Processing return from Maine... Here are a few pictures of the trip:




A hotel on Rt. 9 between Calais and Bangor.




A small convenience store that sells ice, bait and mountain dew.



A blueberry factory-now owned by Wyman's (their logo is in the distance)

...so obviously it was snowy, but nice. Seemed much more desolate than other visits. Maybe that's just the dead of winter and the loneliness of the holidays...

At the airport...

Maine. Trying to keep up with the rest of the country, but still using scotch tape when it should be using glue.

yow-zaa! Now, there's an idea.



(source)

There is something that is strangely intimate about the 4-way stops here in Evanston.
Like seeing grown men eat.
Vulnerable and cautious.
Drivers communicate on an instinctual level, following an unwritten code.
And the right decisions are made.

If sidewalks were runways, I still wouldn't like this look

To veer away from more serious conversations, such as "will I be killed by a bomb in India in February?" I'd like to focus on seasonal fashion. Notably, the ski mask. I hadn't thought about the ski mask as anything more than something runners must wear during early morning jogs and of course a necessary accoutrement for any serious snowmobiler. But I have to draw the line at walking down city streets with this almost overly functional piece of winter gear.

Then I thought, "Hey if it's warm, who cares if it frightens me (and small children)?" Why can't we be comfortable and warm no matter what it looks like? My first thought to dispute my attempt at being diplomatic: high heels. I'll be the first to admit that the reason I don't own any high heels is because I can't walk in them, not because I don't like them. But they are the perfect example of how a small amount of pain is necessary to fit into social ideals of beauty, at least in this country. Maybe the rules are different once we're out of the office and onto the streets, but I still feel that the slight sting of cold air on a bare face is a small price to pay, not just for being presentable, but for not being scary.

Though I found a few acceptable forms of ski masks, this one is just plain scary, but also hilarious.



Photo credit: http://swapatorium.blogspot.com/2004/12/ski-masks.html

A slight kink in the plans

So here's the thing about going to Mumbai: It just got bombed. No, that's inaccurate. It's hotels, tourist destinations and train stations were taken over by terrorists who are targeting Westerners. There that's better. Except that for me it's not. At all.

My first response was to play the whole thing down. Like, "O.k., this type of thing happens all the time right? Isn't there an unspoken rule about things happening twice in the same spot?" These delusional statements were followed by anger that I'd let fear get in the way of taking an awesome trip. This was followed by more anger about spending and perhaps losing money because of terrorists. Later came sadness about the people whose lives were lost and a solid commitment not to lose my own.

It's not just about taking a trip. I mean, I had no assumptions about what I might learn from traveling to India. In signature form, I was naive about the implications of traveling to a developing country as an American. Sure, I heard that I would see extreme poverty, and I knew that religion was treated very differently, but I guess my own respect and admiration for other cultures clouded the fact that not everyone thinks like me. Some, not even close, as evidenced by recent events.

So, the task at hand for me is to weigh my options. Am I willing to risk being held hostage to prove that I'm not afraid... After September 11th, everyone was saying, "We can't let the terrorists win! Do not be afraid!" Of course, George Bush said to go shopping, but what I saw was increased discrimination in this country of Middle Eastern people. Should Americans stop going to India and countries where the U.S. is not held in high regard? Maybe we should all just go back to our own respective countries, vow to immerse ourselves exclusively in our own cultures and just call it a day.

Maybe it's because of the internet (or the million other reasons), but I would say that's likely never ever to happen. Not even close. There will always be extremists in every nation, culture, and representing every view point who wish the whole world, except for their own, would go away. I think it comes from fear-fear of assimilation, discrimination, and persecution-not to mention the belief that compromise would result in an eternity in hell.

That aside, I don't want to live in fear. I also don't want to die. So, it's sort of a toss-up at the moment. We'll see what happens....I'm open to suggestions.

Procrastination has gotten the better of me

I am a runaway blogger as of late. But I've been thinking...
1. That I'm tired of shows like 90210 featuring "high school students" that are actually in their early twenties celebrating their 16th birthday.
2. That I want 3 and 5 year olds, especially the ones I care for, to act like adults, except cuter.
3. That I'm considering giving box hair dyes another try...
4. After years of thinking that they would make good companions, turns out I really don't like squirrels.
5. That I can't believe I bought a ticket to India!

Would a scarf in any other font seem so sweet?

I'm not sure what the recent Helvetica font obsession is all about. I guess it's a techy-typographer-underground-graphic designer-type of thing. But I absolutely love this scarf-not because it's in Helvetica, which is actually one of the easiest fonts to read, but because it's just nerdy enough to be fashionable without being too hipster. I promise I'm not posting it here because I want it for Christmas....really. (But just in case you're wondering, I like it in black.)




(Image from: http://www.veer.com/products/merchdetail.aspx?image=VPR0005441)

An ode to rooms past

Ok, I'm trying not to sound like a spoiled tween here, but I miss my own room. Don't get me wrong, I love sharing space with Jonah and building apartment, after apartment, after, nope don't have to built it, it's already done (ever so lovely house he grew up in) with him. There's just something about the solace, the escape from the world, the pink-ness of bedrooms that I created for myself growing up and into my college years. Something about surrounding yourself with objects, colors, blankets etc. that describe and inspire you. I appreciated being able to trash said room in a fit of not knowing what to wear and knowing that no one would discover my temporary bout of insanity. Having a solid home base is crucial in dealing with a crazy world. I feel that my world lately is about moving my laptop from kitchen table to coffee table to den, where I still can't get an internet signal, to back to the kitchen. Moreover, with such frequent moves, I've downsized the very supply of aforementioned objects, fabrics, etc. that describe me materialistically.

I'm having to remind myself now that I don't want to sound like a spoiled 20-something. Downsizing does help moving and there is a healthy aspect to shedding material from the past. Plus, isn't it now in-vogue for affluent couples to have their own rooms? I don't know, I'm not sure that I could get into such formality. But in a break from the recent past, I do long for a solid home base, a place to call my own for, you know, at least a year.

Thoughts on a splinter

Last night, as Jonah diligently attempted to remove a tiny splinter of unknown origin out of my foot, I realized that despite the pain of the tweezers, there was something purely relaxing about being made to sit still. I instantly remembered my love of visiting the doctor. (Provided I am entirely confident of my good health beforehand, whereby you suggest, "then why would you be going to the doctor?) It is the yearly checkup that I love so, and not all of it, but specifically the parts where my nose, ears, mouth and eyes are checked out, followed by the cool stethoscope examining my breathing and heartbeat. I also don't mind the height check. The reason, I deduced last night, was because it too, requires that I sit still. Another instance came to my mind last night of being a portrait model for my roommates while I attended art school. This of course, required complete stillness (not to mention a healthy (?) dose of vanity).

So what is it about being told to sit still that so irritates a child under the age of eight, but for me, creates absolute calm? I believe it is the habit I've gotten into, ever since I understood the meaning of being "productive," that has made me run around like a chicken with it's, you know, trying to get and be and finish and start as many things as possible. Meanwhile, I'm getting absolutely nothing done, drinking questionably unhealthy amounts of coffee, and summarizing my life into periods of procrastination or distraction. I can't count the amount of times I ask myself each day, "What am I doing with my life???," and all those other "woe-is-me" declarations that I will spare you from reading.

Maybe it has something to do with the theory behind meditation... Meditation, like running a mile every morning before breakfast, has become one of those things that I always say would solve all my issues if I could just get into doing it. However, in times like last night, when I was forced to surrender my task-oriented sensibility, I like to think that I practiced a mini-meditation of sorts. And this morning, after deciding that I would run after breakfast (that would be now), the radio, which normally opens my day with the grim economic forecast and the traffic report reminding me that I don't own a car, has remained off. While the ticking of the wall clock coupled with the keystrokes of my computer is starting to sound rather zen.

'Word Play' on 'No Play and All Work'

I just realized that busy-ness, as in being busy, would be spelled (if it were a word?) as either busy-ness (nah) or busi-ness. Business. Hmm. That explain a lot.

In conversation, what is 'off limits?'

A few years ago, a friend told me there were two things she didn't talk about with friends and family alike. They were, and are: politics and religion. I was confused and angry after hearing this. After all, she was a fairly liberal person, artistic, open-minded. Why would she be so closed off to debating about two of the most relevant subjects of our lives? The answer: she hates arguing. And generally that's what any "discussion" about these two always controversial topics, turns into. Wouldn't it be great if we could all comfortably present our ideas on these two topics, or any topic for that matter, and simply agree to disagree. Or, even better, leave a little wiggle room in our respective ideologies to grow and develop. How idealistic for me to think this way, especially when I am the first to notice my blood pressure rising when I hear or see support of John McCain and Sarah Palin.

So, if my friend was right, and it is best to steer clear of politics and religion, what can we talk about that really matters? Don't get me wrong. I don't want to talk string theory over dinner or anything, but I think we could all benefit by making conversational strides towards understanding the most heated differences we possess. And if there's one thing that I can't stand, it's feeling awkward about asking questions or stating my opinion. What happened to that person who said "No question is a dumb question?" When I was a kid, I asked my parent's friend how much money she makes. The response was like, "Ashley (!) you don't ask something like that! " Huh? Well, I wanted to know. I had no idea whether workers were paid the equivalent of my allowance per hour or what being rich or poor actually meant-everyone looked the same to me in those days. Today I still have no idea.

Jonah and I are supposedly middle class, if you take into account that we have enough food to eat, clothes that are nice enough, and can count on never being homeless (although we can't take this for granted). So I guess if there's one thing that I'd like to talk about if I have to set God and Obama on the shelf, is money. Take for example today, I got my hair cut at the Aveda Institute. It's a school for hair dressers and their rate is $15 for a haircut. Pretty much the cheapest besides SuperCut, and a far better result, even with the varying skill levels of the students. When the girl cutting my hair asked what kind of shampoo I used, and I answered "Pantene" I felt as if I had just been caught wearing Keds in a room full of stilletos. In a way though, it speaks to my economic status. Yes, Pantene is 5-ish dollars, and that was my primary reason for buying it. Now, from what I could infer about my later conversation with the hairdresser, her financial situation was much like mine. But apparently she appreciates good shampoo.

So, here's the thing: It's easy with credit to act like you're rich, but everything must be repaid someday. On the flip side, actually having money doesn't guarantee happiness-so what is money's real worth? Contrary to debating what happens after death, and regardless of who will be our next president, money is something that everyone agrees is real and necessary. Today, it seems as if we can tell how much people make by the car they drive, the clothes they wear, the shampoo they use, etc., but what does this really show? What if the “look of money” is more important to people, than actual happiness and debt-free living. The “it” bag, designer labels, cars, shoes, hair, cell phone, iphone. Then there are the big houses, the nanny, the housekeeper.


What if we all had the same size houses, there was only one kind of automobile, and clothes producers were no longer able to place logos on their products? What about healthy competition in the market, you ask? Well, is hasn’t done us very good lately. I don’t know if I’m starting to sound like a socialist (and I’m still not clear on what is so bad about socialism) but what if the government were to have more of a hand in capping prices for the previously listed items? No more $150 pairs of jeans? That’d be alright.

See, I’m not sure if money is a touchy subject for people. I’ve had conversations in the past couple of weeks about bargain shopping, coupons, how much money I’m willing to spend on shampoo, etc. Maybe the sensitive issue is salary. Countless talented people go unappreciated (financially and artistically) in our society. But I think the real issue is that there just doesn’t seem to be enough money in the hands of those who truly need it. And until real changes are made and wealth is more evenly distributed, it will continue to be a topic that we discuss-uncomfortable or not. Maybe we need to focus privately on whatever Faith/God we believe in to know that things will get better, while also taking politics off the shelf, discussing the issues, and not being afraid to argue, especially in times like these.

Look for me in suburbia

Well, it's been a while. My new life in suburbia is apparently a full-time job. Let me start with the family home and the two kids, a boy and a girl. No, they're not mine, thank god, but they are cute. I guess they've grown on me. And they are a full-time job-40+ hours a week, which is good because I can temporarily stop looking for jobs, but not so good because I don't want to be a full-time mom, even though I'm labeled as a nanny. It's weird because, as a nanny, I am responsible for so much of the discipline of the children and also to play with them on their level, to teach them and to take them places. At the same time, I do not have the same bond with them as their parents', and I even worry about whether they like me. I never thought I'd say this, but I catch myself not only wondering, but worrying whether the 5-year old girl thinks I'm mean.

A few years ago, I babysat two two-year old boys on the weekends. I felt closer to those two boys than I do to the current children for a couple of reasons. First, they were both boys and for whatever reason I relate more to boy children than girl children. Coincidentally I took a six-question quiz in "Chicago Parent" magazine (at the kids' house) today that supposedly answered the question of what gender I would be a better parent for, because apparently, I guess these days you can choose. Riiight. Anyway, the most ridiculous part of the quiz was that, no matter what you answer, the quiz states that you're actually a great parent for either gender. Hmm. So, I analyzed the question myself during the kids' nap time. One of the reasons, as I spoke of before, is that I relate to the way boys deal with problems: being physical rather than emotional, yelling rather than crying, pointing blame rather than taking responsibility/compromising. I guess the other reason why I related to the two boys is that they had dark hair. I know this sounds crazy, but when you're a babysitter/nanny, there is something that happens when you go out in public when you say to yourself, "Do people think this is my kid?" or "Am I even old enough to have a kid?" Now when the kid(s) have light blonde hair and I have black hair, the chances of them being my kids is pretty slim. Although a nice older woman on the street the other day told me I had a beautiful child. I nodded with a smile, but uncomfortably, and as if I was taking credit for something I didn't create. Oh well, I guess people will believe whatever they want.

On an unrelated note, but sticking with my suburban theme, I baked cupcakes this weekend. The cupcake tin was my first piece of bakeware that I have purchased, well, ever. Pumpkin-chocolate-chip cupcakes with creamcheese (one word?) frosting and cinnamon icing. A little underdone, but you can't tell that from the picture.

The Saturday that I never want to end

So...nice....to....sleep......in.

boom box, headphones, heating pad, CD holder, meat grinder (Evanston)

I had to laugh when I saw this post. If you say it out loud it actually has a nice rhythmical thing going on. I found it in the 'free' section on craigslist.org today. It's a virtual treasure trove of everything from hair cuts to the above, and really an underutilized tool in my life. Every time that I am reminded of its existence I regain a bit of hope that not everything in this world is based on dollars and cents.

Another inspiring posting was titled, "Home-cooked Thanksgiving dinner for a family in need (Chicago)." Note: this is free, for up to 8 people (!), is delivered fully cooked, and includes everything from turkey to pie.

Two days with a job and I'm making political basketball analogies

How ironic that just a week ago, I was spouting off about a lovely and inspirational piece of dark purple toile... Ironic because for the past two days I have done little except for steaming endless layers of white, off-white, ivory, eggshell, vanilla, and other shades of bride for the not-so-charming people of Maggie Sottero. She is, I have learned, a big designer in the niche market of bridal and prom dresses, and is participating in the semi-annual Bridal Market at the Merchandise Mart in downtown Chicago. It was two weeks ago when I answered the add for steamers, dressers, and general helpers on craigslist and thought, "Hmm...sounds like an interesting gig." Well it has been interesting. Actually the first day proved to be fairly satisfying. I found a sudo-zen-like way of steaming the fabric, visualizing the 'before's and the 'after's, watching the ugly creases and wrinkles wash away with the magic touch of my steaming wand. Twenty-four hours later, and a second day of waking up before the sun, I was mentally (and maybe a few times audibly) cursing the idea of marriage. Even after a large cup of coffee and a lunch of brown rice sushi-nothing-no zen, no fantasies that at the last minute, they might need a model and see me, Cinderella, drowning in a sea of taffeta, and ask me to retire my steamer and strike a pose.

At first, I thought this post might be about the decadence of modern-day weddings and how they have become a way to equate love with money spent, but I'll save that for later (try to control your elation). You see, I have known and still know, people who are eloquent, wise, honest, thoughtful, inspiring, lovely...and obviously not perfect. They sometimes don't use proper grammar, are too formal, much too informal, overly concerned with what other people think, forget my birthday, make me question what I want to believe is true, etc. etc. But still, I appreciate them because they are human and humans are messy and strange creatures-far from perfect. That is why it will always amaze me when I see people judging others in a way that very clearly speaks to a belief in class or social hierarchy. I don't need to travel two mental steps to think of the greatest example: cliques in high school. It seems silly to think that this behavior was confined to the teenage years. Later, in college, I was up to my ears in talk of gender, ethnic and class inequality around the world, but I have been naive to think that it wasn't happening in this country. Moreover, it's happening amongst my peers (!) who have grown up in the digital age (!) where they have no excuse not to know the consequences of creating divisions within your own species. It completely relates to the current financial crisis and the competing opinions regarding the bailout. For example, when a (fiscally conservative) person calls for a smaller government role and more hard-earned money to remain in his/her own pocket, are they not then saying that it is greater to take care of oneself than the common man (through taxes and government programs [which he/she actually benefits from])? In tough economic times, it is so easy to fight for every scrap, to feel that the guy sitting next to me with a blackberry is just some jerk in a suit, and for the fashionistas to think that the temporary workers who are steaming wedding gowns for eight hours a day are insignificant. It's tough when we live in a place and time where what you do and how much money you make defines who you are.

That is why we cannot afford to continue the "high school" way of life in adulthood. We must resist the temptation to use technology simply for entertainment, gossip and text messages, and instead use it to learn about what's going on in Asia, Africa, and Alaska, for god's sake. Now, of all the topics this post could have been about, I swore Sarah Palin was not in the running. But those three As do sound really good together, and because she's now apparently in the running to be Vice President, I guess she's worth mentioning. The fact that this race is about whether or not we look like/relate financially/or discriminate against the same populations as the candidates only reinforces unhealthy divisions in this country. This time however, we've cohesively rallied around the middle class cause we're all feeling like the little guy. Yet, in the end, and as always, the promises that are made pre-election are a sneaky but effective way to win, and that's generally all. I'm not saying all politicians are bad-they hold a necessary and extremely difficult post and a little fibbing is necessary to calm the fears of the majority of Americans. But politicians, to me, represent more than rhetoric. They represent a standard of morality, a role of leadership for us to follow. They are responsibly through words and actions how Americans are seen around the world, whether the U.S. contributes its real fair share of humanitarian aid and whether the rich in this country just get richer or actually have to pay their taxes. Palin is so unqualified and inexperienced-it is like a losing team (the Republicans) being embarrassed about their captain (Bush), so they beat him up behind the school and buy new uniforms and get better looking cheerleaders with the prettiest one to yell the loudest (Palin). If you've ever heard a cheer, you know their not all that deep, but they're delivered with one hell of a smile. What's missing behind the repition and rhymes is morality, and soon you're just fighting the other team, and calling them names. That is not leading a nation in a difficult time-that is winning a popularity contest.

Now, if I've ever read a good blog post, and I've read quite a few, I know that they have a theme and a point. Well, I had a theme at one time and made a few points, and it's not perfect-but I'm o.k. with that.

Inspiration is Everywhere, if you get off your computer long enough to buy it for a dollar

In response to my post a few days ago, which I was told was a tad negative, I'm posting a new inspiration which has found its way into my life via yard sale on Logan Boulevard. An extra long piece of purple toile. Taken here with a semi-serious face so as to not completely break with convention.

It was sort of great really because it cost just one dollar, and though I had no cash, I managed to find four quarters in the bottom of my purse. The girl who sold it to me said it was less than it cost, but that she was ready to get rid of her fabric, not to mention a bunch of other stuff, clothes, vhs tapes and a black and white polka dot tie that I would have bought if I had the money. I'm gonna try out the tie look I think...if I can pull it off.

Anyhow, I completely related to this girl and I think she felt that too. I said I was trying to get rid of some things myself, though I probably wouldn't have the patience to have a yard sale (Show me the closest goodwill, thank you.) I think, as a girl, clothing is such a personal, proactive thing. I obsess over the balance of color, texture and proportion that I wrap myself in, on a daily basis. Now, I'm not aspiring to be a designer or anything, but I would like to acknowledge the role that clothing has played in my development and sense of growth. My favorite/my shopped at stores reflect my personal metamorphosis (from first [and involuntary] to most recent [and based on budget]): The Kinder Shop (Calais, ME), JCPenney, Deb (poorly made, and I mean, sleeves falling off in the middle of class, clothing), Pacific Sunwear (cause I'm kind of close to the Pacific...?), American Eagle, The Gap, Thrift stores and Goodwill (first year of college), clothing swaps, Urban Outfitters (Cambridge, MA, circa 2006), roommates closet, American Apparel (the minimalist approach), H&M (my first attempt at professionalism).

What I still crave though is my own style-unlike anyone else's-I can't help feeling like I'm wearing something created for me, and not just me, but many people-a whole generation of girls who are college/post-college age. It's times like these I wish I knew how to sew. Again, really lack the patience. Safety pins have always been my friend when it came to altering anything, But who knows, maybe my current budget, coupled with the change of seasons and a little creativity I can turn that toile into my first homemade skirt/scarf/giant hair tie/curtain/headdress.....

ooh la la...

I just discovered this new designer team, Doshi Levien. They make incredibly beautiful furniture inspired by Indian culture. The bottoms of the couches remind me of elementary school desks. Anyway, the picture above is from the collection "My Beautiful Backside." See more of their work here. (picture from www.stylepark.com)

One week to go...

Well, just one week to go until we move to the 'burbs. These two months have flown by. It's also been a huge learning experience about a world which I'm not so sure I have much faith in. Firstly, it really is true that most people will not speak to you unless spoken to. In general, humans are overly cautious about other humans. They think: "The one time you let your guard down, you'll be sorry!" For as far as we've come technologically, we still cannot relate to each other for reasons other than money, mating, or necessity. Secondly, in realizing the stark nature of segregation in Chicago, I've concluded that the entire world is vastly segregated. After all, America (apart from Europe, which has its own issues) is the single attempt at creating an integrated society. If, in (the northern part of) America, we live separate and in fact, scared of each other, what does this say for the rest of the world? I believe it clearly indicates that there are white countries, black countries and everything in between. If you choose to enter a territory which is not your own you must be 1. looking for material or other type of gain, 2. a peace corp volunteer, 3. checking into a gated resort or Westernized part of town or 4. lost. Oddly enough, I felt the effects of #4 riding through the south side of Chicago this past weekend. Thirdly, the job market sucks. Seriously, there has to be a better way. Somewhere between the old-fashioned way of doing things and Craigslist.org, employment has been completely bastardized. For example, simply wading in the pool of online job searches, one is bombarded with requests to donate an egg, work from home doing nothing and making thousands, or canvassing on the street (which I consider one of the worst jobs in the developed world) asking people if "you've got 30 seconds to help a starving child." You answer, as you briskly walk by, "Sorry." Sorry, I don't have even 15 seconds for a starving child. ugh.

There are people sitting at home (besides me), highly capable of doing virtually any assignment, contributing insight and compassion to the world's problems, unable to do anything because there is no venue for such work. Yet dependent upon the system of work because all of their necessities require them to participate in the monetary system. The saddest part of the whole thing, of moving to yet another city, is that there are no escapes from the system the U.S. has set up. Other countries, seeing our growth and power have followed suit and now, wherever we go, we are either hated because of our President (to simplify matters) or envied because of the false assumption that we possess an inherit wealth due to our nationality. See it's not just Chicago, it's the developed world as a whole and specifically the capitalist system that I have no faith in. I love the city because of it's art, culture, and events, and simultaneously hate it for buying into the same commercialism, greed and elitism that the entire country suffers from. Yet speaking from the rural point of view, of which I was born of, I can say that living outside of the city only creates distrust of the mainstream system, a desire to remain separate, yet be heard, and an ignorance about what it feels like to be a minority. Perhaps the only reason that I can appreciate the city other than its arts scene, is the fact that it sometimes makes me feel like a minority which is something I never would have experienced had I stayed in rural America.

We interrupt this program for an important message

Happy Birthday to my brother! A dedicated existential thinker, global explorer, and self-described Virgo-Libra cusp free spirit! My big brother, my blog-reader-I hope you enjoy your day and year, one year closer to being a grown-up!

New-Age Fireside Chats

I will admit that I went through a period of obsessively listening to NPR. I haven't completely given up on it yet, but I am now a dedicated listener of Democracy Now! I also admit that I am a dedicated liberal, but what I love about Democracy Now! (yes the exclamation point is always, purposely there), is that they are actually unbiased. Listen by clicking here.

Yesterday, we attended the annual Hideout Block Party. I'm still not sure what exactly a block party is, but this one had lots of bands that played between two stages in a huge parking lot next to the actual Hideout, a popular music venue. It was long (9 or 10 hours), so we came in and out of it. It was great to see the (seemingly) hundreds of bikes there, and we got some free tickets for beer. One of my favorite things was seeing "Honeyboy" Edwards, who is now 93 years old-he looked so cool with his all-black Yankees hat (on the same day of their last game in Yankee Stadium, I just realized). I hadn't heard of him before yesterday, but I guess he knew Robert Johnson. Read more about him here. Another favorite was the coconut-curry over brown rice that a nice vendor from Iowa was serving-a nice change-up from hot dogs and barbecue, though we made our way to that stand a few hours later, carefully dodging the eyes of the well-meaning vegetarians. The New Pornographers played with Neko Case, but I was much more interested in Ratatat, who came in from New York. Very theatrical, graphic-y, tech-y band. But, by far, my favorite point in the night was when Jonah and I realized that amidst the hundreds of concert-goers that arrived by nightfall, we happened to be standing by the cutest one, a tiny little chair, that amazingly, was not trampled or even stepped on for the entire show.

Carnies

Passed through the carnival by accident this weekend. I first saw the ferris wheel from a few blocks away and was enamored with romantic feelings and the possibilities of the impossible. Then I got closer and realized it was just the carnival with all of its heavy machinery, polyester filled stuffed animals knock-offs and of course, carnies. My friends and I used to joke about dating one of them each summer as they came and went. Back then, we were so unafraid of strapping ourselves in to whatever contraption they had come up with. Now, it just seems unnatural, and the carnies, well, just guys who choose to work at the carnival, in all its glory, or not.

To make up for lost time and self-obsession, a window into my soul

I haven't written here for a while because I'm having trouble believing that these are my thoughts. I think I am much more dramatic than I think. Having a lot of time to myself has turned me into a bit more of an obsessive than I used to be, if that were even possible. Yet, I find it difficult to do the most simple things. I guess it doesn't matter how busy or bored I am, I still don't want to do the dishes. And I will still aimlessly surf the web looking for instant entertainment. But, somewhere in this past month and a half of living in an entirely new place, I've found a sort of quiet. I've been able to stop and realize my thoughts, and if they are negative, which they tend to be, I can say, "Just stop thinking that." It usually goes away and then comes back, and I have to say it again, but, it's progress... I think that my focus should be to continue saying the same thing. To be consistent, which is something that I have absolutely never been. It just occurred to me that I am writing an awful lot about myself, which is not what I intended as a blogger...oh well. I read somewhere that to be an expert at anything, you have to practice for 10,000 hours. That would be....wait....five and a half years if you practiced 5 hours a day. Practicing whatever you like, that is. I can usually do something for up to an hour a few times a week. I think that this is the dividing line between people who achieve greatness and people who are intelligent and amazing and have a thousand and one interests, but just can't decide. In some bygone era, it used to be enough just to have a family and have enough food to feed that family. Maybe that was before the internet. It was definitely before extreme wealth, and most likely before motion pictures...Had to be, because now, we are in search of instant entertainment, movie stars or celebrities that we compare ourselves to, and a sense of achievement to outdo any achievement already achieved and written about and praised. We even want to be one that praises achievements if we can't achieve our own. The only thing I may ever truly believe is that less is more. The less we have, the more we appreciate. The less we eat, the healthier we become. The less we connect to technology, the more connected to nature, the less we think negative thoughts, the happier we become, and most importantly, the less we consume, the more there is for people who have lived with less than we could ever live with. Sometimes, it seems that everything we know is false and everything we see really is just an illusion.

The real Real World

I think I have officially hit reality, and perhaps the only thing saving me from complete insanity is my somewhat lofty belief that things happen for a reason. Now, I'm trying to put all this in perspective: I just graduated college with a liberal arts degree in Global Studies, not exactly biomedical engineering or graphic design. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE the stuff I have/am studying, but it's not marketable the way other degrees are. I'm trying to remind myself that this is a short period within a long one and some day I will have an actual salary. But hope is in short supply in this world, and I can only stay cooped up in my apartment for so long. I worry about my health now that I don't have health insurance, and about the election now that I realize half of America is f-ing insane and might just vote for McCain. Now I fear I'm starting to sound as neurotic as Woody Allen. I know that I have something to offer, but that doesn't necessarily mean that other people/employers will recognize it. Now I just sound like my college advisor in the days when optimism was oozing out my ears, and she was just trying to keep it from staining her rug. This world, I am realizing, is a rough and tumble place, and I'm not sure that I want to fight and claw my way to some kind of supposed success. I sometimes wish that I could have stayed in Maine, where things were simpler. I could have adopted the downeast accent, taken up clammin', and reconnected with nature. I feel so far from that-and my family-now. What am I searching for?

Another year older (and wiser?)

So, today is my birthday and the first thing I'm happy for is that it isn't as bad as last year. Though it started out that way. My initial reaction to waking up, after tearing myself out of a very involved dream, was, "do I have to go running today?" and then "Oh, it's my birthday. No, I don't have to run." Followed by an intense throbbing from my left forefinger, the one I almost sliced off making sweet potato coins for my first ever grown-up dinner party last night (note: two out of four guests sat on a couch due to lack of table, chairs or matching silverware, which has nothing to do with chairs, but seems like something a grown-up party would have). Anyway, waking up was followed by a mediocre breakfast which I decided to make the best of because a.) it was a new place, worth checking out, and I was with good company and coffee. and b.) because I'm now 24 and done complaining. That pretty much sums my day up so far, um, besides eating a quarter of my delicious vegan (except for the white sugar I used which I heard has something to do with animal bones???) cake with raspberry whipped cream.

Bacon and eggs for breakfast

Today I cracked open an egg with two yolks inside. This has never happened to me, I've never even heard of it happening, but I felt that it was a sign. Last year, I deleted my facebook account on my birthday. I think it was around 1 p.m. and no one had wished me a happy birthday on my wall yet. I took this as a major blow and concluded that I had no friends and no one cared about me. This year, my thoughts couldn't be further from my status on facebook, which I have since rejoined. This year feels different, today feels different. I'm not going to be afraid of an empty wall on facebook, or of people disliking my cooking or the awkward things I say and do. I just want to stop thinking and analyzing all the time about everything. I think it's my perfectionism paired with extreme sensitivity. These two things have contributed to me being an insecure, scared, and unconfident person. I don't want to live like that anymore. Maybe the egg was a sign of an unrealized twin embryo, a person I could have been, and still might be.

I've been doing it wrong all this time!

I had no idea there was a science to rolling sleeves. Makes me wonder what else I don't know. See the article here.

Now I know why tea is really no substitute for coffee. And why jewelry is such a personal thing. Why popsicles are so good and why too much salt is so not. Beer, blogs want to be good. Weddings, usually bad. Neighbors that invoke constant interest, si, muy bueno.

September 01, 2008

It's been a busy few days. Sleep has not been a friend-I've been waking up with the feeling that I just completed an arduous trek into subconscious land, but that I was only beginning to navigate my way.

I'm trying not to write like a blogger, and attempting to find a balance between what simply happens in my life and what I experience that might contribute to a greater understanding of being. Alive.

I'm quite sure that this is a self-imposed turning point for me, also known as a quarter-life crisis. But I think the more I become o.k with that, the easier it will be to come out the other side as a healthier person.

There is so much to do all the time. Like finding a traditional Chicago-style hot dog. In case you don't know, these include: mustard, celery salt, onions, hot peppers, tomato and pickle spear. I'm attempting to upload pictures on a separate page, but haven't figured out how yet. The picture to the left is on Devon St., a lovely little neighborhood composed primarily of people from India and Pakistan. Lunch, though we couldn't tell you what it was, was delicious and I discovered a new found appreciation for chai and candied fennel.

Thinking about my birthday just one week away. Feeling much better than last year at this time. This year I have the ability to discern what I actually like and dislike and I'm going to take the day to celebrate that...

It's 4 p.m. I haven't showered yet, because first, I need to recap my morning

Today, I woke up, ate brownies, thought it was Friday, watched sex and the city, realized it was thursday, cried a lot, got a headache, thought about how much coffee it would take to a. get rid of my headache and b. make me feel like stopping sex and the city and get off of my chair. Answer: two french presses. Then I sat through yet another couple viewing this apt., as they wondered, "Where's the T.V.? Why does all this furniture look like a disjointed sectional?" And thinking to themselves "I didn't think people slept on futons on the floor anymore..." and again, "Where's the T.V.?" I answered their questions by quietly sitting on my chair, typing ferociously (post 2 french presses) and pretending I didn't notice we didn't own a t.v. because my laptop plays DVDs juuuuust fine.

Almost like he knew her

I am new to blogging. Honestly, I think during the first year of my awareness of blogs, I disliked them because of the word 'blog.' It just wasn't appealing to me. I've gotten over that because I'd be worried if a word actually kept me from doing something productive. That's the reason I do it anyway-it is productive for me-the "blogosphere" as it were, is much too saturated for me to think I could influence the casual passerby as they search for meaningful content on the web. But, speaking with my brother today, represented by the image above (because that's how I imagine him and because he is one of two people other than myself who read this) made me think otherwise about the effect of blogs. He revealed to me that he had been reading a woman's blog for years-a woman he had never met, but was nearly the same age, traveled in similar circles and with whom he had actually crossed passed with more than once, but without speaking. This is fascinating, I thought. Then, I checked out the website for myself and realized that the utter honesty of her postings, spanning from ages 18 to 30, is cathardic. I could relate to her thoughts, I even learned a little bit about my own. Maybe it doesn't matter if people even meet and talk anymore-maybe we should just read each other's thoughts. Because, if I actually did meet this person, or any person whose blog I read, could we really communicate in the same way??

Trashing the past

I was cleaning out my desk the other day, amazed that it even needed cleaning after two weeks of existence, and I came across a comment card that was used at my last (waitressing) job. Now, I know as well as anyone else that the "profession" of waiter/waitress is not widely respected perhaps because said waitstaff is known to be a bit crass at times and is in fact, motivated entirely by money. I can attest however that there is a sort of glory to the job. Extreme stress followed by immediate relief and a handful of cash. For this reason I saved the comment card that read, "We Love Ashley," written by a 20-something couple (the hardest to please, as a 20-something myself.) I saved the card as affirmation that I was good at the job and that people liked me. But the other day, I threw it out, closed the garbage lid and walked away. For the next few hours, as I tossed out old mail, banana peels, candy wrappers, etc. I was sure to avoid sinking the proclamation of love I had saved for many months. I held on and then let go, finally, when the need to use my garbage for garbage superceded the desire to make it a shrine to myself. And then it dissapeared.

Just to let you know:

This is perhaps the prettiest 'for sale' sign I have ever seen.

Facebook is killing the rules of engagement

I can't wait until the book about Facebook comes out, stating in the introduction that while we were updating our status and going from 'in a relationship' to 'single' any semblance of real human interaction had completely gone down the tubes.

Thoughts on music:

1. The only reason why Simon & Garfunkel are considered dorky is because of the word 'Garfunkel.'
2. I love Elton John. I mean, wouldn't all women if he liked women.
3. Why don't people talk about 'sledgehammer' anymore? That song is ridiculous. As is this.
4. What really happened to Michael? Seriously.

Tonight, I'm going to watch 'Rear Window'

Because tonight I'm sitting by the window and forget that people can hear me when I spontaneously scream or yell various obscenities (nicely). Tonight, I will only check my email once more and I swear I'm not going to eat another Newman's Own hint of mint cookie-and definitely not an entire row as I once did (because I like to do things whole-heartedly). But back to tonight. Tonight, I will look out my own windows at the lives of my neighbors: the cd collections, the christmas lights of his or her former dorm room and the many televisions, while I still long of having one of my own. But tonight there will be no blue aura emanating from my windows because tonight I'm watching Hitchcock on the small screen [read: my laptop].

I think I'm clever

I spend a lot of time in coffee shops. The things I think there are different from when I am thinking other times of day in other places. I think I am clever. I am writing in a little note book with an ink gel pen and my hair is a little messed up. It's hot out and people are on their lunch breaks. People are always shopping and seem to not have jobs. It's like a wind tunnel in here. I'm fighting to keep my coffee warm. Suddenly I decide to drink it all because I'd rather enjoy hot coffee for 30 seconds instead of finding it cooler than colder after 30 minutes. Everybody wants to talk but it's oh so quiet.

No Direction Home

Since moving to the mid-west from the east coast just a couple of weeks ago, I noticed two things: 1. Streets, neighborhoods, and east/west/north/south directions are easy to comprehend by looking at a map, and 2. I have never been more lost in my life. (Disclaimer: I am a believer in signs, even though my more logical partner in crime {read: bf} is an avid realist. Thus, I tend to keep these things to myself. Related post to follow. There are, seemingly, no hills, no North Star, no geographical indicators of how to find home or anything else for that matter. Everything is numbers and directions. In the heat of mid-day, I want nothing less than to add and subtract the wandering I've done to find my direction home...maybe this is a realist's paradise.

It Is Written

Or is it? My first thought was that these words belonged to a Muslim school of thought, but a quick google search shows that a Christian t.v. show, a jazz forum and countless blogs have adopted the phrase. Apparently, I'm not the only one who thinks it has a certain charm (note: I'm not particularly religious). That aside, I do wonder whether our destinies are predetermined...

Dinghy Dreams

Ok, first things first: Dinghy Dreams. What are they? Well, to begin: I wasn't raised by a sailor, I have never actually been in a dinghy (go figure...), and I don't even like alliteration (okay, that's a lie-I f-ing love it). But, I do love water: from the ocean, the sea, the rain, the river I was raised on, all the way to the Brita filter in my fridge. I also love solitude. Well, solitude in the sense that it's safe, and surrounded by activity (read: the millions of organisms, mammals, and three headed "experiments", that happily thrive in the ocean). Yet, I likewise fear the risk of insanity this accompanies solitude. I've had enough fisherman friends that relie on their bottle of allan's to get through the 12-hour solo shift. But we're not even talking about boating here at all actually. Dinghy dreams is about floating along an ocean of chaos towards the metaphorical shore of destiny...making mental notes along the way...