deja vu [27 Jun 2009|12:45am] Goodbye, Minneapolis. 5| &

goodbye, old friend [10 Jun 2009|10:47pm] I think I finally have to admit defeat. I can't drink coffee anymore. It doesn't matter how dilute with water or cream or other delicious substance; nor what time of day be it morning, noon, or night. It just makes my stomach ache and my nerves shaky no matter how I take it. This, from the girl who drank coffee on end through college and could fall asleep in no time after downing an espresso in the wee hours. Then, in my post-college years working in wine I sort of gave up the habit. I was never the kind of person who really needed coffee in my day, so when I no longer had to wake up at five in the morning or pull any all-nighters, I would occasionally have a cup here and there out of enjoyment only and gradually became more and more acquainted with the vast diversity of tea which took my interest more (not to say that coffee lacks any nuance, I think we can all agree that there's plenty of proof to that). I never really had the inclination to make it at home, and a cup of tea is so much easier to prepare. Buying it out was a luxury I could easily go without, it meant more money for wine. But who knew that forgoing it for awhile meant utter intolerance later? The few times I've drank coffee in the past several months the same effects have happened. You might notice that this is what some smart people would call insanity. Doing the same thing yet expecting a different result. Still, the "Town Talk Iced Coffee" at the Town Talk Diner with maple cream for a meager three bucks (and topped up again by the generous bartender)? Maybe a little bit worth it. 6| &

the lives of others [08 Jun 2009|11:06pm] I sort of wonder about my interest in people. I'm not a particularly social person. Ben talks about being crotchety and I feel like I overwhelmingly one-up him with my isolationist tendencies. It's not that I don't like friends. I'm just not very good at keeping up with more than a handful. Thank goodness, really, for Facebook and the little pithy comments I can drop in a matter of minutes to let acquaintances know that I exist and am aware that they do too. Parties, for me, are difficult unless I find one or two people to engage in steady conversation or I'm completely out of my element. It isn't misanthropy, even if there is a gloss of that at first glace. I do actually completely love people. One of my favorite activities is to skim the Craigslist Missed Connections section. You might think I'm looking for myself, but I can tell you I'm not. I'm looking at others, and a transient window unlocked and sent out into space for anyone to peer into. The little snips of moments that can be so vital and fascinating. If written well enough, they play out like little short stories, the anonymous characters fully realized beyond their counterparts in reality. Below is an exchange that just paints itself perfectly in three four acts. ( ... ) 4| &

and in more superficial news- [08 Jun 2009|04:51pm] [ mood | fatttt ] I know, I know. The body-positive feminist in me is sourly laughing in disdain. But. Despite all the stress of now (and my inclination to eat and drink exceptionally well), I am thinner now than I was a year ago. Not just thinner, but more muscular and toned. I can probably get by with the "blah blah I'm healthier so that makes it ok" but honestly. I look good right now and it makes me really happy. And if I did actually cut back on the eating and drinking so well, I'd probably be even thinner and more taut. Uhg, this is so bad. But dammit, I look good and it makes me happy. Call me superficial. Do it. 8| &

[04 Jun 2009|02:50pm] "Learning how to think" really means learning how to exercise some control over how and what you think. It means being conscious and aware enough to choose what you pay attention to and to choose how you construct meaning from experience. Because if you cannot exercise this kind of choice in adult life, you will be totally hosed. I came across this quote today by one of my favorite authors, David Foster Wallace, and it struck me in the midst of the strange chaos that currently is my life. I have been struggling, and frankly, it sucks and is rather pointless and I'm finding myself struggling not to struggle which in turn becomes a kind of recursive flailing about that only serves to stress the shit out of me and everyone I've been in contact with. I quit my job with the hope that it would give me some breathing room, time-wise, to get my shit together. Instead, it's given me a lot of mental breathing room and apparently license to freak the fuck out. After five days though, I tired of it, and I think I'm all better, thanks. The Wallace quote is in the context of a graduation speech he gave at Kenyon a few years ago, and he's talking about giving yourself freedom and consciousness of choice and getting away from the "default-setting" of self-centeredness that is someone's most natural state of being. He's not saying that everyone is some arrogant, selfish asshole, but just that we're only given one brain and one set of eyes to which we perceive the world with, so it's natural that we position ourselves as the default center of (our) universe. I'm realizing more and more that the past week has indeed been a state of nature, for myself. That to get myself all wound around the axle about this and that petty shit (the intense hemorrhaging of money that comes from moving cross-country) or even more serious matters of the psyche (leaving someone I love) is ridiculous in that it has been a giant me, me, me blubberfest and it's not even self-serving because it had been making me miserable. Worse, I was making miserable the very people that are trying so selflessly to help me along in this decidedly unpleasant process. That, I should perhaps reevaluate my perception of things a tiny tweak to include the perspectives of those around me and how this is affecting them. Fucking shocking, I know. Beyond that, changing my understanding of this whole experience from something that is unpleasant and painful and frustrating into something more positive. That from this, like so many other seemingly-bullshit scenarios life lobs in my face, I can seek a different meaning or at the very least practice a change of view from the "default" to something else (maybe something better). So in the interest of changing this perspective, today I'm putting shit in boxes. I'm not getting philosophical about "my life in boxes" or whatever, because I've had enough of the philosophy already, and it's time to do something that in the very least resembles tangible progress. The other kind of progress will just have to be expressed in different ways. The really important kind of freedom involves attention, and awareness, and discipline, and effort, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them, over and over, in myriad petty little unsexy ways, every day. That is real freedom. &

[26 May 2009|01:00am] The lilacs here are simply dizzying. 2| &

well ain't that a kick in the kidneys [12 May 2009|10:52pm] There's nothing quite like waking up to inexplicable, searing back and pelvis pain. Let me tell you, it really gets the day off on a special footing. I think back to about sixteen hours ago and can't believe that I actually managed to get myself out of bed, into the shower, dressed, and down the stairs to Vicki's car. In between that, I panicked and called my parents, a lovely 6am wake-up call for them, because I didn't know what to do. They said the obvious, take something, and if it doesn't get better, get yourself to a clinic. I just needed someone else to say it. I have a very high pain threshold. I know this about myself, and was told it when the doctors eight years ago looked aghast when I recounted how the first day I felt the sharp stabbing pain I simply took a few Tylenol before boarding the bus to school. I guess I don't learn. Doing my shipping duties while slumping myself over a table at work didn't cut it, so after an hour of struggling to not scream, Vicki drove me down a few blocks to the clinic at the University on the advice of Ben. It was a good call. Time goes incredibly slow when pain seems to just spill out across a portion of your body, only seemingly getting worse. In real person minutes, I ended up getting to see a doctor very quickly. Probably not quick enough for those who had to awkwardly pretend to not see me writhing in my chair while nervously eying the wastepaper basket nearby in case the waves of nausea produced something. I was trying to keep it together as the nurse summoned me to the lab, but a tear slid down my cheek anyway. She was sympathetic. I felt pathetic, but I felt more pain than pride and didn't care. Demerol is a beautiful thing (so beautiful it doesn't become underlined in spell-check). The nurse said she was told she was good at giving shots, and whoever told her so was right. I still felt pain ten minutes after when they checked on me, but in another five, I was practically asleep on the exam table. The disconnection from pain is strange. You know it's still there, that something is still wrong with you, but the switch sending the stimulus is off. The memory of pain becomes quickly distant. The doctor surmised that it wasn't another infection, thank chance. That it was likely kidney stones judging by the symptoms and my otherwise general good health. Hah, what an embarrassing old man kind of malady, right? Worse yet, I was betrayed by some of my favorite things: spinach, beets, kale, sweet potatoes. Also my poor instinct to drink water. He wrote me up some prescriptions in some scribbled doctor-script, and noted that my phone number was an Oregon area code. We talked about Cannon Beach, and how the lakes, while beautiful, will never be anything like the sea. Now I wait, and continue to take Vicodin and souped-up Ibuprofen tabs the size of Mini Mentos. Some antibiotics too, in case the stones were to become infected. If this doesn't clear up in a week and the pain is still there but the meds are gone I need to get a CT scan. I told him I was uninsured and that it sounded expensive. He said it probably was. It cost me just $200 to walk in the door. Honestly though, if I'd had the actual cash on me at the time, I'd have handed it over in a second in exchange for the Demerol. Of course, the $200 was just to see the doctor, the shot itself costs more. As does the anti-nausea pill that dissolved under my tongue and tasted like raspberry Kool-aid, or the urinalysis lab with my pitiful amount of piss to examine. It's worth it, of course, to not be in such pain. But now I'm at the very least $200 shorter than where I started, and that hurts. I'm looking at cars now, to buy and drive home, instead of sinking it into a rental truck. Thinking about saving more money in case the job market won't open itself to me. $200 is not a lot in the scheme of things, but it hurts to know that I can save and save and something like this takes it away from me. It could have been worse is the mantra of the day. Could've been a bigger medical issue, that would've been the worst. Could've been an ER visit, which would have easily tacked another zero (or two) to the tab. Yes, it could've been worse, but it doesn't take the pain away. Only the Vicodin does that. 4| &

blood alcohol level [06 May 2009|09:52am] My dad's been on a genealogy kick lately. He had started working on tracing the Mosbacher family roots around eight years ago, but only got so far as tracing where the Mosbachers went once they reached America. Anything before my great-great-great grandparents, Joseph and Elizabeth Mosbacher, landed in New York in 1854. My dad, growing up without a father for most of his life, has been intensely fascinated with finding out more about his heritage, and was disappointed that as far back into Germany we got was a general idea that they originated in Bavaria. Well, Bavaria is a large district of Germany and the boundaries have most certainly changed over the centuries. Sometime in January he was surfing the Internet and stumbled upon some small biography of Joseph Mosbacher that shed a little more light on his parents, William and Catherine Mosbacher. It was one line, indicating that William worked for the local wine industry. My dad forwarded this on to me, as hey, interesting stuff! The article also indicated that Joseph and Elizabeth traveled with her brother, Karl Heichemer. My dad found a nice comprehensive Wikipedia article on him that he Google-translated into English. It said that her family, and her husband's family (the Mosbachers) came from a small village in the Pfalz called Forst an der Weinstraße (translated loosly: Forest on the Wine Route). He got in touch with the man who wrote the Wiki article, and he's apparently a historian who does a lot of work on the local history of that area, and had tons of scans of documents from Catholic Diocese like wedding and birth and death certificates. All of these are such treasures to my dad, who now can finally piece together more parts of the family puzzle that is so important to him. It's all interesting to me, but what I think is fascinating is that there is still a winery in Forst called Weingut Georg Mosbacher. The winemaker is the daughter of this winery family, Sabine Mosbacher-Düringer, and the winery was founded in 1920. According to this historian guy, Mosbacher is a very uncommon name in Germany and all Mosbachers that had originated from Forst are most certainly related, so I am related to a string of winemakers that goes back to the late 1700's and up to the very present. I'm desperately trying to track down this wine in the US, because I think it would be the coolest gift for my dad for Father's Day (even if the wine isn't that good-- but it kind of looks like it is). It makes me happy in a strange way. Coming from a family that mostly doesn't care much for drinking, especially wine, I sort of wondered where the spark in me came from. I always knew that the art came from my mom, the pragmatism from my dad. But the passion for wine? No clue. I guess it was there in the ancestry all along. Now if I could only figure out where that cleft chin came from. 8| &

more first-world problems, now in web 2.0! [29 Apr 2009|11:29pm] [ mood | this is a quality post ] I have exactly 97 RSS feeds I follow in my Google Reader because: a) I like to keep informed through various Internet channels of news and entertainment items. b) I have a diverse breadth of interests for which there are many specializing blogs to read. c) I'm aiming for as little productivity as possible at work, simply because I can (and WILL). But really, just 97? I need to man up and bring that to at least a hundo if I expect to bring my working to an utter halt, so I'm asking you, smart kids, what blogs/sites do you read daily? Primarily here, I'm looking for blogs and/or sites that don't update a zillion times a day, so no news or aggregating sites (e.g. HuffPo that updates every fifteen minutes with hot-off-the-press lib-spews is not only hard to follow, but bleeds together very quickly as...my eyes start bleeding from the content). It's okay if it's a blog that doesn't update daily, if you read it, I'll assume it's worth the lag time. I'm interested in what you're reading, but if you want to know what I'm reading, here are my folder names, and an accompanying example blog for each if you can't translate my stupid-person-speak: artery (swissmiss), fashun (The Satorialist), foodstuffs (Smitten Kitchen), nerdhacks (43 Folders), pdxxx (BikePortland), politicz (Wonkette), shelterporn (Decorno), wine-whine (Fermentation), nerdery (Boing Boing), comix (xkcd), perblogs (Dooce), randomry (kottke.org) (also PS if you're on Google Reader we should be friends and you can have me spam you with my shared items) 8| &

spring; [21 Apr 2009|03:35pm] 10| &

[07 Apr 2009|04:41pm] Thanks Vermont, for proving that representative government isn't completely pointless. &

when I should be in bed [05 Apr 2009|11:14pm] [ music | Pearl Jam - Just a Girl ] but what else is new? Spring has been slower to coax out, what with all the snow around this weekend. It felt like February all over again, and apropos of that, we fell asleep last night to Groundhog Day playing on the computer after biking home from Art Crank near hypothermic as my gray Chucks were no match for rain-snow. It melted by this afternoon, but the wind is rattling against my now de-plasticized windows (wishful thinking two weeks prior) and the wind says winter still has a bit of breath left in it. Another last remnant of winter is this lovely cold I've been carrying around in my lungs all week. I got it from Ben, who initially thought he was getting his seasonal allergies as the weather seemed to turn for the springlike a week ago. Thinking that allergies are not contagious, there was no interruption to the regularly scheduled smooching, and a few days later I was waking up with the sensation that an elephant had been sleeping on my trachea. We've been hacking up lungs ever since, with nights turning into Cough-Off Competitions to see who can wake themselves up from coughing the most times. At the very least, this is starting to help work those winter-neglected core muscles just in time to hop on the bike for reals again. It's hard to convince myself that the first week of April is over. That spring is here, whether or not it has officially sprung weather-wise. That July will be here faster than I can fathom. That all those plans we make, like we did on Friday night, sitting on the floor at nearly two in the morning amidst a night of guitar playing and painting, have a whispered expiration date. We won't get to it all. But we'll get to some it, so there's no more time for winter ruts. 3| &

outside the blind [24 Mar 2009|02:30pm] [ mood | placid ] [ music | happy apple - western motel girl ] This is the kind of week where everything moves incredibly slow and fluid. It easily feels like it should be over already, though it's just begun. Don't wish away your days, I know, I know. I love this part of spring, really. It's the warm-up pitch. It's still stormy and rainy and windy and a bit cold, but the change in the air is palpable. Soon, winter will be all shook out and spring can really begin. And then, we'll wish for summer. So it goes before we know it. In the meantime, this is the kind of day where I want to float away on an endless cup of tea, put on some good jazz tunes at a quiet level, and read a book by the window. It's just a matter of keeping your eye on the ( prize ) 5| &

for the better [20 Mar 2009|05:07pm] It may not seem quite like it on the surface; but spring is coming. 2| &

season of regression [10 Mar 2009|11:29pm] Been sequestered here all night, drinking coffee and eating cereal, listening to old Beck tunes and drawing and painting madly. Now throw in some vague Livejournal musings and suddenly it's 2004 all over again, innit? I guess there you have it. A few steps forward, and back. It snowed today. Not sure I care. I've been feeling the blues pretty hard as of late. Yesterday though I came to the conclusion that I should stop fighting it. Stop hating winter. Minnesota in winter has helped me appreciate dead things more. After a few days of "warmer" weather, the previous dirty snows receded to reveal all sorts of beautiful dead things, mostly plants. The gaping seed hulls and bald flower heads. Unearthed leaves looking ghostlike stripped of their insides. Tomorrow there will be white covering again, softening the edges of the world. A few steps forward, and back. All I know is that winter here softens, alright. Hopefully come spring and biking weather I'll have a distinct jawline again. A few steps forward, yeah. 12| &

yeah pretty much like [09 Mar 2009|03:49pm] So it was. 1| &

oh the weather outside is frightful [26 Feb 2009|05:29pm] [ mood | lucky ] Ben calls me up this afternoon to tell me his already-harrowing tale of trying to make it home. (For those of you not in the area, it has been dumping inches upon inches of snow for the past few afternoon hours and is expected to continue a bit into the evening with a total storm accumulation of about ten inches.) He was heading out from work early, but called me after the articulated city bus he was riding in had to stop as it failed to ascend the steep still-unplowed hills in downtown Saint Paul, the back half of the bus twisting perpendicular to the front end. He was walking up those hills to try to catch another bus, the snow piling up so that the sidewalks and curbs and streets were all indistinguishable. Pretty sure that he'll need to take a normal-size city bus on a route that takes a much more roundabout way to where he intended to go, he said that he was likely to be home over an hour later than expected. "Oh my, you poor thing!" was my immediate reaction. But he corrected me saying that it was all okay, except that he was so incredibly sorry that he wouldn't be able to pick up my birthday cake like he had planned. So. Here he is, out of breath trudging through half a foot of snow on a steep street in the middle of a city-wide declared snow emergency knowing he won't be home for hours because of it and he's really really upset. That he was unable to get my cake. "It's not a birthday if there's no cake!" Love love love love love love love love love. 3| &

oh the joy of an endless staycation [25 Feb 2009|03:25pm] I am really trying here. Trying to decide whether or not to feel indignant and somewhat offended by this recent piece in the Boston Globe about being laid off and loving it. Part of the reason I am reluctant to get immediately letter-to-the-editor outraged by it is that it reads almost like an Onion article, with such lines like: Despite the grim task of making ends meet (firing the nanny, bailing on Whole Foods, applying for unemployment), there is a newly forming society of people who are making the best of being laid off. Excuse me, but, one of those things is not like the other. Maybe it is some high-brow Swiftian piece about American notions of economic struggle that is so artfully crafted it's flying above my sarcasm-dar? Or, it's someone's legitimate attempt to say "Chin up, you thousands of unemployed! Working sucks anyway!" The article profiles a handful of people that all read like upper-middle-class workaholics. Husband and wife who worked at a software design company and a law firm. Some lady who made 95k designing training materials for teachers. Oh no, she had to cut back on the nanny! Why the hell aren't they profiling the nanny? There's one token guy in the 40k income bracket, but again, it's not some guy who made 40k also supporting a family of four. Where are the puff piece parts about the laid off Home Depot sales associate? I mean, I get it. They're saying the economic toilet flush is hurting everybody. We already know that the lowly people of the service industries are suffering. We've already been bummed enough by stories of the poor, huddled masses. This is an article of hope! The silver lining is that people are using their severance packages to take up piano lessons or learn French like they'd always wanted! How fucking heartwarming. Excuse me while I go heat up my insta-ramen. &

on maturity and getting older [24 Feb 2009|05:31pm] Last night I stole a pen from Chambers. Take that, Jean-Georges! 3| &

ring a ding cha ching [18 Feb 2009|10:23pm] At the ripe old age of nearly-twenty-four, I have for the first time completed my federal income tax return on my own. My dad checked my numbers (thank god), but otherwise it was an independent effort. I feel so growed up! Durr. I'm actually incredibly fucking excited to have this out of the way so quickly, as I have a ridiculous amount of money coming back to me thanks to a big moving expenses deduction, student loan interest deduction, and accidentally paying way too much federal tax on my paychecks from last year because those W-4 forms always confuse the shit out of me and I never put the right amount of exemptions. All told, I'm getting back slightly over a grand, which is fabulous timing given that I have never been so flat-ass broke in my life as I have been this month. The hours cut is hurting more than expected. So an extra thousand will give me some breathing room and if properly portioned out, can give me a little relief for a few months if I play my bills right. More incredibly fortunate news is that I'm going to be doing a wine gig the day before my birthday. Through the wonders of Facebook and Sokol Blosser's dedication to the new wide marketing arena of microblogging and social networking, I was contacted last week about helping out at a wine club event in town (Minnesota is a big club market from my recollection). For payment, they'll be sending me some wine, which as far as I'm concerned is as good as cash since it just prevents me from frittering that money away on wine anyway. The ultimate plus is that it's at least a toe-hold if not foot-in-the-door back into the wine industry and a good way to reconnect with Sokol Blosser and remind them of what a super-awesome wine seller I am. Any semblance of job security be it future or present is enough for me to get optimistic. At the very least I'll have some rockin' Pinot to sip on while I otherwise subsist on copious cups of PG Tips and crappy Target-brand granola bars. 3| &

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