I didn't know Michael Jackson. I can't say if he did the things they said he did or not. I can say that he was a brilliant performer and the world will miss him terribly.

I really don't know what to think about his passing. He was fifty. Fifty. That's too young. On the other hand, he lived a brilliant, tortured, wonderful, tragic life and that has to take it's toll.

I really don't know how to feel about his passing. I didn't know him. I liked some of his music. I remember when my brother got "Thriller" for Christmas - we wouldn't play the title track when my parents were home because it had the word "hell" in it. I remember the videos coming out one at a time, each one more amazing than the last. I remember doing the "Thriller" dance in the mall when we built a haunted house there to drum up business and entertain the crowds. It makes me sad that a whole generation of children will grow up without those cultural landmarks. It makes me sad that he didn't get to do his last tour. I feel for his family. I feel for his fans who wanted to see him just one more time. It kind of creeps me out a little that ABC and NBC (and probably CBS, too, but I don't get CBS anymore since TV went digital) put together hour-long specials about him and his life and his death within two hours of hearing the news. He made popping and locking popular. He changed music and dance and culture forever and I don't know that there will ever be another Michael Jackson. His passing is a fantastic loss, and he will be very much missed.

And then there is part of me that thinks it's a hoax. An attempt to get people to finally leave him alone. A publicity stunt for his upcoming tour. And because of that little voice, I'm having a hard time being really sad about his passing. It will sink in later. Probably the next time I hear one of his songs out at a bar or a club.

Rest in peace, King of Pop. Rest in peace.

Tuesday night observations:

My cat likes it when I hold his foot while he sleeps. I think he likes knowing that I'm there and his foot is the least offensive, least warm part of his body that he can have up against mine. Whatever the reason why he likes it, it melts me that he likes to sleep with me holding his foot.

Micah Hoffpauir is kind of a cutie.

Kevin Gregg should not be the Cubs closer. Let's trade him to get DeRosa back.

There is an acting school in Chicago that teaches kind of exactly what I want to study more of, and you have to interview before you can sign up for classes, and I interviewed last week and I got in. Yay! It's evenings and weekends kind of classes, but still. How much fun would it be for me to take some acting classes again? To do something that interests me?

So this morning, on the train into work, I was reading one of my old acting text books and getting really excited about the prospect of getting to do this stuff again. I know not everybody is into Meisner. Some people think it is a waste of time. I think it is a really good way to train yourself to live truthfully, which is what we are supposed to be doing as actors (and technically as people, too, but nobody really does). I'm looking forward to doing the repetition exercise with other people who get it, or at the very least, want to get to a place where they get it. I'm looking forward to doing the activity exercise again. I'm looking forward to "doing," not "acting" or "being."

Now I just have to wait until payday to register...

There are two bits of wisdom that I wish I could impart to the general population.

1 - Slowing down a song does not automatically make it better. There is a Dr. Pepper commercial right now that is doing it's best to perpetuate this myth, but I think it is time we all admit that it's not true. From time to time, slowing a song down is a good thing. It worked for Eric Clapton and the Foo Fighters when they did Unplugged. However, "God Bless America" was actually written as a march. As was the Star Spangled Banner. Yes, it is lovely that you get to sing them in front of a baseball game but let's be honest - the fans are not there to hear you sing. We all want to see the game. The more you slow down those songs, the longer it is before baseball starts and that can make certain people irritable. I think it is safe to say that irritable is not good, so by the transitive property, slowing down songs is not always good. Q.E.D.

2 - There is nothing wrong with being single, or with enjoying being single. I dated a guy once a very long time ago for about a month. And by "I dated this guy for a month," I mean, "We went out twice in the same month." It ended because let's face it, that's not a relationship. But he said to me that he believed there is someone out there for everyone, and that you will find that person. So if you spend the time between now and then dating or not dating, it really doesn't matter because you will eventually end up with who you are supposed to be with anyway. In a way, you're doing yourself a disservice by casually dating people who you aren't supposed to end up with because if you're with one of them when you meet your person, you could miss it. In a strange way, I liked that. I don't know that I'm a fatalist - I don't know that I believe that there is someone out there for everyone. I think I was just kind of drawn to the justification that it was okay for me to not be dating.

The thing is, our society is set up to encourage people to pair off. For example, I had a gig last week and as I sat there waiting to play, some random guy came over and asked me to play pool. Within the first two minutes of the conversation, he asked a question about my husband or boyfriend. I don't care what else he might have said the rest of the night; the fact that he needed to know that bit of information meant he was hitting on me. Random guy sees random girl sitting at the bar by herself and assumes that she wants company, that she wants to be hit on, that she wants to flirt. I wanted to play my songs and go home - it took me over three hours to get to the venue and I was tired.

And of course, as I examine my life and try to figure out what I can do to change things so I can be happy again, I start to think about some of the relationships I have had. Not always, but I often find myself dating men who want to date me instead of dating the men I want to date. I've tried to date the men I want to date a time or two, but they're usually not interested in me, or they turn out to be kind of nuts and not in the good way, so I know what the situation feels like on both sides. And to go back to the guy I dated once for about a month, why spend my time dating men I don't really want to date? Why not hold out for someone who interests me? Because there aren't many of those who aren't gay or already spoken for. Which brings me back to being single and enjoying being single. To be in a relationship that you don't want to be in is exhausting. There is pressure and there are expectations, and without the motivation to live up to those expectations, it's all just going through the motions which takes a lot of energy. But I have these friendships that I want to invest in and try for and those aren't exhausting, so I know I could do it. It's just a matter of finding the right guy to do it with. And in lieu of finding him, spending my time doing other things that make me happy. What is so strange about that?

So to sum up: slower is not always better, and there is nothing wrong with being single. There is, however, something wrong with a life that does not include ice cream (even non-dairy ice cream), so if you have some handy, might I suggest you go enjoy some?

Happy Father's Day to all of the dads out there. Especially mine.

Hi.

I know I've been remiss in my posting as of late and truth is, I have a lot to say. But most of it is either extraordinarily dull or stuff that I can't post about just yet. I should use this time, though, to keep my writing skills up, whether or not I'm writing about what's on my mind at the moment.

What I think I really need to do is list a few things that I either like about myself or that are making me happy at the moment. So here goes:

I really am a good musician. I'm not the most skilled guitarist in the world, but I write some really good music.
I really am a good actor. Yes, I could always learn more, but for the most part, I know what I'm doing.
I really am a nice person. Deep down inside, I really am nice. I've just been grumpy lately.
I really am smart. Mensa. 'Nuff said.
I really have great hair. I just got all of the dead, fried stuff cut off so my hair feels like hair again and it's really really wonderful. My mom used to say I have one of the all-time great heads of hair and sometimes, I am inclined to agree with her.
I really have an amazing body. Not amazing in the "wins wet t-shirt contests all the time" way, but in the "able to do amazing things" way. It dances and heals itself and is pretty flexible. For as much as I beat myself up about wishing I looked differently than I do, I have a pretty amazing body.

Which brings me to something really odd. Most of this time that I have been grumpy, I look in the mirror and I see "pretty." The face looking back at me is pretty. The collarbone and hair and shoulders and whatnot that I see in my bathroom mirror are really pretty. I've not experienced that before. Usually, I look in the mirror and go, "meh," and go on about my day. But recently, I've been able to appreciate my own physical beauty. It's strange and it makes me feel egotistical. Or it would if I was in a place to feel good about myself at the moment. It makes me wonder what it is like to feel good about myself in general, at the same time that I'm feeling pretty. I think my head might explode if that ever happens.

I love my cat. I love my family. I love my friends. I take secret pleasure in knowing that nothing is permanent. I love it that I get a niece for my birthday this year and I can't wait to meet her. I like that I'm starting to do things again - I need to be doing things. I still have a lot of work to do, but I feel like I'm at least on the road to getting there, and that's good.

Hope you all are well.

I feel like I have a plan, now, which is good. If I have a plan, particularly a long-term plan, I can then break it up into little increments that I can keep an eye out for on a daily basis so that it always feels like I am doing something.

I am going to make a conscious effort to be able to answer the daily question, "What did I do today to further my plan?" with something other than "Nothing."

So last night, I made a sign and hung it on my mirror so I will be reminded daily of my plan and the various things it will take to get me there. As well as a few words of encouragement. I phrased it all as positive stuff so that if I'm ever feeling down when I look at the sign, it won't shame me into doing something, but will hopefully inspire me. And I made a conscious decision to take better care of my body. Simple things. Not skipping out on brushing my teeth before bed, even if I'm really, really tired. Flossing more. Cutting back on the ice cream consumption from "daily" to "maybe once a week." I'm not "dieting," per se, and I'm not going to become a fitness buff. I'm just going to start asking myself before I do things, "Is this good for me? Will this honestly make me feel better about myself, or is it just a band-aid 'cuz I'm grumpy?" That kind of thing. So maybe while I'm watching TV, I stretch instead of just sitting on the couch. Not too strenuous, but still, it's something.

I know this sounds like I've reverted to a simpleton with no complex thoughts or anything, and in some ways, it feels like that. But in some ways, I think I need to slow my thought process down and focus on what's right in front of me if I'm going to get out of this funk. And the easy way to do that is to make a plan, set goals, and stick to them.

Wish me luck!

I'm also having a little bit of trouble believing it is June already. I still don't think the weather has caught up with the fact that summer officially starts in about two and a half weeks, meaning it doesn't feel like June. This means also that technically, I could become an aunt just about any day now. Hopefully not for another month, but if I did become an aunt, say, tomorrow, it wouldn't be nearly as scary as if it had happened last month, you know?

June. Means the year is almost half over. I don't think I've really done anything good with this year yet, so it's a little sad that it's half over already. I did go to San Francisco to see a friend play. And I did my first trade show. And got a promotion. And spent some time with my honorary sister and her family. And cleaned my carpets. Okay, maybe I have done a couple of useful things so far this year. I just gotta pick it up a little so I can finish out the year strong.

So I have been admittedly remiss in my cooking duties as of late. Which means I have nothing fun to bring to work with me for lunch, so I end up bring something really sad and then deciding, come lunchtime, that I should go get a sammich instead. Which translates into, "I'm turning into a Subway sandwich." Now, I'm sure that the twiggy girl in front of me in line would encourage me to order a salad once in a while instead of the same sandwich every day, I would like to say that I am a very big fan of bread and of the 37,000 sandwich shops within a two block radius of where I work, Subway is the only one that has bread I can eat. So I keep going there for lunch. Largely, at this point, I think because I like the mustard. Dijon mustard. What does it say about my eating habits/general well-being when I find myself craving foods not only packed with vinegar, but also horseradish? No wonder I'm single!

Kidding.

But this also means that come dinnertime last night, I didn't have anything fun in my house to eat, so I just had to throw together whatever I had and I came to a very important realization - regular pasta is very dull. White pasta has no taste. Maybe I've just gotten spoiled eating whole wheat pasta for the last few years. I used to love pasta. I would have spaghetti two or three times a week. But last night, even coated in my favorite jarred pasta sauce, a nice bowl of elbows just left me feeling empty and unsatisfied. I miss the nuttiness of whole wheat pasta. It adds a whole other level of flavor to your dish. And today, on my way back from the sammich shop, I saw a guy picking at a lunch of white pasta in some rather generic looking red sauce and my heart went out to him. Food does not have to be dull and lifeless! But I figured that would sound funny coming from the girl with a Subway sammich in her hand, so I just kept walking.

It's time for Bitch Fest 2009. I am apologizing in advance as none of this is intended to hurt anyone's feelings, though I am very aware of the fact that someone may find something in this post with which they don't agree and take umbrage. I apologize for that, and ask that you please remember I don't intend to offend anyone.

I'm tired.
I'm tired of being grumpy.
I'm tired of not wanting to hang out with my friends.
I'm tired of not having the motivation to do anything to stop being grumpy.
I'm tired of trying to figure out ways to stop being grumpy.
I'm tired of feeling like I can't get a break.
I'm tired of having no vacation time.
I'm tired of not being allowed to have opinions in certain settings.
I'm tired of being cut off when I try to speak.
I'm tired of taking everyone else's happiness as a personal slight because I'm not happy.
I'm tired of not being happy.
I'm tired of feeling like I'm not good enough, no matter how hard I try.
I'm tired of trying to prove I'm good enough when it should be glaringly obvious by now that I am.
I'm tired of looking for silver linings.
I'm tired of icky, gloomy weather.
I'm tired of it being cold all the time.
I'm tired of the Cubs losing.
I'm tired of not having Mark DeRosa around when our team is falling apart and really needs a good utility guy who can fill in for all the guys who seem to have caught the flu formerly known as Swine Flu.
I'm tired of being tired.
I'm tired of working twice as hard as most of the people around me, or at least feeling like I do.
I'm tired of being hated for some unknown reason - at least tell me why you hate me so I can have some respect for you.
I'm tired of liking boys who don't like me back.
I'm tired of being liked by the wrong boys.
I'm tired of people not following through.
I'm tired of being told I'm wonderful and missed only so I can be ignored and forgotten for extended periods of time.
I'm tired of looking in the mirror and seeing pretty but empty.
I'm tired of fighting so hard for everything I do.

I'm sorry. I really am. I love my friends and I love my family and there are a lot of things about my life that are really good. I have a good apartment with clean carpets now. I have friends who put up with me when I fall into year-long funks like this. I have a brilliant, supportive, loving family. I have a job that pays me enough so that for the first time probably ever, I don't have to worry about money. I have four guitars and a bass in my living room. I have this fantastic brain and this body that, while not perfect, functions really well and can do a lot of amazing things. I like having this plan, but at the same time, it's a longer-term plan so any movement on that front is very slow and there are certain parties who aren't participating in my plan and it's kind of essential that they do or there is no plan (trust me, it's not you - I love it that so many people have sent a little "you can do it" note. Thank you for that). I'm just...frustrated. And feeling stuck. And you know how when you're frustrated and feeling stuck it can be hard to see the good things. You stop noticing that you have lovely hands and you focus on the paper cuts you got moving furniture and cleaning carpets or the fact that your one finger just kind of hurts all of the time but you don't know why.

Side note:
They're = they are
There = a location
Their indicates possession
Study this. Learn this. Use these three words correctly in business correspondence with me and the chances of me throwing a stapler at your head are much lessened. I mean, really. A person without a firm grasp of the English language is left to do his/her job the best way he/she knows how and I find myself wondering where the best place to get a degree in micromanagement is.

I know that complaining like this is very unattractive, but it kind of had to be done. It's been building up for a while (in case you couldn't tell). I will get out of this. I have to get out of this. I think I'm kind of hoping at this point that when the day comes that I do get out of this grump-fest, I will still have one or two friends left, even if they are my cell mates in the loony bin. Or that perhaps, when viewed in the right light with the proper amount of wine in one's system, that my frustration and stuck-ed-ness might be found entertaining. There is beauty in pain, my friend. Or should I say "Their."

I realize that one thing I have gotten very bad at recently is keeping in touch. It will take me a couple of days to respond to an email or return a phone call. I know this. I would like to apologize for this now, even though I'm not sure it's going to get any better in the near future.

The main reason I would like to apologize for it is because I know how annoying it is when you send someone an email or a text message and they just don't respond. I'm very good at finding the people who just don't respond and it is rather frustrating. I know it's frustrating and I'm sorry that my slow responses frustrate other people so chalk this one up as me being a hypocrite for complaining about people not responding, but it's annoying. In a professional setting, there really is no excuse for not responding. In a personal setting, it just makes the non-responded-to person feel worthless.

So anyway. I'm sorry I've been bad at keeping in touch.

The plastic bag.
So thin.
So handy.
Your beautiful handles make things easy to carry.
Your bright graphic prints remind me where I just shopped.

Okay, enough of that. This isn't about poetry; this is about plastic bags and the stores that still use them. Primarily grocery stores.

Now, it is my understanding that 95% of the world is made out of plastic because plastic is durable, cheap, and it lasts forever. I remember when grocery stores originally switched from paper bags to plastic bags - the big selling points were that plastic bags have handles (which at the time, paper grocery bags did not) and that they were stronger than the paper bags which would dissolve if your frozen foods start to thaw on the way home. What I don't remember is the momentous event that convinced an entire population that plastic bags are flimsy and unreliable and that therefore, putting more than one box of tissues into a double-bagged plastic bag would cause catastrophe on the way from the store to one's car, or from one's car to one's home.

What amuses me almost to no end (I have to sleep sometimes) is that while most major grocery chains are making marked steps to "green" their stores, their baggers are still using a minimum of four plastic bags for each customer. If a customer asks for paper bags, half of the contents of the paper bags get wrapped in plastic first so they don't leak on the paper. Or, the paper bag will be placed in a plastic bags so that the customer can take advantage of the oh so useful handles provided by the plastic bag.

My other personal favorite has to do with stores that have paper bags with handles on them and their need to double bag those bags, usually because the handles break. You would think that someone would design a paper bag with relatively durable handles so that for the first time in thirty years, a person buying orange juice and tomato soup at the store could leave with only one bag. This cultural obsession we have with bags is ludicrous. When I ask the person at the checkout counter to either put it all in one bag, or let them know that I don't need a bag at all for the pack of gum I just purchased, they look at me as if I have suddenly sprouted several new limbs that are about to begin beating the checkout worker about the head and neck.

Which is why, whenever I can, I use the self-checkout lane. I have, in the relatively recent past, fit a carton of orange juice, three cans of soup, assorted fruits and vegetables, and a box of crackers all into one standard grocery store plastic bag and walked a half-mile home with said bag and ZERO incidents. And when I got home, I felt a mixture of pride for using plastic in the manner it was intended to be used, and guilt for having to use a plastic bag in the first place because I forgot my reusable bags at home. Oh well.

In general, the human body is pretty great. The simplest things, like how a paper cut heals, are really simply amazing when you think about how much time and effort and energy is involved. And then you sit back and think of all of the other amazing things it can do, and how well it adapts when one particular function isn't functioning. Pretty cool, yes?

I would also like to mention that I am a fan of the human form from the aesthetic perspective as well. Women with their lovely curves. Men with their shoulders and abs and forearms. Odd as it sounds, find me a man with great forearms and I kind of melt. But eyes are beautiful and smiles are beautiful and hands and hearts and calves and noses -- the human form is, in general, attractive. And I'll even admit that when my own personal anatomy comes into close contact with someone else's personal anatomy, the end result can be pretty great (depending largely on who he is and how we feel about one another).

I would also like to point out that whatever a person decides to do to his or her own anatomy should really be up to them - pierce it, draw on it, poke it, prod it, stroke it, rub it, tickle it, flick it, lick it, shave it, flaunt it, hide it, dye it, bleach it, wax it, trim it, oil it, cut it, bind it, put weird things in it, use it, abuse it, whatever. As long as it isn't hurting anyone else, I believe that a person should be able to do to his or her own anatomy whatever he or she chooses (and I reserve the right to amend this statement if and when I ever have to apply it to my own children).

That being said, keeping in mind that I like the human form, keeping in mind that I like the male human form in particular, and keeping in mind that I believe in the freedom to do what you want in the privacy of your own home, I really very strongly suggest that if you must stand naked in your living room and masturbate at all hours of the day that you please close your blinds. I understand that it feels good. Believe me, I'm a fan of masturbation. I understand that doing it in front of an open window may even be exciting for the possibility that someone else might see you doing it. I very humbly ask, however, that I not have to be that person. Unless you happen to be my lover at the time (and even then it's iffy), I don't want to have to see that. You have every right to do it, and I applaud the little seventy-year-old man across the courtyard who is physically able to still do that, but honestly, it kind of creeps me out and makes me uncomfortable in my own house, particularly because your window looks right into my bedroom window which kind of makes me wonder what it is you're thinking about while you are playing with yourself in your living room at 5pm on a Thursday. Or 10pm on a Tuesday. Or noon on a Sunday. Really. Do you do anything else? I've seen you entering and exiting the building, and I'm pretty sure you occasionally put pieces of paper up in your window because you know I can (and don't want to be able to) see what you're doing which makes one or the other of us holding the door for the other one a little, well, awkward, so I know you must do something, sometimes. Is it just groceries that you leave the building for? Go grab some food to keep the stamina up for the next round? You're so fully clothed when you're out - why can't you do that more at home? Or could we maybe work something out so that I know I need to close my blinds by 9pm because that's when the games begin, but I'm allowed to open them again at 8am with the assurance that you won't be standing there, pistol in hand, so to speak? Yes, you have the right to do what you want in your home, but so do I, and I would really like to not have to see that with such alarming frequency. Please?

I'm just sayin'.

Let's be honest - I've been very not okay for a very long time now. And truth be told, I'm sick of it. I'm sure my friends and family are sick of it, too. I've been a pill. I barely leave my house and I'm not very much fun when I do. I'm grumpy all of the time and have a very short temper.

I would like, if I may, to apologize for all of that right now. I'm not saying that I'm done with it, but I just want you to know that I am aware of it and I'm sorry for it.

So how do we fix it? I need to get back in touch with how to be me. It's funny - I started climbing the corporate ladder, and I thought I'd try the persona on for a little while, and it took me all of two months to realize that it's really not me and I really don't like it. I don't like having the purse that you carry over one shoulder instead of the messenger type bag you wear slung across your chest. I don't like the long hours with no lunch break. I don't like the fighting to try to keep my head above water. And I really really really really REALLY don't like not having a creative output or a creative community. I don't like putting all of that on hold for the sake of my day job. I don't like being tired all of the time. I don't like being grumpy. I don't like being a pill.

So we've identified what I don't like, we need to look at what I do like. I do like creating things. I do like knowing that there is more to my life than my day job. I do like knowing that I'm a more unique individual than the girl with the giant shoulder-slung purse clocking in at 7:45am and leaving at 5:00pm.

I have some ideas for how to get back there. It's not going to be easy and it's not going to be pretty and it may be a fantastic failure, but even the thought of trying feels wonderful. Like I'm on my way back to being me again. I know I've been a pill and I probably don't have the right to ask, but if you have a little spare positivity lying around, I could use a "You can do it."

Thanks.

The thing is, I bet I can think of more reasons to hate me than anyone else can. Some of them make sense, and some of them really have nothing to do with me. Maybe you think veganism is crazy. Maybe you're a conservative and you don't like liberals. Maybe you think city folk are obnoxious. Maybe you think I'm arrogant. Maybe my intellect intimidates you. Maybe you're a Sox fan. Maybe you think my hair/eyes/etc are prettier than yours. Maybe one day six months ago when I was having a bad day, something I said to you came out wrong. There are probably a million reasons to dislike me or hate me or disapprove of me or whatever.

The important thing is this - I'm human. Most of those reasons have nothing to do with me. I'm really not an arrogant person, I'm just an introvert. I'm not intimidating if you just take a minute to talk to me. My religious/political/theoretical ideas are the ones that make sense to me, and I am 100% aware of the fact that they don't necessarily apply or appeal to anyone else. The physicality stuff, well, that's actually on you. But for the most part, I am a good person. I try as hard as I can to be a good person. I don't hurt other people, or animals for that matter. I am a productive member of society. I work hard at my job. I'm caring and compassionate and giving.

But if you do chose to hate me, please make sure it's for one of the good reasons. Because if it's not and you decide to go off on me for one of the stupid reasons, well, you're just going to make yourself look stupid.

Speaking of which, if you do hate me for one of the stupid reasons, if you just talk to me about it, chances are we can clear things up. Festering about it really does nothing productive. Communication, people. Solves more problems than alcohol.

So if and when I die, I would like one of two things to happen.

1) I'd like there to be a dance. A huge swing dance with all of the people I danced with, and all of the people who watched me dance like an idiot, just having a great night. Great music. Maybe a shim sham and a Big Apple. Perhaps even a jam circle where someone does sailor kicks and someone does hacksaw. In short, I want people to dance until their feet blister and just have an amazing night of great dancing.

2) I'd like there to be a jam session. A bunch of people with assorted instruments, just playing. Maybe there should be beverages and snacks available. If people play my songs, that's cool. If they play songs I liked, that's cool, too. Just a bunch of people making music for an evening. Sharing in the beauty of that.

I'm not planning on dying anytime soon, but one of the fathers of lindy hop died this morning (well, yesterday morning, April 27). The end result was that all of the dancers I used to dance with back when I was dancing six nights a week gathered at the Monday night venue to celebrate his life. We danced, we jammed, we laughed, we sweat like pigs, we sat and enjoyed each other's company over a beverage. The little bit I knew about Frankie Manning makes me think he would have wanted his life celebrated that way. And it made me think that when I pass someday, I'd like my life to be celebrated like that.

Thank you, Frankie Manning, for your warmth and enthusiasm. Thank you for this amazing dance and for working so hard for so long to make sure that generations to come will be able to carry on your legacy. You will be sorely missed.

So I'm in the middle of season 2 of the Gilmore Girls for the umpteenth time, and I have realized that the problem with watching Gilmore Girls for the umpteenth time is that it becomes glaringly obvious that they didn't have anyone on set checking for continuity, or if they did, said person was blind and missing a foot. Else that that, I love this show. It's so charming. Also, the character of Maury may be the most underrated character on the show. He's so dear. Of course I love Sooki, too, but Maury...I wish they had used him more.

It also makes me think that I have two tips to offer anyone making DVDs of episodic television shows. 1 - Always include a "play all" option. Having to go back through two menus in between episodes sucks. 2 - Make the opening credits of the show their own chapter so that someone having a marathon of said show can fast forward through the credits without missing anything important. Follow these two simple rules and your episodic television DVD is bound to be a success. Join us next week when we look at the best way to package gum.

So I love to travel. I really do. The only problem being that it gets really hard to come home, largely because traveling reminds me of many things that I don’t have and/or can’t have in my life. But coming home to my cat and my guitar is always nice.

Highlights of my little trip to San Francisco: going to Amoeba and finding a bunch of CDs that I don’t have but want for a really good price. Hanging out with a dancer friend and doing a bit of dancing. Walking around the city and discovering the Yerba Buena Gardens. The Cartoon Art Museum. Seeing one of my favorite musicians play most of the songs I have come to know and love of his. Hanging out with said musician after his show. Hanging out with another swing friend.

Lowlights of my little trip to San Francisco: the flights.

On the way out, I had a stopover in Denver for about a half an hour. I don’t know when the last time you went to Denver was, but the turbulence going in and coming out of there was, well, not fun. And of course, any time I’m on a turbulent flight now, all I can think of is “Lost,” and if I were to crash on an island with these people, which ones would drive me crazy and which ones would I be able to befriend. On the first leg of the flight, I was sitting next to a young man who I initially thought was kind of cute with his dark-rimmed glasses, scruffy facial hair, baseball hat, and black t-shirt. It wasn’t until he sat down that I noticed his, um, fragrance. I think he was kind of excited to sit next to a not-too-bad-looking girl, and he started talking to me. Which wouldn’t have been all bad, but he wasn’t a great conversationalist. I would like to point out two very simple suggestions for conversing with total strangers. 1) When they ask you a question, answer, and then throw the same question back at them (or a question that is somewhat related). People like to talk about themselves for the most part, and this is a good way to keep the conversation going. 2) When you find yourself in an awkward pause, ask them something not-too-invasive about their life (i.e. where are you from, what do you do, etc). This prevents the awkward snubbing factor of the person going back to their book after waiting for several minutes for you to say something.

Side note: One of the discs I bought at Amoeba is “Flood” by They Might Be Giants. I love this record. I used to have it on cassette tape, which got buried in my various moves since 1990 when it came out. But there it was for eight dollars on CD, so I picked it up and am currently listening to it. I love this disc. It’s mere existence brings me almost unspeakable joy. I didn’t realize how much I missed this record until I started listening to it a minute ago. If you have the means, I highly recommend picking up a copy. It really is fun.

Back to the flights. On the second leg of my flight out, I sat next to a four year old. She was darling, but had very little concept of personal space. As in, she kept kicking me. And her mother didn’t say anything about it until the flight was almost over. At one point, the little girl decided to lift up the armrest that I was using, so I kind of quietly said, “I was kind of using that,” and the mother told her to put it back down. And I felt like a bitch for saying anything, but still. Your daughter has been kicking me for half of the flight and I haven’t said anything, but I would very much like to be able to use the armrest, thank you.

And now, as I sit on the plane on the way home to my guitar and my cat, I once again have to complain. It’s not a very full flight, and for a minute, I thought I was going to have a whole row to myself. Then the very last passenger on the plane took the aisle seat in my row, and put her personal items on the middle seat. So I am confined to my seat, which is fine, I kind of expected that. But the guy in front of me leaned his seat back so far that I can’t put my laptop on the tray table and open it at the same time. I currently have my computer on my lap and am still not pleased with the angle at which my screen is forced to sit. I don’t think I could even satisfactorily put a beverage on my tray table, his seat is so far reclined.

But in general, it was a lovely trip. I stayed in a sort of boutiquey hotel, which was fun and made it like a real vacation, which I have decided I very much need. Preferably a longer one next time.
And now if I can take a moment to talk about the musician. If you happen to be him and you happen to be reading this, I’m sorry if it’s weird, but here goes. It always amuses me when I encourage my friends to try something (music, food, a movie, etc) and they do and they are surprised to find that they actually like it. Like when I was telling people to come see my band play because we sounded awesome and they would show up and say, “Wow, that really WAS good.” As if I had been lying. Or as if I had put that much time and effort into creating something sub-par. Same kind of situation with this musician. He writes really good music. I’ve been to enough open mics and seen enough other musicians at other shows that I have played to know that there is a lot of crappy music out there, which is really sad. It gives singer/songwriters a bad name. When you say “singer/songwriter” now or “folk musician,” people expect one guy (or girl) with a guitar, singing slow, sappy songs about heartbreak or a loss of innocence or something along those lines. It’s usually forty-five minutes of songs that pretty much all sound the same and are so packed with metaphors that by verse two, you have no idea what the song is about anymore, so you tune out. Or you get the guy who wants to be John Mayer/Jack Johnson/Dave Matthews, but who would go a lot farther if he just found his own style and ran with it instead of trying to copy someone else’s. Or you get the woman singing seventeen songs about boyfriends (or girlfriends) who wronged her, chock full of swears so that she sounds “edgy.” And while I will never tell anyone that they shouldn’t express themselves, I will agree that it can get painful to listen to after a while. Most people going to see a concert, particularly when they’re seeing a musician they’ve never seen or heard of before, would like a little variety. They want songs they can wrap their minds around. And the musician I went to see does that. He uses all different kinds of rhythms in his strumming and finger picking styles. Hell, he uses both strumming and finger picking styles in his sets. He has some soft, slow, sweet stuff. He has some songs about loss. But he has engaging lyrics, based in metaphors that are concrete enough to be recognizable to the audience, but original enough to stick in the minds of the listeners and make them think. And he has this soothing voice. It’s not perfect in the over-produced kind of a way, but it’s genuine and has a nice, full tone to it. Really, he writes great music. And, he manages to be a genuinely nice person at the same time.

So I met him in December of 2004 in New York and have been trying to get people I know to listen to his stuff ever since. I gave his CDs to family members as gifts. I’ve forwarded his website to friends. I’ve told people to go to his shows. I don’t know if it has been at all effective. But one of my good friends went with me to his show and really enjoyed it. She commented on the interesting rhythms and the wonderful vocal quality. I love it that I found him a new fan. Now if I could just get the rest of my friends to realize that I wouldn’t fly half-way across the country to see just any musician play – it has to be a good one. Trust me. I know what I’m talking about.

Anyway.

They found me a whole empty row at the very back of the plane so I can sit like a normal person. It means it will take longer to get off of the plane when it lands, but you know what? It’s worth it.

The only problem with seeing said musician play is that I am now, once again, questioning my own music. I use a lot of the same rhythms over and over again. Maybe I don’t mask my metaphors enough. My one friend called my stuff “emo” which really bothered me. I don’t think I’m “emo.” Or maybe my stuff comes across as being “emo” because my metaphors are too well hidden and the song I wrote about my own apprehension about going to my high school reunion becomes a break-up song. Which it isn’t. But if you think it is, I guess it could sound emo.

Which brings me to everything else that is going on in my life. I decided that I needed to take this trip to prove to myself that I’m not a corporate schill. I still checked my work email while I was gone, and I feel guilty that I’m not doing work-related things now. Yes, I did get a raise with my promotion, but technically, they’re still not paying me enough to take over my whole life. But I almost feel obligated to give it. And since I have neither a theatrical project, a musical project, or a significant other to distract me from work, I feel like I should be working all of the time. Which is wrong. I should be trying to find myself a musical project. I thought about trying to record an EP of all of the songs I have written in alternate tunings. Give it some funny name about everything being off or something like that. I think I might bore the sound engineer, though. Which always means I could try to do it myself with what I’ve got. But I’d want my drummer to lay down the percussion for it. “Coming Home” came up on my iTunes the other day and it made me miss playing with her. She really is fantastic.

Anyway. I’m just on a sort of a bitch-fest at the moment when really, what I need to do is shit or get off the pot, so to speak.

Speaking of which (kind of), I don’t understand drug culture. I got to go down to Haight and Ashbury for the show last night (someplace every folk musician should go just for the history of it) and while I was drawn in by the funky shops and welcoming vibe of the area, I was kind of disturbed by the number of homeless people and/or the number of people just crashing on the sidewalk because they were too stoned to find their way home. I don’t get that. I understand, logically, that the drugs they are doing make them feel good, and I certainly understand the desire to feel good. But the cost (beyond the monetary cost) is their usefulness. Which I feel really odd talking about for other reasons. But I like to be useful. I like being a productive member of society. I don’t know how essential anything I am doing or have done with my life is in the grand scheme of things, but I have helped people do things that are important to them, or I have written songs that soothe the souls of certain listeners, so it can’t be all bad what I’m doing. I can’t imagine spending every day of my life doing drugs and sitting on the sidewalk watching the rest of the world go by around me. I don’t get it. I’d rather be doing things. Like taking random trips across the country on a whim. Hell, even sitting with my cat on my lap, scratching his head feels more productive. Which is maybe the same motivation behind homeless people having dogs. Though I feel for those dogs, I really do.

Now I’m just being a downer. Sorry about that.

I had fun. I had a great trip. I wish there was something more in my life right now. I’m sure it will find me soon.

Okay, I have to put a disclaimer on this blog to note that it is not intended to hurt anyone's feelings. It's just what I was thinking about tonight as I was out and about.

Back in the day, when I first started swing dancing, it was magic. I would go out and see all of these people who inspired me to dance and made me want to learn more and be better, and I wanted all of them to know who I was and to know that I could hold my own and that I was fun to dance with. And for the most part, I think I was successful in that. I made a bit of a name for myself that would sometimes proceed me when I traveled to dance. But then life happened and I stopped dancing so much and now I'm more in a place where when I go out, maybe one person there knows that I can hold my own and I have to spend each dance outing proving to the good dancers that yes, I really am one of you. And that gets tiring. I'm sorry, but it does.

So I went out dancing tonight and with the exception of two or three people, I wasn't really inspired by what I saw. And of all of the people I told that I was going to go out, one showed up. Another one tried, but life got in the way. Which kind of makes me wonder about all of the years I spent swing dancing, the same way I'm wondering about all of the years I spent doing music and theater - what did it get me? I thought I had made these good friends, but when I stopped dancing so much, we kind of stopped being friends, despite some effort to stay in touch. Swing people are, for the most part, really quality people. But trying to get them to do something that doesn't involve swing dancing is neigh on impossible. And I learned all of these dance moves and I learned about musicality and I learned how to use my body in all kinds of fun ways, but when I go out dancing now, I don't get to use that as much. Partially because the quality of leads that I get to dance with has changed (save the few old schoolers I see from time to time), and partially because I feel so rusty I'm afraid to experiment and play around like I used to.

I think the important thing that I need to remember from my swing days, and from my theater days, and from my band days, is that I had a blast. I learned so much and saw so much and did so many crazy things that most people never get to do that even if I never dance again or set foot on a stage, it was worth it.

But I went out tonight, excited to dance. And when I got there, I realized that I would have to show this whole room full of people who had no idea who I was that I do know how to dance and it kind of took the energy right out of me. Because I'm not going to become a regular again, and these people won't remember me a month from now.

I think what I decided tonight that I'm looking for is something more than a one-off fun experience. Rather than get the entire swing community across the country to know me and respect me as a dancer, I'd like to find one person who will go get tea with me on a night when there is no dancing, you know? I don't need everyone to know who I am. I just need someone to not forget than I am.

So I was all proud of myself because I made it through the winter without getting sick.

Until now.

My sinuses are very not happy. They are trying to escape the confines of my body by whatever means necessary, but they seem to be lacking sufficient water supplies to do so. Meaning, I can feel that I need to blow my nose, but I also feel so dehydrated that I can't productively blow my nose. Which is strange because I drink tea and water all day like a fiend, so how I managed to not be hydrated enough to get sniffly is beyond me. Suffice it to say, I don't feel great. I'm steaming my face over my tea and I kind of feel light headed or vapid and unable to focus. Which means it's a good thing I have a three day weekend coming up. Though I do have several social functions to attend over the next couple of days. One is a farewell party for a friend who is moving away, so I can't miss that one. The others...we'll have to see how I feel.

It feels good to have baseball back on the air. And as much as I've tried to arrange things so that I can watch as many Cubs games as possible (and the occasional Indians game), I'm kind of looking forward to listening to Pat and Ron call the game on the radio tonight. Radio is such an underrated medium these days. I know so many people who instantly plug their iPods into the car when they get in - they don't even check to see if there is anything good on the radio first. I like being surprised by what songs the DJs pick, and hell, we live in Chicago and have WXRT - if that isn't enough reason to listen to the radio, I don't know what is. But anyway, I love Pat and Ron and am looking forward to hearing them tonight. Go Cubbies!

I'm going to a concert in the near future. I'm very excited and very nervous, and I have to remind myself that I'm going to see the concert, not the performer. I realize that makes very little sense, but before I go see a show that I've wanted to see for a while, I always get these butterflies in my stomach like the performer is going to know I'm there, when really, I have to remember that it's important to the performer that I'm there because I bought a ticket and that's about it. We'll mostly likely not chat afterwards, if you know what I mean. And I have to remind myself that not chatting afterwards doesn't take away from the fact that I'll get to see these songs that I know and love so much performed live! That's the cool part. I'm geeked for this show.

Baseball starts on Monday. Hallelujah!

As the weather begins to get warmer (theoretically), we begin to once again see droves upon droves of bicyclists, filling the city streets of Chicago. I know that cycling is better for the environment than either driving or using public transportation. And I know that it can give you a killer ass. But cyclists in the city piss me off. I know, I know, that's very not-PC of me, but it's true. And let me tell you why they piss me off.

I hate it when cyclists use the left turn lane, as if they were cars. Granted, they are allowed to. By the laws of the road, cyclists should, technically, use the left turn lane as if they were cars. But technically, cyclists are supposed to follow ALL of the rules of the road as if they were cars, including (but not limited to) stopping at all stop signs and lighted traffic signals, indicating that they are about to turn, and giving the right of way to pedestrians in crosswalks. When bicyclists start following those rules, then I'll give them the left turn lane.

And speaking of turning, when I'm in my car, and I need to make a right hand turn, and I see a cyclist next to or just behind me, I turn on my indicator, and speed up a little bit to let said cyclist know that I'm going to be turning in front of him (as I'm most likely going to get to the intersection first). This is NOT, I repeat, NOT intended as an invitation for said cyclist to speed up and try to cut me off. Dude, I'm in a car; you're on a bike. Who do you think is going to win that collision? I gave you ample warning that I'm turning - you can very easily adjust your speed to accommodate without messing up the flow of traffic in general. But if you speed up and I hit you, it's going to be my fault. It's like leaning head first into an oncoming fastball - even if your team is desperate for a run, it's really not a good idea. It does not make you more of a man to try to play chicken with a car. And me having to adjust my speed so that you can take twenty minutes to pass me before I turn messes up all of the other cars behind me, as I can't even move over to let them go by because you're there riding your bicycle.

And then there are the cyclists who stop at stop lights, but only kind of. Apparently, it is very difficult to remove their feet from the pedals and maintain their balance in one spot, so instead, they keep both feet on the pedals and meander back and forth in front of the cars waiting at the stop light. Seriously, dude, that's asking to be hit. You get some hot-shot in the right lane who is only there because he wants to pass the other guys in the intersection and get in front of the line of cars, and he's not paying attention to you as you sit on your wobbly, half-balanced bicycle that is kind of moving but kind of not. As soon as that light changes, bam. Just take your feet off of the pedals and stay still. You won't die in the 30 seconds that the light is red if you have to be stationary. You may die if you insist on parking yourself in front of soon-to-be-oncoming traffic.

Chicago is, in my opinion, a fairly bicycle friendly city. Perhaps not as much as Amsterdam, but we do have bike lanes on most major streets. I do have a problem, though, with bicyclists who can't stay in the bike lanes. Be it two people out for a ride together who feel it necessary to ride next to each other so that one is in the middle of the car lane, or be it the guy who has to get to work faster than everyone else so he passes them in the middle of the car lane, bicyclists who can't stay in their lane piss me off. Just like car drivers who can't stay in their lane. And/or, if you do need to switch lanes in order to pass someone, check to see that the lane you need to get into is empty before drifting over. If you want to use the left hand turn lane like you're a car, then you have to allow a car in the car lane the right of way before you move over to pass a bicycle in the bicycle lane. Same way that a car changing lanes isn't supposed to change lanes into another car (or bicycle) that is already occupying that lane. Remember - slower traffic stays to the right. You're on a bike; I'm in a car. Nine times out of ten, you're the slower traffic, so stay to the right.

Happy April, everybody.

I think one important thing for me to remember is that nothing is going to change in an instant, nor does it have to. I don't have to rid my house of every last scrap of extraneous paper in one night. If I get rid of one bag of stuff I don't need every day, or every other day, it will still all eventually get gone. If I take two boxes of stuff to storage tonight when I go pay for the space, and two boxes tomorrow, and so on and so forth, it will eventually all get there. I can save the bigger projects for weekends and stuff - things like rearranging furniture and painting. But I also think that if I take my time with these things, it will help infuse new energy into my apartment. I'll have the memory of doing all of these things to make my living space more mine. And maybe next year, when it's time to renew my lease again, I'll be excited about staying.

Also, if I look at this as a project instead of a task, I have something to do at night, somewhere to put my energy in the absence of theater rehearsals and band practices. I think that's something I very much need right now - somewhere to put my energy that feels constructive.

I am kind of excited about staying, and investing in my living space. Largely because the financial impact will be smaller than if I moved, so I can finally start treating myself to things that I couldn't previously afford. Like Guitar Hero.

There's something about people who can just pick up and move their lives somewhere else that I've always been envious of. I don't know if it's a disassociation with things, or a fearlessness, or what, but I have to admire people who don't think twice about undoing their lives and trying again somewhere else. I wish I could do that.

I'm sitting here in my apartment thinking about all of the things that I don't like about it, not really wanting to leave. Moving is a hassle. And it's going to be expensive - not necessarily just a one shot payment, but every month, it is going to be more expensive. What if I stay put? I could save up all of the money I would have spent on rent and maybe think about buying something someday. Something that really does kick ass. Something that has all of the things I want - outdoor space, working doors, decent carpet, etc. But the question is, do I need all of those things RIGHT NOW, or can I wait another year or two in the hopes of something better? Or, who knows? I could get blindsided in the next year or two and fall in love with someone and we'll want to get a place together.

Maybe staying where I am is the better thing to do now. But there is a part of me that is going to feel..less fearless or less strong or something, if I don't move. And I know that if I choose to stay here, I'm not going to get any sympathy when I complain about lack of heat or hot water or stuff like that. But maybe it is the better choice for the time being, and maybe I can do some things to make it so I don't feel the need to complain. Am I wuss if I don't move? Am I okay with being a wuss if that is what I am?

I've looked at a couple of apartments so far and so far, I'm kind of underwhelmed. I'd like to think that moving somewhere else would be a step up. And I'd rather not shell out all kinds of extra money for rent to get a smaller space with no windows. Which makes me think maybe I should stay put? I like my neighborhood. I have lots of space. They just put in new windows. But I have no storage space. And the heat is a problem. And it took them six weeks to fix the hole in my ceiling. And I have no counterspace in my kitchen. And none of my doors close properly. So maybe I should move. Ick. It's all such a pain in the ass. But if I stay where I am for another year, I could save up all kinds of money. I still have a few days before I have to decide for sure, if not a couple of weeks. I don't know if I have to give them 45 days or 60 days notice, because they never gave me a copy of my lease as a reference point. Keep your fingers crossed for me that I'll find something that is, if not amazing, at least a step up from where I am now.

Last week was a really rough week for my family. Three deaths in one week. Two of them were kind of a long time coming, but it's still never easy to bury a mother or a wife or a partner. The third completely blindsided me. But I was able to go up and say goodbye to my uncle, who had lost his wife just five days earlier. They were a great couple, and he was such a sweet man. More than anything, I remember him smiling and laughing. And I will always remember that he would ask about my theater projects and would listen without glazing over when I would talk about them. He felt like an ally, and I loved him for that. He will be very much missed.

(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.