Rocktastica is . . . born?

My little brother has issued a challenge. We are each to write a song entitled "I Ain't Afraid to Love You" (el esposo might get to play, too) by the time we meet for a family vaycay July 2. Then we play our songs. I don't know if it's a competition exactly, but if you wuss out (as we used to say circa 1990), you are a lo-ser.

I'm thinking about upping the ante and saying we have to upload a lo-fi version of our songs, which, incidentally, is starting to sound like a really cool use for a blog.

Hmm.

Possibly a blog called Rocktastica.

Anybody have a good idea for the logistics of such a blog--like where/how to post the audio files?

I knew that I would

I feel good today. I'm at work, I've got things to do ranging from utterly boring to somewhat interesting and I'm feeling good. Why? Because I got enough sleep. In the past I've conducted a study on myself to determine how much sleep I need. Studies show* the sleep required varies per person. For me it is very much an exact science: 7.5 hours. Actually, more than that would probably be okay, but that is a rarely studied happening, so there is room for further study. 7 hours 15 minutes does not cut it. Without fail, I will fall asleep on the bus and then at work my eyes will get heavy as I stare at the computer screen and inevitably they will start to close. Last night I got my 7.5 hours (barely) and I feel like a million bucks. Sleep means everything.

*I know I read this somewhere sometime. Maybe it was pop reporting, but it doesn't matter as I know for myself and that's plenty of data for me.

What Recycling is Not

Yesterday my co-worker was telling me that people that make a big deal out of saving the environment and then go have children are total hypocrites. I tend to think people can just be multi-faceted. However, the whole discussion reminded me of other things that masquerade as saving the planet but really aren't.

My nice brother and sister-in-law got us a subscription to ReadyMade magazine as a wedding present. It's a fun little magazine with some cute craft projects, most of which are beyond our abilities and/or level of patience, but which nevertheless seem nice and like something we might try . . . someday. (Several years ago, a friend and I stole the idea of the pillowcase skirt from ReadyMade, so you never know.) But there is a trend that ReadyMade influences that just kind of bugs me: calling something recycling that is not recycling. It may be hip to make something artistic involving some old household objects AND other materials, but it's not exactly recycling. Creative? Sure. Re-use? Maybe. Less of a waste of resources than buying something? It depends. But not recycling. Definition number 1 for Recycle: to treat or process (used or waste materials) so as to make suitable for reuse. And, okay, I understand that an argument can be made that turning something into art is processing it for re-use, but I just think it can be taken to extremes. For example:

El Esposo and I were recently trying to find out how to recycle a broken television we have. We found this little gem of an idea from "Marie" at some website called world.org under the "how to recycle a television" section:

Gut a dead television and place an aquarium inside. Fill with fish.

Odd? Yes. Interesting? Possibly. Post-modern? I think that fits the bill. But, to me, recycling is when you decrease the total amount of waste, not increase it by--say--buying an aquarium.

I'm not saying creating a lamp from an old radio (like we saw at Artomatic last week) is not cool, I just prefer not to bastardize the term recycling to the point that we forget that junk is still junk. Like, um, what am I doing with the rest of the television that I just gutted? And how will I eventually dispose of the aquarium?

Vinyl, baby

When I was in elementary school, 4th or 5th grade, I did an "independent study" on the music recording business for the nerdy/gifted class I was in. (Sidenote: this class basically saved my life as I was criminally shy and always felt uneasy in regular classes.) I studied how to make records. I remember going down to this big warehouse that was mostly devoted to manufacturing records and also had a recording studio, for this small-time recording company in Houston. I walked away with this big hunk of vinyl with a hole in the middle. It was like a record in embryo. So cool.

Yesterday, el esposo's co-worker GAVE us her old record player. So cool. She also gave us a pretty substantial record collection, which may be the oddest record collection ever. It's like nothing but B-sides, maybe C-sides, even. Basically, it's a lot of musak - translation: more boring versions of popular recordings as performed by more boring artists. However, there are some bizarre gems. El Esposo was particularly fond of this one:


Songs with the word "kiss" in the title as played on the electric harmonica. Oh yeah. How jealous are you?

Don't Look So Happy

That's what the security guard said to me this morning as I walked into the building. But, being the astute observer of vocal tone that I am, I could tell he was being sarcastic. We're not friends or anything, though I do recognize him as one of five security guards I am likely to meet upon entering the building. So a virtual stranger was basically telling what sort of facial expression I ought to have.

Here's the thing: I was in no way grumpy or in a foul mood at all. From what I remember, I was just thinking over some logic problem in my head--something I often do (while vaguely preparing to give some sort of courteous nod)--and he startled me out of my thoughts. The best I could say was "Oh. Sorry."

I have never figured out the right response in this scenario, which happens with relative frequency and has for pretty much my whole life. Since I was a kid, I have had a big tendency to both a) daydream and b) be totally unaware of my facial expressions.

So what should I say when someone points out an expression I am giving which I am totally oblivious to? (side-note: my husband does not completely buy my claim that I am oblivious, but just because he studied psychology doesn't mean he knows everything.) And is it cool for a complete stranger to be telling me what to do anyway?

I'm thinking if I had a prepared response to this situation, it would be a very handy piece of equipment for my life--nothing too snarky as I'm interested in simplifying and defusing the situation so I can move on. Do any of the 3 or 4 people that read this blog have an idea?

Literary Nerd Moment: Allusions in Bob Marley

So I'm not a Bob Marley scholar or anything, but the other day we went to this picnic to celebrate a friend's graduation. She's a writer, and as I well know, graduate school writers tend to either BE hippies or at least BEfriend hippies, so of course there were several Bob Marley fans at the picnic and before you know it El Esposo is playing Bob Marley tunes on a borrowed guitar and everyone is singing along. Could it have been otherwise? I don't know.

Fast Forward to this morning when I am reading the Old Testament in Genesis and I'm basically finishing up the Joseph in Egypt story, which--just as a reader, I must say--is the first truly compelling story in the Old Testament. And it is a redemption story. Anyway, I read this blessing from Jacob/Israel to his son Joseph (after he was sold into slavery by his brothers, spent many years in prison, eventually was promoted to be Pharaoh's CEO so that he became quite rich and powerful, and was able to provide for and forgive his long-lost family during a famine) in Genesis 49--note the bold text:

"22 Joseph is a fruitful bough, even a fruitful bough by a well; whose branches run over the wall:
23 The archers have sorely grieved him, and shot at him, and hated him:
24 But his bow abode in strength, and the arms of his hands were made strong by the hands of the mighty God of Jacob; (from thence is the shepherd, the stone of Israel:)"

And what did I hear playing in my head?

"Oh Pirates yes they rob I
Sold I to the merchant ships
Minutes after they took I
From the bottomless pit.
But my hand was made strong
By the hand of the almighty.
We forward in this generation
Triumphantly.
Wont you help to sing
These songs of freedom? -
cause all I ever have:
Redemption songs;
Redemption songs."
--"Redemption Song," Bob Marley


The song is clearly talking about African Slavery at this point, but this is also a clear biblical allusion. It made me start thinking about Rastafarianism and its relationship to Judaism. I'm working on it.

boating fun

El esposo and I have not been doing anything that exciting lately. Partially because I've been stressed out and busy: job interviews, paperwork, lesson plans, grading, educating myself on home buying. There hasn't been that much time for fun. Which is dumb, actually. Fun is underrated I think. But last weekend we took some time to go camping. One of the highlights was rowboating. Watch as the pictures plus a few brief captions tell the story . . .


LCD rowing happily as we leave the shore


Me relaxing while LCD rows happily. Later my skin would take on a hue similar to my shirt. We forgot the sunscreen. Also, though my expression is slightly odd in this picture, it would later take on my patented look of frustration which you will simply have to imagine. That is because the rowing got really hard. It was especially really stinking hard in the shallow areas. Both of us had a hard time turning the boat around when on the edge of the lake. And I've been working out and everything! Well . . . once a week for the arms, but that's much better than usual.

Later we discover why rowboating was so much harder than we thought it would be:


LCD flashes his look of irony and defeat as he reveals the concrete slab of an anchor that had been in the water the whole time. Curses!

And thus, we turn the corner to Easy Street (job search over, one class to go), having survived five months of marriage. I think FUN is about to pick up.

meet the new job: same as the old job

i was raised on classic rock.

anyway . . . hooray! i just got hired! to do my same job!!! yup, it's true. but now i'm going to work for the main contractor instead of the subcontractor. those of you that know i have been looking for a new job, the path was circuitous, both winding and eventually a circle, and i found it! it was here all along . . .

it makes more sense than you think.

really.

also i have a funny rowboating story but it works best with pictures and el esposo has all the pictures so i will have to hunt him down.

Plans

Lately I have been in planning frenzy mode. Not that I really have time for that. Well lesson plans, of course. I have no choice there (five classes left!). I also have a stack of papers to grade that my students are not getting back this week. In the midst of this and job stuff and what are we doing this weekend and what am I going to do with my tax return and when are we taking vacation this year and when will we finally have a weekend to go camping and when will I have time to start freelancing on the side (the side of what???) blah blah ad nauseum I am also looking at how to buy a house(!) and also if it is even a possibility.

Though sweetiepieface and I have been saving all our nickles and dimes for two whole years (give or take), we do live in one of the most expensive housing markets in the country and neither of us is a high-powered anything. So we placed the whole idea of buying a house on the backburner of our minds. Recently, though, we looked around and realized the prices they are a droppin'--not into the range my relocated middle-american family is dealing with right now (actually their prices didn't even drop as they hadn't been inflated in the first place)--but still it's significant. And if you're going to buy anything, you might as well buy at the bottom, right? So I've been perking up and looking at real estate online, and then very recently I started learning about all this stuff that had just been random terminology before: like mortgages and credit scores. I started getting into the details: mortgage insurance, fixed-rate vs. adjustable rate, real estate taxes, "points" (which is part of your insurance paid up-front to decrease your overall interest rate), credit scores, and more.

The more I learn, the less I realize we can afford. Odd blue townhouse that I thought was in our price range:

is--alas--not quite.

However, each time we revise down our estimate and I look at property in our price range I realize that we may still be able to find something that is at least a little nicer (well, bigger anyway) than the place we are currently renting, and that will serve our main purpose and build some equity. Something like--say--this:

Of course, the real telling thing will be when we actually go to look at some of these places. For example, here's a question: are the kind of people that can not afford to pay for their mortgage such that their house gets foreclosed (is that a verb?) the type to have been very vigilant about the upkeep of that same house?

I've also learned that what we need in terms of financing might not exist, since we are planning to be making significantly LESS money in a couple or three (i think some relative of mine says that) years than we are making now, when I plan to go freelance part-time/mommy part-time. So much stuff to think about and then think some more about. I'm thinking maybe if I do this one step at a time it won't seem like such an impossible adult math problem. Our next step, I think, is to check credit scores and get ourselves ready for the big loan meeting. Also, a camping trip is pretty much in order.

Are you guys bored yet? Have any great tips?

A blog is not a journal

You can't write about any of the most interesting experiences. I was thinking to myself how recent experiences need to be recorded somewhere. Either for posterity or just for myself so I can keep from re-making mistakes. AND so I can even remember how I did it when I happened to do something so exactly right. EVEN just to put something that happened into a larger context so it can make some actual sense instead of just fester in my brain and keep making noise noise noise and no meaning. Then I remembered the Journal concept. Journals: Turning brain noise into usable life lessons. That's my slogan for the journal lobby. Takers? You owe me a dollar. Or maybe just a citation.

How my husband became my husband (Part 3 of infinity)

READ PARTS ONE AND TWO BELOW.

In this part, we actually start dating, I promise. But how did that happen, exactly?

Timing.

I had just read War and Peace. This probably seems unrelated, but it’s not. Let’s just ignore what War and Peace is actually about and talk about the character of Natasha. Pre-epilogue Natasha, as the epilogue to this great book nearly made me barf. Of course Natasha is beautiful and elegant and feisty, but the genius of Natasha, the thing that really seems to attract EVERYONE to her, is her unabashed love of life and determination to enjoy it as much as possible. Everything is a great adventure and everyone is assumed to be having as good of a time as she is and she never ever doubts herself. To be fair: she is a bit childish, and this becomes a problem for her later, but the key point for this story is that her power comes from her total embracing of the beauty of life and also the charming nature of herself. No one could possibly convince her that she is not charming. Nor would anyone try.

At this point in my life, I was pretty comfortable with myself and I was just feeling quite Natasha. I was in the groove. I think everyone has these moments and it is best to take advantage of them. My roommate at the time, who is so awesome, planned a relatively chill party and I took it upon myself to make sure everyone I had flirted with of late was invited. I was in the mood to be Natasha. For good measure, I threw LCD into the invite pool. He had seemed a little extra excited to see me of late at social gatherings, so why not?

At the party, I made sure to be very friendly to everyone, but particularly the ones I had added to the invite list. Weirdly, nothing seemed awkward. I was just enjoying life and being charming. I could even introduce these people on my mental list of possible suitors to each other and feel no awkwardness. I divided my time between several people, but somehow it seemed, every time I turned a corner there was LCD again. And then we would start talking and it would suddenly seem intimate. Remembering what my brother had said, I asked him at one point, “How come we never hang out anymore?” It was supposed to be kind of a joke, because hanging out had always been rare between us. But, LCD immediately pulled out his pocket planner (which he is never without) and set up an “appointment” for us.

I know LCD particularly enjoys hanging around to a party’s end, but this one seemed different than normal. (psst. It’s because the magic fairy dust of love was descending.) He helped us do the dishes and then he proceeded to borrow my guitar and we sat down while everyone was in the other room. He taught me blues scales which I had known before but forgot. And it was like everything started to change color. Like my hiking trip in the White Mountains when the afternoon light opened a whole new view of the fall colors that was so vivid I could only think of those over-colorized old black and white movies. He touched my fingers to show me where to put them and it felt so different than anything had ever felt been between us.

So about halfway through our hanging out "appointment" the next week, I realized that it was in fact a date. He paid for me, flirted, and seemed nervous. And by the way we talked with smiles on our faces, and by the way we knew--without really saying it--that he would come in when he dropped me off (so we could keep talking--no funny business), I coudl also tell I would see him again soon.

As wonderful as that was, and as big of a crush as I had two and a half years previous, I was not immediately smitten. In fact, one of my other “prospects,” if you will, was also starting to “bite,” if you will, but he kept asking me out when I had already made plans with LCD. I didn’t know if this guy was serious or he just liked to play the game of asking me out, but I can say that he was a very cool guy and I kept hearing this Clem Snide song play in my head “because I love the unknown, I love the unknown . . .” As I had built up loads of respect for LCD over the past couple years, I did want to give it a serious shot, if warranted, but I also had to get to know the unknown or I would not stop thinking about it. So I gave him a time that I knew I would be free and we went out. It turned out this guy really was really cool. No doubt about it. And it was even a little easier to talk to him than LCD.

My first thought when the mystery guy dropped me off was, I want to call LCD. The unknown was no longer unknown and guess what? He didn’t do much for my heart. That simple. I must have had the inkling even early on of what I would become with LCD, of the fact that he would let me be sweet—I’d never gotten to be sweet with a guy before; it had always seemed so silly. Any earlier time in my life I would have attempted to date the other guy. Turns out I was never the girl for him anyway, but it was an important moment in helping me realize that my heart can actually trump my brain. And it can be wonderful.

Dating LCD was so easy for me for the first four months. This is partly because he was doing a lot of the work. I did give him a little reassurance from time to time, but he did a lot of the asking, sharing, even declaring of feelings. I told him I was just rollin' with it. Of course I liked him a lot and I was having a great time and I daydreamed about our future sometimes, but I was pretty determined to NOT overthink anything. That whole Natasha feeling had not worn off and, like hers early on, my actions were mostly effortless. LCD was more affectionate than anyone I had ever dated and after having a talk with myself and realizing that this was okay, I began to follow his lead in the affection department and I really started to like it. Eventually, somewhere around four months, I stopped just rollin' with it.

I began to ask myself whether I was in love--like really in love--and I actually didn't know at first. I liked him a lot and we seemed so compatible in so many ways. He actually got my writing, for one thing. One way we are the same is that we hate being flaky. We hate to say we're going to do something and not follow through--so we generally don't do that. Also, we're both musicians and we love it and we talk about being rock stars, but we could actually never REALLY live that lifestyle (even though LCD is probably good enough). I think now that love is simpler than I thought it was then. It's neither a checklist nor a complex of squishy passionate feelings. The day I realized I was in love with LCD, I was just driving around and thinking about how people say they belong together and how I normally resist that idea, because--you know--I'm like (brace yourselves--nerdy reference) Eowyn in LOTR and I fear a cage. But somehow the idea of me belonging with LCD seemed very natural and non-scary and I realized that was because I love him. It does not mean that we blend completely into one person, but it does mean that we are willing to have permeable membranes and we are ready to surrender our pride. After this realization, something interesting happened: things got a lot harder.

The story after this is actually even more important, but it doesn’t tell as well. It’s about work and love and how they are the same thing. There are a million beautiful memories. Like when my sweetheart first said he was falling in love with me and asked me to please do the same. Or like the time when I was about ready to give up on our relationship . . . because it was so much work and I couldn’t see the end . . . and then I went for a run during which I both cried and prayed . . . and when I got home, quite suddenly, I got a clear picture in my head of our future family—mine and his . . . as a gift, I think, to keep me going. Or months and months of us recording music in his basement room, me being continuously frustrated with how hard it seemed for me in comparison to him, and then listening to what we made together. Or when he tricked me into thinking the reason he was sweaty and stinky was due to a bad reaction to the food we had eaten while camping on the beach, when really it was because he had been carving out the words “Marry Me” in the sand. Or when we sat next to each other waiting to be called into the room where we would be married and everything we had worried about washed away and we beamed with our joy as we held each other's hands and shed a few small tears together. Or how about two days ago when I came home from grocery shopping (which I utterly loathe) for two and a half hours and when I asked my husband to help me unload the car he told me to start putting away the cold items in the fridge first and I very crankily and reluctantly agreed only to find he had bought me flowers for our quarter-anniversary (as in 1/4) . . .

This is the story that continues forever.

interlude

Installment Three is coming--as soon as I have enough time to write it. Right now I am listening to Okerrvil River and doing the dishes, which is actually a welcome change from grading papers and dealing with technological breakdowns on my way to writing a halfway decent lesson plan. In honor of my whole family, almost, who moved to Kansas City in recent times...

How my husband became my husband (Part Deux)

READ THE POST BELOW THIS FIRST

So I failed to mention the inauspicious circumstances of our official meeting, which included someone introducing us at a party and saying to me, basically, "this is the guy we've been telling you about," and then us having a three minute conversation.

To continue the story . . .

So I got over my crush, moved on with my life, tried to make a living (a whole other story but the synopsis is I had a really hard time paying the bills for my first year and a half in DC), and started to regenerate my sense of self. One thing I did was go on a super-rejuvenating backpack trip to the Presidential Range of the White Mountains in NH. It was one of the more beautiful things I have ever seen--we timed it perfectly to catch the fall colors. Another thing I did was start volunteering at the Food Assistance Center. At the time I was only a paycheck removed from the people that came there. It made me really humble, but really grateful at the same time. I also made an effort to focus on my personal spiritual development (aka: get right with God). Even though I was barely scraping by I started to feel more like myself than I had in a long time.

Next, the roommate that was dating LCD moved out and I also moved somewhere else, which was a welcome change from the dank basement life I had been enjoying.

Next, I met a really intersting and cool guy who I am still a big fan of, and he asked me on some dates. Our relationship was one of those amorphous things. It was hard to tell on a given day if we were actually dating, but it was always obvious that we really liked each other. Anyway, he kept me very entertained for the next five or six months. I even flirted with the idea that he might be the one, but guess what? He wasn't. Still it was really fun sometimes to pretend and to live in this bizarro world where everything is ironic and weirdness is the goal and being standoffish is a kind of affection. One thing that I learned from this was that standoffishness is not REALLY a kind of affection. Anyway, later he called me his ex-girlfriend, so I guess that's what I was. I was pretty disappointed that it didn't work out, but I think the reason I took it hard was because the timing of our dating conincided so nicely with the time I started feeling good about myself and so I wanted it to mean something. It was a version of love but not the real kind. He's an awesome guy and still one of the most intersting people I know, we just weren't an awesome couple.

Fast forward to me getting a real job, putting money in the bank, having lots of fun, and eventually forming a super-fun band with my little brother. Writing songs with my little bro is one of the choice experiences of my life. As he lives in AZ now, I mourn those days sometimes. In the meantime, LCD was always in the background. He stopped dating my former roommate but ended up dating other people. I had wiped nearly every trace of romantic leanings re: him from my mind. I would always see him at little music open mic things we both played at or other parties. Every once in a while when my house had a party I would make sure his name was on the list and he would always come. What's more he would always bring something. I developed a strong opinion of him--that he was a trustworthy and dependable person. He was high on my list of people most of the time, but sometimes he was scarce and we were not really intimate in any way. We did not hang out.

Sometimes I asked LCD for favors. Like when my little band wanted to play a little show I asked him to do the sound. He was always willing. Slowly I was realizing that he was not some hipster rockstar, but he was just a truly decent human being--and even kind of nerdy. Case in point: I invited him to come play board games over at my house one time and he showed up. My roommate had doubted it because he seemed too cool, but I guaranteed her he would come.

Sometimes people would ask me if I had ever thought of dating him and I would say yes I thought about it before, but I didn't think it would work out.

Then one day, oh about 2 1/2 years after we met, I was talking to my little brother and he asked me, "Why don't we ever hang out with LCD? I feel I should be good friends with him but we never hang out." I told him I wasn't sure that LCD was actually into the stuff we were into--going to shows, wilderness hiking, etc. But my brother had planted a seed.

END PART TWO

How my husband became my husband (Part One)

So, I stole this idea from a certain blogger, whose hilarious blogging I have admired for these past couple of years. I suppose this is going to be pretty confessional or something, but the thing is it's a really great story, better than most other stories I could think of to tell.

I actually remember when I first saw my husband from a distance. End of this May or early June will be five years since that moment. I had just moved to the DC area for a summer internship (not at all related to politics) from grad school and Colorado. This was right after giving most of my heart and soul to a master's thesis for the previous many months. I had also recently fell in with a group of hippies in the months before I left Colorado and had accidentally had a number of really weird experiences such that I was very very unsettled in my life. Anyway, I had hoped the escape to the nation's capital would provide for some normalcy and eventually it did--but it took a while. I moved into an apartment for the summer and the first time I saw LCD was in the lobby of that apartment building on my way to the store for some groceries. He was leading a group of some kind and standing on a chair to give them instructions. It was for a singles church activity that I had heard about but not planned on attending because I had a list of things to do. There he was, wearing a hipsterish straw cowboy-style hat and grinning with those pretty snaggly choppers. The sight of him made me smile and I watched for a few extra seconds before going on my way. I thought he was pretty cute.

In the meantime I was hearing about him from everyone that stopped by our apartment and saw my guitar. Everyone asked me if I had met this guy yet who also played the guitar. They said he was really good. Since I didn't really know these people I wasn't sure whether to trust their opinions and I did not realize they were talking about the same guy I had seen standing in the lobby of my apartment building, so I was only mildly interested.

When we met I found him to be one of the most amiable people you can have a first conversation with. He was and I'm sure will always be really easy to like. So I liked him, but I only really started to be interested in him when I saw him play. I have many times in my life heard people talk about how great some musician they know is only to hear them and think "yeah he/she's okay" . . . As it turns out, the rumors were true. Not only that but he played Jeff Buckley, which was almost too overwhelming for me. I had specifically taught guys I knew to play Jeff Buckley in Colorado, and this guy did a better Jeff Buckley than any of them by far.

Honestly, it freaked me out. I knew I had been through too much weird stuff recently and I was pretty depressed at the time so a big part of me did not want to develop a big crush on some guy that had all the outward appearance of being someone I would be really into. The timing sucked too much. I remember telling my friend from Colorado on the phone that I met this really seemingly awesome guy and it was a hopeless situation but I did not know if I would be able to keep myself from being really into him.

So I decided we would just be friends. I even went so far as to send him an email asking if he would be my friend. Yes it's true. Not very tactful, but true. I figured I would set it up from the beginning as us being just friends and that would a) make me happy to have such a nice hip guy as my friend when everyone around me seemed so frustratingly type A and b) keep my little wounded heart safe.

We became friends which was great, and my crush got a little more serious which seemed unfortunate but I figured it wasn't really hurting anybody. Then...oops...it started to hurt. You see my hip, new friend started dating my hip, new roommate. That's when I realized that the crush had really gotten away with me because it hurt like the dickens.

Later I was so grateful for this because it allowed me to get over my crush fast and decide he wasn't the guy for me. I decided I had been looking for the wrong thing--an image, an idea--when really I just needed a nice guy. This in turn gave us both the time we needed to develop a little more self confidence and become...well...happier. Because guess what? A relationship is a lot more likely to succeed if you are already happy.

End Part One

Vote EARLY, vote often, but mostly EARLY

I learned a little lesson yesterday. The specific lesson was if you want your vote to be counted, vote in the morning. The generic lesson might have been the early bird gets the worm, but I don't think so.

My husband woke up early yesterday and put on a dapper suit. He looked very good. It was his birthday and he had to be in court as a potential witness (the potential was small). He ran across the street, voted in the VA primary, and was back by the time I was ready to leave for work. I shrugged. I would be voting in the evening and would make sure I got out of work early enough to make it before they closed at 7:00.

I left work around 4:30, took the metro as usual, got on the bus as usual, and sat in the parking lot for a good long while. Odd, I thought. Annoying, of course. But I had plenty of time. I graded a few papers, and then, when I looked up from my papers I realized I was still staring at Pentagon City. I looked at my watch and realized I had been sitting next to Pentagon City for the last half hour. Around 6:20, I started to get really worried and started calling people to see if they had voted yet. Everyone had. Long story short, I went on a four hour long bus ride to go six miles. It was easily the most ridiculous commute of my life. To add insult to injury, at 9:00 when I finally stepped off the bus I immediately fell down on my hands and knees. I was on a sheet of ice that stretched across the sidewalk, up all the steps through my complex and across the driveway, etc.

I did not get to vote. The good news was that the guy I was going to vote for won anyway, but I felt like a little slug. To be fair, I don't know how slugs feel, but knowing you can be destroyed by something as simple as table salt can not be an exhilirating feeling. The thing is, I really like voting. Anyway, I have resolved to always vote in the morning from now on. And also to look for a new job the location of which is not so susceptible to rush hour traffic and weather.

An apology to those who s-tumbled upon this blog OR Will the true Rocktastica Blogmaster please stand up?

So this blog is called Rocktastica. What it ought to be is some genre-specific zealously-full-of-info-and-rumours rock music blog. Probably it should be for women punk rockers. OR it should be a tongue-in-cheek quiet and sedate indie slow-core site. But it's not. It's the site of one more total slacker blogger who forgets to post when the most interesting things happen and thus it is full of leftovers from one more person's existence. Now realize I really like my existence and I would never put it down. I have a kick awesome husband and a nice collection of musical instruments in my living room. I could elaborate, but already it sounds pretty excellent, right? But life being great does not make for the most exciting posts, especially when you are a slacker, and I realize that. So here's what I'm going to do: If you stumble upon this blog and you have the wherewithal and the stamina to make something really wonderful out of it--it's yours. I bequeath it thee. Rocktastica. The Rock Angels sing its name. Just leave a comment explaining your vision right here on this ol' post.

But, until you come along, person with a beautiful vision and a willpower to see it through, I will babysit your blog. And sometimes I will talk about stuff.

But Levin did not shoot himself or hang himself and went on living.

As most extradordinary classic literature, Anna Karenina is a study in light and dark. It doesn't seem as starkly good vs. evil as some novels do; more like the good vs. the hateful. And faith vs. fear. And purposeful vs. purposeless. I finally finished reading it today as I was eating my sandwich in the Subway(TM). I basically started crying so I would say that yes it is a good book.

Fruitless Toil

Gah. This image is destroying my brain. Is it the blue cog or the yellow cog? In the meantime, and if you're in the mood for a physics lesson, the source of this image is pretty interesting.

I was so set for today as my first day of teaching this night English Comp class. This morning, the force was with me. The bus and metro linked up perfectly to get me to the vicinity of my workplace nearly twenty minutes before I had to be there. Thus, I was able to stop by Kinkos and make copies of my syllabus, a literary terms list, and this passage from Anna Karenina that we were going to talk about tonight. Now, my opening night that I've been planning for the last two weeks, boring my adorable husband to tears, is nevah gonna happen. I was vaguely planning some over-the-top enthusiastic impassioned speech about literature and writing, so it might be that I deserve it.

It's a snow day. Some co-workers and I had this discussion today: Remember when snow days were a cause for rejoicing? Now there's always some kind of lame inconvenience or worse that comes with it. How I miss the days of delirious happiness over the simple fact that I got to sleep in. Back in the day before the MAN said, "well you're definitely not getting paid for this." So anyway . . . my intense preparation. Maybe fruitless toil is good for me. I'm in such a Russian mood. Maybe fruitless toil will save my philosophical soul (I'm not that philosophical--I was just channeling Roskolnikov).

baby steps (no i'm not pregnant yet)

i have a goal. well i have many many goals this year. lcd put all our goals in an excel spreadsheet. his job teaches him all this accountability stuff and so (hey why not) we are going to be tracking our progress. but the goal i'm talking about is the one where i depart from the corporate/contractor world within the next two years, quite possibly never to return. i ordered this book from amazon:



i ordered another one too. the thing about this goal is it is not allowed to fail. i really will need a way to make an income on a flexible schedule. in the meantime, i am teaching my first class for the semester next Thursday night, so another goal is to a) be a good teacher and b) not go insane. i'm also trying to think about politics a little. but not a lot. i do not have the space in my brain for a lot.

married life

is pretty cool.