So, what did they say?

Here are some excerpts of what my friends said. They are all awesome, so you might find some tips that will help you out, especially with holiday/winter craziness coming upon us. I'd always love to see more tips and tricks on keeping a good balance, so feel free to leave your own in the comments.


- photo from icanhascheezburger

"For me, keeping my passion has been built on two major things; forgiving myself for "failing" and putting up goals which I can reach.[...] I personally don't think that there is one good way to keep passion in life, for me it was to find solutions for my weaknesses, for you it might be to challenge your strenghts. And I don't think that this one way works for more than a few years or months. For me, my life has changed so much since I started my internship that I had to find a new way that worked right now to not burn-out. But maybe you at least got some inspiration on how to do it, or how not to do it now ;)

I also think that cycles are good, I think they make you develop, how else would you have begun to reflect on this?"

- my social media marketing friend

"- BIG THINGS: I check in on myself all the time. If there's something that consistently makes me happy, I structure my life around it, like making time for lindy hop and friends. Conversely, when I feel a general sense of unease, I pinpoint the source and then make a structural change to my life, like becoming vegetarian.
- LITTLE THINGS: I keep a focus on things that I would like to do more of, try to modify my habits to do them more, and then pat myself on the back when I do them. Positive visualization, as hokey as that might sound. Also hanging out with inspiring people, like you! Conversely, I remove things/people from my life when they're not worth my time or they stress me out.
- TRENDS: I'm figuring out what works best for me, but not stressing out about not being there yet, or not getting it right all the time. Oooh, other new insight: what that means is allowing all my personality traits that I've had since I was a kid (reflective, liking change, outgoing, procrastinating, bursting, etc.) to coexist. Tricky stuff when they would make me act in contradictory ways; sometimes I can allow them to coexist without stepping on each other, and sometimes one needs to win out over the other.
- I talk about it with my friends. I'll be interested to hear what you conclude once you collect and digest all the responses to your email!"

- a dancer friend

"I think some activities lend themselves better to different types of management than others. For example, I keep family stuff on a regimen - I call my parents once a week on the weekend (of course, I answer e-mails and chats right away - online communication is something I keep on top of because both my life and job are reliant on it and it doesn't take a lot of effort to leave a mail window open).

Creative stuff is harder for me. Usually, I am inspired to take on a project and I power it through it as quickly as I can because a) I stand to learn something from doing it b) it could be potential portfolio material, so I want to get it done and c) I am impatient and want to see immediate results of my ideas. You are right that this can cause burn-out, but I typically focus on different things - it's never all writing or all 3D or whatever. It's more like "I'm inspired to do this thing! I'm doing it, now it's done!" and it feels kind of neat and tidy like I can check it off the list and focus on something else. So I guess you could say I manage creative urges in little chunks. "

- my game designer friend

"I try to get rid of stuff that I don't enjoy. I also have been wasting my time less and less with shit like tv and internet.

I also try to get people to not expect things from me that I don't want to do.

I also try to get in habits of doing things (like music practice) as a habit. Like, daily at a certain time. I don't stress about it though."

- another dancer friend

"I thought for a long time about this, and the only thing I consistently come up with is: do what makes you feel is right. It's cliche advice but so hard to take. There are so many times where I think what I am doing doesn't fell right, when really, it doesn't feel right to others and I am taking on their feelings as my own. It takes a lot of self awareness and courage to say, this is what I really want to do right now, be it writing or socializing. You should try things out and see what feel best for you. And also, take some time to get to know yourself enough to be able to actually make that discovery. [...] I try to think about what it is I really want to do, and accepting that. It's hard and I'm not always successful (unsuccessful more often than not) but ultimately, I'm hoping it will result in a happier self."

- a college friend

Rule: My friends always amaze me at how smart they are.

My thoughts soon.

LOOK OUT Y'ALL HERE COME THE HOLIDAYS AAAA

Hi Everyone.

I've been trying to be more self-centered. Oh don't worry, I do realize that this is hilarious coming from a blogger. However, I tend to over-commit to cooking things, party hosting (which involves cooking things), supporting my friends who totally rock, and maintaining my relationship with the boy. With me getting home at around 7p each night - sometimes later when I want to have dinner with a friend - it barely leaves enough time for me to do things that enrich me and make me feel healthy.

Recently, I am giving myself a pat on the back because I've been able to say no. I've been turning down opportunities to go to dance parties, I've been dropping my pride and allowing others to showcase their cooking skills, I've been getting some fucking sleep. The results? Awesomeness. My last post, though perhaps not the most interesting, was a result of a wholly relaxing weekend of doing things that I liked to do, and that my brain liked to do too.

I've had help though. Oh don't you think I haven't had help. A loooong time ago, I wrote an email to a few friends that went like this:

Hi. Wanted to ask some of the people I respect for their ability to keep passion in their lives a question.

I was recently writing up a blog post and thinking about how nice it was to write up a blog post (sooo meta). Upon reveling in this feeling, I thought, "What have I been doing that's kept me from doing this?" And I couldn't really think of much specifically. I did notice though that I had been partying and socializing and taking trips and shopping and random other stuff. Since I like to categorize, I decided that was me mostly relaxing but also maintaining and building my relationships with people around me.

I then thought back to a recent time when I was working on self-improvement and writing quite a bit. I ended up feeling like I didn't have enough time to socialize with friends or build on my relationships with people. I was mostly hanging out at home, writing or taking photos or cooking. It seemed like my life was going through these cycles: creativity/expression/self-improvement time, then social/relationship/helping others time.

Cycles seem natural and healthy. Like seasons. Upon closer examination, however, I was thinking about my writing and about my relationships with people. Each time I go through the social portion of the cycle, my writing is set back, because it requires practice and time. Each time I go through the expression portion of the cycle, my relationships stagnate and I feel like I lose touch. I never really get great at writing, and I never really connect with people in a natural way. Thinking about this caused me to have some of the anxiety - partially because of my perfectionism-encouraging upbringing, but also because I feel unhealthy when I don't progress. I don't want to regress, that's for sure, and I understand that a plateau of life-growth is expected at times, but I feel like I've been plateauing for a sad amount of time.

One of the solutions I came up with is to have a regimen. Not one that needs to confine itself to a daily agenda (30 minutes for this, 15 minutes for that, etc.), but one that is strict nonetheless, with goals that are challenging but attainable. The benefit is stability and balance. The problem with this is that regimens are hard. But there are people who seem to be able to balance these things without needing to adhere to shit. Are they super people? Anyway, the other solution I came up with was to be super intense when I cycle through these segments of interest. Take advantage of my feeling creative and being REALLY REALLY CREATIVE, or take advantage of my feeling social and be REALLY REALLY SOCIAL. The benefit is getting to focus on what you feel like focusing on. The problem with this solution is it causes burnout very fast.

Then there are the other things to balance: work, laundry, family...

Anyway, my question is this: how do you do it? How do you think others are able to balance this? What would be your ideal way to handle this conflict?

For those of you who have super-busy lives, there's no obligation to answer (esp. considering the nature of this email). Just wanted to loop y'all in on my thoughts and receive answers if you've got 'em handy.

I'll be releasing interesting ideas from my friends in the next post! Stay tuned and all that.



Rule: Ask your friends for help. They're smart.

Spooning

I am thinking about spoons.

I love spoons. I love scooping, scraping, slurping. I never get poked by the tines of a spoon. A tiny cup with a handle. A measured mouthful that won't overwhelm my mouth. I love a good one won't smush my nose when I squeegee the last bit of soup from the bowl part of spoon with my lips.

Hang them off your nose, watch colorful berry coulis dribble from one side, taste the hot soup you're seasoning, anticipate the graceful curl off the bottom of the spoon when scooping ice cream. Wooden spoons have the soft give, the xylophone-y tomp when banged against the side of a pot. Metal spoons have the shiny curves, ornate shoulders, fairy-like tink against a teacup.


Photo by: Nicky Ryan / source

Here is its anatomy:

The bowl tip - Here is your introduction. Here is the beginning, here is where you start slupping, touching your tongue to see if it's hot. This is tasting before tasting. Talking about the weather before talking about how she feels about her cancer. Eye contact before a smile.

The bowl - Home is where the heart is, and the heart of this bite is in the bowl of the spoon. This is where the single cherry comes to rest after rolling around your plate. A tiny island of ice cream melts into its cradle. Spices swirl, chunks of ingredients are hefted, and liquids are tenuously cupped. Sugar cubes are dunked into coffee. Colors collide, then mix.

The drop - That little bump between the bowl and the rest of the handle. This is the tease, where the tip of your tongue goes when you put the spoon in your mouth. Here is where moderation is; this is no infinite vehicle for consumption. This is Sunday, it is the end and the beginning. The rest before the rest.

The shoulders - Before the handle starts, a little shrug, a wink. Your lips might touch the shoulders when eating soup, trying to savor every drop: a goodbye kiss. An until-we-meet-again kiss.

The stem - This is the long and slender waist, the part you love to grab. If your spoon is an experienced lady, she will not twist and giggle, she will feel smooth and steady. You can steer her, dip her, savor what she has to offer.

The handle - The beginning of the end. It rests gently in the crook between your thumb and pointer finger. Flat and stable, this is how you control the angle. This is where you can be the surgeon, you are precise, you are calculating. When all is lost - as sometimes happens scraping out a can that's too tall - this is the saving grace. You see the handle, you grasp it, you make the rescue. You are the hero. Lick your fingers. Drop it into the sink after an ephemeral save.

The terminal - Floral and ornate, or simple and modest. The parting glance, the wave from the train, the dual-hand handshake, the ribbon that fell from her hair. It's a favor. Jordan almonds, chocolate mints, photobooth Polaroid, a little bit of port; one for the road. There is no doubt about it, this is the end.


Photo by: Flickr user justmakeit / source

Rule: Appreciate utensils. Except sporks, which are just spoons with a douchey haircut from the 90's. (Are - are those frosted tips?)

Bonus rule: If anyone makes a "there is no spoon" joke, I will be sad.

Things I made, then promptly stuffed into my face.

The first is scalloped tomatoes and the second is a corn avocado soup with Salvadorian crema and parsley oil (was supposed to be cilantro, but I mis-grabbed).

Rule: If you make and eat delicious things, it takes up the time that would normally be spent blogging... or procrastinating blogging.

Whatever. Who do you think you are, TIDAL BASIN?

Haven't taken photos in a long time. Got the itch this afternoon because it was so pretty out. DC has a lot of blossoms not just in the tidal basin. So, I avoided the sweaty tourists and their manufactured serene romance while trying to ignore other tourists and took a walk in my neighborhood. Found a lot of neat stuff.




Here's the full album. I've helpfully captioned almost every one! (HA!)

I feel like this is the point as a writer that I should post something inspiring about renewal, romantic about the sun, or melancholy about life renewing and leaving me behind. There's also the classic enjoy-the-moments-you're-in posts, as well as the SPRING CLEANING ZOMG TIPS posts. It's tough with such regular cycles such as the seasons to not post something that has already been said about a bajillion times. But it does encourage me that almost everyone, every single year finds new joy and wonder in each of these new seasons. That we don't get bored like a kid who's over his new toy. The change of the seasons - the coming of spring, especially - always piques our interest, tickles our fancy, and otherwise prods at the hibernating brain and thawing body. Spring brings out the best in us, year after year, and I feel hope for mankind that we are always ready to show that best to the world, we're always happy to renew our subscription to anticipation and joy free of cynicism.

Spring is the inside joke everyone still finds funny years later. Spring is the the next story by your favorite author. Spring is the feeling of freshly-cut toenails. Spring is your favorite guitar riff in that one song. Spring is that moment right after a sneeze. Spring is the top of the ferris wheel.

Rule: Enjoy lots of cliched feelings of spring.

I told you I would do it so here.

I took my time when I cut her up, making sure to cut as precisely as possible. There was no rush. I gathered all the fluffy, white scraps after they had been cut and put them in a pie tin; a lowly container, but it would be suitable for flames. I set the pie tin in the fake fireplace. The snowy mound was a ghost. My ghost, but a little one, because when only a part of you is gone, or going, the ghost is small. When all of you is gone, the ghost becomes so big it is as big as the universe. This is why pointing at the sky when asked where deceased loved ones are is silly. They are so big you are in them.

My little ghost stayed in a duffel bag for about 2.5 years. She sat so quiet, so patient. I had forgotten about her. She never glowed, or floated about the house, or made "wooo" noises. She just lay there, in the dark of the upper reaches of the closet. That, of course, is where you put ghosts of parts of yourself, pictures of your ex-husband, clothes you think you might wear again maybe, gifts you don't like, and instruction manuals.

Me and the boy finally found a new place where the porch didn't sag dangerously, there wasn't mold climbing inside the bathroom walls and the refrigerator wasn't from the 70s and sealed with plumber's putty. We emptied all the storage. I found an mp3 player the size and weight of a bar of soap, my first camera, a book about birds of North America and this duffel bag. The little ghost did scare me a little when I opened the bag, but not on purpose. I was just not expecting her with her patience and silence and seeing the part of you that is gone is always a little strange.

If I were on a stranded island with some survivors of a plane crash or something, I would probably want everyone to let everyone else know how they preferred their last rites to be performed, if any. And, if possible, I would perform them if any of them were to die. I feel that this is the honorable and respectful thing to do, and beyond that, if there is any favor that a person should be afforded, it should be this one. This was the case with my ghost.

She looked happy to be in that pie tin and out of the duffel bag. I looked at her for a bit before lighting a match and tossing it into the tin. Her fluffiness and the small pieces made for a quick burn. I stayed with her until she was charred to the bottom of the pie tin. I was doing what was right, but that meant she was disappearing.

A lot of people go through this process of getting rid of ghosts of parts of themselves. They say they've thrown off their past, burst out of their shell, that a great weight has been lifted. But we all miss the heft; light blankets feel imaginary at the start of spring, when down comforters are gone. After a haircut, ponytails feel capricious in the breeze. There's always something sitting on our hearts, whether it's sad or happy, light or heavy. Invisible weights that we carry around, one or sometimes a few at a time. So when they say a great weight has been lifted, there's usually a bit left there still.

It's like our hearts are scales, and this is how we measure value in our lives. Ghosts of parts of ourselves don't weigh a lot, as you can imagine. But they do register. When change happens, we often bring out all the little ghosts we've been keeping around, line them up, and set them on our hearts for measurement. Some are leaden and need to be disposed of, some are feather-light and can stay, some are heavy but we insist on lugging them around, and others are necessary ballast. But for a few moments after I had weighed, retired, and said goodbye to this ghost, nothing sat on my heart in her place. It was a scale with nothing to weigh.



Rule: Try not to use more than one metaphor at once, like I just did. Whoops. Oh well, at least I can decipher this nonsense.

One letter at a time.

ZOMG MY MOM SENT ME TREATS FROM TAIWAN

I'm Asian, for those of you who don't know. I try very hard to downplay this fact because of crazy emotional baggage (Asians, right?). Anyway, I am. So there. Make all the math/violin/angry parents jokes you want. I'm not really in tune with Asian culture except for when it comes to food. And then I'm all bear-on-a-rampage. There was some study done on... [immigrants or something?] where they found that of all the cultural things that eventually get sapped or shamed out of a person from a different culture, food-related culture is the last thing to go. That's why, even when I was an American Eagle-wearing, top 40-listening, dance team-participating Midwestern girl, I really also just liked chomping on whole boiled baby octopods and slurping sweet peanut and silken tofu soup.

I've been out of high school for a while now, and I've also moved far from my parents. I visit them rarely. So today, when I received two boxes worth of Asian snacks that my dad brought back from his trip to Taiwan (yeah that's where I'm from), I positively flipped out and started tearing through the beautiful (and excessively wasteful) packaging. Here is a sampling of my thoughts:

- i have had two pineapple cakes already and I'm feeling like a fatty. but i will forge on to puffed rice thingies.

- i am going to be a sphere tomorrow from all the fat, sugar, and salt

- MOAR PUFFY RICE THINGS PLZ

- i should save that package.

- should i save that package?

- i should save that package

- i'll open this one instead

- do i want to hoard this, or give it away or something?

- i should really hide these from myself

- what is this one?

- oh yeah i LOVE this one!!

- ok i should pace myself so i have some later on

- i don't think anybody but me would like this kind so i can eat one more

- what if my boyfriend gets home and sees me covered in crumbs?

- NO MOAR THOTS OMNOMNOMNOM *crumbs spew*

from that point on i turn into a hissing, clawing thing if approached.

Are there foods you associate with your identity? Are any of them shameful? (If so, you may want to come to my guilty pleasures potluck during which all foodie presumptions are tossed aside for some cheesy hotdish and maybe like shrimp chips or something)

Just so you guys don't think I'm a big punk.

I post a lot of things on this blog, and I don't want people to think I just put it out there and don't take my own medicine.

I started with an easy goal, as they tell you to do.

I'm cooking more.



This is pan-grilled tempeh with a "chutney" of onions, fire-roasted poblanos, garlic, turmeric, white pepper, and coriander. Slices of seared tomatoes on top, a couple of dollops of creme fraiche, and a blob of raspberry sorbet to temper the heat of the poblanos and the acidity of the tomatoes. Best part? All this was locally-grown except for the tempeh (trader joe's) and the creme fraiche (leftover from a tea party).

Rule: Practice what you preach. Also, have a tea party. My last one was awesome.

(side effect of me cooking more: more photos! woo, multitasking!)

Porn for Wendell Berry

This is what I got in my inbox over the weekend. I feel like this might make Mr. Berry quite aroused.


Vegetable Love

by Barbara Crooker

Feel a tomato, heft its weight in your palm,
think of buttocks, breasts, this plump pulp.
And carrots, mud clinging to the root,
gold mined from the earth's tight purse.
And asparagus, that push their heads up,
rise to meet the returning sun,
and zucchini, green torpedoes
lurking in the Sargasso depths
of their raspy stalks and scratchy leaves.
And peppers, thick walls of cool jade, a green hush.
Secret caves. Sanctuary.
And beets, the dark blood of the earth.
And all the lettuces: bibb, flame, oak leaf, butter-
crunch, black-seeded Simpson, chicory, cos.
Elizabethan ruffs, crisp verbiage.
And spinach, the dark green
of northern forests, savoyed, ruffled,
hidden folds and clefts.
And basil, sweet basil, nuzzled
by fumbling bees drunk on the sun.
And cucumbers, crisp, cool white ice
in the heart of August, month of fire.
And peas in their delicate slippers,
little green boats, a string of beads,
repeating, repeating.
And sunflowers, nodding at night,
then rising to shout hallelujah! at noon.

All over the garden, the whisper of leaves
passing secrets and gossip, making assignations.
All of the vegetables bask in the sun,
languorous as lizards.
Quick, before the frost puts out
its green light, praise these vegetables,
earth's voluptuaries,
praise what comes from the dirt.

"Vegetable Love" by Barbara Crooker, from Radiance. © Word Press, 2005. Reprinted without permission.

Rule: Do these things. And then film yourself eating the vegetables. Then send copies to me.

Legacies

I was looking at vintage rings on etsy (no I was not leaving hints for my boyfriend), and admiring the craftsmanship and beauty of yesteryear. Today, lots of our jewelry is described as "architectural," "modern," and "sleek," where before they just wanted flowers made out of gems on their hands.



From Etsy, seller thesecretKohola

Seriously, look at that frickin' thing. Beautiful. As I was looking at them, I was wondering why I was looking at them, and why, even though some pieces were very reasonably priced, I wasn't inclined to buy most of them (I hungered after this one for a while).

I realized that almost all of the objects I own don't have any meaning attached to them. The few gifts I've received from previous boyfriends were nice, but rarely did any of them have a story. Those that did, ended up staying with me. My parents never gave my any physical objects of significant meaning, other than my car (read: escape from anything, guaranteed [add unconscious question mark]). I feel that maybe this is because I have lost any semblance of a real connection to them since I was a little kid. Many of my friends have family heirlooms, and I won't deny there is a bit of jealousy when I think of those objects, hallowed by time and inheritance, made into a passive participant and observer of the lives and stories of each new owner.

Looking at these vintage objects, I feel like I'd be borrowing other peoples' stories, that I would be putting them on my body, wearing them, sweating on them, using them, cooking them. Is that false? Or is it just adding another dimension to the overall tale of the object? I wonder if it varies between types of objects. Inherited engagement rings mean one thing, does an inherited set of turntables mean something different? Things pass from one person to another through friendship, bloodlines, love, necessity, birth, sale... One man's trash is another man's treasure. When he is done treasuring it, and gives it to someone else, what is the cumulative value of the object? Is it trash, or treasure? What about good luck charms? Do they really work passed on from person to person? Or is there one good luck charm meant for one person?

What happens to buried objects? Objects that never pass to another living being other than the worms and the insects? They live their own quiet life, dispersing into the world. Do they still have a value? Are they valued by the bugs?

I want to leave a legacy. I want to start an heirloom. What if I pass stuff on and tack on false stories? Stories that never happened? If I buy a beautiful necklace and tell a friend of mine my grandmother gave it to me, and I have always treasured it, and that I want her to have it, will there be some menacing green aura of lies surrounding it? Will it be a bad luck charm, something that haunts the person with confused dreams of an imaginary heritage?

But maybe if whoever I pass my object along to would understand that my purchase of it was simply to celebrate it's beauty, or perhaps to attach my own story and emotion to it in passing, like a Tibetan prayer flag (perhaps a presumptuous simile), spreading its blessing to the next person willing to receive it. I think also the passing from hand to hand, the muttering of awkward and heartfelt words, the stress of importance or meaning, the giving and taking are an act of consecration in themselves.

Rule: Identify an object that has significant meaning to you. Alternately, imbue an object with significant meaning.

I'm going to tell you a story

In the new year, I went to Alexandria, Va down near the water in Old Town to go buy tea. I like tea. Being from Taiwan, I have a certain tea affinity. The shop was in an old building. Lots of dark wood everywhere, most prominent being the richly-stained, giant, cavernous shelves that held beautiful apothecary jars of every size flecked with coffee and tea.

The shelves opposite the tea were packed full of beverage accoutrements. Infusers of all kinds, teapots, coffee mugs, tea mugs with built-in infusers, spoons to stir tea, spoons to measure tea, decorative pots, travel mugs, coasters, complete tea sets, serving trays, biscuits, cookies, chocolate, honey, and then there were other food items like fruit preserves, olive oil and vinegar, and food accessories like salt and pepper mills, egg-poaching cups, and placemats. Everything nestled something else.

There was a wonderful young man at the counter who had been working there for two and a half years. He knew the stock of tea very well, and was very excited about it. He made fabulous recommendations despite the fact that I was only making a small purchase. I ended up only buying three ounces of tea. Of course, together, me and my companion also ended up buying a ceramic mug, a tea-measuring spoon, some hot Hungarian paprika, and an oil mister (a veritable bounty of kitchen treasures) but we did spend a good deal of time with the young man.

That's how you know when a store really cares and is excited about its product - when no matter what you buy or even if you buy nothing, staff is willing to help you smell the product. I smelled a lot of teas.

That's when he walked in. He was an older gentleman, with little wisps of white hair on his head. Clouds mildly obscuring a mountain. He had a curved nose, wide, round eyes, and some age spots. The young man who had helped me make selections of tea previously asked him if he was looking for anything in particular.

"Do you have any verbena?"

"Oh you mean verveine?"

"Verveine, verbena, whatever you call it," he smiled as the young man reached up on the shelf to grab a mid-sized jar filled with large, brownish leaves.

"Would you like to smell it, sir?" the clerk opened the jar.

"I can recognize it just by the shape of the leaves, but sure!" He seemed thankful for the opportunity. He breathed in and sighed, "Ah, the sweet smell of verbena!"

The young man took the jar to the area where they portion the tea into small brown paper bags.

"How much would you like?" He grinned, everyone in the store was loving this man more and more every second.

"You wouldn't happen to have a pound of that, would you?" He asked.

"No, sorry," the clerk chuckled softly, "There's not even half a pound here," pulling out the long, whole leaves.

"I'll take what you've got!" He was adorable, gleeful extravagance.

"Ok," the clerk smiled, pulling out more leaves. They rustled deliciously. I wondered what distinguished verbena tea, never having tasted it myself. He ambled away with his purchase, clearly going straight home to enjoy. I envied the tea shop high-roller, buying the entire stock with innocent and unpretentious panache.

Rule: Become a delightful old person and clean out a store of some sort of indulgent item.

Farmers Markets

Rule: Go to your local farmers market and eat something ripe and in season.



Do this because it will taste amazing. Do this to support farmers. Do this to support some heirloom variety. Do this because you love food. Do this because maybe you'll like something you never thought you liked before (probably because it wasn't ripe or in season).

The end.

World Peace

...if everyone took a bite at the same time.

I'm utterly convinced that if all people took a bite of one of the following foods at the same time, we could end all wars. (All foods would adjust for allergies/meat/egg substitution, of course)

- Peanut butter + nilla wafer + banana

- Hollandaise sauce on english muffin

- Popcorn, then a sip of Coca Cola

- Sprinkles (seriously, have you ever just bitten into a spoonful of colorful sprinkles?)

- Garlic mashed potatoes

- Lava cake

- Risotto with lots of parmesan and/or fontina

I'm just happy thinking about these.


Rule: Come up with a list of world peace foods. Try to keep components/ingredients on hand at all times. Toss into the mouths of any grumpy people or unwelcome intruders.

Take sexy photos

...of stuff you love.

Today, a package arrive for my boss, and inside it was some stuff for him, and a little green-gold gem for me. Olive oil! A lovely present. I took it home and immediately admired it's clean, perfume-inspired labeling, but rustic, shapely packaging. I imagined the silky goodness inside. Putting it in my cupboard, I realized that the other olive oils I had were packaged beautifully and looked scrumptious as well! I decided to have a sexy photo shoot with them!

My favorite indulgence will save the world

It's brunch. I won't keep you in suspense, like some people. My favorite indulgence is brunch. Lots of people like brunch. What's not to like? I mean, everybody likes breakfast food already, except for those few heathens that hate eggs.



But why do people really like brunch? Let's look at the facts: tasty breakfast food, waking up late, drinking about one million different types of beverages, having a large selection of types of food you can eat, and HOLLANDAISE SAUCE. I probably could've truncated that list to just hollandaise sauce and about 80% of the population would be nodding in emphatic agreement. There are also other great things about brunch besides being buzzed at 11am.

Brunch is a time when you choose to wake up (almost) whenever you want, and whoever you have brunch with, you are saying to them, "I choose to dedicate the genesis of my day to you." This time when the sun is flaring off of everything and you're content to be awake and fuzzy-headed and every cell wakes up with the sensation of bubbles from your mimosa pricking your tastebuds, that is the time you're choosing to share with yourself and others. You're awake enough not to act too dumb, but asleep enough to still share the nonsense of your last dream. You don't have to give up the salty for the sweet. You can share food or hoarde it all for yourself. In front of you, you might have a water, a coffee, a bellini and an orange juice. It's ok to have dessert even if your main course was a ridiculously loaded waffle. Excess is ok. The amount of food you eat at brunch is directly proportionate to how much of your soul is available to you. It's ok to laugh at brunch. It's ok to talk with your mouth full at brunch, but don't spit on anybody. It's ok to cry at brunch, you will feel better by the end of it. Don't be selfish; allow yourself to be kissed by someone who's just had a bloody mary. If you are in a place without windows, it is not a good place for brunch. Light filtering through the different glasses on the table summon the image of stained glass windows. Your table is a church, a holy place where all thoughts are of praise and joy.

Every time I gather with friends, I end up going to brunch with them. We walk to brunch, we drive to brunch, we shuffle to brunch. We eat brunch, we devour brunch, we savor brunch. We wake up, we dream, we float in between. We are happy, we are elated, we are bittersweet. We enjoy the fresh warm air, we enjoy the fuzzy applause of rain, we enjoy coming out of the cold. We drink to refresh, we drink to wake up, we drink to mellow out. We feel whole, we feel infinite, we feel like puzzle pieces. We wear soft shirts, we wear flowy dresses, we wear fluffy mittens. We share memories, we share food, we share plans for the future. We save photos, we save each other, we save the world.

We do not save cake for later.

Rule: Have brunch.

And we're back

4.) Working for [adult swim]/a marketing company. I was hired by adult swim to be an event planner, basically. My job was to work with a partner (who I found to be utterly unhelpful, and thus ended up costing my school's campus to have it's adult swim college rep program to shut down in its first year) to create awareness of adult swim programming. We chalked sidewalks, we threw parties, we had trivia nights, pub crawls, etc. Met a lot of people. It was a lot of fun. Things I learned: independent store/restaurant owners are actually more willing to help you out than you think. Managers on duty forget a lot of things. Organizing events is a lot of fun, and large groups ultimately want the event to succeed and people enjoy helping. Monte Cristo sandwiches are so delicious. I like event planning, but only one event at a time. Never count on a partner you don't trust. Just go ahead and do everything. If you have a partner that you trust, examine your trust with unbiased, excruciating detail, because that partner might not be so helpful either. School buildings have a lot of chalkboards. If you spray hairspray (non aerosol, that will just blow the chalk away) on sidewalk chalk, it will stay days longer than everybody else's. BWAHAHA. There are a lot of people who don't care if someone is married, they will try to sleep with that person.

5.) I was an intern-type at Michigan Radio in Ann Arbor for a while through work-study. It was excellent. I transcribed things, learned a bit of Peak DV (audio software), edited grammar, sent radio programs to the broadcasting station, designed marketing material, found related links and news stories to the ones being produced by us. Things I learned: being inside a recording studio is terrifying. There are so many buttons and things that could potentially go wrong. I am bad at staying focused on a job. I really like designing things. I learned lots of stuff about the environment and water (totally awesome). I learned where a really awesome market used to be but it closed down not too long after I left Michigan (very sad).

6.) Account manager. I worked for a company that helped reconcile financial records of health insurance companies and hospitals. It was the most boring job of my life, but they paid for a lot of training, and shipped me to Nashville, where I had a wonderful time. But seriously, poke-your-eye-out boring. The on-the-job training gave me a false impression of how well I'd do in my assigned region because their filing system was more advanced technologically. Things I learned: I never want to do this again. Do not settle for a job just because you are getting desperate. Only settle if you really truly are desperate. Hospitals and health insurance companies keep terrible records and they don't talk to each other. Hospitals don't seem to receive a lot of money from any source. Some really nice people work in administrative positions. cube farms are terrifying, but they have the best snacks available/for sale. Nashville is a fun city. Having a personal bodyguard who is also your friend is pretty much the most fun a person can have while going out. Don't be afraid of spending money on spur-of-the-moment things; it's ok to indulge sometimes, especially if it enriches your life. If you start dancing, other people will start dancing too. Coyote Ugly is a silly place, and any modicum of dancing skill is cheered like a masterpiece. Also, if you are a girl of a certain build, they basically don't give you the option of not going on the bar.

7.) Marketing coordinator. (Everybody by now has basically seen my cv) Handled the marketing initiatives of a tech company. Designed promotional material, website aesthetics, rebranded, worked on SEO, monitored advertising, did interior decorating. Things I learned: I am very slow at designing. I do not like douchebags at all. I do really like tech guys. I do not like being in a position with all responsibility and no control. Some people have no imagination and I don't really know how to communicate with them. When my personal life changes radically, I have a hard time keeping it out of my professional life. This was also the first time I have ever cried in front of an employer (also not the last). People who read a lot of advice-type books can have a strange outlook on life, and tend to believe in them fiercely. I do not know if these books work. I don't mind having things explained to me, but if someone is condescending, I absolutely will not listen. People have hidden talents. Employers rarely believe in listening to problems despite professing it. They will listen to solutions though, so sometimes you can disguise problems as such.

Today: I work as an executive assistant. Things I have learned so far: how to book flights last minute. How to check to see if seats are good on those flights. How to negotiate. The Maryland Motor Vehicle Administration is a terrible organization that does not wish to help anybody. Learned a bit about how to be in a managerial position. The Lebanese know how to party. Only rarely can you get 100% attendance at a meeting. Where all the good inexpensive restaurants are in Dupont Circle. Where some of the best Caribbean food is in DC. How to apply for visas and several other government-related forms. How to slow down. How to force people to give you information. How to buy a motorcycle. What are good questions for an interview. I'm sure there's more, but that's it for now.

I feel like I've learned a lot. You can learn just as much working at one job vs. a million, but it's quite a bit faster this way, and I highly recommend it. The bad economy currently gives people an excuse to hop around now, and when questioned about it later, they have a wonderful scapegoat to blame it on! Furthermore, now I know what types of people I'd like to work with, how I would like to see a business run, and what makes it valuable. So when I finally figure out what I want to do permanently, I'll know what to look for. Any ideas as to what I should do permanently?

Rule: If appropriate, buck tradition*

So what I originally wanted to say was, "Have approximately a million jobs," but I realized that advice might not be for everyone, so I thought maybe I should say, "Don't be afraid to change jobs," but then that sounded lame and what I really meant was that things change and sometimes the way other people (like your parents) have done it is not always the best or most fulfilling way or even the safest way (though a lot of the time parents successful enough to have raised a child who reads awesome blogs like mine have pretty good advice, so I'm also not saying don't take their advice), and of course, most people of my approximate socioeconomic status and education know this is true BUT LOTS OF THEM STILL BECOME DOCTORS, LAWYERS, BUSINESS GRADS, DOUCHEBAGS MASQUERADING AS HIPSTERS (which are just yuppies with theatrical dirt applied to them trying really hard not to be yuppies) AT THEIR PARENTS' BEHEST AND THEN THEY BURN OUT AND LOOK BACK ON THEIR LIVES AND GO, "I GUESS THAT WAS NICE," "WHERE DID MY YOUTH GO," "I THINK I GET DRUNK TOO OFTEN, " OR SOMETIMES JUST "WELL, SHIT."

So I decided to condense that to the aforementioned rule. Also, for those crazies like me who always look for the footnotey asterisk:

*Appropriateness is determined by the amount of lasting happiness and education that will be accrued over the course of a lifetime without hurting others in a direct or deliberate fashion.

Anyway, I've had about a job a year since I graduated university, and the longest I've ever had a job in my life is two years (though there were long and significant breaks between the years and I will illuminate later). Of course, this makes me look like a flakey mess and people look at my resume and think, "Well that's a waste of training dollars," but I feel like an improved and robust person for it. And now I will go through them all. Yes, this will be a long post.

1.) Babysitting - Not on my resume, really, but this was just a continuation of my "hanging out with kids" streak that was going on when I was young. I didn't have very many friends my own age, partially because my parents were friends with couples who had kids who were much younger so it'd be my job to entertain them when we all got together for dinner. As I got older, it became the natural thing to do. My affinity and empathy toward children starts here. My love of Disney and make-believe doesn't hurt, either. I credit myself with teaching one of them to read, and I swear on my life that I saw another's first steps. Things I learned: I love kids. Kids will emulate everything you do or say. Kids will listen if you talk to them. There is no better way to convince a kid to do something than to tell them/demonstrate that you like it. I am not ready to have kids.

2.) Tutoring at the Chinese Language School of Minnesota - I was a Chinese School dropout, so it was funny that when my mom became a teacher that I became her teaching assistant. The one thing I retained was how to read the Chinese alphabet: a phonic alphabet that is used to teach kids what characters sound like that usually only appears in really young childrens' books and disappears in literature for youth. Most adults have forgotten the alphabet, but I still know how to read this and sound things out. To be honest, this was a volunteer thing I did in high school to enhance my college applications. Totally mom's idea. Fun regardless because I got to draw helpful illustrations on the whiteboard. Things I learned: class clowns who are also teaching assistants are sometimes the best for memorizing things. It's easier to remember things that are unexpected or funny or unexpectedly funny. Chinese is a really hard language. I have yet to be truly regretful that I do not know how to read it though.

3.) Camp counselor(ing?) and volunteering at the Science Museum of Minnesota - I did this for two summers in a row during high school. My mom was terrified that I would become a teacher (because, you know, that would be horrible. now that I'm not a teacher - or any of the other things she envisioned - she thinks maybe I should become a teacher). I loved this. I grew up with the SMM, having previously been in the summer camp program myself. I didn't automatically think I wanted to be a camp counselor, but when I needed some extra cash, this was an easy job to apply for, considering my previous history with children. I bonded with the kids over Digimon (yes, I watched Digimon on afternoon TV after school in highschool), and loved interacting with them, did not like disciplining them (though I had to sometimes), and loved watching them learn. For a perspective on the capacity in which I volunteered, check this. Things I learned: My current favorite child demographic is the 6 to 8-year-olds. They're old enough to understand a lot of things, but young enough to accept most reason and authority. Kids are way more smart and forgiving than you will ever know. I had a group of kids clamoring for my individual attention and yelling my name and they all, without communicating, became aware of what they were doing, and started mocking themselves by saying my name over and over in annoying voices. I lowered my clipboard (an SMM staff ubiquity), and all I could say was, "You guys are so awesome." Teaching is best done through love and through display of love and fascination. Digimon is a terrible show. Siblings will cover for each other even when the infraction is against the other. There are some weird allergies out there.

*Phew* That was a lot for only my first three jobs. I guess we can call this the "children edition" or something. I'll post more jobs later.

and then I found five dollars or TMI

So I find that there's a widespread phrase used when someone is telling a story to another person or to a group and then suddenly the storyteller perceives that the climax of the story isn't quite as interesting or funny to the audience as he or she originally though it would be. The phrase is, of course, "...and then I found five dollars." The storyteller says this almost as an apology. The idea being that he or she recognizes that the story isn't so great and is attempting to justify its telling by altering the ending to something more "exciting."

There's also the too-much-information story, where how much is too much is determined by the audience and then expressed with the acronym TMI. Sometimes a storyteller will self-edit or throw out the caveat of TMI.

I've been thinking a lot about stories and snapshots and vignettes recently, as well as the act of storytelling and I've come to the conclusion that the "and then I found five dollars" or "TMI" self or external edit is completely bogus for me much of the time. The only exception to this rule is if you've made it clear that a certain topic or word or something offends you, scares you, or brings up hurtful feelings in some way, and the storyteller proceeds regardless.

Especially in person, the telling of stories is often the most exciting part to hear and watch. Think of puppet shows, or people telling stories to children. Better yet, think of children telling stories. They're so animated and excited. They imitate mannerisms, facial expressions, voices, and they use varied volume. This is sometimes true of adults - however, oftentimes it's muted or subdued. Even if the story is inane to me, I like to share in the excitement or wonderment that other people must've felt to think that the experience warranted storytelling. Furthermore, I often feel privileged to be allowed a peek into the emotions and experiences in other peoples' lives. Like I said, I really like snapshots and vignettes. I feel like these stories are most telling about peoples' personalities and ways of thinking, and that if there were a way to collage them, it would form a crazy, soulful, multi-faceted autobiography. A jewel. What is with autobiographies being linear and narrative anyway?

In my head, I imagine a grade school project: a paper mache orb. Peoples' lives are this balloon, and as they have experiences, these snapshots and stories are glued to this balloon and when their lives end, the balloon is gone, and what is left is a somewhat spherical - after all, whose lives are perfect and symmetrical? - delicate, airy bark or carapace. That is how autobiographies should be presented: crusty orbs, crinkly spheres, crannied globes, smooth eggshells, warped melons, feather-light balls, sonorous hollows on which we knock and hope for an answer.

Anyway. Rule: Try not to self-censor or discourage others from telling their stories.

As a show of faith, here's my tmi/found five dollars story:

When I was little and I was being potty trained, my mom used to have me sit on the toilet and sing a song, most often "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" in order to get me to at least pass the time on the toilet if I wasn't passing anything else. As a result, I have a strange habit of singing while on the toilet at home, or making an effort to resist belting out 80's tunes while poopin' in public restrooms.

Cheers.