6/30/2007

Don't let the graduate students fool you

With less than a week until the due date of our media plan project, I just had this exchange with one of my group members:

"Wow. I think I finally feel like I know what I'm talking about."

"How did you know? I was just thinking that I feel like I finally know what I'm talking about."

And yet we've all managed to work on and fight over this thing for FOUR WEEKS already. It's amazing how many things there are to fight about even when you don't know what the hell you're talking about.

6/28/2007

I have something to say. Three Times.

I politely declined a request for my phone number from Guy at Apple Store yesterday. He did a truly impressive job of intertwining flirtatious comments right in there with his helpful comments regarding the Airport Extreme Base Station vs. the Airport Express Base Station. He's a nice guy. In fact, he was so nice that he helped me pick the better deal and helped me save money. Twice. So I gave my heartfelt thanks. But when he called my name out and came running after me as I was on my way out of the store, clearly putting himself on the line in front of all of his co-workers, and asked for my number, I didn’t feel bad about saying no. Furthermore, I did not feel obliged to say, “Sorry I’m seeing someone” or apologize or lie in any way shape or form. Women everywhere would be shocked and appalled.

How, they would ask, can you be so mean?

GET OVER YOURSELF.

I have always maintained that you do NOT have to lie when you don’t want to give a man your phone number. Here’s the thing. I find it remarkably insulting when someone lies to me. Essentially, they are taking me for a fool. I’m with Judge Judy: “Don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s raining.” And it’s even more insulting and ridiculously presumptuous when someone lies to me because they think I’m made of damn glass. Please. GET OVER YOURSELF.

I mean, to each her own and all of that, but I’m just saying that if you want to say “No thank you,” for the love of God, just say, “No thank you” or something to that nature. You don’t have to say, “HELL, no. Are you fucking kidding me?” But you don’t have to give some sort of fake phone number or say, “Oh, um, well, you know. It’s just.. it’s just. I’m sorry. It’s just that I have a boyfriend. I’m so sorry” And you know what else? Even if you do have a significant other, hopefully the reason you don't want to give your number is because you are genuinely NOT interested, so you can just say, “No thank you.” Believe me, the guy just met you – he’s not going to stay up at night crying because YOU said “No thank you.”

One more time: GET OVER YOURSELF.

6/27/2007

The Crickets ARE NOT in Times Square

Because they are following me through the great state of Texas. Throughout the 6 years I lived at the last apartment complex, my friends, coworkers and family were regularly regaled with The Great Cricket Tales: How for one particularly bad 2 weeks, I’d have 7-8 new ones come to visit every night; how they could jump as high as my waist; how that jumping was so loud that I kept thinking there was another person messing around in the apartment; and how I could swear up and down that they were IN MY INTERCOM BOX. These sound like exaggerations, but they are not. I admit that the intercom box one sounded a little daffy even to me, until one day I SAW one of them scuttling back into said box which eventually led to the dismounting of the box, only to find (if you have a weak stomach, you may want to skip ahead) at least 20. dead crickets. inside.

So most of these friends and family thought it was totally crazy that there were crickets coming into my apartment in the first place. Ants, beetles, spiders, even scorpions... yeah, those are regular sightings in Texas homes. But crickets? Apparently, it was only me. Oh, they’d pat my hand and say, “there, there,” but I’m quite certain that they’d all go on and regale all of their friends with The Great “Crazy Girl with the Cricket Tales” Tales. I felt somewhat validated when upon moving out with the help of some of these people, behind the washer and dryer which hadn’t been moved for 6 years, there were dozens upon dozens of old dead crickets. “Wow, you weren’t kidding about those crickets, were you?”

Kidding? Yes, I love to make up stories about being scared shitless over creatures the size of my thumb.

It took no longer than 2 weeks here in Austin for them to find me again. Oh the familiar sound of long floppy legs and merry chirping (“We’re here! We’re here! Did you miss us?”). To my pleasant surprise, however, I’ve discovered that when I see one, I’m no longer immediately frozen with fear. My heart doesn’t start to race and I don’t start sweating with only one thing left to do: stand there staring at it for one whole minute as it gleefully frolics around the room until I work up enough courage to run for the Raid, spray the thing from 8 ft. away and shriek each time it jumps (insect activists should stop reading here) until it finally gives up and dies, leaving me in a cloud of toxic fumes.

NOW, I see one of my cricket friends and say, “Well, of course.” I immediately reach for the Woolite Carpet Cleaner (might as well clean the carpet while I’m at it) and give the thing a few squirts to slow it down. And then, sometimes while it’s STILL ALIVE, I’ll either push it toward the door to kick it outside or I’ll pick it up with a paper towel and flush it down the toilet. No toxic fumes required.

By golly, if for nothing else, graduate school is good for your fear of crickets.

6/26/2007

For the West TX-grown, West Coast Ivy Leauge educated Palo Alto Girl

Because of her, I can never say that my Kindergarten year in Littleton, Colorado was dull. Because of her, I am still just an instant message away from a laugh. Or a bitch-session. Or a purchase consultation. Because of her, there is at least one person who truly hears me when I speak.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CATWOMAN!!!


- From the N. TX-grown, East Coast Conservatory educated Dallasite

6/24/2007

The Real Accomplishment of Graduating

I learned a lot of things in college.

Impressive things like how to sing “Happy Birthday” in solfege, analyze “The Rite of Spring,” and completely dissect the Sonata form. (What do you mean you’re not impressed?)

Interpersonal things like if you manage to recruit a chamber group without at least one person who will show up to rehearsals only half of the time and in a half baked state, then you’ve TOTALLY beaten the odds.

Useful things such as: when you live in Rochester, NY in the winter time, you need not bother trying to look sexy when you walk (it’s all in the hip shifting) or style your hair because if you don’t wear a stiff, hooded, down-filled coat that goes down to at least your knees and allows for no extraneous movement plus a warm hat that covers your ears under the hood of that coat, then you WILL freeze your ass off.

And as so recently pointed out to me by various people in my life, illegal things. Like jaywalking across the busiest multi-lane intersection in downtown on an average of 15 times a day. At the time, it didn’t seem as if I was risking my life each time I ran on the snow and ice in the above-mentioned coat (which if you are wearing, you have to turn your entire body in order to look left or right) while carrying a bag full of books and an instrument worth thousands of dollars in just enough time to beat the next speeding car. It seemed the only smart thing to do. I mean, it was COLD and we didn’t have the time to just STAND there at the light, waiting for it to change. Please. Those lights were just suggestions.

Which is why I felt a sense of familiarity during my first visit to my new campus, even before I accepted admission. Not only is the communications building located on one of the busiest intersections on campus, but when the Director of the program walked me over from his office to said building, he didn’t just jaywalk, he jaywalked at least 10 feet away from the actual intersection. As we jogged across, he turned to me and said, “They did teach you to jaywalk at that New York school, didn’t they?”

At that moment, I knew I was among friends. The difference is that now I check for cops.

Gratitude

What do you do when in the span of one month, during which time everything in your life is going exceptionally well, you find out that two of your good friends are suffering from serious and life-altering injuries?

The answer, I believe, is not necessarily an original one, but one that is always worth revisiting. You take inspiration from their courage to let go of the anger. And to awaken a renewed sense of appreciation for the good things. I have a lot of them right now.

6/21/2007

Don't Shoot the Simple Girl

My favorite day of the year isn't my birthday, it isn't New Year's and it isn't Halloween - although all of those are high on the list.
My favorite day is the one that, in my view, is a literal celebration of "day," it being the one with the most daylight all year and the kickoff to my favorite season of summer with its hot sunny days and seemingly endless hours. Yes, I am a Lady of Lightness and Daughter of the Sun. If this means that my soul is simple and shallow, then SIMPLE AND SHALLOW BE I.

This year, I celebrated by experiencing the uniquely Austin "Mexonesian" (self-described) Hula Hut, located on Lake Austin in the best of company where I sat on the patio, looked out on the lake and had a delicious Bloody Mary at 4 pm on a Thursday afternoon. Indeed, there are some wonderful perks about being a student!

Happy June 21st!

6/19/2007

Flashback to Elementary School





I skinned my knee at school today. Yes, really.

But I should make one thing clear. It was not the fault of my white Steve Madden wedges. Would I have tripped and fallen if I were wearing flats? Probably not. But I NEVER BLAME PRETTY SHOES.

So whose fault is it? It could be my fault. After all, instead of paying attention to where I was stepping as I generally try to do when wearing shoes with height, I was absorbed in the Search for the Car Keys in the Purse. (All women know about this.) While I was searching, the surface on the street suddenly changed from flat concrete to uneven brick. Of course, I wouldn't have been searching for my keys if I'd have found them before I started walking or for that matter, waited to find them after I finished walking. Or I could’ve actually put my keys in the (gasp!) key compartment in my purse in the first place.

Or, I could do the right thing and blame the UNEVEN BRICK. That damn brick tripped me.

It was NOT the shoes.

6/15/2007

Precious Moments (of Technology)

If you’re like me, you can remember the day, even the moment you met at least one of your small, personal technological gadgets. You remember what you were doing, where you were, the starry-eyed swooning…

I remember the cold winter evening on which I braved the playground of N. Dallas holiday shoppers and met my beautiful, beautiful white macbook. I remember the bittersweet sendoff party given to me by my soon-to-be former employer at which I met my video iPod, a generous gift of appreciation from those who hired me seven years earlier. I remember each of the moments I met my Nikon Coolpix camera, my current NOKIA phone, and my SONY Handycam (a gift from my new employer – small companies do have their perks).

I also remember the moment I met my very first small, personal technological gadget. It was the weekend of both my birthday and my college graduation. My entire family had flown up to the City of Gloomy Skies, one Rochester, NY, to attend the ceremony for which I’d have just as soon skipped out and ran as fast as I could back to where the sun shines and people didn’t listen to Gustav Mahler for fun. I was relieved to be finished, terrified of the future and overcome with the pang of parting ways with each friend with whom I’d spent the last four grueling years.

My older, more savvy brother who was already working as a Technical Consultant for a Fortune 500 company brought me a graduation gift - a gift for the girl who just spent four years in The Bubble of Future Starving Artists. Yes, the ones who would be proud to move to Manhattan to live in a closet-sized, spartanly furnished studio apartment and eat pasta and tuna while gigging and auditioning for every open position in the world.

So I opened the gift. Which is when I met my 3 com Palm III. I looked at this thing in my palm. This strange, slim, charcoal gray thing. This thing over which my brother (who himself did not even own one yet) and my dad were drooling. I looked up suspiciously and said, “What the hell is this?”

Nine years later, as I sit among these friends of mine: my video iPod that is charging in the side of my beautiful, beautiful white macbook which holds hundreds of pics taken by my Nikon Coolpix and could very well hold clips taken by my SONY Handycam if I’d actually learn how to do it, I think back to that day and can only say, “Who was that girl? How did she - ”

Wait, do I hear my beloved NOKIA phone telling me I’ve gotten a photo text?

6/13/2007

Unexpected

Sometimes someone says something so wonderful and nice to you that you cry. Because you believe it. And the tears aren't even embarassing.

6/09/2007

To the Library

“Where is the library?”

This was the question from the clueless blonde (me) in class last Thursday upon receiving a list of research sources for our upcoming Media Plan Project.

Most research is done online now (first big change from my undergraduate days), but there are still some print periodicals and such that you can find at an actual book-filled library. And so, as I am still in eager pursuit of the drastic, new adventures in the World of Graduate School, I decided to start there.

Then: My undergrad “campus” was one building in the heart of downtown. I lived in the dorm across the street. The library and bookstore were across the street in the other direction. Basically, I spent my entire life within 2 blocks. I could get anywhere within 3 minutes. (Of course, when it was snowing and below freezing, it felt more like 10.)

Now: My grad campus is almost literally an entire city itself. Every time I go to campus, I take some sort of urban hike (longer if I park, shorter if I take the bus) to get to where I need to go. The main library, I discovered is on the other extreme side of campus from my parking garage and all the other buildings I’ve had to frequent. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind walking and I’d rather schlep around in the heat than the cold, but it’s the time it takes that I can’t get over. 3 minutes? Try 30.

Then: I’ve written about the culture of performance majors at hard core music conservatories before. We used the library for the following reasons: to check out new musical scores to play around with, to check email, to find the friend we’d been looking for and hadn’t found after scouring all 5 floors of practice rooms, but most frequently to hide out in the listening room and listen to recordings (sometimes for a class, but more often for fun.)

Now: People go to the library to study. There were actually people besides Ph.D. students sitting at the tables and carrels! Thank God the people are generally nice here. After all, someone had to show me how to, you know, find a book. And how to use the copy machine.

Then: Staying too long at a university library-with all of the whispering, quiet concentration (HOW can people develop ideas this way?) and the stillness - made me feel mentally claustrophobic. At some point, I’d be completely consumed with one thought: I HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!!

Now: Staying too long at a university library-with all of the whispering, quiet concentration (HOW can people develop ideas this way?) and the stillness - makes me feel mentally claustrophobic. At some point, I’m completely consumed with one thought: I HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!! I mean for the love of Pete, there’s no teen fiction in this library!

6/06/2007

At least one person for the police to interview if I turned up missing in my new city

I may have my first bona fide friend in Austin, TX. I mean, only a friend would call you just to see how things are going at the first-complete-week-of -school milestone, right? Or maybe he just really wants to come over and hang out at the nice pool at my apartment complex. But hey, I’ll take that too!

BeneFitness

There are lots of things that motivate me to get up before the crack of dawn 5 days a week so that I can spend 2 hours burning enough calories to justify last night’s dessert and put away my first 40 oz. of water for the day - like health, empowerment, clarity of mind, and feeling and looking good.

But today, I have found the motivating prize that has nothing to do with how my body feels. Behold the perfect gym: two stories of fitness friendly glory.
•Cardio machines as far as the eye can see – ellipticals, stairmills, treadmills, stationary bikes, recumbent bikes, rowing machines, stairmasters... not to mention the two NEW ones I’ve never tried (my heart was racing and my knees went weak from excitement), those being the woodway treadmill and the arc trainer.
•Cable machines, Smith machines and free weights that are actually returned to their correct place (thanks to the fitness staff who make better use of their time than flirting or soliciting unwanted business).
•Dozens of stability balls, bosu balls, resistance bands, etc., again all in their correct place in an entire section devoted to using such tools.
•Row upon row of strength training circuit machines, organized by body part.
•A spacious stretching area with PLENTY of mats.
•Disinfectant wipes stationed all around the gym.
•Large classrooms and an even larger variety of classes.
•Enough TVs to show major networks, news networks, ESPN, cable and a special channel that corresponds to the music and ads playing over the loud speakers.
•Above mentioned, extensively trained and screened staff members/trainers/nutritionists who are knowledgeable, friendly, always on the floor and who seemingly want nothing in return.
•Enormous floor-to-ceiling windows all around and my already favorite recumbent bike right next to the window that faces the parking lot, which is like another TV screen on an exciting day.
•Fully stocked, fully equipped locker rooms withTV lounging areas.

And those are just the basic amenities. There are also basketball and racquet ball courts, a rock climbing wall, an indoor pool, an outdoor pool and bistro, upscale private pilates and yoga studios. There is a salon and spa and a cafĂ© which serves fresh, organic food and nutritious snacks and drinks. There is child care, field trips included. Membership advisors have their own little offices (not cubicles) and are not reeking of aggressive ploys to get you to sign up only to ignore you after you’re a member. I would mention the upscale natural stone floors and granite countertops, but since I sold that stuff for years and years, it doesn't impress me much. (But look at me mentioning it anyway)

And the price for a nationwide 24 hour membership? (and no it’s not the 24 hour Fitness chain) So. Reasonable.

Could it be that I’ve paid my dues in years of dealing with flaky trainers and commission driven, false promising sales staff for this? Of playing hunt and find for the free weights and putting up with limited options in disinfecting machines? Of thinking to myself every morning, "If I owned a gym, it would be like this..." (and this new gym is very similar to those thoughts)? Yes I know that heart wellness and disease prevention is what really matters. And of course, with just a pair of shoes and the earth God gave us, it is entirely possible to achieve such things without membership dues, gasoline and mileage. And yes, I am helping to make a man in Minnesota who had an entrepreneurial dream very wealthy. But I say GOOD FOR HIM. I say that there is nothing wrong with enjoying this kind of yuppie luxury right along with the health benefits of working out. I say that as a dedicated, longtime gym rat, I’ve earned it.

6/04/2007

FIRSTDAYOFCLASS!! (last Thursday)

And y’all - The sky. Has not. Fallen down.

Nobody asked me what the hell I think I’m doing in graduate school. I found that I had thoughts to contribute in my media management class and nobody treated me like a dumb blonde. It turns out that people still take notes with pen and paper and not some sort of elaborate laptop software - so I’m still cool. Even though I haven’t taken any of my “leveling” courses yet, I didn’t feel like I was the littlest kid on the block, trying to keep up with the cooler, older kids. In fact, it seems that having worked those seven long years at a brand new, very small company where I was actually involved in real life media management (albeit on a very small scale) is paying off so far. Take that, you snooty "leveling" courses.

I like the class, I like the prof., and I really like the other students. In fact, the first person to whom I introduced myself is a totally cool high school basketball coach from DALLAS. And yes, he IS a Mavs fan. My first day of class was really fun!

So I rushed home and finished my homework the very same night!

HA HA HA! Did you believe me? Please. I haven’t changed that much.