo. I am Erin, I am starting to stare down the beginning of my 33rd year, and I am the maker of a variety of awesome foods this weekend. I sometimes kick ass at cello and am routinely found in my bathtub reading Jane Austen while listening to indie rock when I should be listening to some high-brow classical stuff. I drink too many espresso shots and have a monstrous crush on David Boreanaz. I sometimes enjoy sneezing and always enjoy short sentences.
Moral of today's story: piss me off and you won't get any cookies.
An Erinku:
I have
five glow-in-the-dark
bracelets.
I just need a reason...
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Hyperbole, because all the cool kids are doing it.
One portion of my classes this quarter meets on Saturday mornings. This portion consists of approximately 75-1200 little children running around with miniature cellos, violins, and violas. There is usually a point where all 1500 children (and parents) gather and watch a music recital. At any given time, there is someone falling down the stairs, two meltdowns in progress, and 423 whispered conversations.
This is all a bit creepy to me for a variety of reasons. I also don't have children of my own, and considering most of the kids are under 10, I could take any one of them and pass them off as my own child very feasibly. Yesterday's creepiness had to do with a lack of seating for the 5000 or so people in the room.
So. I propped myself up against a table covered with other grad students (I prefer to travel in grad-student-clumps in case the miniature people get restless). I choose to lean against the table because wondering aloud how many grad students can one table support just sounds like the beginning of a disappointing joke.
Right. I leaned. And I suddenly felt a repeated butt tapping. I looked over and some little, little girl was climbing up on the table too. She was excited her teacher was on the table and wanted to sit by her. So I watched the recital, had my butt tapped, and was enjoying my leaning as much as I could without having any more coffee.
And then the little, little girl sneezed. Many visions went through my head. All of them involving the airspeed velocity of contagious children. Luckily, her dad took her outside to wipe her nose (ew!).
I don't have (and never had) any interest in being a teacher for small children. If I want strange children sneezing on me, I would have my own. If I had a time machine, I would go back to Disneyland and wrap that little boy who sneezed in my face in a HazMat suit and turn him over to the government, because I'm convinced he passed along most of the world's diseases to me with that single, disgusting sneeze.
I've also considered the possibility that he wasn't an actual little boy, but was merely a construction of cardboard and plastic used by his mad scientist father to pass along interesting concoctions of illnesses to those who walked by. I'm concerned that I've slept 15 hours in a row and feel a touch feverish, which is how I spent a lot of December. Possible relapses make for interesting conspiracy theories.
An Erinku (in a waking up haze):
my eyelid twitches
I assume it's
Morse Code for:
Stop. Coffee Time.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
My laptop is wily but still can't connect to L.A. airport's internet. Alas.
2010 has been a year of...stuff and things. I've had a lot of adventures, starting with the great “I'll fly stand-by to get home from Oregon on New Year's” idea last January, which had me visiting all sorts of cities on the west coast before ending up in Reno where my mom bought me a ticket home. February's highlight was my epic face-plant while chasing after a bus, which is still funny to think about.
March was about my annual birthday festivities, which involved losing my phone for a week, unexpected snow days, spring break, and getting my wee laptop as a present, which has been my little buddy for over nines months now. April was about big drama at the day-job (phone-in threats), going to a grown-up parties and keggers, and getting comfortable with my deep love of plastic cheese.
May was all angsty as I was in the final stretch of school year and was very excited for what would turn out to be my summer “break.” Compounding the angsty-ness was the big move into my first apartment on my own. Good-bye Hobbit Hole, hello to The Vault! In June, I managed to save the day by an emergency American Cheese shopping trip for the all-school cook-out. June was also the month I continually went to a different small-town festivals and danced under tents to cheesy bands all while starting on my insane idea of taking three classes over the summer (in addition to weekly cello lessons).
July's highlight was Oswald the migrating avocado: an art installation on campus that weighed about 200 pounds and kept getting displayed in different areas, which had the unexpected result of startling me during my evening walks. This made him a very suspicious and ominous avocado of mysterious intent. I was also struggling with my incapacitating bath addiction and, while soaking in the tub, I would think about the many reasons why I should shower instead. I'm down to maybe two baths a week now, but am willing to take more when feeling sick, stressy, cranky, or on Thursdays.
August was overshadowed by finals and the horror that the school year would be officially starting again in a few short weeks, I was still taking summer cello lessons on top of my three other classes, and starting to cut crappy “friends” out of my life. The horror of the school year starting intensified throughout the month. I also chose to celebrate Bubbles' 10-year birthday with a little cupcake (which I ate) and a lit candle (which I blew out instead of dunking in his water) and by singing out-of-tune. I'll pretend the out-of-tune part was on purpose. I'm not the best singer.
September started off with a bang and my insane project of writing a short book over Labor Day weekend, which is still being revised and expanded. “'Patience is a virtue', says the bunny,” says my family. And then school started with a speed that made my eyes water and made me look like I had permanent bed-head. I started my cult classes, lost entire weekends, and developed a very definite opinion about music education over the course of the quarter. October was much the same with cult classes and lost weekends. However, I finally got my very own minion at the day-job and went to Halloween parties all over Colorado.
November had the flavor of panic about finals, my car having leprosy problems with losing bits and pieces when I touched them, round #2 of cutting crappy “friends” out of my life, and going to Disneyland for Thanksgiving! From November 26th to about December 20th, I was dealing with being seriously ill. Sleep was my #1 priority and sickness my #1 complaint. I lost many days of my life in fevers and sleeping, and was suspiciously zombie-like the rest of the time.
The rest of December has been FANTASTIC! I'm up and moving around, I've been playing a lot in Reno, and I've finally gotten better enough to practice cello regularly...much to my teacher's soon-to-be happiness and his to-be unhappiness that I'm not further along in my assignments. Also, I'm now officially halfway through my degree!
I sometimes like to have an overview of my year, since I live the day-to-day adventures and forget there are larger chunks of time I could look at. Overall, 2010 was all right. I've learned that:
-
When needed, I can take care of myself. I needed help with the whole “getting my own apartment for the very first time thing” (thanks again, Mom!) and I would have enjoyed a housemate to make soup and buy kleenex when I was sick, but then I'd have to share my bathtub rights, so it all works out.
-
While there is a mix of good and bad in everyone, sometimes the ratio is tilted too much for me to enjoy. Friends are people who care about each other, who are supportive and wonderful and don't judge your looks on an after-wine cry-fest. They don't gossip or back-stab and they DON'T enjoy causing you pain (but may make fun of you once you're feeling better). I am grateful for the friends I have. We are equally fine with doing self-invites for cookies/company with each other, boo-hooing over beer, or harassing each other to come to concerts or whatever event is going on. At least I think they are fine with all that. I'd better save karaoke night until I'm sure.
-
The people in row 18 thought it would be a good idea to bring a plastic truck on the plane for their kid to enjoy. During our ascent, the truck first rolled back to row 19, then to row 23, and finally again to 20 before stopping. Not all ideas are good ideas on take-off.
-
The world is more beautiful than I usually realize. Every now and I then I need to take a break and notice. And sometimes you notice a plastic truck slowly rolls by and bonks into the beverage cart.
-
The old, happy me is surfacing after a few years on sabbatical. And I have a minion now. Beware: world domination looms.
-
Kids on a leash are funny every time.
Dear 2011, I have a LOT of school to get through during the next 18 months. Please let the next 12 be fairly easy and full of good goodness! I know I've got at least two international trips planned, as well as attending one big party in Las Vegas. Bubbles will be 11 and Beethoven will still be dead, de-composing (har, har, har) unless the zombie apocalypse happens. If it does, then I'd like to ask for an IKEA to open up in Denver to distract Beethoven, because according to Christopher Moore, zombies like IKEA second only to eating brains. And on that random tangent, I consider 2010 to be done.
An Erinku:
A baby bottle from row 18
has been stopped
by my right foot
woo-hoo plane rides!
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