Counterpointed

Sit down and shut up

2012-01-24T07:08:00.000-08:00

Last night, I went to the movies with two of my dearest friends. I am, in general, not the sort of person who goes to the movies just for fun. I hate most of the banal films that are produced nowadays and, unless it's something I am really pumped about, I am not going to spend fifteen bucks to sit in a dark theater trying not to fall asleep.

But Beauty and the Beast was out in 3D and, as we all know, there's nothing I love more than Disney movies from twenty years ago to which I may or may not know all the dialogue and songs. So we went.

Now, I knew going into this that one of my friends is the worst person to watch anything with. He violates one of my cardinal rules for watching things: sit down, shut up, and WATCH. He dares to do things like insert commentary, ask questions, and ask me to pass the Milk Duds.

I am "that" person in movie theaters, the one who hushes others and asks them to put their phones away. When the previews start, as far as I am concerned, nobody should be talking. If the person next to me pours a handful of Sno-Caps in a quiet moment, it will take all my self-restraint not to punch them in the face.

Luckily, I have made it known to Dave how I feel about noise, movement, breathing, etc. during films and he did his best to reign it in and we all enjoyed the movie tremendously. The whole experience got me thinking about those seemingly trivial things that I look for in a partner and how they are actually indicative of qualities I value. Here are a few....

1. Keep silent during movies, TV shows, concerts, and plays. Though on a superficial level, this is about not annoying me, from a broader perspective, it's about giving focus and attention to life. If a person cannot sit still and remain silent for a thirty minute sitcom or make it through a symphony concert without checking texts, is that person capable of listening? Would he or she notice the small things that make life beautiful? Or is that person constantly distracted, unable to patiently wait for insight, or always waiting for something better to come along?

2. Pronounce "espresso" correctly. If you say "EXpresso," not only will I want to push you down a flight of stairs, I will also wonder how you managed to read so quickly that you mistook an S for an X. This will lead me to believe that you don't pay attention to details, or care if things are done well. Or you are just dumb.

3. Don't listen to Nickelback. The initial personality flaw here is that you have shitty taste in music. As a musician, that is something I find absolutely deplorable. But Nickelback started as a country band and couldn't make it, so they became a rock band. What does it say to me if you like them? That you are attracted to bands (and probably also people) who are ok with changing themselves into a generic, mediocre entity simply to gain acclaim. Also, you are dumb.

4. Be nice to waiters and waitresses and customer service reps. Aside from embarrassing everyone you are with when you are an asshole to people who wait on you, being mean to those in the customer service industry means you have no patience. It also likely means that your parents are assholes who passed on their assholeness to you. I like when romantic interests get along with their families and can be nice to everyone. It sends up huge red flags when they don't. And if you don't tip twenty percent? Yes, you are cheap, but you also don't place any value on hospitality. I like taking my loved ones out and showing them a good time. This is important to me. If you can't be bothered to do it right, well...peace out.

2012-01-18T05:36:00.001-08:00

I've written some pretty soul-baring stuff on this blog (and my old one), but this might be the most vulnerable I have allowed myself to be on the intertubes. Please tread lightly and kindly.

Last night, I was driving home from a friend's house where a few of us had met for dinner. The weather had felt very...apocalyptic...all day. It was almost sixty degrees earlier in the day. Then the wind picked up, low dark clouds blew through, the sky turned a weird shade of pink, and it poured rain. By the time I drove home around ten, the rain had turned to snow. It blew hard at my windshield as I listened to the Rachmaninoff third piano concerto on the local classical station.

My brain had been feeling unsettled all day and the weather certainly wasn't helping. As I got closer to home, the intensity of the music and the snow started to get to me. Here was this storm, whirling around me, and this fantastic piece of music building to a climactic moment, and I felt nothing. Nothing.

I started thinking about the last time I felt anything, the last time I cried, the last time I laughed until I cried, the last time I had a moment of complete joy, the last time a piece of music truly moved me. I couldn't think of a damn thing.

It has been ten months since I started taking anti-depressants. I have no doubt that they saved me. My job, my schoolwork, my relationships. My life. As anyone who has been on anti-depressants can tell you, they take a little while to kick in. Although I was sleeping better and generally less lethargic after only a few weeks, it took about two months for me to feel like I was functioning normally. And feeling things normally.

It is only now, eight months later, that I realize this is when I started drinking more. I am left wondering if I ever really allowed myself to recover from my depression. And if I have to ask, I probably know the answer...

I started drinking when I was in high school. I would get completely hammered with my friends almost every weekend. We were honors students, varsity athletes, competitive musicians, from stable homes. Why did we drink? Several of us had alcoholic, or recovering alcoholic parents. Some had strained relationships with parents or boyfriends. It was social and it was fun, but it also helped each of us fill some void in our lives, I believe. Of course, you don't realize these things when you are seventeen.

Fast forward to Peace Corps. A once-over of my old blogs will tell you all you need to know about the sort of mental state I was in while there. By my final year, I was drinking every day. Two liters of beer, sometimes more. It numbed the frustration and the loneliness, helped me push aside the fear that I had made the wrong choice, that I was not a good enough volunteer.

And here we are, two years later, and the thread of problem drinking is again at the forefront of my life. I don't drink every day, but when I do, more often than not, I frighten myself. I do not have an off switch. One glass of wine, then two, then eight, and I am drunkenly scrounging up more alcohol. Because it's not enough. It's never enough.

If I go out for drinks with friends, I am concerned about how fast I drink. If I finish my cocktail first, they will know that I have a problem.

Recently, I began having blackouts. This is what truly alarmed me. It is a problem I have never had before. It is terrifying to me to wake up and see that I have sent emails to people, cleaned my house, made phone calls, and have no recollection.

Last night, at my friend's house, I gingerly admitted some of this to him.

"I have rules," he said. "I don't drink alone. I don't mix."

I tuned him out as he continued. Because I realized there is a fundamental difference between him and me. He is not an addict.

Don't drink alone? I've tried that. Going out for drinks with friends ends with me, home alone, desperately wanting to be drunker, pounding cheap beer from the back of my fridge.

I had two glasses of wine with dinner last night. I stopped. And I hated my sober self. The soundtrack playing in my head told me I was not enough. Not funny enough, or interesting enough, or worthy enough.

I've got some work to do. I don't really know where to go from here, but things have to change. I don't want to go through the next ten months of my life numb.

Thanks for listening.

Life Recently

2012-01-10T20:45:00.000-08:00

[Insert obligatory apology for neglecting this blog for over a month.]

Ok, now that's out of the way...

What have I been up to?

1) I moved. Never move on Christmas Eve and Day. It sucks. Not as much as Holiday Season 2009, but still pretty shitty. My new digs, however, are pretty rad. It is so nice to live in a place that feels comfortable and like home.

2) I signed up for yoga teacher training! I start in February and by the middle of May, I will be a registered yoga teacher. I am more excited about this than about finishing my master's degree. True story. I feel passionate about this decision in a way I have never felt passionate about anything before.

3) I have been feeling the tide turn in my life. This is rather abstract, I know. But I have been feeling like good things are going to happen. I really feel like I have reached a place in life where I can be myself and pursue what truly makes me happy.

4) I will finish school. I need to put together a recital. I am not terribly thrilled about this, honestly, but I will do it. Practicing the piano makes me hate myself. I am trying to teach myself to approach it as I approach yoga: as a practice. I still get incredibly frustrated. In addition, I have been fighting injury all year, which has been really disheartening.

Those are the happenings as of late. I could promise to post some pictures, but who knows if I will follow through? It's best not to make empty promises.

Whoever you are, wherever you are, if you are reading this blog, I wish you a fantastic 2012. I hope that you have a fruitful and satisfying year.

A Belated Thanks

2011-12-07T21:27:00.000-08:00

As usual, when I should be sleeping, I am up surfing the internet.

For whatever reason, I think that the best cure for insomnia is to refresh my Facebook every ten seconds. After one of my refreshes, I noticed an old college acquaintance had posted a video of Mystery of the Bulgarian Voices singing on Johnny Carson in 1990. "I almost forgot about this group," he captioned it. "I have the album and it's great."

Shit. All of a sudden, I am wide awake and sad as hell and wondering where time has gone. In April, it will have been four years since I left for BG. FOUR years. The first year after returning from Bulgaria was really, really hard. I was trying to get my feet back on solid ground, get my life in order, process the whole situation, my depression, my relationships with others, the meaning of life in general....Basically, overhaul my life and values system. I thought about it every day. I simultaneously grieved for it and hated it and missed it.

Then something happened. Time, that old devil, put some distance between me the BG. I stopped thinking about it as a really fucked up time in my life, stopped berating myself for everything I could have done better, stopped wishing I could go back and do it better and not leave such a trail of destruction in my wake. I started seeing it as an important chapter in my life, one that shaped me and changed me and helped me.

And then time kept on going and something else happened. My experience started becoming nothing but a series of amusing anecdotes or one-liners:

"Oh, you think it's cold out? Try showering in an unheated bathroom for two years."

"Oh, the bum hit you up for money? I remember the time a drunk old man tried to kiss me at the train station in Pernik and then gave me a bag of apples."

"You thought you were going to be abducted? I remember one time, I went on a picnic in the woods and we drove through a field of sunflowers to get there and I didn't speak enough Bulgarian to understand what was going on and I thought I was going to get murdered and scattered throughout north-central Bulgaria."

And on it goes. When did I become that person?

Then I see this video, and I realize just how much I miss living there. And it makes me hate myself for becoming so entrenched in the banal happenings of my life here in Ohio that I don't stop to be grateful to Bulgaria. Peace Corps didn't give me shit, but Bulgaria...you gave me so much more than I could ever give you. That sounds trite, but I don't even care.

You taught me to appreciate beauty in the small things. You taught me the importance of friendship. You taught me that people can be kind for absolutely no reason at all, other than because you are another human being in need.

So Bulgaria....thank you.

2011-12-01T06:57:00.000-08:00

I am a total Grinch this year.

Last year was my first Christmas home in two years and I was totally enchanted by the holiday season in America. The rampant consumerism seemed almost cute. Putting up the tree didn't feel like a chore. I loved hearing Christmas music on the radio and going to midnight Mass and buying presents for my loved ones.

This year, however, I couldn't feel more differently. I am stressed about school, my church job, an impending move, money....in a word, everything. I keep telling myself to snap out of it, to stop being such a Scrooge. After all, I am so blessed and have so many wonderful people in my life. I just can't help it, though. Everything seems like a chore.

The best solution for me seems to be to step back and focus on getting a little bit done at a time, and to avoid too many commitments. I have been invited to five Christmas parties in one week. Five! Hell no. I will lose my mind if I have to force myself to be full of Christmas cheer when all I really want to do is curl up in the fetal position and listen to Radiohead.

This is a dark time of year and the Christmas holiday, whatever your religious beliefs (or lack thereof), should help each of us look for the light in our lives, for the person or thing who makes our world a little brighter. I can't say that I am going to manage to do very well at looking for the positive this year, but I am sure going to try.

Make Yourself

2011-11-30T11:02:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking a lot recently about what I want from life. When people would ask me to project five or ten or twenty years into the future, I never could do it. The fucked up truth of it was that I found life so exhausting, I was sort of hoping not to be around. It scares me to realize that that's what I thought only a year ago.

So who do I want to be? I am not entirely sure, but I know a few things. I want to be a badass yogi. I no longer want to feel overwhelmed and defeated by the strength of my thoughts and emotions. I want to drop the nasty smoking habit that cycles in and out of my life for good. I want to cultivate the sort of physical and emotional self that makes me feel powerful. I want to help other people do the same, because I know I have something to offer in that area.

Vague, but it's a start.

So where am I now? Well, to be quite honest, I often feel like a total mess. Weak and scared, like that disgusting Voldemort fetus thing in Harry Potter:

I often find myself on the verge of tears in yoga class because it brings up such powerful emotions that I am afraid to face. I drink a lot. I am overweight. I procrastinate. I make myself physically ill with worry and anxiety. I live in fear of my depression returning full force. I think that everyone in my life secretly thinks that I am crazy or unlovable or is just waiting for the right moment to expose my fatal flaw to the world.

But you know what? That's ok. I am ok. I still have a long way to go, but I guess we all do, eh? At least now I am able to get out of bed, face life, and say, "Here is my crazy. You can take it or leave it; I have to learn to love it."

The onset of winter is difficult for me. It always has been. This year, instead of allowing myself to be sucked into believing all the negativity that swirls in my head during this season of cold and darkness, I want to use the time to make my life into what I want it to be.

So who are you and who do you want to be?

Thanks

2011-11-22T11:08:00.001-08:00

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I thought I would post a little list of things that brighten up my life. I am, of course, thankful for the biggies - family, friends, health, a job, a place to live, enough to eat - but I thought I would pay homage to the smaller things that make day-to-day life a bit more fun.

-The couch of the 5th floor of the library. It is secluded, it has a great view, and if it's not taken, I love to sit there and study. Or nap.

-My bed. Best investment I've ever made. My back problems are gone and I consistently get a good night's sleep.

-The GA Dinosaur Fund. We grad students invented this last year as a way to add some humor to our stress-filled and otherwise miserable lives. What are we saving up for, you ask? A dinosaur, duh. Or a pizza if that doesn't work out.

-Unlimited nights and weekends and texting.

-The awesome stainless steel appliances Alison bought for the new house.

-People who hold the door open for other people. Seriously, they just make me happy. I am glad there are human beings with manners.

-Good service in restaurants.

-When Estancia is on sale at Giant Eagle for $11.99 a bottle.

Fake It Till You Make It

2011-11-13T18:07:00.000-08:00

Tonight was the piano studio recital. Once upon a time, this would have been a relatively low-stress event for me, just one performance of many. About two weeks ago, however, I realized that I hadn't performed solo since my senior recital four and a half years ago. I play in church every week, I have accompanied tons of singers and instrumentalists, played in ensembles, and played in seminar. Performing solo, however, is an entirely different ballgame.

I was stressed. The return of an old arm injury plus the (self-imposed) pressure to play well, and I was a wreck.

I used to fight nerves. I used to berate myself for getting nervous, tell myself that there was no reason to be so freaked out, that everyone in the audience wanted me to do well. Though this all may be true, the fact is, most musicians get nervous before performances. Walking out onto a stage, with a spotlight on you, and having to play something from memory all by yourself, with no safety net, is scary as shit. There's no reason to delude ourselves into thinking it is easy.

So I played. I warmed up in the afternoon, took a nap, got dressed and went to the music building. I did yoga, meditated, and listened to System of a Down. I got nervous. I let myself feel it, embraced the nervousness. And then, when it was my turn to play, I took three deep breaths, pasted a huge smile on my face, and sat at that Steinway alone and played as well as I could. I did my best and it was ok. I have never been able to say that before.

Playing the piano teaches me about life and about myself. That's why I do it. It forces you to face your flaws, to learn to accept where you are, to live in the present. It's rarely fun. It's uncomfortable and scary. It leaves you vulnerable. It forces you to reveal your true character. At this moment, it is forcing me to tackle my perfectionism, my fear, my negativity. I love and hate every minute of it. And I will keep doing it, because I am on a journey to figure myself out, to make peace with my strengths and my shortcomings.

After the recital, I went out to dinner with a few friends from the studio, and a few friends I had not seen in years. We were chatting about the evening and one of them said to me, "You know what I loved about your performance? When you came out, you looked like you knew exactly what you were doing. Your bow looked natural, you were smiling and looked like you were excited to play. You sat down at the bench with purpose and looked like you owned that piano."

I told her the truth; that I was nervous as hell, shaking, and terrified to perform. "I never would have guessed that," she told me.

And this, I suppose, is how we must approach our lives: with confidence, with faith that everything will work out, even when we feel like it is crashing down around us. We must honor our feelings, honor our fear and our insecurities, while remaining positive.

Why I practice yoga and why you should, too

2011-10-15T11:23:00.000-07:00

Yoga has become a constant in my life. I practice (almost) every day, even if just for a few minutes. I attend classes as often as I can. When I should be doing homework or practicing or cleaning, I research certification programs, read blogs and articles, and shop for that elusive perfect pair of yoga pants. When I am not doing yoga, I wish I was. When I am on my mat, I feel in control of my life. Even when my practice is unfocused or frustrating, I never think of quitting.

Yoga has so much to give. I feel this in a way I've never felt about anything else. I don't feel obligated to practice; I WANT to practice. I need to practice.

Recently, I read a yoga blog that invited the reader to reflect on any life-changing experiences he or she has had while on the mat. I would say that yoga has been more of a gradual life change for me, but three moments stand out as "life-changers" in my own practice.

The very first yoga class I attended was number one. I went with my roomie and our friend, who had a groupon. It was a hot class that was supposedly for beginners, but I remember thinking how hard it was the whole time while I was falling on my ass and trying to figure out just what chaturanga was and how to do it. I was also sort of weirded out by the incense and the teacher's pose adjustments. But while driving home, I realized I felt...calm. Relaxed. Not angry at the world. I felt good. So good, in fact, that I was completely dazed and almost ran a red light.

The second life-changing yoga moment was in a class over the summer. I was in standing split, which is almost always made ridiculously difficult for me because of my absurdly tight hips. The teacher came over to me to do an adjustment. With one finger, she lightly touched my ankle and started gently pushing my leg upwards...and she kept pushing higher and higher. I thought I would collapse, or fall forward, or that my hip would cramp up. But it didn't. I stood there, holding that pose, feeling elated, like I could do anything and do it while staying in standing split the whole day.

The most recent moment happened when I was doing a quick morning practice before leaving my house. I had just finished savasana and was rolled onto my right side when I had what can only be called a moment of mental clarity. You know, one of those rare moments when everything in life just makes sense. I became suddenly aware that I needed to stop struggling, to stop fighting my life and try living it for a change. I realize this is a rather cryptic description and probably doesn't make much sense, but it made perfect sense to me when it happened.

The thing about life-changing moments is that they don't actually change your life. They simply illuminate a path, a better way of approaching life. The change itself is up to us. And that can suck sometimes. Change happens slowly and often painfully, in the world and in ourselves. Wanting to change and knowing what one needs to do is entirely different than actually taking action. Taking action is scary. It means taking a chance. It means we might fail. And when your biggest fear is failure (as mine is), that is a terrifying risk.

What lessens that fear is going to the studio where I practice, going to my mat, being surrounded by people who are immeasurably kind in the face of the same fears, the same shortcomings, the same neuroses. It makes me a kinder person to be in the presence of such people.

2011-09-26T12:09:00.000-07:00

I spend a lot of time walking (and occasionally jogging) around the park near my house. It's a massive park, 4400 acres total, with three giant lakes, a rose garden, trails, nature centers, boat houses, and waterfalls. I am quite sure that, though I have lived in this area for nearly my whole life, I have not seen the entire park. I still get lost driving through it.

Once, while with a friend of mine at one of the park's waterfalls, we stood for at least ten minutes and watched a duck swim dangerously close to the edge. We thought he would surely succumb to the undercurrent and topple over the edge of the falls, so we kept watching. He would drift closer and closer and I would think that he had given up paddling. Then he would suddenly shoot several feet back towards safety, propelled, I can only assume, by his tiny feet which were kicking like hell under the surface.

Recently, I have been feeling a lot like that duck, about to fall off the edge of my own life. Too much stress, a few skipped yoga classes, a little too much wine one night and fast forward to Sunday when I wake up having a panic attack at 6 a.m. Not good.

I was at my parents' house for dinner a few weeks ago, working my way through a bottle of wine with my dad and a plate of my mom's rigatoni and meatballs. We were having a grand time and, as is wont to happen, the photo albums came out. My mom and I were looking at old pictures and I realized something I had never seen (or wanted to see) before: I looked absolutely miserable in almost every single picture from 5th grade and on. So miserable that I felt bad for my past self and wanted to step into these frozen moments and give myself a hug.

I always thought my problems started in Bulgaria, but for the first time, I am accepting that they probably started long before that. I thought during this past summer that I was better; I am accepting that I let another person dictate how I felt about myself. I thought during the last month that I could take care of myself while in school; I am accepting that I need to ask for help.

The trouble with feeling like that duck is that I, unlike him, don't choose to be in this dangerous spot. The duck could swim away anytime he wanted, but something kept him close to that edge. I, on the other hand, would give anything to be in calmer waters but I just can't seem to get there. It's so frustrating.

Regardless of where I am, I offer these five things for which I am grateful today:

1. A wonderful yoga class this morning
2. My new moka pot, which makes the most amazing coffee
3. Spotify
4. Beautiful weather and changing leaves
5. Bubble baths

Money

2011-09-20T08:54:00.000-07:00

I suck at managing it.

Ok, I guess I am not terrible. I never have to worry about bills getting paid on time and I know I will have enough in a month to cover what I need.

But...I am not good at saving. I am not good at budgeting. I eat out way too often. I pick up rounds of drinks for friends. I lose track of how much I put on my credit card every month and kick myself when the bill comes.

I need to fix this, both for long-term stability and so that I can reach some short-term goals.

Anybody have any good suggestions? I guess I could eat ramen noodles and stop doing anything fun, but I'd really rather not.

Lettuce

2011-09-14T19:37:00.000-07:00

My morning was a bit rough.

I taught a freshman who was late to his lesson and couldn't remember which scales I'd assigned him. The prof I GA for wasn't happy with my grading and let me know it. I left my house in such a rush that I forgot all of my music. I have to perform a piece on Friday that is so freshly memorized I can barely make my way through it. On Saturday, I have to play for a masterclass for the organ professor at Eastman. I don't know the instrument and haven't played the piece in several months. The to-do list of bills and calls to return is getting longer and longer.

By the time I rushed into Subway to grab a sandwich that I would have five minutes to scarf down, I was seriously freaking out. Not in that "I'm super stressed and have way too much to do" way, but in that "I feel completely detached from my life and I'm not sure what's happened today or this week or this month or this year.

Then, as I waited for my sub to finish toasting, I started staring into the bucket of lettuce behind the glass and thinking about Bulgaria. I thought about lettuce season, which happened twice a year and lasted only a few weeks each time. I had missed lettuce so much when I was there. I would have paid a ridiculous sum of money for a caesar salad or a burger with a leaf of lettuce on it. Now, looking at the slimy iceberg lettuce sitting out in a plastic container, I remembered going to the pazar in Zlatitsa on Saturdays and buying a giant bunch of fresh lettuce off the back of a truck. I would take it home and wash the mud and dirt off it, and chop it to make a salad, po Bulgarski. So simple. So good.

I was so grateful for this memory today, standing in Subway, waiting for my shitty sandwich with shitty American vegetables on it. We have so little time in a day (hell, in a lifetime) and we spend it stressed about commitments and deadlines and activities that don't matter. I needed a reminder that this is NOT how I want to spend my life.

Today I would have given anything to be sitting around a table with friends, drinking rakia and eating salad and not rushing anywhere or complaining about how much there is to do. I wish I could have fully appreciated the freedom I had to do this sort of thing when I lived in Bulgaria. I don't think I ever did. But I appreciated it this afternoon, when I needed the memory to rescue me.

2011-09-06T06:07:00.000-07:00

"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."

Eleanor obviously never went to grad school.

I am getting academic credit...

2011-09-01T20:35:00.000-07:00

...to play this.

Goodbye, Comfort Zone

2011-08-30T14:08:00.000-07:00

I only have time for a quick post, but I think it bears mentioning that I am now a member of two ensembles that are totally outside the realm of anything I have ever done.

One of these ensembles is the Early Music Ensemble. I am going to play harpsichord, which I have never done. I am also probably going to have to learn the recorder. (Doesn't this make you think of that Sarah Vowell piece for TAL where she talks about being in the Bozeman Recorder Ensemble?) Today we sang shape note pieces, which look like this. Very cool.

I also was asked to be part of Jazz Ensemble 3 (?!?!) which is what really scares/excites me. When I took Jazz Fundamentals in undergrad, it was super painful and uncomfortable. I also learned a hell of a lot. This semester, Jazz 3 is going to be a bit different than it typically would be. It is going to be the "Zappa Band." All the music we perform will be Frank Zappa music. I don't even know how this is going to work or how I am going to do this. I warned them that this would be an entirely new experience for me.

I am pumped about both of these opportunities because they allow me to reconnect with how music is important to me and, I think, to society. It is a shared experience, an experience of creating and learning and performing. People want to be entertained and challenged and moved, performers and audience members alike.

Insert transitional sentence...Insert conclusion...Now I am off to yoga!

He writes the songs; I drink the $9 beer from the concession stand

2011-08-29T10:45:00.000-07:00

Today is the first day of school. I am wearing pink tights. That's about the only thing exciting that's happened so far and I don't expect much else of interest to happen in the next fifteen weeks.

What I really want to write about is Barry Manilow.

Seeing Barry Manilow in concert was not on the list of things I wanted or expected to do at any point in my life, but see him I did. He came to Youngstown on Saturday and the chorale from the music school sang backup with him on the last two numbers. They each had a few comp tickets to give away and my friend Bill gave me one.

And so I went to see Barry. By myself. It may have been a low point in my life, or maybe a high point? I'm not really sure how to tell them apart anymore.

I did what any respectable person would do before going alone to a concert given by a man whose face contains more plastic than a Tupperware party: I pounded some beers. The local bar I frequent was, unfortunately, overrun with middle-aged-corporate-job-having-bartender-bossing-douchebags. I actually watched a man flag down the bartender (who was slammed, incidentally) to ask him for a cocktail napkin that the man could have gotten himself had he simply stood up and walked five feet down the bar to where the napkins were sitting. And then he called the bartender, "buddy."

This gave me a reason to drink more, so I was ok with it. After finishing my third PBR I wandered downtown, getting hit on by a middle-aged black man in an Escalade on my way. (Those of you who know me well are aware that this is a common occurrence in my life.)

I talk a lot of shit about Barry, but I actually had a good time. My section was full of the chorale and the people who got their comp tickets, so I was surrounded by familiar faces. I got a glow stick to wave around, and Barry sang the two songs of his that I know: "Copacabana" and "I Write the Songs" [Note: Back in the day, my mom wrecked her car to "I Write the Songs"]. He's about 900 years old and can still get around that stage quite well. I wouldn't have actually paid for the tickets myself, but it was definitely an experience. After all, how many people can say they got drunk alone and watched their friends sing backup with a 1970s pop icon? Not many, I reckon. I was in adult contemporary heaven.

Summer of Samsara

2011-08-26T11:13:00.000-07:00

My biggest accomplishment of the summer has been deepening my yoga practice. I feel very lucky to have a studio ten minutes from my house that employs wonderful teachers and has an affordable student rate. From May to the present, whenever I was in town, I went to a class three to five times a week.

I "found" yoga back in December, when I was really struggling. Without this practice, I don't think I would have had the courage to seek help for my depression. I would have missed out on all the positive things that were a result of the choice to try to get better. I couldn't have let go of a lot of my anger or allowed myself to try to be present in my life (for a change).

Wow. Can you believe all those words came from me? Next thing you know, I will be getting a "namaste" tattoo and talking about opening up chakras.

Actually, that may not be too far from the truth. The studio in which I practice recently became an accredited yoga school. Although both the time and financial commitment are not feasible for me at the moment because of grad school, I am hoping to get certified next year.

It's probably true that I am still in the honeymoon phase of practice, but I do know that I want to stay mentally and physically well, and I am convinced that maintaining this practice is going to be a large part of my wellness. I also want to be able to help others discover the strength and healing I've discovered through yoga.

It feels exciting to have a goal for the first time in a long time.

2011-08-11T11:17:00.000-07:00

Roomie: Brian and his girlfriend broke up. Is it cool if he comes to stay for two or three weeks?

Me: Oh yeah. I am gonna be out of town half the time anyway. Tell him he can sleep in my room while I'm gone.

I am no longer surprised by anything that happens in this house. Alison's ex-boyfriend and former roommate moving into our attic for three weeks? Totally normal.

This is the man who, during his tenure as Alison's roommate, would take his guitar outside and sit next to the dumpster, singing a song to the dumpster raccoon which they named "Fuckbag."

I think we are going to have fun. I love this place.

Putting the "Fun" in "Funeral"

2011-08-10T10:45:00.000-07:00

I am consistently amazed by the number of people my age (or older) who tell me they have never been to a funeral or known anybody who has died. I have been attending calling hours and funerals for dead Italian relatives since before I could add and subtract. Consequently, while I certainly can think of a bazillion other things I'd rather do, attending these functions doesn't bother me in the way it seems to bother some people.

My mother's side of the family is Italian. This means that, if it weren't for the presence of a casket in the room, you'd think you were at a family reunion. Post-funeral mercy meals have a cookie table to rival a wedding. Laughter and tears come in equal measure.

My mom's cousin Carm passed away last week and my entire family piled into the minivan, just like old times, to drive down to the calling hours. I saw relatives I hadn't seen in years. The discussion went from how much they were going to miss their father to how great my new haircut was in a matter of two minutes. While standing in the line to pay my respects to Carm (which was really more like a cluster of loud Italians than a line), I observed the three women in front of me. One blessed herself and knelt down to say a prayer. The others gushed over Carm and how good he looked.

"They chose a nice suit," said one of the women as she smoothed out an imaginary wrinkle in his lapel.

"And look at him! No wrinkles. He looked so good for his age," said another.

They each gave the body a kiss on the cheek and moved on to offer condolences to Carm's wife.

Carm's son scooped my sisters and me into a group hug, tears in his eyes, thanking us for coming. Thirty seconds later, he was doing his best Lou Reed impression as he sang "Sweet Jane" to my youngest sister.

I have been thinking about death lately because there has been a lot of it around me. A friend of mine lost her uncle to cancer. He was only 50. Another friend's father just passed away suddenly last week. Sometimes, all the love and family and camaraderie in a room does not change the fact that life can be really shitty and unfair. There are no guarantees. The only hope I feel, in times like this when the futility of it all weighs on me and I wonder how some people can survive the hand life has dealt them, is that there is an abundance of love surrounding us. When things go badly, friends and family, even strangers, step up to the plate to show us that they care. It is a small consolation, I know, but it may be all we have in this crazy world.

We are taught how to care for people in their time of mourning by watching parents and other adults care. We learn how important it is to let others care for us. We pass this along to those who come after us, hoping to offer a bit of light and hope to cut through the uncertainty and sadness.

2011-08-03T13:55:00.000-07:00

I often make fun of one of my friends for his complete lack of pop culture knowledge. He lives in a bubble of classical music and did not know who Lady Gaga was until a year ago. He once referred to Mary J. Blige as "Mary Jane Bilge."

I'm starting to think that I am living in that bubble with him. I admit I spend way too much time on the internet, but my TV has not been turned on in months. When the news started making me anxious, I stopped following it. I've never had cable and I've never seen an episode of "The Bachelor." I watch plenty of terrible TV on Netflix, but I haven't been subjected to shitty advertisements in ages. I used to follow several NPR podcasts religiously, including Fresh Air and TAL. Now I only listen to Dan Savage once in a blue moon.

Am I trying to stay sane in the maelstrom of fucked-upness that is planet Earth or am I just becoming ignorant?

While I was waiting to get my hair cut last month, a woman sitting in the waiting area with me was getting phone calls every thirty seconds. It was stressing me out just watching her trying to answer all the calls coming in on her phone. As I eavesdropped, I ascertained that she was trying to figure out the verdict of some trial that was going on. It took every ounce of self-control in my body not to tell her to chill the fuck out.

As I later learned from incessant Facebook postings, some woman who allegedly killed her kid got acquitted. I had not heard a damn thing about this and still don't really know details, only that this poor, pathetic lady at the hair place was so wrapped up in the drama of someone else's sordid life and ruining the good vibes in the salon.

Maybe I am becoming ignorant to the events surrounding me, but if everyone in the world is like the woman in the hair salon, put on some Mary Jane Bilge and let me live my days in blissful ignorance.

Make That Paper

2011-08-03T13:35:00.001-07:00

Most days, I love what I do.

Ok, that's not entirely true. I rarely love it. It would be more accurate to say I am able to tolerate it because the benefits (scheduling flexibility, creative freedom) outweigh the drawbacks (lack of stability, financial uncertainty). At least at this point in my life.

Most days, I am ok with what I do and it doesn't make me want to slam my head repeatedly against the soundboard of a Steinway D. Today, however, I sort of want to do some headslamming. Maybe just on the keys and not the soundboard.

I've been thinking (read: stressing) recently about what to do after this degree. It does me absolutely no good to worry, I know. But I do anyway. Can I spend the rest of my days doing, in some form or another, what I am doing now? After all, I am just starting to really figure it all out, to know how to balance it, and to feel like I am good at it.

Where's the fun if there's no challenge? I might be getting better, but I am also getting bored. My love of adventure and challenge is constantly butting heads with my desire for stability and certainty. Which one will win? I guess I will just have to stay tuned and find out.

Good Day/Bad Day

2011-07-25T18:19:00.000-07:00

On a bad day, I....

...am so anxious I simply want to crawl out of my skin and take a break from this being, this body that I am in.

...am afraid. Of the future. Of the past. Of people I love dying. Of being alone forever.

...lay in the bathtub, willing myself to. just. breathe. It hurts my bones to inhale all the pain and the uncertainty and I can never seem to exhale it.

...eat too much. Drink too much. Smoke too much.

...can't read or practice or concentrate yet am in a constant state of boredom.

...second guess. What if I had made this decision or that decision? Should I have chosen x instead of y? Paper instead of plastic? Decaf instead of regular? Blue shirt or black shirt? Up or down? Truth or lies?

...hate yoga. I have no patience with myself, with the poses. The ones I can do, I can't do well enough. The ones I can't do mean I am a failure.

...cry. For no reason, for any reason, large or small.

On a good day, I...

...feel at peace with myself and my decisions. Like I am good at what I do and am contributing to the world.

...am hopeful about the future. Things will work out, and everything happens for a reason, and I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

...accept myself. I do what I can the best I can and avoid drama and negativity.

...reach out. I communicate authentically with others. I listen. They listen. I feel a human connection that makes me feel less alone in the world.

...live in the moment. I have fun when I need to have fun. I work when I need to work. I spend time with others when I want company and time alone when I want solitude and never feel guilty about it.

...have goals. I will write more or eat more vegetables or go to the gym more or be a better daughter, sister, friend, musician, human being.

...am filled with gratitude for this journey of life and the wonderful people with whom I get to make the trip.

...laugh until I cry. For no reason, for any reason, large or small.

****

Today was a bad day. But that's ok. They are not as bad as they used to be, when I was too anxious to drive on the freeway or afraid to go to bed because I didn't want to wake up and face life the next day. There are less of them and they happen less frequently.

Tomorrow will be better. I will wake up, drink my coffee on the porch and look at the neighbor's vegetable garden. I will take my medicine. I will do yoga and go to the gym. I will accept the flood of emotions that come as I watch my little sister try on wedding dresses. I will laugh with friends on my porch. I will ask people how they are and actually care about their responses. I will hope for someone to extend the same kindness to me.

I will do these things, not because I want to, but because I have to. Because I am stubborn and I keep fighting for the only thing that really matters to me: a good day.

Bishop Brennan

2011-07-25T12:40:00.000-07:00

July is a rather slow time of year for me, and this year it has been especially dead. Between students' vacations, a lack of gigs, and school being out of session, I've had little to do. This year, I was more prepared for the financial hit I take in the summer and have thus been perfectly content to sit inside my air-conditioned house watching terrible TV shows on Netflix and drinking cheap beer.

July, however, is coming to an end and August is going to be a lot busier as I prepare to head back to school. I took care of a few scheduling issues that needed sorting out today and finalized my fall schedule. I will be taking major level piano lessons (duh), minor level organ lessons, early music ensemble, and a musicology seminar on 19th century music in Paris. I turned in my TA contract to the Graduate School today and picked up my new ID.

In addition, I also have two weddings and a memorial service to play in August and I will be rehearsal pianist for a concert of the Faure Requiem every Saturday that month.

By far the most exciting event to take place in July was the death of the beloved wesside garden rat, Bishop Brennan. The good Bishop had been kicking it for a few months in the pile of overgrown shrubs/grass/weeds that my white trash neighbors never cut. I saw him for the first time one fateful late spring night when I couldn't sleep and was smoking a cigarette on the back porch. I actually thought I was seeing things, but the rat-sighting was confirmed by my friend
Margaret shortly thereafter. We named him Bishop Brennan after the character on Father Ted.

Alas, his time on the wesside was short and I got word via picture message from the roomie that he had finally bit the dust. Jill, Alison's dog, found the body and carried it to our yard in her mouth. Ew. He spent several days baking in our trash can in the heat and, in a new high (low?) point of the ridiculousness that is my house, we had a funeral for him.

Father Adam presided. Note the pall on the trashcan...

W. and I wore our mourning attire.

Alison and I laid his maggot-covered body to rest and paid our respects by placing dead flowers on the trash can.

Note: We made the trash guys take the can.

Nonstop excitement over here. How many people can say they've had a funeral for a rat? I wish summer lasted forever.

Life Skills

2011-07-22T15:11:00.000-07:00

There are a few crucial tasks which I believe a person must have mastered by adulthood in order to call themselves a contributing member of society. They are relatively simple, straightforward items. Among them: knowing the difference between "your" and "you're," the ability to give and follow driving directions, the capability to navigate air travel without the requisite fanny pack and white tennis shoes that scream, "I'm an American!" One should be able to brew a decent cup of coffee, graciously decline social invitations, wait in line without sighing audibly or cursing, and be able to pick up the tab now and then without bitching.

It is this combination of etiquette, knowledge of grammar, and reasonable level of humility that I like in a person and I am constantly amazed at how many people lack it. I've recently added a new item to my list: ability to leave an informative yet concise voice mail. I offer two recent voice mails from my own communication travails as examples of what not to do.

Exhibit A:

Hi, Andrea. This is _______ calling from the [insert name of local music teaching organization] and I have a question. I have an opportunity for you and I'd love for you to call me back at [phone number] when you can.

What's wrong with this message? As I found out when I returned this phone call, a lot. First of all, it was clear from the beginning that I was going to be blindsided by the caller. She was going to ask me to do something, though I had no idea what, and I was going to have all of two seconds to think it over and give her some sort of answer. I don't like this. But I returned the call because, to a musician, the word "opportunity" translates to "money."

I called back and said yes to (what I thought was) a paid gig. Turns out, after talking to another member of this organization, I found out I was actually volunteering myself to pay the rent on a classroom and teach music theory at the asscrack of dawn on Saturday mornings.

Thus, I had to call this woman back and tell her no dice. Maybe that's cold, but I am not giving up my only day off to pay someone else so I can do what I've been doing all week at the university, only for little kids.

The moral here is that all of this could have been avoided had this caller just told me what she wanted in the first place.

Exhibit B:

Hi, Andrea. This is ________ from [name of church where I work] calling to see when we can rehearse. I've got this piece of music for you. Well, actually, I've got two pieces. When we get together, we can decide which one to do for Sunday. They look pretty easy, all in G major and no key changes. I can meet you down there this afternoon, or tomorrow. Thursday's no good because I have to go to the doctor and then the plumber is coming sometime in the afternoon and you know how that goes. I could also do Friday, depending on what time my wife needs to take the car in for an oil change. You can call me here at the house at [phone number] or on my cell at [phone number] and you can even email me at [email address]. I am usually pretty good at responding to emails, but I guess the best way to reach me is on my cell. If I don't answer, I will call you right back.....

The message went on at some length, but I think you get the idea. Life lesson to be learned here? Get to the damn point.

I don't think I am asking too much when I request that messages be kept to no longer than thirty seconds and include only the pertinent information and a number where the caller can be reached.

And if you want to know what happened to the callers, I did not slice them out of rage. No sir. They can probably be found at the Pittsburgh airport right now, wearing freshly polished New Balance sneakers, complaining about the long line at the Starbucks via grammatically incorrect Facebook status message.

Friends and Trucks

2011-07-06T16:01:00.001-07:00

I broke down and bought a new mattress today. After staying in my friend Alysia's guest bedroom last night and getting the best sleep I have gotten in ages, I decided it was time to suck it up and drop the dough. I found a closeout Sealy mattress at the outlet and snapped it up. Owing to my impatience and increasing lower back pain, I don't want to wait a week and a half to have the thing delivered, so I picked up the phone and called my friend Rick. Rick owns a truck and, after promising to ply him with booze for his troubles, he agreed to help me out.

Last time I moved a large piece of furniture to my house, it was my parents' old couch (which has henceforth been known as "the drunk couch") and it was a huge pain in the ass. It took a firefighter and a shotput thrower to shove it up the stairs. I did my musicianly duty and supervised, occasionally throwing in some commentary about how heavy the thing looked.

Tomorrow, however, it's just me and Rick and two beagles running underfoot. "We're going to look like the cast of Sanford and Son driving this thing down the street," he told me. I can't wait.

2011-06-06T07:03:00.000-07:00

I have spent most of the week in Savannah, Georgia. I came down to attend the wedding of James and Theresa, two of my friends from Peace Corps. I can say without a doubt that it was the best wedding I have ever been to. It was super fun and beautiful. The ceremony was lovey, the city of Savannah is great, and I got to spend time with lots of awesome people who came from all over the country and the world to be there for these two awesome people.

My flight last night was cancelled, so US Air hooked me up with a hotel. I leave this afternoon for attempt number two at getting back to Ohio. Fingers crossed that it all goes well and perhaps some pictures will be forthcoming when I get home.

Summer Goals/Plans

2011-05-26T06:17:00.000-07:00

I've been out of school for two weeks now, which has given me time to think about what I want to do this summer. Here are the plans:

1. Save money! I am going to go work for my roommate's sister at her catering company in the hopes of socking away some cash. I want to take an epic trip next spring after I graduate. I haven't thought through the details yet, but I would like to go back to Bulgaria and Turkey, and maybe hit Egypt if it is safe enough to do so. I also really want to attend the AMS conference this November in San Francisco.

2. Get a tattoo. I have been thinking about this one for ages. I finally decided on what I want: an orchid on my right shoulder.

3. Do yoga three times a week and spinning at least once a week. So far, I am doing this. Let's see if I can keep it up.

4. See Beethoven 9 live. I cannot believe I have made it to the age of 26 and never seen this symphony in person. Luckily, the Cleveland Orchestra will be playing it over the Labor Day weekend.

5. Finalize my recital repertoire and have it all read through. I want to have a theme for my recital. It's not until next spring, but I have to start thinking about this now. I want to do some sort of "Music of Place/Travel" theme. My teacher's husband is writing a set of songs for soprano and piano using the text of some poems I wrote that fit that theme. I also am thinking of trying to find a singer who could do some of the Vaughn Williams Songs of Travel.

For what it's worth

2011-05-01T18:56:00.000-07:00

About two months ago, I decided that, in the interest of not failing out of school or having a breakdown, I needed to get some help. I saw my doctor, was prescribed anti-depressants, and started seeing a therapist.

I wasn't planning on blogging about this, mostly because I have tried to stay away from the heart-on-my-sleeve type of blogging I did while I was in Peace Corps.

But, after having shared what I've been going through with some of the people in my life, I discovered something: opening up to others about your struggles can be a source of comfort and hope. I was surprised at how many people offered stories of their own. Stories of depression and anxiety, of alcoholism and addiction, of failed relationships and jobs, of feeling so miserable they wanted to drive their car off a bridge.

I've also been surprised at the number of people who have told me they often thought of getting help, of seeing someone or getting on medication, but just couldn't bring themselves to do it. The stigma surrounding treatment of mental health issues is appalling. I have noticed it my whole life. I especially noticed it in Peace Corps.

And it prevented me from seeking treatment for too long.

I write all this because I want anybody reading who has thought about getting help to know that you can do it. All it takes is that first step. You are not weak. You are not a failure. If I can go from feeling like absolute walking death to actually being excited about the future, so can you.

Far Out

2011-04-27T16:31:00.000-07:00

One of my classes this semester is a musicology seminar focusing on the music of the 1960s. This week, we've been having guest lecturers. Today, Staughton Lynd and his wife Alice came to speak about their involvement in the civil rights and anti-war movements of the 60s. Somehow, these fascinating people ended up settling in Youngstown. Crazy.

They also sang protest songs. Hearing two of the most famous activists from the 60s harmonize "We Shall Overcome" is pretty cool.

Deflection

2011-04-26T04:56:00.000-07:00

One of my friends was going through a rather tough transitional phase in her life while I was in Peace Corps. A messy breakup, moving home, finishing a degree in studio art and finding out the world doesn't give a shit...the usual twenty-something malaise. She told me that whenever people would ask her about her plans for the future, she would just deflect the question and start talking about me. "You know, my friend Andrea is in the Peace Corps," she'd say. Problem solved. The question-asker would forget all about her and she'd be off the hook.

Now the time has come for me to bear that torch of deflection, since my life is rather mundane right now. I wasn't sure how to do this, but then my friend Margaret got accepted to UC Berkeley to study musicology. With Richard Taruskin. The man who wrote A History of Western Music. In other words, this is a big deal. While I'm playing Don Besig choir anthems and grading part-writing assignments in Youngstown, she will be living in the Bay area and getting a doctorate at the most prestigious school for musicology in the country.

I'm super proud of her. I'm also super excited for myself. Now, when people ask what I plan to do after getting my incredibly practical MM in music performance, I just tell them, "My friend Margaret is going to get a PhD at Berkeley."

Fire and Roller Skates

2011-04-21T20:31:00.000-07:00

1. Last night, while standing in the kitchen and talking to my roommate, something utterly ridiculous happened. I was in my pajamas, chatting with Alison and casually flicking a lighter that had been sitting on the counter. I felt something strange, looked down, and MY PANTS WERE ON FIRE. Yes. There was a ring of flames going around my legs. I stared for a few seconds, trying to decide what to do. Then the flames got a little bigger. I was in the process of ripping my pants off when the flames went out. The whole thing happened in less than ten seconds, but it was absurd. It was like one of those stories you hear that leaves you wondering how someone could be so dumb. Well, ladies and gents, you are not immune! Your flannel pj pants could easily catch on fire if you aren't careful. Lesson learned. No playing with fire while wearing highly flammable sleeping attire.

2. I went rolling skating tonight. I have not been roller skating in fifteen years. Turns out, I still got it. Booyah. All those years of practicing skating in my parents' basement while listening to mix tapes of my favorite songs that I had recorded from Hot 101 paid off.

My roommate and a friend of ours were out at Perkins last week when an old man came up and asked them if they liked to skate. When they said yes, he told them they should come to the adult skate at this rink next week and bring friends. So they did. Turns out, roller skating is this whole weird subculture. And I want to belong to it. These people have MOVES. I mean, it is seriosna rabota. The crowd included everything from bearded and tattooed dudes with septum piercings to sixtysomething men grooving to Marvin Gaye. My favorite was the guy named David who had a gold chain, earring, and skated backwards the entire time, bopping to the rhythm of whatever song was on.

I'll be going back in two weeks.

I thrive on awkwardness.

2011-02-25T04:42:00.000-08:00

As Ohio gets pounded by yet another blizzard that has caused almost everything I have to do today to be canceled, I am thinking about what to do with my unexpected day off. It will most likely involve my talking about how much work I have to do while streaming videos from Netflix on my laptop.

Yesterday, as I was leaving the music building, I was walking by the art museum on campus, which is right next door and on my way to the parking deck. A guy was standing by the doors and peering in. The following conversation ensued:

Guy: Can you call 402-xxxx?
Me: Uh, pardon?
Guy: Can you call 402-xxxx? I need to get into the museum where my phone and keys are and the door is locked.
Me: [taking out cell phone] Uh, ok....Who...uh, what...?
Guy: John will answer. Tell him to open the back door and let me in.
Me: [wondering who John is and who this guy is while dialing] Um, it's going to voicemail.
Guy: Leave a message.
Me: Hi John, can you open the back door to the museum. There's someone waiting to get in.
Guy: Thanks!
Me: No worries! Good luck!

This was by far the strangest thing that has happened to me all week. My friend Johanna used to work at this museum, though, and I know that they are having a big fund-raising event. Artistic people + event planning = madness. Always.

So about an hour later, I am sitting at my kitchen table and John calls. I answered, thinking maybe he was going to offer me free tickets to this event for performing the incredibly helpful task of leaving him a voicemail asking him to let a strange man into his museum. (Try and follow my logic here, people).

John: Hi, this number called my phone.
Me: Oh, hi, John. You don't know me and I don't know you. I called you earlier because a man standing outside your museum needed let in the door and accosted me.
John: [laughing] Oh, that was my brother. Thanks! I thought you were from [name of caterer or art dealer or patron] and I was like, "Shit, I missed them!"
Me: Sorry about that.

John didn't give me free tickets, but the amusement provided to my otherwise drab Thursday more than made up for it.

2011-02-21T08:28:00.000-08:00

I've been sitting in my office trying to muster up the motivation to do something, anything, other than watch videos on YouTube. So far this has not happened.

Winter has been slowly eating away at my soul and I find myself wondering what exactly I have to show for this last year of my life. A little more than a year ago, I was spending most of my free time lying (laying?) in bed in a foreign country, watching MegaVideo and drinking wine. Now I do essentially the same thing, just in America. Plus my house is warmer, the wine is better, and I have Netflix. It's been one of those weeks where I look back and wonder what exactly has happened.

On the bright side, I guess I am continuing to learn important lessons about what not to do with my life. Also, there's only a week of this wretched month left, so cheers to that.

My sweet Jenny, I'm sinkin' down

2011-02-07T19:29:00.000-08:00

For those of you who haven't seen this on the news, here is an article about the shooting that took place near the YSU campus. Summary: two people get kicked out of a party, come back a few minutes later and start shooting. Student trying to protect everyone gets killed. Eleven others get shot.

Tragic? Certainly. Shocking? No. Welcome to Youngstown. Just another damn day.

This event highlights everything I love and hate about this area and everything I love and hate about the way people react to Youngstown.

First of all, I have no doubt that this shooting will strengthen the resolve of the small but dedicated and quickly growing community of activists here and hopefully bind the university community together. Shit like this happens all the time. When it happens to a bunch of thugs and drug dealers, it does not garner as much of an outcry as a crime like this, against respectable university students. That's just the way it goes.

It will also give those who live in the nearby areas or suburbs another reason never to come here. I saw a Facebook post by a girl thinking of attending YSU, saying now she was worried and did she need to be concerned for her safety. And here's the catch 22. Most Youngstowers would tell you that, with an attitude like that, you might as well stay in Ashtabula county and leave us alone. But then nobody comes at all, because they are afraid.

2010

2010-12-31T08:20:00.000-08:00

It was a hell of a year. Wonderful, terrible, tiring, but mostly it just flew by really quickly. Last year at this time, I was in a very different place. Physically, yes, but mostly emotionally.

While I don't really have any better or more concrete answers about anything and I don't know what the future holds, I have a lot to be thankful for. I am excited to visit two wonderful friends in a few short days and then head to warmer climates to visit some family that I haven't seen in several years. I'm not especially thrilled about going back to school, but I'm a little bit more enthused about playing the piano. I'm really getting into this yoga thing also. I'm happy to be close to my family and to have made some wonderful new friends and rekindled old friendships.

So here's the rundown of 2010, more or less in order:

-Quit the Peace Corps
-Regrouped at my parents' for awhile
-Moved to a cute little house with an awesome roomie
-Got my organ chops up and got a church job
-Was visited by some wonderful friends
-Ran a 5K
-Started grad school

Not full of adventure, but it was definitely a year of laying some groundwork.

Happy new year all of you. I truly hope it is a joyous celebration of the past year and the year to come.

Team America

2010-12-21T06:10:00.000-08:00

A friend shared this interesting article on Facebook, by a British journalist who works for the BBC and who just finished a three-year tenure in America. In the article, he attempts to describe American culture. I think he does a pretty good job of it, too. Americans usually fail miserably at writing about their own country's traits and most foreign writers seem to take either an entirely praising or totally critical stance on what Americans are like. Granted, we live in a massively large country in which another state can feel like another nation entirely, bound by its own set of customs and idiosyncrasies. There's a big difference between, say, Alabama and Connecticut (in speech, manners, pace of life, politics, food, weather, etc.) but this author manages to find common threads in the American experience.

The final segment, on American hospitality, I found interesting. It also reminded me of an experience I had last Christmas while on a night bus from Sofia to Istanbul with my mom and sister, an incident I'd forgotten about until I read the article. The bus attendant and driver spoke no Bulgarian (and certainly no English) and, if there were any Bulgarian-speaking passengers, they certainly didn't let on. Thus, we were all pretty much in the dark about what was going on. While boarding the bus in Sofia, I managed to strike up a conversation with a young Portuguese guy in his twenties, who was studying in Istanbul and had been traveling around Europe for awhile. He was now headed back to Istanbul for the rest of his vacation. In such travel settings, it was always pretty easy to spot who the non-Bulgarians were, so we found one another pretty quickly.

I didn't give this guy another thought until we were crossing the borders. First, the Bulgarian one, with one dimly lit booth manned by a bored-looking customs official who unhurriedly stamped us through, leaving us to shiver in the cold Christmas air while we watched a stray dog with a broken leg drink from puddles of oil-slicked water nearby. Second, and somewhat more complicated, was the Turkish border. Americans going into Turkey must purchase a visa for the price of twenty American dollars (and only American money is accepted, and there's no place to exchange until you get into Turkey). As we were the only Americans on the bus, figuring out how and where to do this among the non-English speaking passengers and customs agents proved a great exercise in charades and frantically hunting down the appropriate booth. When we at last found it, we discovered the Portuguese guy there, who was having some sort of visa/passport troubles.

I can't remember the specifics of it, but something in his documents had expired and now he needed to purchase a visa as well, only he didn't have the appropriate currency. There was the best attempt at an argument/explanation that one can have when there is a language barrier, but the whole thing went on for several minutes as the remainder of the passengers looked on from down the booth where they'd already received their stamps to enter. The customs official told this guy he either needed to come up with the lira (he only had Euros) for it or he'd have to stay at the border.

The poor guy looked on the verge of tears and as if he didn't understand entirely what was going on. "Well, we'll pay it," I told him. I somehow managed to ask the customs official if they would take American dollars to pay for this guy's visa and he begrudgingly agreed, shaking his head at us and our display of American gullibility. Visa purchase, stamp of approval, and we were on our way.

The guy was really grateful (as I would be, if a kind stranger lent me some money so I wouldn't be trapped in Bulgaria indefinitely). He promised to pay us back once we got into Istanbul, where there were ATMs and he could get to his money.

Perhaps this kid had some sort of angle. I don't really know. My mom and I discussed it later that day. But, sure enough, as soon as we got to the massive bus station in Istanbul, around 5:30 in the morning, the Portuguese guy led us straight to an ATM where he took out money and paid us back. He then helped us find the subway that would get us to Sultanahmet and even paid for all three of our fares with his student metro card.

I share this not because I want to brag about what a kind person my mother is (since it was her money I volunteered us to use) though she is pretty much the best person ever, but because, in that moment, I felt so foreign. More than ever before. By that point in my Peace Corps experience, I was pretty much a hardened, suspicious, uncaring bitch, quite frankly. I had started to always assume the worst in people and never smile or make eye contact or doing anything remotely kind for anyone else. Perhaps it was the presence of my mom and sister that helped me remember that I never used to be that way.

Standing at a border in the middle of the night, on Christmas, trying to figure out what was going on, watching this poor guy learn that he might not be able to get to where he was going, there was never any question of whether or not we would help him. Had I been alone, I probably would have put my headphones on in an attempt to drown out the sound of my own indifference. With my family around me, however, it was different. The other passengers stood by in complete indifference, not even so much as a discussion as to what was going on. It was like a light shone on my whole experience and I saw just how different my approach to life was. Not better or worse, just different. (And, to clarify, I encountered so much wonderful hospitality from people in Bulgaria. It is just hospitality of a different kind. The country, as a whole, was generally indifferent to the plight of strangers, seeming to look right through them. Once you were in with a family or a baba though, you could expect to be showered with so much food and drink and love that it almost made you feel guilty.)

I don't think I am qualified to draw any grand conclusion about American culture or values, but when I read the BBC article, it certainly resonated with me and made me remember that, underneath all the crazy zealots and banal TV news programs and rampant consumerism, there are a lot of things I like about being an American.

Winter

2010-12-08T17:24:00.000-08:00

I drove home from school on the final day of November in a torrential downpour. When I woke up the next morning, there were several inches of snow on the ground. Such is life in Ohio. One night I'm spending my commute inspired to go home and figure out "November Rain" on the piano and the next day, my hands are turning to blocks of ice as I realize I don't own a snow brush and I need to find a way to clear off my car so that I can see out the window (some consider this necessary for winter driving, though not all, judging by the amount of people I see crouched over their steering wheels peeking out of the two inches of windshield that their defroster has managed to clear) and get to school on time.

There are two types of Ohioans: those who bitch about the weather constantly and those who claim to love love love it. I definitely fall on the side of hater. While I think the snow is pretty, I'm over it by February and there are still a good two months of winter to go. I don't like driving in it, but I accept it as a necessary part of life here. And, really, what's not to love about getting to blame all weather ills on Lake Erie? I can't think of a better scapegoat. It's more tangible than blaming cold fronts or clouds and less offensive than blaming God. And it seems to work for most people. If you find yourself getting into an uncomfortable political argument with an Ohioan, just say the words "lake effect" and you will have found a mutual object of hatred.

So now I have to get up twenty minutes earlier to clear off and start my car and the sleeping bag coat has been removed from the abyss of my coat closet and is seeing regular use (though I am thankful for indoor heating, which prevents my having to wear it while I sleep). Also, things are freezing.

Exhibit A:

Pretty sure that giant chunk of ice coming from the hose is not good. And also explains why the water bill has been rather high the last few months.

Despite all of this, I don't really envy those of you who live in warmer climates. Most of the time anyway. I think the change of seasons is really important, for me anyway. I feel rather like a different person in each season and each time of the year calls for doing things a little differently. Everything from eating and driving and working out to how often I go out with friends and what I do to pass the time changes with each season. I can feel the shift in the general moods of the people around me. I'm not even sure how to explain it, but it's like life comes full circle every year and the weather provides opportunities for reinvention and altering one's routine. It's something I certainly don't feel as much when I visit friends and relatives who live in warm climates. Perhaps it's the same everywhere and this is just how I perceive it, but after thinking a great deal about where I want to live eventually, I am pretty sure I need at least some semblance of four seasons.

It also leaves me thinking about how time has passed in the last year and who I was last winter. It's a rather neat and tidy way to analyze one's life in a world that is anything but neat and tidy. It's easier to think of the changes in oneself as happening concurrently with the seasons. Storms and sun and clouds and fog. It all seems less cold and meaningless and frightening to me when I see that nature follows the same course as I seem to.

Sunday Funday

2010-12-05T18:35:00.000-08:00

I went up to Cleveland today with a friend to see a concert (a friend of his was the soloist on the Dvorak violin concerto. Super talented guy and only twenty-five.) and then get some fabulous tea and sushi. It was nice to get out and do something fun and the change of scenery didn't hurt either.

End of the Semester!

2010-12-04T19:35:00.001-08:00

It was a doozy. The verdict: mostly good, sometimes bad, always busy.

Classes ended on Friday and now I just have to proctor a few final exams, grade, play three recital hearings for singers, and play my own jury. All of the big projects and papers are done and I think I did pretty well (I hope so anyway...). The best part has really been meeting new people. Grad school doesn't leave a whole lot of time for a social life, so it's been great to have a lot of interesting people enter my life without my having to do much of anything. All the TAs have offices in the same hallway so there's always someone up for a coffee run or lunch.

One of my piano students got me a Barnes and Noble gift card, so I decided to stock up on some reading for the break. I've got Lolita, Bury Me Standing, and a book called The Balkans. It will be nice to read something that doesn't involve the pedagogy of teaching sight singing or musicologists arguing about postmodernism.

Other than that, here's the quick rundown: Thanksgiving was lovely, my laptop is dead, I'm going to DC and Florida over the break, and I am excited about my repertoire next semester.

More from me much sooner and perhaps some pictures.

The Nicodemon

2010-10-09T05:41:00.000-07:00

When school started, I found myself going back to hardcore, all-the-time smoking. Over the summer, I was doing ok. I was running most of the time. Sometimes I'd decide it was a good idea to do something like spend all day drinking like fifty beers and smoking three packs of cigarettes (ok, I'm exaggerating, but not by much). Then I'd feel like shit the next day and hate myself and be back on the wagon.

But once I had to get back to real life and I couldn't laze my days away on the porch with a Marlboro Light in one hand, a PBR in the other, admiring the view of the neighborhood children digging holes in the backyard, it wasn't so easy to reign in my habit.

It wasn't until this week, in the midst of feeling like I was dying, that reality kicked in. I have to say, it was kind of rock bottom. I realized I wasn't even enjoying smoking anymore. I am now on day five without a cigarette. To those of you who've never had to quit smoking, this sounds nominal, to which I say: go to hell. (Sorry, I'm a little cranky.) Nicotine withdrawal is the suckiest thing ever. Aside from spending the first few weeks in a brain fog because your body doesn't know how to function, you are also exhausted yet still have trouble sleeping at night. I get strange dreams and grind my teeth until my jaw hurts. Physical stuff aside, it becomes evident that you don't know how to deal with everyday happenings/annoyances without a cigarette. This is hardest.

I don't know how to deal with my drive to school. There's nothing to do with those ten minutes between classes, nothing to look forward to. I tried to switch to tea in the mornings, but it just made me angrier because, let's face it, without coffee, there really is nothing to look forward to. Alcohol is off limits to me for at least three months. I find myself wondering, if I'm not a smoker, who AM I?

I bring this up because there is a pack of cigarettes sitting on my back porch right now that was not there when I went to bed. I am going to assume they belong to my roommate, who has the enviable ability to be a social smoker and not get addicted. And then do things like run half marathons. I want nothing more than to go sit on the porch with my coffee and smoke one, but I know I can't. It's a slippery slope for me, friends.

Luckily, I've been through this once before and I know it gets better. Plus, if I publish this, I am held accountable. I'm going to go make an omelet and stare wistfully out the window and be thankful that, at least for the ten minutes it took me to write this, I chose to be alive.

Relevance in the Age of Internets

2010-10-09T05:13:00.000-07:00

In my feeble attempts to resurrect this blog from what seemed to be certain death, it occurs to me that writing about daily life is getting somewhat trickier. Why? Because I am getting paid. The U.S. Government couldn't shut me up, but for some reason, money in my bank account does.

Blogs are notorious for getting people in trouble at work. The internet is a creepy place where creepy people can creep on you. People you'd never think would. In fact, I find myself often wondering if I am an internet creeper. Someone will tell me of an occurrence in his or her life and I will think, "I read that on Facebook last night," but pretend to actually be surprised.

I've been thinking about this sort of thing a lot lately, because my computer has met its demise. (At least, I'm pretty sure it has. It's been at the school tech support shop for almost three weeks now...) Ordinarily, this would make me panic. And I didn't have everything on there backed up, so that sucks. But I find that without this constant stream of useless information bombarding my brain, I am little less frazzled. How does knowing that person x in a relationship and it's complicated or person y likes pizza or person z "just can't take it anymore" (this is my favorite sort of Facebook status update) do anything positive for my life? It does not. It just makes me anxious. Can you imagine if I had internet on my phone? My God, they'd have to give me quaaludes.

Anywho. Work. Other than doing my darndest to make sure nobody is aware of my real identity so that I can write scathingly about whoever crosses my path, it seems there is only one real solution: STFU.

And I'd be ok with that, if it hadn't dawned on me last night that I have no life outside of school/work. Granted, I was feeling shitty because the antibiotics I'm taking were wreaking some severe havoc with my stomach and making my skin look vaguely chartreuse. But still. I spent the evening eating Aladdin's takeout and listening to "The Jazz Couch with Rick Popovich" while being pissed that high school football was on TV when Star Trek was supposed to be. I mean, if that's not living the dream, I don't know what is.

My hope, then, is that I can find a way to be mildly amusing without really saying anything (see all of the above text). Then I will insert a picture of something ridiculous and we'll call it a day.

I thought this blog could use a picture.

2010-10-07T19:36:00.000-07:00

Sicko

2010-10-06T19:13:00.000-07:00

This week, I got sick again. It was pretty much the worst timing ever, but I guess that's the way it always goes. I felt the tickle in my throat coming on last Saturday and by Monday, sure enough, the tickle was full-blown razor cutting/knife stabbing pain. I suffered through it because that's the American way, gosh darn it.

After a pretty pathetic two days of barely functioning as well as spending an afternoon taking a nap on four Steinway artists' benches placed in a row, I decided I needed two things: 1. a day off and 2. drugs (of the prescription kind, that is).

I'm sure you'll be happy to know I procured both of these things and feel a little better.

It occurred to me that I've not had to take serious antibiotics for probably three years. And now I get sick twice in a month? I know something has to change next semester. I cannot keep up these long days. I know I'm supposed to be content with where I am right now, but I can't help but want a bit of a fast forward button to get me to the end of the semester so that I can remember what a day off feels like again. Most of the time, I don't even get to do what I want to do or like to do. I do what I have to do and that takes up all my time (hence why I still have not played in one piano seminar...I don't have time to learn my own rep).

I'm sure you're all thrilled that I've resurrected this dying blog so that I can bitch about an ear infection. Sue me. Leave me mean comments. Toilet paper my house. Slash my car tires. Steal my kitten (ok, that's more theoretical, since I have no kitten). Just don't ask me to play orchestral reductions of Italian opera. Ever.

Hello Blogger, My Old Friend

2010-09-25T20:26:00.001-07:00

I will return to list format, since it is late and I am lazy.

1. Alissa is engaged

2. I got really sick for a week and hated life. I am on the mend and feeling tons better about life.

3. October is going to be even busier, with three voice recitals, a piano recital, two weeks of teaching the whole piano studio, plus everything else I normally do.

4. Teaching college is fun. Nobody tries to throw stuff (or people) out the window. Plus, I think I could be pretty good at it.

5. I've been reading a fair amount about Zen Buddhism lately (as often as I have time to read for pleasure, which is not often, once I finish reading hundred-page Richard Taruskin articles about performance practice). The jury's still out on how this might impact my life, but I think it could be something. I guess I'm not even sure what that means, but...yeah.

6. It's fall! I love fall!

7. I am excited about possibly learning some John Cage pieces for prepared piano. I never used to like John Cage and I knew it was because I just didn't understand him. The more I read about Buddhism, the more I see where he's coming from and the more intrigued I am. I think I'll write at length about this soon.

2010-09-05T11:51:00.000-07:00

School update: Insanely busy. Every day is a 12-hour day. I don't really like it, but I like that my income has tripled. Yep. That's about it.

Today a friend drew my attention to a news release about a PCV in Lesotho who was shot and killed in what was apparently an attempted robbery. Though that sort of thing can happen anywhere, I can't help but feel incredibly down about it. I don't want to say we were alike simply because he was a PCV. He was in Africa doing different work. His life probably looked nothing like mine did. But still, I can't help but feel that it's such a waste. So much time and effort and struggle and it all ends in an instant.

Selfish as it is, it makes me think about my own life. I hate that school has made it virtually impossible to do anything fun or spend time with the people I love or talk to them for more than five minutes on the phone. I hate that I fall into bed exhausted by ten each night, a to-do list swirling in my head of all the things I have to get done just to stay afloat. I try not to take anything too seriously, try to do my work well for the sake of doing a job well done, and try to let go of my perfectionism. This is a big step for me. But...I've seen "the other side." I know how little these daily trivialities matter in defining me as a person and yet I need to do them so that I can pay the bills and try to have more opportunities in the future.

I feel stuck and void of passion, which is bad. But I feel peace with myself and what I've been given to work with right now, which is good. I'm just itching for the next adventure already...Ideas?

I Really Should Be Reading

2010-08-24T04:36:00.000-07:00

Grad school has started. I'm pretty excited, not for actual school, but because I think there's some great blogging material to be had in this whole ridiculous situation.

But first...

I am super sad to see summer go, but I couldn't have asked for a better ending to what has been three really fun months of, well, debauchery. I got to visit a friend from college, her husband, and beautiful newborn baby as well as some kick-ass Peace Corps friends. Then I spent Sunday with my high school friends here in town.

Alas, all good things must come to an end, as they say. I slept off my pitcher of Sunday afternoon margaritas and rolled out of bed at 6 a.m. to head back to the grind. It occurred to me that, in going back to school, I am really closing the chapter on Bulgaria. As I was sitting in my 9 a.m. section of Materials of Music, full of bright-eyed kids who looked barely old enough to drive, all I could think about was riding alone on the train to Sofia. Just a book or some music or my thoughts to keep me company. Weekends of zero responsibility, of endless toasts, staying out dancing until five in the morning. I even thought of living in my sleeping bag through the cold winter months, showering twice a week, dreading going to school out of fear of what ridiculous thing would happen that day. Would the autistic kid get beat up? Would the 7th grade boys call me a bitch? Would the teachers' meeting run for two hours?

Even the misery seemed beautiful and comfortable yesterday.

I won't get into every little thing I did yesterday, but two things made me feel better.

1. I decided to buy gold organ shoes, which you can see here.

2. I decided to do my research on Bulgarian folk music and dance.

More about number two. I am taking a music bibliography class, which is surely going to eat my soul. In fact, I should be doing my mountain of homework for it right now. As we did the introductions yesterday, I was seriously mega-depressed by how many people had such bland ambitions in life. In the class of eleven people, all but three of us said we wanted to teach at the college level.

Never mind that, for most people, this is not going to be achievable, at least not in exactly the way they want. In addition, I think academics say things like that because they've been sitting basking in the weird, not real world of academia for so long that they don't know anything else. If you really really are passionate about teaching college, do it. Go pursue your dream. But I got the feeling that most people didn't know what else to do.

So, when it came around to me, I said I was just going wherever life takes me.

Also, a casual friend with whom I finished my undergrad is in this class. He did AmeriCorps for a year or two and seems to be on the same page as me. His intro: "I graduated in 2008, then ran away and lived in the middle of the forest for a year. I didn't really know I was coming back to school until a week ago. So...here I am."

Anyway, Bulgarian folk music and dance. It is something I love. And I really don't love a whole lot of things. In fact, I realized, over the course of yesterday, that I really have no interest in music or academia or the piano anymore. Not gonna stop me from getting this degree, but still...

I now have an office with an upright piano, a desk the size of a tray table, and a view of an old building being torn down. Guess that makes me a real person or something.

2010-08-10T06:15:00.000-07:00

Life has suddenly gotten very busy.

I completed the 5K. Though I didn't manage to run the entire time or finish in the time I wanted, I was still really pleased with the whole thing. I ran most of it and finished in 42:30. (Never mind that I can walk a 5K faster than that...) I know everybody says it, but it truly is an amazing feeling to be finishing a race and have people you don't even know cheering for you. James and Theresa made it in time to cheer me on and Alissa and her boyfriend were standing at the finish line waiting, since they both ran the race in under thirty minutes. My challenge in the race was not so much being out of breath, but running through the pain of the blisters that formed on the bottom of my foot early on in mile two.

Mentally, it was not what I expected. I thought I'd be really in tune to my pace and my music and my form. After an entirely uphill mile 1 that took me fourteen minutes to run, my mind kind of shut off. I couldn't tell you what music I put on my play list, other than "Don't Stop Me Now" by Queen, which was playing as I entered the stadium for the final stretch.

I definitely want to run again and be properly trained next time around. My legs are still hurting today.

Summer is winding down. I am bringing my GA contract to school today and getting my schedule in order. I will more than likely be taking a music bibliography course, pedagogy of music theory, minor level organ lessons, and (of course) piano lessons. I have three sections of music theory as part of my GA and will assist with the piano studio as well, plus seven singers to accompany and a handful of private piano students. And my church job. Whew! Honestly, I am excited to be on a schedule again and have things to do and places to go.

My Life Philosophy

2010-08-06T20:40:00.000-07:00

I've recently been contemplating how the way I think about things has changed in the last few months and years. After much introspection, soul-searching, and napping, it came to me.

Life philosophy from approximately 2007-mid 2009: Life sucks.

Life philosophy from approximately mid 2009-early 2010: Life REALLY sucks.

Winter/ early Spring 2010: Hiatus from all thought processes. Thoughts replaced with sleep, booze, cigarettes, and Jerry Springer.

Spring 2010-present: Life sucks a lot less. Also, I am awesome.

I attribute this shift in attitude to a few things. Running, my roommate, therapy, developing a tentative life plan.

I bring this up not to act like things are rainbows and butterflies, because they're not, but because it seems like a lot of my friends (and not only Peace Corps friends) are in awkward transitional phases of life right now or just really down about jobs and life and relationships. I know my life hardcore sucked for a long time and for a lot of reasons. I seriously did not believe it would get any better.

I find it necessary to remind myself every now and again of a few important things. First, you are never (with a few exceptions) trapped in any circumstance. Second, ask for help if you need it.

It was so much easier to write a blog every day when I had things to complain about. My new challenge is to find something meaningful to say about actually living life and not simply being angry at it.

The Big Day

2010-08-06T20:26:00.000-07:00

Or night, rather.

Tomorrow is my first 5k. Send good vibes my way at 9 p.m. Eastern Standard Time.

I have a few goals:

1. Run the whole thing. No walking. Even if my run is more of a shuffle, that's still ok.

2. Finish in 36 minutes or less. Yeah, I'm that slow. 12-minute mile, baby.

Also, with any luck, James and Theresa will have arrived in time to see me shuffle my way down the candlelit streets of Salem.

Some additional info of note: I finally received the contract for my GA from YSU. I am officially going back to school! Time to buy pens and pencils and a glue stick. I hope the other kids like me.

Seriously, this is a good thing for many reasons. Most of those reasons make me sound like a terrible person. Or at least not a very serious academic. Basically, going to school means that I don't have to sit around until four in the afternoon in pjs and unbrushed teeth while my roommate teaches piano. No more unicorn puzzles on a Friday night for me, no siree. Plus I will be able to comfortably pay my bills and up my grocery allotment each month. Huzzah! And, um, learn more about music...and stuff.

Lists

2010-07-29T10:19:00.000-07:00

Thing of note that have happened
-Went to see Lady Gaga with Matt and Alissa
-Went to Niagara Falls with the fam
-Registered for the 5K
-Drank beer on my back porch (ongoing)

Things I am looking forward to
-Running this 5K
-Potential for lots of quality time with some B23s
-School

Things I am stressing about
-School
-Money
-Not having received the official letter regarding my assistantship, which was supposedly mailed last week.

Top 6 Best Things About Life
1. Living near the kick-ass metro park
2. Coffee
3. Having ridiculous adventures with AlMo
4. Realizing that I can actually turn myself into a runner
5. My sisters
6. Free nights and weekends

Top 4 Reasons I Will Be Mean to You
1. You wear Ed Hardy.
2. You wear leggings as pants.
3. You are afraid to try new food.
4. You drive like a jerk.

2010-07-12T06:18:00.000-07:00

I realized I have failed to publish anything of substance lately. Things are happening, rest assured. I have felt less-than-inspired as of late. I'll blame it on the heat.

I was supposed to run a 5K on Saturday. Through a combination of barbecues, out of town visitors, and a few pesky packs of cigarettes, I was only half trained. So I didn't run it. I did, however, watch my sister and her boyfriend run the race and spent most of it pissed off for not pushing myself to do it. I could have done it. Mind over matter, right? More than anything, I was shocked at the tangible proof that I have morphed from someone who pushes herself to do new things to someone who would rather play it safe. Where "good enough" is good enough. I never used to be like that. Then again, I was not used to simultaneously failing both personally and professionally for approximately two years.

What I'm getting at is that I got serious about training again. I'm doing a 5K August 7 and I expect harassing phone calls and emails from all of you, checking to make sure I am running and eating protein and not drinking and eating Crunchwrap Supremes. (It's a night 5K, FYI, on a candlelit path! I'm pretty excited, since I generally run in the dark anyway.)

I realize this probably sounds absurd to the segment of my readership who ran a marathon last fall, but this 5K is a huge mental hurdle for me. And you know what? I can already feel improvements in my life simply as a result of sucking it up and getting my butt to the park to run on a regular basis. I feel stronger and better about myself. It's difficult to explain, but I suppose those of you who run know what I'm talking about.

The Spies Are Coming

2010-07-09T15:37:00.001-07:00

Ever since I figured out Google Analytics, I've become obsessed. I check it every day to see where my blog traffic is coming from (yes, I ended that sentence with a preposition AT. [Oh snap, I made a 30 Rock reference, too.]) Generally, it's very predictable, but today I was rather surprised to see a hit from Moscow. I can't think of anyone I know who is visiting Russia or lives in Russia, so I figured, in an effort to restart the Cold War, I'd just blame the spies.

Perhaps this person Googled something about the Soviet Union and was taken to the "Soviet Death Appliances" series on my previous blog, then clicked the link and landed here.

I'd rather blame the spies.

Facebook...

2010-07-06T07:16:00.000-07:00

...is making me crazy. But I swear, it's like crack. I just can't stop, even though it hurts me so much. I am at the point where I am considering deleting my account, at least temporarily.

It seems, as I get to "that age," everyone is either talking about their kids or Jesus. And, while I am glad that your precious little baby is turning three today and the Lord has blessed you in so many ways, I really don't care. I keep hiding these people from my news feed and more of them keep appearing.

I suppose what I really want is for everyone to be as witty, interesting, and fabulous as me. We can't have it all, though.

Soccer and Wanderlust and Visitors

2010-07-03T15:11:00.001-07:00

I am not a huge soccer fan. I'm not a huge fan of any sport, really (except maybe hockey, when I feel like it). Nevertheless, I enjoy watching a good game of soccer every now and then and decided to watch the Spain/Paraguay match today. I lost focus during the second half, but mostly the match only succeeded in making me want to pack my bags and hop on an airplane and go somewhere for an indeterminate amount of time.

Why? Probably because watching the match made me feel very isolated and left out. To the rest of the world, this is a huge event (hence the title "World Cup").

Also, tomorrow is the 4th of July. Nothing inspires patriotism and a sense of home like not actually being able to be at home on holidays. Don't get me wrong, it's also pretty miserable when it comes to the biggies like Christmas. But 4th of July tended to inspire the creative streak in the PC community. Last year, we had a big get-together. We made something that was as close to real hamburgers as you can get with kaima. Karen actually made the buns herself. At one point, we all sang the national anthem from the porch and I shed a few tears.

This year, I have to work--it's Sunday after all. I will barbecue with my family, maybe have a few people over to my place. It all seems rather anticlimactic. My main concern last year was finding Heinz ketchup and trying not to puke while standing up on the packed, un-air conditioned bus to Sofia with the worst hangover I have ever had in my life. This year, it's trying to keep the dogs, who are terrified of fireworks, from pissing on the carpet.

I both love and hate how glaringly normal my life is now. Matt, who returned home last week, came down to visit. It was fabulous to see him and also incredibly bizarre to see another volunteer outside of Bulgaria. I didn't quite know what to do. I felt the urge to pour beer into mason jars and play Skip-Bo.

In addition, my friend got married last week, which meant that my ridiculous (in a good way) group of friends from high school descended upon NEOH.

I just want to have all the awesome people in my life within a ten-mile radius of my house. Is that too much to ask? But then I guess I'd have nothing to look forward to.

End to my disjointed post. Happy 4th!

2010-06-28T14:14:00.000-07:00

Congratulations, Alysia and Brandon.

Happenings, Texts, and Nuggets of Wisdom

2010-06-20T13:53:00.000-07:00

A friend who works for the local NPR affiliate gave AlMo and I four tickets to see Prairie Home Companion. We snagged one of her friends, plus a friend of ours from college whom neither of us had seen in years, and headed to beautiful Blossom Music Center to watch Garrison Keillor et al perform. There was fabulous bluegrass music, provided by Ricky Scaggs, and the weather was perfect. We had really good seats in the pavilion, but I decided to move to the lawn for the second half. There, sitting in the grass, drinking my ten dollar tall boy of Bud Light, enjoying the clear sky and late evening sun, listening to a white linen-suited GK spin a tale the way only he can, I felt so happy and lucky.

Other notable quotes/words of wisdom/texts that have made me laugh so hard I almost pee:

"You can live to be a hundred if you give up all the things that make you want to live to be a hundred." -Silver Fox

"You should get historic plates for the Rabbit." -David L.

"I just told the concession guy that a corndog was as good as a wedding ring. Then I walked away and biffed. HARD. I AM white trash." -AlMo

"Are you guys up for a triangle marriage?" -Ry

And finally, you know it's a good text when you can't even decipher the intended message...

"Wally wlnts i sould make you kum over woon. bking joe too. have muzzicoly party." -Mr. NR
(I have since interpreted this message, though it took a few days: Wally wants I should make you come over soon. Bring Joe. Have musicology party.)

Dad

2010-06-20T13:47:00.000-07:00

For the awesomest man I know. Happy Father's Day.

Salad Fail

2010-06-18T13:09:00.000-07:00

Our choir picnic is tonight and we choir members are supposed to bring along some side dishes. I just went to the store and got expensive Greek yogurt and expensive organic dill and the other fixins for snezhanka. I went home, put it all together, and decided to taste the salad before putting it in the fridge to chill. It tasted like absolute crap and I couldn't figure out why. Finally, I cut a piece of the cucumber and discovered my culprit--it tasted terrible. Bitter and nasty. Now I don't have time to make anything else and I am out fifteen bucks. Eff.

2010-06-17T16:18:00.000-07:00

As the group of PCVs I departed with for Bulgaria prepare to return home in the next few weeks, it occurs to me that I have been home for five months. I find, as time races by in my American life, this means shockingly little. Five months in Bulgaria pass slowly. In fact, when I ET'd, the reaction of many people was, "Don't you only have five months left?" (And then I'd sort of want to punch them.) The passage of time was truly felt there. Here, not so much. I am shocked by it.

I would argue that the term "readjustment," a term thrown around by PC almost as much as "integration" and "development," doesn't mean a whole lot. We never really "readjust." That would imply that life goes on as before, that we are unchanged, that the people around us are unchanged. Life doesn't work that way. In our absence, those at home may have gotten married or divorced, graduated from or began school. There was illness and death and birth and economic crisis and the passing of everyday life. News stories, conversations, bills paid, laughter and tears.

We come back, we fit ourselves into the corners of people's lives where there is still room, where they and we are willing to make room, because we care about each other. We make lives for ourselves in another place, yet again.

This process is not easy, but in the crazy ride of these past two or so years, I have found it to be the most fulfilling and stabilizing. It's difficult to separate the things that are challenging because of the changed perspective I have after PC and those that are challenging because it's just life. Whatever its root, I find it incredibly difficult to cultivate meaningful relationships and interactions. I think part of me has always been this way, wanting more than most people have to give. And I think the other part recognizes how necessary it is to have such relationships and interactions because, after feeling so isolated and lonely for so long, I deem them necessary for survival.

Today I had what I believe to be the first honest conversation about Peace Corps and Bulgaria with someone who is not in my immediate family or a close friend. It left an indelible impression on my day, left my head and my heart buzzing with that fabulous feeling of being totally alive, a feeling I felt so often in Bulgaria. It's a feeling I traded for more emotional and spiritual stability in America, but one that I have been missing a whole lot recently. It felt good to talk about what the experience actually was, what it actually meant, what I actually learned. It wasn't what Peace Corps as an organization wanted me to derive from my service, it wasn't what my friends thought or felt, it wasn't an opinion borne of the darkness and despair that permeated my life for so long. I recognized where it was good, admitted where it was bad, and determined what I had gotten out of it. I did not use my three sentences. I did not feel like a liar or a fraud after the conversation. I felt an odd sense of peace...which is all I wanted to begin with.

This does not mean I close the book on "readjustment" or that I will never feel lonely, or frustrated, or like a fraud again. It just means that, this once, the universe aligned. I was ready to talk, someone else was ready to listen, and I was able to say the words I needed to say.

From the Archives

2010-06-17T15:58:00.000-07:00

AlMo's mom works in real estate and, while at an estate sale, grabbed a box full of old music that was about to be thrown out. The other night, we sorted through it.There was many a book of Swedish folk songs to be found. Many of the books actually had handwritten notes in Swedish.

There was also some great patriotic stuff from the WWII era. We are probably going to frame some of it.