Beginnings

A newfound interest in Massechussets.

I felt an earthquake, ate at the Purple Pig - whose tag line is cheese swine and wine- saw the Yankee hotel foxtrot towers, drank yuengling, drove through 5 states, paid numerous tolls, stopped for gas four times, consumed one ice cream cone, applied for four jobs, had one job offer i didnt apply for, and drank more coffee than I'd like to admit.

And that's just the beginning.

She's waiting, for me to smile, she's waiting...

Explicable joy. [written Tuesday]

This has been the best summer ever - and I lead a terribly charmed life.

The weekend was unreal, as in entirely epic, too beautiful for actual words, too incredible to say nothing about. I ran through the pouring rain amid soaked, light reflecting streets, took chances, was so (in)explicably happy, made countless unspoken knowing glances, smiled, didn't overact, had an understanding in my head - in my heart - that everything is going to change and this is the present moment and it is changing while we're in it.

We floated down the river, skipped stones and watched them slip away. Passages of time stood still on birthday island. In one particular, you walked towards me after juggling 4 rocks and we stayed still and smiled. I could hear the sound of the current but there was no motion. You hugged me and it was almost as if both of us knew that nothing at this moment would be as good. I kissed your shoulder and turned to release another stone into the river bend.

He puckers his lips in moments of contemplation, but cannot hold very long - succumbs - and let's out the best smile.  His eyes drift into the distance like mine, and the silences are golden. [I am going to miss him]

Today can only be one thing, and that is great.

I'm sorry.

Minneapolis

One month is not a lot of time.

If I didn't sleep much before, I fear I will sleep even less now. There is so much ground to cover in thirty days.

Without the cat and boyfriend of course - If I didn't know any better, I would say my life resembles The Future. A heightened sense of urgency to let life live. To make something. To do something. To make it all worth while.

It's like I'm tearing off paper rings on a construction paper chain, excited yet not wanting to at the end of each day. That whole bitter-sweet thing really rings true for once.

So many bird references

Its time you spread your wings and fly, little birdy

Learning to fly, one wing, flightless bird. There's a black crow sitting across from me, his wiry legs are crossed he is dangling my keys, he even fakes a toss...

Infiltrating every cavern.

This reoccurring image is apropos, albeit overused. In so many ways I am full of motion, without steady ground, migratory, moving. I am feeling transient.

Before this actually happened I thought it would make me feel crazier, I thought it would be more of a hard adjustment. Perhaps this is the fight or flight reaction of my body, more of an acceptance, knowing that really there is only one way to handle it, and it's up.

Motion

Moving feels something like a death. You want to see them again, be there, but you know that no matter how much you try, you cannot recreate it, that you just have to accept that This is now, this is the future and you just have to move forward.

Closing, opening

I overslept the last night in my bed, paid off my credit card, and am moving back home.

Feelings of adolescent, adult, child.

Moving around. And around

Almost positive I could currently sleep standing up (or sitting down).

The Future

She made my heart soar with hope.

I want the ability to stop time with my brain, push the ocean back into motion with the movement of my arms, with the power of will, and the guidance of the moon.

excitable.

Today is going to be a good day. This went through my head as I locked my front door this morning.

So far today has been a peach day. Today is a peach.

Without realizing it, I had peach yogurt for breakfast, and purchased peach iced tea over break.

Today is indeed a peach.

...
TANGENT TIME
It should be noted that I just wrote one of the most embarrassing e-mails of my life. And I have written hundreds of self-exposing, ridiculous ones in the past. And this time, I wasn't even drunk. Come to think of it, even saying the reason I wrote the e-mail is a bit shameful. Ready? To (essentially) beg (my ex-boyfriend's) [a] blog to give me tickets for a show Sunday night. I'm not entirely sure what is the worst part of this equation. Is it the fact that I cannot afford to fork over $20 to see a band I have loved for over a decade? The fact that I just spent a half hour carefully crafting an essay about just how much I adore a particular record by this band? Or that I just spelled out and e-mailed a fact that my ex-boyfriend already knows, and still abided by the formality of entering for this contest?

Shit is getting real.

In penning that exposing email I realized how coincidental my life is. Certain songs they get so scratched in to our souls.

And then they come back around, like clockwork, and reappear from other sources. I still cannot believe that song is one of your favorites. It entirely makes sense, sure, because it is apropos and sums up the story of your life, but I am not quite sure if you realize it, and if you do, I don't think you should...

[come tomorrow i'll be on my way back home/in the morning call from a roadside telephone / one night doesn't mean the rest of my life...last night everything was right and the rain was gone / one summer night's the only time we've known, so shut your eyes, when you wake up I'll be gone]

And thinking about this band/writing about this band has turned me into a fifteen year old again in 3...2...1...
...

ANYHOW

Today I am a peach. I am so terribly excited to see THE FUTURE tonight. It has been far too long since I have been to the Walker, let alone been this thrilled about an event. Hopefully something entirely strange happens. There is no doubt in my mind it will - nearly every time, every day spent there brought forth something unexpected. Miranda July, give me all you got.

Lucid Dreaming

Notes on Current Existence [Home]

At what point do you know if yogurt is bad? I'm fairly certain that mine has gone sour - but I ate a few spoonfuls for breakfast anyhow. Does it make the pro-biotics more pro-biotic?
...
You were in my dream last night. It has been weeks since I thought about you, really thought about you in a tangible sense, and you sat in the front seat of my car. Took me places and it was as if no space existed between us, we have been together all along.

When I woke up this morning, a wash of satisfaction engrossed me. I could have laid there forever. Mere moments of us sitting together, in my car, in my dream, us walking places, making plans, the initial hello. It was, we were, incredible. And I want that in the here, now. Let us see what August brings, I suppose.

[I wish I could photo document my dreams, if only for this feeling and this moment. It is three-twenty pm and my visions are already fading.]
...
Taking walks rather than sitting at my desk has become my new thing over lunch break. Today I walked around the Abbott campus. I passed the boy on the Bianchi. First he sat eating lunch outside of Manny's and second when he rode back to Abbott. Maybe he knows I have lunch at 12:30 every day, or maybe he too has his break then and wonders the same for me. Maybe people pass us and think, They actually know each other, because of the way we make eye contact. In our timid glance exchanges, I look for a ring every time, it's like this gun-shy twitch I have developed. Perhaps I have been single too long and assume that all the good ones are hitched. He's still not married.

I walk around the parking garage - the only other constant in my route - and hear a jazz band clearly playing outside. This alters the course of my trek. On 10th just past Anderson School, I loop up to the back entrance of the hospital. Bianchi boy passes me and I am pretty sure I blush. My badge is in my bag and I don't want him to think I follow him. Strategic routes. Would wearing my badge make him not think I'm following him? Maybe it is worse if he knows where I work, like I can see and know everything about him. I slow my pace slightly, until I can barely see him enter the doors. Not creepy. Crossing the street a man yells, Hi Gorgeous, and I don't turn to see who it is.

The band plays in the courtyard, just past the bronze statue of the family playing. I think they are naked but I cannot recall. It's been years since I've looked at the statue, like really looked. Something about it conjures up anxiety of being fourteen again, of hearts and scars, and sometimes, you just don't want to think about that anymore.

The woman who wears headphones in the break room and mumbles inaudible sentences does yoga in the park next to the band as I pass. Her hair is fried golden on the edges with two inches clean growth on the top. I wonder what she listens to. She stands under a tree and doesn't mumble when she moves.

Allston, Brookline, Minnesota; Home

Missions accomplished on so many levels.

Boston was more than I could have asked for - everything went off without a hitch, timing was everything, and I did not stop moving. After bar in a realty office listening to the Velvet Underground, a walk in the dark, rides up and down the green line, buses and stations, piers, numerous cups of frozen yogurt. And then I walked past a place that felt like home.

Yesterday was spent fulfilling my statement of Best Summer Ever. Breakfast with Erika and Justin at the ever gluttonous yet nevertheless delish Brueggers followed by coffee, then caravaned to Lino Lakes for swimming, sunning, volleyball, beer and other memorable times. Thank you, Minnesota.

Pairs

Banana bread and earl grey tea
Sun and sunglasses
Dresses and loafers
Baking and silence
Beirut and summertime
Airplanes and mornings
Mornings and green grass

Wants verses Needs; Strange Self-Restraint

What was once my favorite day of the week, has now morphed into a day-long personal challenge - a hunger strike, a fast. What is it about depravity that makes you yearn for something that much more? (Especially when you could, quite easily, have the object in question.) Last week I made it until Thursday before reading the Weekly Review. Today my co-worker chimed in and asked When are you going to cave today? Since when did my favorite moment, bite, simple literary pleasure, become a point of restraint, verging on scandalous contraband?

The whole concept of depravity is something I am not terribly well versed in. Material goods especially.
[But recently I have been in these situations where I am keeping myself from something and I'm not sure why. It has been a long, long time. Depravity as a way of self preservation - it's a funny thing.]

Strange brain battles I have with myself. Perhaps it is my anxiety and everything will settle down when I do in September.

I Can Help You

I could hear reading, see writing forever.

It's so easy to forget how funny people are. There are all of these events, all of these thoughts we have that are not often enough shared with others. For the first time in years, literally, I attended a public reading, and damn if it didn't feel perfect and oh-so-apropos. I started to think a lot about form, about conversations, interactions, thoughts and writing...

Wouldn't it be incredible if everyone you knew wrote a self-help book based off of personal experiences? Giving backbone to the form?

Make a list of things you would include in a self help book. Then make it entirely personal, in your voice as if you were talking with a friend, having drinks and shooting the shit. Tell asinine stories of how you were kicked out of a Walmart in Iowa for drunk and disorderly conduct. Then realize this is a great lesson in Hindsight is Always 20/20, but The Present Moment is Far More Fun. Or Impaired Judgement. Or How to Live Like a Kid again. You can make up your own classifications. Be sure to weave the narrative with the present, all knowing voice of the narrator. (That's you). Give some insight and don't try to be funny. You are funnier when you don't try.

You cannot write some of the things overheard in IT cubefarm land:

"No no no, I changed your password to Hot Dog"

Smells, sensory. We were so close

The smell of toast reminds me of daycare. and of vinyl chairs sticking to the backs of my bare legs. Of seeing dust particles float through the air accented by dusk's rays shining through living room windows. And smelling my mother. Really smelling her, my face pressed into her floral scarf and long wool coat. Nothing had ever felt so good.

In the mornings my dad would burn toast. I would give the unintentional Mom does not burn the toast look and he would reply that He only got burnt toast when he was a kid. He taught me how to scrape toast over the sink in a moment of weakness or sympathy, I'm not sure which. The crumbs would get stuck to my fingertips and I wouldn't brush them off.

Toast also means pre-packaged stale bread. Grandma ate melba toasts and drank more coffee than any stomach should ever have to handle. The smell of toast and coffee, is her, is mini rainbow marshmallows when I was sick as a kid, and is a look, a feeling of Grandma Save Me and she - this stoic woman - would and still does without even knowing.

ditto, et al.

Am I in the movie Groundhogs Day?

Stress knots have formed at the base of my skull. I don't think they are ever going away.

Booked tickets to Boston last night. Aiding/adding to the stress factor. I will be on a jet plane in eight days If only I could be suspended like that
in air
forever.

This all will be worth it eventually.

It is sort of like holding your breath
and not being certain when you can come up for air

a list of wants

How do you make something that isn't real? If it has yet to happen or be created, how do you breathe it life?

Ingenious problem solving or imagination, I guess.

Sometimes it feels like no words are the right words to have said.

I want to see the rain fall from under awnings. I want wet feet and damp hair and a grin I cannot shake.

And then I want patience to see it all through. Because when you know it, you feel it. And when you feel it, it's there.

Brevity

The morning started with my Tupperware exploding, quite literally, out of my hands with a loud pop and my salad flying in slow motion through the air and then swiftly to the ground.

Bling Murray is back after an extended hiatus. And is being worn atop a striped shirt, none the less. Oh the subtle references made in my everyday.

Tentative travel plans for the coming weeks. Here's to hoping that they pan out.

I want to leave you speechless

(speechless)

I'm not sure where, I just know I don't want to

Some days I go nowhere. I've been dreaming quite a bit lately, and I cannot get your face out of my head. In dreams everything is different and then I wake up into Mondays and nowhere happens.

Twist Cone: Achieved.

chance[s]

Apparently I have to write a story about sex. The topic for Vita.mn's annual summer story contest was announced, and it is everyones favorite taboo, faux pas, and pastime. What?

I have this incredible history of Almosts and If Onlys, and I made a vow last summer after seeing a friend's name blissfully printed across the cover of Vita.mn's Summer Story Winner edition, that I too would start writing again. This event was in many ways what got this blog rolling again. And here the contest is, within my reach. Now I seriously have to write again. No more of this funny business.

So back to high school I go. It'll start with a list. The list will be hemmed and hawed over, I will cross out lines, re-write them in various forms, and conjure up the most lustrous events and experiences of my life. I will then stew. Allow these images to ruminate with every bit of my being until I cannot stand it anymore and then I will write three to six hundred words. I'll then tell myself that it is the worst thing ever penned. That some shitty eighteen year old lit kid will write something in a day and knock it outta the park. But then I will let it set. Allow the story to tell itself to me. And then it happens.

My desk is already littered with notes and thoughts.

Yesterday was pretty surreal. Up to the very end, actually. Between the raise, relaxing, going to the show, then even more coincidental happenings (one of these days, I'm really just not going to say anything to you because this is starting to get old, what with the me saying stuff that you apparently "tweeted" or whatever. There is no way all of these happenstance things could keep coming, but they do and it's freaking me out), it was a lot to take in. Serendipity, coincidence and chance or whatever the hell you call yourself, you're a twisted thing, you know that?

In other mischievious, unexplanable things, my little red thunder (two-thousand-two Cavalier) is being a real jerk lately. I'm convinced she's going to die a slow miserable death. If the rust that has some how flourished on the bottom/edges is any indication though, it's going to be a random, sudden attack (which it has been) that is undiagnosable. And she will ail until the day she decides to stop. Just one more fun thing to add to my list of Worry About.

Whoa-ednesday

Businesses are dropping like flies on the stretch of University that is under stupid construction. The latest victim is the lovely restaurant and bakery Cupcake. But don't fret, they are keeping the cupcakes alive with... the ever hip food truck concept? Wait a second. A Cupcake truck? This sounds almost better than the sound of an Ice Cream Truck. I hope they have a bell.

The article made me think about the relocation from a building to a vehicle. Then I had a total oh shit moment and realized, My lease is up soon. And by soon, I mean I don't know exactly when it's up, all I know is I gave my notice, and will be out by either July 14th or July 31st. Regardless, I am not nearly prepared. Parent's house, here I come.

I have so much stuff. So much stuff. And it's a strange feeling not knowing where it is going. Do I just sell it all? It feels incredibly surreal thinking of a month from now and not knowing where I'll be living. I don't think I can articulate this well or enough.

What I do know is that I am going to miss my house terribly. It has become Home. Everything about the space has become second nature and I didn't think I would have that after my first house. And I did. So I will just have to make it again in a new place.

UPDATE
Today is maybe more than I can handle.

One, I found out First Ave was releasing a few tickets to the sold out Iron & Wine show tonight. Tickets: Achieved. So excited.

Two, There has been rumor of me getting a raise at work. In my meeting today, they were still waiting to hear from HR but said they requested "The most possible" for the pay increase. Roughly twenty minutes ago, my boss walked over and told me it had gone through and I got a two dollar and thirty five cent raise. Whoa.

Counting my lucky stars

twosday

Ah, the tenderloin

What a glorious day in literary heaven. The Manohla/AO tag team in the NYTimes makes everything okay. Dan Kois of the magazine opened this week's discourse about Slow films by comparing them to vegetables. While most people prefer other food groups, there are those who adore vegetables, and others who eat them purely out of necessity. A right of passage, for health, perhaps. I started thinking about this analogy and realized just how apropos it is within the lens of cultural criticism. There is much adored that is often attended out of a sense of necessity. But then there are some of us, who could watch the observational lens, hear the static fade forever. I'm more than happy to eat my cultural vegetables, Dan Kois

I found myself reminiscing about something I did in the recent months. In talking about it, I took this very level stance, and rather than turning into some grandiose elaborate story, I quickly noted it was just a fun moment in time. How is it that I am able to encapsulate an experience, something seemingly wonderful and elaborate so subtly? Perhaps my subconscious is grasping reality quicker than I.

Have you ever met somebody that you have countless coincidences with? I have found that we are so strikingly similar. Usually these sorts of occurrences make me look behind myself when I walk, survey the area to see if anyone else is watching, or in my brain. But this time, it's not phasing me for some reason. It's simply making me laugh a short smile of Of Course. Sometimes I want to say nothing at all to avoid a potential sameness. And just when I'm not thinking, it happens again.

Successes

 

One. A weekend spent in and out, with friends and alone. It was everything a time of rest should be. (The food was lovely, the film was great, the market was bustling.)

Two. I stood under a mass of light bulbs, was momentarily illuminated under the St. Paul sky along the riverfront. Wind blew across harp pipes and I oscillated the sound by pressing my fingers up and down the wires.

Three. We are brilliant.

sometimes I write

The lost week. It is now June - a fact that snuck up on me - and I have a lot of ducks to get in a row. Somewhere in the last week I decided a few things. One: It's time to focus. Two: I need to start writing, intellectually or about my craft, again and soon. My brain needs to get back in the game. Three: There are lists upon lists for number three...

So yesterday, in the heart of my June rut of I have to get myself going, I received an e-mail from none other than Ms. Jenny Jones. That woman, I swear, knows to write me when I need it most.

I feel like I can never come up with the right words when I have to. I could write simple one sentence love notes all day long. Here are a few of my blurbs:

[Miranda July] Has the ability to create a sense of normalcy with the most absurd events in life.

She has the gumption and wherewithall to say and do what we are all thinking, what we see and aspire for - and create beautiful depictions of the human condition in the process.

[She] Crafts intricate anecdotes of the everyday through various mediums of performance art, film, text - even writing in marker on her stove - to get her stories told.

Her sense of wide-eyed wonderment of the world is what keeps her work unique, innovative and breath-taking.

She is the artist's artist. Through her projects - such as her collaborative work with Harrell Fletcher Learning to Love You More (a collection of simple assignments put forth for the world to complete) - a myriad of responses and questions arise, as she pushes herself and others to make the most of themselves and surroundings.

I could gush forever.

What ever will I make

The abundance of rhubarb in my life has spurred a new obsession: the quest to make jam. And not just any jam (sugary, fruity, redunant) but incredible, mouth popping, savory-sweet-and-tart jam. I started scouring cookbooks and the internet for recipes and think I stumbled upon The One. Perfect timing, given one of my bosses delivered nearly five pounds of rhubarb to my desk this morning.

The weekend was a hit. The cabin is better than I could have ever dreamed. I fished, sunbathed, ate, and relaxed. I even went to the Outing Senior's plant and bake sale. It was something to behold. The baked goods were questionable at best (the molasses cookies my aunt purchased tasted like overly baking soda'd playdough that not even the chipmunks would eat) and the plants were... sparse. I think I should take over and hold the Outing Young Adults bake sale and show the old people how its done. (Or not really and just continue purchasing terrible baked goods and attempt to feed it to the wildlife).

Get me a fawn

Moon River, wider than a mile, I'm crossing you in style some day. Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker, wherever you're going I'm going your way. Two drifters off to see the world. There's such a lot of world to see. We're after the same rainbow's end-- waiting 'round the bend, my huckleberry friend, Moon River and me

I, too, want a pet fawn. Maybe I will find one at the cabin this weekend.

Rhubarb is in season. The pie and bars I made last night can attest to that. It was the first time I have ever baked without consulting a recipe. And boy did it feel good. Now it is time for round two to modify my instincts.

My indecision has been at an all-time high. Tonight, for instance, I cannot decide if I want to go up north or let the fifteen year old in me out and have a hay day seeing Jimmy Eat World. It really shouldn't be that hard but for some reason it's like the biggest decision I've ever had to make, like my life depends on it.

Last night consisted of some wine, some brie, and some baking. The new Bon Iver record is incredible. I laid in bed and stared at the ceiling. At that moment it was the best sound in the world. And then I slept and was woken at 12:45 and once again lay smiling, watching the shadows on the walls.

[Thug love]

Fantastic images (life)

More often than not, my landlord is a total nut. But occasionally, he comes through, out of nowhere, with something amazing or incredibly generous. Like Christmas of 2009. There was a huge snowstorm and when I went out to my car in the morning, he had plowed around the entire perimeter. Yesterday, he sent me a link with the subject FYI. Turns out it was for 826LA, about a project they did with storytelling and recipes as a way to tell a personal narrative revolving around family. Then I looked into 826... how wonderful. Potentially something to keep on the back burner or horizon...

Images of the future, perhaps daydreams, keep me forward moving. Sometimes I wonder what life would be like without them. Without some sort of goal or ambition - visions of future me. Anticipation eats away at me and continually reminds me I am alive.

Speaking of images, look at these gems I stumbled upon this morning.

(From the top: Akira Kurosawa with Francis Ford Coppola; Debbie Harry with Iggy Pop; Dennis Hopper; Anthony Perkins with Audrey Hepburn)

You can have it all.

people

I hit my wall at 10:45am, and dove in to the Weekly Review. At that moment in time, there were no other alternatives. It made me feel weak - I think that is the earliest I've ever given in.

But how glorious it was!

A woman in Salt Lake City attempted to buy $10 worth of cocaine from an undercover police officer with $2 and an Olive Garden salad, but promised the officer she would return with more money and some Olive Garden gift cards.

That is a real thing that happened. Holy shit. People are really amazing creatures and just when I think I cannot be surprised, people try and buy coke with nonexistent gift cards. Incredible.

art a whirled

Friday I celebrated pho-riday, saw the Bad Plus perform Stravinsky's Rite of Spring, and was in bed at eleven with internet tv and ice cream in tow. Then Saturday and Sunday happened, in a parking lot, with plenty of rain, beer, and music.

I decided (yet again) that I am going to open something - more so accepted the inevitability of it. Restaurant, bakery, coffee... something. I keep getting good ideas. Finally I've had the wherewithal to write them down when they arise. My latest one is pork related. Cooking isn't entirely my thing, but I figure I can hire someone to do it. I'll run it/own it. And maybe bake. Because it's still patent pending I cannot totally give it away, but just think of the pork/park relationship. Madison Square Pork, Central Pork... My favorite one I'll leave for a later time (when I get that shit PATENTED) but really, isn't that great? The bakery idea as of late is Butterdish. I'm pretty in to that one as well. So if you know anyone with deep pockets or the will to open a place, send them my way.

Have ever had a feeling that you couldn't shake but couldn't explain?

I have one of those right now. And it seems like utter lunacy when articulated. 

Sometimes I just want to tell you everything. But then I think of The Bubble, of beginnings. I think of how incredible it feels. And then I tell myself to not over think it. Everything usually works out really well. So this, just like everything, will work out in some way, shape or form.

Trust me. Don't panic.

Weekly Review

Macho Man Randy Savage died in a car accident caused by a heart attack. Rumor has it the world is going to end and the band the Rapture is coming to play their biggest show ever on Saturday, just days after I proclaimed this is going to be the BEST SUMMER EVER. Studies show that sneezing while running on a treadmill will result in mild stumbling and laughter for the following mile. Tuesday marked the arrival and accomplishment of a successfully shipped pie to Omaha. The pie arrived fully intact and the recipient was quoted saying "This pie is the best thing in the world... I don't like it. I LOVE it!"

Thursdays melding into Fridays

I've started to wish on eyelashes again.

I can't read you when I look you straight in the eyes.

Lessons

Do not sneeze on a tread mill.

Life, waiting

Today feels sort of like waiting for Christmas morning or y2k. I can't tell which.

Anticipation is killing me and then I forget about it for brief periods of time.  

I've never been good at waiting. It's not terribly becoming on me. But I do it anyways.

[I just keep having these images of a crumbled up pie, warm from sitting in a box outside all day, and no one retrieving it. ]

missions

I spent my lunch break at the post office.

The guy at the PO asks, Is this perishable? as I hand over my paper bag wrapped box. He then flips it upside down and I squeal. I assure him It is wrapped well, I'm just nervous. Then he asks what it is and I tell him. A pie. How did you wrap it? He asks, Plastic wrap everywhere? And then I explain how it is wrapped and that it is fine but it's my first time sending a pie and it needs to be over-nighted.

So then I don't say why I'm sending this pie, just tell him All that matters is that it gets there tomorrow, condition is not that crucial.

For freshness, I add.

And then he just looks at me and goes You must really love this guy. I blush and don't know what to say because I don't love this person and then a lady chimes in from the line behind me and says, What kind of pie?

Now I'm really blushing and say Rhubarb.

A slight pause occurs and she responds. You will melt any man's heart with that.

Learning to love you more.

Twitterpated. There is a plethora of strange, potentially made up, adjectives that my mother has used my entire life and I consequently have picked up on. When I try to list them, I can't. They're just too good. You have to be there, hear them in context, smile because you know precisely what she means, and then store them in your oddball bank to use at a later time. This will help you become more like your mother, and trust me, this is a good thing.

Seeing the word Twitter in any context reminds me: I know nothing about that alternate dimension. I don't think I ever will. My friend Mark has tried to explain the concept and the benefits to me a handful of times but I still cannot seem to wrap my head around it. Sometimes I wonder what my father feels like when he goes to places like Facebook and enters a whole new world of information. I'm pretty sure what he feels is comparable to what occurs when I think about Twitter. Occasionally I will see the @ or # tags littering blogs or Facebook. That's about as well acquainted as I am. Hello high school football star. I know who you are, you sort of know who I am, but let's face it, we are never going to be friends. Maybe in English class I'll help you write complete sentences.

I started reading Learning to Love You More again yesterday. The two months I went without a smartphone, I stared blankly at my computer to pass the time. Books piled on my desk, but I didn't bother touching them. And then yesterday with my new attention averting device in tow, I reached for my book. I couldn't stop reading. Assignment 51 made me smile and feel hopeful that a person wants to be thrown in the forest and eaten by foxes when they die. It makes life seem... so. It is. It is fleeting and funny and circular and sad, not all at once and not always any of those. I cried when I read Assignment 31: Spend time with a dying person. It made me feel mortal and fleeting yet unstoppable and so full of joy.

I am so full of joy.

Comedy gold

My Iphone died a sad [and disgusting] death a few months ago. After giving up any further resuscitation and not wanting to drop another dime into that beast, I settled for my old nearly indestructible phone. Claiming that I was ecstatic about Not being So connected at all times, I tried to convince myself that I was better off without my [right arm] smart phone. Today ends the battle. I am throwing in the towel.

On the list for this evening: buy iphone [yess, i can barely contain my excitement, and I didn't need that $200 anyways], destroy Crane in cribbage, then go to stand up comedy.

I would say about 0.2% of all stand up is Good Stand up.  Most of it is painful, awful, uncomfortable, and probably not unlike water boarding or other interrogation and/or torture tactics. I mean really, what is worse than bad stand-up. Maybe I'm missing the point - that perhaps bad or should I say Amateur stand up - is a whole other entertainment art in and of itself. Regardless, I think it sucks.

But tonight, I am left with no choice but to watch my friend [who is incredibly funny and amazing] perform at a Working Man's Stand up night. It's a contest and, well, I should probably support him. And plus, if it sucks, I can be That person that heckles constantly and relentlessly...

You turkey: living

Much time has passed, along with a lot of living, since the last post.

Sometimes I don't know what to say to capture a moment. I want to, and I can see it streaming back in my head and oh how lovely it is! but there are no words that come to mind to articulate it. Maybe that is the essence of memory, why it is such a powerful thing.

Upon leaving the homeland yesterday, I noticed a wild turkey with its feathers outstretched. These turkeys are no strangers to the neighborhood, but usually they look like scrawny weird birds - like vultures or turkeys in the form of hairless cats. Apparently it is turkey mating season. I stopped my car in front of the male turkey and rolled down my window. It gobbled at me and puffed out its chest and started towards me. Then in my rear view mirror I saw a female slyly making her way over and decided to get away while my innocent eyes still had a chance. There are certain things you don't need to see and the imagination can do the work without seeing the real thing.

I was told yesterday that Life lines them up and I knock them down. I didn't know what to say to that statement at the time and continued the conversation without really addressing it. Quite clearly it stuck with me. At the time it was said I shrugged it off in disbelief, feeling a stupid sense of pity and that Karma has it out for me lately. But then I disproved that notion and proved the statement true.

I knocked it out of the park. Big time.

I've been following my instincts more lately. And they have been panning out. Really well. I may seem to have nothing figured out right now and seem really sporadic, but truth is I do.

She's waiting...

Moving Hopeful[ly]

Fall I want to love, winter I want to sleep, spring I want to make and summer I want to live.

I broke down my Minnesota year. Love, sleep, make, live. Now it's spring. Make plans, make goods, make words, make allies, make ... love. Had to put it in there. [Smirking at the funny reaction you are having reading this and cringing because I don't really mean it]. Make it in the feeling, make feelings. Make progress. Make anything.

Rhubarb season is upon us. So close I can taste the crisp tartness now...

Last night I had an epiphany about another blog. With a better name, it's going to be Shit I'm Into. Basically like, Today, I can't get enough Earl Grey Tea. And then I talk about it. Or J.Crew just came out with a new blue that is incredible and this is why. Or live Beirut is the best music to listen to in spring in Minneapolis. Or whatever. Less How I Feel and more Shit I Like.

About Today

One Hundred posts will be achieved upon clicking Publish. Sort of a big deal, especially given the majority of entries have been penned, er, typed since I proclaimed I would write in here [nearly] every work day beginning in January. And fittingly enough, I lack anything poignant to say.

Registration for the Minnesota State Fair Creative Activities has opened for 2011. Brainstorming submission possibilities has begun, and the Emmy test kitchen is about to open up shop for the year. Initial plan [as of today] is to enter in eight different categories. That means eight chances of winning a blue ribbon. Yes please.

[Most always] it would be best if you could just join in on what I see and hear. Sort of like how I'd imagine these vast expanses in time moving and swaying and then conjure images in words and film. Sometimes when I'm lucky [someone beats me to the punch and] I can find them captured by someone else.

And with that, I bring to you my current Favorite things. [Just like Oprah without all of the screaming and free stuff and perhaps a bit more whimsy and sincerity.]

I could watch this all forever. Sights and sounds and back again.

You just walked away and I just watched you.

Great life choices brought to you by: me.

How to screw up your ankle: try to run up basement stairs in a foreign house at two in the morning.

How to feel fantastic in the morning: screw up said ankle and go to sleep at three in the morning. This is a really good idea, especially when you have to work at eight in the morning and you forget to set an alarm clock. Thank your lucky stars for your internal clock, it saved your ass this morning.

God help the girl.

short circuits

It's all about the beautiful ice breakers. How quickly I revert back in to a sixteen year old girl at the drop of a hat. And then I step back and say, You're being entirely ridiculous, and Yes, it is fun, but calm down. And then I just smirk and pretend like it's totally cool.

Man, people are feisty today. I don't know what the story is. I've had the weirdest people calling, my co-workers screws are looser than usual and everyone's going nutty. It's as if the customers are in the movie Network and are on the verge of shouting I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it any more. And we just sit back and chuckle. It's a vicious cycle, really.

To add to my giggle fest, I've been reading this all day sprinkled with a little of this for good measure. As if that weren't enough, Satchel Moore found a site with similar dedication to my own love for Bill Murray and I lost it, smiling verging on crying, with utter joy.

Today kind of rules, but not in that Something great is about to or has happened sort of way but in that, This is just another average day and nothing is wrong and everything is just sort of funny kind of way.

In Brevity. Recaps in Life

Yesterday was Tuesday. My favorite part of the week was published. I read it in a record setting five minutes, waiting for nothing but the sheer satisfaction of the written word. And glorious it was.

Tim Burke came through with flying colors [as if he wouldn't have or any doubt existed in my mind] and everything seems to be falling in to place besides one component.

What happens then?

I have been living my life like it is about to end. And it has never felt so good. I've washed my hands finally, after a tedious year, a tedious four years, and this enormous weight has lifted. Anything I have ever wanted to do and more is happening.

And then what. It's like this great cinematic ending. I could not have scripted it better myself. Or perhaps I am. Perhaps I am letting, willing this all to fall in to place perfectly as I have always wanted.

Dear Jim. It's amazing what happens over the course of a year.



Dear Christopher. Thank you for always being right. And for quietly saying Yes You Can.

Songs (in the key of Life)

The notion of Mondays being different than any other day of the week is absurd. The whole Case of the Mondays stigma has always bugged me. Until today. I finally get it. My brain is like a wet noodle. I've gotten the same call multiple times - a call with no one there, just elevator style music playing because clearly the caller put ME on hold before I picked up the phone. This has actually been happening. But I think I like it. The first time I resisted and kept on with Hello's. The second time, however, I answered with my usual greeting, said Hello knowing good and well no one was on the other line and stayed quiet listening for nearly a minute. That phone call bought me a minute of solitude.

Waking up with songs in your head is probably apropos of nothing. Muzzle of Bees has been a prominent one as of late. I don't think these songs relate to any dreams I've had. Perhaps just chalk it up to a nice sound to start my morning. Some of the notable morning starters include: ELO It's a Living Thing, Iron and Wine Walking Far From Home, and Halloween, Alaska's Hot Pink.

What happened. Friday I left work early to have dinner cooked for me and to be drawn by a beautiful friend(s), went for a walk, and ended up at Drink! bar. No need to rub your eyes or re-read the last bit of that sentence, you read correctly. I went to Drink!, one of the places I always swore to never attend. It was(nt) as bad as I thought it would be. Perhaps keeping good company can make any intolerable situation quite lovely.

Inevitable moments (in) Life

I could not see any wrong in you, and you saw none in me.

It's funny, how you know a certain situation is bound to happen. Still, even though you see the boulder rolling down the cliff and you are running continually looking back, it will gain enough momentum to squish you. When it does, it will hit your stomach like a cannonball. You'll feel like you should be the only person in the world who matters at that exact moment in time and everything else should stop.

How could you not have better prepared yourself for these things?

So I guess this means I am becoming a real grown up, dealing with change. I'm trying not to revert back into old habits of ignoring a situation and pretending it does not exist and closing a person out.

It's sort of like tax day. That shit sucks. But, you prepare for it by not waiting until April 15th and everything is hunky dory and providing all is square, you get a chunk of change back. Pay off.

Or like going on a trip. Or moving. You know you will have to pack, so why put it of until the last possible moment or until it's too late and you forget your toothbrush? Payoff, you get a new toothbrush. Or underwear. Or whatever you forgot.

Somewhere there has to be a pay off. to make it worth while some how, some where, to some one.

I knew the day would come and someone else would be seen. But I never actually wanted that day to come. 

Hopefully there still is a payoff waiting in the wings.

The middle, Wednesday, Life

Last time i saw you, I sang to you along the river bank.

There are fleeting moments that you think no one else will remember. And then they do and you don't know what to say.

In flight - life

Every morning I see this woman walking in to work. She looks like a flight attendant - pulls a wheely rolly bag thing behind her that rattles along the pavement and wears a flowing scarf that ties in an effortless bow beneath her collar. I wonder if she knows that she so heavily resembles a flight attendant. Maybe she is or has always aspired to be one. To me it is mildly unnerving. She sports the bleached hair, gold jewelry and ham smile to boot.

When I was younger I wanted to be a flight attendant, but not a hackjob one. I wanted the pill box hat, a matching piece of circular luggage, pencil skirt, blazer, scarf and neatly pinned up hair. I wanted to see the world. And when I say When I was younger, I'm referring from the ages of seventeen until now. This feeling has not gone away.

The yearning to assist passengers in flight was only escalated when I traveled abroad three years ago. In Germany they still wear the traditional attire. KLM, you are one classy airline.

What is it that so attracts me to serving unruly flyers beverages and meals, fetching blankets and quelling nerves? Is it the overwhelming need to help people? Or is it merely a vehicle to not be grounded - to be a freewheelin' nomad with a foot in every city? I've wanted to travel always. Perhaps this is from a fear of settling, of the anonymity it brings, the excite and intrigue. I wonder if this goes away over time.

In the meantime, I daydream about being in flight, moving, going.

Lists [are a large part of my life]

Making a list of Needs is a very strange, very subjective thing. For instance, I am compiling all of the items I Need before August. Hunter rain boots, raincoat, bag, camera. Do I really NEED these things? Probably not. But damn it would be sweet to have shiny new boots, a green slicker from Black Blue and a camera to document said attire.

The Need list is multi-faceted. There are things - tangible objects such as clothes and other goods - that I Need to acquire, as well as things I Need to do, meaning people I want to spend time with and places I would like to go. For some reason I have been failing pretty hard in the friend game lately and have not seen numerous people in far too long. Sure, it is a two-way thing, but whatever, I usually harbor enough Norwegian Lutheran guilt for the entire midwest, so I say it is my fault for the lack of activity and/or communication.

I started reading the book The Right Thing: Conscience, Profit and Personal Responsibility in Today's Business. Oh to read intellectually and ethically driven writing that is well written! Never having cared much for business ethics (or so I thought) I did not think the book would do much for me. But how interesting!

Thursday, Quests and journeys.

Twist update. After working overtime Wednesday, I went to the 24th and Nicollet Mcdonalds. I drove up to the ordering machine screen and asked if they had twist cones. The woman paused, sounded slightly confused, and said they had chocolate and vanilla.

GREAT! I said. Can i get a twist cone?

A lengthy pause and a few noises escaped her mouth. A man's voice came over the blinking speaker and said they did not have them, per se, but could "customize one" for me if I would like.

At this point I couldn't say no. Tuesday night revealed my lack of shame in my quest - as I waited in line, all to be told that the Hennepin/Lake location only served vanilla and quickly stepped out of line and did not purchase anything but did use their facilities. I had previously thought about what I would do if they didn't have them: Leave without buying anything. Save your money for when you accomplish your mission and achieve your goal. But tonight was different. Tonight I was in my car, in a line with other vehicles. Not as easy to escape the potential bad news.

But the customized twist cone?! This brought me to a fundamental and perhaps ethical conundrum.

What is it that I am seeking? What constitutes a classic twist cone? Am I deviating from the purpose of my venture?

I decided I could not say no. And responded with a cheerful Sure.

A worker took my money at the first window. I wondered if he knew what I ordered and if so if he thought I was crazy. He closed the window and I waited there for the car ahead of me to drive off.The manager then peeked his head out of the first window and said in a thick accent, Excuse me beautiful, and handed me the evenly layered "twist" cone he personally made for me. There was a painful silence after I accepted the cone and thanked him. He stayed, staring at me from the open drive-thru window. I didn't know if he wanted me to try it and give a smile of approval. Without thinking I averted my eyes and inched the car forward slightly, so as to not feel any further obligation.  I picked up my fries at the next window and drove home.
 
The not-twisted-twist-cone tasted amazing. If my eyes had not been involved I wouldn't have been able to tell a difference in taste/chocolate-to-vanilla-distribution. The only downfall in the cone was it did not stay together terribly well because it was like the jenga of ice cream, with each layer stacked meticulously on top of the next. But I made it through.
 
Although taste buds were satisfied, my quest was not. This location gets an invalid marking with an honorable mention for creativity and excellent verging on creepy customer service.

Things I have forgotten, life.

Driving down Lake street, I watched a Latino teen aged girl on rollerblades walk her dog. Really, the dog - a weimaraner wearing a white men's polo shirt - was walking her.

Picture that for a moment.

Overcome with sheer shock and awe, I nearly rear-ended the car ahead of me in rush hour traffic. But how could I not look away. You cannot write something that good.

No car accident occurred.

Some images are so striking that you wish you could capture them forever. Perhaps this is why you fell so hard for the classics. Consider this. Even if not as vivid as first-hand, you will find a way to re-tell the image. This is what you live for.

(draft from Monday)

Moments from today:

Researched billboard top 100 songs from 1991 and have consequently had Right Here, Right Now and Wicked Game stuck in my head
Researched Kevin Bacon ad nauseum and my distaste for him has only grown stronger
Overly carbonated kombucha that took 15 minutes to settle down and still had it explode all over me.
Decided I get excited for lunch like it was Christmas. That's what my life has resorted to these days.

Tuesday, Food, Cellulose, and Writing.

Films, food, writing. The three objects of my affection.

Jean Paul Belmondo, I thought I saw his face this morning and refreshed and refreshed. It was possibly an ad on a website and it never appeared again. Later I saw his face coincidentally for the press photo of A Woman is A Woman.

The epic twist-cone-hunt begins tonight. Rumor has it that McDonald's (who undeniably makes the best no-frills twist cone) is only serving vanilla. When said hearsay hit my ears, I called bluff and insisted on seeking out said frozen treat. Perhaps this will end up like the great Cheez-curl venture of 2007 (See: ultimate disappointment after driving to nearly every grocery chain in MN, WI, and IA, and many small grocers, even seeking expired cans via ebay all to find out after writing a letter to the CEO of Planters that Cheez-curls had been discontinued) but even if it does, it will be worth the quest. If anything, I can chock it up to another mildly embarrassing yet nevertheless entertaining food story for the personal vault.

When telling afriend about the excursion he asked if I was going to call ahead. I can't imagine that calling McDonald's Isn't fun. And imagine being that asshole who shows up ten minutes later and orders a twist cone. Sweet bliss.

Weekly review was published today, seeing as it is Tuesday. Savor the last paragraph or two. They are like the tenderloin.

A beautiful cross between food, writing, and acting, I give you Bon Appetit meets Aziz Ansari's love affair that began with a napkin.
http://www.bonappetit.com/magazine/2011/05/aziz-ansari

Friday, Living: Sometimes I Always Think About You

There are certain people you meet in your life that are just supposed to be there. Like it was decided, by the cosmos or something, that you two need each other.

This morning an unprompted e-mail waited patiently in my inbox, housing short stories waiting to be read. And then I began to read and was taken. All I want to do is read and talk about writing. Always.

Sometimes I Always Think About You.

The same woman was back on the couch in the mall last night. She was on the phone again talking about how her life has been without joy. It was a story of pity and pessimism, of life serving up nothing but the worst. And for a brief moment in time, I felt sorrow for her. How her life was so clouded that she felt nothing but remorse. And then I felt sorry for her, because of her disillusionment about what life is about.

At times it seems like I feel so much that my heart will not be able to take any more. As if any more excitement or empathy would make it explode inside itself. And then somehow, magically, it regenerates itself and continues to work, persisting onwards.

(In other news, I think I need to stop watching My So-Called Life. Pretty sure Angela Chase is infiltrating my brain.)

Thursday, Life and thought streams

Some days I wake up and miss a certain person so much it feels that I am stuck, immobilized, like the whole world is going to stop because I know that no matter what I do I cannot physically see them ever again. As much as I want to talk to them, tell them all of the exciting and boring things in my life - because I know even if I told them "I ate a salad for lunch today" they would be interested - I can't and it sort of destroys me when I think about it too hard.

I wonder if that feeling will ever go away or if it will stay with me forever.

The memento mori concept has been ever present lately. I've been thinking about people dying. Sometimes I think I'm really selfish, and chances are I probably am.

Some evenings I feel like I am a bachelor when it comes to making dinner for myself. It's almost like I have never heard of or learned the concept of a balanced meal and I eat all of my favorite things ever. Or like I am a child who is left alone for the first time to fend for herself and eats cookies and cheetos and ice cream and string cheese for dinner. Tuesday night I ate pate and cheese and sweet potato gnocchi and macarons. And the inevitable stomach ache [inevitable and obvious to any outside party] ensued. Some day I will learn to be a real adult.

A Gatsby inspired summer is growing near. Visions of lawn activities, lavish cocktails, lakes, minus the heartbreak, deceit, and main character found dead in his own pool.

Bucket lists are growing by the minute. It's almost as if my life will end when the summer does, but in fact, it will not. It will just begin.

Wednesday, Life and Non-sequiturs

Reverting back to old habits.

I missed my blue coffee mug dearly. Dropped a PG Tip in the dry glass and placed it in my lunch bag this morning; it has been cupped in my palm ever since. And everything feels okay. A while back I made a list of things I would grab if my house caught on fire. I pictured myself with papers falling through the crease in my elbows, every ounce of my being overwhelmed with the amount of stuff I wanted to save. And then I stepped back momentarily. What is worth saving?

To this day I don't think I have a good enough grasp on what I would want. The harder I think about it the more I worry about dying or losing what I love the most and then everything seems so fleeting any how and I don't know if I would take anything.

The highlight of my week was published yesterday, as it is each Tuesday. Part of me wants to read it real slow, like one of those meals you feel guilty about swallowing because it tastes so good. As if it would save my life I hang on every word, anticipating the juxtaposition of the next and the following sentence. I wonder if I applied if Harper's would hire me. Would the Weekly Review lose its hold over me? Or would it be escalated that much further, having a stake in this delicacy?

Sometimes I want to swallow you whole.

Have you noticed the improper use of "good morning" or "good afternoon" when calling a place or being greeted? It's like there should be a bell that does off daily, at the stroke of noon, to notify all of the deft observers of the world that it is indeed "after noon" and to lose the morning bit. Similar applies for the AM afternoon greeters. Clearly it is before 12pm, please refrain from saying AFTERNOON. Semantics. And maybe, if we're lucky, this bell would be not unlike the Pavlovian experiment and the phone/welcome monkeys would salivate precisely as the clock strikes twelve.

Tuesday: Life and favorite favorites.

Have you ever noticed how incredibly tan Cary Grant is in North by Northwest? Neither had I until I saw it on the big screen last night. And my, what a sight! There was something uncomfortably unnerving about the way he holds his hands behind Eva Marie Saint's head while kissing her, where I cannot decipher if it is undeniably sexy or terribly creepy. Something about the flat palm to perfectly coiffed hair...

An orphan postcard that was sent over two months ago that I gave up as a lost cause a few weeks back miraculously found its way to my mailbox yesterday. I shrieked with excitement. It finally found home.

An equally lovely e-mail came across my inbox this afternoon.
Still going to be around July 8th? She's coming with her new film...

A more sizeable squeel escaped.

"If this gets cancelled, you're on suicide watch, like instantly," was remarkably quoted about said event.

Monday; Life in the key of rain and beautiful weekends

Don't worry, you read well.
Sage advice about change. The joys of double entendres.

Slept with the windows open and heard the rain as I slept.

Took a macaron drive through potholes and grey skies. Purchased rose, salted caramel, and mint/basil [that was actually] chocolate.

Breakfast at TTiffany's over a dinner of salmon and mushroom risotto alone. I want a cracker jack ring with initials inscribed.

The air smelled like worms on my walk into work this morning.

On a bucket-list of sorts, I've always wanted to take a lie detector test. One of the old contraptions with a line monitor that jumps when I'm not telling the truth. Wires would be connected to my arms and brain and it would mildly resemble an electric chair. I wonder if it would get me in trouble even when telling the truth or if I would alter my response out of fear. Oh, how terribly exciting the possibilities and outcomes!

When red is bled, and petals blue. And in my sleepless head our love's been dead a week or two.
Sometimes, good times are stuck inside of you, And then they're gone. But I don't know why.

Friday, Life moments

Momentary thoughts.

Is there a way to eloquently correct someone when they call you by the wrong name? I have been getting "Stephanie" a lot lately. For the longest time it was "Amy" and I felt okay with it. Almost as if it were an alias. But Stephanie gets under my skin.

When someone tells you less than savory news, how do you respond?  Do you respond with seeming indifference? Perhaps your indifference is calm consideration. Likely, this is a positive thing. Rather than expending useful energy on things out of your control, you take the unexpected in stride. It takes quite a lot to bring you down.  Focus your energy for something productive and save the strife - safely in your pocket - for a later time. .

Thursday, living dreams.

Dream of zip lining through a flood of trees. It is like a tundra down here. The momentum slows and I dip down into the water below. And men many years my senior surround this vision.

We play songs on broken wings perched on cement stoops.

I grab hold of the line and cascade across the chord once more, through a hillside covered in moss I've never before seen. But it is familiar. This is all familiar; the dampness in the air,  the songs, the men.

He sits beside me and kisses my eye. The pressure pushes my eye-lid into my eye and I can feel this, against the bone beneath my brow.

This time I forget the zip line and wade through the high waters. Resistance weighs as I move forward, cutting through the stream. The tide grows. My boots are entirely filled with water but my feet are not held down. The stain of the water has risen up my dress, darkening the white to a shade of grey almost reaching my chest.

And then I wake up. Not submerged. There is no moss-tinted water running near me. A white dress hangs from my closet door and I picture it wet.

Wednesday, Life in the late evening

Half of it's you, Half is me

An experience, in brevity. The five senses split between two people.

Late, yet on-time arrivals
Gas station donuts and Red Bull
Rolling Minnesota countryside
Houses built on cliffs
Sun setting over the horizon line
Tapas
Free parking
Sincerely sweet library security guards
The "Best beer in the world"
American Spirits
Stars outside my window
Fur jackets
Book pages fanning through my finger tips
Discussions about experiencing joy
Golden Smog, Uncle Tupelo, Billy Bragg/Woody Guthrie, Wilco songs
Insurmountable joy

[the in-the-moment-beauty of the evening was omitted, as lists can only capture a fraction of an experience]

Tuesday, life living and Jeff Tweedy.

I'm worried, I'm always in love.

One. Roadtrips are high up on my list of life's greatest pleasures. Ever. Especially with my [best] friend because anything is possible.

Two. Jeff Tweedy at the end point of roadtrips is most favorable. Tonight, he is our endpoint and I am beaming like school girl.

Three. The sun is shining, the moon is high. Fifteen minutes stand in the way of me and my sunglasses, tattered blue jeans.

(Four. I read in a review this morning that Tweedy is playing old songs, Loose Fur and Uncle Tupelo songs, and taking requests. Tonight I may die a content and full-hearted woman.)

Will I catch the moon
Like a bird in a cage
It's for you I swoon
I'm always in love

Monday, living in time.

One of the more beautiful weekends in recalled history. Nothing terribly out of the ordinary. Just very lovely company, food, and events. Friday night was something to behold. I felt like a spectator, a voyeur, watching a minimalist film that I would like to be in. And I was. I was living and breathing and watching and talking.

The art opening at Umber really caught me off-guard. The photographs/writing aesthetic was so warm, entirely similar to my own that it felt safe and familiar. It did not feel like a moment in time from my current life. There were genuine smiles and conversating. And a complete immersion with the content covering the tiny walls. I fell in love with everything I saw and heard.

And then I traveled over to the Cedar and was captivated yet again. Justin Vernon is truly a force to be reckoned with and I do say force with the greatest intention. I was in an extended moment of tranfixed attention for over an hour. One of those moments where you feel entirely isolated and engrossed. Again, it was beautiful. The rest of the weekend continued on. The wrap of sentimentality seemed to follow and cover everything I did. I was all right with this. It felt like I was experiencing everything for the first time. And I felt it.

I thought about individual moments of time that are maybe meaningless, but vibrant none the less.

Grapefruit, wine, eulogys. In no particular order.

One. I only put sugar on you when I feel sentimental.

Two. Part of me is pretty sure that swishing wine between ones teeth is not part of the intricate tasting process. But my father does it anyways.

Three. I'd rather say nothing than say something false.

(life)

Tonight, I fell in love with the world.

Friday, Overwhelming feelings (life)

This feels all too apropos.

The week could and perhaps should be catagorized with this photo.

Redux.

Thursday, living again

I have not yet forgotten about you. Strep throat and outrageous body temperatures have put you on hold. I'll come back. I always do.

Friday: livin the dream

Friday, indeed. Crawling along, potentially the longest, most tedious Friday I can recall in recent history. My boss even set up an hour long training session because of the inactivity. And in it I almost fell asleep, from boredom and time moving far too slow.

In the midst of all of this came...

Rom-Coms from the ninety's.

This morning I started to crave films such as You've Got Mail and She's the One. It is so strange to me when entirely irrelevant and more-or-less unappealing things are suddenly injected into my life and are in some way made desirable. Needless to say, I'm really looking forward to viewing Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks banter back and forth in witty dialogue whilst flirting with each other and disaster in my near future. Sounds like a splendid time.

And then I started thinking about the film His Girl Friday. One of my all time favorites. For a moment in time I was [ever so fondly] referred to as His Girl Friday by one of my dearest. Does it mean something, or anything, that I take deep pleasure in being of assistance to others? There is a worth-contingency that rests on knowing others rely on and count on me for anyandeverythingtheycouldneed [especially regarding organizational competency, planning, baking, cooking, editing, the absurd, film, writing, music, the obscure, laughing] at any given time. I'll most likely drop everything.

Reliability sometimes comes with a fantastic nickname and if you're lucky, an even better film reference. Consider why it is you find joy in being available for others. Perhaps this gives you a sense of worth. Whatever it is, ensure that self-preservation is accounted for, and if it is, keep on keepin on.

Thursday: Appointments (life)

For St. Patrick's day, I ate a boiled potatoes with grey, phallic looking sausages. They call it coddle. Who knew.

In an hour I have an eye appointment, meaning I get to leave cubeland-flourescent0-fun-zone early to have my eyes dilated and look like a crazy person. I think my exuberance is radiating from my cube and my co-workers too want to cry yellow tears. Or perhaps they just want to leave early. Maybe the optometrist will try to convince me to wear contact lenses for the ninth time. Who knows. The future is nebulous.

Consider that maybe you need to start letting go. After five years of saying you have an "important reading test" immediately after your eye appointment, perhaps they have finally caught on and know you hate having your eyes dilated. Maybe it's not as bad as you remember. Think of this akin to a situation from your childhood. Remember when you made it through your first doctor appointment without crying and you got a Beauty and the Beast sleeping bag? Or the first dentist appointment you behaved well at and you got bright blue and neon green Rollerblades? This will be just like that. Except now you have to suck it up alone and buy your own reward.

Wednesday: cutting it close (life)

Well this is a relief.

Forty minutes before the day ends - just enough time to throw together a worthless entry to fill the daily post void when really I should be sleeping.

Daily highlights:

[From Harper's Weekly Review]

During a hearing on energy-efficiency standards for appliances, Senator Rand Paul (R., Ky.) accused a Department of Energy official of oppression: “Frankly, my toilets don’t work in my house,” he said. “And I blame you and people like you who want to tell me what I can install in my house, what I can do.” The official, Kathleen Hogan, the deputy assistant secretary for energy efficiency, replied, “I can help you find a toilet that works."

and

Newly unearthed photos show Eva Braun in bikinis, practicing yoga, and in blackface, impersonating Jewish actor Al Jolson impersonating a black man.

That's really something.

Tonight I went to the Convention Grill with Mark and I ate a bacon-swiss-mushroom-fried onion-burger with a chocolate malt and french fries. I told him about the dream I had where my sister was dating Pete Yorn and I woke up legitimately upset. He looked concerned. And followed it up with a preposterous statement that Pete Yorn is married to Madonna's sister-in-law, which I quickly refuted. This turned out much like our debate at his show a few years ago where he insisted that The Passenger was on Iggy Pop's The Idiot, when clearly it was on Lust for Life. We argued intensely for a while. I was right and I think he is still a bit sore from that loss. I was also right in disproving his statement about Madonna and Pete Yorn. We left shortly after and I insisted on splitting the bill after he had already made it a point of buying me dinner.

Why am I unable to let people take me out to dinner? Some how have a tendency to screw up nice gestures. Perhaps I should work on that.

I came home around nine. My thoughts quickly dissipated. I made scotcheroos for the 15th work potluck of this month and wondered if there is or ever would be a category in the State Fair for bars. They are, after all, a staple Minnesotan dessert/potluck item. Maybe I should write a letter to the baking gods and make a suggestion or two.

Tuesday, Living (in Minnesota)

The spring thaw is upon us. It feels incredible and new and fresh. And is entirely what I need at this exact moment in time.

I started to think about living in Minnesota. This state is so deeply a part of me, from the change in seasons I anticipate, to my Norwegian heritage I too adore. Because I've lived here my whole life, I started to question if there are places and things I have not experienced out of routine. Thus began my Minnesota bucket list: Things I want to do-see-hear-witness-enjoy before the end of the summer. This also includes a bit of Wisconsin when necessary.

For some reason I feel like I'm currently seeing the city in a whole new light. While driving home yesterday evening I looked at the buildings I've looked at since I was a kid. Stores and houses between 28th/Park and Hennepin/Lake. And the skyline. And when I got out of my car, I smelled the air. It smelled entirely of Minnesota air. No better way to describe it.

Naturally my thoughts progressed to friends, to the people I see on a daily basis and have for so long. I am a terribly lucky human being. Perhaps I have gotten sentimental. Sure. But honestly. I know some incredible people who do equally incredible things. My friend Mark and I had a great conversation about places last night, about life and what people do. He is a shining example of a talented lively person I'm entirely fortunate to know. Through the course of our chatter I realized that his insight was entirely true, albeit a bit dark given his nature. It is nice hearing opinions of those you care about.

I'm ready to take on Spring. Ready to take in Minnesota and the people I've known and have yet to know. It's going to be bright.

Monday: PI DAY!

What goes on for infinity and tastes amazing? Pi day.

A happy Monday indeed.

Part of the initial weight was lifted off my shoulders Friday evening. After nearly a week of holding in the news, I told many of my close friends. It was a relief I never could have anticipated going so well. Three of my five meals were paid for as a result last week... I should have taken that as a positive sign.

Dinner last night at my folks house also helped ease into my decision. Of course they're sad. I knew they would be all along. And part of me questions: have I always stuck around because I was afraid to leave them? Oh the complexities. Regardless of past decisions, I'm working through the present one.

Over the next five months I will say countless times, It's setting in and I'm really okay with it; I'm excited and it's great. But chances are these statements will be followed by mini-meltdowns. Fourteen hundred miles is a long way for someone who has never been anywhere.

What I do know is that yesterday - in its entirety - was spent baking. I made three large pies and six small ones, to make up 3.14 pies in honor of the mathematical holiday today. It made everything feel okay.

In moments of solitude realize that you have much more to look forward to, for it is in the intricacies, the everyday that you are happy. And that no matter where you're at, you will always have yourself - your past and present of what y0u love and are.

All I own I carry with me.

Friday: Life Signs

For the past year I waited for clearly defined signs and paths to lead me where I was supposed to go. Perhaps post-graduation depression, maybe actual floundering and uncertainty. Who knows. What I do know is I'm almost positively sure that sign has now presented itself to me. Not pretty sure, sure sure. When the first arrived on Sunday I said, Wow, Okay, but thought that perhaps there was too much coincidence or chance was involved.

Of course I couldn't take it for what it was worth, and needed a second, more concrete "sign" as verification. So I said, If THIS comes, then indeed, it is a sign of what I have to do. And unfailingly, THIS arrived last night.

Sometimes, all you have to do is ask for more direction. If you find yourself wandering aimlessly for too long, question your options. Decide on two or three desired outcomes and make a pro/con list. Then identify the "signs" for each. If nothing happens, try again. Eventually it will all come up Millhouse.

thursday, life

I'd be entirely lying if I said I wasn't scared out of my mind.

Before tonight I'd never enjoyed the feeling of fear, of the unknown. Now, I'm laying in bed, eating coconut milk filled mochi and picturing myself in the future tense. It's amazing.

An homage to food: Living

A look back at my favorite food moments from the past year:

17th Street Benedict from Bluebird in Kansas City, MO

Winning second place at the MN State Fair

First Lattice-topped Apple Pie

Chocolate cupcakes with Salted Caramel Buttercream

Pumpkin Cupcakes with Cream Cheese Buttercream

Beet salad with goat cheese, candied pecans, mixed greens and Bell's Two Hearted

Assorted cupcakes for Cause Trivia 1 Year Anniversary

Satchel's German Chocolate Birthday Cake

Old fashioned Candy Shoppe for my birthday

Carrot Cake for Maija's Birthday

Cappuccino from Dogwood Coffee