Wednesday, September 29, 2004

Sound Byte

I'm trying to drown out stripper music with Enya. Is it working? ~Courtesy of yesterday's yoga instructor

Sometime between when I was going last winter and when I started up again a few weeks ago, a *ahem* "gentlemen's" club has set up shop below my hot yoga studio. Thus far I haven't noticed too many obstructions, aside from the stone fountain and metal barricades around the grey-carpeted entrance aisle blocking off prime parking spots. I'm not sure if it's even in full operation yet. Regardless, it still ticks me off to have to walk in front of it to get between the studio door and my car. Kind of kills the yummy, peaceful, yoga-produced vibes, you know?

If you don't know a lot about yoga, specifically Bikram yoga, let me educated you a little: it takes a lot of concentration. So much so that we hardly ever get to listen to any music, just the instructors prompts and guides. Granted, there are a few classes where the instructor practices along with you and you just listen to music, but those are generally for people who really know what they're doing. Even having other people in the room can be a detrimental distraction-- especially for us prideful sorts. Everything from the breathing to holding the poses to resting takes introspective concentration, being aware of your body's needs and gently pushing it to and stretching its limits. Needless to say, this becomes increasingly difficult with bass thumping up through the floor in to which you're supposed to imagine yourself rooted.

Even more so if you begin to wonder if you're rooting yourself onto the top of someone else's pole.

Tuesday, September 28, 2004

And I Quote

"Much research shows us that the neurotransmitters we thought were confined to the brain are also present and working throughout the body. It's a connected system. The individual is like a triangle, with the body, emotions and mind at each point. If you alter one angle, it affects the shape of the others." ~Exercise Your Bad Mood Away

If this is the case, I think I might fall into the category of some sort of obtuse triangle. Nope, no signs of an equilateral or Pythagorean triangle over here. Well, most of the day, at least. You see, it's true what they say: exercise helps regulate moods. Endorphins and Seratonin levels increase with exercise subsequently increasing one's general sense of well being and creating a greater sense of joy and peace. Unfortunately, since I've been working out at night, I only get this effect for a few hours before bedtime! Hopefully with a steady routine, I'll be able to see some of these benefits more regularly throughout my day. At least that's what those who see me before 5 pm are hoping! ; )

Thursday, September 23, 2004

The Levity of Brevity

I recently wrote a post about crushes, highlighting that the majority of the charm of a crush lies in its inherent brevity. By the looks of this News in Brief snippet, I believe The Onion agrees.


CINCINNATI-- Administrative assistant and bus rider Perry Stoddard, 25, developed a crush that lasted the duration of the Metro line bus trip from Seven Hills Road to downtown Monday. "Oh my God, she is stunning," Stoddard said, staring at the petite, bookish brunette sitting two seats ahead of him. "And she's reading The Idiot! I wonder if she has a boyfriend. My parents would love her." Saddened by the woman's exit from the bus two stops before his own, Stoddard resolved to get out on Court Street and find someone else.

ah the beauty of it all.
I Fell In Love With A Drummer
hmm... actually, I did, but that's a story that may never actually materialize in this medium, sorry. Nope, probably not.

What I am talking about, however, is Wilco. Yes, friends, it was glorious-- and I think I love Wilco's drummer, Glenn Kotche. Most days, I'm lucky if I can keep a beat on my steering wheel without swerving into the other lane. Any man who can play the drums and the xylophone simultaneously has my vote for hottest man on earth. Seriously, kids. So. Hot.

The concert was pretty packed. A friend struggled from the front of the crowd to meet me at the entrance gate. Being of the shorter variety of homosapien, the further I got into the crowd, the less I could actually see. Therefore, after a dismal attempt to wend our way back through the masses toward the stage, my friend and I decided to hang around toward the middle-back and actually have a little breathing room above and around us, while still being able to hear the concert well. Unfortunately, no one informed the drunk girl in front of us about a little thing called "personal space." She would literally lean back onto us even though she and her friends hoarded a luxurious amount of air and ground for themselves. Eventually I just pushed her off. They left shortly after that.

Then there were the girls behind us that were yelling over the music to have a conversation (the girls/guys in front of us did this, too). What I wanted to do was suggest to them that they'd have to yell less if they moved further away from the music. What I did was cover my ear closest to them with my hand and try as hard as I could to focus on each individual instrument along with the entire entity of sound they produced. After that, they quieted down, either due to their own personal increased focus on the music or perhaps my little hint (which wasn't an attempt at hinting, really, but an attempt to let them continue talking without ruining my experience). The only other distraction were the jailbait, who somehow got into the 18+ concert, bopping around in front of us, but at least they were thoroughly engrossed with and enjoying the concert themselves.

Distractions aside, the performance, as expected, left me astonished and amazed. The music swelled and rippled through the graveled parking lot, up my roots and into my stems, imposing its varying tempos into my willingly pursuant pulse. It all too easily overthrew my natural rhythms, beckoning my heart and mind into an adulterous fling of melodic proportions. Mesmerized by the influx and interchange of instrumental tones and textures, my eyelids grew heavy, though my teeth sunk into my fleshy lips, the corners of my mouth released in upturned ecstasy and my heals sunk deep into the ground to counter my soaring soul. Mixed in with the deep, sensual waves of sound floated bright, crisp levity both in verse and discourse, a sort of respite from the riptide that constitutes a majority the band's very aura. After two encores the band finally fled the stage for good, leaving those of us behind to mourn uprooting from our spots no longer fearing floating away in a gust of elation due to the deflation created by the inevitable end of an inspirational evening.

Wednesday, September 22, 2004

Told You So

Besides the fact that I told you so, here's another reason to check out Andrea: Relevant valued her thoughts enough to publish them.
Don't Hate Me Because I Get To See WILCO Tonight for $7

ok, I lied. You can go ahead and hate me. But just for tonight, k? k.


Tuesday, September 21, 2004

Friends Friends

Just thought I'd let you fine people know that we have a newbie in our midst. My darling friend, Andrea, (the hot blonde, well one of them, in the picture of my beautiful friends) has decided to enter the blogosphere. She's a freelance writer, a stunning fashionista and an all around wonder. Let us welcome her with warm and loving arms as she shares with us her Mercenary Madcap Life!

Thursday, September 16, 2004

Walk Of Shame

In college I was introduced to a campus phenomenon entitled the "Walk of Shame." (for some reason, I hear the low, echo-y, booming voice of "Sunday, Sunday, Sunday" when I think "Walk of Shame" in my head) The "Walk of Shame" isn't just an action, it's a look. It's Saturday night's perfectly painted eyes smeared across Sunday morning's (or rather, afternoon's) swollen, hungover cheeks. It's black pants and lace tops amid pajama bottoms and sweatshirts, high heals dragging across unfamiliar sidewalks where many sneakered feet find well beaten paths. It's a hung head and shoulders slumped with a weight heavier than any backpack on campus, because, of course, it couldn't be a "Walk of Shame" if it wasn't also an attitude. Thankfully, I didn't have the kind of social life that ended in walks of shame; at least not of this sort. See, I've come to realize that even if they aren't from frat parties gone awry, my life has nevertheless seen many walks of shame.

In thinking about this walk of shame concept, I recalled a story from my college pastor's own education at a Christian university. His walk of shame included dress clothes and pajamas as well, but with pajamas in the minority. You see, at this particular Christian school, the Sunday morning cafeteria teemed with well-dressed Christians analyzing the morning service. Showing up in pajamas, a sure sign that you had slept through church, warranted many stares, whispers and quite possibly, an intervention from your concerned brothers and sisters. However, my pastor would simply try to get around this uncomfortable situation by sleeping through church and then simply getting dressed up for lunch!

Isn't that just like us, instead of fixing the "problem" we simply slap a coat of paint on it and call it a done deal. There have been many a morning (and afternoon and evening, as well) that I wish I could cover up my social iniquities by simply changing my clothes, washing my face or slapping on a new one. And there have been many an occasion when I've tried.

My walk of shame doesn't always have a stock shape, size or situation. My sense of shame mostly occurs from letting others down: not being the successful genius my parents hoped, not being the creative creature my heart cries out to be, not lifting a finger in the pursuit of godly life. Of course, all of these are overstatements. My parents are proud of me (um, I think), I do try to be creative and my God knows that I am a faltering child, yes, but one who is trying in earnest-- giving at 100% of the 60% I have to give. And, as I was reminded this past Sunday, even through all of this, my faux pas, my downfalls, my inconveniences and embarassments, God says He is not ashamed to call me His. And when I forget, He says it again.

"You come of the Lord Adam and the Lady Eve," said Aslan. "And that is both honor enough to erect the head of the poorest beggar, and shame enough to bow the shoulders of the greatest emperor on earth. Be content." ~Aslan, Prince Caspian, The Chronicles of Narnia, Book 4

Tuesday, September 14, 2004

Is that a word?

  • Have you ever wondered what God was thinking when he decided to take the human body's largest organ, wrap it around the outside of everything and then make it part of the excretory system?

  • Has the department of transportation ever thought about putting some sort of gritty texturizer in the paint they use to make white lines? Haven't they ever thought it somewhat dangerous that the so called borders of the streets are the slickest parts in the rain?

  • Is it possible that maybe my decreased field of vision is not so much due to heavy eyelids but rather heavy eyelashes?
  • Shouldn't I have more questions to justify making this a list, let alone an entire post?

  • Do I really have to go to my meeting?

  • Unfortunately I know the answer to that last one.

    Monday, September 13, 2004

    Basically so Paolo will Quit Whining

    I usually attempt to abstain from "here's how my day-to-day life is going" posts simply because I feel that they are my fall back for when I've run out of ideas to expound upon, stories to tell or just need to rant, rave or whine myself. But, since I guess some people actually like hearing the update on life-in-general every once in a while, here goes.

    Let's see, where to start... Well, for the past 5 months I have been trying to hold down two jobs in order to whip my finances into shape. Initially the plan proved prosperous. However, since my energy level, sanity and pocket book have now started to suffer at the hands of said second job, I have sadly-yet-thankfully turned in my two weeks notice and will return shortly to a life of singular employment. I will miss the cool people I worked with and I will, of course, miss the discount, but being out of the store will severely deplete my desire to obtain everything (and therefore deplete my wallet) in the first place.

    Another step in mollycoddling my health and sanity has emerged in the form of a holistic doctor who has taken me off of sugar (processed, I can still have honey and fruit-- except cantaloupe), yeast, mushrooms and dairy in order to flush excess yeast from my system which can cause many of the illnesses I have been fighting over the past few years. Once we've determined what has and has not been caused due to too much yeast, we can decide how to properly treat everything that remains.

    For those of you who don't know, I have had some extensive therapy in learning to avoid concentrating on what I "can" and "can't" eat, so this "diet" or "regimen" could prove rather tricky for my thought patterns. I'm also afraid of any weight-loss effects that this regimen may have, because any drastic weight fluctuation in my body tends to mess with the aforementioned thought patterns, etc. Plus, it sucks that I can't just pick up any food and eat it after I've spent so long learning that I can! I'm looking forward to the health benefits this could have, but I'm also looking forward to being done with this part of the treatment. Plus, I'm never very good at not wanting something people tell me I can't have-- I'm rather obstinate that way.

    The last step in this healing process is being able to focus on exercise again. I'm going to be going to hot yoga regularly in order to help aid my body in its cleansing process, as well as tone my body inside and out. I'll get to go to the YMCA more now, too. I'm not completely out of sorts physically, but it really is amazing how much better one feels when one can work out on a regular basis.

    Finally, school's started up again and with my work load cutting down, I'll hopefully get to focus more on my youth group girls. I miss them a lot. It's been hard not being able to hang out with them.

    In other words, with my second job gone, I'll have a few extra hours a week that have already been filled and then some-- but I'm looking forward to it. Plus, now I don't have to worry about working the day after Thanksgiving and can actually have entire weekends free to get away or laze around at my will, not to mention being able to read, write and relax more in general. Let's just pray this all works out for the greater good.

    Friday, September 10, 2004

    It's Just a Little Crush Not Like I Faint Every Time We Touch
    It's just some little thing, not like everything I do depends on you*

    And so it begins, my aforementioned long post in the works. I'm going to investigate a topic I don't think I usually deal with here on P.R.E.-- relationships-- like, the guy/girl kind-- more specifically, my own and in plain, black and white terms. Hmm, I wonder if I can actually write an entire serious post without metaphors or allusions... probably not. We'll see.

    Consider this Part I.

    Today's vocabulary (sponsored by

    Crush n:
  • A usually temporary infatuation.

  • One who is the object of such an infatuation.

  • Infatuation n:
  • A foolish, unreasoning, or extravagant passion or attraction.

  • An object of extravagant, short-lived passion.

  • Attraction n:
  • The power or act of alluring, drawing to, inviting.

  • Admiration n:
  • Wonder mingled with approbation or delight.

  • An emotion excited by a person or thing possessed of wonderful or high excellence.

  • Crush v:
  • To squeeze, so as to destroy the natural shape or integrity of the parts

  • Humiliate or depress completely

  • Make ineffective

  • The noun "crush" and I have long been near and dear bedfellows. Over the years, I have fallen into many a silly schoolgirl crush. I find crushes fun because you never know when they'll hit, or why. I have crushed on boys because of their musical talents, their beliefs, their writings, their wit, their humor, their compassion, their overall style and let's face it, just because they're cute. However, I've noticed the sources of my crushes delve much deeper than I at first believed. Don't get me wrong, an amazing smile and sparkling eyes can still bring home the jitters, but I've realized that there's more to it than that.

    You see I've found that what intrigues me more than those pearly whites and glimmering blues is what makes them surface in the first place. In other words, I become attracted to a boy, not necessarily with the defined "extravagant passion" but because he is extravagantly impassioned. The true foundation for my crush is not the characteristics displayed but the ideology behind them. Something in their writing, wit or style exudes a quality that, whether I understand it or not, I respect. Take "A" for example: a political science major I liked a bit my freshman year of college. Whereas I could have cared less about politics at that time, I sat and listen to him talk at length about governing issues simply because I was so entranced by his fervor for the political sphere. However, no matter how zealous he was about politics, without having more in common, the frequency and quality of our conversations ebbed away, along with the passion-induced sparkle and gleam that allured me in the first place.

    Hence, we get to the "temporary" aspect of a crush, because for something to truly be a crush, it must be temporary.

    You see, crushes tend to occur on people whom we know very little-- which is the basis for my theory on "New Girl/New Boy Syndrome" in which the new kid on the block gets more attention than others because she/he is fresh, uncharted territory and imaginably (though on the average, improbably) one's perfect match. Since you hardly know this person, he/she has yet to fall short of your figmented mate. Until you truly get to know him/her, the new kid gives flesh to your ideal.

    Since crushes are then, by definition, temporary they're only "good" until the new car smell wears off, after that, it must ebb into either admiration or the abyss. Maybe that's why I like crushes; they allow you to investigate, to dip a toe in the water. In the long run, little crushes (n) act as buffers from big crushes (v). But that's another post for another day.

    *Titling format inspired by Dave.

    Tuesday, September 07, 2004

    Man, I'd Nearly Forgotten...

    how much I absolutely love mind-rotting WB television. I should have more time on week nights to rot my brain from now on. Woo Hoo!

    Hopefully I'll get some time to be creative and find some muses as well.

    Cheers to free time!
    Happy Anniversary

    wow, so, um, happy September everyone. Didn't realize it'd been so long since I'd written. I have a long post in the works. So long, I think I'm going to have to break it down into a few segments. I can't really throw that all at you at once.

    Today has been not a very good day thus far thanks to one particularly stupid company claiming that I owe them money that I don't. I don't say that I hate much. I hate them.

    For nearly the past week I've been dealing with some not-so-pretty side effects of quitting a Rx cold turkey. It's not something I'd recommend, but given the circumstances, it was the best decision I could make for myself at the time. Besides, no matter how much they're messing with me, I still claim the side effects of withdrawal aren't as bad as the side effects of consumption.

    Despite all of these negative things that seem to be looming around me right now, I actually had a really great weekend. A friend blessed me in an enormous way. So much so that I haven't found the words just yet to thank my friend. I have not simply been blessed with this friend's gift, but even more so with this friendship and that blessing has rendered me speechless in its wake.

    Oh, what about the anniversary mentioned in the title? Yep, today's my anniversary. Three years ago on this very day I made my big move to Nashville. Just me, a loaded car and Long Line of Leavers on repeat. I almost feel like I should order some La Paz in commemoration of my first meal in music city-- but it just wouldn't be the same without Kat. (I'm ok with you all being completely lost in that last sentence)