Obligitory New Year's post: Check

People act like New Year's is such a big deal. They make grand promises to themselves that they don't really have the intention of keeping, they sing songs and kiss strangers, truly loving their neighbors for a few brief moments. But it's just a big sham. We count down the best of the past year: best movies, best songs, best celebrity catfights -- yes, to remember them, but also in preparation of forgetting. Because that's what New Year's is really all about for most people, forgetting. Forget the terrible things that happened, forget our shortcomings, forget our mistakes and hope that a new year will make everything instantly better. If 2010 is over, then everything that happened in 2010 is finished and can no longer come back to bite us in the ass.

Except, if we're prepared to instantly forget and dispose of everything that happened over the course of the year on one night, then what's the point of anything we do (or say we'll do) during the next? All of 2011 will be nothing more than a countdown to December 31, when we can throw confetti and praise our chosen deity that it's finally done with. It's a perplexing cycle, but when you think about the human condition it makes sense. We like to think that things can be changed at the blink of an eye, without any real effort on our own part. It's why people flock like mad to new diets and religions and trends. Anything could be the one thing that fills in all the gaps and makes you whole.

But people, I think, aren't meant to be whole. We all have issues and things we need to work on, and true change takes time and work. Perfect people are fucking boring, and even most of the people you assume to be "perfect" have their own holes (often gaping ones). So don't make resolutions. Don't make silly promises you won't keep - instead, think about how you could work to improve your life and be who and what you want to be, and use the next few days, weeks and months of "nothingness" to actually do something about it.

The problem with the holiday season is how much emphasis is put on this one week out of the entire year. Christmas can be great, don't get me wrong - I love the trees, the lights and (some) of the music. I love seeing people I might not get to other times of the year and exchanging thoughtful gifts and watching movies like Die Hard and The Santa Clause. But it's one week out of the entire year, and as soon as it's over things just snap into this bleakness unparalleled by any other time of year. January is seriously the most awful month out of the entire year, and it doesn't really deserve to be. So I say, this year, try and appreciate January a little bit. Unlike the bustle and hustle of December, January is a time when winter activities can truly be enjoyed. Go sledding, drink some delicious hot chocolate with baby marshmallows and bask in the mellow warmth of the sun if you've got it (while remembering all of us poor souls living in the frozen tundras that won't see that giant ball of fire until April at the earliest).

And appreciate the whole year, as it happens. Don't let everything that happens to you in 2011 just be another thing to try and forget about this time next year. Live in the moment and appreciate that you get to experience the weird miracle that is life for just another day or two. And don't put too much pressure on yourself to miracle grow into someone else -- unless you're an asshole, you're probably pretty cool already.

Switching gears from holiday ranting a bit, I'd like to toss up my own contribution to the plethora of countdowns that plague every blog and website this time of year. I promised Christmas songs and that didn't happen, so instead you get the 7 songs that rocked my world in 2010. Enjoy!

1. Teeth - Lady Gaga



Lady Gaga as a whole rather revolutionized my musical world this year. She's just fabulous, everything pop music should be and I am SO EXCITED to be seeing her with Allison in April! It's going to be mind blowing, I'm sure. Teeth is probably my favourite song she's done so far, and my most-listened to song on iTunes and my ipod. There's just something really, really powerful about it that puts me in an insanely powerful mood when it's playing. I really, really want to make a music video for True Blood to this song because it feels like they were made for one another.

2. Coming To Terms - Carolina Liar



Another huge musical discovery for me this year was Carolina Liar. Last.fm started mixing them into my Something Corporate radio station and I fell in love and bought their entire album on iTunes (something I don't often do, I'm more of a song cherry picker). They've got new material coming out soon, which is ridiculously exciting, and I hope they end up coming nearby on tour because I will so be there. This song is my favourite they've done (#2 on my iTunes, natch) and exemplifies everything that's wonderful about their music. Lead volcalist Chad Wolf has a unique, penetrating voice, and I'm obsessed with their lyrical styling and drummer.

3. King of Wishful Thinking - New Found Glory with Patrick Stump



I have been a gigantic fan of New Found Glory since I was 13 years old and the boy I was head over heels in love with tossed me a mix CD that featured them quite prominently. Alas, our love was never meant to be - he knocked a girl up and moved down south to help her take care of the kid - but my love for NFG has stayed true. I realized a few months ago that I didn't quite own every single album they'd ever made, so I logged into my iTunes account and rectified that and found this cover on their From the Screen to Your Stereo II album. The original song is... well... painfully dull. Not bad (though the video is certifiably awful and perplexing), but just not a song you'd remember past 1990 when it was a hit. NFG's cover, however, is fucking awesome. I actually spent a whole week listening to this song at work every hour or so, that's how great it is. And this is a perfect example of why I love covers, because one band/artist can take a song and turn it around into something entirely new - and often 10x better.

4. Dynamite - Taio Cruz



Something really quite phenomenal has happened the past couple of years in hip hop, and I think this is a song that exemplifies it pretty well. I love this song. If I'm in a bad mood, this song will instantly lift me out and I will also on occasion begin to dance (usually a Very Bad Thing). Terrell also loves it, and we've spent many car rides blasting this and acting like giddy idiots because it makes us THAT happy. So much of the music on the pop stations this year focused on happiness, living in the moment, people just being wonderful and good how they were. And I loved that, I think it's just what everyone needed (especially me).

5. Dark Blue - Jack's Mannequin



I talk about Jack's Mannequin way too fucking much on this blog, but I'm not sorry because they are amazing. This song had to be on this list because I listened to it nonstop for almost five months while I put together my senior video project in my head. This was my mantra, I heard those opening piano notes in my sleep and while I walked to and from class. Dark Blue speaks to all of the craziness of 2010 - the intensity of finishing college, finding a job and transferring myself to an entire new sort of life.

6. Graduate - Third Eye Blind



I couldn't not include this one, because like #5 this song was on repeat for almost half the year. And it's weird, because now I can't really bring myself to listen to it. I always hit skip on my iPod, and I think that maybe I built graduation up so much in my head that anything relating to it is just finished in my mind. College is over, I graduated and now all that's left ahead of me is the wide expanse of Life. Terrifying.

7. Young Forever - Jay-Z and Mr. Hudson



Let me come right out and say it: Jay-Z is incredible. An incredible artist, an insanely talented lyricist and a really cool guy. I'm still getting into a lot of his other music, but this song zapped me through the heart and that's why I had to put it on this list. Just do yourself a favor, even if you skipped every other video on this list, watch this one and listen to the lyrics. You'll be thankful you did.

May the best of your todays be the worst of your tomorrows.

Happy New Year, y'all :)   I'm gonna go get my drink on!

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Some thoughts:

• If you have a cat and would like to freak him or her out a lot, put on a workout DVD (and, y'know... work out). It helps if every occupant in the home participates at once, that way the feline becomes further agitated and confused. Just don't kick it - they don't like that.

• Snow is great. Snow is fun. Continuous snow for four+ days is.... pretty fucking awesome (albeit mildly annoying).
  

Monday morning

Tuesday morning

Wednesday morning (remember the bike from Monday?)

 

• Holidays spent away from my family are in no way as crazy or fun, but they are ridiculously less stressful. I spent four glorious days in Massachusetts with Terrell and his family for Thanksgiving, and it was heavenly. Delicious food (oh god, stuffing muffins... what has been tasted cannot be forgotten!), ridiculous SciFy movies involving evil bees, and a little too much money spent on Friday shopping (especially since none of it could be excused as necessary gift shopping). 

Respect the pumpkin turkey.

•  I think it's time for a new hair colour. Not that I don't like being.. whatever this is. But I think winter time deserves something else. I tried red last year but didn't really keep up with it long enough. Idk...

Roughly a year ago, I tried to become a leprechaun.

I feel like other people liked it more than I did. But blonde feels too summery, and without the sun to help keep the colour going I fear it'll just go flat really fast. Allison and Rachel will be visiting in the next few weeks, so if I'm gonna do it I'll probably wait until then so I can rope one of them into helping :D

• Christmas music has an incredibly short shelf life. I'm already sick of everything I have and it's only been about a week. -sigh- Still, there's one Christmas song I'll never tire of:

I'm probably going to make a post soon with my top ten (or five or... seven, whatever) favourite Christmas/winter holiday songs. It's a nice thing to do, and I like doing nice things. But until then, enjoy the stunning beauty that is Vienna Teng.

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On the eve of my 23rd year, I blogged. And it was a good blog. Amen!

Sometimes I feel like I live in a significantly more boring version of The Truman Show. I'm sure everyone gets the kind of strange notion that things are being orchestrated by a man behind the curtain. The man behind my curtain apparently has it out for me. Case in point:

Two weeks(ish) ago, I booked a flight (for tomorrow) to Ohio to see my family and watch my younger brother in his first high school musical. Flying was actually a bit cheaper and so much quicker and simpler than taking a bus or train, so it makes the most sense. However, my nerves about the whole ordeal have only increased substantially as the time draws nearer. I am a classic neurotic when it comes to anything beyond my control, especially travel: buses, planes, trains, cars - I imagine the worst possible fiery death at the hands (gears?) of each before and during the time of transport.

It only makes sense, then, that the headlines I've been seeing plastered prominently all over my iGoogle news apps read like my worst nightmares:

Bombs!

Explosions!

Fatal crashes!

Oh, look. More exploding engines!

And then... whatever this is.


I know the statistics are with me, not against me. But I can't help but feel slightly panicked that the one time things go wrong, it'll be when I'm around. Fortunately, this will be my first time flying over the age of 21 and drinks may be able to *ahem* smooth the edges of some of my fears.

Hopefully by this time tomorrow, I will be close to touching down in Columbus, Ohio and ready to start a fun-filled midwestern weekend. (Can I just say HELL YES for not having to fly back? Thankfully, my mom still lives in Buffalo and we'll be driving back on Sunday together.)

I should probably acknowledge that it is currently my birthday (for another hour and a half at least). And what a lovely day it has been :) I was afraid that my first birthday as a Real Adult would be boring and uneventful. It only makes sense that as you get older and the milestones become fewer and far between, birthdays being to blend together and lose their touch. Turning 23 really isn't anything huge as far as lifetime achievements go.

But it was actually very nice. I redeemed my free drink at Starbucks a mere 5 hours after I dropped $8 for breakfast there (I know, I know - I have a problem). My coworkers gave me a fantastic card. My mommy and my grandparents called. And then after work, I went out to the sweetest little dessert and wine bar for dinner, drinks and (obviously) dessert with some of my coworkers and a few other friends. It was magical and very... adult. And I liked it.



I could make an attempt right now to say something philosophical about turning older or having a birthday, but as I barely managed to spell that word properly because of how utterly exhausted I am... this is pretty much gonna be it.

Happy birthday to me, I live in a tree, I look like a reptile and I smell like the sea. Bravo!

*snore*

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Memories, like bullets, they fired at me from a gun

Things that are true:

• Harry Potter 7 releases in less than a month and I am beyond psyched.


• Without fail, the more you anticipate something (such as a turkey and bacon melt) as wonderful, the more disappointing it'll be. Stupid soggy disgusting mess.


• Adult life requires the hanging up of several cherished youth habits - such as staying up until midnight every night - for the sole sake of your health and well-being. I think the useless zombie I turned into yesterday after a mere 3.1555 hours the night before has finally cured me of the notion that pulling all-nighters for the hell of it is functionally acceptable anymore.


• In 15 days, I will turn 23.

At first, I was going to write about how boring this birthday will be because it won't really mean anything or cross any milestones. But then I thought about how much my life has changed in the past year, and I realized something. While turning 23 won't actually mean much, it should still be celebrated for the singular fact that I almost didn't make it to this birthday.

A little over a year ago, I was in the hospital with multiple blood clots in my lungs. I've spent a lot of time mentally downplaying it to cope, but that's actually fucking frightening by itself. I spent the next month and a half of recovery battling the flu, including the much-hyped H1N1 virus, three times. For 9 months, I ingested varying amounts of rat poison every day to keep more clots from forming and made a weekly trip to the clinic so they could extract my blood. It got to the point where scar tissue built up in the crook of my right arm from having so many needles stuck into it.

Despite all of that, I didn't even remember until three days later when the one-year anniversary came around because I was too busy living.

Over the last year, I have fallen head-over-heels in love with Jack's Mannequin. I was already a huge Something Corporate fan, dating back to my early high school years. But Jack's Mannequin has managed to parallel my life during this time period in that magic way that a musician's catalog can every once in a while. I am still kicking myself for missing their show at SU a couple of years ago - inexcusable.

Their second album, The Glass Passenger, was written during/after frontman Andrew McMahon's (successful) battle with leukemia. The lyrics are rife with the fear, doubt, happiness, confusion, and myriad of other emotions that come from dealing with something as huge as fighting for your life and coming out on the other side okay. And hope.

"The Resolution" is my go-to song these days whenever I start feeling down because it reminds me why I shouldn't be: I'm alive, I survived.


(The video, apparently written/co-directed by Stephenie Meyer, is sadly too terrible to post - but here's a fantastic live acoustic version.)

The first three lines, especially, have been my mantra the past couple of months since I received the "all clear" from the pulmonologist.

And when I need to be down, or can't lift myself out of it, I have "Hammers and Strings (A Lullaby)".



To the sleepless, this is my reply: I will write you a lullaby.

Thank god for people like Andrew, who can take their amazing talent and turn a personal nightmare outward to expose it to the light so people like me can have a way to articulate and work through our own nightmares - to cope. Or, at the very least, feel comforted knowing someone else has been there.

I mostly feel like my experience last year wasn't as big of a deal as it might sound. After all, I didn't really feel sick - if it wasn't for strange, recurrent chest pain I never would've gone to the ER because I honestly just thought I was dealing with a minor chest infection. I felt slow and stupid having to take the medical transport to class, and foolish asking for extensions on my work. What I went through certainly was no lukemia treatment.

But it was something that has majorly effected the way I approach life (and death, to some extent). I still fear the unknown that might lurk around the next corner - what time bomb might currently reside in my body, waiting to explode when I least expect it? But for the most part, those fears are quelled daily by the one short, beautiful life I have to live. I'm certainly going to try and live it as well and as much as I possibly can.

I swim for brighter days despite the absence of sun...

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I think I'll try defying gravity (oh, wait - I do that daily. Silly lack of balance!)

I always promise to make regular blog updates and completely fail to keep my word. In case you wondered what I've been doing with all this time, here's a pictorial essay:

I met monsters and a very wonderful giraffe at the New York State Fair.
Love & hugs at the Westcott Community Cultuarl Festival.
New haircut! And lots of time dressing up at the office.
Last downtown farmers' market until the spring :(
Homemade maple cinnamon donuts and Indian food = super delicious.


Because I spend an obnoxious amount of my week sitting at a computer with nothing to keep me entertained between fishing lures and hunting knives but my ipod, I have been devouring an equally obnoxious amount of music. My cute little red 4gb ipod nano has served me for four wonderful years, working perfectly up until a few months ago when it started in with poltergeist-like flash forwarding through my entire collection and flickering the backlight. However well it was working, the truth of the matter is that 4gb does not hold up when you have a steadily growing 20.31gb music collection.

So, last Saturday I purchased a shiny new 32gb ipod touch. And I am officially in love -- not only with how beautiful and fun and technologically gratuitous it is, but how much of my previously unlistened to music I have been able to experience now that I can have it all with me at one time. The biggest problem with having (less than) 4gb of space was that it forced me to pick and choose. So, of course, I would load it up with all of my favourites or music for a certain activity: workout playlist, classical for a train ride, etc. And all that great stuff that came along with the album I bought for one specific song went unlistened to.

Until now.

And because of this, I have a couple of new favourites. The two most recent additions to my list are:

Runaway by The National


The first time I heard this song, I was walking back to my office through rainy mist. It was such a perfect setting for the slow, dark intensity that the song maintains. The National is a band I really stumbled upon by accident last year, but they're quickly becoming one of my favourites. The lead singer has a gorgeous baritone voice that is so unlike anything I've heard before. And they are just as fantastic live as in the studio, as this video proves:



I'll probably reduce a couple of people to shock with number two:

Defying Gravity from the Wicked soundtrack


I read the Wicked books ages ago, but never paid much attention to the musical until my friend Allison started talking about how amazing it was. I borrowed her copy of the soundtrack, but didn't listen to any of it until my ipod started throwing it in with my Rent genius playlists.

And oh. my. god. Idina Menzel's voice is so incredibly gorgeous it almost makes me want to cry. Out of the entire soundtrack, this song is the one I find myself repeating most. It gives me goosebumps, especially the second repeat of the chorus. I want to marry her voice. I want to bottle it up and distribute it around the world -- screw buying everyone a Coke, I'm pretty damn sure something that beautiful just might bring about world peace.

So, thank god for my new ipod (which I have decided to name Glorious Sunshiney Love. Because I can.) and the musical enlightenment it has brought me.

I don't promise insanely frequent updates, but I have a couple of recipe posts planned (peanut butter kisses and Amish friendship bread, a la Allison) and will most likely continue to shove my musical tastes down the interwebs' throat.

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Long Relationship is Long (aka, Happy 3rd Anniversary!)

So, my three-year anniversary with Terrell (my boyfriend, for you slow readers out there) is September 3rd - today! Well, okay, technically it's tomorrow, but we didn't realize that until after celebrating our second anniversary on the 3rd. And besides, what really matters is that we're together at all, considering everything we went through beforehand (and everything that's happened after).

We met on August 24, 2006 - I know this because it was the day I moved into my dorm room as a freshman in college. We lived on the same floor, he in one wing and I in the other. Our college experience in general was rather different from the norm, being that a good majority of the people who lived on our floor that year became good friends (and remain so today). I developed a crush on Terrell a little bit after Thanksgiving, when both my mom and best friend from home pointed out that he was cute and I should go after him. That crush was harbored in secret until around February, when it became obvious to (at least) my roommate.

After discussing it with her at length, I did something rather uncharacteristic of me. I approached him one night in the floor lounge as he was reading and told him straight up that I liked him. This, of course, was something I had never done before. He said he already figured as much, we hugged, and that was the beginning of several long and torturous months of the most retarded game of cat and mouse in the history of ever. I continued to pursue him, he continued to evade me, we continued to annoy the living crap out of anyone who spent more than 5 minutes with us. You ever play "tickle fight" with someone just to get a chance to touch them? Yeah, that was us. Every. Day. I finally cornered him one night not long before spring break and asked him how he felt and he uttered the single most idiotic phrase in the history of stupid boy phrases:

"I like you, but not enough to date you." Upon reading this part, he protested "In my defense, I was trying to be nice. I was!" Cue me punching him.

So, that went about as well as you can imagine (read: me, in a stairwell crying my eyes out and babbling incoherently to my mother over the phone). I tried one more time to get him to admit his obvious feelings for me, and then gave up. Sort of. After moving back home for the summer, we began a daily ritual of talking online for hours. Because neither of us had anything better to do and I am a complete insomniac without a rigid schedule, we would often stay up all night talking to each other and "watch" the sun rise together (yeah, I am totally aware of how ridiculously cheesy that sounds). Around July, I realized that I was kind of in love with him. Considering he is the only person I have loved in my life, that's a rather presumptuous statement to make. But looking back, I know it's pretty much true. Something certainly changed between us during the course of that summer.

When we returned to school, once more living on the same floor (in case anyone's wondering, it was a themed living community that we all signed up for to be able to live together again). And it was so, so painfully obvious how much he liked me. Before, I had a small blip of doubt in the back of my mind. But he hung all over me like... something that hangs onto something else, and around Labor Day I was fed up with it. After spending two hours in the common room leaning as close together as possible and playing "handsy" during Back to the Future on September 3, I ranted to my roommate that I was going to confront him the next day and either force it out of him or tell him to back off and let me move on.

I was interrupted by the sound of an IM from my computer. It was from Terrell, and said, "Come hither."

(Yes, we are very special people.)

I walked down to his room, and listened as he finally confessed what I and everyone else in the tri-state area already knew: he had feelings for me. Cue a chorus of "awwwww". We talked for a while then hugged for a longer while, as his roommate, Allison, and her roommate listened through the door. Creepers. And that was pretty much that. Well, okay, it wasn't until two days later that he let me make it official on Facebook. And then it took another day for us to kiss for the first time (but hey, it was his first so it was probably worth the wait). The night we put it on Facebook, I am told no fewer than five different people exclaimed, "Finally!"

Finally, indeed. And now, here we are, three years later. There have been good times, there have been bad times, and there have been many strange and dorktastic times. Before Terrell, I never imagined myself being in a long-term relationship at this age. I never really imagined myself in any relationship at all, to be perfectly honest. But I am, and it really is quite wonderful. I never really thought I could be with someone and remain completely true to myself. I spend an awful lot of my time hiding the parts of my personality I think people won't want to see, and end up feeling rather compartmentalized. Only three people exist in this world who have seen every part of me, and miraculously they still love me for it. (Which should probably teach me a lesson about just being myself no matter what, but that's not what this post is for or about, so let's move on...) Terrell is the one person who always makes me feel 100% like myself. I can't even try to hide from him - somehow, he can always see me.

So, Terrell: for all the weird times, the good times, the hugs, the kisses, the Mario Kart games, the amazing meals, the countless shoulders to cry on and rides to and from places, and especially the laughs over the past three years, I say thank you. Thanks for always being there for me, and thanks for helping me to be all the parts of me, good and bad. Happy anniversary -- let's try not to kill each other between now and next year so we can have another one.

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My relationship is doomed.

See? Can't even take a cute picture!

While he was visiting his family in Massachusetts last week, my boyfriend's aunt told him that we should probably break up. Her reasoning? We are each so clumsy that one of us is likely to inadvertently kill the other in the future. Sadly, she is probably correct.

I am a walking disaster. I have fallen down the stairs at least four times in the past four years. I routinely lose my balance while standing on perfectly flat surfaces, and regularly trip over nothing. I drop things, break things, run into things, step on things, slip on things, etc. Probably once a week or more, I roll over and almost fall out of bed. Terrell usually rescues me, grabbing hold of one of my desperately flailing arms to pull me back over the edge and into safety. But sometimes he's not there, and let me tell you: hardwood floor hurts when you fall on it. I don't dare roller skate, ice skate, or do pretty much anything that involves using balance because I have none. It's basically a miracle that I haven't broken every single one of my bones yet (or even one of them... *shifty eyes*).

Terrell isn't nearly as bad, but he has his moments. Clumsiness, mostly. He's good at the whole balance thing because of his martial arts training growing up. But he has this tendency to, well... injure me. It sounds horrible, but I promise you, it has never been intentional. He just seems to aim his mishaps in my direction.

I've been burned three times in my life. Two of those times were caused by Terrell lifting a hot pan off the stove while cooking and accidentally touching it to my arm. The first time was him being stupid, but the second happened in our new apartment while I was doing dishes and he was cooking. Tiny kitchen sink + tiny stove = disaster waiting to happen. Especially when you are us.

He also has a rather bad habit of smacking me in the face. This usually happens when we're in bed, he'll roll over or move his arm and my face will be in the way. Monday night, our first time seeing each other in two weeks, I leaned over to kiss him and his elbow connected with my jaw. Of course. The other time it frequently happens is during intimate times. I'll just let you use your imagination there. Fortunately, I don't bruise easily and I am finally off coumadin so his general lack of limb control won't cause my coworkers to peg me as a battered woman.

We do watch out for each other, though. He has to watch out for me a bit more, of course, because I am more than lacking in the motor functions department. But I worry slightly about the potential for one of us to cause great, accidental, stupid harm to the other if we continue down this path. And what if we have children? Hopefully they would inherit his motor skills vs. mine, or at least his ability to stand upright for more than a few minutes without falling over... but who knows. They could end up a bunch of wobbly freaks with spastic arms who can't be trusted in any room not lined with pillows.

I guess time (and genetics) will tell.

And also the whole "let's get married and/or have kids for serious this time" discussion.

And probably the whole managing to get pregnant thing. Because it's likely I am actually infertile after all, making the whole birth-control-almost-killing-me ordeal last year a worthless endeavor. Though I have no solid proof of this, it's one of those things that sits in the back of my mind, occasionally ringing the bell at the front desk and making that impatient clearing-the-throat noise. Because wouldn't it just figure that I'd spend so much time trying not to become with child only to find out when I want to that I can't.

I guess that's probably a fear many women have. Especially those of us who watched Sex and the City episodes where Charlotte discovers her infertility.

Anyway, I have veered way off track. I suppose as long as we continue to have conversations like this one from earlier tonight, we'll be okay:

Terrell: Just so you know, I'm putting the mandolin blade in the drying rack, so...

Me: So, don't go near the sink?

Terrell: I was gonna say 'be careful', but knowing you I think 'don't go near the sink' is the better choice.

And no, I haven't gone near the sink.

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I'm a real girl adult, now!

This past week, I made a somewhat (personally) earth-shattering discovery: it is possible to be happy after college. Not only is it possible to be happy, it is possible to be perhaps happier than ever before. I "survived" my first week as a copywriter, and now that I finally have the time to sit down and write about it I am making this long-overdue post.

Gorgeous downtown Syracuse architecture.

Monday morning was much like the first day of school. I had spent an hour the night before getting my clothes and lunch ready, packing my bag and not getting to bed at a decent time (though I totally planned to). My alarm went off at the excruciatingly early 6:00AM, a time I will probably be frighteningly familiar with in a month. I showered, dressed, ate a hasty breakfast, put my makeup on. By 7:10, I was standing outside waiting for the bus feeling about as nervous as I did the day I started high school seven years ago.

As I walked through the doors of my new building, I pondered over the same things fourteen-year-old me did: Will I make any friends? Where will I sit at lunch? Will I like my classes? Okay, change "classes" to "work" and you get the general picture. The building I work in was built in 1897 and has a gorgeous lobby with double staircases sweeping up either side to the first floor. The elevators are ancient, wobbly and horrifyingly slow.

Of course I take them instead of the stairs, because ultimately my laziness trumps my fear of elevator death. Though on Wednesday one of my coworkers showed me that she stops on the second floor to walk down one of the grand lobby staircases, something I'll probably start doing myself. They make me feel like I should be wearing a ball gown and heading to the opera or something similar.

In his Kill the Messenger tour, Chris Rock says the difference between a job and a career can be boiled down to the amount of time you get for lunch. And I would have to say I totally agree. Working at Claire's (I suppose I can reveal this now, since I am no longer employed), I would be on my feet selling things and straightening things for eight hours at a time and receive a measly 30 minutes to eat something and try to relax. Didn't happen.

By the time you put on your jacket, walk around the corner, go to the sandwich spot, order a sandwich, wait for them to make it, then get on another line to pay for it, 28 minutes have passed. Now you rushing back to work, you're eating your sandwich, you're spilling beer down your shirt. And when you get in, your boss got the nerve to go, "hey, man, you're eight minutes late."

"Fuck YOU!"

Do you realize even criminals in jail get a hour lunch break? Like, can I at least eat like a murderer? I bet if you shot your ass, I could finish this sandwich.

At my new job, not only do I get to eat like a murderer, I have time to eat and then spend 30-40 minutes doing whatever I want. And I can do this whenever I want, which is the most brilliant thing. For a good majority of your life, especially growing up, people constantly tell you when you can eat and for how long. At home, you eat when your parents decide. At school, you eat during your assigned lunch period. Doesn't matter if the cafeteria isn't equipped to handle long lines and you have barely five minutes left by the time you sit down. When that bell rings, you better get up and get out. Granted, in college nobody gave a fuck when I ate or if I did. But my job at food services and my job after college at Claire's, they made damn sure I stuck within that 15 or 30 minute time limit. But not anymore.

Shops in charming Hanover Square.

The location of my office is right in the heart of downtown Syracuse, NY. Despite spending the last four years of my life here, I am rather ashamed to admit that I haven't really gotten to know much of the city beyond the SU campus and its surrounding areas. Of course, I've been downtown - but only to go to one specific place, and always with a general sense of "oh crap, I'm lost". What I have realized in the last week is that Syracuse is quite an extraordinary city, full of nice little parks and gorgeous architecture. I know this city has a lot of history, and I think it would be really fun to use this opportunity to actually discover the places around me.

Because that's how I roll: full nerd. Speaking of nerd, this week I also discovered just how much of one I can be outside of school. Copywriting, it turns out, is largely based on writing skill, grammar skill, and a smidge of marketing. At least, the kind of copywriting I'm doing now. And I can honestly say I have loved every minute of it. There is something simply thrilling about using every brain cell you have to get work done. In a way, it feels to me like spending every day doing exercises in one of my old Language Arts books. And I was the type of kid who did the evens AND the odds, even though the teacher only assigned half. Heck, I have fond memories of our sentence diagramming unit in 8th grade English.

So I guess it makes sense, for now at least, that this is what I'm doing. I don't think it's what I will want to do forever, but I love the opportunity to get a chance to learn and explore something completely new (and yet so familiar), all while getting paid and actually enjoying every day. That, to me, is the most amazing thing: I get to be happy.

I am writing this during my last couple hours of independence. Monday will be two weeks since Terrell left me, though it feels longer considering how much has happened. Though the first week was, as I guessed in my entry on being alone, quite difficult I not only made it through but kind of started to enjoy being on my own. I can go to bed with all the lights off in the apartment now and not fear lurking homicidal maniacs. I can wake up on time at ungodly hours of the morning and get myself to work -- though I did learn a lesson on Tuesday not to try to sleep in and take the 8:03 bus because it likely will arrive at 8:15 instead, thus making me late to work. I can be an independent woman.

But I am deliriously happy that Terrell will be returning to me on Monday. In the meantime, I will have my mother's company from later tonight until Monday morning. Her birthday was yesterday, but since we both worked she decided to come today after resting. It should be fun. I plan on making her take me shopping so I can buy some career clothes, and then tomorrow we'll be heading to the renaissance festival as my birthday gift to her.

It would probably behoove me to stop using the computer, take a shower and dress in something other than pajamas and do some cleaning. The apartment is rather messy, mostly because I haven't spent much time in it the last week. More posts and more pictures to come. I got my camera fixed, and will be taking it with me on lunch whenever possible as I explore downtown Syracuse.

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The good, the bad, and the best

Things I am bad at:

Leaving voicemails
I am a nervous talker, and nothing makes me more nervous than trying to talk to silence. Especially on the phone. I hate the phone, as most of my friends can attest to. I don't like calling people, even those I know and feel comfortable with, because it's just too awkward and weird and oh god, what are their facial expressions? I DON'T KNOW BECAUSE I CAN'T SEE THEM!!!!!!

*ahem* Anyway. Voicemails. I attempt to pretend I'm simply speaking to the person I'm leaving the message for, but that rarely works and instead I end up babbling on and laughing like a crazy person.

Making Decisions
I'm good with, say, bagel or croissant but deciding how to handle tough situations and make the right choices gives me hives and an extreme case of the shakes. I usually try to solve this by going to everyone I know plus a few of their grandmothers for advice, then making a nice pie chart or diagram with my options and finally blindly choosing something that seems like the right thing to do from the lot. Usually things work out in the end, but not until there have been tears and much hair-pulling on my part.

Conflict
Some people are able to say whatever they want to whomever they wish whenever they feel it necessary. Some people can speak up when the person behind them at the movie theater is kicking their seat or talking on their phone. Some people are able to call their landlords and demand action or order pizza without writing out an extremely detailed, word-for-word script. I am not any of these people. So, when faced with the need to confront someone I usually spend more time beforehand trying to figure out what to say and how to say it... and more time afterward fantasizing about what I could have said (but didn't). Or I just try to get out of it through any means possible, including hiding under my covers until it goes away.

Anything to do with math, especially counting money
I am hideous at math. No, really, I am. Long division perplexes me, and I usually have to double-check any addition or multiplication on a calculator just to be sure. I can't add things with more than two digits in my head without major difficulty, and I constantly find myself losing track of anything I'm counting. This is bad when part of my job description requires that I count out two drawers of money at least once per shift, if not twice. And being nervous about doing it wrong doesn't really help matters much, which accounts for why I've had to recount at least two-three times almost every closing shift I've had. Arg. Least favourite part EVER.

Which leads me to things I am good at:

Writing
Ever since I was in third grade and my teacher told me that my story about a trip to the zoo to see the (fake) dinosaurs was good enough to make me an author someday, it has been my goal in life to write for a living. Though I leaned toward the creative, fictiony side of the fence for a few years, I soon progressed to journalism, and finally the technical and academic writing I am so fond of. Though I'm certainly not the best writer of all time, or even a fraction of such a person, I am overall pretty good.

I like taking on the label of writer, and I love that the term "writer" can encompass more than just the traditional creative and journalistic efforts most people think of when they hear it. I love that the people who write the employee training manuals for various companies and the people who write the product descriptions for different companies' online catalogs use just as much creativity and technique as someone writing a poem or a novel or a newspaper article. It isn't often appreciated, but where would we be without the people who instruct us how to use our remotes? Pressing random buttons in increasingly desperate frustration, that's where.

And that love has led me to something quite amazing: a new job!

No longer will I have to pretend I am a retail goddess, bravely marking down items and counting registers badly. Instead, I will be joining the corporate world this Monday as a copywriter at a company smack dab in the middle of downtown Syracuse. I am beyond thrilled!

Because it was such late notice, I was rather nervous about telling my manager at the jewelry boutique, "Um, hi, I can't work for you anymore. Byeeee!" I didn't want to completely leave them in the lurch because, hey, they gave me a job when nobody else would. At the same time, no way I'm passing up an opportunity like this to keep working part-time at a mall. Duh!

So after consulting practically every person I know, I called her and left a simply appalling voicemail, really one of my crowning achievements as far as bad voicemails go. She called back, we talked, and all was well. Despite me shaking like a leaf throughout the entire conversation (and for about twenty minutes after--I told you, I'm not good with confrontation of any sort). I'm going to continue working weekends for the next two weeks and then I am out of there.

And so marks the first real job I've ever quit. All in all, I didn't do too poorly. And I have a new adventure to begin on Monday!

This was supposed to be posted yesterday, but when I came home after spending the day browsing some shops with a friend, I ended up on Mint.com for SIX HOURS being super adult and making myself a budget and goals and what have you. By the time I called it quits on that, I was too tired to put together a comprehensive sentence. Oops!

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"alone time" vs Alone Time

I used to think that I was this solitary creature, a girl who liked to be left alone with herself to do whatever she wished without anyone around to say otherwise. I was famous at family gatherings, especially those on my former stepfather's side, for disappearing into a room and only emerging for the necessities (read: food, bathroom, obligatory "My, how you've inexplicably grown and changed since this time last year" talk with the various pseudo relations). I loved when my mom worked nights and my brothers stayed at their dad's house because it made me queen of my own domain--temporarily.

And therein lies the source of my recent revelation that I am actually not solitary. Not one stinkin' bit. I do like the occasional afternoon or day to myself, when the roommates/boyfriend are elsewhere and I can be my natural self without worrying about wearing pants or doing the dishes instead of watching a four-hour Degrassi marathon. It's nice, it's fun. But there is a mighty big difference between "alone time" and Alone Time. I like to have someone to come home to (or to come home to *me*) and share things with. I like talking and laughing and feeling safe from impending zombie attacks.

Because, let's face it: in the event of a major zombie outbreak, I'd be one of the first to go. I'm slow, easily disoriented, and have zero reflexes. And I bet my brains are super tasty.

But the people I've chosen to surround myself with over the past four years are the ones I can imagine would not only survive, but wage an all-out bloodbath of a war on the brain munchers. And I might stand a chance if those people were on my side, protecting me by forcing me to hide silently in a locked room under some blankets while they got things done. I just don't see me standing a chance by myself.

And I don't think there is anything wrong with admitting my weaknesses. I think the smartest thing I could do is be honest with myself about, well, myself. I'm not strong, I'm often prone to falling over randomly when standing completely still and upright, and if last week's failure at shooting arrows into hay bales at the Renaissance Festival is any clue as to how I'd be up against a real foe... let's just say, we shouldn't be giving me any weapons anytime soon. I would probably shoot one of my fellow zombie survival warriors in the kneecap. Or somewhere less bad ass, yet more painful and useless.

So, where was I going with this, exactly? Oh, right.

I don't like being alone.

And yet, a few hours ago I kissed Terrell goodbye and watched him pull out of our building's driveway to head north into New England for a two-week (or longer) visit home with his family. The last time I was here by myself for longer than eight hours was back in May, also a visit home for him. But that time I was jobless and could get away with staying up until 4-6:00AM and my eyes wouldn't stay open any longer every night. Also, he was gone like 4 days.

I should be happy at the prospect of getting to live independently, but I'm just not. I don't exactly worry about my ability to do things for myself (though it'll take some serious effort and coaxing to clean the bathroom like I need to... eugh) or get to work by bus or whatever. But I do worry about my sanity without someone here to talk to and laugh with. I've never been truly Alone, and the thought rather terrifies me. Having only one's self for company brings to immediate and sickeningly clear attention all the faults and fears and worries that can be buried (or eased) with the presence of another person.

Despite the general aimlessness and lack of purpose that I've experienced in the past few months, they've also been some of the happiest and most relaxed in my life. I have truly cried maybe two times all summer. That, for me, is an absolute miracle because I usually cry a LOT. Although I am happy, and I feel happy, I know that deep down inside of me some of that old darkness is still there, lurking, ready to jump out and fuck things up when I least expect it. Maybe I've just been a Joss Whedon fan for too long, but I can't help but feel that every time life gets too good and too happy, something is bound to come along and unsettle things. Like a two-year-old with a snowglobe.

And it isn't as if I have no real basis for this fear. Junior year of college was arguably the best and the happiest, and then in one fell swoop I experienced death, severe health issues, and some serious relationship turmoil. It has been difficult to heal and recover from everything that happened in 2009, but I finally feel like I have--like we have. 2009 was as much my nightmare as Terrell's, and dealing with it all together has made us closer than ever. Our relationship could have broken, maybe even should have by most people's standards, but it didn't. He's the best thing I have going for me right now.

I think, in the end, that's why I am so freaked out by the idea of spending all this time alone and without him. Because I sometimes wonder: when you subtract him, is there anything left that makes me worthwhile? Probably a dangerous sentiment, and probably the exact kind of thing I should not be sharing with the world, but it's something I find myself wondering quite often.

Well, this post turned out to be far more depressing than I had hoped. I should've probably left it at zombies, but oh well. And hopefully by posting this, I haven't alerted the zombie forces that there's a prime target with an extra-tasty brain just ripe for the picking up here in Syracuse... o_o

----------------
Now playing: Lady GaGa - Speechless
via FoxyTunes

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If she weighs the same as a duck, she's made of wood. And therefore... A WITCH!

The biggest challenge for me with having a blog is remembering to post when my life gets busy and interesting. Of course, when things are dull I have ample time to post about how bored I am but that's not going to get me e-famous.

Work has been going swimmingly. I am becoming a retail goddess, selling things at a higher volume than has ever been seen before and crushing my numbers like so many crushable... things. Well, okay, so that's a rather large embellishment. While work has been going fairly well, I am certainly no retail goddess. I'm less clumsy when handling people's change and putting things in bags (except I still cannot for the life of me figure out how to open our stupid plastic bags with one hand because they stick together impossibly and I always end up nearly ripping the thing in half while trying to finagle it open). Also, I suck at counting my drawer and usually have to do it a minimum of twice to get things right.

But otherwise, it's been pretty good. I haven't had anyone yell at me (yet) and I haven't broken anything. I did drop a headband while putting things into a customer's bag, only to find it an hour later on the floor. Oops. I suppose, though, that mistakes are part of the general learning process and eventually I will get the hang of it all and become somewhat retail god-like. Or I'll find something more up my alley to replace it with.

Beyond the realm of selling things for a living, I've been spending time with Terrell and Allison when she's been around for visits. It has been really nice getting to spend time with her and Rachel again the past month or so, but after a couple of weeks from now they'll both be gone for good - one in Maine and the other in L.A. and then it will really sink in that my college era is over. When I think about it, I feel blessed to have lived with the same people for the entire four years of college. During that time, we became best friends--more like sisters--and formed a bond that I can't see being broken by mere distance from one another. Yet I'm still going to miss them!

We journeyed to the Sterling Renaissance Festival on Sunday, which was great fun. It was the "Pirate Invasion" theme weekend, so we saw lots of people in elaborate pirate costumes parading around, including the best Jack Sparrow impersonator I've ever seen. As the three of us crowded around him for a picture, he declared "Ooh, double... er, triple. I can count!"

I had never been to a Renn fair before, and would definitely like to go back again. It made my inner seventh grader weep with joy :D

Cute shop selling emu and ostrich egg art.

Jousting! Mmm, men in armor on gigantic horses thrusting sticks at each other.

Sir William, the evil knight. Booooo!

Sir Robert, the good knight.

What made one evil and the other good, you ask? Well, Robert represented the side of the field we were on and William represented the other side. Ergo, William evil and Robert good. Makes perfect sense! Also, Robert won so good prevailed (:

This dude was the best dressed non-worker there. I finally was able to get a picture of him when he stopped to buy a pretzel from a man in a kilt.

The sheriff (center), his son (left) and the executioner (right).

Before we left, we watched a public execution. I have to say, I was more excited for this than the jousting. That's probably rather telling about my potential to be a bloodthirsty psychopath.

This dude had some of the scariest faces ever. HUGE TEETH!

So, yes, it was a good time indeed. I unfortunately didn't get to buy the wine slushie I wanted, but I had seven samples so it's likely I actually did have the equivalent of one whole one. Hee!

I'm sleepy now. Not good since I've got work from 1:30-10 tonight and it's 11:00... perhaps I should take a nap. Arg. First I need to go to the UPS store and get my camera shipped to Samsung so they can fix whatever's wrong with it. I used Terrell's camera at the fair, hence the poor quality (and significant lack-there-of) of pictures. I want mine baaaack! Then I can post more pictures in this blog, and more pictures = more interesting posts for my lovely readers.

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My cat thinks she's a purse dog.

This is her new favourite place. Terrell was a dear and opened the thing so she could crawl in (thanks, boyfriend, for getting cat hair in the purse I take to work). She tries to do so anyway when I leave it on the bed. Silly thing.

When she's not crawling into my purse, she prefers this shoebox:



(Seriously, though, that's a super great deal. One cat for $9? If you want her gimme a holler and I'll even toss in a free poop scooper!)

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Redesigning, brb.

I'm sick of using a template and am going to spend my time off in the next few days to researching blogger layout designs then finding a template to practice on, then making my own. Should be a fun adventure. I haven't coded anything in a while, so... yeah. But in the meantime, if anyone (and by this I mean Rachel, my one follower) notices sudden influx of crap when checking here... that is why.

On a side note, if anyone with marginal artistic talent does happen to read this, I am looking for someone to draw me a super awesome demon llama to use as a logo of sorts. I would repay you in cookies and/or pimpage for your site or whatever. I would attempt, but my artistic talent is rather non-existent.

Here's an example of what I mean:

Edit:

Despite my general lack of artistic talent, I found a tutorial on how to draw a llama and practiced in paint. I liked what I saw, so I put a ring on it... *ahem* I mean of course that I designed a layout around it. Well, okay, I designed a nifty colour scheme and created a banner in photoshop to go with it. All of the real coding work for this layout can be credited to Our Blog Templates, so give them a round of applause. Super yay for having a pretty customized layout instead of that crap boring template!

The banner feels a little... empty, so I might change that. Will be attempting to add a couple more widgets and fix any mistakes in colouring. Let me know if you notice any issues.

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Can I have a broccoli, spinach, and banana vodka shake to go?

Nine long months after the discovery of several small pulmonary emboli (blood clots) in my lungs last October, I have finally been cleared for takeoff cleared for any remaining issues related to that incident. I began seeing a new doctor at the beginning of the summer who actually talked to me about my progress and he decided it was probably time for me to come off the blood thinners. After a CT scan, two more blood draws, and an appointment at a pulmonologist office this morning I am finally FREE!

Blood thinners come with a lot of diet change requirements. Many foods interact badly with the medication, either making it less effective (in the case of bananas, broccoli, spinach, potatoes, and pretty much anything with too much potassium/vitamin k) or more effective (alcohol). And it's also pretty much glorified rat poison, so to have been taking that every day for almost a year is terrifying indeed. But no more! Of course, I did just refill my prescription yesterday, but it was only $1 so no big deal really.

Though I will admit, it's somewhat scary to know I'll have no protection in place to prevent new clots from forming. They never did really determine what the cause was. We blamed my birth control and a recent train trip, but it wasn't an exact decision. I will have to simply keep working on living healthy, exercising more (!!! I am so bad at this part), and pay attention for any issues in the future. But oh god do I hope there aren't any. I am sick of doctors and blood draws and hospitals and fear.

After my appointment, I wandered up the hill to campus and sat for a while on a bench on the quad reading/writing down ideas for the layout I'd like to try making for this blog. Being on campus makes me ridiculously wistful and almost sad. I still wish I could just go back to college and start all over again. I want classes and assignments and a real purpose for life. I'm sure I wouldn't feel nearly as mopey about the whole thing if I had a job which left me fulfilled, but I just can't help feeling like I somehow went backwards instead of forwards after graduation.

Or maybe it's just a sign that I'm doomed to be a complete nerd for life. Because I actually do miss classes and homework. That's what grad school is for, I suppose, and I'm going to make it my #1 goal to do at least an hour of GRE study every day in August. I have slacked like crazy on that, and if I'm going to attempt to apply to schools this fall I need to take that damn test in September/October.

For now, I'm going to shower and do some epic cleaning because this apartment is HIDEOUS and I am embarrassed for my cat to have to live in such filth.

And I am so going to steal some of Terrell's vodka while I'm at it. Because I can!

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Britain is a hologram

I say weird things. People who know me know this, but since this is a blog and not real life it occurred to me that my readers who don't know me might not know. (Try saying that sixteen times fast!)

This is a conversation Terrell and I had yesterday while driving to Wegmans in a failed attempt to pick up my prescription:

Me: "It's weird seeing people on TV in real life because you can never tell if they really exist or are just holograms."

Terrell: "What?!"

Me: "No, seriously. I am convinced Simon Cowell is a hologram. He's so stiff and robotic."

Terrell: "He's British."

Me: "Maybe Britain is a hologram. Have you ever been there?"

Terrell: "No..."

Me: "Then you don't know for sure!"

And really, you can't know for sure. I know some people might comment saying they've been there, and hey, maybe you have. But there are places you haven't been. What if every place you currently aren't at really is a hologram? You'd never know.

*spooky music*

Ahem.

I think I had a point to this post. But I can't really remember it now. So, I guess I'll leave you with this picture of Katie from Horton Hears a Who. She's a character I feel I can really identify with.

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The Great American Idol Adventure

For some inexplicable reason, my (former) roommates Rachel and Allison and I spent pretty much all of our spring semester this past year watching season 9 of American Idol. I always watch the initial audition episodes because they're hilarious, but haven't actually watched the rest of the show aside from the seasons Taylor Hicks and Carrie Underwood won. It's just too time-consuming. Or so I thought.

And yet every Tuesday/Wednesday night, there we were, in our living room screaming at Tim Urban to grow some talent or GTFO and swooning over Crystal/Casey. Naturally, we decided one of the last things the three of us should do before splitting off to different parts of the country was to go see the AI live concert in Albany. Tickets were bought, schedules were adjusted and the date was set.

Around 3:00PM yesterday, we piled into Allison's car and headed down the road. The weather there was clear and hot. New York State is unbelievably gorgeous, especially the further upstate one travels. To New Yorkers in the City area, "upstate" means anything not in the immediate vicinity of NYC. But the real upstate is the part we drove through to get to Albany and it is full of breathtaking views of hills and valleys and rivers. I am still amused that the majority of people I run into outside of the New York/New England area seem to think that NY State is nothing but miles and miles of city and concrete. For months after I moved to Syracuse, people from high school would ask me how "the city" was and I'd have to explain to them that I wouldn't know--considering it's 5 hours away. New York has far more to offer than that one small area everyone around the world knows and loves, and it's actually a real shame that so many people don't realize that.

Anyway, enough waxing poetic about nature. We arrived at the venue around 5:30 and located the box office to pick up our tickets after parking. Due to a super odd set up, the tour buses were parked right next to the box office and they used that as an entrance for the performers/crew. This resulted in us getting asked rather rudely to leave while we were trying to look at the venue seating map to figure out where our seats were. Once outside, we noticed people were crowding around the fencing that had been set up around the buses. Figuring it might be more fun to stick around and try to get some autographs to sell online cherish and treasure forever and ever than risk getting accosted by someone in a hideous bee costume at the venue's entrance, we stuck around. And it was well worth it, because out came Casey James in all his Texan deliciousness.

We watched him get screamed at and fawned over from a safe distance, then decided if we (meaning I, of course) wanted any kind of contact it would be best to mosey over there. And we did, just in time to watch some woman old enough to be his mother accost him with a picture she'd printed off the internet of him in his HOUSE. She was positively glowing that it had startled him so much, but lady? If the poor man looks like a deer in headlights it's probably because you are creeping him the fuck out. He left after that, to much disappointment and pouting from me.

But then the winner, Lee DeWyze came out, and all was well and good. We ended up on the complete other end of the fencing, smooshed against some horrendous Stage Mom and her daughter who I will forever refer to as Pouty Face. You know those girls who think that walking around with a perpetual pouty face makes them look super hot? Yeahhh. More makeup caked on than a 1980's hooker and a loud-mouthed mother who actually attempted to squeeze me out of my space at the fencing despite like 5 feet of clear space to their right. I was content to bide the time waiting for him to make his way back around by drawing a zombie cat but we realized he probably wouldn't be coming back and headed over.

I got my picture, and then an autograph. As he was signing, I told him kudos for being super talented and he looked at me strange then said I looked familiar.

"Do you follow me on Twitter?" He asked.

"Um, yes. I think I do!" I responded.

Well, that was a lie. I wasn't sure if I did, and you know how in the moment when something is happening, like a pseudo-celebrity saying you look familiar, and you just want to rush to agree or respond or whatever? Yeahhhhh. So, sorry, Lee DeWyze of American Idol. I lied to you. But I follow him now. That makes up for it, right?


Mmm, delicious guitarist posterior.


How sweet.

So, that was fun. He left and it was getting close to show time so we headed in and found our seats. The show itself was rather interesting. Putting ten performers with vastly different styles together in one concert has all the makings of a super train wreck. Long concert was hella LONG! And the audience was the most passive I've ever encountered. Every concert I've ever been to was brimming with audience energy, with the standing and the clapping and the dancing/screaming. This one? Not so much. Not so much at ALL.

Didi Benami performed first and reminded me how much I really, really love her voice. It's so unique. If she ends up releasing an album I will probably buy it. Hopefully she can have some sort of career beyond the Idol stuff. I understand why she was kicked off early based on the show's usual requirements, but I think anywhere else she would have held her own for a lot longer than the 10th spot.

Andrew Garcia did his usual thing covering "Straight Up" and "Sunday Morning". I had to explain to Allison why I was laughing so much when he started the second song: it always reminds me of sophomore year when Terrell and I had just started dating and still lived in the dorms. We both had roommates, so it was rare to get any alone time for *ahem* alone stuff. Sunday mornings were our one time to be together completely uninterrupted because my roommate would go to church really early. Now every time I hear that song it reminds me of sexytime and thus, I lol.

I can't remember the exact order everyone performed in. I know that Tim Urban came out and destroyed two songs I love. It's such an utter travesty that he made it into the top 10 because that boy cannot sing to save his life. He seems like a genuinely nice, friendly person who would probably save puppies from fires and make soup for the homeless and stuff like that, but every time I have to hear him butcher Coldplay and the Goo Goo Dolls I can only think about my desire to physically remove his vocal chords and throw them into a boiling pit of lava. He was so bad that Rachel went out during his set to see if she could win a prize doing pull-ups for the Marines (she won a lanyard).

Katie is an amazing singer, but whoever was in charge of designing the accompanying graphic displays for her set needs to be fired. They went with a comic book theme, which is weird enough for such a normal all-American girl, but then amped it up for her cover of "Fighter" by displaying the lyrics in comic book POW! format for nearly every. single. word. And sounds! "Dah-dah-dah-dah" should never be up for display anywhere unless it's kareoke night. Some examples (sorry for the crap images, my camera decided to completely keel over right as the concert started and I had to use my phone instead):



The designer for Siobhan's set, on the other hand, deserves an award. She shocked the socks off of all the parents and small children in the audience with a cover of "Paint It Black" complimented with dark colour themes and intense strobe light action. It was incredible, and up to that point the most worthwhile part of the show. She's someone I would definitely go see again. Allison is convinced she should go to Broadway and play Elphaba in Wicked (and I'm inclined to agree).

Immediately following was sweet little Aaron and his put-me-to-sleep-why-don't-you country music. Kid will have a future, just not anywhere near my ipod... it was quite a jolting contrast to have him follow directly after Siobhan nearly put us all into epileptic shock with her finale.

And then there was Casey, and all was good and sexy. I turned to Allison at one point and tried to explain my strange infatuation:

Me: "All musicians just ooze sex. It's what they do. Except the hairy ones."

Allison: "And Gwar."

Right, Gwar... while they may indeed ooze something, sex appeal probably isn't it.



(The answer, of course, is awesomeness. And fake blood.)

Crystal and Lee were, of course, incredible. Both would have been deserving of the win, though I'm still semi-surprised after all this time that it was Lee. I guess when you take into account the fan girls it makes sense, but she was such a clear-cut favourite from the start. Oh well, they're both hopefully going to have real careers beyond all of this. After Lee's set finished they did a group sing finale thing and then it was done.

All in all, a fairly nice time. Not the best concert I've ever been to by far, but again I'll cite the difficulty in throwing a group of 10 vastly different performers together for one huge long show. Most people were there for probably one or two people at most, and it's hard to build enthusiasm and excitement from people who don't really care about 2/3 of the show. I do feel rather bad, especially for the earlier performers because the audience enthusiasm was pretty much at zero then, and that has got to get you down somewhat. But hopefully some of them will go on to play venues full of people there to see them and only them.

The whole experience really got me thinking about fame and pop music in general. I grew up in the era of 90's boy band fever and was a gigantic fan of The Backstreet Boys. I remember being so excited and enthusiastic, hopeful that maybe if I could just look into the eyes of one famous person they would see me and I would be touched by fame. The desire for fame and celebrity, either to have it or to be touched by it, is a huge thing in our culture and I think a lot of people simply take it at face value rather than digging deep into the subconscious reasons for it. All of this musing has renewed my interest in doing real actual scholarly research on this topic because at the end of the day it still fascinates me; it always has.

I can remember performing full concerts in my bedroom to Britney and BSB cds, pretending I was in front of a crowd of thousands. I never got into the whole hairbrush as a mic thing, instead I simply pretended one was in my hand. It was tragically embarrassing, and I am so thankful that god didn't invent youtube until I was old enough to know better.

Though I don't want to be famous any more, not by a long shot, I can still feel that undercurrent tingle of wanting to be touched by fame - wanting to be on the inside of things rather than the outside looking wishfully in. This is something I think almost everyone feels at one point or another. It flares up more at times when you actually do brush up against fame, like my thirty seconds of blabbering to Lee about following him on Twitter. In truth, he's not actually any different than me except that he happens to be so good at what he does people follow him and come from miles to see him do it.

I hope in my lifetime to become good enough at what I do that people recognize it. I'd love to have book signings and know people read what I write and maybe even love me for it. But I am realistic enough to realize fame is not something I want nor need. I'm too odd of a person to have every second of my life analyzed. And really, who would want to? Except maybe some kind of documentary maker doing a piece on insanity or really weird people.

Then I'd be the perfect subject.

Anyway... to end this epic concert post, I'll just say that something out there didn't like the fact that we attended the concert. The way home was full of hail, lightning of epic proportions, and crazy rain. But we did make it home, eventually, and there was True Blood and rejoicing the next day.

Which is technically when this post was written. Actually, not really. I wrote it on Monday because I am supremely lazy and forgetful and also, did I mention True Blood? Yeah. Thank blogger for enabling post backdating!

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