Lady Gaga, The Fame/Monster
Most often listened to when: Going to work, going to the gym, leaving church, going out with the ladies
Good for: Getting pumped up, feelin' sexy, feelin' fabulous, being a feminist (third-wave), not wearing pants
The Mamas & the Papas, Greatest Hits
Most often listened to when: Going home late at night, leaving work, stuck in rush-hour traffic
Good for: Winding down, singing along, picking out karaoke songs, feminism (second wave), wishing I were a burlesque dancer/singer
The Beatles, 1 (disc 2)
Most often listened to when: Other people are in the car
Good for: Not admitting which CDs I normally listen to while driving, getting into heated debates about whether or not George Harrison is the most underrated Beatle (answer: YES)
Various publishing houses, Handbell music demo CDs
Most often listened to when: Going to bell choir practice, leaving bell choir practice
Good for: The feeling of inflated self-worth that comes from multitasking
Queen, Greatest Hits: We Will Rock You Edition
Most often listened to when: Things need to be rocked
Good for: Rocking things
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Monday, April 5, 2010
It's tough to be a girl (for narrative purposes)
Today was a good day, until it got awful. One of those "when it rains, it pours" situations. Mondays for me are always hectic, because I never get a good night's sleep on Sunday, then I'm running from work to the gym to handbell practice to home to do the homework that's due on Tuesday, so I'm pretty wired throughout. Today, though, was even worse, because it was PMS Day. It's nice, you know, that it happens on a single, pre-planned day, but it always seems to coincide with a bunch of other shit that's going on. There may be a correlation/causation thing at play there, who knows?
And let me just point out, we can use pills to stop babies from happening, and yet we are STILL WITHOUT ROCKET CARS. Science! What gives?
So I left the gym and was driving into Bloomington when I noticed my odometer was saying something: "Check...Gas...Cap." Huh. Did not know cars said that. I thought it was a little strange, though, because I had gotten gas on Friday. Why was this just coming up now? As it turns out, there was no gas cap to check. It was gone. Who steals gas caps? Really? The gas itself had not been siphoned out. And my gas cap was attached to the car. Someone had to go to the trouble of cutting the wire and everything. At that point, you might as well just get yourself a screwdriver and pry the "H" off the hood.
But besides being annoyed I wasn't that stressed out by the stolen gas cap. Bell choir, though, was a mess. We're doing our two most challenging pieces in the next four weeks. And we haven't practiced them much at all, because people go south for the winter, and I'm not a good planner. Really, I should not be in charge of people and planning. Anyway, in the middle of this hard piece that I was playing the huge bells for, my bra (this bra) came undone.
Did not know bras could do that. Huh.
Part of me thought this was awesome, because, you know, I just popped open my bra by the sheer force of my bell-heaving upper body. It's like the girl equivalent of ripping your shirt when you flex! Fear me and my mighty, mighty pecs! On the other hand, now I was braless. Well, it was still there, just floating around under my shirt. It was a padded bra, so it probably looked like I had four boobs. In theory that sounds great, but when you need your torso for damping bells, not so much. Normally this would have been an easy problem to rectify, but I happened to be standing next to the ELEVEN YEAR OLD BOY who just joined the choir. It was uncomfortable. Literally and figuratively.
Then later I was trying to explain a tricky rhythm to everyone and I couldn't make them understand it. I almost started crying. At that point, I had been reduced to an exhausted, gas cap-less, bra-less, rhythm-less lump of medically controlled hormones. Why was it the rhythm thing that set me off? I assume it's the black thing. But at that point I had just had enough.
But then when I got home I called Heather and planned an impromptu train vacation and had a big slice of my coconut cake. And now I'm laying in bed, typing these events from tragic to ridiculous. That's the magic of PMS, I guess. Nothing is ever as bad as it seems at the time. Actually, nothing is ever anything. All the same, I think I'll skip my off week next month. I deserve it. Pending the delivery of my rocket car, of course.
And let me just point out, we can use pills to stop babies from happening, and yet we are STILL WITHOUT ROCKET CARS. Science! What gives?
So I left the gym and was driving into Bloomington when I noticed my odometer was saying something: "Check...Gas...Cap." Huh. Did not know cars said that. I thought it was a little strange, though, because I had gotten gas on Friday. Why was this just coming up now? As it turns out, there was no gas cap to check. It was gone. Who steals gas caps? Really? The gas itself had not been siphoned out. And my gas cap was attached to the car. Someone had to go to the trouble of cutting the wire and everything. At that point, you might as well just get yourself a screwdriver and pry the "H" off the hood.
But besides being annoyed I wasn't that stressed out by the stolen gas cap. Bell choir, though, was a mess. We're doing our two most challenging pieces in the next four weeks. And we haven't practiced them much at all, because people go south for the winter, and I'm not a good planner. Really, I should not be in charge of people and planning. Anyway, in the middle of this hard piece that I was playing the huge bells for, my bra (this bra) came undone.
Did not know bras could do that. Huh.
Part of me thought this was awesome, because, you know, I just popped open my bra by the sheer force of my bell-heaving upper body. It's like the girl equivalent of ripping your shirt when you flex! Fear me and my mighty, mighty pecs! On the other hand, now I was braless. Well, it was still there, just floating around under my shirt. It was a padded bra, so it probably looked like I had four boobs. In theory that sounds great, but when you need your torso for damping bells, not so much. Normally this would have been an easy problem to rectify, but I happened to be standing next to the ELEVEN YEAR OLD BOY who just joined the choir. It was uncomfortable. Literally and figuratively.
Then later I was trying to explain a tricky rhythm to everyone and I couldn't make them understand it. I almost started crying. At that point, I had been reduced to an exhausted, gas cap-less, bra-less, rhythm-less lump of medically controlled hormones. Why was it the rhythm thing that set me off? I assume it's the black thing. But at that point I had just had enough.
But then when I got home I called Heather and planned an impromptu train vacation and had a big slice of my coconut cake. And now I'm laying in bed, typing these events from tragic to ridiculous. That's the magic of PMS, I guess. Nothing is ever as bad as it seems at the time. Actually, nothing is ever anything. All the same, I think I'll skip my off week next month. I deserve it. Pending the delivery of my rocket car, of course.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
City Urges Travelers to Postpone River Crossing
ST. PAUL - Due to near-record high levels on the Mississippi river caused by a winter of heavy snowfall, St. Paul officials are urging pioneers, prospectors, and other cross-country migrants en route to the Oregon Territory to exercise extreme caution when crossing the river, and if at all possible, wait to see if conditions improve.
"We're expecting the river to crest at over 18 feet, well over flood stage," said J.P. O'Malley, director of Public Works. "At these levels, fording the river is a near-certain death sentence for you and the members of your party. Even caulking your wagon and attempting to float it across the river is bound to result in the loss of food, bullets, and an ox or two."
O'Malley added that the city's fleet of ferries are still in dry dock, and any attempts to hire an Indian guide to aid in crossing will likely be met with a dirty look and grumbling about the noble savage theory.
While officials are not able to offer an estimate of when the river will be navigable, they stress that the situation is temporary. Because it is still early in the year, travelers do not need to worry that this delay will leave them stranded in the Rocky Mountains when the winter blizzards hit.
Meanwhile, travelers are encouraged to take this delay as an opportunity to rest, recuperate from any illnesses picked up on the road, and restock supplies. "St Paul's many trading posts offer goods at prices that anyone, from teacher to banker, can afford. In addition, our friendly citizens are always willing to trade with you, or just chat," said O'Malley. He stressed that dispite the flooding, the city's water supply remains free of cholera and dysentery. However, "should a loved one pass away, you will find several skilled stone-workers in the city who are more than willing to carve any arcane pop culture reference onto a tombstone for you."
Updated river conditions will be published as they are made available. For more information, please contact the City of St. Paul Department of Public Works directly.
"We're expecting the river to crest at over 18 feet, well over flood stage," said J.P. O'Malley, director of Public Works. "At these levels, fording the river is a near-certain death sentence for you and the members of your party. Even caulking your wagon and attempting to float it across the river is bound to result in the loss of food, bullets, and an ox or two."
O'Malley added that the city's fleet of ferries are still in dry dock, and any attempts to hire an Indian guide to aid in crossing will likely be met with a dirty look and grumbling about the noble savage theory.
While officials are not able to offer an estimate of when the river will be navigable, they stress that the situation is temporary. Because it is still early in the year, travelers do not need to worry that this delay will leave them stranded in the Rocky Mountains when the winter blizzards hit.
Meanwhile, travelers are encouraged to take this delay as an opportunity to rest, recuperate from any illnesses picked up on the road, and restock supplies. "St Paul's many trading posts offer goods at prices that anyone, from teacher to banker, can afford. In addition, our friendly citizens are always willing to trade with you, or just chat," said O'Malley. He stressed that dispite the flooding, the city's water supply remains free of cholera and dysentery. However, "should a loved one pass away, you will find several skilled stone-workers in the city who are more than willing to carve any arcane pop culture reference onto a tombstone for you."
Updated river conditions will be published as they are made available. For more information, please contact the City of St. Paul Department of Public Works directly.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Excuses/Anecdote
I lied about the excuses part. I sort of forgot I made a blog. Which is weird, because it's right there, in the title. Out of sight, out of mind (I almost made a sight/site pun, but that sort of humor is beneath me. Instead, here is the word boner). But then I found out I had a fan/follower/friend/whatever Google calls them. So I came back to the blog. I must write. The public demands it.
So the other night I had a dream that I remember vividly, which is strange for me. I was in a room that looked like an amphitheater but was also the guest bedroom in my grandparent's old house. The seats were filled with people and I was about to go onstage with Heather, Rachel from Heather's old sketch group, and Jack McBrayer, 30 Rock's Kenneth the Page. As we walked out I became aware that we were there to do an improv set and I started to freak out a little, because I have no idea how to improvise. So I stood in the middle of the stage for a while, and suddenly, it came to me. I pantomimed fiddling around with a machine for a little while, then turned toward the audience and announced, "I am a mad scientist and I have just finished building a bullshit detector!"
I should mention that this was one of those dreams where the conscious self ("Real Naomi") is watching the dream and has full access to the thoughts of the unconscious self who is a character in the dream ("Dream Naomi"). It wasn't a lucid dream, per se, because I wasn't able to influence anything. It was more like Real Naomi was the Greek chorus to Dream Naomi's sad, sad tragedy. As soon as I (Dream) made that statement, I (Real) knew I had just screwed myself, because I had started a scene I had no idea how to work my way through, and the one thing I do know about improv is that you should not make declarative statements like that straight to the audience. At this point I assumed that I was in for one of those awkward, humiliating dreams and fully expected to see Dream Naomi shed her clothes in the most shameful way possible.
But then something amazing happened. Dream Naomi came through! Sort of. Jack walked onto the stage, and I knew that he was going to comment on the machine. He started to speak: "Wow, that's really ama-"
"BEEEP.....BEEEP....BEEEEP..."
Dream Naomi was no longer the scientist. She was the machine.
And Real Naomi knew that for the duration of the scene, there'd be a whole lot of bullshit.
Really, I was impressed with my dream self. I don't think I could have thought something like that up so quickly in real life, let alone have the balls to pull it off.. And I did pull it off, repeatedly - every time anyone tried to say something, I beeped at them. Everything was bullshit, even the stuff that contradicted itself, and everything set off the bullshit detector. I could tell that the other three were getting mad at me, but I just keep going. Beeping. Detecting bullshit like the evil device I was pretending to be.
I knew - and I think my dream self did too - that it was a lazy cop-out and probably the worst thing you could do as an improviser (so that's two things I know about improv, don't say stuff to the audience, and don't beep over your scene partners' lines). But I was so proud of myself. It was so out of character. And the audience was laughing! I must have been doing something right, or at least good enough.
I woke up the next morning still thinking about the dream, and I have been ever since. I don't think dreams necessarily have meaning, beyond a mash-up of everything you'd been thinking about the day before, but I felt like this one had special significance. I knew myself a little better. For the first time, I began to think I was more clever than I give myself credit for.
But man, was I an asshole.
So the other night I had a dream that I remember vividly, which is strange for me. I was in a room that looked like an amphitheater but was also the guest bedroom in my grandparent's old house. The seats were filled with people and I was about to go onstage with Heather, Rachel from Heather's old sketch group, and Jack McBrayer, 30 Rock's Kenneth the Page. As we walked out I became aware that we were there to do an improv set and I started to freak out a little, because I have no idea how to improvise. So I stood in the middle of the stage for a while, and suddenly, it came to me. I pantomimed fiddling around with a machine for a little while, then turned toward the audience and announced, "I am a mad scientist and I have just finished building a bullshit detector!"
I should mention that this was one of those dreams where the conscious self ("Real Naomi") is watching the dream and has full access to the thoughts of the unconscious self who is a character in the dream ("Dream Naomi"). It wasn't a lucid dream, per se, because I wasn't able to influence anything. It was more like Real Naomi was the Greek chorus to Dream Naomi's sad, sad tragedy. As soon as I (Dream) made that statement, I (Real) knew I had just screwed myself, because I had started a scene I had no idea how to work my way through, and the one thing I do know about improv is that you should not make declarative statements like that straight to the audience. At this point I assumed that I was in for one of those awkward, humiliating dreams and fully expected to see Dream Naomi shed her clothes in the most shameful way possible.
But then something amazing happened. Dream Naomi came through! Sort of. Jack walked onto the stage, and I knew that he was going to comment on the machine. He started to speak: "Wow, that's really ama-"
"BEEEP.....BEEEP....BEEEEP..."
Dream Naomi was no longer the scientist. She was the machine.
And Real Naomi knew that for the duration of the scene, there'd be a whole lot of bullshit.
Really, I was impressed with my dream self. I don't think I could have thought something like that up so quickly in real life, let alone have the balls to pull it off.. And I did pull it off, repeatedly - every time anyone tried to say something, I beeped at them. Everything was bullshit, even the stuff that contradicted itself, and everything set off the bullshit detector. I could tell that the other three were getting mad at me, but I just keep going. Beeping. Detecting bullshit like the evil device I was pretending to be.
I knew - and I think my dream self did too - that it was a lazy cop-out and probably the worst thing you could do as an improviser (so that's two things I know about improv, don't say stuff to the audience, and don't beep over your scene partners' lines). But I was so proud of myself. It was so out of character. And the audience was laughing! I must have been doing something right, or at least good enough.
I woke up the next morning still thinking about the dream, and I have been ever since. I don't think dreams necessarily have meaning, beyond a mash-up of everything you'd been thinking about the day before, but I felt like this one had special significance. I knew myself a little better. For the first time, I began to think I was more clever than I give myself credit for.
But man, was I an asshole.
Friday, November 20, 2009
VACATION!
Stay-cation, I suppose...I am in the middle of an unprecedented five days off from work. I had three weeks of vacation this year (one purchased) plus a floating holiday that needed to be used during 2009 and only two weeks of actual vacations (LAX/Vegas and the cruise) planned. In August Ryan and I went to the Fantasuites to stay in the moon room, so I guess that counted as a mini-vacation. And the rest I had left over, so I took it this week and planned nothing. And honestly, it's been great.
So far:
Tuesday night: Stayed up late playing video games (I now have my own Lego Batman villain)
Wednesday: Slept in, went to Grandmas to almost finish the planet quilt, went to Ikea, played for church, stayed up late playing video games).
Thursday: Slept in, went to the casino buffet with Ryan, went to the fabric store, came home, removed pants, cleaned the kitchen, started making felt food (this is the earliest I've started Christmas presents), stayed up late watching TV.
Friday: Slept in, never put pants on in the first place, watched TV and worked on the felt food. When Ryan gets off work we may go to the giant Menards in St. Paul.
And I don't even know what I'm going to do over the weekend. I have to say, this taking time off and doing nothing is pretty amazing. I may have to do it more often.
So far:
Tuesday night: Stayed up late playing video games (I now have my own Lego Batman villain)
Wednesday: Slept in, went to Grandmas to almost finish the planet quilt, went to Ikea, played for church, stayed up late playing video games).
Thursday: Slept in, went to the casino buffet with Ryan, went to the fabric store, came home, removed pants, cleaned the kitchen, started making felt food (this is the earliest I've started Christmas presents), stayed up late watching TV.
Friday: Slept in, never put pants on in the first place, watched TV and worked on the felt food. When Ryan gets off work we may go to the giant Menards in St. Paul.
And I don't even know what I'm going to do over the weekend. I have to say, this taking time off and doing nothing is pretty amazing. I may have to do it more often.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Of Bras
I am not a fan of bras. Don't get me wrong, they can do some amazing things to the ol' A-and-a-half cups, but on the whole I find them uncomfortable and unnecessary and awful. And here's the worst part: I'm terrible with the hooks. Can't take them on or off to save my life. I have to flip my bras upside-down and inside-out, do the hooks in front of my body, flip the bra up, scoot it around my chest, and put my arms through the straps. And then at night (afternoon, when I get home from work, who am I kidding) to take it off I do the opposite.
Yes, Internet, I have the same level of bra expertise as the average 16-year-old boy. Except that I get to touch boobs all the time and they are AWESOME.
So yesterday I was at Target on my lunch break and wandered into the intimates area, where I saw a clearance rack full of bras. I try to avoid shopping for bras as much as possible, because 1, see above, and 2, when you're in a stable long-term relationship you can get away with wearing nasty old bras. But some of the old nasty bras I own are literally falling apart, so I decided that I could suck it up and buy some deeply discounted bras on my paid lunch break. Seemed like a best-case scenario.
I pulled a bra of the rack to examine it. Hmmm, no hooks. Must have a clasp on the front. Sure enough, there it was, a round metal one in between the cups. I twisted both sides, assuming it was some sort of elaborate hooking mechanism. Nothing happened. I twisted some more. Still nothing. I grabbed the top and bottom of the clasp and twisted them in opposite directions, thinking maybe it was a screw. The bra remained intact.
Panic and frustration started to set in. "Come on, Naomi," I thought, "you can do this. You are NOT a 16 year old boy!" I grabbed my boob to reassure myself of this fact. Once more I grabbed the bra by the cups, and in a fit of rage, pulled. The bra opened. The clasp, as it turned out, was actually a snap.
A snap. A simple, freaking snap. You guys, I have had breasts for at least a decade now (late bloomer)....why is this the first time I have seen something like this? This is genius! This is...THE BEST BRA I HAVE EVER OWNED.
Oh yes, I bought it. And oh yes, I am wearing it now. And if I didn't want to be wearing it, just give me half a second and - poof - no bra! This will shave close to 10 seconds off my morning routine. That adds up; I wear a bra almost every single day. I may have to go back and buy more. Although, icing on the cake, this bra, this already freaking awesome bra, is REVERSIBLE. Green on one side, white with multicolored stars on the other. It's like I already have two!
Target, I know I say this every time I visit, but you are the best. For real. Thank you for your amazing, comfortable, easy-to-wear, clearance bra. It has changed my life.
Yes, Internet, I have the same level of bra expertise as the average 16-year-old boy. Except that I get to touch boobs all the time and they are AWESOME.
So yesterday I was at Target on my lunch break and wandered into the intimates area, where I saw a clearance rack full of bras. I try to avoid shopping for bras as much as possible, because 1, see above, and 2, when you're in a stable long-term relationship you can get away with wearing nasty old bras. But some of the old nasty bras I own are literally falling apart, so I decided that I could suck it up and buy some deeply discounted bras on my paid lunch break. Seemed like a best-case scenario.
I pulled a bra of the rack to examine it. Hmmm, no hooks. Must have a clasp on the front. Sure enough, there it was, a round metal one in between the cups. I twisted both sides, assuming it was some sort of elaborate hooking mechanism. Nothing happened. I twisted some more. Still nothing. I grabbed the top and bottom of the clasp and twisted them in opposite directions, thinking maybe it was a screw. The bra remained intact.
Panic and frustration started to set in. "Come on, Naomi," I thought, "you can do this. You are NOT a 16 year old boy!" I grabbed my boob to reassure myself of this fact. Once more I grabbed the bra by the cups, and in a fit of rage, pulled. The bra opened. The clasp, as it turned out, was actually a snap.
A snap. A simple, freaking snap. You guys, I have had breasts for at least a decade now (late bloomer)....why is this the first time I have seen something like this? This is genius! This is...THE BEST BRA I HAVE EVER OWNED.
Oh yes, I bought it. And oh yes, I am wearing it now. And if I didn't want to be wearing it, just give me half a second and - poof - no bra! This will shave close to 10 seconds off my morning routine. That adds up; I wear a bra almost every single day. I may have to go back and buy more. Although, icing on the cake, this bra, this already freaking awesome bra, is REVERSIBLE. Green on one side, white with multicolored stars on the other. It's like I already have two!
Target, I know I say this every time I visit, but you are the best. For real. Thank you for your amazing, comfortable, easy-to-wear, clearance bra. It has changed my life.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
A little bit about the future
Burlesque, by the way, is awesome. People see you naked and they cheer! How liberating must that be? I am hooked. In the spring, when I have time, I will be taking classes.
Right now I'm in my editing class. Taking a break, so you'll understand if there are errors in this post. Some quick background: Technical Communication is my fourth major. I hope it will be my last. Writing, as it turns out, is awesome. I think that's something I used to know, but I had forgotten. When I was little, I wanted to be a flight attendant. I actually wanted to be a writer, but I officially wanted to be a flight attendant so I could A., have a steady job, and B, have a built-in source of inspiration in all of the new people I'd meet and places I'd go.
I was a very practical child.
Anyway I am in Editing, which, as it turns out, is even more awesome than the writing itself. Writing is fun; writer's block is not. Having to come up with something creative and interesting and readable on a deadline is not. I'm sure this is something that gets easier with time and practice, but I am all about instant gratification, and I'm good at editing now. Plus, I'm a very process-oriented person. Writing is never done; you can always improve everything. Editing, I suppose, is similar, but there is a discernable end most of the time - this letter is completely free of spelling and grammatical errors; that article completely follows AP style guidelines, etc. I like fixing things, and I have known almost since I first learned to read that there is no end to the writing that needs to be fixed.
So this is the plan, for now:
1. Keep editing
2. Earn this degree
3. Save the world, one comma splice at a time.
Right now I'm in my editing class. Taking a break, so you'll understand if there are errors in this post. Some quick background: Technical Communication is my fourth major. I hope it will be my last. Writing, as it turns out, is awesome. I think that's something I used to know, but I had forgotten. When I was little, I wanted to be a flight attendant. I actually wanted to be a writer, but I officially wanted to be a flight attendant so I could A., have a steady job, and B, have a built-in source of inspiration in all of the new people I'd meet and places I'd go.
I was a very practical child.
Anyway I am in Editing, which, as it turns out, is even more awesome than the writing itself. Writing is fun; writer's block is not. Having to come up with something creative and interesting and readable on a deadline is not. I'm sure this is something that gets easier with time and practice, but I am all about instant gratification, and I'm good at editing now. Plus, I'm a very process-oriented person. Writing is never done; you can always improve everything. Editing, I suppose, is similar, but there is a discernable end most of the time - this letter is completely free of spelling and grammatical errors; that article completely follows AP style guidelines, etc. I like fixing things, and I have known almost since I first learned to read that there is no end to the writing that needs to be fixed.
So this is the plan, for now:
1. Keep editing
2. Earn this degree
3. Save the world, one comma splice at a time.
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