(My mom sent this to me today, and today in particular, it seems important to share.)

A Contemplation on Music

Welcome address to parents of the incoming freshman class at Boston Conservatory,
given by Karl Paulnack, pianist and director of the music division at Boston Conservatory.

One of my parents' deepest fears, I suspect, is that society would not properly value me as a musician, that I wouldn't be appreciated. I had very good grades in high school, I was good in science and math, and they imagined that as a doctor or a research chemist or an engineer, I might be more appreciated than I would be as a musician. I still remember my mother's remark when I announced my decision to apply to music school-she said, "you're WASTING your SAT scores." On some level, I think, my parents were not sure themselves what the value of music was, what its purpose was. And they LOVED music, they listened to classical music all the time. They just weren't really clear about its function.

So let me talk about that a little bit, because we live in a society that puts music in the "arts and entertainment" section of the newspaper, and serious music, the kind your kids are about to engage in, has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with entertainment, in fact it's the opposite of entertainment. Let me talk a little bit about music, and how it works.

The first people to understand how music really works were the ancient Greeks. And this is going to fascinate you; the Greeks said that music and astronomy were two sides of the same coin. Astronomy was seen as the study of relationships between observable, permanent, external objects, and music was seen as the study of relationships between invisible, internal, hidden objects. Music has a way of finding the big, invisible moving pieces inside our hearts and souls
and helping us figure out the position of things inside us. Let me give you some examples of how this works.

One of the most profound musical compositions of all time is the Quartet for the End of Time written by French composer Olivier Messiaen in 1940. Messiaen was 31 years old when France entered the war against Nazi Germany. He was captured by the Germans in June of 1940, sent across Germany in a cattle car and imprisoned in a concentration camp.

He was fortunate to find a sympathetic prison guard who gave him paper and a place to compose. There were three other musicians in the camp, a cellist, a violinist, and a clarinetist, and Messiaen wrote his quartet with these specific players in mind. It was performed in January 1941 for four thousand prisoners and guards in the prison camp. Today it is one of the most famous masterworks in the repertoire.

Given what we have since learned about life in the concentration camps, why would anyone in his right mind waste time and energy writing or playing music? There was barely enough energy on a good day to find food and water, to avoid a beating, to stay warm, to escape torture; why would anyone bother with music? And yet, from the camps, we have poetry, we have music, we have visual art. It wasn't just this one fanatic Messiaen; many, many people created art.

Why?

Well, in a place where people are only focused on survival, on the bare necessities, the obvious conclusion is that art must be, somehow, essential for life. The camps were without money, without hope, without commerce, without recreation, without basic respect, but they were not without art. Art is part of survival; art is part of the human spirit, an unquenchable expression of who we are. Art is one of the ways in which we say, "I am alive, and my life has meaning."

On September 12, 2001, I was a resident of Manhattan. That morning I reached a new understanding of my art and its relationship to the world. I sat down at the piano that morning at 10 AM to practice as was my daily routine; I did it by force of habit, without thinking about it. I lifted the cover on the keyboard, and opened my music, and put my hands on the keys and took my hands off the keys. And I sat there and thought, does this even matter? Isn't this completely
irrelevant? Playing the piano right now, given what happened in this city yesterday, seems silly, absurd, irreverent, pointless. Why am I here? What place has a musician in this moment in time? Who needs a piano player right now? I was completely lost.

And then I, along with the rest of New York, went through the journey of getting through that week. I did not play the piano that day, and in fact I contemplated briefly whether I would ever want to play the piano again. And then I observed how we got through the day. At least in my neighborhood, we didn't shoot hoops or play Scrabble. We didn't play cards to pass the time, we didn't watch TV, we didn't shop, we most certainly did not go to the mall. The first organized activity that I saw in New York, that same day, was singing. People sang. People sang around fire houses, people sang We Shall Overcome. Lots of people sang America the Beautiful. The first organized public event that I remember was the Brahms Requiem, later that week, at
Lincoln Center, with the New York Philharmonic. The first organized public expression of grief, our first communal response to that historic event, was a concert. That was the beginning of a sense that life might go on. The US Military secured the airspace, but recovery was led by the arts, and by music in particular, that very night.*

From these experiences, I have come to understand that music is not part of "arts and entertainment," as the newspaper section would have us believe. It's not a luxury, a lavish thing that we fund from leftovers of our budgets, not a plaything or an amusement or a pass-time. Music is a basic need of human survival. Music is one of the ways we make sense of our lives, one of the ways in which we express feelings when we have no words, a way for us to understand things with our hearts when we can't with our minds.

Some of you may know Samuel Barber's heart-wrenchingly beautiful piece, Adagio for Strings. If you don't know it by that name, then some of you may know it as the background music which accompanied the Oliver Stone movie Platoon, a film about the Vietnam War. If you know
that piece of music either way, you know it has the ability to crack your heart open like a walnut; it can make you cry over sadness you didn't know you had. Music can slip beneath our conscious reality to get at what's really going on inside us the way a good therapist does.

I bet that you have never been to a wedding where there was absolutely no music. There might have been only a little music, there might have been some really bad music, but I bet you there was some music. And something very predictable happens at weddings – people get all pent up with all kinds of emotions, and then there's some musical moment where the action of the wedding stops and someone sings or plays the flute or something. And even if the music is lame,
even if the quality isn't good, predictably 30 or 40 percent of the people who are going to cry at a wedding, cry a couple of moments after the music starts.

Why?

The Greeks. Music allows us to move around those big invisible pieces of ourselves and rearrange our insides so that we can express what we feel even when we can't talk about it. Can you imagine watching Indiana Jones or Superman or Star Wars with the dialogue but no
music? What is it about the music swelling up at just the right moment in ET so that all the softies in the audience start crying at exactly the same moment? I guarantee you, if you showed the movie with the music stripped out, it wouldn't happen that way. The Greeks: Music is the understanding of the relationship between invisible internal objects.

I'll give you one more example, the story of the most important concert of my life. I must tell you I have played a little less than a thousand concerts in my life so far. I have played in places that I
thought were important. I like playing in Carnegie Hall; I enjoyed playing in Paris; it made me very happy to please the critics in St. Petersburg. I have played for people I thought were important; music critics of major newspapers, foreign heads of state. The most important concert of my entire life took place in a nursing home in Fargo, ND, about 4 years ago.

I was playing with a very dear friend of mine who is a violinist. We began, as we often do, with Aaron Copland's Sonata, which was written during World War II and dedicated to a young friend of Copland's, a young pilot who was shot down during the war. Now we often talk to our audiences about the pieces we are going to play rather than providing them with written program notes. But in this case, because we began the concert with this piece, we decided to talk about the
piece later in the program and to just come out and play the music without explanation.

Midway through the piece, an elderly man seated in a wheelchair near the front of the concert hall began to weep. This man, whom I later met, was clearly a soldier-even in his 70's, it was clear from his buzz-cut hair, square jaw and general demeanor that he had spent a good deal of his life in the military. I thought it a little bit odd that someone would be moved to tears by that particular movement of that particular piece, but it wasn't the first time I've heard crying
in a concert and we went on with the concert and finished the piece.

When we came out to play the next piece on the program, we decided to talk about both the first and second pieces, and we described the circumstances in which the Copland was written and mentioned its dedication to a downed pilot. The man in the front of the audience became so disturbed that he had to leave the auditorium. I honestly figured that we would not see him again, but he did come backstage afterwards, tears and all, to explain himself.

What he told us was this: "During World War II, I was a pilot, and I was in an aerial combat situation where one of my team's planes was hit. I watched my friend bail out, and watched his parachute open, but the Japanese planes which had engaged us returned and machine gunned across the parachute chords so as to separate the parachute from the pilot, and I watched my friend drop away into the ocean, realizing that he was lost. I have not thought about this for many
years, but during that first piece of music you played, this memory returned to me so vividly that it was as though I was reliving it. I didn't understand why this was happening, why now, but then when you came out to explain that this piece of music was written to commemorate a lost pilot, it was a little more than I could handle.

How does the music do that? How did it find those feelings and those memories in me?"

Remember the Greeks: music is the study of the invisible relationship between internal objects. This concert in Fargo was the most important work I have ever done. For me to play for this old soldier and help him connect, somehow, with Aaron Copland, and to connect their memories of their lost friends, to help him remember and mourn his friend, this is my work. This is why music matters.

What follows is part of the talk I will give to this year's freshman class when I welcome them a few days from now. The responsibility I will charge your sons and daughters with is this:

"If we were a medical school, and you were here as a med student practicing appendectomies, you'd take your work very seriously because you would imagine that some night at 2:00 AM someone is going to waltz into your emergency room and you're going to have to save
their life. Well, my friends, someday at 8:00 PM someone is going to walk into your concert hall and bring you a mind that is confused, a heart that is overwhelmed, a soul that is weary. Whether
they go out whole again will depend partly on how well you do your craft.

"You're not here to become an entertainer, and you don't have to sell yourself. The truth is you don't have anything to sell; being a musician isn't about dispensing a product, like selling used Chevies. I'm not an entertainer; I'm a lot closer to a paramedic, a firefighter, a rescue worker. You're here to become a sort of therapist for the human soul, a spiritual version of a chiropractor,
physical therapist, someone who works with our insides to see if they get things to line up, to see if we can come into harmony with ourselves and be healthy and happy and well.

"Frankly, ladies and gentlemen, I expect you not only to master music; I expect you to save the planet. If there is a future wave of wellness on this planet, of harmony, of peace, of an end to war, of mutual understanding, of equality, of fairness, I don't expect it will come from a government, a military force or a corporation. I no longer even expect it to come from the religions of the world, which together seem to have brought us as much war as they have peace. If there is a future of peace for humankind, if there is to be an understanding of how these invisible, internal things should fit together, I expect it will come from the artists, because that's what we do. As in the concentration camp and the evening of 9/11, the artists are the ones who might be able to help us with our internal, invisible lives."

You know, if I think of this "marketing coordinator" person as another character that I get to play...

I had my yearly Guinness today in celebration of St. Patrick's Day. It's such a fantastic beer. And I got to enjoy it with friends I hadn't seen in a very long time, which was really nice. Sometimes I get caught up in the drama of the everyday life of my immediate friends and family, and I forget that there are other people out there, doing other things, leading other lives, who are wonderful, interesting, vibrant people from whom I can learn a lot. So (not to discount my closest circle of friends - you guys know I love you), it was kind of cool to hang out with people I don't see very often.

I dunno. I think I'm deciding to not be pissy. I think the weather helps. The fact that I was able to take down the plastic on my windows. The fact that I could wear a short sleeved shirt to work. Whether or not my life is what I want it to be right now, there has to be something good that I can get out of it, so I'm going to get what I can out of it. I get to move to a new apartment soon (I think - still gotta find a place), baseball season is about to start, there are lots of flowers on my tomato plants, my cat has (I believe) agreed to move with me. There is plenty to bring joy and comfort, and I think I need to start recognizing that again.

Happy St. Patrick's Day.

Reason #6 to not buy more clothes: The more clothing you have, the more laundry you have to do.

So I think I've already told you that I'm moving this summer. I'm ready to live in an apartment that is properly heated, doesn't have holes in the ceiling, and where the doors actually close all the way. I know, I'm asking a lot. And I also know that I still have plenty of time to find the place that is just right for me. My lease isn't up until the end of May, so I have two and a half months. A lot of places don't even know if they will have space available come June yet anyway. But I have to say, I've contacted about four or five places already, and only one has responded. Granted, I'm emailing instead of calling, but if your ad says, "call or email" and you don't respond to emails, then just say "call to schedule a showing." Don't even offer email as an option. There is another place that wants you to fax them with the best time for your to view the apartment - I've faxed them twice and not heard one single peep out of them. Which I have to admit is frustrating. Why post ads for rental apartments if you're not going to talk to the people who are interested in renting them?

I know I have a lot of time to find a good place. And with my recent job upgrade situation, I can afford a slightly cooler place than I have now (not temperature-wise, grooviness-wise). I'm collecting boxes already, and I got some Space Bags to put my smooshables in. I'm psyching myself up mentally to get out of where I am now and move to somewhere, possibly even in a different neighborhood. I just wish I could see the apartments I've found online that I would like to see.

I know, I'm asking a lot.

Lately, I've been feeling very normal. Which, for me, is not normal. I'm not saying that normal is bad. It's just odd for me. I've gotten into this pattern of going to work, coming home, working out, eating dinner, falling asleep, waking up in the middle of the night, not sleeping, and going to work again. Lather, rinse, repeat. And there are millions of people out there who follow that same pattern, or one similar to it. And it works for millions of people. But it is not what my life has been for the last eleven and a half years, so it feels strange to me. It feels wrong to not have a show, or a band practice, or a fundraising cause, or a something. It feels wrong to be thinking about my job 24-7. It feels wrong to be in a decent financial position when there are so many people out there who aren't. It feels wrong to be making career progress in a career that is not my career of choice, or even a career I'm necessarily qualified for. And I know there are people out there who are thinking, "I can't believe she's posting that on a blog! What if her boss finds it?" Thing is, I've already told my boss that I'm completely unqualified for this position, but they offered it to me anyway.

I don't know. I'm restless. I'm afraid I'm being set up to fail. And I'm annoyed that I'm missing out on one key component of being normal - I don't have a partner. That would seem to be the most fun part of being "normal," and it's the one part that is perpetually missing. I don't know that I have the energy to do anything about that at the moment, though. I think I need to wrap my head around being "normal" first, and see if it's the kind of thing that suits me.

So one thing about being an introvert, or a woman, or a person, is that I feel I have to be "on" when I go visit friends. When I go out, I feel like I have to be entertaining and engaging and all that stuff. Which is what exhausts me most as an introvert and what cuts visits short - I need to go be "off" for a bit. But what I'm realizing is that I have more people in my life than I thought with whom I don't have to be "on." I can just "be." And I think that is just about the most wonderful thing in the world. To get to just "be."

I went to visit my honorary sister this weekend and her kids and her family, and I just got to "be." I got to read books to kids while they sat on my lap, which just about melted me. I always wonder, when I become a mom, am I going to be the kind of mom whose kids snuggle up to her? I always feel weird snuggling up to other people - it's the introvert in me not wanting to get into their personal space. But when its my kids, I think I'd like them to be snuggly, or at least to know that it's okay for them to be snuggly with me. They can sit in my lap, or hold my hand, or whatever. They're my kids - I want them to know it's okay. So to have these kids this weekend just crawl into my lap - it was great. And then to read them stories while they turned the page and we talked about the stories as they went along...there is something so therapeutic about spending time with kids. It seems to give things purpose. I'm not some crazy creepy person you don't want around your kids - don't worry about that. I just think it's amazing how they learn and how they think and when you can get a kid to smile...that's beauty, right there.

So thank you to my friends for having me out for the weekend. It was so good to see all of you. And thank you for being the kind of people around whom I can just be me.

So the first spring training game of the season is on WGN tonight and I just about cried when I saw Theriot. I've missed these guys a lot more than I realized. There's just something that feels right with the world when baseball is being played. Like I said, I'm not going to tell you who my new favorite Cub is (now that DeRosa is gone) for fear he will be traded. It's a new team this year, but it's still the Cubbies. And I know I sound crazy, but it's like Bill Murray said - if you're not a Cubs fan, you just don't get it. And that's fine. I'm one of the lucky ones - I AM a Cubs fan.

Glad to have you back, boys.

So it's March already. When did that happen? And I am now officially a Marketing Coordinator, whatever that means.

I wrote a song this weekend, and I just let it go head and be a love song, where both parties love one another and everything is going to be okay. It might be hard and annoying at times, but it's all going to be okay. Not inspired by any one person specifically; just written kind of to prove that I can write a love song that doesn't make me want to vomit. And truth be told, I'm kind of in love with this song. That usually happens when I write a new one that's even a little bit good - I can't stop playing it. But this one...I feel like it needs to be picked up by some television drama or a romantic comedy film or something. It just feels like the kind of song that would augment some other art form. Which almost makes me want to write a play or a screenplay around this song. Some tortured love story that actually turns out okay. Two people who have just been through a lot, but who recognize the beauty in one another and despite their best efforts, they can't deny it or ignore it so they just give in and say let's give it a shot. Kind of like my life in general at the moment.

If you happen to have heard it, could I bother you to tell your friends about it? Maybe if enough people hear the song, it will end up where it's supposed to be - in some TV show or film. Preferably indie.

Tee hee.

I am, in general, very disappointed in the Oscars this year. Not for who won or who didn't, but because I just don't think they're done very well this year. I don't like the changes they made (for the most part).

But I have to say I am furious that George Carlin was left out of the "In Memoriam" section. He touched so many lives in so many ways, was in so many films, made so many people laugh. His comedy went to the Supreme Court because he was a man so far ahead of his time. And the Motion Picture Academy of Arts and Sciences couldn't be bothered to put his name up on the screen for three seconds. I'm sorry, but that's crap. The world is a sadder place because George Carlin is no longer in it. They gave Heath Ledger an Oscar because he died, but they couldn't even say goodbye to George Carlin. I'm sorry, but that pisses me off.

Mr. Carlin, you are greatly missed and will be for many, many, many years to come. Thank you for bringing laughter into our lives.

The first Cubs spring training game is on Wednesday, and it's going to be broadcast on the radio. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to hearing Pat and Ron again. It's like summer might actually get here.

I've never owned a Bob Dylan record. I heard his music on the radio, or snippets in movies and stuff, but I never stopped to buy a Bob Dylan record until about a week ago. And I can't stop listening. He has a terrible voice, that heals my soul. It is exactly the kind of music I need as I hand my life back over to the Universe to do with as it pleases. By which, I just mean that I've been trying to be an artist for so long now and it doesn't seem to be going anywhere. Meanwhile, I'm not trying to be a corporate business-type person, but I just got promoted to a position I'm not at all qualified for and when I told my bosses that I'm not at all qualified for it, they essentially told me they don't care - they think I'll be great at it anyway.

So what does this say about my life? I think it says that my life is going to happen whether or not I want it to, but it may not happen the way I want it to. And I can spend my time fighting to make it something different, or I can just ride it out, see where it goes, and trust that things will work out.

And somehow, to hear Bob Dylan sing "Don't Think Twice, It's All Right" just makes it all okay. It's a passive-aggressive anger song, it's the greatest break up song ever, and it's completely hopeful at the same time. Because all of this other stuff sucked ass but just forget about it, it's all right (or will be all right). And he reminds me why I write music. And he reminds me of the kind of music I want to write. I don't know that I would have connected to Bob Dylan at an earlier time in my life - I probably wouldn't have because I would usually change the station during "Mr. Tambourine Man" but now I'm hanging on every word.

Thank you, Mr. Dylan, for comforting my aching soul. Thank you for your beauty. And thank whatever it was that made me buy your album a week and a half ago.

So it's been a really long time since I posted anything, so this is going to be a bit of a brain dump.

I honestly think that one of the best uses of my time just now is spending time with my cat. Letting him sleep on my lap, playing with him, whatever. It just feels like good energy getting pumped into a place in the universe that could use it.

My tomato plants are growing like gang busters. However it is that gang busters grow. I have little tomato plants that actually look nothing like gang busters, but they're getting bigger every day.

I wonder if I've always had the problems sleeping that I've been having lately.

I think moving this summer could be a really good thing. The apartment I'm in started off with a really weird energy, brought on by a fight with a friend. If I move to a new place, I can start it off with good energy. And I might get a better kitchen.

I wonder if other languages get as destroyed as the English language does. Clowns becoming klowns when they're killers from outer space. Izziling words to make them "street." Shortening everything because we're too lazy to speak more than once syllable at a time. How do you say, "Fo sheezy" in Chinese? Do the Chinese have any interest in having the ability to say "Fo sheezy?"

I saw a woman on the train today with a nose even smaller than mine and I couldn't help but wonder if she has the same sinus issues I do.

It is gratifying to see that there are places in the world where good deeds are recognized, and to know that even though everyone else thinks you're crazy for trying, someone is paying attention. It does also inspire a bit of guilt to know that I got something good that not a lot of people are getting right about now. But considering how far behind I was in some respects, it's nice to be gaining a little ground.

I never, in a million years, would have thought I would be going where I'm going now. But all of the places I've wanted to go for the last fifteen years aren't panning out, so maybe it's time I just sat back and went where my life wants me to go. Like when you stop looking for love, love finds you. Maybe when I stop fighting so hard, the things I'm fighting for will happen anyway. I just hope I can still get away with wearing sneakers.

And now my cat is looking at me with the "Mommy, make my favorite lap" look, so we've come full circle and I can hit publish.

So I'm realizing that I've been grumpy a lot longer than most people should be grumpy. And I'm grumpy about a lot of things. And I'm tired of being grumpy, but I'm not sure how to un-grumpy, particularly when my apartment is being insufficiently heated. I think we all know how much I hate being cold. I'm about ready to report my property management company to the city. It's 62 degrees in my apartment, and that's WITH the plastic stuff on my windows. I feel sorry for the other tenants who didn't put any up.

So I think I've decided to move this summer when my lease is up, mostly in the hopes that I'll move somewhere where the heat works on a consistent, daily basis, without me having to call and yell and scream. I know, I'm asking for a lot. But it gets me thinking - if I'm going to make a drastic move, now might be the time to do it. Try another city. See what happens. Yes, my family is in Chicago and I would have a hard time leaving them, but if it was a temporary thing... My band is once again down to just two members, so we don't have a lot on the horizon on that front just now. I'm not a member of a theater company anymore. Yes, the job market sucks, but if I started looking now, I might be able to land something in four months in another city. I am an excellent employee with lots of useful skills and experience. But the thought of even moving to another neighborhood in Chicago kind of creeps me out. I love my neighborhood. I've been here for eight years. Going somewhere else where I'll have new parking hassles and different routes to take places and a different el stop and a different grocery store and different traffic noises...it's kind of a scary thought. Plus the hassle of moving. I've accumulated a lot of shit that will have to get packed up and carted somewhere else and then unpacked again. Not to mention the stress on my cat. He was not a fan of moving the first time it happened.

And this is me, once again being grumpy. A change of scenery will probably do me a world of good. If nothing else, the prospect of a warm apartment with more than two electrical circuits so that if it does get cold, I can use my space heater without fear is kind of exciting. I have my heater on now because I'd like to be warm tonight, but I made sure that just about everything else in my apartment is off.

And I could find a place where there is more counter space in the kitchen, or at least flat, even counter space so if I wanted to, say, roll out a pie crust, it would actually roll out flat. It's a lot to ask for, I know. But I know it has to exist out there somewhere.

So I guess what I'm saying is if you know of an apartment in a decent neighborhood on the north side of Chicago, please let me know. I could use something good in my life just about now.

(I don't mean that statement to imply that I have nothing or that I don't appreciate the good things that I do have. I have a wonderful family and great friends and a job and a cat who melts me he's so cute and I've stayed pretty healthy all winter. I've just been feeling like crap for seven or eight months and am ready for that to turn around.)

Well fuck.

I don't even know what else to say but fuck.

I mean, I guess I knew it was going to happen, but still. Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

If any of you out there are offended by this language, I'm sorry, but this is one of those occasions when a tamer word just doesn't work. It doesn't capture the disappointment, the incredulity, the frustration, the anger, and the sadness. Whoever came up with the word fuck hit a stroke of genius when using it as an expletive. It really is the best one. It gets all of that. It encapsulates the disappointment, the incredulity, the frustration, the anger, and the sadness, and so much more. And there is a part of me that automatically clicks into "silver lining" mode and wants to say, well, at least we went out on a high note. But the majority of me says fuck that. Fuck it. I'm sick of this. I'm tired of trying to be the mediator between raging egos and insecurities. Fuck it. Fuck it. Fuck it.

Fuck.

I had a dream last night that I was dating a man who was so tall that my chin was about at his belly button. He got taller every time I saw him until by the end of the dream, it was just ridiculous.

I also watched this week's Grey's Anatomy this week and there was something in there about how applying large amounts of pressure to a stressed-out person (i.e. holding someone who is freaking out) will actually calm them down, lower their blood pressure. Which is why, I think, I had a dream about a giant boyfriend who would just hold me. The whole trade show thing I did this week was extremely stressful for me, not only from the perspective of the organizer/co-organizer/person who's supposed to know everything person, but also from the perspective of an introvert traveling with a herd of extroverts who don't understand the "you're lovely, but I really need to not be around you right now" thing. There was one night when I was really sick of people and really tired, but when I got back to my room, it felt weird to be alone. I invited my co-worker to come over and watch TV, which he did. We hardly even talked, just watched Family Guy and then he wetn back to his room to go to sleep and strange as it sounds, it was comforting to have him there. Maybe along the same lines as applying pressure when things get really out of hand. It's happened before, when I'm really stressed and freaking out is when I most wish I had a boyfriend who would just hold me for a minute and then go away so I could go back about my business. Weird.

Anyway. I'm home now and back to my introverted ways. I've hardly gone out since I got here, save a trip to the grocery store so I could make myself some real food. So tasty. I love to cook. I really do. I love making wonderful, savory things that fill my body with warmth and good energy. Like applying pressure from within.

So day one of my first business trip ever and I have to say, business travel is odd. It's just weird to see your coworkers out of context, but then to have them randomly start talking about work stuff.

And me, being sad little me that I am, I'm mostly wondering who commented on my Facebook page and stuff like that. I don't want to work - I want to chat with people halfway across the country. Oh well. I have to make some drapes now.

So I bought some wide leg jeans today. I was out buying trousers for work and I found some cute wide leg jeans that I just had to buy. I have to admit, they do kind of take me one step closer to being a tried and true hippie, but they are really comfortable. As they are wide leg, they don't pull around the thighs or anything. I think I might have to make this my new style.

So as I'm getting a CD together to send to Belgium, I'm listening to it and remembering that I have no idea how to play some of these song anymore. But one of them is kind of a cool female empowerment song that I almost think I should take to my band, just 'cuz it could be a fun rock anthem. The really weird part about this song in particular is that I remember thinking before that it was just kind of meh and I felt a little silly including it on The Hamburg Demos, but now I'm kind of glad it's there.

Someone in Belgium bought my CD. I'm kind of geeking out at how cool that is. I'm officially international.

Tee hee. Dank u wel, Belguim!

Relationships.

For years, I've been saying that I'm horrible at relationships, but I think that requires some revision. Yes, I have broken a couple of hearts and I feel awful about that. And I've had my heart broken a couple of times, which is largely why I feel awful about doing that to other people - I know how bad it hurts. But the word "relationship" encompasses so much more than either a) romantic relationships or b) the aftermath. So let's look closer, shall we?

I have an honorary sister who I have known since I was approximately 8 months old, and while we don't talk as often as we used to, we still love each other very much. I don't know what I would do if I didn't know her. And hopefully we're going to have a play date soon.

I have an honorary brother who I have know since I was about eight? Ish. There have been a couple of times in our history where we haven't talked for extended periods of time, but somehow we always make it back to being friends.

I have an AMAZING relationship with my mother. She is...there isn't even a word for it. We talk about everything and both come away from it feeling better or grounded or something. I don't know what I would do without her.

I have a friend in Texas unlike any other friend I have ever had. We share everything, and neither one of us judges the other, so we know that it's okay to share everything. Sure, we'll present different viewpoints and whatnot, but it is a completely open, accepting, loving friendship. You don't find that very often, if at all.

I have a guy friend in Chicago who just gets it. We're not super emotional with each other, but we both know that the other one will always have our back.

So I have these great, strong, lasting relationships in my life. How can I say I suck at relationships? I must be doing something right for these to last. So then I start thinking, "Well, I'm an introvert; it takes me a while to get to know someone." But I'm not even sure that that's true anymore. For example, when I went to my first Mensa meeting over the weekend, within minutes, I was playing games with other people, chatting, having fun. Or when I go to parties with my friends, or when I meet new people, I can keep the conversation going, even if it seems rather inane. I'm good at talking to people. I'm good at listening to people. I think, for the most part, I make a pretty good first impression.

So all that's left, really, is the romantic relationship part of things. And while I have broken a couple of hearts, I have to think about those relationships and when I do, I have to give myself credit for being a decent girlfriend. I'm thoughtful. I'm giving. No, I don't like 7 phone calls in one day, but I will go over to visit my guy on a night I really want to be by myself because I know he wants to see me. I understand compromise and I understand communication. I'm not saying I'm perfect, but I think I need to stop saying that my relationship skills are inadequate.

That being said, I'm in this really weird relationship place at the moment. I like being single. I don't like being in a romantic relationship. I honestly don't. I don't like who I turn into. I know a lot of people are happier when they have that person that they can come home to and who they get all giddy about and whatnot, but looking back on the relationships I have had, I'm usually just unhappy in them and relieved when I'm out. But I'm also starting to realize that I'm not really a spring chicken any more and if I ever want to have my own biological children, I either need to find a man in the next year or two, or I need to start making enough money that artificial insemination becomes an option. The process of looking for a guy is so unappetizing, though. My one friend says I haven't found my guy because he's not ready to find me yet. Which is sweet. I just hope he's ready sometime before I hit menopause.

I'm not desperate to have a kid. That's not my point. I'm just being realistic. If I wait too long, it won't happen at all.

So to sum up, my relationship skills are not inadequate.

So that was really nice. To just play games for a little while with some other like-minded people. To be able to be unapologetically me for a bit. And probably my favorite part was that when someone asked me what I did and I said I'm a musician and a customer service rep, they asked, "In what order?"

I scared some people with my laugh, but it's probably better that they know about it from the get-go. It could be really scary later on.

And now for something completely different.

So, according to the rumors, it's harder to get a woman to achieve orgasm than it is to get a man there. So why are most adult-themed things aimed at making the woman look sexier? Shouldn't there be more stuff out there to make men sexier for the sake of the women who take longer in the first place?

Just a thought.

I don't know if it is because I haven't paid attention to inaugurations in the past, or if it is because this one is such an historic event, but I don't remember this much pomp and circumstance before.  Or at least not this much general interest.  There are people there of every color, every age, every gender, and I can only assume every religious background, waiting outside to see Mr. Obama speak.  Which, as beautiful as this day is with the swearing in of our first African American President, makes it that much sweeter in that he has already inspired so many people from so many different backgrounds.  He's bringing us all together to work towards a brighter future.

What a fantastic day.

So tomorrow might be the biggest historical event I get to live through. The inauguration of the first African American president of the United States. The inauguration of my generation's Kennedy. It's funny - I never really cared about politics before, but every time I read something about Obama, or hear him speak, I just want to cry with relief. In a really strange way, I'm angry with George W. Bush for making the last 8 years of my life so crappy. I know it isn't really his fault, but he flushed this country down the toilet right as I was in what should have been the peak of my young life of adventure and experimentation. Right before September 11, 2001, I joined a theater company in Chicago. After September 11, nobody was going to the theater, and the company folded before I got to do a single show with them. And I don't know that the storefront theater world has recovered. What if all of that hadn't happened? What would have happened to my theatrical career, and my musical career and my social life? I'm not saying that everything that has happned in the last 8 years was awful or a waste, but what if we had had a good economy? Would I have traveled more if the dollar wasn't so weak against the Euro?

And then tomorrow, it all changes. A new regime begins. A man will step up to lead this country who has already figured out a way to inspire our generally disenfranchised youth and get them to take action to make the world a better place. I feel like we're all being freed. Our voices will be heard now. Our opinions will count. Maybe the rest of the world will stop hating us so much. Maybe my friends will all be able to find jobs. Maybe we can all learn to have faith in something again.

There is a part of me that really wishes I could be in Washington DC for it, just to feel the electricity in the air. To be in a sea of people who also just can't help but cry with relief and shout with joy at the prospect of what the future might hold. But I can't get away from my life at the moment, so I'll have to watch from home. And cry my tears of joy knowing that the world is about to change.

Happy Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. And Happy Inauguration Eve. Welcome to a whole new world.

I rode the train to the grocery store today because I didn't want to dig my car out of the snow and then have to find a place to put it again when I got home. I took the train to the sammich shop yesterday, too, for the same reason. I'm not big on battling snow. And the funny thing about it is it made me feel very urban and environmentally aware. Which brings me to my next long-winded self-analysis.

I sometimes feel like I'm not doing enough to be socially or environmentally aware. I feel guilty for leaving the little Christmas tree lights on around my windows. I feel like a hack because I don't ride a bicycle everywhere. I feel like I'm not a good vegan because I bought a thing of Comet to clean my kitchen sink when it was backed up with black goo for four days. I feel guilty every time I don't bring my own bags to the grocery store and I have to get a new one.

The thing that I know about vegans is this - you do the best you can. I don't think anyone can be 100% vegan. Hell, you go walking outside and you step on an ant without seeing it and poof! The best you can be is 99%. Being vegan, to me, is about not subjecting animals to human desires - it's about just letting animals be themselves and letting them do their own thing. Which is why my cat is not vegan. Yes, he loves Tofurkey, but he also loves fish and this braised beef canned food which seems to be the only canned food I can get him to eat at the moment and since my vet told me that he should be eating more canned food, I'm inclined to give it to him. I'm not going to make him be vegan if he doesn't want to be. But I also feel bad because if he was a cat in another household, he could lick the milk out of the cereal bowls after breakfast, or sneak scraps of chicken under the dinner table. At my house, he doesn't get to do those things. I think he's happy here, though. He does seem to think that my lap is just about the best place in the world to be. But I am the best vegan I know how to be. I buy vegan products when I can and if there isn't a vegan alternative for something I think I need, I reconsider why I even need such a thing in the first place. I don't eat honey (which gains me major points in most vegan circles). I don't pull the cheese off a pizza and eat the crust. But every now and again, I have to take a pain killer that might be in a gelcap because I'm in serious pain and nothing else is available. So I do what I can. And while I will never tell someone else that they should be vegan, I do sort of have this wish that people would consider vegetarian or vegan cuisine just another type of food, like Italian or Chinese or fried. If everyone ate one vegetarian meal a week, it would have a huge impact on the well-being of our planet (not to mention the health of each individual bringing more soy and whole grains and fresh vegetables into their own lives). So if that's the standard I'm going to hold other people to, I'm doing 21 times better than that (give or take - I will skip a meal from time to time on weekends, what with the sleeping late and all). Meaning I need to stop beating myself up when I forget to bring my own bags to the grocery store.

Social consciousness. I'm not even sure how to go about being more socially aware than I already am. On the small scale, I'm nice to the people around me. I don't judge people (or at least I try not to), and I kind of let them do their own thing - just like the animals. I read the news from time to time so I know what's going on in the world, and I try to seek out the least biased news sources possible so I'm not reading about someone else's perception of the situation, just the factual matters so I can develop my own perception.

On the slightly larger scale, I sponsor a girl in the Phillippines. I give money to charities that actually use that money to do good things. I did the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer twice to raise money and awareness. I wish I could do more, but I think that for someone living inside her own means, I'm doing pretty well.

And the environmental stuff. I met a woman about a year ago who was one of those people who stop you on the street and try to get you to give money to Greenpeace or some other similar organization by asking you what you do for the environment. My primary answer would have to be, I'm vegan. In addition to which, I recycle, I bring my own bags to the grocery store as often as I can, I've cut back on my driving by about 75%, I buy organic wherever possible, and I donate used clothes and things instead of throwing them away. I've done those "What's your carbon footprint" things and found that yes, while there are areas where I could improve, in general, my carbon footprint is on the lower end of things. Below average.

So I guess it's good to always want to do more, but I have to keep in mind that me, as I am right now, I am not inadequate when it comes to social and environmental consciousness.

I have the full explanation elsewhere, but

My intelligence is not inadequate.

So just because I air most of my dirty laundry here, I'm going to continue doing so in my efforts to clean some of it up.

It has come to our attention lately that I suffer from feelings of inadequacy. Today we're going to talk about my physical inadequacies. Please know that I'm not doing this so that people will reassure me that I look fine. I know plenty of people who think I look fine, and even a handful who think I look better than fine. This is something that is entirely in my head and it's not going to go away until I come to terms with it myself, and I'm going to try to do so here. Or at least start.

We all also know that I've been trying to get my eating under control as of late. I'm down about 10 pounds from when I started, which is actually a fine place to be. Over the holidays, I've gone up and down a pound or two - nothing drastic. And while my original plan included further weight loss, I'm starting to wonder if that's really such a good idea. I have to remember that I am who I am - it is entirely possible that my body just won't looks like an emaciated teenager no matter what I do because I am a fully developed woman over the age of 25. I have a slow metabolism as evidenced by my naturally low body temperature. If I try to get too skinny, I could end up causing serious damage to myself. And if I do get really skinny, how long is it going to last? I'm not going to spend the rest of my life eating 7 calories a day so I can look good in a bikini. I don't like swimming, for one thing, and I don't sit out to tan for another. Why should I care about looking good in a bikini?

Lately, when I've been looking in the mirror, I've been seeing pretty. I've been able to appreciate the aesthetics of my own face. I'm not sure what has brought this on, but it's there and it's nice. And it's making me think even less that I need to lose weight. It's making me think even less that I should beat myself up if I splurge and have too much ice cream after dinner one night. Though there is still the societal thing - little white girls should be little. Truth is, for the most part, I am.

Except for my butt. Today on the train, I was smushed in between seated people and some lady with a very large, very ugly green suede purse. And this particular very large, very ugly green suede purse was resting against my ass. Somehow, it was the last thing I could deal with. So in my head, I ranted at her. "Look, I realize this is a crowded train and your purse has to go somewhere, but it has been resting on my ass since you got on this train. Now, I've been trying for I don't even remember how many years to make my ass smaller, but that ain't gonna happen. At least not in the fifteen minutes we're on this train together. But you could very easily move your purse to somewhere where it isn't resting on my ass. Hell, put it on the ground between your feet. Or if it's too precious to sit on the ground for fifteen minutes, you probably shouldn't bring it on the train in the first place." And then it hit me. I've spent so much time and energy hating my butt and it's not getting any smaller. Why bother to hate it anymore? Is it really worth obsessing about? Is there a single person in my life who would love me more if I had a smaller butt or who loves me less because I'm not a size 2? And in all honesty, it's only big if you look at it straight on. From the side...I don't have a bubble butt or anything. From the side, it looks like I have a really nice figure. I'm just kind of wide in the middle if you look at me from the back. Why the hell have I been letting this dictate how I feel about myself and my worth as a human being for so long? It's so not worth it!

So I ate a thing of ice cream for dinner and I'm not going to feel in the least bit guilty about it.

I have a tumor behind my ear. It's benign and hasn't grown at all (that I know of) since it first developed, probably in high school. It's not real pretty to look at, and it makes my ears stick out and from time to time, it hurts. Only for about five seconds, like a mini headache, to remind me that it's still there. It makes wearing glasses and headbands uncomfortable, and those little ear bud earphones get annoying after a while. And there is part of me that has become self-conscious about putting my hair up since the tumor was discovered because I know people can see it and they think it's gross. But I have now had two people in my life, two people who have never met each other, tell me that my ears are really cute. My tumor makes me look elvish.

I have bad skin. Or, had bad skin. I went on these really killer pills for a while that cleared most of it up, but I still have some scarring. I think most people think they're freckles, but they're not. My skin problems were not the result of not washing my face enough, or eating too many fried foods or anything like that. I think a lot of it was genetic - both of my parents had skin problems in their teens. Thing is, my skin is, for the most part, clear now. It has a nice porcelain creaminess to it. And it's really soft. And I totally don't look my age.

I have spent the majority of my life not just thinking, but knowing, that my emotional and intellectual qualities, my brain, is what gives me worth as a human being - not my physical attributes. I spent a lot of time thinking that if I was uglier than I am, it might be easier because I wouldn't have this feeling of "if only I was a little thinner" or "if only I was a little taller" or "if only I had better skin/bigger boobs/fuller lips/etc then I would be worth more." I've spent a lot of time looking forward to my old age, thinking that when I'm wrinkled and have gray hair and liver spots, then I'll be beautiful. People will see my soul through my eyes then and I'll be beautiful. And I spent all of this time hating my physicality, when really, I've got a pretty damn good body. I'm strong. I'm a good dancer. I have a good sense of myself in space. I have big, beautiful, loving eyes. I have beautiful hands with delicate fingers that are pretty darn good at sewing and cooking and playing the guitar and typing and scritching my cat and holding onto my friends and family. I have, as my mother says, one of the world's great heads of hair. There are so many people out there, who look so different from one another, yet they are all beautiful in their own way. I think I'm finally starting to learn that I am, too. Both from a physical and a non-physical perspective. In other words,

My physical appearance is not inadequate.

Every once in a while, when I think about what sort of people I would like to have in my life, I think that I would like to know a man who loves to make music AND who will sing with me on occasion because there are a couple of male/female duets I would like to sing with someone before I die. Not necessarily professionally, or even out in public. I'd just like to sit down with a guy, pull out our guitars, and play a couple of songs.

"Fairytale of New York" by the Pogues
"Falling Slowly" by Glenn Hansard and Marketa Irglova
"When Your Mind's Made Up" by Glenn Hansard and Marketa Irglova
"Madeline and Nine" by Mike Doughty (this isn't really a duet, but the female harmony with the male lead vocal is so frickin' lovely)

I think there was another one, but I'm not remembering it at the moment.

So yeah, if you know a guy who really loves music and who wouldn't mind sitting down in one of our living rooms with me to sing some tunes with beautiful harmonies, please point him in my direction. I'm a little too chicken to ask the male musicians I already know.

So I watched this reality show yesterday that supposedly judges its contestants on their inner and outer beauty. The contestants think it's all about outer beauty, though - the inner stuff is captured on hidden cameras an stuff so we can see just how bitchy they are in real life. And as much as it was a "train wreck" show (you just can't look away), it did make me think about a couple of things.

1. Each contestant's outer beauty was scientifically measured by a cosmetic surgery/beauty expert. I'm guessing that the measurements and assessments taken were based on the studies wherein, for example, they showed babies a series of faces to see how they reacted, or they showed women pictures of various men and asked them who they'd want to marry and who they'd want to just boink and stuff like that. I know they have done studies also that show that in general, the more symmetrical a face is, the more attractive it is deemed. My main question about his whole beauty scoring system is, does it account for cultural bias? This may be a shot in the dark, but I'm guessing that the beauty ideals we subscribe to in the United States are different from those in, say, Nigeria or India or Japan or Poland. Some cultures value curvaceous women. Some cultures like long necks. Some cultures think small feet are the bee's knees. Others don't. So while I'm not disputing someone's ability to numerically quantify how physically attractive a person is, I'm just wondering how accurate the quantification system in such a multi-cultural environment. Does that make sense?

2. I found myself wondering what my beauty score would be. I will admit that recently, when I've been looking in the mirror, I'm seeing "pretty." It's a bit odd for me, but kind of nice. I hope I can hold onto that.

3. Based on the beauty scores, I was able to identify the "most" beautiful people in the bunch, as well as the "least" beautiful ones.

4. As much as the show is about pointing out that real beauty comes from within, I have to ask (and please keep in mind that I'm mostly playing devil's advocate here and I realize how potentially hypocritical this question is), how "beautiful" is it to point out the shortcomings of others and to shame them for being themselves, even if they're not the nicest people in the world? The woman who was eliminated was shown video of her own behavior as proof of how ugly her personality is, and the first bit of footage shown was of her expressing her displeasure with being deemed one of the two least attractive people in the bunch. She was being real. She was being honest. She was being herself. And she was shamed for that behavior. Is that beautiful?

I guess my thing is this - beauty is relative. For every "ugly" action, there is a flip side that may make it at least understandable. For every "beautiful" action, there is the potential for selfishness. I don't think there are any absolutes when it comes to beauty. And the sad thing is that I'll probably continue to watch the show to see who is deemed most beautiful. Personally, I'm rooting for the "really old" guy - he's 31.

So it's a little late, but happy new year. And happy 2200 posts. Wow. And I thought I hadn't been writing in here much.

I feel like I should reflect on what happened in 2008 so that I can look forward to 2009 and make resolutions and things. Thing is, 2008 really wasn't a good year for me. I lost my theater company. I lost two band members. I spent the majority of the year wondering who I am and what I want to do with my life. Probably a good thing to do, but not a whole hell of a lot of fun.

So resolutions. I don't know that I believe in resolutions so much, but I have given myself some homework assignments. I'm going to figure out what it is about me that I consider to be so inadequate so that I can then figure out a way to stop feeling like that. I'm going to dedicate more time to taking care of my health - cooking for me, working out regularly. I'm going to find a group of people to help push me to be more than who I am - I'm hoping this is where Mensa will come in. and I'm going to try to not be so angry all of the time. I've been angry a lot about things that really don't matter, probably either just so I can be passionate about something or it's displaced anger about the other things in my life and really, I just need to let it go. I want to start being healthy again. And happy. And me. I want to get back to that place where I see amazing in the mirror, where I feel my light radiating out and making the world a better place. Sorry if I sound pompous, but sometimes, one has to toot one's own horn to remember who one really is, yes?

I can't imagine any scenario in which trading Mark DeRosa was a good idea.

I'm so sorry to see you go. I really enjoyed watching you play, and you seemed like a really good guy, too. Probably the worst part is that you're in the American League now, so I'll never get to see you.

I think I need to start telling people that Soriano is my favorite player so maybe the Cubs will trade him next.

So for all of my complaining about the holidays, I do have to say that at least one really great thing came out of all of it. I got kitchen gadgets. I've been getting into cooking more and more lately, because there is something about a home cooked meal - it almost makes me want to cry with joy after eating a really good meal. I feel like I'm doing my body a favor by eating well. I just had a red lentil curry with cauliflower and parsnips - a recipe out of my new favorite cookbook, Veganomicon - and a mini pita from Whole Foods. And it was just so friggin' good.

Thing is, I've always known that I could cook. I always did fine in home economics and stuff like that. I'm an excellent baker. But I have more of a taste for sweet things than savory things, so I took to baking more than cooking. Somehow, cooking was a little more daunting. But, as we have recently found out, I am a smart cookie and cooking shouldn't be that hard. So if you, like me, have some irrational fear of making dinner, let me offer you these simple guidelines that will take some of the scary out of it:

1. Find a recipe and follow it. They usually write out the directions very clearly, so as long as you don't skip a step, you should be fine.
2. Use a timer if necessary. If the recipe says to cook the onions until they become translucent, but you have no idea what that looks like, use a timer. The recipe will probably say something like "5 to 7 minutes." So cook them for six and you should be fine. Same with pasta. If you notoriously overcook pasta, just set a timer according to the directions on the box. You'll have perfect pasta every time.
3. Don't be afraid of "exotic" ingredients. So what if you've never bought coriander before? Give it a shot. The people who put that recipe together knew what they were doing when they put it in there, so if you put it in there, too, you'll get the actual flavor of the dish as it is supposed to be.
4. Don't be afraid to get dishes dirty. If you don't have expert knife skills and it'll take you longer than 30 seconds to dice an onion, cut up all of your veggies before you even start to cook so when it's time to throw them in, they're right there, ready to go. Yes, it's a couple of extra bowls to wash, but it will keep you from burning your meal.

I think those are the big ones. Though it also helps if you have good tools - sturdy pots and pans, a spoon that feels good in your hand, a grater, a mixer, measuring cups, etc. And fresh ingredients make all the difference. But really, cooking isn't that scary, and it's not that hard. And just think of the favor you are doing your body by putting fresh (organic when possible) ingredients in there instead of some crazy over-processed junk.

Anyway. Thus begins my journey down the road to foodie. And, in some circles, this would make me a much more appealing wife/girlfriend candidate. Woo hoo.

I think it is quite possible that the most annoying part of all of this snow and ice is the almost constant sound of tires squealing on ice as people try to force their cars out of difficult parking spaces.

So I feel the need to put up a public apology for my last blog. I didn't mean to hurt anyone's feelings with it. My family is wonderful and they put so much time and thought and effort into making the holidays warm and welcoming and then I went and kind of poo-pooed it because I have my own issues going on. I didn't mean to poo-poo their efforts. I love their efforts and I love my family very much. I'm sorry if that part got lost.

And I'm working on my issues. I know that 90% of it is in my head, but that doesn't make the issues any less real to me. I think my New Year's resolution this year will be to figure out how to reduce that number, to come to terms with my issues, and work on making them go away. Or at least to work on making it so that my issues don't ruin the holidays for me or anyone else.

Merry Christmas to you all (or happy Hanukkah, joyous Kwanzaa, peaceful Ramadan, or whatever holiday you happen to celebrate at this time of year, I hope your celebrations are warm and peaceful and joyous). I love my family. Please always know that. I love having you in my life.

I think it would help if I had some sort of holiday tradition, but let's be honest, I don't. My childhood holiday traditions started disappearing and/or changing when my parents got divorced. And please please please believe me when I say that I'm not at all upset about the fact that my parents are divorced. I think it was a really good thing. Yes, it sucked at the time, but it really was a good thing - my parents both have partners now who they love and who love them and it really worked out well. But during the whole thing, the things that made the holidays great when I was a kid changed. We didn't make cookies as much. Tree decorating happened a couple of times, but not quite with the same vigor. The guests who showed up at the extended family gathering changed. The venue for the extended family gathering changed. I stopped going to church. It turned into this long ordeal wherein I would go to the big family thing, then church with my dad, the stay over at my dad's house (in freezing cold pajamas that had been sitting in my car for hours), do the gift exchange thing at dad's (where all my bows were smooshed from sitting in the car for hours), have something to eat there, go to mom's and exchange gifts again (again, with smooshed bows) and eat again, and finally get home somewhere between 24 and 36 hours after I left. It was a tradition, but an obnoxious one. And then I became vegan and made the whole thing even more annoying, both for my family who is lovely in trying to make stuff for me, and for me who had to bring my own form of protein to whatever family gathering. So finally last year, I stopped doing that. My dad no longer lived in the house I grew up in, so I said I wanted to spend Christmas night in my own bed. And it was lovely. But it means I really have no holiday traditions anymore. I tried getting my own tree one year and inviting friends over to make ornaments - I think two people came and I was the only one making ornaments. I've put up lights around my windows, but my cat tries to eat them so it's really more of a hassle than anything.

Which really makes me wonder what is so wonderful about this time of year? Which I know is probably a very offensive question to any religious readers I might have. Sorry about that. But it's been shown many times that Jesus probably wasn't born in late December - he was most likely born in the middle of summer but his birth was celebrated in December so that the Pagans wouldn't persecute the Christians for celebrating their beliefs. So why don't we all tell everyone we love how much we love them at the end of July instead? Why do we do it when it's cold and slushy and you have to bundle up in 17 layers to get out and do anything and when you're driving home, your chances of dying are much improved by the simple fact that the roads are probably coated in ice that you can't even see? Which is probably offensive to anyone in the southern hemisphere who happens to be reading this. Sorry about that.

I don't mean to be offensive. I'm just disgruntled. The holidays are a hassle, but people put up with them because they have fond memories or favorite traditions - things that make the hassle worth it. I don't. Which is mostly of my own doing, but I don't. I was so pissed off earlier today and I was trying to think of a movie I could watch that would put me in the holiday spirit and I couldn't think of one. I don't have space for a tree. I don't have a good kitchen for baking tons of cookies. I don't have a fireplace. I have gloves that reek of gasoline from when I had to refill my car manually. I have about four days this week where I'll have to go somewhere and be friendly and pleasant and pretend that everything is okay and I like this crap. Can't I just tell my friends and family that I love them and give them random Tuesday presents when I find something I think they'll enjoy?

To my friends and family - I love you. I am so blessed to have you in my life. I will tell you that when I see you. I will tell you that in March and in July and the next time you call for no reason. I don't need a specific day of the year to celebrate that. My whole attitude about the holidays will probably change when I have my own family and/or small children in my life and can start building my own set of traditions, but until then, I really don't want to participate. I really really don't. It's not intended as a slight against you; I just don't want to do this anymore.

Which means I'll go bake and decorate cookies this week and go over to my brother's and smile and pretend that it's all okay and I like this crap.

So I placed an order online for some items to give my dad and stepmother for Christmas. There were several items, one of which shipped by itself and has arrived just fine, the other five of which are in a package that is, near as I can tell, being held hostage by the United States Postal Service. This particular package was sent the day before the one item that has made it to me already, but I may or may not get it by December 23. As the wonderful, friendly, ray-of-sunshine woman I talked to on the phone told me at least 87 times, it's not guaranteed. Essentially, because I didn't want to pay through the nose for shipping, my package is worthless and unimportant and can be used, abused, mistreated, forwarded for some unknown reason, lost, redirected, and I may or may not ever actually see the thing. And if I call to ask questions about whether or not I might ever get my package, I am told that nobody there or at any other phone number can answer my questions or offer any sort of insight or, hell, even empathy regarding the situation. Nor do I have any sort of recourse if I never get my package because it isn't insured.

The long and the short of it is that the United States Postal Service can bite my ass. Merry friggin' Christmas, I hate you all.

Sorry, I'm grumpy today. My car ran out of gas while I was warming it up and brushing the snow off of it and even though I have a gas can in my trunk and was able to get down to the gas station to get some gas, it didn't work so I now either have to go get a new gas can and more gas or I have to call roadside assistance to come help with my car. That I am already uber pissed at for all of the other crap that's been going wrong with it. And normally, I wouldn't mind so much, but this is one of those weeks wherein even though I have the time off of work, I have so much crap to do that I really can't be without a car this week. And I ran out of toilet paper and Kleenex so even if I wanted to (which I do), I couldn't just sit around and pout all day. Do I have to participate in this week? Can I just skip the whole holiday thing? Please?

My whole life, I've been what most people would call a smart cookie. I learned to read by about age two. I was at the top of my class through school. I could have skipped second grade, but my elementary school didn't think that would be good for my social development, so they just gave me extra projects to do instead. I took all honors classes. I took high school algebra in 8th grade, and got a 5 on the AP calculus test as a junior in high school. I was in the program for smart kids at my high school, and graduated with 35 AP credits, which allowed me to graduate from college in just three years. Summa cum laude.

Why am I telling you this? Not to brag. Just to illustrate that I am a smart cookie. And I have to tell you, growing up, it sucked. Smart kids are teased. I was passed over for creative things in high school because I was one of the smart kids. And it becomes this weird intimidation thing, or just plain awkward thing. What teenage boy wants to ask out a girl who is smarter than he is? Not to mention that I had horrible skin and was socially awkward despite not skipping second grade. It sucked. I was resentful of being intelligent because I felt isolated.

So I went to college and studied theater at a school that is not necessarily known for smart cookies. I didn't really advertise the fact that I started as as sophomore and never had to take another math class as long as I lived if I didn't want to. And I just kind of blended in. After graduation, telling people that my degree is in theater from a university that is not necessarily known for spitting out smart cookies didn't exactly carry the same kind of clout that going to, say, Harvard or MIT or Oxford would have. And that was fine, for a while. But I know I'm smart. The people who know me well know I'm smart. And part of me really wants to be recognized again as a really smart person. Like maybe my opinion would count for a little something extra if people knew I wasn't Joe Average walking in from off the street. So I went in and took the test to qualify for Mensa. And I qualified. Which means as soon as I send in my membership dues, I will be a Mensan. I will be a person who is at least nationally, if not internationally, recognized as being a particularly smart cookie. And I will be able to network with other particularly smart cookies. I'll get back to that place where people will just kind of assume I know the answers to things. Where they won't feel it necessary to talk down to me. Hopefully.

The funny thing is, when the envelope showed up in my mailbox today, I was nervous about opening it. As much as I know I'm a smart cookie, only the top two percent are invited to join Mensa. What if I'm in the top five, but not the top two? And when I opened the letter and saw, "Congratulations!" I started jumping up and down and screaming. I had no idea it meant that much to me. But I guess it does. And I'm really happy that I qualified for Mensa.

It's fun being a smart cookie.

As much as I know it's a necessary evil, I really hate extermination day. We have to take everything out of all of our kitchen and bathroom cabinets and take the drawers out of their sockets so they can come in and spray. Granted, I would much prefer this to living in a roach infested building. Near as I can tell, this is not a roach infested building. Probably because they exterminate regularly. But it's rather a pain in the ass.

On the up side, it does make me go through everything I have in my cabinets so I can throw away the stuff that I haven't touched since the last extermination day. Dead cereal. Mystery crackers. Soup mix that in three years, I still have not made. And then I get to put all the stuff I kept back in the cabinets but with some sort of order to it. Hopefully a better order that makes more sense and takes less space than the previous order created after the last extermination day.

On the down side, once I put everything back in my cabinets, I'll have to take it out again and wash the strange yellow powder off of it. Yay.

So it just keeps getting colder outside. Fortunately it's staying something close to warm-ish inside. I put that plastic stuff up on my windows to try to keep the warm in, but this morning it was 64 in my apartment. And the plastic is blocking my cat's access to the condensation on the windows which he loves using for drinking water. I think he'd rather be warm though, and there are three other windows he can drink from.

And also on the positive side, it is now just under four months until opening day.

I also found a bass player. We have a show on Saturday. I'm a little nervous about it, and a little afraid he's going to leave, too, out of boredom or something. But he's really good and I'm really excited to have him on board.

So if we could just get past the whole holiday thing, things might be starting to look up.

Traci Lords (or whoever runs her official MySpace page) found me on MySpace and sent a friend request. I'm not quite sure what to make of that. I accepted, but I'm still a little confused. Is she just looking to up her friend count, or is she wishing Coming Home had been used in Zach and Miri?

I don't know that I'm ever going to think of that song in the same way.

Happy December.

So Tuesday is weigh-in day and I'm down 10 pounds from when I started. Woo hoo! This officially puts me into the acceptable weight range for my height. I'd still like to lose a little more so I'm more towards the middle of the range, but in general, I feel good. My pants fit again. I like it that I've sort of re-distributed my food throughout the day (bigger lunches and breakfasts, smaller dinners) and re-instituted the afternoon snack. And probably the best part is that I'm cooking more. I've kind of turned Sunday into cooking day, and then I eat the leftovers for lunch all week. Means I have homemade, satisfying lunches at work every day, which I have to admit, is kind of nice. Like today, I had a winter vegetable curry, dahl, and naan. How many people do you know have homemade Indian food for lunch? Who aren't Indian, anyway.

And please don't worry about me. I'm doing this in a very healthy way. I'm eating all of my points every week (or getting within a point or two of doing so). I'm still splurging on fries and cake every now and again. I'm eating lots of fruits and veggies, and getting enough protein. Even starting taking a multi-vitamin again. So I'm being healthy. Getting exercise. Eating right. Eating more balanced meals. And shedding the excess weight that I've been hanging onto with my really strange eating habits. Feels good.

So hooray for the first 10. Here's to another.

And here we are, almost December. It's ick-ing outside, but not so much as to be annoying. Yet. Knock on wood.

Thanksgiving came and went with minimal carnage. Saw a couple of movies. Watched a bunch of television, including Episodes 1, 2, and 3 of Star Wars. Man, are those bad movies. There was such potential, but the scripts are just plain bad. They lack any sort of personality or humor or interesting dialogue. The production value (granted, 90% of it is cgi) is fun, though the costumes are really impractical. So they're really pretty to watch, if you can stomach the really bad dialogue. Oh well. If I ever have kids, I'm not even going to let them watch these ones. They will only see the original trilogy (minus the added bad cgi Jabba the Hut scenes in A New Hope) until they are so in love with the series that they can overlook the trite crap that is Episodes 1-3.

And yeah. That's about that. Here's hoping Christmas isn't too painful. And the turn over to December means it's just about four months until Opening Day. Hurrah! Maybe even a huzzah.

Happy December.

So it was a little slow at the office today, so I decorated (per my co-worker's request) for the holidays. I think I kept it tasteful, yet festive.

Thing is, it made me feel festive. So when I stopped on my way home to get an onion, I also got some little white lights to hang around my windows. And I hung them up. And I stopped to get some stuff with which to make a Christmas present. Granted, traffic was horrible, and this whole lights thing might make it hard for me to put that plastic stuff up on my windows, but I have to admit, there is something nice about being even just a little bit festive. Nice smells in the house. Lights in the window. If this is all the holiday season was about, I think I might be okay with that.

Then again, ask me again tomorrow.

So I have to apologize; I just kind of feel like griping today.

Thanksgiving. It used to be my favorite holiday. Well, up there anyway. Halloween always kind of kicked ass, but when it came down to the winter holidays, the ones that you actually get time off of school or work for, I have always preferred Thanksgiving to Christmas. Essentially, they play out the same way - the whole family gathers somewhere and eats themselves silly. Christmas has the added hassle of presents, though, which is too much pressure. Thanksgiving is all about quality time with the family, just enjoying each other's company.

Thing is, as a vegan, and (I think) the only one in my family with any weird dietary restrictions, it has become more and more of a hassle to participate in Thanksgiving. Don't get me wrong - I still love spending time with my family. But transporting a Tofurkey when I'm the only one eating it is a pain. And by the time I get there, it's cold, so basically, I get to eat microwaved Tofurkey and whatever side-dishes my sister-in-law has been gracious enough to make vegan. Which is really sweet of her to do.

Continuing along the whiny road, the family that comes to Thanksgiving is significantly different that they used to be, too. A lot of the people I used to look forward to seeing don't come anymore 'cuz they live too far away or have other engagements. And somebody always now brings a friend who had nowhere else to go, so the conversation leans primarily towards a "let's get to know the new person" theme which is one of the reasons my family is so great - they're very welcoming - but it doesn't make for the nice, warm, homey feeling that the Thanksgivings of my childhood held.

I know, I'm being awful. I love my family. Please don't ever doubt that. They are wonderful, brilliant, beautiful, loving people and I am so blessed to have them in my life. But as I'm sitting here thinking about the gathering on Thursday, I'm having little anxiety attacks. The preparation. The chit-chat. The fact that I will most likely be cold the whole day. The schlepping. The fact that my car needs new brakes and new tires. The having nothing interesting to say because I still don't have a band, I'm not in any theatrical productions, I'm not working on any interesting projects, and I'm not really looking forward to anything at the moment. How awful would I be if I just wanted to stay home and be thankful from afar?

Pretty awful. I know.

You know, I love it when I tell someone how much I hate being cold, and that my body temperature is naturally low so it takes me a really long time to warm up, and that I get panicky when I get too cold, so I'd rather be warm, and that person explains to me how when you're cold, you can always snuggle up under a blanket and get warm.

Oh, wait. No I don't.

I realize that there are about six of us world wide who would rather be too hot than too cold. And I might even be in the minority in that group because my comfort temperature is closer to 80 degrees Farenheit than say, sixty-eight. But really. Think about this for a minute:

If you put a blanket over an inanimate object that is cold, i.e. a car, a chair, etc, the inanimate object does not warm up. Why? The blanket is not producing heat. The blanket itself is probably cold, too. You know how blankets work? They trap the heat being given off by a warm (or warm-ish) something. If a person sits under a blanket and it's a good blanket, the blanket traps that person's body heat and makes everything feel all nice and cozy. Now think about this: if you put a blanket over, say, a person with an internal temperature of 98.6 degrees Farenheit, versus over a person with an internal temperature of 97 degrees Farenheit, the person whose internal temperature is 97 degrees isn't going to be as warm as the other guy. Why? There wasn't as much heat to begin with. Said person might get there eventually, but it's going to take longer. Imagine having one heating vent in your house and expecting that to heat the whole house. It's going to take a while.

Same thing with me. My body temperature is low. I am very sensitive to the cold. It takes me a long time to warm up. So while I can appreciate that most people are fine walking around their 68 degree houses in a sweater and socks, I would very much like it if people would stop looking at me funny when I tell them that for me, that temperature warrants sweater, sweatshirt, socks, slippers and a blanket. Maybe a scarf. I know me better than you.

Okay, I'm done. Sorry.

So I think I may have figured out the key - I have to not rely on my morning 1-mile walk to be my exercise for the day. I have to do something that really makes me sweat. I'm going to have to be careful to not become obsessive about it.

So I've been doing the online weight loss thing for two weeks now, and have lost a total of eight pounds. I wish I was losing weight faster than one pound a week, but on the up side, losing at this rate means I'm losing real weight (not water weight) in a healthy manner, thus increasing the likelihood that I will keep it off. I was reading about plateaus, though, and how to jump start things when you're not really losing anymore. (Maybe a little freak out considering I haven't been doing this that long, but whatever.) A lot of the suggestions include eating more fruits and vegetables (which is a little silly for me) and putting more dairy in your diet (also silly for me). So I'm trying to work more soy dairy substitutes into my daily routine, thinking maybe it's a calcium thing. It also said that you should eat all of your points, including your weekly extras, every week, which in a weird way seems odd to me. I understand the whole "if you don't eat enough, your body goes into starvation mode and you'll actually gain weight" thing, but why build in screw up points if you're supposed to eat all of them? Why not just up the daily allowance? I guess so you can go over by a bunch one day and then not the next. But still. That might be the biggest challenge for me - eating all of my points every week. When I know I'm supposed to be watching my portions, and when I eat lots of vegetables that have no points, it might take some conscious effort to eat that much. But it's worth a shot. More soy yogurt and soy milk. More food in general.

The really nice part about the whole thing thus far is that I've been cooking more. I'm really enjoying cooking. I've re-instituted the mid-afternoon snack so that I'm not starving by the time I get home and I can actually take the time to make soup or chili or bake bread or make a fresh salad. The other night, I had homemade soup, a homemade salad, and freshly baked homemade bread for dinner. Tell me that doesn't make your heart and soul feel good to eat like that. It certainly helps mine.

I've been enjoying eating oranges lately, but in many ways, they're worse than corn on the cob. Mostly for the "crap stuck in your teeth" factor.

Okay, so I was really disappointed that Kerry Wood got traded. He came up in the Cubs system, he spent his whole career as a Cub, he was a Cub, through and through. And while I understand the move, it still makes me sad to see him go.

But on the flip side of things, thank god or jebus or whoever you thank in these situations that we re-signed Dempster. Without him, I think our rotation would be sunk. How weird that in one season, he went from Dumpster to "without him, our rotation would be sunk?" Whatever. I'm glad he's sticking around.

And a belated congratulations to the 2008 National League Rookie of the Year, Geovany Soto. Booyah, baby!

So today was one of those days that called for sitting at home under a blanket with a cat on my lap and perhaps a mug of hot chocolate. But I had to venture out to the grocery store and in a really strange way, I'm glad I did. There was something really peaceful about walking down the street while it snowed lightly and "Falling Slowly" played on my iPod. For a minute, I didn't hate snow or winter or being cold. It was really nice.

So I think we all know that I love the piano. I love songs with piano in them. I didn't used to enjoy playing it so much because my teacher was kind of strict, but I'm a sucker for a good piano player. And I have recently rediscovered my favorite piano solo ever. It's in the middle of Nina Simone's version of "Love Me or Leave Me." If you've not heard this song, go purchase it somewhere and have a listen. Not only is it the fantastic Nina Simone, but the piano makes me so happy I just end up grinning like an idiot through the whole song.

Yeah, Nina.

Yeah, piano.

Yay, it's Friday.

And again with the nightmares. Except in this one, I was extremely calm. Kind of resigned to what I was doing.

There were two buildings next door to each other. The one on the left was higher than the one on the right, or at least the back door was, like it was a tree house or something. And the building on the right had these two big back doors that opened up, almost like barn doors, to reveal a large disposal unit of sorts. Like a giant wood chipper or something, except missing the spout that spits out the wood chips. And I know there was another person there, but I'm not sure who it was. And we were taking turns throwing things down from the higher building to the ground and then picking them up and throwing them in the disposal unit. If you were really good, you could fling them from the one building directly into the disposal unit, and when that happened enough times in a row is usually when we would switch, because it would allow the person on the ground enough time to get up to the higher platform. The thing that made it a nightmare, though, is that we were disposing of bodies and body parts. Sometimes clothing (i.e. a boot), sometimes just bones, sometimes in-tact parts, sometimes whole bodies.

Yeah, have fun analyzing that one.

Which is why I'm up at three in the morning. Thinking about how I probably shouldn't have eaten those chocolate chips when I got home, but that if my weight goes up by a pound, I know it's a pound I can easily lose again. Thinking about trying to wake up early so I can do 20 minutes of Pilates before work. Wondering if I did top-two-percent good, or if I'm just in the top five.

Wherever you are, I hope you are sleeping well and not dreaming of disposing of body parts. Not so nice.

Oh! I almost forgot. Congratulations to Geovany Soto for winning the National League Rookie of the Year. Booyah, Cubbies!

And for those of you who are counting (me), we are just under 5 months to opening day. Woo hoo!

So I'm down seven pounds in two weeks. I thought it might be more, and six of that was lost in the first week. Mostly, I think, because when I hit that number on the scale, it was artificially high. But then only one pound during week two. Kind of makes me wonder if I am at/near where my body wants to be anyway. What my actual weight is supposed to be. Which wouldn't be all bad, I guess. I'm still going to try to get down a little more. Thing is, I'm not hungry. I don't feel like I'm depriving myself. And I'm not even eating as much as they're telling me I can eat. On the up side, my pants are fitting better and really, that's what this was all about anyway. So I'm going to keep plugging away and hopefully getting smaller.

I'm also going to send my demo CD to a record label today. Keep your fingers crossed - I like this label and would like it if they liked me.

I feel like I need to write something about the historical significance of what happened yesterday, but I also know that any words I use will be inadequate and I will sound like a crazy person writing about the struggles of other people and what this must mean to them. (Side note: I also don't really see Mr. Obama as the first African-American president, even though that's what he is. I see him as a strong, intelligent man with good ideas who I'd like to see in charge of things for a while. For me, this was an election about ideas, not skin color. I would like to say that I understand what his election must mean to the African-American population, I probably can't really as I'm not African-American, but I do know that his presidency is something great and about that, all of us can be happy and excited and hopeful.) So I'll tell you what it means to me, even though I'm pretty sure that will also show at least some of you that I am, in fact, a crazy person. But this whole blog is filled with my ideas and opinions. In the grand scheme of things, I could be totally wrong. But these are my opinions and the beautiful thing about this country is that I'm allowed to publish them on the interweb for anyone who wants to read them.

I think that there are those events in everyone's life that change you. Some of them are really horrific moments, frozen forever into our memories, like September 11, the Kennedy assassination, or the Challenger explosion. Some of them are wonderful, like the birth of a child, falling in love, or finding a mentor. I have some of these already, but last night felt like another Moment. With a capital M. I also think that once in everyone's life (maybe more for some people), there is a significant public figure who inspires them and makes them want to believe in something. I think for a lot of people, it was Kennedy. I think for me, it is Obama. Would I elevate him to regal status? No. But I think that he's going to do his damnedest to effect at least some of the changes he has promised us. I'm inspired because we have a leader in this country now who doesn't make me cringe in fear when he opens his mouth. I'm inspired because we have a leader in this country now who said, "...I will always be honest with you about the challenges we face. I will listen to you, especially when we disagree." I'm inspired because we have a leader in this country who understands the importance of preserving not only the country in which we live, but also the planet which we inhabit. I'm inspired because we have a leader in this country now who is looking forward, not behind, and is ready, willing, and able to face the challenges that my children will encounter head-on. And I'm inspired that he has the support of so much of the nation behind him already. I want to give him a chance. I want to see him succeed, because if he succeeds, we all will, in one way or another. Even if it just means other countries won't hate us (as much) anymore.

When the election was called, I screamed so loud I tore my throat. I jumped in the air and clapped and hugged my friend and cried for about three hours, until my face was chapped from the salt. I'm in awe. I'm excited that this is the beginning of something. It may go down in flames and be a horrible disaster. It would most certainly go differently if the country wasn't in such horrible shape at the moment. But I think what gets me the most is that SO MANY PEOPLE voiced their desire for something different. "Stay the course" is no longer good enough. That, by itself, is inspiring to me.

Thank you everyone who voted. All of your voices were heard and will continue to be heard over the next four years. Thank you to everyone who worked so hard on Obama's campaign to make it an historical feat by itself. And thank you to Mr. Obama, our President Elect Mr. Obama, for standing up to take on this country and all of it's problems in the hopes that things will get better. I wish you all the luck in the world and if there's some way I can help out, please let me know. I'm ready to make change happen.

Thank you.

So I did my job today. I voted shortly after 7am. See, four years ago, I went to vote at about 6:30 am and it took about ten minutes. There was nobody in line. This morning, I showed up at 6:45 am and didn't leave until 7:25. There was a line out the door. It almost had me crying, I was so happy.

Thing is, I want to see the results now. I want the numbers to be in. I want to know if the guys I voted for won so I can celebrate, or if the other guys won so I should start considering moving to another country. Thing is, I really love America. And I really love Chicago. It would be hard to live in a city that didn't have the Cubs, or our skyline, or my family. So please please please let the guys I voted for win.

Please.

So I'm kind of excited for tomorrow. All this hype and all of this build up and after tomorrow, it will all be over. I plan on waking up early and walking over to my polling location and casting my vote before work. I know a lot of people voted early, which is fine, but I kind of like the pseudo pageantry of voting on Election Day. The same way I like paying my bills with checks even though it's really environmentally unfriendly.

Please, whatever you are doing tomorrow, take the ten minutes and go cast your vote.

So I'm thinking I might turn into the kind of person who cooks a lot. I'm currently making soup and it makes my house smell so good! I could get used to this. But I think the key to becoming the kind of person who cooks is to have good tools with which to do the actual cooking. In the last year, I've come into some good knives. I bought new spoons. And today, I splurged and bought myself a Cephalon 6 qt stock pot so I can make soup. I'm making an Italian type vegetable soup with white kidney beans now, and I'm planning on making an Asian inspired tofu noodle soup later (both recipies from the website that is helping me lose weight). And I even got more plastic containers so I can easily portion out one serving, freeze it, and thaw it out for later consumption. And/or, for easy transport to work. I could turn into one of those people who cooks a lot on Sundays so her meals are prepared for the rest of the week. Sounds like kind of a fun way to spend the winter.

Wherever you are, I hope your house smells as yummy as mine does right now.

Is it weird to eat raw cabbage as a snack?