My dog was lost but now he's found.

My nap/supposed "deep" sleep didn't last long. I was awoken by John who in a stated of confusion and sheer orneriness (I'm doubting the validity of this word, but the root of it describes so well), woke me. He was not alone. Our neighbor, whom I've never met before, was with him (and looking quite frightening as well, dressed in thick boots and carrying a large shovel). Apparently he wanted to chat (quite angrily) with us about our dogs and thought the presence of his large forbearing shovel/(murder weapon) might intimidate us. 

The hilarity in the situation is that, after being lectured for about an hour and half without pause or opening to say a word about our obnoxious animals, I had to politely (or politely as I could), "Sir, this is a grave situation indeed, because we do not own any dogs. Or any animal of the sort. We must be having a ghostly situation here, or you're just crazy. Now please leave, before I have to threaten you with my shovel." I think I angered him. But, really, the man was a little out of line. I mean if I really did own a canine, after he said he was going "beat it dead," I think I would have been a little more irrational. 

Anyways, Seattle. It was . . . more enjoyable as the week progressed. Still rainy, still a little boring for my taste, but overall okay. I saw my father, and he obviously didn't look so hot, with the whole about to die thing going on. I saw my brothers, all four of them (Septimus, Julian, Noel, Peter) and stayed with them, alternating throughout the week. They really made me think about and appreciate why I left with my mother, when moved from Vancouver to Chicago when I was a young teen. I don't have much in common with them, I think. 

I'll post more photographs of the actual city later. For now you'll just have to enjoy photos of my family and their far too luxurious homes. I mean really, what's the deal? Why do I feel so lower-class when I'm around them? Oh right, maybe because I am, in comparison. 

A Series of Unmade Beds.

This has been my life for the past week. I'm glad to be home and actually able to rest in one place without moving about. I'll post more pictures from the trip later. For now, I need to sleep. I've got some major jet lag (or at least it feels like that) and I've got early labwork in the morning (woot). It's a beautiful combination (not). 

Yeah. This is Great.

Seattle. I'm here. It's just about as much fun as I imagined it (which is to say its not that great. I've spent the last day and all those prior squatting at my brother Septimus's house, listening to John and him chat about everything, and endured the most uneventful, probably worst trip to Vancouver that I would have ever expected. Anyways, I'll write more later. Tomorrow I'm being traded off to my other brother's home to stay . . . and at some point will be throwing in a trip to see dear old dad (cough, yeah, I still haven't visited him yet). For now, I've put on some The Boy Least Likely To, and am trying to enjoy myself. 

Like a death in the hall that you hear through your wall, New York, I love you, but you're freaking me out.

I'm catching the night flight to Seattle tonight. Should be there by dawn. In just enough time to feel the weight of the week come crashing down on me and allow me to pass out on whatever spare bed I'm squatting on tonight. I hope I haven't forgotten to pack anything. Looks like I haven't, but I hope John will double check just in case. I hope Septimus cleaned his house. I hope this week passes quickly. I hope the rental agency hasn't lost the reservation I made with them, so I'll be able to drive out of Seattle onto Vancouver as soon as I wake up. I hope none of my brothers will try to stop me. Look at that, I'm just a bucket full of hopes, brimming with optimism. Ha. 

And no one wants a tune about the 100th luftballoon that was seen shooting from the window of your room.

We made it to the Shenandoah. The park was silent, as I suppose many people don't travel there often in the early spring. We then met up with some our eastern friends. John went to college in the region, so he's always eager to meet up with other "buddies" of his.  We all camped out under the stars, drank cheap alcohol from the bottle in front of the campfire, and remembered what it was like to be a teenager again. It was still a little chill at night, which naturally made sleeping in the open air of night cold, but somehow enjoyable. 

In the daytime, I wore shorts (for the first time this year!) and hiked around. We only stayed near Shenandoah for one night, the other two (days and nights) we spent biking and hiking around the uplands of Kentucky. I'll post some more photographs soon. My battery died not even halfway through the trip, so most of the good photos, were taken with John's older (less digital) Nikon, and he hasn't developed them yet, for me to begin the tedious procedure of digital copies. 

Well, I'll write more later (and post more photos) later, for now I have to go and deal with crazed students who seem to have forgotten that midterms were this week. It really amazes me that they can prepare these outlandish spring break trips to Mexico and all the other bright beaches of the Americas, but still at the same time act as if that fact that it's midterm week totally phases them. People confuse me sometimes. Well, it's back to the office . . . then the lab . . . then a meeting . . . then the lab . . . then the office . . . and then finally home, again, maybe. I'll be at this schedule all week, if I survive. Hopefully. 

I've been to a minor place, and I can say I like it's face. If I am gone and with no trace, I will be in a minor place.

The sky is beautiful. The air smells like fresh bed sheets after being newly washed. I'm smoking a cigarette on my non-existent balcony. I've put on Les Savy Fav's album "Let's Stay Friends." I'm watching John reattach the bike rack to the back of the car. We're going to the east. I think. Basically the plan is to hop into the car and drive. We're aiming to reach the Appalachians, but I don't know if we'll get that far. 

After a quick stint in the office this early (6:30) this morning, I packed everything up, came home, and have been ready to head out since. I packed berries and bread for a quick breakfast on the road even, except John was hardly out of the shower when I was ready to go. He's getting a slow start since he spent the entire evening out yesterday, finally arriving home in the early morning completely incoherent and loud. Thankfully I made extra coffee to pacify him. 

Well, I should stop writing and find my shoes, wherever they are. 

Jane was the one, who would always have her fun. When she's lying on her bed, making visions in her head.

I hate it when weather throws my body cycles off. This weekend, temperatures dropped into the teens and it started snowing again. Today, the weather has miraculously heated up and it's 70 degrees outside. The sun is shining and people are wearing shorts and tanks, whereas yesterday the only skin you could see while walking down the sidewalk was the noses of people sticking out from bundles of scarves and parkas. 

Due to the climatic shift, I'm going to take off my shoes and walk around on the budding green grass, wet from slushy snow. Then, I'm going to start digging around in the backyard. The house is too warm on the inside, since the heat was turned up because of the cold. I have to wait until it cools down before I spend too much time in there. Thankfully, the house lends itself it having many large windows, to air it out. I'm sitting on the patio now, eating cherry pie, listening to some Caspian . . . Mogwai . . . etc. 

Also, yesterday, to brighten my spirits, I went to the salon . . . got a hair cut . . . and a dye. At first it felt awkward trading my dark locks for a lighter shade, but I was beginning to get this skunk stripe of gray hair in my bangs (yeah, I am vain enough to dye it out) . . . and well . . . it makes me look more . . . youthful. I haven't had a pixie cut since I was 18. This makes me remember why I liked it so much. 

Well, if the weather stays constant, I think over the weekend I'll pack a knapsack, drive east, and go hiking. I have the strongest urge to be outside all of the time. I've been a little down lately, with the whole supernatural-forces-being-against-me-thing, but I don't know, the air makes me want to believe everything is going to become right again. Well, I should go and run around in the lawn . . . check up on the activity in the greenhouse . . . dig up some dirt . . . the usual. Later I'm going to drive into campus to check up on things at the lab and participate in the blood drive they're holding this week. I never miss a chance to donate . . . it gives me one of those natural highs. Weird, I know. 

I Can't Sleep: Why I'm going to spend the night gorging myself on ice cream, strawberry syrup, and really bad monster movies.

I'm awake, still. It's the wee hours of the morning, and I find that I can't fall asleep, which is distressing since I've got a bunch of hours I have to punch at the lab tomorrow and I'd rather not do so drained from lack of sleep. At least John's still awake too. He's downstairs making ice cream sundaes (I had this craving for peanuts and strawberry syrup . . . don't ask). We're going to stay up watching bad monster movies until, 1) the dawn breaks and both of us have to head off to our respective workplaces or, 2) the sleeping pill I took 30 minutes decides to take effect and I crash just long enough to restore some energy, but not sound enough so that I sleep through the alarm clocks I've set up. Hopefully the latter is going to occur. For now, I can hear the patter of John's footsteps coming up the stairs. It's time for ice cream . . . and hot bruschetta. Yum.

. . . Travelling. Again.

So, it's set. In two weeks, I'll be catching the red eye to Seattle and staying there for seven days, bunking over at my brothers houses. They've all decided that since I've never seen their homes, they're going to trade me out for the entire week. I'm not especially excited to go . . . and in fact am a little disappointed. I mean, I'm giving up the bright blue beaches of Baja California, for the cloudy dismal of Seattle. The only plus sides I can foresee is that I'm taking a couple of those seven days to pop two hours away up to Vancouver . . . while there I'll at least be able to have a moment to myself. The other positive being that I'll get to finally pick up a couple records and books that Septimus says he's been hoarding away for me since the winter holidays. Ah, hopefully the weather will be nice while I'm there. 

Bob, this is why we're friends. What?

I dig this tune . . . and the Allen Ginsberg's cameo in the background.

It's autumn in Gothenburg, I'm walking home to my suburb. Rain falls hard on the city, on every homeless kitty.

Jens Lekman is my favorite person on Earth right now. He makes cleaning a breeze. And of course, he sounds great too.  But I think those two are associated. 

Woke up today, just called to say, your body's cold and you're going nowhere.

The weekend. It was rough. I had so much work that I needed to catch up on, that at some point I hit the limit of my stress level, changed into some suitable clothes, and went outside for a run. Exercise relieves stress right? It was nice (or as nice as it could be) running through the barren countryside into the town, through the bustling streets, parks, detouring to the market, meeting up with John who was already there, picking up berries imported from Mexico, grabbing brunch with him at the cafe, and parting ways for the run back home. The weather was warmed up so much that it felt so fresh, renewed, like the way air smells after spring rains. The early Spring flowers are even starting to bloom, spattering a landscape of brown with little specks of bright greens and yellows. 

After the run, I decided that this year I'm going to grow more than a window garden (because I can). I surveyed the back yard, measured out and marked where the beds and lots are going to be. Last year, I installed a greenhouse over the summer, but never used it extremely, since it was summertime and everything I planted didn't need to be in greenhouse. To put it and my over stressed mind to use, I started up all my seedlings on Sunday. I also went to quarry and purchased limestone flagstones to mark out the beds. I'm going to wait until further in the spring to install them, though.

Anyways, I also stopped listening to Bob Dylan today. I needed something to boost my spirit . . . a little Beulah, you know. They're too upbeat to get me down, hopefully. Since I was able to lie around in bed this morning (my water dynamics prof is still away), I slept in late, made a little bit of breakfast. John was actually here this morning, so I went a little overboard and had a little bit of everything: sunny side up eggs and prosciutto on toasted bread with sliced fields mushrooms, berries and sliced banana with vanilla yogurt, and a little bit of Gorgonzola and Brie. It was quite more than enough, and filling. 

Hmm, well it's time for me to get back to spreadsheets, data sets, and computer models . . . and after that I get to go into the laboratory to check up on equipment and trial runs. Joy.  

Oh, but you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears, bury the rag deep in your face for now's the time for your tears.

I didn't have class this morning. I'm sitting in on this course in water dynamics (yeah, it is just about as awesome as it sounds. Heh, that's sarcasm if you can't tell) and it was cancelled this morning for some reason or the other. I think the prof. was in San Diego or Algeria . . . something like that. So, I'm sitting around, twiddling my thumbs, waiting for my 3 o'clock. 

Oh, I decided that I want February to be over as soon as possible. Naturally, I can't will the calendar to skip ahead into March; instead, I'm going to rid myself of the feeling of February. If it feels like March to my subconscious, then my body and mind will act accordingly and think it's March. These titles of months are only arbitrary in the scale of time, but what we associate with them is what alters outward perception, creates different emotions, etc throughout the year. Of course, my reasoning could be completely faulty, but I have hope. 

To begin, I've switched over and posted my mix for March. Also, I've been playing Bob Dylan all morning, because the this is the month of my homage to Mr. Dylan. I've pulled out the entire discography, and I've start chronologically with Bob Dylan (1962). 

Well . . . au revoir pour maintenant.

Empty homes, plastic cones, stolen rims, are they alloy or chrome? Well, I've got style, miles and miles, so much style it's wasted.

If you could not tell, I'm listening to Pavement . . . I have been since this morning. The kind of nonsensical soothing rumble of Stephen Malkmus's voice/lyrics puts everything in perspective. What I've figured so far from this enlightenment is that I've fallen into some sort of karmic abyss where everything awful and horrible I've done in my existence is coming back, rearing it's ugly head, and chopping me up slowly into the tiny bits of a human. In the span of seven weeks, I've broken my nose and a pair of eyeglasses, violated more traffic laws than I had the entirety of my life prior, dented both bumpers on my vehicle after being rear-ended by another car forcing me to slide into a lamppost (I think I've forgone mentioning that incident until now), paid for the overestimated damage to the lamppost mentioned prior, got my vehicle towed twice, had my workload doubled, got screwed over for a pay increase, and now my father's dying and my brother keeps calling me every hour because I'd be just the worst daughter in the world if I didn't make it a priority to fly to Seattle and see him before, well, the whole death thing. 

Anyways, I'm probably going to give in an fly out there, but it won't be for a couple of weeks, until the second week in March to be exact. I won't be able to get off work and such until then. It'll be spring break. Though I had planned to go to Baja California to meet with old friends during the break, I suppose I can withstand making a short detour to the north, before I visit the bright blue beaches of the south. 

Well. This might be a little off topic now, but I think I should add to this post that Stephen Malkmus is a total cutie-pie (I might as well put it out there) and his voice reminds me off the soft whining whir of laboratory equipment (what?). I saw him and the Jicks live back in October. It was a great show. He played spectacularly, as usual. 

I was born by the river in a little tent, and just like the river I've been running ever since.

I received a surprising telephone call yesterday. It was from my brother, concerning my father. He's dying apparently. Tumor. Brain. A case of bad luck and genetics. He wants me to fly back to Seattle to see him. I haven't seen or communicated with my father in twelve years, since I was fourteen. I don't know whether I want to start again now. 

In other news, this evening I've put the Sam Cooke on loud, made grilled cheeses and the best chicken noodle soup I've tasted in a long while, downed a couple of glasses of wine, rolled a couple of cigarettes, and am on my way to finish reading through Diderot (finally). 

If silence means that much to you, then I promise to keep silent too.

It's a beautiful day.

I'm listening to Emma Pollock. 

Her voice kind of makes the day perfect. 

I'm sitting on wooden folding chair in the one of the spare rooms. There's a door (now open) leading to a balcony outside . . . except the balcony has since been removed from the house's exterior, so the door opens up and steps out into air. Naturally, of course, the door offers the best view of the countryside out of anywhere in the entire house. 

It's my favorite place to sit, roll and smoke a cigarette, drink a cup of tea, read some philosophy, and believe in the purpose of being there. 

I was chewin' gum for something to do. The blinds were being pulled down on the dew. Inside, out of love, what a laugh, I was looking for you.

All of my afternoon appointments cancelled. Apparently, they had better things to do on a cloudy, windy, slightly chilly, Friday afternoon. Apparently, they assume I have nothing better to do than wait around to be blown off by shifty students. Apparently. 

What to do now? 

I've put on the Wilco. 

Turned the volumed up loud. 

Naturally, Jeff Tweedy makes me forget my problems. 

Hmm. Let's go make a pie. 

I need a bowl of cereal.

Time? Who has much of it?

Oh, and it seems I've lost the spirit for music. 

Everything I listen to sounds like mush, which is odd since I distinctly remember enjoying The Mountains Goats . . . and etc. 

It keeps raining here. It hasn't let up since Sunday. Maybe that's the problem . . . the rain's discouraging the vibe.

In other news, I've been clearing out my hard drive of travel photos, so I'm going to post some of them (or at least the some that fit my mood). Enjoy:

Hmm. I feel like I travel much too often. Most of those are from Chicago . . . Montreal . . . Austria . . . Seattle . . . and all the places in between. Oh, I even think there are some from my research time in Baja California. Sheesh. 

To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee. One clover, and a bee, and revery. The revery alone will do, if bees are few.

The weather has been great for the past week. It makes me kind of miss the feeling of winter . . . especially since it's still February . . . and it shouldn't feel like this until two more months from now. 

Of course, I kind of can't wait until my back yard looks like this again. I suppose pictures will do for now . . . they brighten up the air at least. 

We throw parties, you throw knives. It's all the same if the fizzy drinks are nice.

I arrived home only moments ago. Incidentally, the flight back wasn't as interesting as the flight there. Maybe it was due to exhaustion. Maybe it was due to the incessant noise that comes out of some people's mouths. Maybe it was because I'm just annoyed/bitter/perturbed. Maybe I'm sick. I feel sick. Of course, that could all be due to the exhaustion. 

After the exiting the flight on Friday, I checked into my hotel room, piddled around until everybody else "situated," went to the university, chatted it up with a bunch of people that I've met before but couldn't exactly recall names and such. After meeting, greeting, rolling my eyes across the room too many times to count, Sally thought it best if we "wined and dined" as she called it. I had two glasses of wine. I thought it would be more respectable if at least one of us was sober when we returned to the hotel later in the evening. 

There's nothing like the smell of cheap bar to keep someone awake, so I showered and prepared to pop in some earplugs, a sleeping pill, and go to sleep. There's also nothing like being in a strange hotel room at midnight wondering whether you were really unprepared enough to forget to pack the travel bag including both your earplugs and sleeping pills (and incidentally, my toothbrush and paste, as well). I could have made it without the pills. The plugs, however, not a chance . . . especially since the people in the room above seemed to think the time of night incompletely irrelevant to their level of noise. I spent entire night with my eyes shut . . . trying to sleep . . . but awake the entire time. I didn't even have the chance to miss my alarm. 

The next day. Boring. Well, not really. But, I was tired and everything seemed to drag on for forever. That night . . . and the next night after . . . I kind of gave up on sobriety. I figured that the only way for me to pass out like a rock . . . was to consume enough alcohol to completely alter my sensory perception. In theory (more like, in my head) it was plausible . . . in reality I ended up equally exhausted as I would have been, but with the added bonus of a headache. 

This is why I am now laying on my bed, swallowing painkillers, listening to Broken Social Scene and trying to forget the weekend. The next time I travel, I'm going to think before I pack my luggage . . . and I'm going to avoid business trips with colleagues (other than Sally) that refuse to shut their mouths (namely one said person who thinks I don't dress "professional" enough). I suppose you could say I have conflict in the workplace . . . just a little bit though. 

You said I must eat so many lemons, cause I am so bitter. I said I'd rather be with your friends mate, cause they are much fitter.

Friday. This was the day I caught my flight. The night before, I planned out the entire schedule of how my morning was going to run. Wake up. Go to the office. Converse with boss. Pick-up paperwork. Drive to airport. Simple, clean cut, and easy. I messed up at step one. I didn't wake up and ended up sleeping in late (something that seems to be happening a lot lately). Due to this complication, I ended up making it to the office later than usual and my boss was no longer in and I wasn't able to have that "important" chat (here's where I sarcastically add in a "too bad"). I got the to airport late (as expected), checked in, ran through security, and hustled to the terminal before realizing that the flight boarding wasn't my flight, instead it was going to Tuscan or something and the other like that. I pondered. I went over "the plan" in my head. I must have stood there puzzling over it in quite a state for quite a while because that this point an airport attendant neatly taps me on the shoulder to make sure I was "okay." At that I quietly retreated from the spotlight to puzzle more. 

Upon finding a place to sit and wonder . . . I finally think up the wonderful idea of looking at my flight schedule on my ticket (naturally this is the last thing I thought of, ha!). I cursed and rubbed my temples. My flight wasn't for another two hours. So, I got to sit in the airport way longer than any normal person would want to, for no real cause other than the fact that I wasn't "capable" enough apparently to actually read my flight information. 

I suppose, on the positive side, this did allow for me to "connect" to an array of people that I would have otherwise been oblivious of. The first was the elderly man going to see his son in Los Angles. He said I had pretty eyes and reminded him of his daughter. She was in Florida and we both liked to read French philosophy (yes, I finally pulled my Diderot off the shelf). The second was a mother of . . . three . . . sons. They were going haywire. We met when the youngest (I assume) crawled up in the seat next to me, started poking me, and told me I must be crazy because I was reading my book upside down (I'm guessing he assumed French was upside down English . . . sheesh, aren't kids . . . cute?). His mother apologized and struck up conversation about how kids are crazy and how I was smart to not have any . . . Hmm? I wonder if that is what my mother thought? 

At this point I had to take a break, go to the bathroom, splash a little water on my face, pick up on overpriced muffin (I neglected to grab a croissant in the rush of the morning, that now seemed pointless). By the time I arrived back at my seat, the mother was gone, replaced by a familiar face. I couldn't exactly remember where I had seen it before, but he remembered me so I played along. Asked how my job was, I said fine and asked the same. He replied the same. It was the most awkward 20 minute conversation of my life . . . because every second I spent it trying to place the face hoping I wouldn't say anything to give myself away. I wouldn't remember who it was until the next morning, when I would be hovering over the crossword, stop say "aha!" not because I found a word, but a name instead. I would repeat the name over and over. He was one of John's mates, helped with the move . . . nearly killed my dogfaced pufferfish. Well, it felt good knowing. 

Next, it was the middle-aged man who was trying to do the crossword (different newspaper) and, I, reading over his shoulder, helped him out. I think he thought I was a creeper (because let's be honest, it's kind of a creeper thing to do) but once he figured I wasn't going to chop him up, he warmed up and let me finish with him. After that an angsting teen struck up a conversation with me . . . she probably wasn't a teen anymore, more like 20 or 21 . . . it felt like I was talking to a student . . . but not about schoolwork. We chatted about school, dating, music, how much she hates her parents, you know, the generics of a teenage life. Then, I got a tap on the shoulder. I turned and became instantly grateful. It was one of my colleagues. 

After some chitchat, the plane arrived, I boarded. We were unable to seat next to each other, so I was situated next to a window and a business-type-looking-man while, Sally, my friend and colleague, was situated in the middle aisle stuck between two people. It looked uncomfortable . . . for her. My other colleagues were somewhere towards the front of the plane. Thankfully. Lift off. 

To ease into the flight I pull out my Diderot, put on my headphones (Kate Nash, "Made of Bricks") and began to read. The business man next to me taps me on the shoulder. I become irritated, only slightly though, take off my headphones, and put my book down. He asks what I'm reading. Diderot, Jacques le fataliste et son maitre, I responded. Then it all unfolds. He's some French teacher, professor, extraordinaire . . . not a businessman (which explains why his briefcase looked fake). So we run down the introductory list, move on to music, likes, dislikes, find out we're both going to Columbia. Wow, that's neat! Apparently. At this point I've been so distracted by conversation to not notice the obvious discomfort of Sally, across the aisle. The people to both side of her have fallen asleep . . . on her. The person closest to myself is using her breast as his own personal pillow, to which I lean over and say "just push him aside . . . he won't mind . . . he's asleep." 

She begins her attempt to wake the man, however, this effort is thwarted when the child sitting directly behind the man thinks it'll be hilarious to begin tickling the man's ankles. He doesn't wake up and instead begins to butt his head further into Sally breast and side. Hmm, he seems catatonic. However, the next series of events proves that he is not. The child behind him decides that tickling ankles was just not as fun as it should be. It decides that jabbing a green colored pencil into the ankle is a better alternative . . . so, it does just that. The sleeping man awakes! Shrieks in pain! Jumps up and forward! 

In any normal case, people would have stared a little bit, made conversation about the incident, and moved on. However, this wasn't a normal incident. It just so happened that when the man happened to jump up startled, Sally was leaning over him about to pop him in the nose (to wake him as well). His sudden jump reared his head back into her face causing instant trauma to her nose (this seems to be happening more than often, as well). It started bleeding, which of course, set the stewardess into a panic. While Sally was administered first aid, the man began to hastily scold the parents belonging to the child with a predilection for green colored pencils. Argument ensued. The stewardess had to break it up. 

When Sally returned to her seat, battered but not broken, the man seemed still in need to pick a fight . . . and with her apparently, because, while she had sustained a bloody nose, his head hurt just a tad bit more than it should have, again apparently. Let's just say the argument didn't end with a soft and nice resolution. Instead, it ended with Sally smothering his face in her chest (some tangent from the whole "he-was-using-it-as-a-pillow" thing) and questioning (rhetorically) if he'd like to go take another nap (as if you couldn't tell, she kind of has a short wire). Of course, this wasn't the natural ending, which probably would have been far worse. Instead it was cut short, due to the plane landing. 

Well, it's never a real flight unless injury is involved and someone gets half smothered in a lady's cleavage. Let's just say Sally spent the entire night trying to forget the entire incident ever happened (with alcohol, of course). Oh, and the French non businessman gave me his phone number . . . to get drinks after we landed . . . I guess? 

I just got off the BEST plane ride EVER.

I just got off the BEST plane ride EVER. I'll tell you more about it later. I've got to run to a "meet-and-greet." Fun. Yeah. Hmm. 

TRIP! TRIP! TRIP! Oh, and I posted a new mix for the month.

Oh, I've posted the new mix for February, since February's only two days away and I'm going to be busy and out of town tomorrow until Monday. I'm going to another one of those "conferences" (meaning I'll probably be busy/bored) and well, it's in NY, so I'll be hopping on a plane tomorrow morning with a couple of colleagues to get there by that evening/afternoon (who really knows with all the time change switches I'll be going through). I'll be sure to enjoy it (woot)!

Anyways, my playlist for the coming month feels kind of . . . weak to me. I mostly put a bunch of crap on it that I have thinking about/wanting to/have been playing recently . . . so it doesn't really encompass, for me, the "feel" of February. Of course, how does one truly describe the feeling February in song? I haven't mastered it. But maybe I will. 

Stars. The Sky is Too Cloudy to See Them.

An old friend of mine from a childhood long ago (or maybe it just feels like it) posted me this video on my Facebook (dude, I am way too trendy) and I decided to post it here. Not only do I enjoy the music of Stars, the video reminds me slightly of my own childhood during the winter, usually spent everyday lying down on the ice of some forgotten pond on my father's property and staring up into the clouds or falling snow. 

Naturally, though, when my father found out that I spent my afternoons in the dead of winter lying on cold ice, he kind of freaked out. 

Know what's weird? Day by day, nothing seems to change. But pretty soon, everything's different.

Today, I saw two off-color things as I walked/wandered around campus. 

#1. On my brisk walk to today's topical brown bag luncheon, I found myself walking behind a grudgingly slow person. As I stared down at their feet, willing them to move faster, I realized something. This said person was wearing two different shoes, which in most cases could be any normal mistake to make (you know, accidentally throwing different but similar pairs of shoes while hustling to leave and not realizing it . . . we've all done it . . . or at least I have). However, it this case the two different shoes were not similar. One was a "flip-flop" sandal and the other a blue slide on flat. I should also note, it was snowing and not quite the right weather for either, especially the sandal. 

I wonder whether this was part of some observational analysis on human perception and reaction. 

#2. I had to catch the bus to ride over to West Campus. On the ride I peered out the window and saw a peculiar lady wrapping her arms around a large oak tree. She hugged it, stepped away, bowed, and resumed conversation (presumably with the tree). I pondered these actions. On the ride back to my office I peered out the window once more. Again, I saw the same actions being preformed other another, different tree. It was kind of amusing . . . I wonder what the lady is like personally. Interesting, probably. 

Hmm. Things like this make me wonder. Maybe I need to pop out the norm. Maybe not. I'm listening to Okkervil River for the evening . . . but I think I'm going to change it to some electronica/techno/house/funkadelic. I'm in that kind of mood and Okkervil River doesn't fit. 

Lying in Bed, Empanadas, and Nietzschian Philosophy: Why the Air Feels so Fresh.

After last Thursday's incident of unusually warm weather for the season, the temperature took a turn for the worst. The skies became clouded and the sun left (for warmer areas I suppose) leaving behind the chills of flurried snow and 5 degree weather. To suit such a day, I am lying in bed (the guest bed in one of the spare bedrooms, which, as of late, I've become accustomed to sleeping in for whatever reason . . . I think it makes me feel adventurous) comforted by the warmth of the covers and the soft glow emitted from the bedside lamp. 

I've spent the morning and afternoon reading more philosophy. Of course, all natural sense would tell me to finally dive into those French philosophical novels I picked up in Montreal, however, sense does not seem to apply to my reading choices (at least not for today). I've chosen a good standby, which in this instance is not Hesse (who can usually fill every circumstance with reading joy), but instead, I've gone with a little Nietzsche. For some reason I find that his works have a sort of . . . depth (so to speak) that fits dreary days (such as these). 

I'm currently working through "Uber Wahrheit und Luge im aussermoralischen Sinn" which titled in English is "On Truth and Lies in a Nonmoral Sense." It basically deals with the theoretical questions of truth and such as it is . . . making it quite and interesting read. If I finish it by this evening I'm going to start "Die Geburt der Tragodie aus dem Geiste der Musik," which in the English version is titled "The Birth of Tragedy" and it introduces his thoughts on the dichotomy of the Apollonian and Dionysian (I know, it's a little intense). 

On a lighter note, I made some great empanadas for lunch/dinner. They turned out nice. I'm not usually into Spanish food (peppers kind of unnerve me) but for some reason I had this awful urge for it . . . and today it turned out that the urge didn't lead me astray as the empanada were great. 

Well, for now I am going to go back to reading. I'd like to spend the rest of the day without a thought about the coming work week ahead, but I know that that isn't possible, so I will just try to push it as far out of my head as possible. Oh, I've also gotten over my Elf Power fixation. Today, I put on some Golden Smog . . . which for now it just as good.  

Counting threes through the window, imitation glass, that's been stratched in code, to be read by someone else.

Oh, and if you can't tell . . . I still kind of love Elf Power. Maybe tomorrow that love will fade into a temporary dislike and I'll move onto something else. The Ladybug Transistor? I've kind of been dying to pull out the Abermarle Sound and put it on. 

Hold my head to the skin I said, when my heart wasn't always there. As you turn down the light in the long black night, peel back the moon, beware!

Today, I woke up. I showered. I stood contemplating my day's outfit. I was told the prior day offhandedly that my "attire" wasn't "professional" enough. I didn't know whether to take the comment seriously or not. I figured that the person that made this comment was just trying to make a jab at me for wearing jeans and tees rather than one of those tight (rather revealing) dresses that "Emily-down-the-hall" wears all the time. So, I dressed normally. I made a pot of tea. I nibbled on a croissant. I checked the time and got ready to leave pulling on my coat and scarf and hat and gloves. Bundled, to face the chilly winter weather I grudgingly walked toward the door. I stepped outside. I cursed, quite loudly. 

It was about 70 degrees and not quite the right temperature to be dressed for snow. 

I'm thinking of drinking the entire sea, where fishes makes wishes and swim into me. Oh, what a beautiful dream.

I've been in the laboratory since 3 this afternoon until 9 this night.  It was . . . intense. After that I came home and computed data sets for . . . god knows how long . . . with computation and data sets everything seems to last forever. Finally, I stopped. I gave up and tomorrow I am going to push the rest of the data sets and computation onto some menial lab tech. Sometimes it's great to have authority. 

Now, since I'm on one of those pseudo-adrenaline kicks from punching Excel files, I've let loose and put on the last.fm radio (tuned to Elf Power) which is something I normally wouldn't do (I enjoy picking my own musical delights way too much) but . . . as I said I let loose . . . and am letting everything wash away. It's like a ritual cleansing, except with music and wine (which, by the way, is homemade . . . not by me . . . but some buff in Geography makes it for fun and I swindled a bottle . . . and, sheesh, it's . . . strong). 

This moment would almost be perfect if I did have this itch telling me that I should at least try to get some sleep, so I can wake up tomorrow and do this all over again. 

I Don't Feel Like a Gardenia.

I just got back from the office. My schedule this semester is totally off . . . I work in the morning until 9:30 and then I have a free period from then until 3 this afternoon. So I thought I might as well head home and mill around here rather than sitting around trying to think of things to do on campus. I handed back the homeworks I graded this morning. I don't think many people were too happy . . . but that could have been either from their grades or the fact that it was early in the morning after a long weekend (in their cases probably involving too much alcohol). 

Here, the day is getting progressively colder . . . with the winds picking up in speed . . . and it started snowing again about an hour ago. The whole day just feels a little . . . down. Of course, the whole day could be feeling melancholy because I put on some Ida when I came home . . . I thought it would fit the mood . . . and it did apparently too well because all I want to do now is curl up in the comfort of cotton and down and sleep for forever (if that was only possible). Instead though, I am going to put some water on and make a strong pot of tea (I've been craving oolong). 

On that note, I finally found my teakettle, yesterday. For some reason I had misplaced in one of the spare rooms . . . I remember doing this now, I was searching for a book on Tetraodontidae (pufferfish) that I thought I had packed away sometime during the move but still can't find . . . anyways I had brought the pot of tea in with me so I could refill my cup while I searched through boxes and shelves of books. I must have left in it there. 

This entire topic brings me up to point on the fact that, now, after moving from my rundown flat where nothing worked to this house where everything works, I have too much space . . . too many rooms to lose things in. And now, since I'm liquidating all of my aquariums , due to a lack of time and because I'll be leaving this summer and staying in France for 4 months, I have all the space left behind from them. I mean, you never really realize how big a 250 gal. aquarium is until it's gone and leaves this big void . . . and then of course take away that and about three others and you have an even larger void. 

My other issue is . . . cleaning. In total the house has about twelve rooms, only about five of which I regularly: kitchen, living, dining, bed, and bath rooms. However, despite my non-usage of most of these spaces they still somehow become unclean over time, gathering dust and age and just that feeling of something . . . decomposing. After finding my kettle yesterday I went on a cleaning rampage . . . trying to void the house of every single dust particle. It didn't work. I woke up this morning and there was more dust. 

Well, I'm glad I'm confronting these problems now . . . almost a year later. I'm going to go and change the music. If I listen to anymore Ida I really will fall asleep . . . and miss the time that I need to leave to go back to campus. I'm thinking Stephen Malkmus . . . or something related. 

Recuperation. Rejuventation.

Jazz last night was wonderful. I feel awkward saying I "boogied all night long" but that's the only way to describe it. About two years ago I enrolled in a jazz dance class (to get outside myself and relieve stress) so I know the gist of jazz dance . . . a little swing, a little jitterbug, even the Charleston. So now, I'm worn out. I woke up way past dawn, had a throbbing ache in my head and feet regions, and now am just trying to soothe all those ailments. I put on some music  . . . I started with Grandaddy and am working my way down the alphabet (which usually doesn't work for me . . . but the transition from Grandaddy to Grizzly Bear to Guided by Voices to Headlights to Hercules & Love Affair isn't that bad actually). Now I should go and mill around a bit . . . It's a holiday tomorrow so all offices at the university are closed (thankfully) . . . I have to go into the eye doctor and pick up my eye glasses, though, so I can't stay in all day lounge around. Sheesh. 

Rock Skippin' at the Blue Note!

I'm going out to the jazzhaus tonight, which equals jazz music, tired feet from too much jittertbug and swing dancing, and a throbbing head in the morning from a combination of loud music and too much alcohol. Well, in a whole, it sounds like it's going to be a great night. To prepare for the night I put on some old Duke Ellington at about mid-afternoon . . . and just soaked it in. It was wonderful. I bopped along to the beat while messing around in the kitchen and then while I finished up the last of the 200+ papers I was grading (I kind of feel sorry for a people belonging to the assignments I graded last night . . . I didn't have Duke playing then, so I was in a less forgiving mood . . . tough break). Now I'm going to take a shower. Lounging around all day makes me smell funny. 

Woke Up Late, Lost My Teakettle, Munched on Greek Pizza: Why I am the most exciting person . . . ever.

I slept in too much this morning. By the time I had woken up the sun had already risen high into the mid morning sky . . . and I was sitting in the kitchen wondering the teakettle had been misplaced so I could make a strong batch of tea. I still haven't found it. I had to pull out of storage the older . . . slightly grosser . . . one I that use for cases like this. It threw of the whole morningoff when it was kind of already off to begin with. 

Isn't greek pizza the most delicious food? That's what I rocked out for dinner last night (and this morning as well), instead of grilled cheese . . . and I have to say I think it was a good choice. In other news, I'm still stuck inside grading (which means being completely unenjoyable) and listening to Atlas Sound's album "Let the Blind Lead Those Who Can See but Cannot Feel." After I've played through it a bit I'll move onto something more . . . upbeat.

It's Beautiful Outside.

So, I was advised against rolling the snow, whether I actually would have or not, by John. He called to suggest that we have a grilled cheese night, and if so he'd pick up some deli slices after work. I said sure, because, well who refuses grilled cheese? and it gives me a reason to whip up a brothy noodled soup with tons of chopped veggie goodness. Anyways . . . I said, "I'm going to roll around in the snow," and he said,"Uh, are you sure that's a good idea?" and I said, "Why not?" and he said, "Well if you nose pops open and starts bleeding everywhere on the snow people might think you killed someone in the backyard," and I said, "Oh yeah, I forgot, the nose . . . right." End of conversation. 

So that's why I won't be rolling anywhere. The nose. It's still broken, obviously. I have like six stitches on it that will have to be removed and a "brace" around it to help mend the cartilage after they snapped it back into place. It's actually quite gross . . . the entire area is this swollen lump of bruises that I suppose would be sore to the touch if I wasn't abusing my pain medication, which makes my entire body kind of numb. My greatest hope is that it'll heal without scarring . . . I mean, the doctor told I'd probably have a lump in my nose from now on from the scar tissue . . . but I hope the big gash that had to be stitched up shows minimal tissue damage. On the brighter side, scars aside, I do fall to sleep easier without relying on my sleep aids . . . it must be a side effect of the drugs. 

However, despite the whole "not being able to roll around in the snow thing" (sheesh, I sound like I twelve or something . . . maybe this is a side effect of the painkillers as well . . . hmm), I did pick out the perfect music for the day. Think Britpop. What do you think of? Blur, of course! (or at least I do . . . maybe they're a little too rocky for pop, but whatever). I've put on their album "Parklife" and intend to keep it on all afternoon. I even hooked up the speakers to play the sound outside so I can run around in the back yard and still hear the music . . . Hmm, I feel like twirling in circles. That's probably a bad idea too. 

Well, I'll think of something to expend some of this energy I have building. For now I'll just listen to some Blur inside . . . and grade papers (even though it's boring). 

Strange winds are blowing me down this way: Why I'm going to need Headlights to drive through the snow.

My 7:30 this morning was cancelled because the prof apparently didn't feel like showing up. It's a bummer since this was my only course and I need to be in office, so I basically woke up and came here for no reason. So what's the plan now? To take the papers I have to grade home and work on them there in the warmth of the hearth (that was an odd thing to say) rather than staying here in this . . . building. 

Oh, on a side note, it's snowing again. I think I'll go take a walk outside later today . . . maybe when and if the sun comes out from behind the clouds and the temperature rises above 4 degrees.

I feel kind of weird writing this but I just kind of want to roll in it . . . like a child does in the snow. Odd, hm. 

What am I Feeling? Melancholy.

I'm listening to the Silver Jews. I've started with their album "American Waters" but I think I'm going to keep this up long enough to make it through "The Natural Bridge" and "Starlite Walkers" as well. But I don't know how long this will last since I have the strongest craving for Smog since I began writing. We'll see how it goes. 

I suppose I don't have much else to write in this post. I went to eye doctor today, as I said I would yesterday. I'm not sure whether I'm going to enjoy my new frames. To cut costs, I bought a pair vintage from a third party dealer, and I'm having the lenses made to fit them, rather than buying new. They're just a little different older pair which were a solid brown with green inlay. 

Anyways, I think I actually am going to switch over to some Smog . . . so I should go and do that before the feeling passes. Maybe later tonight I'll get a little more creative with my listening choices . . . like some Sparklehorse . . . or Headlights . . . no, now I'm feeling so soul or blues, like Dead Prez. 

I'll just put it out there . . . I have no idea what I'm feeling. 

A Follow-up Side-Note

Oh, I'm going to be posting some writings on all the musicians mentioned in the previous post sometime tomorrow . . . after I get back from the eye doctor . . . for some reason they require an entire new examination of my eyes for me to buy new frames and lenses . . . despite the fact that I doubt my prescription has changed much. I just hope the bandages on my face don't prove to be a problem for the examination. 

Existing Can Be Kind of Disfiguring: Why I'm Living Off a Diet of Bran Muffins and Pain Meds.

What can I write that will for me subdue this urge to cram everything in my mind into words to create an amalgamation of text to describe this overwhelming . . . feeling? I suppose I could start by describing the most perfect worse day of my life so far. Really, it was perfect in that this was the kind of day that hollywood execs write scripts about where famous stars play leading ladies and there is this huge triumph over insurmountable obstacles . . . with exception to that whole triumph part, for me there was no triumph, no win, just despair.

So picture this:

It’s Monday morning. I woke up. Lying in bed wondering why I made myself get out of the comfort of down and cotton. The sounds of Public Enemy are in the background . . . with “Burn Hollywood Burn” sounding out from my alarm clock. It’s kind of the perfect song to wake up to in the morning.

I roll over to look at the clock. For some reason it reads an hour later than it should. Maybe I subconsciously set the alarm to go off later than normal so I’d purposefully be late to work. I still haven’t actually figured whether it was a slip of my subconscious or faulty manufacturing, but either way I was late and when people are late they rush. They pull themselves out of the state they are in and try to make up all the time lost by moving quicker than normal.

Because of this I walked out of the house forgetting my wallet, scarf, gloves, and the sack lunch I had prepared the previous night. I sped down the highway to the sounds of the album “thickfreakness” by The Black Keys . . . you know, a little roadway blues. I pulled into the parking lot and then proceeded to run to the campus building to both fight off the cold and make myself feel like I was going to be less late than I already was.

I arrived to my office with red nose and blossoming cheeks. I soon realized after arriving that I had forgotten to grab my satchel and rucksack containing all of my work files out of the backseat of the car in my rush to make to the office. I run back to my car. I search my pockets, searching for my car keys. I realize I forgot them in my office. I run back to my office. I search my desk, bags, and all the drawers for the missing keys. They aren’t there. I realize I must have dropped them in route somewhere. I backtrack. Twice. Then, finally out of desperation I run back to my car and peer inside the window. I see my keys dangling from the ignition. I try to open the door. Locked. I try to open every other door. Locked.

Fuck.

I walk miserably back to the office. I hear the dulcet tones of Elf Power’s “Come Lie Down With Me (and sing my song)” playing from somewhere in background, possibly the adjoining office. I phone John. He has my spare. He doesn’t answer and continues to not answer for the next 6 hours. I do what work I can without my files. I mill around. Get that bitter chiding from my superiors for being late. Finally, John answers. He brings my spare and says he’ll meet me in the parking lot.

I run out to meet him. I see him in the lot walking around as if searching. I wonder what he’s searching for. Then I realize what it is. My car. It’s not there. It seems in my rushing pace I had inadvertently parked zone that my permit did not authorize. It had been towed. I crawl into John’s car to . . . relax. I made all the necessary phone calls. From the speakers I could make out “Put Us Back Together” by Headlights chiming out. It was soothing. Of course, once I got to the tow yard I realized that in the rush of the morning I had forgot my wallet with my license and registration in it . . . so I had to bum a ride all the way home to retrieve it before I could pick my vehicle up. 

After the fiasco was completed, I reunited with my auto in the tow yard, paid the overpriced fine and charges, and left feeling quite joyous. I mean was else could go wrong? However, joy must cloud the senses somehow, because halfway through the drive home I heard the flashing whirring of a police car pulling me over. I was speeding, apparently. I began to search for my wallet. I couldn’t find my wallet.

Fuck.

Here, I don't exactly know what happened . . . apparently somewhere between me obtaining car car at the tow yard and me thanking John for his helpful services, I misplaced my ID. I would later find out that it was left, somehow, crammed between one of John's car seats. So not only did I get a ticket for speeding but also one for driving without a license. My drive home was spent listening to the Starlight Mint’s album “The Dream that Stuff was Made From” and thinking about how I could pinch my savings to cover all the money that had to pay “the man” today.

Then in no time I was home. I got out of the car. I grab my bags and paperwork. Then, I slipped. I don’t even think it was icy but as I walked up the steps to the doorways my footing became misplaced and I tumbled down about ten stairs and rolled into bushes in front of the steps. I felt . . . pain . . . from the fall naturally but also because the bush I had rolled into had thorns that were quite large . . . and they were poking into my skin. I crawl out of the bush. I saw red. I felt red. I wondered where my glasses were.

At this point I heard John walking from his car over to me. He gasped. I would soon know why. Looking into the mirror, I gasped. My nose had taken a beating. It was bleeding slowly and bent in some abnormal position . . . quite hideous really. At that I had myself drove to the hospital. While in the car, I was still wondering where my glasses where because without them I’m practically blind and I heard The Violent Femmes coming from the speakers. It seemed far off.

At the hospital I found out that my nose was broken. The doctors proceeded to pop it back in place and bandage it. Thankfully I couldn’t see any of this happening . . . oh, and thankfully they gave large doses of pain meds to “deal’ with this. I couldn’t really think about anything other than the fact of how this was really going to eat up my savings.

Then in no time it seemed everything was fixed, so with bandages and pain meds in tow I arrived home, again, finally. I needed a nap . . . a long sleep. Thankfully, I didn’t have office hours the next day, so I wasn’t technically required to come in . . . and my classes . . . oh yeah, I’d be skipping them. I made a large cup of strong hot tea and put on whatever was easiest to find. It turned out to be Citay. It was kind of fitting. Then I fell asleep.

I woke up this morning to the sound of the phone ringing. I managed to find it. It was John. He called to say that when he left the house that morning he found my glasses near the steps. He’d left them on the table. I said my thanks, popped in my contacts, and made my way downstairs to pick them up.

On the table, there they were, snapped in half and lenses smashed to bits. Kind of fitting, heh? I wallowed in this a little bit. I suppose one say that this day, yesterday, wasn't that bad. I mean, at least no one died . . . of course, I've dealt with the loss of death before . . . and I've got to say, it just doesn't sting the same way a getting hit with three different police tickets, a towing charge, hospital bill, a broken nose, and a smashed pair of glasses coming at you all in the same day.

There are no benefits of lying (with your friends).

Do you know what the best smell I've ever experienced is? A smoking cigarette mixed with a breeze of cold snow from an open window and a bit of sage from a potted plant sitting nearby.

Add the experience of this smell with the Apples in Stereo playing in the background and you will have the best winter morning ever. Toss in a hot homemade apple turnover and you have my morning.

I think I need to live life more.

What the Hell is an Aquagem?

My fingers are swollen. Why? I spent all morning and afternoon knitting . . . and most of last night as well. I've made three pairs of mittens and watched about a million bad films, listened to some some great orchestral chamber music, and downed at least a full bottle of wine while making them.

I think I'm going to stop for the night and take an aspirin. Tomorrow I'm going to start on matching socks. I don't exactly know if people wear matching socks with their mittens but, I think I'm going to start. I think the color of yarn that I used are actually better suited to be worn on the feet rather than the hands . . . I mean really they're labeled names like "Fruity Fiesta," which is basically a vomiting of all the colors on the color wheel dyed in wool, "Berry Bonanza," which is series of blues and purples dyed into alpaca, and "Aquagem," which is this violent turquoise that should never be seen on a person's foot or hand dyed into an eco-cotton blend.

Hopefully by tomorrow my fingers will lose their swell so bending them won't be as painful . . . and maybe by then I'll be off this knitting buzz that I've thrown myself into. Maybe not. I've got a week left until the holidays end for me and I have to go back to work and classes and everything else (you know, those dreadful obligations), so I'm going to try do things that I wouldn't be able to do once everything picks up again.

Maybe I'll be ambitious and start reading through all those French novels I bought in Montreal.

Maybe not.

Body Language, Foreign Families, and Walks Outside: I Finally Get to Experience the Joys of Home.

Sheesh. I haven't posted in nearly two weeks. I've been a little out of touch with my computer. After arriving in Chicago I stayed there over the holidays . . . hung out . . . had a run in with Septimus (who never showed up in Montreal . . . but did make it for a reunion in Chicago) . . . and then caught a rental car to St. Louis to meet up with John and his . . . uh, family. We stayed there until Tuesday the next week. I have to say those five days with the entirety of the Hagebak family was the best family reunion I have ever endured . . . and I'm not even related to them. I think it's because they don't speak a tongue that I know very well, so I either had to have everything important translated for me, or I went with my more enjoyable option, I interpreted everything they were saying via body language. Overall the stay was splendid, I got to enjoy my yearly fill of lutefisk (yum) and pushy grandmothers.

After arriving back here, home, finally, I rested for the entire day. Lounged. Read. The weather warmed up to such a tolerable degree that I went outside and ran around in the trees soaking up the shine of the sun. Hmm, I think I've covered the past two weeks up to the present. Oh wait, I suppose I should mention something about the new year . . . okay, well, it's a new year. Enjoy it and the coming seasons. My mother had the colloquialism that "what you do in the first of the new year is what you will be doing for the rest of the year." The first of the year has past, so I guess this really wouldn't help anyone.

On a side note I spent my new year's day playing Scrabble, drinking grape soda, and watching old silent films. I guess I'll being doing that all the time now.