There's nothing but shit in food service

I will generally stay out of people's way. Sometimes, I've been told, this makes me come off as a snob. But honestly I'm usually too afraid of fumbling a social interaction when I'm not sure how to handle it, and I'd rather appear a snob than a fool. So usually the only time I won't follow this rule is when I feel strongly that a wrong or an unfairness is being committed against me. Then I can't keep my goddamn mouth shut. Long story short, I told another server he was heartless. Business was slow all day, money was scarce, sidework was still plentiful, and tensions were high because of it. I can understand all of this. But what I can't understand is when I've been at a place more than a month, and there are still surprises on what's supposed to get done at the end of the night. When every night it's different, but if somebody tells you with enough authority you have to listen to it, even if it's something petty, the very SAME petty thing that I got yelled at for asking someone to do yesterday instead of just shutting up and doing it myself. When it's midnight and I have $40 in my pocket total and I thought I was on my way out the door. Anyway, he didn't take the heartless comment well, then made me feel bad by explaining to me as if I were a child exactly why I was wrong, which flipped me upside down and made me crazy, because for once I thought I was understanding him and where he was coming from, but no. Then he basically threatened to tell the managers on me. And I realized if that happens, I won't have a friend in the world at that restaurant. My stay-out-of-everyone's way mentality has worked thus far in keeping me alive but it's also meant nobody really knows me that well or trusts me, certainly not well enough to even consider my word over his. And if I get another "team player" lecture,GAG, I do just as much for that restaurant as anyone, it'll take every spark of my energy to keep from walking out right then.

I overheard one of the busers today saying he wanted to get a tattoo on his back...of Zucca...with toilet paper trailing down because it shits all over him.

A Crappy Thanksgiving to You, Too

People can be downright rude. I just got back from Famous Hair where I wanted to get an eyebrow wax (pretty routine), and I was flat out turned away with no apology. Even though last time I got it done there, around 7:45, so I knew they'd be open, there was only one girl in the salon and when I walked in she said, "Can I HELP you?" and I, already seated and ready to indulge in a magazine while she finished a haircut, replied, "Oh, I just want an eyebrow wax." To which she said curtly, "I have nobody on right now who can do waxes." And went back to her scissors. No explanation, no indication of the next time someone who did waxes would be in, just angry energy. So I left. As I made my way to my car, I stopped to look back at the shopping center and see if there was possibly another place nearby, like a nail salon or something, that would be able to wax. I was studying the neon shop titles when a loud honk jarred me out of my contemplative trance. Apparently I was blocking an empty parking spot. I don't think I was standing there that long, and there are more polite ways to let me know I'm in the way other than blaring a loud noise in my ear. Since my car was right next to the spot in question, I just stepped sideways a little bit and started rummaging for my keys. A lady and her son got out of the car. He looked at me like a scared puppy, then she yanked him and stalked away.

I know tomorrow's Thanksgiving. The girl at the salon probably just wanted to get home and thought it rude of me to come in so close to closing (well, an hour and 45 minutes before), and the car horn lady probably had to grab something last-minute at Kroger and I was smack in the middle of a coveted spot close to the entrance. I know family's the priority for most people and when something or someone threatens to get in the way, it's natural to get a little bitchy. But it's amazing how long it took me to stop feeling disgruntled from those two back-to-back encounters. The bad energy seeped in and after a few minutes, I was still feeling agitated even though I had forgotten why. It makes me hesitate to go back to that hair place, even though the best eyebrow wax I think I've ever had was from there.

Now I know it's easy, since I want to make a point, to attribute all this rudeness to Atlanta being a big city. At least I'm aware of my bias. Still, I'm going to say it anyway--I don't think this would ever happen in Bowling Green. Let me just outline the town as best I can after my 2 day visit. First, there's some sort of rule that no chain restaurants can set up shop there. That means no Applebee's, Olive Garden, or Friday's with that blasted Guy Fieri. There's also a clock tower in the center of downtown which reminds me of the one at Cornell, one of the only things I loved there. And all the people I encountered, even the students, who, considering the size of BGSU and its emphasis on athletics, I might expect to reek with college cockiness, were so pleasant. Some people might say there's not enough to do there. But, there are more than 3 bars. That's already a head start on Williamsburg. Speaking of home, I really love the picture I took while I was there this weekend and I want to put it somewhere. So here you go.

Homework

According to Dr. Fredriksen, at 22, I should know "who's who" at music schools. Then he asked me who was on the faculty at Indiana and when I hesitated to answer he said I should really just be able to rattle off names. Man. Time to google/youtube/stalk some teachers. It is pretty sad, my lack of exposure to these things...but I always kind of wonder how people just build up that sort of knowledge, not just about music teachers, but about anything! Sometimes I really crave an old film to watch, and apart from browsing Netflix or a movie store, or getting a recommendation from a film major friend, I'm not always sure how to pick something that's good. I can get on some pretty good search engine binges, imdbing, etc., and learn cool stuff, don't get me wrong, but before the internet, seriously, what did people do?

Practice Log

As a piano teacher, I need to be always thinking sort of backwards. Any good teacher needs to be able to do that, actually, to think like the student to elucidate things in the best possible way. Sometimes, during lessons, I'm finding that memories from when I was a 6-year-old piano student, memories I thought had basically evaporated, are still lurking somewhere in my head, down a dusty corridor behind some old coats, more intact than I thought. It's really fun when that happens, but I wish I had more control over it and that it weren't just an automatic response to an outside trigger. When I was really little I used to always swear that I would never ever ever forget what it was like to be a kid. It's scary how hard it's getting to keep that promise.

Anyway, I want to start keeping kind of a record of things that go on when I practice now, as a 22-year-old piano student, to make it easy to stir up those memories when I get further down the road and hopefully am teaching people like myself.

As for today, URERJGHUEIRPHGHGHHZXCDF tendonitis. I'm pretty confident it's gone, but the tension  that started showing up before it got so bad I sought out professional help still creeps up too frequently and it's really starting to piss me off. It's hard not having regular lessons, but it also forces me to really think for myself. I am constantly focusing on how my arms feel when I play. This may or may not be a good thing--am I overthinking it again? Do I need Sarno? No, I don't think so. Today was a little challenging, but I spent a long time warming up (which I never used to do ever), I was very gentle at first, and I didn't have any pain or stiffness later. Also, I think this is crucial: I've been focusing on where the pressure comes from when I push down on the keys. I really think my fingers simply haven't been strengthened enough and I've been trying to make up for it by using quick bursts of power from my wrists/elbows/tendons, especially for the weaker fingers, 4 and 5. But when I started spending a few minutes every practice session doing some finger pressing exercises--isolating a finger by holding every other finger down on a key and then pressing very gently but firmly with that finger down onto a key repeatedly (slowly)--things have been improving greatly. But it's as much a mental as a physical exercise. It takes so much mental power to change where the strength is coming from, since I'm so used to compensating for my fingers' weakness by engaging other muscle groups. I've even been thinking about it while I type during my internship (9-5 in front of a computer takes a toll). It's slow going, and I just hope 1) I've pinpointed the problem correctly and 2) I will have the patience not to rush it and fall back into the same trap. It's like an embouchure change for a brass player--a long tedious process that makes you feel like a piece of shit because you're forcing yourself to play below what you know your technical and musical abilities are in order to eventually increase those abilities (and in my case in order to avoid physical pain).

Something cool: I decided to try filming my hands while I played with my Canon Powershot, and it wasn't bad quality considering the camera's not really made to produce quality audio recordings. I positioned it from different angles, and it really made me see/hear things about my playing I wouldn't have been able to otherwise, and provided a new way to discipline myself without a teacher around.

Comforts of Nostalgia

For a long time down here, I've been leading a pretty anonymous existence. My kittens are pretty much the only ones who know who I am or want to play with me. I think that's why it's been so hard for me to get a sense of this place. Because how you feel about a place has a lot to do with how you feel about yourself IN that place. And I've been feeling a bit like a machine. Wake up, eat, look for jobs. Practice, look for jobs. Drive around, use internet at sister's house to look for jobs. Scoop litter.

With such a glamorous life, I guess it's pretty weird for me to miss my hometown. Even though most of my friends tend to get bogged down there and won't shut up about how little there is to do in Williamsburg, I never really get bored there. I love walking down Duke of Gloucester (especially in the fall/winter, with all the little bonfires outside the taverns). I love the fact that there are 3 bars total, and that a great view of the James River (polluted as it may be) is within biking distance from my house. And while it's not Star's Hollow small (if you get my reference, then you can't make fun), I like how it's unusual for me to go a day without running into a couple of people I've known since childhood.

Lately, though, life in Atlanta has started to materialize a little. Even though now I'm still a bit of a machine, at least I'm a working machine. I'm making money and interacting with people on a regular basis waitressing, teaching piano or being at my internship. And where before I felt like a lot of my attempts to translate my nonexistence in Atlanta to an existence online were disappearing into internet oblivion, now it's BECAUSE of the internet that I found two new piano students from Williamsburg! Mom and daughter are both studying and mom took me into bedroom at the first lesson to show me a huge painting of the Governor's Palace hanging above their bed. Daughter was good friends with a little girl in Williamsburg whose dad plays tennis with my dad. There's also a good chance my mom, a maternity nurse, helped deliver both kids.

 I'm being sentimental--it's only been a few months, and there are great things about being in a city. But it's pretty great to be able to mention Ironbound Road and have someone know exactly where that is. At least I'm not recreating Colonial Williamsburg in my bedroom.

Digital Camera Abuse

It's at every social gathering I go to. Some portion of time must be devoted to taking pictures, looking at and reacting to each one directly after it's been taken. There's this hilarious picture from my study abroad trip to England where we're in a night club, but all we're really doing is being glued to our cameras. When I 'm dancing, nobody really cares (except the person taking the picture and the other people in the frame who are also posing for the picture) because they're all staring at their own cameras, probably at pictures they just took of themselves!

I'm totally guilty of the camera obsession, too; I'll admit it.. Is it just because of vanity? Does everyone just want to achieve that perfect picture that captures them from their best angle in the best light, next to the coolest people doing the most interesting thing? That's probably part of it. I wonder if we'll still have all these pictures somewhere on our computers when we have kids. I like to root through my parents' old pictures, but there are so few of them. Basically just their wedding and the occasional Polaroid from camp or something. But we like to document every moment, significant or not. I just don't get why I and, it seems, so many other people get so much fascination out of seeing themselves on that digital screen.

Running away from something...

I was lucky to have one of the best things that's ever happened to me happen because I was running away from something. I hated Cornell so much that I thought I'd better just go in-state and save money while I suffered through this terrible ordeal of college. But then by some stroke of luck or fate or strange subconscious magnetism, W&M really was the closest thing to a dream school I think I could ever have found. But now I'm not sure if this strategy of running away is actually that sustainable or effective.

Lately I've been asking myself more and more why I'm in Atlanta. I at least know logically why I made the decision to come here. The obvious reasons, I wanted to get out of Williamsburg, and two family members live in Atlanta. It seemed advantageous enough. It's a big city with lots to do for fun and (you would think) lots more opportunities than I would have had staying at home. But I've applied to way too many journalism, office assistant, receptionist, museum, and cool independent restaurant jobs and gotten rejected or flat-out ignored. So much for opportunity.

Now, my current situation: waitressing at a bar/pizza joint, driving 50 minutes every week to teach 4 little kids piano in Alpharetta, interning at Atlanta Magazine. Excluding that last one, I'm not sure I had to move to get to partake of these wonderful opportunities. The Atlanta Magazine internship is actually pretty cool, apart from being unpaid, and it's definitely worthwhile for building my resume and experience. As for the other two, I had a much better waitressing job in Williamsburg, and I only drove 10 minutes to teach lessons.

I'm really not trying to complain, even though that's what it sounds like. I'm just trying to sort out why my sense of place here isn't that strong--it doesn't even feel very different to me. Just more difficult since I'm paying my own rent now and I have hardly any connections down here. Sense of place seems like such a prominent thing for some people I've talked to, people who can compare multiple cities and who actually prefer one to another. These people are also the ones who tend to give Williamsburg so much flack for being boring (haters attacking my beloved colonial haven and almost-small-town-like intimacy). As for me, the only city I can say really made an impression on me that way was Bath--all the Georgian architecture, tons of beautiful parks and historical areas, and maybe that was only because I was just wooed by its Europeanness. I don't know, I probably just haven't really discovered Atlanta yet because I've been too busy trying to finance my survival and prepare for grad school auditions. Or maybe I need to spend some time away to realize how much it has seeped in unconsciously. OR, perhaps I'm discounting the importance of my lack of experience living in different places, not to mention my lack of experience living in cities at all and I just haven't honed my criticism yet.

It feels like I'm just going round and round. Obviously I just don't know Atlanta (having sisters here actually only compounds the problem--hanging out with them and being around their established lives makes me realize even more how unestablished mine is, and, even further, makes me less interested in claiming ownership over the city) and that explains my feeling of displacement. I was so worried about feeling trapped in Williamsburg that I just had to find somewhere to bide my time this year. Running away strategy, meh. Now, figuring out where to run towards.

Look

Scriabin's moustache.

Also, watch this guy's eyelids while he plays the Debussy prelude I'm working on.

Mind Over Matter?

I used to think I was very in touch with my body. And I had sort of come to accept that the myriad small and extremely annoying but not life-threatening conditions I had developed in college were a result of "aging." Come on, now. I'm 22 years old. But ever since I was, like, 13, I've had little nuisance pains and a proneness to getting sick. 13 was when I was diagnosed with minor scoliosis which caused major back pain, and it was when I started getting migraines. I used to say, if this is me at 13, I'm going to be in a wheelchair by the time I'm 30. So naturally, in college, I just had illness after illness, and weird stuff, too.

One winter my foot just started hurting for no reason. My second toe became bluish purple and a little swollen even though I had not injured it. The doctor told me it was "Raynaud's Phenomenon," this thing where the blood vessels to your foot sort of constrict and circulation is so poor that your feet turn white then purple then red or something. I got mono sophomore year. Junior year, I got like 3 UTIs and developed digestive issues (sorry if that's TMI), and then fall of senior year I had 3 migraines in 3 days, accompanied by the typical blinding light aura thingie. Usually the aura goes away 10 minutes into the migraine, but this time my vision simply did not return to normal. Coincidentally, it was exactly the week before my final 25 page research paper for my Virginia Woolf seminar was due. When I went to the eye doctor, instead of solving my problem, he found two new ones. Chronic dry eye and blepharitis. Everything sounds worse when you put chronic in front of it and I was devastated. Further, I was banned from contacts for 3 months minimum. The blepharitis I still think is largely meaningless--it's this eyelid condition where you supposedly have to scrub them a lot every morning and night to get rid of it, but it has never caused me any pain or irritation and I can't see it--but it was not what I needed to hear at that point in time. To top off my college career of ailments, in the spring of senior year, 5 weeks before my senior piano recital, I developed tendonitis in my elbows. It started out as stiffness when I played, and as I began to pay attention to it, desperately trying to stop it from progressing, that's exactly what it did. It got worse and worse until I was taping my forearms to practice and icing them every night. I even went to the chiropractor every week for a massage and adjustment on my arms, neck and back to get rid of any tension that might be causing the pain. The tendonitis is a major reason why I'm not in grad school right now--because I didn't want to start my M.M. and end up forever associating music with pain.

So I moved to Decatur for the year. When my sister's friend who's also a pianist found out I had tendonitis, she started testifying to me about this book she read. Turns out she had it, too, only hers was so bad she couldn't even pick up a glass of water. The book she swears by is called "The Mindbody Prescription" and it's by Dr. John Sarno from NYU med school. To summarize it briefly, it claims that most pain can be attributed to what Sarno calls a subconscious "rage", i.e., the pain is not real--it's an illusion created by negative energy in your brain. The healing takes place simply when the patient begins to accept the possibility of Sarno's theory. I pretty much thought it was silly. Like I said, I was very much in touch with my body. I felt strongly that my mind listened to my body, didn't trick it into feeling something that wasn't there. Also, it was one of those paperback bestsellers with the flashy covers, sort of resembling a self-help book, which my English major snob persona looks down her nose at.

But I started to flip through it, read a few success stories (one lady just yelled at her brain for tricking her and her pain immediately stopped), and I just started to play around with the idea. I kind of didn't honestly believe it, but thought, hey, maybe I'll just pretend to believe it and see what happens. Maybe my subconscious is easily tricked or maybe I bought into the theory more than I led myself to realize, but within a few days my arms stopped hurting almost entirely. I could practice for almost 3 hours without feeling tired. And when I thought about it, all those other conditions from college had completely disappeared on their own once I stopped dwelling on them. Now this is by no means a plug for the book. In fact, I still think it's kind of silly of Sarno to call the whole thing a "theory" and have this drawn-out method when all he's is really doing is uncovering a basic principle--that your mind is very powerful. And maybe even evil when you let it get out of your control. But once you realize the power (awareness is key), your mind is a tool at your disposal.

Another finding that made me marvel at the power of the mind: Paul Rudnick. The 51-year-old has lived his entire life on little more than candy and desserts. He's healthy, skinny and happy without those 11 servings of vegetables per day. The happy part is I think what makes it all work.

Toilet training the kitties

"We're finally moving forward with this!" Becca shouted with glee as she bounded up the stairs with our new purchase, a shiny red plastic bowl. Up until now, it's been easy stuff. Just raising the litter box inch by inch by piling old textbooks underneath. Now that it's the same height as the toilet, it's time to nut up or shut up.

When we first got Emberzetta and Frances, one of us mentioned toilet training as a joke. I don't even remember how it got brought up. But then I googled "how to toilet train your cat" and surprisingly found some detailed, reasonable instructions on how to make it happen. Really, if we never had to buy litter again, not to mention having to scoop nasty poop daily (I never imagined 2 kittens could produce such a sheer quantity of waste), that would be awesome.We both thought it would be worth it to try.

So even though my sister and I have young, moldable cats, we're about to enter the danger zone where even the best and brightest have let a turd or two slip. We're about to make the switch from box to no box. This involves putting a large mixing bowl (hence the purchase) inside the toilet and filling it with litter so the cat knows where to aim. But the online instructions warn: if you move too fast and the cat gets frustrated, he'll go on anything absorbent (clothes, towels, your bed). Even if the cat does everything right, this part of the process is not without its challenges. To get the cat used to going without litter, you have to slowly decrease the litter in the bowl down to NOTHING. Do you realize how bad cat shit smells when there's no litter to cover it up? I nearly choked today when Emberzetta took a dump in the newly repositioned litter box (now it's on the toilet, not next to it) as I brushed my teeth. Must be all that oceanfish flavored Purina. Without deodorizing crystals, the instructions again warn: "By the time you're down to a token teaspoonful of litter in the bottom of the bowl, your next-door neighbors will probably be aware of the precise instant your cat has used the toilet." This isn't even to mention that we have to be around almost all of the time to predict when each kitten is going to get the urge, then train them on proper foot positioning by forcefully holding feet in place as they do their business (on the toilet seat rather than in the litter like they're used to).

Just gotta keep thinking about the reward...

Facebook's at it again

Today Facebook found me another new boyfriend! "Meet Black Men," the ad said. If I could only have a black single dad. Nice v-neck sweater on this one, though.