Last night while cooking dinner, "Blitzkrieg Bop" came on the radio.
That music was an undeniable invitation to dance, so I did.
Unfortunately, all day my neck has been hurting me, and there's no other reasonable explanation, except for my oddly enjoyable and probably incredibly awkward moves.
The funny thing is, I don't even like the Ramones.
Who do I sue?
Friday, May 27, 2016
Monday, May 16, 2016
I've had Lenny Kravitz' song "Let Love Rule" in my head for a couple of days, and I have thoughts.
The first thing I should tell you, though, is - I had a moderately high (it was 101.3 at the highest; I have no idea if this is moderate or not, I just didn't want to sound like a drama queen) temperature over the weekend. Coupled with a headache that felt like someone was actually piercing my skull with an ice pick (sorry, that cliche just works), I self-diagnosed myself as having an acute sinus infection. On Friday and Saturday I tried extra strength Tylenol. By Sunday, I had switched to Advil. Now, I don't know if that switch was magic or if my brain just got tired of trying to kill me, but by 5 p.m., I was starting to feel like myself again.
Except for this song. In my head.
I'm not a Lenny fan, so, if someone out there reading this is, you should know that before you keep reading.
(Who's reading this, though. Seriously.)
I know Lenny gets a lot of press, and coverage on fashion blogs, and people are interested in him because of his relationship with that girl from the Cosby Show (or are people interested in her because of relationship with him? Also, isn't she older than I am? So where do I get off calling her "that girl"? Man, if I could remember her name, I would totally apologize). Or maybe they're interested in him because he looks good in leather pants? I really don't know. The thing is, I haven't heard enough actual music from him to form an opinion on his music except for what I know from this one song.
This one, idiotic, not even fun for a non-singer to sing, song.
You know I'm a car singer, right? I'm not terrible. But I'm not good, either. And I'll admit that first line of the song is tempting. It sounds good, doesn't it?
"Love... is gentle as a rose..."
And then you sort of forget all the in-between mediocre stuff until he gets to the peak of the song... two lines later. And that is it. That song is OVER. Except it isn't. He tells you, at least 20 more times, that, "We got to let love rule!"
The funny thing is, he's won a ton of Grammys and I could not name one other song or work by him, at all. Not one. Now, it's totally possible that he's accomplished a lot of stuff, helped a lot of people, spread the word about letting love rule so strenuously and competently that we are indeed, letting love rule...
Oh, wait. We're not doing that.
The first thing I should tell you, though, is - I had a moderately high (it was 101.3 at the highest; I have no idea if this is moderate or not, I just didn't want to sound like a drama queen) temperature over the weekend. Coupled with a headache that felt like someone was actually piercing my skull with an ice pick (sorry, that cliche just works), I self-diagnosed myself as having an acute sinus infection. On Friday and Saturday I tried extra strength Tylenol. By Sunday, I had switched to Advil. Now, I don't know if that switch was magic or if my brain just got tired of trying to kill me, but by 5 p.m., I was starting to feel like myself again.
Except for this song. In my head.
I'm not a Lenny fan, so, if someone out there reading this is, you should know that before you keep reading.
(Who's reading this, though. Seriously.)
I know Lenny gets a lot of press, and coverage on fashion blogs, and people are interested in him because of his relationship with that girl from the Cosby Show (or are people interested in her because of relationship with him? Also, isn't she older than I am? So where do I get off calling her "that girl"? Man, if I could remember her name, I would totally apologize). Or maybe they're interested in him because he looks good in leather pants? I really don't know. The thing is, I haven't heard enough actual music from him to form an opinion on his music except for what I know from this one song.
This one, idiotic, not even fun for a non-singer to sing, song.
You know I'm a car singer, right? I'm not terrible. But I'm not good, either. And I'll admit that first line of the song is tempting. It sounds good, doesn't it?
"Love... is gentle as a rose..."
And then you sort of forget all the in-between mediocre stuff until he gets to the peak of the song... two lines later. And that is it. That song is OVER. Except it isn't. He tells you, at least 20 more times, that, "We got to let love rule!"
The funny thing is, he's won a ton of Grammys and I could not name one other song or work by him, at all. Not one. Now, it's totally possible that he's accomplished a lot of stuff, helped a lot of people, spread the word about letting love rule so strenuously and competently that we are indeed, letting love rule...
Oh, wait. We're not doing that.
Monday, April 11, 2016
#robotvoice #subdivisions Hello, April!
The month of March was kind of a shitty one. Without delving into the gory details, I'll just say:
It's done, and now I don't have to do it again, and hello, April, why, you're so pretty, aren't you, April!
It's taken me like, 11 days in to get to this point, and it's possible I'll take a u-turn again and get all squiggly, but right now, here I am, sort of, and I'm glad to be here.
I'm going to try to stay. And if I don't, I'll start all over again, and it will get easier, because nothing truly life threatening occurred, and it's just my ability to deal that has been tested, and even though, as you keep reading, you'll think that I feel like a 100 year old ancient person, in truth, I am still a kid, still have a lot to learn, and have a heart the size of a Greyhound bus. I can say that because I've seen at least one other heart that big, and I know what I'm talking about.
I met up the other day with my old friend Bo (20 years ago I would've said, "emphasis on old" but 20 years is a long time for us both) about some changes I've endured (encountered? Endured), and his response to our conversation, which pretty much just consisted of me saying, "Owwwwwwwww! Owwwwwww," perhaps with a few details, was genius.
He said:
"You don't know what tomorrow will bring."
Dude. So simple, and yet so smart.
One way I deal with stuff is with music. Playing it when I can, yeah, but listening, too. The problem is, certain kinds of music gets me in a bad head space. And then the radio, rife with crap like the Red Hot Chili Peppers, or the Eagles, and other junk that should've been banned from the airwaves 20 years ago (when Bo and I were young, and hated this music the first time around), or new garbage, like Maroon 5 and Coldplay, is, in general, a dangerous place for me to be, so I've been enlisting my friends Rush, via streaming.
Patrick read somewhere that Rush's lyrics were once voted amongst the worst lyrics in the world, and while I totally agree, on the one hand, on the other hand, nothing distracts from one's emotional basket-case self like "Tom Sawyer" or "Subdivisions."
Math rock to the rescue, and I mean it (without being melodramatic or anything), I kind of needed rescuing.
On Saturday, I was putting away laundry and sorting out my closet, and Jules was in the bedroom with me, playing with his legos on the bed. "Subdivisions" came on, and I started teaching him when to drop in with the robot voice. Hearing his awesome five year old voice say, when I pointed at him, "subdivisions" was the highlight of my weekend.
Here's to another week (or month) of blasting Rush in the car and other places. Enjoy!
It's done, and now I don't have to do it again, and hello, April, why, you're so pretty, aren't you, April!
It's taken me like, 11 days in to get to this point, and it's possible I'll take a u-turn again and get all squiggly, but right now, here I am, sort of, and I'm glad to be here.
I'm going to try to stay. And if I don't, I'll start all over again, and it will get easier, because nothing truly life threatening occurred, and it's just my ability to deal that has been tested, and even though, as you keep reading, you'll think that I feel like a 100 year old ancient person, in truth, I am still a kid, still have a lot to learn, and have a heart the size of a Greyhound bus. I can say that because I've seen at least one other heart that big, and I know what I'm talking about.
I met up the other day with my old friend Bo (20 years ago I would've said, "emphasis on old" but 20 years is a long time for us both) about some changes I've endured (encountered? Endured), and his response to our conversation, which pretty much just consisted of me saying, "Owwwwwwwww! Owwwwwww," perhaps with a few details, was genius.
He said:
"You don't know what tomorrow will bring."
Dude. So simple, and yet so smart.
One way I deal with stuff is with music. Playing it when I can, yeah, but listening, too. The problem is, certain kinds of music gets me in a bad head space. And then the radio, rife with crap like the Red Hot Chili Peppers, or the Eagles, and other junk that should've been banned from the airwaves 20 years ago (when Bo and I were young, and hated this music the first time around), or new garbage, like Maroon 5 and Coldplay, is, in general, a dangerous place for me to be, so I've been enlisting my friends Rush, via streaming.
Patrick read somewhere that Rush's lyrics were once voted amongst the worst lyrics in the world, and while I totally agree, on the one hand, on the other hand, nothing distracts from one's emotional basket-case self like "Tom Sawyer" or "Subdivisions."
Math rock to the rescue, and I mean it (without being melodramatic or anything), I kind of needed rescuing.
On Saturday, I was putting away laundry and sorting out my closet, and Jules was in the bedroom with me, playing with his legos on the bed. "Subdivisions" came on, and I started teaching him when to drop in with the robot voice. Hearing his awesome five year old voice say, when I pointed at him, "subdivisions" was the highlight of my weekend.
Here's to another week (or month) of blasting Rush in the car and other places. Enjoy!
Friday, March 11, 2016
Too much information.
I have to be honest: it's been a rough month.
However, I've found myself turning to two things that are doing me a lot of good:
Music, and friends.
(If you've gotten a weird phone call from me at 4:30 p.m., that's when I'm on the 710 freeway, sitting there, trying to not stew about everything.)
I've been trying to play more, and practice, and think about tone and power and volume, and that's slow going because time is not my friend these days. It's funny: work is the no. 2 cause of my stressed-out feelings, and also the cause of my shoulder pain (NOT tendinitis, as my physical therapist told me today but rather... something else having to do with posture and weak muscles and sitting at a desk for 9 hours a day for 15 years that I can't remember the name of), but I do actually like being there. Is that weird? However, having to be there means I can't practice or do the other things that soothe me (laundry being another).
(I'm at Starbucks, and some guy just asked if he could plug his phone charger into the plug beneath my table. He said, "Do you mind if I borrow some of your power?" I said, "WHAT power?" I think he thought I was kidding around but it was amusing, and SO APPROPRIATE. Personal things are making me feel a bit like a bug under a tire.)
The funny thing is the music I've been listening to. I think people assume that when there are hard things to go through and think about, that women tend to turn to sappy, sad music (the opening to Bridget Jones' Diary comes to mind). But I don't need SPECIFIC music to make me cry, and honestly, that kind of stuff does NOT make me feel better. I know how to do that shit all by myself. Nope, I've been turning to Rush for when my brains are scrambled, and it has been so therapeutic.
I think I read somewhere that so-called math rock can help with concentration and learning; for me, the mostly lack of sappy love-centric lyrics and the complicated rhythms are what I'm looking for. Yesterday I was happy when I thought I hit every bass drum beat with my thumb on the door of my car during "Tom Sawyer." I'd love to try out some King Crimson - a favorite of mine and Patrick's for years - but I don't think I'm ready for all those lyrics. Bill Bruford's drums, though! The yearning quality of Adrian Belew's voice, which I love, just isn't what I'm looking for right now. The other band I've been listening to a lot is Weezer, but only the obnoxious songs like "Everybody Get Dangerous," "King," and "Troublemaker." Weezer's ability to make me laugh is appreciated; "The Red Album" delivers.
The other day at home, I was getting a little work in on "The Magic Flute," which we're playing in flute choir. It's hard, and I'm inspired (and, I have to admit, a little challenged) by the woman on 2nd flute. Her name is Loretta, and I'm really fighting to keep up with her. She's got great fingers! I was practicing and Jules sat on the piano bench next to me. The little dude was ROCKING OUT. I've also been playing, on the radio, all my favorite corny classical music greatest hits (The William Tell Overture, Bolero... the Star Wars soundtrack - ssssh, don't tell anyone), and he seems to love it. Me too. It works, right now.
Hey, there are worse things with which to self medicate, right? YES. Maybe I'll get in some piccolo playing today. After my massage.
However, I've found myself turning to two things that are doing me a lot of good:
Music, and friends.
(If you've gotten a weird phone call from me at 4:30 p.m., that's when I'm on the 710 freeway, sitting there, trying to not stew about everything.)
I've been trying to play more, and practice, and think about tone and power and volume, and that's slow going because time is not my friend these days. It's funny: work is the no. 2 cause of my stressed-out feelings, and also the cause of my shoulder pain (NOT tendinitis, as my physical therapist told me today but rather... something else having to do with posture and weak muscles and sitting at a desk for 9 hours a day for 15 years that I can't remember the name of), but I do actually like being there. Is that weird? However, having to be there means I can't practice or do the other things that soothe me (laundry being another).
(I'm at Starbucks, and some guy just asked if he could plug his phone charger into the plug beneath my table. He said, "Do you mind if I borrow some of your power?" I said, "WHAT power?" I think he thought I was kidding around but it was amusing, and SO APPROPRIATE. Personal things are making me feel a bit like a bug under a tire.)
The funny thing is the music I've been listening to. I think people assume that when there are hard things to go through and think about, that women tend to turn to sappy, sad music (the opening to Bridget Jones' Diary comes to mind). But I don't need SPECIFIC music to make me cry, and honestly, that kind of stuff does NOT make me feel better. I know how to do that shit all by myself. Nope, I've been turning to Rush for when my brains are scrambled, and it has been so therapeutic.
I think I read somewhere that so-called math rock can help with concentration and learning; for me, the mostly lack of sappy love-centric lyrics and the complicated rhythms are what I'm looking for. Yesterday I was happy when I thought I hit every bass drum beat with my thumb on the door of my car during "Tom Sawyer." I'd love to try out some King Crimson - a favorite of mine and Patrick's for years - but I don't think I'm ready for all those lyrics. Bill Bruford's drums, though! The yearning quality of Adrian Belew's voice, which I love, just isn't what I'm looking for right now. The other band I've been listening to a lot is Weezer, but only the obnoxious songs like "Everybody Get Dangerous," "King," and "Troublemaker." Weezer's ability to make me laugh is appreciated; "The Red Album" delivers.
The other day at home, I was getting a little work in on "The Magic Flute," which we're playing in flute choir. It's hard, and I'm inspired (and, I have to admit, a little challenged) by the woman on 2nd flute. Her name is Loretta, and I'm really fighting to keep up with her. She's got great fingers! I was practicing and Jules sat on the piano bench next to me. The little dude was ROCKING OUT. I've also been playing, on the radio, all my favorite corny classical music greatest hits (The William Tell Overture, Bolero... the Star Wars soundtrack - ssssh, don't tell anyone), and he seems to love it. Me too. It works, right now.
Hey, there are worse things with which to self medicate, right? YES. Maybe I'll get in some piccolo playing today. After my massage.
Thursday, March 10, 2016
If this post were set to music, the composer would not be Wagner.
March 1st of this year was a momentous day in my career.
Not really, but it looks cool up there, doesn't it?
I don't know what I wrote about last year or whenever it happened, but at some point in the past couple of years, I went from being an organized and glorified secretary ("Administrative Assistant II"), a job I enjoyed but didn't challenge me very much, to handling one of the aspects (possibly the easiest) of an employee's time off work, FMLA. I work for a large department, though, so there a lot of parts to that, and policies and laws, and I had to learn a whole new set of skills, and I don't take to change easily, and I let things like this make me anxious and doubtful.
"Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!" -- That's a quote from "Lear," by Young Jean Lee, now playing at City Garage Theatre in Santa Monica. Using it here is an inside joke, between me, and myself.
Anyway, my point is, I was so upset when I had to change everything, and then I mastered it, and then I made it better, and then I was told that I have to become a full-on Return-to-Work Coordinator effective March 1, 2016, and take on even more responsibility, learn another whole new set of skills, and I am once again, freaking out.
I just explained it to a coworker (someone with whom I have a history of not always getting along with, but as I am discovering, she and I are so alike, as much as it used to bother me to admit): I got built up (I raised my hand to over our heads) and then now I have to start all over again, at the bottom (slammed my hand on the other one, at waist level). I'm so dramatic. But it's totally what it feels like.
It doesn't help that my office is chaotic, it doesn't help that you ask a question and you find out it's just the tip of the ice berg, it doesn't help that everything here is multi-layered and complicated, it doesn't help that my coworkers (and me, too, probably) tend to be a bit passionate and sometimes passive-aggressive.
It doesn't help that last month I hurt my shoulder and though it's not excruciating or stopping me from functioning, it hurts a lot and is constantly on my mind (and it affects my sleep). I'm being seen by a doctor, and tomorrow I have some physical therapy, but it hurts.
It doesn't help that something else, personally traumatic, is happening to me that I can't control. It won't kill me, but it does suck, rather a lot.
I'm sure that events will transpire as they usually do (history has shown!) in that I'll begin to understand, I won't be so anxious, and that I'll start to feel better (and that I will see that though I feel like I'm in the midst of a lot of drama, this is just how it is sometimes), but for now I'm sort of drowning.
Hugs welcome.
Not really, but it looks cool up there, doesn't it?
I don't know what I wrote about last year or whenever it happened, but at some point in the past couple of years, I went from being an organized and glorified secretary ("Administrative Assistant II"), a job I enjoyed but didn't challenge me very much, to handling one of the aspects (possibly the easiest) of an employee's time off work, FMLA. I work for a large department, though, so there a lot of parts to that, and policies and laws, and I had to learn a whole new set of skills, and I don't take to change easily, and I let things like this make me anxious and doubtful.
"Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!" -- That's a quote from "Lear," by Young Jean Lee, now playing at City Garage Theatre in Santa Monica. Using it here is an inside joke, between me, and myself.
Anyway, my point is, I was so upset when I had to change everything, and then I mastered it, and then I made it better, and then I was told that I have to become a full-on Return-to-Work Coordinator effective March 1, 2016, and take on even more responsibility, learn another whole new set of skills, and I am once again, freaking out.
I just explained it to a coworker (someone with whom I have a history of not always getting along with, but as I am discovering, she and I are so alike, as much as it used to bother me to admit): I got built up (I raised my hand to over our heads) and then now I have to start all over again, at the bottom (slammed my hand on the other one, at waist level). I'm so dramatic. But it's totally what it feels like.
It doesn't help that my office is chaotic, it doesn't help that you ask a question and you find out it's just the tip of the ice berg, it doesn't help that everything here is multi-layered and complicated, it doesn't help that my coworkers (and me, too, probably) tend to be a bit passionate and sometimes passive-aggressive.
It doesn't help that last month I hurt my shoulder and though it's not excruciating or stopping me from functioning, it hurts a lot and is constantly on my mind (and it affects my sleep). I'm being seen by a doctor, and tomorrow I have some physical therapy, but it hurts.
It doesn't help that something else, personally traumatic, is happening to me that I can't control. It won't kill me, but it does suck, rather a lot.
I'm sure that events will transpire as they usually do (history has shown!) in that I'll begin to understand, I won't be so anxious, and that I'll start to feel better (and that I will see that though I feel like I'm in the midst of a lot of drama, this is just how it is sometimes), but for now I'm sort of drowning.
Hugs welcome.
Monday, February 22, 2016
Review: Mozart in the Jungle (Spoilers)
I finally caught up and finished watching both available seasons of "Mozart in the Jungle" on Amazon. Stupid me: I watched Season 2 first, and didn't realize until about 5 episodes in. At that point, I was too invested in the stories to stop, watch the pilot and Season 1 and catch up, so I finished out Season 2 first. The only reason this matters is that Season 1 was actually much better. I don't think the out of order-ness of it affected anything.
I have a couple of critiques, which I'm sure are shared by musicians everywhere. The first one is, these actors are some of the worst fakers at being musicians I have ever seen. The acting itself is fine, but put a cello or violin (or, god forbid, a flute or piccolo) in the hands of one of these people, and it's like they've lost control of their limbs. And Rodrigo's conducting is maniacal and totally a fantasy. Gael Garcia Marquez is fun and sexy to watch, but I'd like to see him find the downbeat for eight bars in a row. I understand that this is probably me being overly picky, but this show is about musicians. If the show was about doctors or (I don't know) NASCAR, they'd be expected to at least portray those professions with some aptitude. Speaking of NASCAR, Lola Kirke can't even fake driving that well. I think that cat from SNL looked more realistic at the wheel of a car. I wonder what Toonces could do with an oboe?
(It was totally ridiculous to show her cleaning that supposedly very expensive oboe with wet wipes. No one with any knowledge or or respect for an instrument would touch that thing with anything caustic or potentially damaging. And where is that oboe now? Why doesn't she actually play it?)
I do like the actor who plays the flutist "Union Bob," but I wish they'd focus, just once, on his playing. He seems like a sweet guy who doesn't deserve to lose attention to the backstabbing, drama whore-filled oboe section. I kind of hope that for Season 3, this show will shift (as did "Call the Midwife") the attention from the current main character - turn that spotlight anywhere else, at least temporarily. And how many more times can they make a stupid joke about his piccolo? Does every flutist have to be subjected to "one time at band camp" level jokes? Jason Schwartzman, you're a smart guy. You're better than that. Aren't you?
Another thing that bugs me is that if the NY Symphony is such a beloved and illustrious organization, why would anyone even consider hiring Hailey Rutledge to play in it? She demonstrates a love of music, and some talent, but she seems to need so much validation (and suffers so much when she doesn't get it). She's a hard worker, I guess, but hasn't shown any reasonable level of actually deserving the opportunities she's been given. Yeah, she plays with the "blood" (according to Rodrigo): but his taste in women (and instrumentalists) seems suspect at the very least. If this is the way to earning a spot in a major orchestra, I deserve to be considered for an audition with the LA Phil. Give me a few months to practice, and I'm sure I could be as good as she is! I might choose a mentor who is less crazy, however, but that just might be my age talking.
On the other hand, if they have any openings in HR, I'd be happy with that, too.
(I love Sharon, by the way. She's awful, but so likable at the same time. That actress doesn't get much to do but what she does, she does so, so well.)
My favorite character is Hailey's roommate, Lizzie. She definitely got the best line in the whole show - when Anna Maria stormed off stage at Rodrigo's debut, Lizzie yells out, "That crazy bitch just ruined my friend's debut!" Ridiculous but hysterical. As was Anna Maria - interesting, beautiful actress, but has something like this every happened, in modern times? I mean, over the top performances are fun to watch, but is there any attention being paid to reality? Obviously the character Anna Maria wouldn't care, but wouldn't anyone else? And then if Warren Boyd was such an amazing violinist - can the first chair violinist of any orchestra just pop off that solo, from memory, at the last minute like that? - why didn't Rodrigo just have him play it in the first place? It made no sense. And then, why was this never mentioned again? Warren Boyd is a genius! He at least did not deserve that silly storyline about trying to fake his own robbery!
Patrick heard me watching the show, and recognized Malcolm McDowell's voice without even looking at the screen of my iPad, which impressed me but maybe not anyone else. The (old) Maestro has gone through some dramatic changes during the two seasons, and though he's also an egomaniac, I kind of love him. His interactions with Wallace Shawn are great, and I adore both actors when they're onscreen together.
Saffron Burrows is one of the most believable actors playing a musician, and I think if the show focused on her (and maybe explained how she affords that totally awesome apartment) more, I might be less critical of the whole thing.
Bernadette Peters is gorgeous! I love seeing her on screen, and at 67 years old, she's a total goddess. I hope I look that good at 47 (because I sure didn't, at 37). Her speaking voice is enthralling, so I was so happy when they finally let her sing. I love the friendship that doesn't seem to be based on sex between her and Rodrigo. I like the way she talks to him: she knows he's a freak, but loves him for his (supposed) genius. I hope she works things out with Pavel. I liked seeing them together, and the way he reacted to her (possibly unintentional?) snobbery.
This is only the second show I've watched on Amazon Prime (the other was "Bosch, and I'm waiting for that thing to start again... and not very patiently, either), and my first on the iPad. I'm not sure what they call it (X-Ray?) but I love seeing the information on screen for the music playing or the actors. I wish there was even more content. It's very cool.
I'm thinking when Season 3 is underway, I'd like to test my abilities, and do some recapping of full episodes, so stick around. If and when that happens, it will be here, of course.
I have a couple of critiques, which I'm sure are shared by musicians everywhere. The first one is, these actors are some of the worst fakers at being musicians I have ever seen. The acting itself is fine, but put a cello or violin (or, god forbid, a flute or piccolo) in the hands of one of these people, and it's like they've lost control of their limbs. And Rodrigo's conducting is maniacal and totally a fantasy. Gael Garcia Marquez is fun and sexy to watch, but I'd like to see him find the downbeat for eight bars in a row. I understand that this is probably me being overly picky, but this show is about musicians. If the show was about doctors or (I don't know) NASCAR, they'd be expected to at least portray those professions with some aptitude. Speaking of NASCAR, Lola Kirke can't even fake driving that well. I think that cat from SNL looked more realistic at the wheel of a car. I wonder what Toonces could do with an oboe?
(It was totally ridiculous to show her cleaning that supposedly very expensive oboe with wet wipes. No one with any knowledge or or respect for an instrument would touch that thing with anything caustic or potentially damaging. And where is that oboe now? Why doesn't she actually play it?)
I do like the actor who plays the flutist "Union Bob," but I wish they'd focus, just once, on his playing. He seems like a sweet guy who doesn't deserve to lose attention to the backstabbing, drama whore-filled oboe section. I kind of hope that for Season 3, this show will shift (as did "Call the Midwife") the attention from the current main character - turn that spotlight anywhere else, at least temporarily. And how many more times can they make a stupid joke about his piccolo? Does every flutist have to be subjected to "one time at band camp" level jokes? Jason Schwartzman, you're a smart guy. You're better than that. Aren't you?
Another thing that bugs me is that if the NY Symphony is such a beloved and illustrious organization, why would anyone even consider hiring Hailey Rutledge to play in it? She demonstrates a love of music, and some talent, but she seems to need so much validation (and suffers so much when she doesn't get it). She's a hard worker, I guess, but hasn't shown any reasonable level of actually deserving the opportunities she's been given. Yeah, she plays with the "blood" (according to Rodrigo): but his taste in women (and instrumentalists) seems suspect at the very least. If this is the way to earning a spot in a major orchestra, I deserve to be considered for an audition with the LA Phil. Give me a few months to practice, and I'm sure I could be as good as she is! I might choose a mentor who is less crazy, however, but that just might be my age talking.
On the other hand, if they have any openings in HR, I'd be happy with that, too.
(I love Sharon, by the way. She's awful, but so likable at the same time. That actress doesn't get much to do but what she does, she does so, so well.)
My favorite character is Hailey's roommate, Lizzie. She definitely got the best line in the whole show - when Anna Maria stormed off stage at Rodrigo's debut, Lizzie yells out, "That crazy bitch just ruined my friend's debut!" Ridiculous but hysterical. As was Anna Maria - interesting, beautiful actress, but has something like this every happened, in modern times? I mean, over the top performances are fun to watch, but is there any attention being paid to reality? Obviously the character Anna Maria wouldn't care, but wouldn't anyone else? And then if Warren Boyd was such an amazing violinist - can the first chair violinist of any orchestra just pop off that solo, from memory, at the last minute like that? - why didn't Rodrigo just have him play it in the first place? It made no sense. And then, why was this never mentioned again? Warren Boyd is a genius! He at least did not deserve that silly storyline about trying to fake his own robbery!
Patrick heard me watching the show, and recognized Malcolm McDowell's voice without even looking at the screen of my iPad, which impressed me but maybe not anyone else. The (old) Maestro has gone through some dramatic changes during the two seasons, and though he's also an egomaniac, I kind of love him. His interactions with Wallace Shawn are great, and I adore both actors when they're onscreen together.
Saffron Burrows is one of the most believable actors playing a musician, and I think if the show focused on her (and maybe explained how she affords that totally awesome apartment) more, I might be less critical of the whole thing.
Bernadette Peters is gorgeous! I love seeing her on screen, and at 67 years old, she's a total goddess. I hope I look that good at 47 (because I sure didn't, at 37). Her speaking voice is enthralling, so I was so happy when they finally let her sing. I love the friendship that doesn't seem to be based on sex between her and Rodrigo. I like the way she talks to him: she knows he's a freak, but loves him for his (supposed) genius. I hope she works things out with Pavel. I liked seeing them together, and the way he reacted to her (possibly unintentional?) snobbery.
This is only the second show I've watched on Amazon Prime (the other was "Bosch, and I'm waiting for that thing to start again... and not very patiently, either), and my first on the iPad. I'm not sure what they call it (X-Ray?) but I love seeing the information on screen for the music playing or the actors. I wish there was even more content. It's very cool.
I'm thinking when Season 3 is underway, I'd like to test my abilities, and do some recapping of full episodes, so stick around. If and when that happens, it will be here, of course.
Monday, February 1, 2016
The news
I was listening to NPR on my drive to work this morning, and heard a brief story about the guys "occupying" that bird sanctuary in Oregon. I haven't been following this story very closely (I've heard the stories and seen headlines but I haven't read very much about it). I do wonder why these people seem to have gotten a pass - this story has unfolded over such a long length of time, and the point of it all still seems murky to me.
Anyway, I'm not prepared or qualified to discuss this, at all, but at the end of the story, and I will admit that I may have stopped listening very closely by this point, a man spoke up out of my radio and into my delighted ears. I had to write it down (fine; I had to ask Siri to write it down, which she did, with more perfection than she displays when I ask her to send a text message). It made me giggle. The guy speaking sounded a tiny bit like Elmer Fudd, a detail I don't add to make fun, but only so you too, might hear what I heard. Here it is, for your enjoyment.
"If you stand up against the government, the government will squish you."
Words to live by, kids.
(I think the repetition of the words "the government" got my attention. And then, "squish." It's such a great word. Squish you like a bug, my friends. Like a bug.)
Anyway, I'm not prepared or qualified to discuss this, at all, but at the end of the story, and I will admit that I may have stopped listening very closely by this point, a man spoke up out of my radio and into my delighted ears. I had to write it down (fine; I had to ask Siri to write it down, which she did, with more perfection than she displays when I ask her to send a text message). It made me giggle. The guy speaking sounded a tiny bit like Elmer Fudd, a detail I don't add to make fun, but only so you too, might hear what I heard. Here it is, for your enjoyment.
"If you stand up against the government, the government will squish you."
Words to live by, kids.
(I think the repetition of the words "the government" got my attention. And then, "squish." It's such a great word. Squish you like a bug, my friends. Like a bug.)
Saturday, December 19, 2015
Here I am again on my own
Here I am again, at the laundromat. Our dryer died 2 weeks ago. It took us a week to decide to buy a new one, and then to choose the one we wanted. We ended up buying the 2014 model that happens to match our 2014 washing machine from the Sears outlet online but they're taking forever to confirm our order by email - it was supposed to have happened within 24 hours of placing the order. That was 52 hours ago (give or take).
There seems to be a lot of couples here. I don't recall doing laundry (in the short time I lived somewhere without machines of my own) as a team all that much. Maybe I just like the solitude.
Anyway, our cats have been vomiting and peeing on things they shouldn't be, and we need clean clothes, so here I am.
This laundromat doesn't get that busy but the people watching is superb. I shared my observations via text with a friend last week but decided to combine those messages with a real blog entry, today.
The couple next to me is a bit older - the gentleman has gray hair and is probably in his 60s. He's wearing a red hooded sweatshirt that says "North Anaheim All-Stars" on it, jeans, and sneakers. His female companion has dark brown hair, and she's wearing a black dress with a swirly white pattern on it, light pink leather flip flops, and a magenta cardigan. She has nice legs but I wonder if she's cold - it just started raining. They are taking this laundry operation very seriously. Their earnest expressions are what drew me to notice them, but then I saw a man's pleated white tuxedo shirt hanging on the cart. Most of their clothing appears to be black and white. My first bought was: he's a musician! Or maybe a magician! Or maybe the shirt is hers. She's the musician/magician! With skinny black pants, heels, and a blazer…?
The first couple I saw when I came in is having some sort of faux philosophical conversation. They're probably my age. The reason I called their conversation "faux" is because the woman said to the man, who was eating a burrito, "Are you not listening to me or can you just not hear?" She sounded petulant. She seems to be the kind of person who thinks asking endless questions is "conversing." Maybe that works but probably not if your companion appears to be ignoring you. I was not impressed. Also the dude is wearing sunglasses and it's almost dark outside. He's not Roy Orbison. I double checked.
My clothes are in the dryer now.
There was a pair of teenage boys here when I arrived, but they've left. They were playing loud video games on their phones. They removed and folded some large blankets from the dryers. Maybe they are going camping?
Last week I had this to say about the people I ran into at the laundromat. This was a texting conversation; my friend's comments (if salient) will be included. I reserve the right to edit and/or make shit up. I'm going to write it out like a real conversation, not texts.
Now there's a whole new set of people here. I have 9 more minutes on my drying. I'm so cold and have been all day. I just want to go home and put some sweats on! Hopefully our new dryer will be delivered soon.
There seems to be a lot of couples here. I don't recall doing laundry (in the short time I lived somewhere without machines of my own) as a team all that much. Maybe I just like the solitude.
Anyway, our cats have been vomiting and peeing on things they shouldn't be, and we need clean clothes, so here I am.
This laundromat doesn't get that busy but the people watching is superb. I shared my observations via text with a friend last week but decided to combine those messages with a real blog entry, today.
The couple next to me is a bit older - the gentleman has gray hair and is probably in his 60s. He's wearing a red hooded sweatshirt that says "North Anaheim All-Stars" on it, jeans, and sneakers. His female companion has dark brown hair, and she's wearing a black dress with a swirly white pattern on it, light pink leather flip flops, and a magenta cardigan. She has nice legs but I wonder if she's cold - it just started raining. They are taking this laundry operation very seriously. Their earnest expressions are what drew me to notice them, but then I saw a man's pleated white tuxedo shirt hanging on the cart. Most of their clothing appears to be black and white. My first bought was: he's a musician! Or maybe a magician! Or maybe the shirt is hers. She's the musician/magician! With skinny black pants, heels, and a blazer…?
The first couple I saw when I came in is having some sort of faux philosophical conversation. They're probably my age. The reason I called their conversation "faux" is because the woman said to the man, who was eating a burrito, "Are you not listening to me or can you just not hear?" She sounded petulant. She seems to be the kind of person who thinks asking endless questions is "conversing." Maybe that works but probably not if your companion appears to be ignoring you. I was not impressed. Also the dude is wearing sunglasses and it's almost dark outside. He's not Roy Orbison. I double checked.
My clothes are in the dryer now.
There was a pair of teenage boys here when I arrived, but they've left. They were playing loud video games on their phones. They removed and folded some large blankets from the dryers. Maybe they are going camping?
Last week I had this to say about the people I ran into at the laundromat. This was a texting conversation; my friend's comments (if salient) will be included. I reserve the right to edit and/or make shit up. I'm going to write it out like a real conversation, not texts.
"There's one other person here and she's adorable. She's probably 25 but she has a low, whiskey voice. She's wearing checkerboard Vans and sweat pants."
My friend said, "Keep an eye on that bitch. She might be doing recon for her baby daddy."
"You're right," I said. "I'm always distracted by a cute face. There's definitely a man in that woman's life, but she must not like him very much because though she folded his shirts, they're all inside out!"
"Maybe she's embarrassed by the graphics on the tees," my friend suggested. "FBI: Female Body Inspector."
"Maybe," I said. "Maybe one says 'Paid da cost to be da boss,' and the next one says 'Weiner Schnitzel Assistant Manager.'"
"Or another says, 'I'm with stupid (but at least she's pretty).'"
I told him, "Now there's a woman here with three blond boys. I'm guessing she's recently divorced; she doesn't look like the Rest of Us Here at the Laundromat. And the boys are all driving her crazy. They just left in their silver Mercedes minivan. Who takes custody of the washer and dryer?"
"Okay," I said.
There was a little more of this real/fake conversation but I think these were the good parts. And one of those lines attributed to "me" was really made by "him," but come on. At least I'm telling you now, right?
"Maybe she's embarrassed by the graphics on the tees," my friend suggested. "FBI: Female Body Inspector."
"Maybe," I said. "Maybe one says 'Paid da cost to be da boss,' and the next one says 'Weiner Schnitzel Assistant Manager.'"
"Or another says, 'I'm with stupid (but at least she's pretty).'"
I told him, "Now there's a woman here with three blond boys. I'm guessing she's recently divorced; she doesn't look like the Rest of Us Here at the Laundromat. And the boys are all driving her crazy. They just left in their silver Mercedes minivan. Who takes custody of the washer and dryer?"
"Okay," I said.
There was a little more of this real/fake conversation but I think these were the good parts. And one of those lines attributed to "me" was really made by "him," but come on. At least I'm telling you now, right?
Now there's a whole new set of people here. I have 9 more minutes on my drying. I'm so cold and have been all day. I just want to go home and put some sweats on! Hopefully our new dryer will be delivered soon.
Wednesday, December 16, 2015
I Might Be Wrong*
Yesterday, I found out that a long-awaited (it literally took eons) promotion finally went through (effective December 10) for me.
It's funny, because a year and a half ago, when I was told that my duties would be changing and that I was expected to learn a whole new desk with more responsibility, I was pissed. Mad because I wasn't asked or given a choice, and worried I wouldn't be able to learn the new stuff (which is very complicated! And absolutely outside of my realm of experience up until that point).
However, as I am finding out from this experience (and others, fairly recently): my gut reaction of anger tends to be the wrong one. I need to think about this a LOT. Somebody once told me: anger = fear in a very nice coat. Maybe that doesn't really make sense, but I liked it (maybe I'd like a new coat). Anyway, I've learned a lot, continue to learn, and will try to remember that opportunities don't always come with a hug.
The thing is, when I got the news yesterday, I was happy (fully happy, proud, excited) for just about 1 minute. After that it occurred to me: I won't be able to tell my mom.
I shared the news with a friend of mine (via text, I was out on a walk) at work. When I said, "I wish I could tell my mother," he said, "Write her a letter." A few texts later, I was offended and upset. Why? Because my head is not on right, obviously,
This is why texting sucks.
This is why I need to be more grateful, and less self-centered.
This is why I need to get more sleep.
It got straightened out later, but not before I felt like an asshole - I guess I had assumed he was being sarcastic, and he was actually being quite sincere and kind, and I had to wonder: why do I do that?
Patrick had made plans to drive to Northridge to pick up something he bought on Craigslist last night, so I drove down with Jules and had a little celebratory dinner with my dad and Angie at Truxton's. It was nice to see them both and my dad was happy for me. When I told him how sad I had been all day about missing sharing this (and the whole rest of my life! Any news, good or bad) with my mom, he said, "You can tell her."
Literally 65 other people (on Facebook) told me this as well. Some said, "She already knows!" I've been skeptical, but thankful. That's a nice thing to say. Later, when Patrick got home from work, and I told him about missing sharing news with my mom, he said this:
"Just today I was talking to my dad and I told him stuff. Even though I don't believe in it, I still tell him things. Because what if I'm wrong?"
"What if I'm wrong" is a good way to think about this. And lots and lots of other things.
*This post composed with "I Might Be Wrong" by Radiohead playing in my brain. Yours too, I suspect.
It's funny, because a year and a half ago, when I was told that my duties would be changing and that I was expected to learn a whole new desk with more responsibility, I was pissed. Mad because I wasn't asked or given a choice, and worried I wouldn't be able to learn the new stuff (which is very complicated! And absolutely outside of my realm of experience up until that point).
However, as I am finding out from this experience (and others, fairly recently): my gut reaction of anger tends to be the wrong one. I need to think about this a LOT. Somebody once told me: anger = fear in a very nice coat. Maybe that doesn't really make sense, but I liked it (maybe I'd like a new coat). Anyway, I've learned a lot, continue to learn, and will try to remember that opportunities don't always come with a hug.
The thing is, when I got the news yesterday, I was happy (fully happy, proud, excited) for just about 1 minute. After that it occurred to me: I won't be able to tell my mom.
I shared the news with a friend of mine (via text, I was out on a walk) at work. When I said, "I wish I could tell my mother," he said, "Write her a letter." A few texts later, I was offended and upset. Why? Because my head is not on right, obviously,
This is why texting sucks.
This is why I need to be more grateful, and less self-centered.
This is why I need to get more sleep.
It got straightened out later, but not before I felt like an asshole - I guess I had assumed he was being sarcastic, and he was actually being quite sincere and kind, and I had to wonder: why do I do that?
Patrick had made plans to drive to Northridge to pick up something he bought on Craigslist last night, so I drove down with Jules and had a little celebratory dinner with my dad and Angie at Truxton's. It was nice to see them both and my dad was happy for me. When I told him how sad I had been all day about missing sharing this (and the whole rest of my life! Any news, good or bad) with my mom, he said, "You can tell her."
Literally 65 other people (on Facebook) told me this as well. Some said, "She already knows!" I've been skeptical, but thankful. That's a nice thing to say. Later, when Patrick got home from work, and I told him about missing sharing news with my mom, he said this:
"Just today I was talking to my dad and I told him stuff. Even though I don't believe in it, I still tell him things. Because what if I'm wrong?"
"What if I'm wrong" is a good way to think about this. And lots and lots of other things.
*This post composed with "I Might Be Wrong" by Radiohead playing in my brain. Yours too, I suspect.
Thursday, November 12, 2015
Quick Post
Some observations, vis a vis "The Voice," and other things:
1. I must be blind, because I haven't seen anything that looks like flirting between Gwen and Blake. I guess they're a real couple, if you believe the Internet, but whatever, they're both divorced and attractive (not that that matters). I don't care, actually. I deem this a non-story!
My current favorites: Korin, Madi, and Jordan. Oh my god, Madi! That girl is amazing. And beautiful! Korin is great, too. I'd love to see her given some good, not so popular stuff: Suzanne Vega or Beth Orton (there's a song called "Worms" that I'd love to hear her sing). I like Amy too, but not sure hers is the right kind of voice for this show. I just found out that my no. 1 favorite, Ivonne Acero was eliminated this week, and I'm heartbroken, but I blame the song choice, "What if God Was One of Us?" I never liked that song, but at least the original was performed (I hope) with a bit of irony. Ivonne performed it way too sincerely, and it just fell flat. The way she crooned that throwaway line about the "maybe the Pope in Rome" was not good. I love her voice, and she's adorable (why wouldn't I love an awkward dark haired girl in giant glasses???). I'm sad she left. Gwen's coaching is worrying me. She brought back that girl, Ellie Lawrence? And then gave her "Ex's and Oh's" to perform, which she did, almost identically (but not as well) as the original? And then they all praised her for doing "her thing"? That was not her thing. That's Ellie King's thing, and it's not even all that original when she does it. Sorry, Ellie. Both of you.
2. Those signs in public restrooms that request that I not flush my "feminine products" really annoy me, so on principle, I disregard them. What's my principle, you ask? If your business is so unsuccessful that you can't afford proper plumbing, what makes you think you deserve my business? What are you spending my money on? Hookers? And don't even get me started if the stupid sign is grammatically incorrect!
3. I watched Star Wars Episode III "Revenge of the Sith" yesterday. I've seen Episodes I, II, and the "originals," but somehow missed this one. I'm sure everyone knew this (but me!!!!), but I was totally struck dumb when I found out that Annakin KILLED ALL THOSE ADORABLE JEDI BABIES. Seriously, Lucas. I knew he was a piece of shit. I didn't realize he was that horrible. I always kind of felt sorry for Vader but NOT ANYMORE.
4. I thought there was a fourth thing that I've been thinking about, but I guess not. See ya!
1. I must be blind, because I haven't seen anything that looks like flirting between Gwen and Blake. I guess they're a real couple, if you believe the Internet, but whatever, they're both divorced and attractive (not that that matters). I don't care, actually. I deem this a non-story!
My current favorites: Korin, Madi, and Jordan. Oh my god, Madi! That girl is amazing. And beautiful! Korin is great, too. I'd love to see her given some good, not so popular stuff: Suzanne Vega or Beth Orton (there's a song called "Worms" that I'd love to hear her sing). I like Amy too, but not sure hers is the right kind of voice for this show. I just found out that my no. 1 favorite, Ivonne Acero was eliminated this week, and I'm heartbroken, but I blame the song choice, "What if God Was One of Us?" I never liked that song, but at least the original was performed (I hope) with a bit of irony. Ivonne performed it way too sincerely, and it just fell flat. The way she crooned that throwaway line about the "maybe the Pope in Rome" was not good. I love her voice, and she's adorable (why wouldn't I love an awkward dark haired girl in giant glasses???). I'm sad she left. Gwen's coaching is worrying me. She brought back that girl, Ellie Lawrence? And then gave her "Ex's and Oh's" to perform, which she did, almost identically (but not as well) as the original? And then they all praised her for doing "her thing"? That was not her thing. That's Ellie King's thing, and it's not even all that original when she does it. Sorry, Ellie. Both of you.
2. Those signs in public restrooms that request that I not flush my "feminine products" really annoy me, so on principle, I disregard them. What's my principle, you ask? If your business is so unsuccessful that you can't afford proper plumbing, what makes you think you deserve my business? What are you spending my money on? Hookers? And don't even get me started if the stupid sign is grammatically incorrect!
3. I watched Star Wars Episode III "Revenge of the Sith" yesterday. I've seen Episodes I, II, and the "originals," but somehow missed this one. I'm sure everyone knew this (but me!!!!), but I was totally struck dumb when I found out that Annakin KILLED ALL THOSE ADORABLE JEDI BABIES. Seriously, Lucas. I knew he was a piece of shit. I didn't realize he was that horrible. I always kind of felt sorry for Vader but NOT ANYMORE.
4. I thought there was a fourth thing that I've been thinking about, but I guess not. See ya!
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
The day I deleted all the fashion blogs from my bookmarks
It might seem like a little thing, but today I deleted all the fashion blogs I've collected over the years from my bookmarks.
It might surprise you to find that I read fashion blogs.
Well, I do. Or, I did.
Here are the reasons for quitting you, you fashion blogs:
I like clothes. I like evaluating outfits. But I think I'll find another way to do that, and no, I will not start reading fashion magazines. Snore.
So: no more fashion blogs for me! It's not a big deal, but maybe it is.
It might surprise you to find that I read fashion blogs.
Well, I do. Or, I did.
Here are the reasons for quitting you, you fashion blogs:
- Some of the fashion bloggers, though mostly fun and witty, took that shit way too seriously. Dudes. If some celebrity is wearing the wrong shoes, who really cares? I mean, I did, yeah, for a while, but then I realized I was looking at the fashion from the perspective of someone who needs visual aids when deciding what types of clothing I like, and less from a "this is a fashion disaster!" viewpoint. And, more than the actual bloggers, I was finding myself mostly annoyed by the commentators, who considered themselves just as qualified as the (probably sponsored) bloggers. I started seeing the same words, over and over: that dress looks like upholstery, like grandma's curtains/couch, The term "sister-wife" is used (endlessly) to describe any outfit that looks remotely covered up or demure. Some of these things were witty: the first ten times I read them. It got old.
- I think you know what I am about to say. THE KARDASHIANS. I guess some people take the viewpoint that these people are here to stay, and that reality should just be accepted. Well, I do not accept it. No. Go away, and if you won't go away, I will.
- Some comments started to feel mean. The two main blogs have rules for what you can and can't talk about, but there was always some way of telling a woman she was too old or "that's not the dress for you, honey" that started to irk me.
I like clothes. I like evaluating outfits. But I think I'll find another way to do that, and no, I will not start reading fashion magazines. Snore.
So: no more fashion blogs for me! It's not a big deal, but maybe it is.
Thursday, September 24, 2015
My mom's watch, Testify!, and other things
I've started wearing my mother's watch. It's a beautiful Citizen Eco-Drive, with (what my watch guy confirmed are) real diamonds around the face. It's much too fancy for me but I love to glance down at my hand and see it there.
It has made me decide that my Fitbit - basically a piece of rubber - looks funny next to it, so this week I ordered a Fitbit One, which is the kind you can clip on to your clothes. My friend wears it on her bra and swears it's more accurate than the Flex, which is what I have.
Aside from appreciating her watch, I've been thinking about my mom quite a bit lately. Things have come up that are such a reminder of her.
Yesterday, during lunch, one of my coworkers joined me in my cubicle. He was very serious.
He said, "I've been wanting to talk to you about something for a while now."
I said, "Oh, no, am I in trouble?" - This is my standard response in these situations.
He said, "No, I've just been wanting to follow up on something that you said to me a while ago."
I thought I knew what he was talking about - once, we drove together to Costco to pick up pizzas for the office, and in line there, he started telling me his "testimony." His is a good story, and I certainly don't mind listening. We actually had a really nice talk. I said, "Oh, is it about that time we went to Costco?"
He said, "No, but I remember that conversation." Then he told me that some other time, I said to him, "Are you going to ask me if I've accepted Jesus Christ as my lord and savior?" I remember saying that, I don't remember the context, but I'm 100% sure I was making a joke. Anyway, he asked me, "Why did you say that? Those were very interesting words to use."
I said, "I'm sorry. Did I offend you?"
He said he wasn't offended, but he wanted to know why I had used that particular phrase. That's a specific sequence of specific words that not too many people would put together on the random. I told him that I've heard it many, many times. Then he asked, "So, have you?"
I kind of hesitated. I'm not exactly an atheist. I'm an "Oh shit" believer, right? I mean, I don't know if there's a god, but if I'm about to rear end someone unless space opens up in the lane next to me, I'm going to pray a little. (Note to the affirmative: I've never rear ended anyone. Does this mean anything? No, only a testament to my superior driving skills!) I mean, I don't want to say what I believe. Maybe I do. Maybe I don't. It fluctuates. If there's a god, I'm sure he or she would be okay with that. If there isn't, then it's only my time I've wasted.
I started telling him about my mom, and her path to Christianity, and the scam artists on TV and the in the church, but not all the full-on details.
I told him about the time Jules was flipping through some of my mom's things (still all exactly where she left them) and he found the 3 X 5 cards with the dates of my whole family's acceptance of the lord on it. Everyone else had a date, but mine had a question mark. I told him that I have seen and heard a lot of stuff that goes against what I believe people who claim to know God should be saying or doing. It has made me very, very wary of religion, and religious people. I could have told him about the pastor who claimed he could make my leg, supposedly shorter than the other one, grow, just by the "laying on of hands." (There was nothing untoward about this. My mother was present. But WHAT THE HELL, DUDE. I was like, 10 years old.) I could have told him about listening through the bedroom wall to my mother watching Praise the Lord in the living room, and hearing some former heavy metal singer tell stories about actually battling the devil in person. I seem to remember him saying that occurred in prison. I could have told him that it makes me sick that there are people who will send their hard earned money to televangelists so that those scam artists can buy themselves a jet or a mansion.
Then we sort of veered off topic and started talking about (I don't know why) Kim Davis. My only thought on that was, "If I decided that I didn't like some employee's life choices or personal beliefs, I can't deny him FMLA. I have to do my job. She has to do her job. If she doesn't want to do her job, she should stay home." Simplistic and naive, maybe, but my opinion. Anyway, at that point (thankfully) another coworker came by and stood in my cubicle too. Now all three of us were talking and the conversation was less personal and we were having a bit of fun. Until coworker no. 1 mentioned that "Christians are the most persecuted people in the world."
I like this guy. He's a sweetheart and we laugh a lot and talk about our kids. I've heard this line before. Religious people of all faiths could assert this. But in this country, in these days? Christians? Persecuted? Come on.
And then I made my big point: "Jesus' whole message is that we should love each other. Everyone. Once you go beyond that, you've corrupted what is supposed to be a simple, beautiful thing."
(I almost started singing this song we used to sing in church - it goes like this: "They will know we are Christians by our love. They will know we are Christians by our love. They will know we are Christians, they will know we are Christians, they will know we are Christians by our love, BY OUR LOVE, yes they'll know we are Christians by our love." Repeat.)
He said, "I disagree that that's the whole point of Christianity," and then I said, "OK. But I don't need to know what anyone's religion is. People have the right to believe whatever they want. But they don't have the right to inflict their moral or religious code on me, especially when there are laws to prevent that," but we didn't go any further. Which was good, because I was getting uncomfortable talking in the office like that.
(I once heard someone in my office say, while discussing another colleague, "God don't like ugly!" She said this as if that other person had better watch out! I had to bite my tongue and not say, "No. God loves ugly THE MOST. Doesn't that make you feel good?")
I said, "Are we all friends still?" and coworker no. 2 said he talks this way with coworker no. 1 all the time. So I hoped it was all okay.
This morning we had a staff meeting, and I got there a little early. These two guys were there early too, and coworker no. 1 said, "You know, I've been thinking a lot about our talk yesterday," and I said something like, "Really?" He said it had made him a little sad. And I half-seriously said, "It's okay with me if you want to pray for me." And he said he would.
And it is. It's totally okay.
It has made me decide that my Fitbit - basically a piece of rubber - looks funny next to it, so this week I ordered a Fitbit One, which is the kind you can clip on to your clothes. My friend wears it on her bra and swears it's more accurate than the Flex, which is what I have.
Aside from appreciating her watch, I've been thinking about my mom quite a bit lately. Things have come up that are such a reminder of her.
Yesterday, during lunch, one of my coworkers joined me in my cubicle. He was very serious.
He said, "I've been wanting to talk to you about something for a while now."
I said, "Oh, no, am I in trouble?" - This is my standard response in these situations.
He said, "No, I've just been wanting to follow up on something that you said to me a while ago."
I thought I knew what he was talking about - once, we drove together to Costco to pick up pizzas for the office, and in line there, he started telling me his "testimony." His is a good story, and I certainly don't mind listening. We actually had a really nice talk. I said, "Oh, is it about that time we went to Costco?"
He said, "No, but I remember that conversation." Then he told me that some other time, I said to him, "Are you going to ask me if I've accepted Jesus Christ as my lord and savior?" I remember saying that, I don't remember the context, but I'm 100% sure I was making a joke. Anyway, he asked me, "Why did you say that? Those were very interesting words to use."
I said, "I'm sorry. Did I offend you?"
He said he wasn't offended, but he wanted to know why I had used that particular phrase. That's a specific sequence of specific words that not too many people would put together on the random. I told him that I've heard it many, many times. Then he asked, "So, have you?"
I kind of hesitated. I'm not exactly an atheist. I'm an "Oh shit" believer, right? I mean, I don't know if there's a god, but if I'm about to rear end someone unless space opens up in the lane next to me, I'm going to pray a little. (Note to the affirmative: I've never rear ended anyone. Does this mean anything? No, only a testament to my superior driving skills!) I mean, I don't want to say what I believe. Maybe I do. Maybe I don't. It fluctuates. If there's a god, I'm sure he or she would be okay with that. If there isn't, then it's only my time I've wasted.
I started telling him about my mom, and her path to Christianity, and the scam artists on TV and the in the church, but not all the full-on details.
I told him about the time Jules was flipping through some of my mom's things (still all exactly where she left them) and he found the 3 X 5 cards with the dates of my whole family's acceptance of the lord on it. Everyone else had a date, but mine had a question mark. I told him that I have seen and heard a lot of stuff that goes against what I believe people who claim to know God should be saying or doing. It has made me very, very wary of religion, and religious people. I could have told him about the pastor who claimed he could make my leg, supposedly shorter than the other one, grow, just by the "laying on of hands." (There was nothing untoward about this. My mother was present. But WHAT THE HELL, DUDE. I was like, 10 years old.) I could have told him about listening through the bedroom wall to my mother watching Praise the Lord in the living room, and hearing some former heavy metal singer tell stories about actually battling the devil in person. I seem to remember him saying that occurred in prison. I could have told him that it makes me sick that there are people who will send their hard earned money to televangelists so that those scam artists can buy themselves a jet or a mansion.
Then we sort of veered off topic and started talking about (I don't know why) Kim Davis. My only thought on that was, "If I decided that I didn't like some employee's life choices or personal beliefs, I can't deny him FMLA. I have to do my job. She has to do her job. If she doesn't want to do her job, she should stay home." Simplistic and naive, maybe, but my opinion. Anyway, at that point (thankfully) another coworker came by and stood in my cubicle too. Now all three of us were talking and the conversation was less personal and we were having a bit of fun. Until coworker no. 1 mentioned that "Christians are the most persecuted people in the world."
I like this guy. He's a sweetheart and we laugh a lot and talk about our kids. I've heard this line before. Religious people of all faiths could assert this. But in this country, in these days? Christians? Persecuted? Come on.
And then I made my big point: "Jesus' whole message is that we should love each other. Everyone. Once you go beyond that, you've corrupted what is supposed to be a simple, beautiful thing."
(I almost started singing this song we used to sing in church - it goes like this: "They will know we are Christians by our love. They will know we are Christians by our love. They will know we are Christians, they will know we are Christians, they will know we are Christians by our love, BY OUR LOVE, yes they'll know we are Christians by our love." Repeat.)
He said, "I disagree that that's the whole point of Christianity," and then I said, "OK. But I don't need to know what anyone's religion is. People have the right to believe whatever they want. But they don't have the right to inflict their moral or religious code on me, especially when there are laws to prevent that," but we didn't go any further. Which was good, because I was getting uncomfortable talking in the office like that.
(I once heard someone in my office say, while discussing another colleague, "God don't like ugly!" She said this as if that other person had better watch out! I had to bite my tongue and not say, "No. God loves ugly THE MOST. Doesn't that make you feel good?")
I said, "Are we all friends still?" and coworker no. 2 said he talks this way with coworker no. 1 all the time. So I hoped it was all okay.
This morning we had a staff meeting, and I got there a little early. These two guys were there early too, and coworker no. 1 said, "You know, I've been thinking a lot about our talk yesterday," and I said something like, "Really?" He said it had made him a little sad. And I half-seriously said, "It's okay with me if you want to pray for me." And he said he would.
And it is. It's totally okay.
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
Apples to oranges. Am I the apple, or the orange? Does it matter? (No.)
A funny thing happened today.
There's this woman who works in my building. She's part of my department, but of a totally different operation. She's a secretary - her boss is a higher level manager than my boss. However, I am not a secretary, so there's really no comparison. Apples to oranges.
I've dealt with her in the past, and I can honestly say, she has an attitude. Other people corroborate this assessment. I don't need to give any examples, do I? She just comes off as stuck up and unhelpful, and every time I see her in the hallways, I always make it a point to say Hello to her, even though she never, not once, has said hello back.
Today, my co-worker and I were taking our afternoon break, and went for a walk. (This other woman is a dedicated walker too.) We took the stairs to the first floor, and I opened the door to the foyer. This is a large, heavy door that opens outward. I pushed open the door, and she (literally) came barging into the stairwell. I felt her shoulder brush against mine.
So I said, "Excuse us!" I swear I didn't say it snottily. Maybe I said it with some false sweetness?
She made no response, and kept walking.
Later, my co-worker and I saw her again, with her walking partner. Neither one of us said hello.
However, I'm determined to keep saying hello to her. Some people just deserve it.
There's this woman who works in my building. She's part of my department, but of a totally different operation. She's a secretary - her boss is a higher level manager than my boss. However, I am not a secretary, so there's really no comparison. Apples to oranges.
I've dealt with her in the past, and I can honestly say, she has an attitude. Other people corroborate this assessment. I don't need to give any examples, do I? She just comes off as stuck up and unhelpful, and every time I see her in the hallways, I always make it a point to say Hello to her, even though she never, not once, has said hello back.
Today, my co-worker and I were taking our afternoon break, and went for a walk. (This other woman is a dedicated walker too.) We took the stairs to the first floor, and I opened the door to the foyer. This is a large, heavy door that opens outward. I pushed open the door, and she (literally) came barging into the stairwell. I felt her shoulder brush against mine.
So I said, "Excuse us!" I swear I didn't say it snottily. Maybe I said it with some false sweetness?
She made no response, and kept walking.
Later, my co-worker and I saw her again, with her walking partner. Neither one of us said hello.
However, I'm determined to keep saying hello to her. Some people just deserve it.
Sunday, September 13, 2015
Hello, Stewart.
It's been so long since I posted anything Stewart Copeland-related that I thought I had finally grown out of it. I still think I have. However, last night I had a funny dream about him so I'm going to tell the story here.
My dream had two parts (because I had to get up to pee), and the first part was strange and I don't remember much except, I think I was at the airport, and there were parts where I was climbing a ladder and driving some kind of cart. But after I fell asleep again, I dreamed this:
Patrick needed a replacement snare drum because his was broken (I'm not positive but I think he uses a marching band snare, probably Tama? I'll find out later). His band, Suffering Luna, had a gig coming up, and I, the devoted wife, tweeted about it. Something like, "Oh no! Pat's snare is busted and @sufferingluna plays in 4 hours!"
(I don't think the band has a Twitter account. They probably should.)
Next my dream puts me in my kitchen, doing dishes, and a blond head comes in view out the window. The doorbell rings. I go to open the door and into my home barges Stewart Copeland, carrying a cardboard box with all sorts of things rattling inside. Behind him is a boy, maybe around age 9. Looks just like him. I think Stewart's kids are all older than this in real life.
The two of them come in and Stewart explains that he saw my tweet (impossible, because for the first time in several years I did not get a response from him to my annual birthday message a couple of months ago) and he was in the area with these spare parts and would Patrick be able to use any of them? Patrick comes in and inspects the items, and is confused. I explain about the tweet and Stewart says he wanted to help another drummer and Patrick said thank you and invited him to the show.
I must've had to pee again because I can't remember anything else.
My dream had two parts (because I had to get up to pee), and the first part was strange and I don't remember much except, I think I was at the airport, and there were parts where I was climbing a ladder and driving some kind of cart. But after I fell asleep again, I dreamed this:
Patrick needed a replacement snare drum because his was broken (I'm not positive but I think he uses a marching band snare, probably Tama? I'll find out later). His band, Suffering Luna, had a gig coming up, and I, the devoted wife, tweeted about it. Something like, "Oh no! Pat's snare is busted and @sufferingluna plays in 4 hours!"
(I don't think the band has a Twitter account. They probably should.)
Next my dream puts me in my kitchen, doing dishes, and a blond head comes in view out the window. The doorbell rings. I go to open the door and into my home barges Stewart Copeland, carrying a cardboard box with all sorts of things rattling inside. Behind him is a boy, maybe around age 9. Looks just like him. I think Stewart's kids are all older than this in real life.
The two of them come in and Stewart explains that he saw my tweet (impossible, because for the first time in several years I did not get a response from him to my annual birthday message a couple of months ago) and he was in the area with these spare parts and would Patrick be able to use any of them? Patrick comes in and inspects the items, and is confused. I explain about the tweet and Stewart says he wanted to help another drummer and Patrick said thank you and invited him to the show.
I must've had to pee again because I can't remember anything else.
Wednesday, July 29, 2015
The Forgetter Strikes Again
Two weeks ago, Jules came home from school with something he had made for me.
It was a bracelet, crafted from colorful fuzzy pipe cleaners and one metal-like leaf. The leaf gave the whole thing an elvish air. I loved it. I promised to wear it. I promised to wear it to work.
Well, as Jules as begun calling me, I am The Forgetter, a moniker I have earned, because dude. I forgot.
This morning I was getting dressed at around 6 a.m. for work. Jules woke up - he usually gets up at 6:30, so each morning, I miss saying goodbye to him when he's actually awake, because I have to leave by 6:15 at the very latest.. But this morning, he got up and started getting out of bed. I asked him, "Hey, why are you up so early?" He mumbled (eyes half closed still!), "I don't want you to forget..." and stumbled off into the living room. I didn't follow him right away because I was still putting on my bra, but Patrick went in there and turned the TV on for him. After I had a shirt on, I went to him and he got up from the couch and walked over to the little green side table we have, where the bracelet (actually, I think it looks like a wrist corsage) has been sitting.
He picked it up and walked back over to me. "You have to wear it to work today. You keep forgetting." And then he helped me put it on.
I wore it in the car for a while, but it was making driving difficult, so I took it off. Then, when I got to work, I had many things to carry: an apple, my coffee, a magazine: I didn't have a free hand, and I left it in the car. However, I went down to get it, and am now wearing it proudly. And when I told my coworkers the whole story, they all died.
It was a bracelet, crafted from colorful fuzzy pipe cleaners and one metal-like leaf. The leaf gave the whole thing an elvish air. I loved it. I promised to wear it. I promised to wear it to work.
Well, as Jules as begun calling me, I am The Forgetter, a moniker I have earned, because dude. I forgot.
This morning I was getting dressed at around 6 a.m. for work. Jules woke up - he usually gets up at 6:30, so each morning, I miss saying goodbye to him when he's actually awake, because I have to leave by 6:15 at the very latest.. But this morning, he got up and started getting out of bed. I asked him, "Hey, why are you up so early?" He mumbled (eyes half closed still!), "I don't want you to forget..." and stumbled off into the living room. I didn't follow him right away because I was still putting on my bra, but Patrick went in there and turned the TV on for him. After I had a shirt on, I went to him and he got up from the couch and walked over to the little green side table we have, where the bracelet (actually, I think it looks like a wrist corsage) has been sitting.
He picked it up and walked back over to me. "You have to wear it to work today. You keep forgetting." And then he helped me put it on.
I wore it in the car for a while, but it was making driving difficult, so I took it off. Then, when I got to work, I had many things to carry: an apple, my coffee, a magazine: I didn't have a free hand, and I left it in the car. However, I went down to get it, and am now wearing it proudly. And when I told my coworkers the whole story, they all died.
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
The past and future (caught up in July)
So here we are in another July. It seems like this one came around much faster than it should have. I'm trying not to look at it negatively but there is only one day this month that really matters.
July 20.
Yesterday I put in a request to have that day off. The last place I want to be is at work on that day. Not here. Not with these people. On that day? The day she died.
Today my request was approved, and when the request popped up on my Outlook calendar, even though I typed up the request yesterday without feeling anything, I teared up a little at my desk before I clicked "accept."
Last night on my way bome, stuck in terrible traffic, I listened to "Once in a Lifetime" by the Talking Heads. I wondered if my mother had ever heard that song. Probably - my older brother was a fan of theirs and I think still living at home when that album came out. I wondered if she liked it.
I'm not sure what I'm going to do that day. I was thinking of spa day, or at least a massage. Or maybe a movie. Patrick isn't taking the day off, but doesn't think I should be alone. Maybe I'll visit a friend. Maybe I'll see if Patty is available, and ask if she wants to play duets all day. I mean, literally ALL DAY. She used to love marathon duet dates - she has way more stamina for it than I do. But what else helps me more than making music?
(Well. Shopping is up there, but I don't think Patrick would like that.)
It's in less than two weeks. I feel it coming, like a truck.
July 20.
Yesterday I put in a request to have that day off. The last place I want to be is at work on that day. Not here. Not with these people. On that day? The day she died.
Today my request was approved, and when the request popped up on my Outlook calendar, even though I typed up the request yesterday without feeling anything, I teared up a little at my desk before I clicked "accept."
Last night on my way bome, stuck in terrible traffic, I listened to "Once in a Lifetime" by the Talking Heads. I wondered if my mother had ever heard that song. Probably - my older brother was a fan of theirs and I think still living at home when that album came out. I wondered if she liked it.
I'm not sure what I'm going to do that day. I was thinking of spa day, or at least a massage. Or maybe a movie. Patrick isn't taking the day off, but doesn't think I should be alone. Maybe I'll visit a friend. Maybe I'll see if Patty is available, and ask if she wants to play duets all day. I mean, literally ALL DAY. She used to love marathon duet dates - she has way more stamina for it than I do. But what else helps me more than making music?
(Well. Shopping is up there, but I don't think Patrick would like that.)
It's in less than two weeks. I feel it coming, like a truck.
Monday, June 8, 2015
Monday morning edition box office rant
I admit it: I'm a pretty hardcore newshead. I start everyday with @nprnews and the @kevinandbean show. Reliable sources, both. And yet both of these venerable news agencies insist, every Monday morning, on telling me what the weekend box office totals (generally for movies I didn't, and won't ever, see) was. How many millions did "Spy" make? I really don't care. Does anyone? And isn't that information readily available, elsewhere, for those who do?
On the other hand, if NPR stops talking about this, that probably means they'll increase the time for Sandra Tsing Loh, the one time during my morning ablutions when I actually consider homicide. Never mind. Keep talking about the movies.
On the other hand, if NPR stops talking about this, that probably means they'll increase the time for Sandra Tsing Loh, the one time during my morning ablutions when I actually consider homicide. Never mind. Keep talking about the movies.
Sunday, May 31, 2015
Oh yeah, that happened: The Voice Finale
This week I "finally" watched the Voice finale show (last week I watched the finale of "Dancing with the Stars. I was happy for Rumer Willis and her win, and was strangely delighted to hear Erin Andrews pronounce the word "finale" as "fin-all.").
My number one comment is that the finale is so long! Some of the performances - with Sheryl Crow, John Fogerty, Ed Sheeran, and others) felt like indulgent filler. I thought some of the song choices were wrong (Fogerty and Sawyer should have sung "Fortunate Son," not that limp medley). I honestly thought Sheryl Crow had retired (Ah. That's why she was there!). I've only heard of Ed Sheeran because I've seen him a few times on this show - I don't know who he is or why he's apparently popular.
One of the performances, though, blew me away: all four judges doing a tribute to B.B. King. Christina sang so perfectly and beautifully, and even Adam surprised me. They all did a really good job.
I already knew who had won but I didn't know the order of the runner ups. I was surprised Koryn was 4th, not that it matters. When she sang with other, voted off contestants, she stood out as the most interesting voice on that stage. She earned a place in the top three.
Joshua bored me these last few weeks.
Megan is already a star and I hope to see and hear her again soon. I'm not 100% sure what she's going to do or what genre of music she wants to conquer, but she has a gorgeous, beautiful voice.
Sawyer - not the best singer of these four but the one most settled in his style. He always sounded sure of, and like himself. I loved his last song, with his mom and dad nearby on stage. I'm glad he won. I liked Taylor John Williams from last season more but I can see why Sawyer won.
See you next season…
My number one comment is that the finale is so long! Some of the performances - with Sheryl Crow, John Fogerty, Ed Sheeran, and others) felt like indulgent filler. I thought some of the song choices were wrong (Fogerty and Sawyer should have sung "Fortunate Son," not that limp medley). I honestly thought Sheryl Crow had retired (Ah. That's why she was there!). I've only heard of Ed Sheeran because I've seen him a few times on this show - I don't know who he is or why he's apparently popular.
One of the performances, though, blew me away: all four judges doing a tribute to B.B. King. Christina sang so perfectly and beautifully, and even Adam surprised me. They all did a really good job.
I already knew who had won but I didn't know the order of the runner ups. I was surprised Koryn was 4th, not that it matters. When she sang with other, voted off contestants, she stood out as the most interesting voice on that stage. She earned a place in the top three.
Joshua bored me these last few weeks.
Megan is already a star and I hope to see and hear her again soon. I'm not 100% sure what she's going to do or what genre of music she wants to conquer, but she has a gorgeous, beautiful voice.
Sawyer - not the best singer of these four but the one most settled in his style. He always sounded sure of, and like himself. I loved his last song, with his mom and dad nearby on stage. I'm glad he won. I liked Taylor John Williams from last season more but I can see why Sawyer won.
See you next season…
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
Coyote Wonder
Earlier this morning, it was reported that three coyotes were spotted in the area where many of my co-workers, myself included, walk on our breaks.
The email said that the coyotes were spotted "wondering" around in the area.
This of course opened a rabbit hole from which I have yet to climb.
The coyotes have been named, in my head, sight unseen: Sandy, Elmer, and Butch. If I should encounter one, my first question, of course, is going to be, "So. Coyote. Whatcha thinkin' about?"
You should take note that in my head, I have been pronouncing the word "coyote" as "ki-yot."
My friend Andrea and I have been discussing this at length, via email. I haven't done this in a while, but here is our complete email exchange thus far (oldest at the bottom), because obviously I think we are funny:
From: Irene
Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2015
To: Andrea
Subject: RE: Coyotes on the walking routes
NO. Can’t I put a coyote in a
sleeper hold?
In my head, I keep pronouncing
“COYOTE” as “KI-YOT.” I’m a hillbilly. Or something. Cracking myself up.
Or I’ve lost it completely.
This is my favorite thing to
happen today.
Should I run into one of the
three coyotes (whom I have named Sandy, Elmer, and Butch, without seeing them), I
will be sure to ask, “Man! What kinds of things does a coyote about?” CUE “True
Men Don’t Kill Coyotes.” (The only RHCP song worth mentioning. And I think it might be a cover.)
The email said that the coyotes were spotted "wondering" around in the area.
This of course opened a rabbit hole from which I have yet to climb.
The coyotes have been named, in my head, sight unseen: Sandy, Elmer, and Butch. If I should encounter one, my first question, of course, is going to be, "So. Coyote. Whatcha thinkin' about?"
You should take note that in my head, I have been pronouncing the word "coyote" as "ki-yot."
My friend Andrea and I have been discussing this at length, via email. I haven't done this in a while, but here is our complete email exchange thus far (oldest at the bottom), because obviously I think we are funny:
From: Irene
Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2015
To: Andrea
Subject: RE: Coyotes on the walking routes
In the 3rd grade, at
camp, I was a surprisingly accurate marksman with a bow and arrow. However, at
that same camp, there was a solar eclipse in the middle of the day, and we were
all stretched out on rocks like the kids on the cover to Led Zeppelin’s Houses of the Holy. It’s possible there were other mysterious forces at work. Aliens, probably.
Thank you for the offer of
weaponry. I will rely upon my wits and street smarts if I have a run-in with
Sandy, Elmer, or Butch. “BACK OFF, KI-YOT!”
Does ACME have a 1-800 number?
From: Andrea
Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2015
To: Irene
Subject: RE: Coyotes on the walking routes
Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2015
To: Irene
Subject: RE: Coyotes on the walking routes
I wouldn’t. They may not be the
fun-loving, “Wile E.” type. Is a long range crossbow an option or is that too
obvious?
How about a giant anvil with
ACME embossed on the side?
From: Irene
Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2015
To: Andrea
Subject: RE: Coyotes on the walking routes
Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2015
To: Andrea
Subject: RE: Coyotes on the walking routes
From: Andrea
Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2015
To: Irene
Subject: RE: Coyotes on the walking routes
Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2015
To: Irene
Subject: RE: Coyotes on the walking routes
Did I ever buy you a taser?
From: Irene
Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2015
To: Andrea
Subject: FW: Coyotes on the walking routes
Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2015
To: Andrea
Subject: FW: Coyotes on the walking routes
How are you?
From:
Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2015
Cc:
Subject: Coyotes on the walking routes
Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2015
Cc:
Subject: Coyotes on the walking routes
(Notification that coyotes were spotted. Actual text redacted.)
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
On second thought...
Yesterday, I was out with my coworkers on our break. We were going up the hill, and passing the long line of cars that park along the street where we walk. This street is basically a private road, because the area it allows access to contains mostly county facilities: there's a fire station, and the Sheriff's Department training camp, for example. So for the most part, these cars belong to the trainees. We see the trainees themselves sometimes, either in black suits or workout gear, or full uniforms, running around carrying packs and gear. Once on a Friday I saw them all out en masse, running in formation out to the main boulevard. Whenever they're all on the sidewalk getting in or out of their cars, and they see us coming, one of them will shout, "Stand down!" and the rest will step aside so we can pass. It's very exciting, actually. They have a field there, and there's a helicopter pad too. They have a shooting range, and it can be disconcerting to hear the gunshots as I'm walking to HR or another of our buildings. It's a cool place to walk; there are a lot of things to look at. And, as we come down the hill, there's a good view of the 710 freeway and the smog over LA.
As I passed the line of cars yesterday, I noticed that one of them had a Morrissey sticker on the bumper. It was some kind of Toyota, pretty beat up. The first thought I had was, "Damn. Do we really want a Sheriff who's a Morrissey fan?"
And the second thought was, "Hell yes, we want a Sheriff who's a Morrissey fan!"
Wouldn't it be nice if all the world's crime fighters were inspired by animal lovers and pacifists?
(I read on Wikipedia that Morrissey has a history of being accused of being a racist. I don't know if this is true. I also read that he was absolved of this accusation. Wikipedia was my source for quick research; I am aware that it's not necessarily accurate or truthful, however, I choose to believe that the guy who wrote most of the songs that helped me survive the funk I was in for all of high school is probably imperfect, but kind and intelligent. You can think what you will.)
As I passed the line of cars yesterday, I noticed that one of them had a Morrissey sticker on the bumper. It was some kind of Toyota, pretty beat up. The first thought I had was, "Damn. Do we really want a Sheriff who's a Morrissey fan?"
And the second thought was, "Hell yes, we want a Sheriff who's a Morrissey fan!"
Wouldn't it be nice if all the world's crime fighters were inspired by animal lovers and pacifists?
(I read on Wikipedia that Morrissey has a history of being accused of being a racist. I don't know if this is true. I also read that he was absolved of this accusation. Wikipedia was my source for quick research; I am aware that it's not necessarily accurate or truthful, however, I choose to believe that the guy who wrote most of the songs that helped me survive the funk I was in for all of high school is probably imperfect, but kind and intelligent. You can think what you will.)
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