The last concert I saw was in May of 2010, just a few months before I left for Tonga. When my friend Elizabeth told me The Punch Brothers would be in Lexington this month, I was all in. I'm becoming a bigger and bigger fan of bluegrass music, and since I plan on trying out the mandolin soon, I'd hoped it would be equal motivation as well as entertainment.
Entertainment would be light-years away from categorizing this experience. Concert doesn't even justify the caliber of talent these men expel when they play and sing. Though Chris Thile has the most leverage as far as stardom, the entire band was jaw-dropping. Each player (banjo, fiddle, bass, guitar, and of course Thile's mandolin) had his own solo in most of the songs, and the harmonies just made it more ridiculous. The speed and range of instruments and vocals...I was flabbergasted.
This was quite obvious when I got to meet the band afterwards for poster-signing. Whitney and Elizabeth shoved me in front of them because they were nervous and I was calm and tired. They're still people, I figured, so it doesn't really matter what I say. They're not going to remember me anyway--especially since their tour schedule has them packing up every day to go to a new town/state.
So Chris Thile signs first, then the bass player, who, as he's looking up at me, says, "Oh, I really like your pendant."
I was wearing a random, simple gold dangly chain with a two-part Japanese girl in a kimono. She looks geisha-ish. I'm not sure why I decided to buy it, but I like Japanese people and the colors were pretty. And I like buying strange things.
However, this made me feel very strange, as though I needed to accept the compliment while acknowledging the weirdness of wearing a little Japanese girl around my neck. So instead of a standard "thank you," I replied,
"Oh, thanks--I've been a little self-conscious about it because I was afraid it would make me look like a pedophile with an Asian fetish or something."
Calculating, awkward stare.
"Cause, you know, it's a little Asian gir....right. Well, thanks."
Luckily the guitarist saved me and said, "No, it really is cool. I like it."
I blushed, said thank you, and could only think about getting the hell out of dodge.
As we walked back to the car and the girls were all giddy and freaking out, was giving myself a serious mental going-over. Really, Jamie? Who would use "pedophile" and "fetish" in the same sentence while getting an autograph from probably the best bluegrass musicians in the world? That is beyond bizarre.
The girls said, "Well, at least they'll probably remember you! I'm like any other girl who just walked up and smiled and said 'thanks,' but now you'll be the pendant girl."
Of course, if they actually do remember me, I'm sure it'll involve adjectives such as "strange", "awkward", "Asian necklace" or "oddly chatty fetish girl." Honestly, how have I made it in public thus far? Someone give me a muzzle.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Thursday, April 12, 2012
For the first time in about a month, I didn't have to work for two whole days. My past 3 work weeks have been:
Week 1: 50+
Week 2: 68 hours
Week 3: 55 hours
I've been tired and needing friends.
And to be honest, I've been in an odd, panicky state. I'm like the dog from "Up" (squirrel!) as I frantically dart between job searches, potential grad schools, and my slowly-progressing portfolio, which should be about 30 pages of creative nonfiction by the end of this fall.
So here are some things I've learned in this odd time of kaleidoscope emotions:
--Peppermint tums are WAY better than those fruit smoothie wannabes.
--Eating peppermint tums for breakfast makes me messed up.
--If you get an ulcer, you will die. Or you'll feel like it anyway.
--$8.25 an hour isn't worth dealing with misplaced anger issues.
--Sometimes, people just aren't nice.
--Sometimes, people are extremely nice and will bring you gravy and biscuits to work.
--If music were the only thing in church, I don't think I'd ever leave.
--Today, I listened to the best church music I'd ever heard. Piano, acoustic guitar, a violin, and a cello. No loudness, no screaming vocals, no theatrics. Just brilliant.
--When I become discontent with things, I want to move somewhere. Start new. I like doing that.
--I need to stop being a doormat. At least I'm an approachable one.
--I need to try out an older style of music.
--Sadly, coffee and I may have to part ways, or else my diet will consist mostly of peppermint tums. And Zantac. *Pouty face.*
--I miss working in a service-learning environment. I miss volunteering somewhere. When you're providing a service, people don't scream at you for making mistakes. People smile more often. They say thank you and mean it. I need that.
Living in this setting is wonderful, but sometimes I feel as though I were made for bucket baths and houses with no televisions. I need to find a mountain man with a lumberjack beard and have him build me a cabin in the woods. I like lumberjack beards, you know.
Week 1: 50+
Week 2: 68 hours
Week 3: 55 hours
I've been tired and needing friends.
And to be honest, I've been in an odd, panicky state. I'm like the dog from "Up" (squirrel!) as I frantically dart between job searches, potential grad schools, and my slowly-progressing portfolio, which should be about 30 pages of creative nonfiction by the end of this fall.
So here are some things I've learned in this odd time of kaleidoscope emotions:
--Peppermint tums are WAY better than those fruit smoothie wannabes.
--Eating peppermint tums for breakfast makes me messed up.
--If you get an ulcer, you will die. Or you'll feel like it anyway.
--$8.25 an hour isn't worth dealing with misplaced anger issues.
--Sometimes, people just aren't nice.
--Sometimes, people are extremely nice and will bring you gravy and biscuits to work.
--If music were the only thing in church, I don't think I'd ever leave.
--Today, I listened to the best church music I'd ever heard. Piano, acoustic guitar, a violin, and a cello. No loudness, no screaming vocals, no theatrics. Just brilliant.
--When I become discontent with things, I want to move somewhere. Start new. I like doing that.
--I need to stop being a doormat. At least I'm an approachable one.
--I need to try out an older style of music.
--Sadly, coffee and I may have to part ways, or else my diet will consist mostly of peppermint tums. And Zantac. *Pouty face.*
--I miss working in a service-learning environment. I miss volunteering somewhere. When you're providing a service, people don't scream at you for making mistakes. People smile more often. They say thank you and mean it. I need that.
Living in this setting is wonderful, but sometimes I feel as though I were made for bucket baths and houses with no televisions. I need to find a mountain man with a lumberjack beard and have him build me a cabin in the woods. I like lumberjack beards, you know.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
I Once Was a Warrior
Let me be honest, here. In Tonga, I never felt like I was saving the world or being a hero. I often felt as though my accomplishments were near-nil. Then there were times I felt Avengers-worthy heroic, like in these moments:
--The day I stood up to the First Lady of Tonga after she cussed me out. I told her to be nice and calm down.
--When I survived my horrendous bout of food poisoning. I didn't even cry the whole 7 hours I rid my body of corned beef and sketchy raw fish (probably for the best.) I did cry, however, when I talked to my mom the next day. There's something about a mom's voice when you're sick and far, far away. It totally doesn't take away from my bad-arse-ness, since I slowly walked to the nearest store (which was closed) to get my own Sprite. I looked deranged.
--The day of the Molokau Massacre. See blogpost for that one.
--Any time I killed cockroaches...with books, flip flops,and even my bare fist.
--When I killed Socrates. Haha. Lie. Even in his final fleeting moments, I still couldn't get within 5 feet of this bleeding, crawling rat. Total wimp day.
And that's where I am. I feel wimpy again. Not in a "ew gross!" girly way, but I am paranoid as hell. I've had nightmares about rats and molokaus, and I've woken up many times thinking a rat was crawling in the walls when, in fact, it was a limb scratching at my window. And once, it was hail.
I got out of the shower the other night, wrapped up tight in my towel since the basement is often an ice box, and I nearly bared myself to the world when a dried leaf suddenly morphed into a scary, 3-inch cockroach. I felt ridiculous.
Then yesterday, as I was playing the uke, I stifled a screech as a black mass appeared on my ceiling. It was a plastic hook that's been there forever.
I'm a mess. This, of course, is a very appealing characteristic to my sister and brother-in-law. Once, as Kelly had spilled the gooey blue laundry detergent in the basement floor, she said, "Jaaaaamie...I need help. Look at this!"
"Oh gah," I said, "It's a rat, isn't it?"
"WHat? No! Of course not. Just look." I slowly walked downstairs, waiting for Kelly to show me whatever the problem was. Before I saw the blueness spreading across the concrete, she said, "Watch out! Mouse!"
I screamed and grabbed her arm like a little girl.
Ronnie, her husband, has taken it upon himself to scare me at random intervals during the day--usually behind doors or at the most convenient moments, when I'm in Jamie-Land and unaware of the world. It's not really that necessary, though, since I've also sent myself into convulsions thinking a gecko was down my shirt (again) when, in fact, it was a tag. Really, Jamie.
I clean toilets at work, pick tiny bits of glass from my head, face, and chest due to working in the kiln room, and am confident in killing most insects.
Yet I'm a wimpy ninny haunted by rodents and centipedes on crack that have already perished at the mercy of my hand, foot, or, of course, rat poisoning.
I need to man up before I go adventuring again.
--The day I stood up to the First Lady of Tonga after she cussed me out. I told her to be nice and calm down.
--When I survived my horrendous bout of food poisoning. I didn't even cry the whole 7 hours I rid my body of corned beef and sketchy raw fish (probably for the best.) I did cry, however, when I talked to my mom the next day. There's something about a mom's voice when you're sick and far, far away. It totally doesn't take away from my bad-arse-ness, since I slowly walked to the nearest store (which was closed) to get my own Sprite. I looked deranged.
--The day of the Molokau Massacre. See blogpost for that one.
--Any time I killed cockroaches...with books, flip flops,and even my bare fist.
--When I killed Socrates. Haha. Lie. Even in his final fleeting moments, I still couldn't get within 5 feet of this bleeding, crawling rat. Total wimp day.
And that's where I am. I feel wimpy again. Not in a "ew gross!" girly way, but I am paranoid as hell. I've had nightmares about rats and molokaus, and I've woken up many times thinking a rat was crawling in the walls when, in fact, it was a limb scratching at my window. And once, it was hail.
I got out of the shower the other night, wrapped up tight in my towel since the basement is often an ice box, and I nearly bared myself to the world when a dried leaf suddenly morphed into a scary, 3-inch cockroach. I felt ridiculous.
Then yesterday, as I was playing the uke, I stifled a screech as a black mass appeared on my ceiling. It was a plastic hook that's been there forever.
I'm a mess. This, of course, is a very appealing characteristic to my sister and brother-in-law. Once, as Kelly had spilled the gooey blue laundry detergent in the basement floor, she said, "Jaaaaamie...I need help. Look at this!"
"Oh gah," I said, "It's a rat, isn't it?"
"WHat? No! Of course not. Just look." I slowly walked downstairs, waiting for Kelly to show me whatever the problem was. Before I saw the blueness spreading across the concrete, she said, "Watch out! Mouse!"
I screamed and grabbed her arm like a little girl.
Ronnie, her husband, has taken it upon himself to scare me at random intervals during the day--usually behind doors or at the most convenient moments, when I'm in Jamie-Land and unaware of the world. It's not really that necessary, though, since I've also sent myself into convulsions thinking a gecko was down my shirt (again) when, in fact, it was a tag. Really, Jamie.
I clean toilets at work, pick tiny bits of glass from my head, face, and chest due to working in the kiln room, and am confident in killing most insects.
Yet I'm a wimpy ninny haunted by rodents and centipedes on crack that have already perished at the mercy of my hand, foot, or, of course, rat poisoning.
I need to man up before I go adventuring again.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Getting Out There
Well herro, pals. This is hardly a blog post, but I want to incorporate as much of my "fullness" as possible in this thing, so you are guinea pigs for music. I'm primarily doing covers, but nonetheless, I'd like to share a bit of myself. Of course uploading the video takes too long and I'm entirely too impatient for that, so here's the link on youtube. Feel free to comment, criticize, advise, yada-yada. I want to practice as much as possible, and I'm hoping this will be a gateway into overcoming a bit of stage fright!
Thank you much, and enjoy!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CAn0aS6gi7s
*ps: the strumming totally sucks at the beginning because I was trying to play louder, but it's just uncomfortable for me to do that. So I changed it. :)
Thank you much, and enjoy!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CAn0aS6gi7s
*ps: the strumming totally sucks at the beginning because I was trying to play louder, but it's just uncomfortable for me to do that. So I changed it. :)
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Environments
Current environmental state:
--I'm in my bedroom at my sister's house in Louisville. It's a big comfy bed and I have four pillows. To my right is a GRE study book, my cell phone (yet to have voicemail, since I keep forgetting to make one of those.) I have a Cody McFadyen novel by my lamp, my notebook and a pen on one of my pillows, clothes in my floor, and hats, boots, and belts hanging on the closet door shoe-holder thing. I love sleeping with no mosquito net.
--A tissue box full but two weeks ago is now down to half its capacity due to my continuous Snotty McDroolface alias. I'm wondering how much blood coming out of your nose per blow is actually okay. This began on my flight back to LA.
Current state of affairs:
--I live with my sister and her fantastic family. It's fun to wake up in the morning to two adorable blonde nieces who throw down Cocoa Puffs in their cute onesie PJs and say, "Hi JJ!" Who knew I'd look forward to morning cartoons? (Unfortunately, it wasn't really my thing in my own childhood. Sad day, I know.)
--I have a job at a make/paint-your-own-art studio called The Artist in You. So far, I love it. I don't sit in front of a computer all day; instead, I greet customers, watch kids paint pottery, clean up after them, unload kilns, glaze stuff, make calls, la dee da. I even once pulled a small piece of glass out of my scalp! (Due to sanding down some sharp glaze.) It's really fun, to be honest.
--I've joined a gym. My sister is helping get my butt back in shape. My upper body strength is equivalent to that of my 4-year old niece who could pass for a two-year-old. My younger niece, Kendall, is definitely stronger than me.
--I went snowboarding for the first time last weekend. I'm pretty sure I bruised my tailbone. It was...fun? I enjoyed learning something new, and it was definitely awesome to learn from Kelly and Ronnie, but by the end I couldn't even pick myself up off the ground. In the last course, after crying once already, realizing my knee was three times its normal size, and being soaked through my shirts, I told my sister with weepy eyes, "I just want this to be ooooover." She was an all-star.
Luckily, my soreness has been replaced with that from the gym.
--I'm currently looking for a car. I'd hoped to just get a bike and use that as my be-all-end-all of transportation matters. But I've fallen into convenience mode rather quickly.
Current Entertainment
It's crazy how quickly I've developed a TV schedule. I've never watched so much TV in my life.
--Nightly Programming is as follows:
Monday: The Voice, followed by Smash
Tuesday: (formerly) Glee, American Idol, Parenthood
Wednesday: The Middle, Modern Family
Thursday: Awake, if I think it's as awesome as it looks
I also like to watch Big Bang and How I Met Your Mother whenever it comes on randomly. AND I'm catching up on Downton Abbey. It's fantastic.
Other entertainment forms include:
--Flipping my nieces onto the couch. It's really quite fun. They're like rag dolls.
--Lots of music, of course! I've even been asked to play/sing "Over the Rainbow" at a wedding this summer. Sah-weeet! I'm also planning on investing in a mandolin once my paychecks get to rollin' and I'm not as freaked out by loan and car payments.
--Watching my brother-in-law's saltwater fish tank. The coral reminds me of Tonga.
Well, friends, that's the update. Perhaps this sounds a bit like your own lives, which is why I've debated my motivations for keeping this blog. If I'm no longer int in third-world life anymore, will you still be interested?
Perhaps I'll have no more awkward encounters with men yelling "Hey baby," or of kids throwing sticks into my bicycle spokes, but I am in a new city, I have a new job, and am contemplating a strange haircut in the near future.
And, of course, I'll always have third world stories to tell.
--I'm in my bedroom at my sister's house in Louisville. It's a big comfy bed and I have four pillows. To my right is a GRE study book, my cell phone (yet to have voicemail, since I keep forgetting to make one of those.) I have a Cody McFadyen novel by my lamp, my notebook and a pen on one of my pillows, clothes in my floor, and hats, boots, and belts hanging on the closet door shoe-holder thing. I love sleeping with no mosquito net.
--A tissue box full but two weeks ago is now down to half its capacity due to my continuous Snotty McDroolface alias. I'm wondering how much blood coming out of your nose per blow is actually okay. This began on my flight back to LA.
Current state of affairs:
--I live with my sister and her fantastic family. It's fun to wake up in the morning to two adorable blonde nieces who throw down Cocoa Puffs in their cute onesie PJs and say, "Hi JJ!" Who knew I'd look forward to morning cartoons? (Unfortunately, it wasn't really my thing in my own childhood. Sad day, I know.)
--I have a job at a make/paint-your-own-art studio called The Artist in You. So far, I love it. I don't sit in front of a computer all day; instead, I greet customers, watch kids paint pottery, clean up after them, unload kilns, glaze stuff, make calls, la dee da. I even once pulled a small piece of glass out of my scalp! (Due to sanding down some sharp glaze.) It's really fun, to be honest.
--I've joined a gym. My sister is helping get my butt back in shape. My upper body strength is equivalent to that of my 4-year old niece who could pass for a two-year-old. My younger niece, Kendall, is definitely stronger than me.
--I went snowboarding for the first time last weekend. I'm pretty sure I bruised my tailbone. It was...fun? I enjoyed learning something new, and it was definitely awesome to learn from Kelly and Ronnie, but by the end I couldn't even pick myself up off the ground. In the last course, after crying once already, realizing my knee was three times its normal size, and being soaked through my shirts, I told my sister with weepy eyes, "I just want this to be ooooover." She was an all-star.
Luckily, my soreness has been replaced with that from the gym.
--I'm currently looking for a car. I'd hoped to just get a bike and use that as my be-all-end-all of transportation matters. But I've fallen into convenience mode rather quickly.
Current Entertainment
It's crazy how quickly I've developed a TV schedule. I've never watched so much TV in my life.
--Nightly Programming is as follows:
Monday: The Voice, followed by Smash
Tuesday: (formerly) Glee, American Idol, Parenthood
Wednesday: The Middle, Modern Family
Thursday: Awake, if I think it's as awesome as it looks
I also like to watch Big Bang and How I Met Your Mother whenever it comes on randomly. AND I'm catching up on Downton Abbey. It's fantastic.
Other entertainment forms include:
--Flipping my nieces onto the couch. It's really quite fun. They're like rag dolls.
--Lots of music, of course! I've even been asked to play/sing "Over the Rainbow" at a wedding this summer. Sah-weeet! I'm also planning on investing in a mandolin once my paychecks get to rollin' and I'm not as freaked out by loan and car payments.
--Watching my brother-in-law's saltwater fish tank. The coral reminds me of Tonga.
Well, friends, that's the update. Perhaps this sounds a bit like your own lives, which is why I've debated my motivations for keeping this blog. If I'm no longer int in third-world life anymore, will you still be interested?
Perhaps I'll have no more awkward encounters with men yelling "Hey baby," or of kids throwing sticks into my bicycle spokes, but I am in a new city, I have a new job, and am contemplating a strange haircut in the near future.
And, of course, I'll always have third world stories to tell.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Nofo 'a, Tonga
It’s 12:20am and my bed is crawling with ants. My heat exhaustion and sunburn is making me so delirious I keep thinking my shadow is a scurrying rodent. I have two best friends sleeping in other bedrooms—hopefully soundly, since we’re all burned and exhausted from a long day—and I keep jumping the ropes of emotional double-dutch.
I’m quite sad because I have two days left to drink coconuts, pick a vibrant flower from a random bush on the side of the road and pluck it behind my ear, finish paperwork, pack up everything in my house, organize my baggage, and prolong the goodbyes to all my wonderful friends in Tonga.
I’m disappointed because after nearly 16 months of Peace Corps service, mine has been interrupted by the universe or fate or just crappy luck. I feel as though my service never actually took off—my expectations were always in the way, I suppose, but after this second site fell apart, I tried my absolute hardest to secure another site—a supportive one—but it, too, fell.
I’m encouraged by all my friends and staff in PC because they’re convinced that this is my merging lane into another opportunity waiting for me. My Baha’I tutor, a wonderful woman who has more wisdom than any other early-30’s female usually has, told me yesterday, “You know, Jamie, when I think of you, I think of a butterfly. You just float around, flower to flower, knowing when it’s time to move and grow in the universe. And you have beautiful wings.”
I’m excited about future pursuits and endeavors—thinking about student loans and life insurance is a bit more than I can handle, but having the freedom to maneuver as I please without dressing in an oven-like skirt and stifling my opinions on politics, government, and gender issues is this beautiful source of fresh air just waiting to be inhaled. Ohhhh, I can’t wait. I may even drive a car the day I get back. Well, maybe not. (Cars aren’t my thing.)
When I first left ‘Eua, where I lived and taught for 7 months, I became very self-critical, nearly convincing myself that because I switched to the capital with vegetables only minutes away and water that ran every day, I wasn’t a real volunteer and wouldn’t have a legitimate service.
*Lessons Learned:
--I am not a martyr, nor should any volunteer go into service ready to martyr him/herself. It was almost a pride-thing. I’d write home telling of how I survived three weeks without running water or swap scary stories with other volunteers about rats or centipedes on steroids (molokau).
--A fruitful life has nothing to do with where you think you should be, but the people you’re around; the relationships you build; the community you join. Though I developed a wonderful community within Peace Corps, I unfortunately just started building a solid one with amazing people before it got cut short with this Interrupted Service.
--Such is life. I convinced myself I was MEANT to be here, but clearly I’m not. The ticket is booked, my house is packed, my suitcases are nearly filled, and my head is full of plots. I’ve got ideas and plans on strobe-light-mode, so I’m easily overwhelmed, slightly nauseous, and inconsistent with emotional responses, but my effort into coping with this drastic change isn’t so bad.
Then again, it also helps that I’ll get to celebrate my 24th birthday with my wonderful family, and soon after, watch The Hunger Games in a real theatre. Ohhhh, Clean Life, I bequeath my arrival upon you.
I’m quite sad because I have two days left to drink coconuts, pick a vibrant flower from a random bush on the side of the road and pluck it behind my ear, finish paperwork, pack up everything in my house, organize my baggage, and prolong the goodbyes to all my wonderful friends in Tonga.
I’m disappointed because after nearly 16 months of Peace Corps service, mine has been interrupted by the universe or fate or just crappy luck. I feel as though my service never actually took off—my expectations were always in the way, I suppose, but after this second site fell apart, I tried my absolute hardest to secure another site—a supportive one—but it, too, fell.
I’m encouraged by all my friends and staff in PC because they’re convinced that this is my merging lane into another opportunity waiting for me. My Baha’I tutor, a wonderful woman who has more wisdom than any other early-30’s female usually has, told me yesterday, “You know, Jamie, when I think of you, I think of a butterfly. You just float around, flower to flower, knowing when it’s time to move and grow in the universe. And you have beautiful wings.”
I’m excited about future pursuits and endeavors—thinking about student loans and life insurance is a bit more than I can handle, but having the freedom to maneuver as I please without dressing in an oven-like skirt and stifling my opinions on politics, government, and gender issues is this beautiful source of fresh air just waiting to be inhaled. Ohhhh, I can’t wait. I may even drive a car the day I get back. Well, maybe not. (Cars aren’t my thing.)
When I first left ‘Eua, where I lived and taught for 7 months, I became very self-critical, nearly convincing myself that because I switched to the capital with vegetables only minutes away and water that ran every day, I wasn’t a real volunteer and wouldn’t have a legitimate service.
*Lessons Learned:
--I am not a martyr, nor should any volunteer go into service ready to martyr him/herself. It was almost a pride-thing. I’d write home telling of how I survived three weeks without running water or swap scary stories with other volunteers about rats or centipedes on steroids (molokau).
--A fruitful life has nothing to do with where you think you should be, but the people you’re around; the relationships you build; the community you join. Though I developed a wonderful community within Peace Corps, I unfortunately just started building a solid one with amazing people before it got cut short with this Interrupted Service.
--Such is life. I convinced myself I was MEANT to be here, but clearly I’m not. The ticket is booked, my house is packed, my suitcases are nearly filled, and my head is full of plots. I’ve got ideas and plans on strobe-light-mode, so I’m easily overwhelmed, slightly nauseous, and inconsistent with emotional responses, but my effort into coping with this drastic change isn’t so bad.
Then again, it also helps that I’ll get to celebrate my 24th birthday with my wonderful family, and soon after, watch The Hunger Games in a real theatre. Ohhhh, Clean Life, I bequeath my arrival upon you.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Look...I'm Not an Animation! (Merry Christmas, too)
Howdy folks! Couple things.
1. Sorry, I have ADD and can't seem to finish my next blog post.
2. I decided to make a Merry Christmas video and upload it onto here, BUT
3. Apparently the internet at the parentals' is just as shabby as Tonga...nearly.
4. So here's the youtube link for your Jamie dosage, only no animations.
Oh, wait. Here's one.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w2CxOgv7JUQ&context=C33ae504ADOEgsToPDskIxDIc4nVvtCe7V83zA6BoJ
Kilisimasi Fiefia!
1. Sorry, I have ADD and can't seem to finish my next blog post.
2. I decided to make a Merry Christmas video and upload it onto here, BUT
3. Apparently the internet at the parentals' is just as shabby as Tonga...nearly.
4. So here's the youtube link for your Jamie dosage, only no animations.
Oh, wait. Here's one.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w2CxOgv7JUQ&context=C33ae504ADOEgsToPDskIxDIc4nVvtCe7V83zA6BoJ
Kilisimasi Fiefia!
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Before My Bowels are Overcome with Southern Food...
Well, dear friends, as I depart tomorrow for a choreographical layover bonanza, this will be my last post in Tonga in 2011!
I'm sure once I've overcome jet-lag and have stopped shoving food in my eager face, I'll post something about my appetite, bodily functions, and my reaction to traffic.
Until then, I bid thee farewell! Kilisimasi Fiefia and have a wonderful holiday!
Just for kicks and giggles, here's a holiday picture card that Kaitlin and I had planned on making but then she left for New Zealand and so I just HAD to use my toddler drawing skills to create it via animation.
Enjoy!
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Jamie and the Obnoxious List of Happiness
I just finished “Hector and the Search for Happiness” by Francois Lelord, a French psychiatrist who travels around the world and writes interesting philosophy in a self-help slant. But it’s not like reading Rick Warren or anyone else who sells their brand of philosophy/religion like the newest cleaning product on a Billy Mays infomercial. Lelord’s storytelling is like gelato—not so full of processed shenanigans, lite in form, but completely rich in flavor.
Anyway, in the book, Hector takes a much-needed holiday from France through China, Africa, and the States (referred to as the Land of More.) He observes people and asks them if they’re happy and why/not. His own experiences provide many of his lessons/observations, and he writes a list of learned lessons in his notebook.
So in the spirit of happiness, I’ve decided to make my own list of causes of happiness I’ve experienced from yesterday alone.
1. Happiness is getting a sweaty hug and kiss from the 2011 Tonga Triathalon Champion, who is one of my best friends. The smell went away eventually.
2. Happiness is having a pleasant flavor-surprise in your chicken Panini. (Like pineapples and a yummy tangy sauce, and mayonnaise not tainted with strange combinations of ketchup and other condiments.)
3. Unhappiness often happens when one feels uncomfortable; for example, when one prepares to go to a “Palangi” beach, which is closed, and then goes to a crowded Tongan beach and is unprepared with proper swim attire.
4. Happiness is a watermelon-eating contest, preceded by a seed-spitting contest, followed by a rind-chucking contest.
5. Happiness is an unexpected tuna sandwich with cheese.
6. Happiness can be experienced while making fun of an offensive rap song that makes you unhappy.
7. A refreshing breeze and a sun-kissed face cause happiness.
8. Soul Food Seasoning is the product of someone who knows how to make people happy.
9. If everyone made a “Soul Food” dinner once a week, we’d all be happy at least once a week.
10. “Soul Food” quiche makes a happy dinner with happy bellies.
11. Cornbread makes anything happy.
12. Salad is also soul food, which makes us happy in mind and body.
13. Sharing love of music is a fruitful way to make friends; music makes everyone happy.
14. Acquiring 5-weeks-worth of Christmas songs is a cause of happiness—especially in preparation for going home, where the weather will be COLD!!!!!!!
Anyway, in the book, Hector takes a much-needed holiday from France through China, Africa, and the States (referred to as the Land of More.) He observes people and asks them if they’re happy and why/not. His own experiences provide many of his lessons/observations, and he writes a list of learned lessons in his notebook.
So in the spirit of happiness, I’ve decided to make my own list of causes of happiness I’ve experienced from yesterday alone.
1. Happiness is getting a sweaty hug and kiss from the 2011 Tonga Triathalon Champion, who is one of my best friends. The smell went away eventually.
2. Happiness is having a pleasant flavor-surprise in your chicken Panini. (Like pineapples and a yummy tangy sauce, and mayonnaise not tainted with strange combinations of ketchup and other condiments.)
3. Unhappiness often happens when one feels uncomfortable; for example, when one prepares to go to a “Palangi” beach, which is closed, and then goes to a crowded Tongan beach and is unprepared with proper swim attire.
4. Happiness is a watermelon-eating contest, preceded by a seed-spitting contest, followed by a rind-chucking contest.
5. Happiness is an unexpected tuna sandwich with cheese.
6. Happiness can be experienced while making fun of an offensive rap song that makes you unhappy.
7. A refreshing breeze and a sun-kissed face cause happiness.
8. Soul Food Seasoning is the product of someone who knows how to make people happy.
9. If everyone made a “Soul Food” dinner once a week, we’d all be happy at least once a week.
10. “Soul Food” quiche makes a happy dinner with happy bellies.
11. Cornbread makes anything happy.
12. Salad is also soul food, which makes us happy in mind and body.
13. Sharing love of music is a fruitful way to make friends; music makes everyone happy.
14. Acquiring 5-weeks-worth of Christmas songs is a cause of happiness—especially in preparation for going home, where the weather will be COLD!!!!!!!
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
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Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Faka-Malo, Illustrated
Though I begrudgingly biked to work, tempted to call in sick so I could celebrate Thanksgiving faka-America, I feel like being faka-cheesy in writing some little snippets on things I’m glad to have in my life. And since I’ll be in Clean Life in 19 days, I’m writing just as many thankfuls. Hopefully the illustrations will keep this from being as excruciating as those sappy inspirational novels.
*Please note that these aren't particularly in order of importance. Except for #1. And #4, too.
#19: The unbelievable friendships I’ve made here totally rock my socks. So when I can’t wear boots, I love rockin’ socks.
#18: The technologically communicative world. Luckily, I’m in an age where most PCVs have cell phones (we were provided with one) and access to internet. Even more luckily, I have internet at work. Thank God I can keep in touch with my family!
#17: I’m thankful Cat can maneuver herself out of my walls. Since I’ve made her an outdoor cat, she instantly climbs up my screen door, into my roof, and meanders across my ceiling and down my walls to centralize her obnoxious meowing into none other than my bedroom. When I realized she might be stuck, my first thought was, “Great. Now she’ll die and it’s a stinky mess I won’t be able to clean up.” I’m such a great mom.
#16: The diversity I’ve encountered in Tonga has helped me to grow leaps and bounds. Even outside the diverse realm of Peace Corps, I’ve made friends of various backgrounds, ethnicities, religions, yada yada. This is the best way I’ve adopted acceptance into my character. Acceptance is probably my favorite virtue.
#15: Though I’m trying my best to know what goes on in the world and in the MotherLand, I am overwhelmingly thankful to live away from the foul political mess in the States. Maybe Tonga’s government is slightly corrupt, and maybe democracy will take a long time, but the campaigning bandwagon BS is a sliver of a fingernail compared to the big, strangling hand of American politics
#14: I’ve never been much of a fish despite my astrological sign, but the sea has been one of the biggest spiritual-inducers for me. I look into that big sashaying mass of depth, mystery and moods, and I just feel how wonderful God is. Every day I appreciate the power of creativity more and more.
#13: Sprite. Imported from Fiji, it’s made with real sugar and not corn starch! Woohoooo!
#12: Polynesian music and vocal harmonies. You’ve never heard anything like it—I promise.
#11: The Peace Corps staff is one of the friendliest groups of people I’ve ever met. Despite all my brain lapses (like forgetting paperwork), mishaps (falling while on a hike thus hurting my arm), and misfortunes (stupid lice), they’ve been nothing but a fun-loving, laid-back family.
#10: I have never been more proud or reminiscent of my Kentucky culture. When I have a vocal slip into countrified speech or southern colloquialisms, rather than covering my mouth, I just ‘grin like a ‘possum’ and say, “That’s right. I said it!” (*Note: grin like a ‘possum is a Teddy quote. He’s my dad )
#9: Praise be to Sisu that I’ve yet to get creamed by a motor vehicle while I’m riding my rickety bicycle that is slowly falling apart.
#8: I’ve never been more surrounded by positive, confident, powerful, lovely women. I recently had an epiphany that it was time I owned my womanhood, and these women help me embrace that.
#7: Government-provided health insurance. Best use it while it lasts!
#6: Living in ‘Eua for 7 months was one of the biggest growth experiences for me—I matured many moons by enduring hardships (and celebrating victories) in an outer village. Running water wasn’t the most consistent of amenities and I didn’t have a running toilet, but there I realized that my service here wasn’t about martyrdom. It was about relationships. People. Communication. Patience. Going with what I’m given.
#5: Voices. You know when you’ve moved into your own apartment or maybe you’re on a short holiday but you don’t feel well or have had a bad day? Sometimes to get out of that pit, all you need is a voice. On a lighter note, my entire family is notorious for impersonations…oh, how I miss my brother’s “Harry Carey”, my dad’s “Cookie Monster”, my mom’s late-night-slap-happy fit of giggles, my sister’s motivational speaking abilities, and the adorable, squeaky sopranos of my two nieces.
#4: Peanut Butter.
#3: Life options. I’m a single female in her early 20’s and I’m living on an island. For my next adventure, I could be a hippie in Portland, do grad school in Wyoming (huh?), tutor in Italy, meander through Southeast Asia where I’d meet the love of my life and get happily plump on awesome food, or write myself into insane and slightly self-centered oblivion. Yay opportunities!
#2: Music. The richness, the variety, the way it calls to my inner shreds of being beyond human. I’m often skeptical about praying (in a traditional sense,) and music has given me the conversational ability to express what I need and to enjoy the artwork of others.
#1: My family has done everything they can to get me home, never wavering in enthusiasm and determination. That is definitely the most beautiful gift this year. Love is brilliant.
So now that you’ve finished my cheese-fest, spread it around. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, eat yourself to a divine stupor, hold the hands of people you’d otherwise long for, embrace the opportunity to relax with family, and don’t even think about Black Friday shopping until the turkey, the cranberry sauce, the mashed potatoes, and all the pumpkin pies are only to be remembered by your grateful stomach or an occasional, sneaking burp.
*Please note that these aren't particularly in order of importance. Except for #1. And #4, too.
#19: The unbelievable friendships I’ve made here totally rock my socks. So when I can’t wear boots, I love rockin’ socks.
#18: The technologically communicative world. Luckily, I’m in an age where most PCVs have cell phones (we were provided with one) and access to internet. Even more luckily, I have internet at work. Thank God I can keep in touch with my family!
#17: I’m thankful Cat can maneuver herself out of my walls. Since I’ve made her an outdoor cat, she instantly climbs up my screen door, into my roof, and meanders across my ceiling and down my walls to centralize her obnoxious meowing into none other than my bedroom. When I realized she might be stuck, my first thought was, “Great. Now she’ll die and it’s a stinky mess I won’t be able to clean up.” I’m such a great mom.
#16: The diversity I’ve encountered in Tonga has helped me to grow leaps and bounds. Even outside the diverse realm of Peace Corps, I’ve made friends of various backgrounds, ethnicities, religions, yada yada. This is the best way I’ve adopted acceptance into my character. Acceptance is probably my favorite virtue.
#15: Though I’m trying my best to know what goes on in the world and in the MotherLand, I am overwhelmingly thankful to live away from the foul political mess in the States. Maybe Tonga’s government is slightly corrupt, and maybe democracy will take a long time, but the campaigning bandwagon BS is a sliver of a fingernail compared to the big, strangling hand of American politics
#14: I’ve never been much of a fish despite my astrological sign, but the sea has been one of the biggest spiritual-inducers for me. I look into that big sashaying mass of depth, mystery and moods, and I just feel how wonderful God is. Every day I appreciate the power of creativity more and more.
#13: Sprite. Imported from Fiji, it’s made with real sugar and not corn starch! Woohoooo!
#12: Polynesian music and vocal harmonies. You’ve never heard anything like it—I promise.
#11: The Peace Corps staff is one of the friendliest groups of people I’ve ever met. Despite all my brain lapses (like forgetting paperwork), mishaps (falling while on a hike thus hurting my arm), and misfortunes (stupid lice), they’ve been nothing but a fun-loving, laid-back family.
#10: I have never been more proud or reminiscent of my Kentucky culture. When I have a vocal slip into countrified speech or southern colloquialisms, rather than covering my mouth, I just ‘grin like a ‘possum’ and say, “That’s right. I said it!” (*Note: grin like a ‘possum is a Teddy quote. He’s my dad )
#9: Praise be to Sisu that I’ve yet to get creamed by a motor vehicle while I’m riding my rickety bicycle that is slowly falling apart.
#8: I’ve never been more surrounded by positive, confident, powerful, lovely women. I recently had an epiphany that it was time I owned my womanhood, and these women help me embrace that.
#7: Government-provided health insurance. Best use it while it lasts!
#6: Living in ‘Eua for 7 months was one of the biggest growth experiences for me—I matured many moons by enduring hardships (and celebrating victories) in an outer village. Running water wasn’t the most consistent of amenities and I didn’t have a running toilet, but there I realized that my service here wasn’t about martyrdom. It was about relationships. People. Communication. Patience. Going with what I’m given.
#5: Voices. You know when you’ve moved into your own apartment or maybe you’re on a short holiday but you don’t feel well or have had a bad day? Sometimes to get out of that pit, all you need is a voice. On a lighter note, my entire family is notorious for impersonations…oh, how I miss my brother’s “Harry Carey”, my dad’s “Cookie Monster”, my mom’s late-night-slap-happy fit of giggles, my sister’s motivational speaking abilities, and the adorable, squeaky sopranos of my two nieces.
#4: Peanut Butter.
#3: Life options. I’m a single female in her early 20’s and I’m living on an island. For my next adventure, I could be a hippie in Portland, do grad school in Wyoming (huh?), tutor in Italy, meander through Southeast Asia where I’d meet the love of my life and get happily plump on awesome food, or write myself into insane and slightly self-centered oblivion. Yay opportunities!
#2: Music. The richness, the variety, the way it calls to my inner shreds of being beyond human. I’m often skeptical about praying (in a traditional sense,) and music has given me the conversational ability to express what I need and to enjoy the artwork of others.
#1: My family has done everything they can to get me home, never wavering in enthusiasm and determination. That is definitely the most beautiful gift this year. Love is brilliant.
So now that you’ve finished my cheese-fest, spread it around. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, eat yourself to a divine stupor, hold the hands of people you’d otherwise long for, embrace the opportunity to relax with family, and don’t even think about Black Friday shopping until the turkey, the cranberry sauce, the mashed potatoes, and all the pumpkin pies are only to be remembered by your grateful stomach or an occasional, sneaking burp.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
The Apples of my Eye: Boots, Coconuts, Boots...
I’m coming to realize how little I write about Tongan culture. Living in the capital, things are much more westernized than outer villages or other islands. I live in what could be considered a neighborhood, but I don’t really talk to my neighbors.
Anyway, this whole no-culture realization came this morning when I realized I wanted to blog about how excited I am to wear boots when I’m home for the holidays.
Who blogs about wearing boots?
Okay, maybe it’s acceptable because my feet are definitely getting flatter from wearing flip-flops 24/7, and my eager feet are itching to be fully surrounded by warm, fun structures, but still.
So before I spiel about the holidays, my excitement, my countdown for going home, and my boot addiction (and no, not the shiny devil’s-pitchfork type), I will recant 3 cultural observations and/or stories I’ve experienced in my 13 ½ months of service.
1. Tapa. This is one of the biggest Tongan/Polynesian crafts that can bring in generous income. In ‘Eua (and sometimes even here) I’d wake up to a thwack, thwack, thwack at between 6:30-7am. The first two weeks in my tiny village, I assumed someone was building a house until the weeks turned into months. I finally got curious and asked Vea, my papaya-jam-making maestro, to teach me how to make tapa. The process is quite long, vigorous and tiring, but my role was with tutu, where tree bark (after soaking) is beaten with a thick, square-shaped mallet. The mallet has indentions to help widen the fibrous mark into a mat-like material. Then, the ladies make a root-crop paste to attach the strips of newly-beaten fabric together. After the tapa dries, women use natural dyes (reds, browns, and black) to paint traditional Tongan designs for any occasion. These are often presented at weddings, funerals, departures, etc. And much to my delight, I recently met an 80-year-old woman who only speaks Tongan and will let me help her with tapa! Yay!
2. Carving is another beautiful craft here. From war mallets to huge Polynesian sculptures, many wood- and bone-carvers are quite successful here. I’m not a jewelry person, but I will bear Christmas gifts of awesomely-carved things!
3. The coconut is the most fruitful of trees. Ever. A coconut tree is good for everything! You can build a traditional house, weave baskets and hats (and even a porch!), make a broom, you have a never-ending supply of pig food (they love old coconut husks), and, most importantly, a coconut is the most satisfying beverage you’ll ever have. Ever. In the whole wide world!
I suppose the capital has caused me to become spoiled in all things Peace Corps. I have internet at work, I live close to the office/town, I have access to everything I need, and my friends are close. But just as I often forget the beauty of rolling, Kentucky hills, I also forget the greatness of Tongan culture.
So as I’m rocking my boots back in Clean Life in supermarkets, restaurants, or even my own bed (I may even sleep in them…I just love boots,) in my 3-week separation from all things Tonga, perhaps I’ll miss something from here. The sea breeze, Cat, the ease of transportation, the proximity of friends, the absence of the 2012 elections, and the many foods that can be made with coconut.
Anyway, this whole no-culture realization came this morning when I realized I wanted to blog about how excited I am to wear boots when I’m home for the holidays.
Who blogs about wearing boots?
Okay, maybe it’s acceptable because my feet are definitely getting flatter from wearing flip-flops 24/7, and my eager feet are itching to be fully surrounded by warm, fun structures, but still.
So before I spiel about the holidays, my excitement, my countdown for going home, and my boot addiction (and no, not the shiny devil’s-pitchfork type), I will recant 3 cultural observations and/or stories I’ve experienced in my 13 ½ months of service.
1. Tapa. This is one of the biggest Tongan/Polynesian crafts that can bring in generous income. In ‘Eua (and sometimes even here) I’d wake up to a thwack, thwack, thwack at between 6:30-7am. The first two weeks in my tiny village, I assumed someone was building a house until the weeks turned into months. I finally got curious and asked Vea, my papaya-jam-making maestro, to teach me how to make tapa. The process is quite long, vigorous and tiring, but my role was with tutu, where tree bark (after soaking) is beaten with a thick, square-shaped mallet. The mallet has indentions to help widen the fibrous mark into a mat-like material. Then, the ladies make a root-crop paste to attach the strips of newly-beaten fabric together. After the tapa dries, women use natural dyes (reds, browns, and black) to paint traditional Tongan designs for any occasion. These are often presented at weddings, funerals, departures, etc. And much to my delight, I recently met an 80-year-old woman who only speaks Tongan and will let me help her with tapa! Yay!
2. Carving is another beautiful craft here. From war mallets to huge Polynesian sculptures, many wood- and bone-carvers are quite successful here. I’m not a jewelry person, but I will bear Christmas gifts of awesomely-carved things!
3. The coconut is the most fruitful of trees. Ever. A coconut tree is good for everything! You can build a traditional house, weave baskets and hats (and even a porch!), make a broom, you have a never-ending supply of pig food (they love old coconut husks), and, most importantly, a coconut is the most satisfying beverage you’ll ever have. Ever. In the whole wide world!
I suppose the capital has caused me to become spoiled in all things Peace Corps. I have internet at work, I live close to the office/town, I have access to everything I need, and my friends are close. But just as I often forget the beauty of rolling, Kentucky hills, I also forget the greatness of Tongan culture.
So as I’m rocking my boots back in Clean Life in supermarkets, restaurants, or even my own bed (I may even sleep in them…I just love boots,) in my 3-week separation from all things Tonga, perhaps I’ll miss something from here. The sea breeze, Cat, the ease of transportation, the proximity of friends, the absence of the 2012 elections, and the many foods that can be made with coconut.
Monday, November 21, 2011
'If the world was perfect, it wouldn't be." --Yogi Berra
Lately I’ve been highly reminiscent of baseball. It’s been sunny and breezy the last few days, and I miss the smell of broken-in leather. I miss playing catch or even tossing under-hand to remember how good it feels to rekindle my flame of pitching. Well, until my shoulder catches on fire, my elbow gets shooting pains, and my hand goes numb. One of those love-hate relationships, I suppose.
Starting this past weekend, a large chunk of Group 75 bid farewell to the Kingdom and returned to Clean Life. This week, I’ll say goodbye to 2 more; next week, 3(ish) more, and on and on until I leave for a 3-week Christmas holiday with my family and return with only the remnants of the faithful Group 76.
But I keep remembering my first two months in this country. We 76’ers basked in the beachy glory of Ha’apai, greeted by 4 anxious (and at first, we thought slightly crazy) volunteers who hadn’t had much Palangi interaction in what seemed a while. Their excitement to see us was astounding—they had already read our resumes, stalked our Facebooks, browsed through our pictures… (desperate much?)
But now, 13 ½ months in and with no new group this year, I understand. Group 75 said it was nice to have new faces, new characters, new ideas; and all this brought back motivation to be a successful volunteer.
Our predecessors were overly-enthusiastic to share ideas, details, advice, and creative tips like how to explain Bloom’s taxonomy via sea metaphors.
Even with the exhaustive levels of understanding (from pre-school activities to educational methodology,) a combination of excitement and motivation from both the PC staff and volunteers created a wonderful, positive environment for us newbies. Our group 76 dynamic was pretty amazing (we couldn’t be more relaxed or open with one another,) and that alone solicited praise and excitement from PC Tonga. Now, I still feel that group bond, but the combination of island fever, separation, and sadness from seeing my friends leave makes me feel far from motivated.
I’m currently three weeks away from good ol’ Kentucky and I’m banking on THAT to be my motivation. Many of us are winding down the year with stagnant jobs or school days cut short; we’re making plans for the holidays and buying Christmas presents for our families, but until our own short departures, we’re all waiting in the dugout, punching the familiarities of our gloves, eyeing the bats with hopeful wonder, and cheering on our teammates who finally get to go up and take a swing.
Starting this past weekend, a large chunk of Group 75 bid farewell to the Kingdom and returned to Clean Life. This week, I’ll say goodbye to 2 more; next week, 3(ish) more, and on and on until I leave for a 3-week Christmas holiday with my family and return with only the remnants of the faithful Group 76.
But I keep remembering my first two months in this country. We 76’ers basked in the beachy glory of Ha’apai, greeted by 4 anxious (and at first, we thought slightly crazy) volunteers who hadn’t had much Palangi interaction in what seemed a while. Their excitement to see us was astounding—they had already read our resumes, stalked our Facebooks, browsed through our pictures… (desperate much?)
But now, 13 ½ months in and with no new group this year, I understand. Group 75 said it was nice to have new faces, new characters, new ideas; and all this brought back motivation to be a successful volunteer.
Our predecessors were overly-enthusiastic to share ideas, details, advice, and creative tips like how to explain Bloom’s taxonomy via sea metaphors.
Even with the exhaustive levels of understanding (from pre-school activities to educational methodology,) a combination of excitement and motivation from both the PC staff and volunteers created a wonderful, positive environment for us newbies. Our group 76 dynamic was pretty amazing (we couldn’t be more relaxed or open with one another,) and that alone solicited praise and excitement from PC Tonga. Now, I still feel that group bond, but the combination of island fever, separation, and sadness from seeing my friends leave makes me feel far from motivated.
I’m currently three weeks away from good ol’ Kentucky and I’m banking on THAT to be my motivation. Many of us are winding down the year with stagnant jobs or school days cut short; we’re making plans for the holidays and buying Christmas presents for our families, but until our own short departures, we’re all waiting in the dugout, punching the familiarities of our gloves, eyeing the bats with hopeful wonder, and cheering on our teammates who finally get to go up and take a swing.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
I Put the Bla in Blasé
Clearly, it's been a rainy few days. Let me make clear that I LOVE the rain--in my world, rain trumps sunshine any day unless I'm doing laundry or have an amazing hair-day. (Nah, omit that last part. Even on an amazing hair-day I love rain. Though laundry is serious business.)
So I've embraced the start of the rainy/cyclone season by absorbing the weather mood and adopting it as my own.
This means: I only want to sleep, watch movies, read books, drink coffee, and cuddle with my cat. Except for my cat smells like 7 different levels of death and is covered in fleas.
Cat now hates the shower--not only has it also slightly flooded due to the outside water elevation (seriously), but I gave her an intense bath last night and doused her in flea treatment. She was NOT a purring, happy kitty. She became a shivering, wiggling, ball of stink that smelled like Oil-Spill casualties meets the Garden of Eden. (Or dead fish+Herbal Essences. Same thing.)
Sure, she's still adorable and teeny, but after work, when I want to collapse on my 70s retro couch and watch something while cuddling my cup of coffee, I have to mop. EVERY DAY. I wipe up her poop, mop the floor(s), feed her, and bitterly wish I could never smell that god-awful stench of feline waste.
I just want to enjoy this rain. Sigh.
Monday, November 14, 2011
As Long As There's a Tango
The gruff, angry voice of the Unconscious Argentenian from Moulin Rouge is in my ears; accompanying him are weeping, hasty violins that cut through your nerves with hot precision. Cellos or the next size bigger (always forget...stand up bass? I'm terrible) are swooping across in a dramatic VROOMP of fashion. Then pause. A violon quietly finagles over the strings, then chaos, dissonance, shrill, sharp notes with a building backdrop of emotional strings... and Ewan McGregor BELTS his emotional turmoil into the empty street, the balcony where his love is standing and suffering beneath disgusting hands of a sugar daddy.
I just took the biggest deep breath/sigh combination of my LIFE.
I've been listening to this soundtrack for an hour now and I cannot stop THINKING about musicals. Last night my friend Stephanie, who went to college in NY, was telling me about her plethora of attended musicals on and off-Broadway, and I just melted into a musical trance of wishful thinking.
From age 4, while turning cartwheels and singing Whitney Houston down our small hallway, I felt an affinity with music. Even now, nearing 20 years later, you've only experienced the true Jamie if you've had a conversation in which I've sang at least one sentence. I sing to everything, with everything. If I don't have a handy bottle, brush, or spatula, an arm/hand/foot will suffice for a makeshift microphone.
Throughout daily life, musical pieces often fill my mind with relevant circumstances.
In order to recover from a rut of low self-esteem or feelings of inadequacy, my go-to number is "Confidence" from The Sound of Music.
When I smart off to a cheeky Tongan via a surprising criticism in the Tongan language, "He Had It Comin'/The Cell Block Tango'" from Chicago pops into my brain, along with sexy Catherine Zeta Jones and her red-lipsticked snarl.
Since romance isn't much of a staple in my life, I find myself singing "Maybe This Time" from Cabaret anytime I'm cooking. I sing it A LOT. I'm not sure why. But here is the link from the movie, a young Liza Minnelli.
When any trait of defiance, hippiness, strong independence, resistence, rebelliousness, etc. triumph in my life, "La Vie Bohem" (Rent...did you even have to ask?) leads me finding a big, long table to march over, philosophizing about Nietzche while demanding equality, AIDS awareness, and...."WINE AND BEER!"
In my once-rare but now-consistent sappy/sentimental mood, "People Will Say We're In Love" from Oklahoma has me digging through my computer for Frank's version. Sigh.
In my spurts of Southernisms and missing home, "Man of Constant Sorrow" from 'O Brother Where Art Thou? is a MUST. "I bid farewell to old Kentucky, the place where IIIIIIIIIIIII was born and raised." That's right!
I need a musical in my life. In fact, I'm contemplating if a musical can be written in an impatient sense of boredom with a lone ukulele.
Now I need a title. I hear South Pacific's already taken. (Scoff.) Rodgers and Hammerstein. Stupid posers.
I just took the biggest deep breath/sigh combination of my LIFE.
I've been listening to this soundtrack for an hour now and I cannot stop THINKING about musicals. Last night my friend Stephanie, who went to college in NY, was telling me about her plethora of attended musicals on and off-Broadway, and I just melted into a musical trance of wishful thinking.
From age 4, while turning cartwheels and singing Whitney Houston down our small hallway, I felt an affinity with music. Even now, nearing 20 years later, you've only experienced the true Jamie if you've had a conversation in which I've sang at least one sentence. I sing to everything, with everything. If I don't have a handy bottle, brush, or spatula, an arm/hand/foot will suffice for a makeshift microphone.
Throughout daily life, musical pieces often fill my mind with relevant circumstances.
In order to recover from a rut of low self-esteem or feelings of inadequacy, my go-to number is "Confidence" from The Sound of Music.
When I smart off to a cheeky Tongan via a surprising criticism in the Tongan language, "He Had It Comin'/The Cell Block Tango'" from Chicago pops into my brain, along with sexy Catherine Zeta Jones and her red-lipsticked snarl.
Since romance isn't much of a staple in my life, I find myself singing "Maybe This Time" from Cabaret anytime I'm cooking. I sing it A LOT. I'm not sure why. But here is the link from the movie, a young Liza Minnelli.
When any trait of defiance, hippiness, strong independence, resistence, rebelliousness, etc. triumph in my life, "La Vie Bohem" (Rent...did you even have to ask?) leads me finding a big, long table to march over, philosophizing about Nietzche while demanding equality, AIDS awareness, and...."WINE AND BEER!"
In my once-rare but now-consistent sappy/sentimental mood, "People Will Say We're In Love" from Oklahoma has me digging through my computer for Frank's version. Sigh.
In my spurts of Southernisms and missing home, "Man of Constant Sorrow" from 'O Brother Where Art Thou? is a MUST. "I bid farewell to old Kentucky, the place where IIIIIIIIIIIII was born and raised." That's right!
I need a musical in my life. In fact, I'm contemplating if a musical can be written in an impatient sense of boredom with a lone ukulele.
Now I need a title. I hear South Pacific's already taken. (Scoff.) Rodgers and Hammerstein. Stupid posers.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Out-of-Townie
Since the middle/end of July, I've encountered a great increase of goods and services. There's a large veggie market with a wonderful assortment of colorful musts; there are big stores with big things in them; there are bakeries and ice cream shops; there's a laundromat, to which I take my towels and sheets because they're nearly impossible to hand wash with efficiency. There are also nearly-endless supplies of pesticide and rat poison.
Despite the advantages of being a townie, it is louder than a rock-eating lawn mower, full of Palangi-fied Tongans, and adorned with kids and adults that ask, "One dolla? Two dolla?"
This weekend I dedicated to being anti-social and anti-townie. I went to Kaitlin's village for bestie time and to get a break from barking dogs, construction trucks, roosters, and temptation to spend money.
So I woke up, gathered some necessities at the market (i.e. veggies and Cream Cheese icing from the American store), and biked my way to the village, which is normally a 20-25 minute bikeride for Kaitlin.
Well, 1.) I'm not so good of a biker. 2.) These bikes suck. 3.) My tires are nearly flat, so...4.) It took me forEVER. At one point, my 91-year-old arthritic grandmother could've tip-toed past and I'd have eaten her dust.
Most of the ride, the wind would annoy me with all its force, then the road would get super bumpy and crazy, then I'd just be tired, which made me feel lazy and out of shape, which made me mad, which made me pedal faster, which rebirthed a new cycle of a bad mood.
But luckily I can't be in a bad mood around Kaitlin, so once I got there and stripped down to as little clothing as possible while being appropriate inside a house, we were lazy as sin. Gradually we decided to start preparing food for dinner that night for us and two friends.
The dinner sent us into a food coma, then a food hangover, but as we were moseying through the kitchen to prepare everything, Kaitlin suddenly screamed, "OHHHHHHHH God! WHY? WHY?!!"
"Why what? What's wrong?"
"There's a MOLOKAU! It's the second one this WEEK! Oh God, where did it GO??!!!"
"Do you have scissors? A knife? Anything sharp?"
"Scissors? Why Scissors?"
"To cut off the head."
"Ew." (pause) "Well, I have kitchen knives...which we're currently using."
"Nah, no kitchen knives, that seems gross."
"I have a hammer."
"That's potentially good."
She hands me the hammer, then goes to her classroom next door to search for her scissors. This was quite convenient, since the rust-colored molokau decided to slither and crawl its way across the kitchen floor in her absence.
A word about molokaus: they're fast little shits, and they're aggressive. So when it realized the hammer was coming from me, it darted toward me , which gave me a head-on advantage to smash the thing to pieces, which also left its guts (and a few dents, from my misses) all over the floor.
Kaitlin came in, saying, "Did you kill it?!"
"Yup, it's kinda smashed everywhere and its body's still squirming, but the head's off."
Kaitlin did one of those gross-shivery dances, saying how glad she was that not only was I here, but that I didn't freak out about molokaus like she did.
But she hasn't seem me around rats, either.
Ohhhh, relaxation. :)
Despite the advantages of being a townie, it is louder than a rock-eating lawn mower, full of Palangi-fied Tongans, and adorned with kids and adults that ask, "One dolla? Two dolla?"
This weekend I dedicated to being anti-social and anti-townie. I went to Kaitlin's village for bestie time and to get a break from barking dogs, construction trucks, roosters, and temptation to spend money.
So I woke up, gathered some necessities at the market (i.e. veggies and Cream Cheese icing from the American store), and biked my way to the village, which is normally a 20-25 minute bikeride for Kaitlin.
Well, 1.) I'm not so good of a biker. 2.) These bikes suck. 3.) My tires are nearly flat, so...4.) It took me forEVER. At one point, my 91-year-old arthritic grandmother could've tip-toed past and I'd have eaten her dust.
Most of the ride, the wind would annoy me with all its force, then the road would get super bumpy and crazy, then I'd just be tired, which made me feel lazy and out of shape, which made me mad, which made me pedal faster, which rebirthed a new cycle of a bad mood.
But luckily I can't be in a bad mood around Kaitlin, so once I got there and stripped down to as little clothing as possible while being appropriate inside a house, we were lazy as sin. Gradually we decided to start preparing food for dinner that night for us and two friends.
The dinner sent us into a food coma, then a food hangover, but as we were moseying through the kitchen to prepare everything, Kaitlin suddenly screamed, "OHHHHHHHH God! WHY? WHY?!!"
"Why what? What's wrong?"
"There's a MOLOKAU! It's the second one this WEEK! Oh God, where did it GO??!!!"
"Do you have scissors? A knife? Anything sharp?"
"Scissors? Why Scissors?"
"To cut off the head."
"Ew." (pause) "Well, I have kitchen knives...which we're currently using."
"Nah, no kitchen knives, that seems gross."
"I have a hammer."
"That's potentially good."
She hands me the hammer, then goes to her classroom next door to search for her scissors. This was quite convenient, since the rust-colored molokau decided to slither and crawl its way across the kitchen floor in her absence.
A word about molokaus: they're fast little shits, and they're aggressive. So when it realized the hammer was coming from me, it darted toward me , which gave me a head-on advantage to smash the thing to pieces, which also left its guts (and a few dents, from my misses) all over the floor.
Kaitlin came in, saying, "Did you kill it?!"
"Yup, it's kinda smashed everywhere and its body's still squirming, but the head's off."
Kaitlin did one of those gross-shivery dances, saying how glad she was that not only was I here, but that I didn't freak out about molokaus like she did.
But she hasn't seem me around rats, either.
Ohhhh, relaxation. :)
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