Kate Fact #97: Winking generally creeps me out a little bit.
I work on the 2nd floor of my building, and I like to take the stairs to the basement and back - for one thing, they're kind of a pretty-ish, elegant sort of stairway, and for another thing, it's exercise - my thighs, sadly, burn by the time I make it up to the 2nd floor.
Sometimes I pass other stairwalkers, and we sometimes acknowledge each other with a quick smile or head nod. I try to keep at least a small smile on my face at all times when I'm in the hallways - it's my way of quickly schmoozing with the bigwigs and their bigwig staff out here.
So I'm on my way to the basement today, just hitting the stairs on the 2nd floor, and I'm looking at my feet (so I don't trip - it's my biggest fear), but I do recognize that a guy is on his way up, and we'll pass at some point. He's looking at his blackberry and holding a cup of coffee or something.
I wait until we're close before I look up at him for the polite nod/smile exchange. It turns out that we have good timing chemistry, because he looks up at the exact same time as me, just as we're about to pass each other.
Without skipping a beat, he gives me a slick, come-and-get-me smile, and a coy, "hey there, pretty lady" wink.
WHA?!
It's so smooth, the wink so anticipated, I don't know what to do. So I pull out my "shy" smile and drop my eyes back down to my feet, suddenly extra nervous about tripping.
Now I know winking is commonplace and natural for many people, and perhaps it is just a normal reaction for him when he passes someone - but he should probably lose the smarmy feeling that wafts off his closing eyelid.
I get down to the first floor flight of stairs, and I go to raise my head almost imperceptively - my eyes lifted as high as they could go to catch a glimpse of this man, so I can return his wink with a tardy, unnoticeable stink-eye (kate fact #98: I like to make random faces at people who can't see me and giggle at myself in hallways and rooms when no one is around to see/interact with me), when I realize that he's watching me go down the stairs!
I save my stink-eye for when I'm safe from his glance, and I skip down the stairs a little faster, rushing to get out of range. At first I wondered if he was just looking down at his blackberry, but I feel rather certain that unless he can read emails off the top of my head, he was definitely NOT.
Ugh, winking. Why are you generally such a creepy gesture? Every once in a while, you fill my stomach with butterflies and happy dreams - but 98% of the time, you fill my stomach with eerie pits.Why do you do this to me?
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Escalator Etiquette
There are a few things one would need to know here in DC in order to survive - I believe the most important thing is this: escalator etiquette is a BIG deal at the Metro.
If you want to walk up/down the escalator, go to the left side of the escalator. If you feel no need to do any extra work when you're already moving, stand to the right. This will ensure easy movement and a simple flow of traffic, and much less frustration. This is particularly important at the Metro because a lot of the escalators going in and out of the Metro are really deep and take a little bit of time even to walk up/down, much less to stand there waiting for the escalator to kick you off.
I generally throw out a lot of "excuse me"s and "sorry" as I push past someone to my right who's bag or foot is too big to stay to the right with the rest of them, but I try to keep a good speed as I ascend or descend - if only so I don't have to feel like the guy behind me is hovering, cursing my sluggishness in the 'fast lane.'
The worst is when you're behind a few people on the left side, and your line is barely moving, despite the fact that this side is reserved for speed demons like yourself. And then the guy in the powersuit with the power shoes is suddenly behind you, willing you to push the people ahead of you out of the way, or to just step on and over them and their out-of-town sneakers and city maps.
I know I'm not the one slowing down the escalator's walking left side, but I can feel the laser beams shooting out from the guy's eyes, melting a hole in my coat. I can't see him, but I know the thoughts and emotions going through Mr. Powersuit's mind. I know them, because I think/feel them often in the mornings, when the laser beams are particularly difficult to control.
But then I have moments when I'm in no rush and have lots of time to make my way up/down the elevator - like I did today. The 1/2 day of work was awesome, but also meant that I would have a good 15 minute way for my connecting bus, so I slowed my pace and enjoyed the dark, dank metro for a few seconds longer.
More often than not, the Metros have escalators that they don't turn on - too many people trying to all make it upstairs for an escalator to only go down right in a prime location. So the Metro people turn off the escalator (or they're broken already, whichever is easier), and people swarm to make their way up.
Every once in a while (such as this afternoon), I get the urge to treat those stopped escalators as normal, working escalators, and let the escalator "move" me upstairs. I'd check my watch a few times, sigh a little, worry if I'll make my bus in time - all the normal concerns these escalators hear about on a daily basis. Today, I almost did walk onto the stopped escalator - on the right side - and just stood there, looking as though I expected it to start moving for me, in the direction I wanted it to. I smiled broadly to myself, giggling a little in the back of my throat, at the idea of getting on the escalator with tons of people all around me, and just standing there.
Then I decided I didn't want to get stompeded to death, so I continued walking.
If you want to walk up/down the escalator, go to the left side of the escalator. If you feel no need to do any extra work when you're already moving, stand to the right. This will ensure easy movement and a simple flow of traffic, and much less frustration. This is particularly important at the Metro because a lot of the escalators going in and out of the Metro are really deep and take a little bit of time even to walk up/down, much less to stand there waiting for the escalator to kick you off.
I generally throw out a lot of "excuse me"s and "sorry" as I push past someone to my right who's bag or foot is too big to stay to the right with the rest of them, but I try to keep a good speed as I ascend or descend - if only so I don't have to feel like the guy behind me is hovering, cursing my sluggishness in the 'fast lane.'
The worst is when you're behind a few people on the left side, and your line is barely moving, despite the fact that this side is reserved for speed demons like yourself. And then the guy in the powersuit with the power shoes is suddenly behind you, willing you to push the people ahead of you out of the way, or to just step on and over them and their out-of-town sneakers and city maps.
I know I'm not the one slowing down the escalator's walking left side, but I can feel the laser beams shooting out from the guy's eyes, melting a hole in my coat. I can't see him, but I know the thoughts and emotions going through Mr. Powersuit's mind. I know them, because I think/feel them often in the mornings, when the laser beams are particularly difficult to control.
But then I have moments when I'm in no rush and have lots of time to make my way up/down the elevator - like I did today. The 1/2 day of work was awesome, but also meant that I would have a good 15 minute way for my connecting bus, so I slowed my pace and enjoyed the dark, dank metro for a few seconds longer.
More often than not, the Metros have escalators that they don't turn on - too many people trying to all make it upstairs for an escalator to only go down right in a prime location. So the Metro people turn off the escalator (or they're broken already, whichever is easier), and people swarm to make their way up.
Every once in a while (such as this afternoon), I get the urge to treat those stopped escalators as normal, working escalators, and let the escalator "move" me upstairs. I'd check my watch a few times, sigh a little, worry if I'll make my bus in time - all the normal concerns these escalators hear about on a daily basis. Today, I almost did walk onto the stopped escalator - on the right side - and just stood there, looking as though I expected it to start moving for me, in the direction I wanted it to. I smiled broadly to myself, giggling a little in the back of my throat, at the idea of getting on the escalator with tons of people all around me, and just standing there.
Then I decided I didn't want to get stompeded to death, so I continued walking.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Johnny Rockets - Where the Good Times Roll!
It would seem that Thanksgiving Eve brings different emotions to different people.
For me, I experienced happiness and excitement - and a slight drug induced-like randomness that my roommates could only scratch their heads about (followed later by a slight drug induced-like crash that sapped all energy from my body and mind. Please note that no actual drugs were used to create these moments - it was all me).
For roommate M, she experienced exhaustion from lack of sleep mixed with joy for a free afternoon, and a desire to follow through and actually dye her hair. (We went to the store and made her wish possible by buying hair dye).
For roommate E, she dealt with frustration, stress, and sadness. She did not get a 1/2 day of work, with no supervision, like I did - in fact, she had a little too much supervision, and supervision which did not treat her with the kindness and patience that the holidays will sometimes draw out of people.
Poor girl, E's Eve was not very fun at all. We let her exercise her anger away as we went to the store, and then M & I decided tonight might just be the best night for our first roommate dinner out.
So we all thought long and hard, scratched our noggins and rubbed out chins, and decided to go to Johnny Rockets - where the good times roll! And where sandwiches and burgers are made lots of grease and oldies music.
I think my very favorite part about JR is that when they bring your food out, they bring each of you and little bowl for your own ketchup - and it has a big ketchup smiley face on it! Kinda like this:
And this is me poking my smiley face in the eye with a french fry. Yes, you're right, it does in fact seem rather cruel and unnecessary, but it was an urge I couldn't repress, or I didn't give myself time enough to think about it to repress - at any rate, it's done, and I took a picture of it:
*Side Note: It would seem that I'm meant to be happy right now, since smiley faces keep getting thrust at me from all directions. I'm pretty o.k. with that, I think.
Smiley Face Johnny and I were good friends, as you can see. At least, until I poked his eye out, but I think he was fine with it.
Unfortunately, I'm seriously doubting that my roommates will ever take me to dinner/out in public with them ever again. I had lost quite a bit of my energy by the time we got to JR, but I hadn't yet shaken the ability to keep thoughts and singing shut in my mind. I found myself mumbling a bit and singing to the sweet music playing - perhaps louder than I probably ought to have. And by probably, I mean definitely. It would seem I'm not going to shake that 'crazy person' reputation anytime soon...oh well.
JR was delicious, the old-school 50's style thick strawberry milkshake was divine, but it did not keep me and M from wanting to hurl by the time we left. Walking to the car, I had to keep reverting to caveman walking, so my stomach wouldn't feel so stretched out and helpless. In fact, I'm sitting here 4 hours later still wondering if my stomach will ever settle down.
But on the flipside, I think we were able to put a ketchup smiley face on E, so it was worth it.
For me, I experienced happiness and excitement - and a slight drug induced-like randomness that my roommates could only scratch their heads about (followed later by a slight drug induced-like crash that sapped all energy from my body and mind. Please note that no actual drugs were used to create these moments - it was all me).
For roommate M, she experienced exhaustion from lack of sleep mixed with joy for a free afternoon, and a desire to follow through and actually dye her hair. (We went to the store and made her wish possible by buying hair dye).
For roommate E, she dealt with frustration, stress, and sadness. She did not get a 1/2 day of work, with no supervision, like I did - in fact, she had a little too much supervision, and supervision which did not treat her with the kindness and patience that the holidays will sometimes draw out of people.
Poor girl, E's Eve was not very fun at all. We let her exercise her anger away as we went to the store, and then M & I decided tonight might just be the best night for our first roommate dinner out.
So we all thought long and hard, scratched our noggins and rubbed out chins, and decided to go to Johnny Rockets - where the good times roll! And where sandwiches and burgers are made lots of grease and oldies music.
I think my very favorite part about JR is that when they bring your food out, they bring each of you and little bowl for your own ketchup - and it has a big ketchup smiley face on it! Kinda like this:
Unfortunately, I'm seriously doubting that my roommates will ever take me to dinner/out in public with them ever again. I had lost quite a bit of my energy by the time we got to JR, but I hadn't yet shaken the ability to keep thoughts and singing shut in my mind. I found myself mumbling a bit and singing to the sweet music playing - perhaps louder than I probably ought to have. And by probably, I mean definitely. It would seem I'm not going to shake that 'crazy person' reputation anytime soon...oh well.
JR was delicious, the old-school 50's style thick strawberry milkshake was divine, but it did not keep me and M from wanting to hurl by the time we left. Walking to the car, I had to keep reverting to caveman walking, so my stomach wouldn't feel so stretched out and helpless. In fact, I'm sitting here 4 hours later still wondering if my stomach will ever settle down.
But on the flipside, I think we were able to put a ketchup smiley face on E, so it was worth it.
Twas the Morning Before Thanksgiving...
On this very merry Thanksgiving Eve, I had a very pleasant day. I went to work like normal, but not a creature was stirring, not even a newspaper hawker. I enjoyed a much roomier metro ride to the office, with thoughts of sugarplum fairies and 1/2 day workdays running through my head.
The Chief of Staff hadn't mentioned anything during the week to me about giving us a shorter day today, but the staff seemed to anticipate such an event occurring, so I held my breath (figuratively, and occasionally literally) as I waited for the Chief to call me to check in at some point during the morning.
There were only 4 of us (including - gulp - OWC!) in the office today - compared to the normal 11-12 peeps on an average day, with countless people coming in and out of the office. Barely anyone stopped in, and we spent most of the morning conversing, which I quite appreciated - I got to know the staff a little more from the eyes of the other staff. I won't lie, the 3 staffers there with me may be my favorites. At any rate, I've thus far been able to talk with them the easiest, so I was happy they were working. None of us had really pressing matters to get to, so we talked and enjoyed ourselves in the back office, then did some work, and then the other 3 came and relaxed in the front office with me for a bit.
And then, at the stroke of noon, the Chief calls - OWC answers and sends him over to me. I pick up and chat with Chief for a few minutes, ask a question I had thought of, ignore the highly excited air wafting over to me from the back room as 1 staffer bounces from toe to toe in anticipation of what joy this phone call brings.
The receiver clicks down - the phone has been hung up - and suddenly staffer R has roadrunner-ed over to me (the whoosh of the air is still noticeable from the backroom where she started from), calmly wondering whether my conversation with the Chief was fun or not.
"He said that if it's slow and you don't have anything pressing to do, you can leave at one."
Euphoria takes over the front office. Suddenly the other 2 staffers have moleculized in front of me from the back, and OWC asks me to repeat what the Chief says. I smile coyly (do boys even recognize these different smiles? I may just be wasting my time with this...), and repeat my previous statement. OWC smiles lovingly back at me, and I see us 5 years from now with 3 children, when R returns shaking with excitement about her newfound afternoon freedom. Literally shaking - she'd had a little too much caffeine this morning, so her hand was rather trembly.
We brave through the next hour, and then suddenly it's one.
No one wants to be the 1st to race out the door, so we let staffer J set the precedent - he's going out of town in the afternoon, so he was going to leave around that time anyway. R follows suit a few minutes later, and we talk about skipping Black Friday and just hitting the outlets in the afternoon, just because.
And I'm alone with OWC.
He's in the other room, I can't even see him. I hear no sounds of him wrapping up to leave, so I decide not to try to time my departure with his - I really want to be home more than I want to talk to him at this point (that's what happens when it's obligatory - other priorities take precedent rather easily), so I get up, talk to him for a second and wish him a happy Thanksgiving, and then I bolt, leaving him wanting more...possibly.
The best part of all this - I was home by 2pm. None of this 'home after the sun has set' mess my usual days consist of. I got into my house, turned the heat up, made a warm lunch, and then climbed into my bed and settled in for a nice relaxing afternoon.
This holiday, I'm thankful for 1/2 days at work - it brings a smile to my face everytime I get one.
I'm also thankful for you, my 7 readers, and your stalker-like thoughtfulness to read my random thoughts and stupid experiences without making your presence known. Thanks for secretly following my life in all its minutiae.
You rock, just FYI. Happy Thanksgiving Day!
The Chief of Staff hadn't mentioned anything during the week to me about giving us a shorter day today, but the staff seemed to anticipate such an event occurring, so I held my breath (figuratively, and occasionally literally) as I waited for the Chief to call me to check in at some point during the morning.
There were only 4 of us (including - gulp - OWC!) in the office today - compared to the normal 11-12 peeps on an average day, with countless people coming in and out of the office. Barely anyone stopped in, and we spent most of the morning conversing, which I quite appreciated - I got to know the staff a little more from the eyes of the other staff. I won't lie, the 3 staffers there with me may be my favorites. At any rate, I've thus far been able to talk with them the easiest, so I was happy they were working. None of us had really pressing matters to get to, so we talked and enjoyed ourselves in the back office, then did some work, and then the other 3 came and relaxed in the front office with me for a bit.
And then, at the stroke of noon, the Chief calls - OWC answers and sends him over to me. I pick up and chat with Chief for a few minutes, ask a question I had thought of, ignore the highly excited air wafting over to me from the back room as 1 staffer bounces from toe to toe in anticipation of what joy this phone call brings.
The receiver clicks down - the phone has been hung up - and suddenly staffer R has roadrunner-ed over to me (the whoosh of the air is still noticeable from the backroom where she started from), calmly wondering whether my conversation with the Chief was fun or not.
"He said that if it's slow and you don't have anything pressing to do, you can leave at one."
Euphoria takes over the front office. Suddenly the other 2 staffers have moleculized in front of me from the back, and OWC asks me to repeat what the Chief says. I smile coyly (do boys even recognize these different smiles? I may just be wasting my time with this...), and repeat my previous statement. OWC smiles lovingly back at me, and I see us 5 years from now with 3 children, when R returns shaking with excitement about her newfound afternoon freedom. Literally shaking - she'd had a little too much caffeine this morning, so her hand was rather trembly.
We brave through the next hour, and then suddenly it's one.
No one wants to be the 1st to race out the door, so we let staffer J set the precedent - he's going out of town in the afternoon, so he was going to leave around that time anyway. R follows suit a few minutes later, and we talk about skipping Black Friday and just hitting the outlets in the afternoon, just because.
And I'm alone with OWC.
He's in the other room, I can't even see him. I hear no sounds of him wrapping up to leave, so I decide not to try to time my departure with his - I really want to be home more than I want to talk to him at this point (that's what happens when it's obligatory - other priorities take precedent rather easily), so I get up, talk to him for a second and wish him a happy Thanksgiving, and then I bolt, leaving him wanting more...possibly.
The best part of all this - I was home by 2pm. None of this 'home after the sun has set' mess my usual days consist of. I got into my house, turned the heat up, made a warm lunch, and then climbed into my bed and settled in for a nice relaxing afternoon.
This holiday, I'm thankful for 1/2 days at work - it brings a smile to my face everytime I get one.
I'm also thankful for you, my 7 readers, and your stalker-like thoughtfulness to read my random thoughts and stupid experiences without making your presence known. Thanks for secretly following my life in all its minutiae.
You rock, just FYI. Happy Thanksgiving Day!
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Smile!
I pulled apart an oreo tonight and this is what I got:
Seems a little bit like a sign of good things to come, perhaps? At least a friendly reminder to keep smiling, even when life pulls at you from both sides?
How much do you think this could sell for on Ebay?
How much do you think this could sell for on Ebay?
Saturday, November 20, 2010
The Lucky Ones
I jumped on the metro in the morning, on my way to work, headphones in my ears, staring blankly in front of me as I clung to the bar I stood next to. I was standing with people squeezed in all around me, but I was in my own world, the soundtrack to my day playing in surround sound through my brain.
My favorite part about my commute from residential Arlington to Capitol Hill is when we cross the Potomac River. The Metro is an underground subway of sorts, but I get to enjoy the rare reprieve from the tunnel tracks when we cross the bridge over the River. We burst out into the brilliant morning sunshine, particularly radiant after the darkness of the underground, and exceptional as it pulls my eye to the Washington Monument which we're speeding toward, with the rest of the monuments and the Capitol all waiting to peek out from behind each other and greet me in turn before I go back into the dark abyss.
Today, as I stood on the metro, plummeting through the dark, I decided to switch up my daily soundtrack a bit. I turned on Brendan James's "The Lucky Ones." It was a free song from Amazon one day, and I remembered liking it, but I hadn't listened to it in a while, so I couldn't remember why.
As we chugged out of the tunnel into the stunning sunlight and gorgeous scenery, I heard the Brendan sing:
On the edge of a moment,
In the land that we love,
In the time that our best has to be good enough,
Like all those before us, we start out alone,
We race from our schoolyards, into the unknown
City lights, as far as the eye can see,
You and I, we will live differently
I was struck by the awesome timing of what I was hearing and what I was seeing. I might as well have been in a movie, the place and song were so perfect for each other. My fellow passengers in the mornings are luckily rather tired and droopy, sleeping or looking down, so no one witnessed me smile like an idiot, silently laughing at the beauty of my experience. And then I heard Brendan continue:
With our hearts in our hands,
Like loaded guns,
We're taking a chance,
We're the lucky ones,
This moment is yours,
This moment is mine,
And we're gonna be fine.
And I thought, "I really am a lucky one. I'm lucky to be here, to get to ride into work each morning with such a great view, to savor the beauty of the East coast's Autumn, to participate in the dealings of a great nation, to walk the streets of a big city that often acts like a small city. And I really do think I'm gonna be fine."
I almost laughed out loud at the contentedness that had sweeped over me, a girl who minutes before had been as dull and lifeless as her neighbors on the train. And now, here I was, conspiring with Brendan James to live differently, confident that despite whatever lies ahead of me, I'm taking this moment I have and I'm going to really live with purpose and joy.
And with the whisper of a smile still lingering on my lips, the train plunged back into the darkness.
My favorite part about my commute from residential Arlington to Capitol Hill is when we cross the Potomac River. The Metro is an underground subway of sorts, but I get to enjoy the rare reprieve from the tunnel tracks when we cross the bridge over the River. We burst out into the brilliant morning sunshine, particularly radiant after the darkness of the underground, and exceptional as it pulls my eye to the Washington Monument which we're speeding toward, with the rest of the monuments and the Capitol all waiting to peek out from behind each other and greet me in turn before I go back into the dark abyss.
Today, as I stood on the metro, plummeting through the dark, I decided to switch up my daily soundtrack a bit. I turned on Brendan James's "The Lucky Ones." It was a free song from Amazon one day, and I remembered liking it, but I hadn't listened to it in a while, so I couldn't remember why.
As we chugged out of the tunnel into the stunning sunlight and gorgeous scenery, I heard the Brendan sing:
On the edge of a moment,
In the land that we love,
In the time that our best has to be good enough,
Like all those before us, we start out alone,
We race from our schoolyards, into the unknown
City lights, as far as the eye can see,
You and I, we will live differently
I was struck by the awesome timing of what I was hearing and what I was seeing. I might as well have been in a movie, the place and song were so perfect for each other. My fellow passengers in the mornings are luckily rather tired and droopy, sleeping or looking down, so no one witnessed me smile like an idiot, silently laughing at the beauty of my experience. And then I heard Brendan continue:
With our hearts in our hands,
Like loaded guns,
We're taking a chance,
We're the lucky ones,
This moment is yours,
This moment is mine,
And we're gonna be fine.
And I thought, "I really am a lucky one. I'm lucky to be here, to get to ride into work each morning with such a great view, to savor the beauty of the East coast's Autumn, to participate in the dealings of a great nation, to walk the streets of a big city that often acts like a small city. And I really do think I'm gonna be fine."
I almost laughed out loud at the contentedness that had sweeped over me, a girl who minutes before had been as dull and lifeless as her neighbors on the train. And now, here I was, conspiring with Brendan James to live differently, confident that despite whatever lies ahead of me, I'm taking this moment I have and I'm going to really live with purpose and joy.
And with the whisper of a smile still lingering on my lips, the train plunged back into the darkness.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Notice of Eviction: Dear bugs and insects residing in my home...
Monday night I killed a millipede that was running on the wall by my sink as I brushed my teeth.
I yelled at it after smacking it with my flip flop, pleading with the all the bugs listening to stay out of my house - if they would just stay outside, I wouldn't kill them.
I really hoped that message would sink in.
Yesterday morning, a giant cricket jumped into the bathtub as I showered. It kept struggling to climb and hop to the top of the bathtub while I stood still as a statue, silently freaking out about what to do while shampoo ran into my eyes. Then, all of his energy spent, a final hop didn't get him as high as he planned, and he rebounded into the sitting water in the tub. Horrified, I struggled between angst for the flailing bug and horror at the idea of him slowly floating into my foot.
And then suddenly, the cricket stopped moving.
Surprisingly, to me, that affected me a lot - definitely more than my own killing of the nasty millipede only the night before.
I've come away from that with two insights from that 12 hours of death I experienced:
1. Drowning is infinitely worse than anything else. I freak out about the thought of drowning, and even just watching a bug - one that I had been debating on how to kill just seconds before - go through such a terrible fate scarred me for the entire day. I'm pretty sure I'm still a little traumatized.
2. All bugs and insects that want to live should STAY OUTDOORS. I cannot stress this enough to the bug and insect community. I know it seems scary and dangerous outside, but your chances of survival are 98.6% better if you remain outside than if you come into my residence. You may scurry, trying to get out of my eyesight, but I will see you - and I will kill you. Or, I will get someone else to kill you, after you've been trapped under tupperware for 24 hours or so. But it will come. I'm trying to do you a favor here - do not come into my room, my bathroom, my hallway, or anywhere else in here, and you will not suffer death by my hands.
Let this proclamation be heard by all.
I yelled at it after smacking it with my flip flop, pleading with the all the bugs listening to stay out of my house - if they would just stay outside, I wouldn't kill them.
I really hoped that message would sink in.
Yesterday morning, a giant cricket jumped into the bathtub as I showered. It kept struggling to climb and hop to the top of the bathtub while I stood still as a statue, silently freaking out about what to do while shampoo ran into my eyes. Then, all of his energy spent, a final hop didn't get him as high as he planned, and he rebounded into the sitting water in the tub. Horrified, I struggled between angst for the flailing bug and horror at the idea of him slowly floating into my foot.
And then suddenly, the cricket stopped moving.
Surprisingly, to me, that affected me a lot - definitely more than my own killing of the nasty millipede only the night before.
I've come away from that with two insights from that 12 hours of death I experienced:
1. Drowning is infinitely worse than anything else. I freak out about the thought of drowning, and even just watching a bug - one that I had been debating on how to kill just seconds before - go through such a terrible fate scarred me for the entire day. I'm pretty sure I'm still a little traumatized.
2. All bugs and insects that want to live should STAY OUTDOORS. I cannot stress this enough to the bug and insect community. I know it seems scary and dangerous outside, but your chances of survival are 98.6% better if you remain outside than if you come into my residence. You may scurry, trying to get out of my eyesight, but I will see you - and I will kill you. Or, I will get someone else to kill you, after you've been trapped under tupperware for 24 hours or so. But it will come. I'm trying to do you a favor here - do not come into my room, my bathroom, my hallway, or anywhere else in here, and you will not suffer death by my hands.
Let this proclamation be heard by all.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Barlowpalooza 2010 Remembered
I've been looking through my pictures, gathering some of my favorites to put in a giant collage of frames or some type of memories wall. Eventually I will make this vision of a picture wall in my room a reality, but it's pretty far off still.
However, I've been trying to prepare myself for when that far off future comes by at least having the pictures ready. As I was looking through them, I came across some pictures that just made me smile, some that made me laugh, and some that made me smail and laugh even after I'd gotten 10 pictures past them. So I had to share them.
Most are from the great Barlowpalooza 2010, though two come from my visit to Zach and Jamie's in Arizona, and then there are some old ones of when Abby and Devn move to Arkansas last Summer (bear with me, there are a few here...):
And this is me restraining myself and holding back from adding 20 more pictures...
Edgar Allan Poe Writes a Rap
I went over to my friend Jillian's house this evening. We had intended to hang out for a bit and then hop over to a dance that some stake was putting on. My roommate was going over to it as well, for the service project. She doesn't like to dance.
That made me feel bad because I was going over purely for the dance - I don't like to do service.
Okay, that's mostly a lie - I just wanted to keep some good consistency in my sentences. I actually do like to do service. I don't do enough of it - meaning I don't do very much planned out service - but I serve when I can. But I did feel bad because my main goal of the activity was to get out on the dance floor and break it down like Usher.
Turns out, I didn't end up feeling bad about not planning to do the service project at the dance - because I didn't even make it to the dance. Instead, I stayed at J's house, ate dinner with her roommates, got custard from a great shop that respects Wisconsin custard and wants the Northern Arlington area to appreciate it as well, then returned to J's house and turned the pages of a pianobook while her roommate played and we quietly sang to the few showtunes and musical numbers we knew. It would seem my musicals background is lacking considerably.
When J's roommate started to play a song that I'd never even heard of, my attention drifted over to the bookcase in the room. I scanned the titles, flipping through a few pages of a comedic book from Dave Barry (funny guy!), and stopped at "One Hundred and One Poems." I saw that it contained names I knew, so I looked through the pages, deciding whether or not I would actually stop and read a whole poem.
As the party started dying down, and J and roommate Theresa were deciding to watch a movie, I hit upon a poem by Edgar Allan Poe - "The Bells." Poe is interesting to me because you can count on his writing to be dreary and a little bit creepy (and by a little bit, I mean lots and lots), and the Halloween spirit was still in me, so I read through it.
I was surprised at the immediate joy the poem begins with, not fully expecting that from him. But it quickly turned gloomy and eerie, which made me feel much more comfortable with Poe. I read through most of it and decided it would be a new tradition to read this aloud on Halloween each year. It really is creepy, and It's got a great rhythm to it - Poe meant for it to be read aloud.
So, of course, I did read it aloud. When I was reading it in my head, my leg caught the bounce of the poem, bouncing a little with it, yearning for me to recite the poem, allowing my whole body to take on the rhythm. I called J to come look at the poem, and then I started reading section III loud:
Hear the loud alarum bells -
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now -now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells -
Of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells -
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!
Honestly, I dare you to not give into the urge to read it out loud. It almost forces you to. I was impressed at how swiftly I picked up even on words I don't usually say, which might throw me off my beat a little, but I just rolled right over each word.
The best part about this poem is that when I recite, I speak it like a rapper. This tough, gangsta person comes out, and I'm hunched over a little, knees bent, rapping Poe. That's the rhythm I hear in it. Rapper style. I just need a beat-boxer to chime in with some background vocals, and this is a bonafide rap performance.
I'm pretty sure I recited it straight through twice, I was having way too much fun with it. At first, I had really tried to read it as I expected Poe to have heard it in his head: melancholy, deep-throated, spooky. The change from the bells celebrating joy and marriage to terror as we learn how Ghoul-like creatures ring them. Poe really was an odd one.
But I always went back to a rap style. And I liked it. I really liked it. I just stopped writing and looked it up again so I could read it out loud once more. Call me a nerd (I know you already have at least once while reading this), but I think it's awesome.
Who would've thought that Edgar Allan Poe would have the distinction of being basically the Pioneer of Rap?
Cool stuff on a random Friday night, no?
*Seriously, go read this poem - OUT LOUD!
That made me feel bad because I was going over purely for the dance - I don't like to do service.
Okay, that's mostly a lie - I just wanted to keep some good consistency in my sentences. I actually do like to do service. I don't do enough of it - meaning I don't do very much planned out service - but I serve when I can. But I did feel bad because my main goal of the activity was to get out on the dance floor and break it down like Usher.
Turns out, I didn't end up feeling bad about not planning to do the service project at the dance - because I didn't even make it to the dance. Instead, I stayed at J's house, ate dinner with her roommates, got custard from a great shop that respects Wisconsin custard and wants the Northern Arlington area to appreciate it as well, then returned to J's house and turned the pages of a pianobook while her roommate played and we quietly sang to the few showtunes and musical numbers we knew. It would seem my musicals background is lacking considerably.
When J's roommate started to play a song that I'd never even heard of, my attention drifted over to the bookcase in the room. I scanned the titles, flipping through a few pages of a comedic book from Dave Barry (funny guy!), and stopped at "One Hundred and One Poems." I saw that it contained names I knew, so I looked through the pages, deciding whether or not I would actually stop and read a whole poem.
As the party started dying down, and J and roommate Theresa were deciding to watch a movie, I hit upon a poem by Edgar Allan Poe - "The Bells." Poe is interesting to me because you can count on his writing to be dreary and a little bit creepy (and by a little bit, I mean lots and lots), and the Halloween spirit was still in me, so I read through it.
I was surprised at the immediate joy the poem begins with, not fully expecting that from him. But it quickly turned gloomy and eerie, which made me feel much more comfortable with Poe. I read through most of it and decided it would be a new tradition to read this aloud on Halloween each year. It really is creepy, and It's got a great rhythm to it - Poe meant for it to be read aloud.
So, of course, I did read it aloud. When I was reading it in my head, my leg caught the bounce of the poem, bouncing a little with it, yearning for me to recite the poem, allowing my whole body to take on the rhythm. I called J to come look at the poem, and then I started reading section III loud:
Hear the loud alarum bells -
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now -now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells -
Of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells -
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!
Honestly, I dare you to not give into the urge to read it out loud. It almost forces you to. I was impressed at how swiftly I picked up even on words I don't usually say, which might throw me off my beat a little, but I just rolled right over each word.
The best part about this poem is that when I recite, I speak it like a rapper. This tough, gangsta person comes out, and I'm hunched over a little, knees bent, rapping Poe. That's the rhythm I hear in it. Rapper style. I just need a beat-boxer to chime in with some background vocals, and this is a bonafide rap performance.
I'm pretty sure I recited it straight through twice, I was having way too much fun with it. At first, I had really tried to read it as I expected Poe to have heard it in his head: melancholy, deep-throated, spooky. The change from the bells celebrating joy and marriage to terror as we learn how Ghoul-like creatures ring them. Poe really was an odd one.
But I always went back to a rap style. And I liked it. I really liked it. I just stopped writing and looked it up again so I could read it out loud once more. Call me a nerd (I know you already have at least once while reading this), but I think it's awesome.
Who would've thought that Edgar Allan Poe would have the distinction of being basically the Pioneer of Rap?
Cool stuff on a random Friday night, no?
*Seriously, go read this poem - OUT LOUD!
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Excuse Me While I Breathe
Sometimes, when I get involved in a longer conversation, I forget to breathe when I talk.
I'll have a thought that I'm trying to express - in the long-winded, rambling way of speaking that I excel at - and some internal note in my mind cries, "DON'T STOP FOR BREATH OR YOU'LL FORGET YOUR WHOLE POINT!!!!" I certainly don't want that to happen, since I've spent the last 5 minutes trying to get set up to share that whole point, so I listen to my misguided brain.
It's like I think that if I stop to take a breath before an intended stop or break in my sentence, I'll never be able to talk again.
Is that silly?
I think it is. Irrational, at the very least. Deadly, at the very most. What if one day I decide to say the longest sentence ever created, and I never stop to breathe in the middle of it? (I even refused to breath as I typed that line...it's encroaching on my mental thoughts now, too!)
It's a dangerous game I'm playing.
It's been a particular problem lately. I find that the more serious or in-depth the conversation is, the worse I get at breathing. And I've had quite a few in-depth, long conversations with my roommates in the last 2 weeks, getting to know them a little more.
I've also just gotten over a lousy cold, which moved from a very stuffy nose down to an ugly, hacking cough. It all moved through my body in the course of a week, but the remnants of the cough have held on for dear life.
And when I pushed myself to the limit of not breathing, trying to eke out the last words of a very important sentence about elephants being tied for my 3rd favorite animal in the world, it causes me to swallow and take a fake, half-breath. The swallow and breathing at the same time makes for a strange experience in my throat - cue coughing, trying to breathe, and coughing like my life depends upon it. For about 5 minutes.
So instead of my roommates continuing their interest in my ranking of favorite animals of the world, they just think I'm crazy because I end every thought with a hacking cough. And because I can't finish telling them that the star-nosed mole rounds out the top 20, the topic switches to something silly, like what our famillies are like or what our hobbies are. Like those are good conversations to get to know someone by.
Maybe that's why my room's in the basement now.
I'll have a thought that I'm trying to express - in the long-winded, rambling way of speaking that I excel at - and some internal note in my mind cries, "DON'T STOP FOR BREATH OR YOU'LL FORGET YOUR WHOLE POINT!!!!" I certainly don't want that to happen, since I've spent the last 5 minutes trying to get set up to share that whole point, so I listen to my misguided brain.
It's like I think that if I stop to take a breath before an intended stop or break in my sentence, I'll never be able to talk again.
Is that silly?
I think it is. Irrational, at the very least. Deadly, at the very most. What if one day I decide to say the longest sentence ever created, and I never stop to breathe in the middle of it? (I even refused to breath as I typed that line...it's encroaching on my mental thoughts now, too!)
It's a dangerous game I'm playing.
It's been a particular problem lately. I find that the more serious or in-depth the conversation is, the worse I get at breathing. And I've had quite a few in-depth, long conversations with my roommates in the last 2 weeks, getting to know them a little more.
I've also just gotten over a lousy cold, which moved from a very stuffy nose down to an ugly, hacking cough. It all moved through my body in the course of a week, but the remnants of the cough have held on for dear life.
And when I pushed myself to the limit of not breathing, trying to eke out the last words of a very important sentence about elephants being tied for my 3rd favorite animal in the world, it causes me to swallow and take a fake, half-breath. The swallow and breathing at the same time makes for a strange experience in my throat - cue coughing, trying to breathe, and coughing like my life depends upon it. For about 5 minutes.
So instead of my roommates continuing their interest in my ranking of favorite animals of the world, they just think I'm crazy because I end every thought with a hacking cough. And because I can't finish telling them that the star-nosed mole rounds out the top 20, the topic switches to something silly, like what our famillies are like or what our hobbies are. Like those are good conversations to get to know someone by.
Maybe that's why my room's in the basement now.
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