I’ve been inordinately chipper recently which, in all honesty, has been wigging me out a little. I’m not by my nature “chipper.” So when I awoke this morning a little on the grumpy side, I was relieved. And ready to rant. Here we go:
Things that are driving me crazy today:
1. People who talk just to hear themselves talk. Generally they take on some “deep,” “moral,” accusatory conversation designed to make me or you or any “normal” person feel bad. Stop. it. you. elitist. snobs. You’re just trying to justify your own completely messed up way of life. Give it a rest.
2. The idea of “couture” drycleaners. (Who Deliver!) Seriously. People are losing their jobs, their homes, their lives. If you have the need for couture drycleaners (and honestly, I don’t even know what that means), the least you could do is walk your probably too-skinny ass over there and pick it up all of your dry-cleaned couture yourself.
3. The largest drink size at 7-11. NO ONE NEEDS THAT MUCH OF ANYTHING. If a full grown male that otherwise resembles a grizzly bear needs two hands to haul that thing, it’s an automatic “no.” (Although, funny but still annoying is the associated face that comes along with using a straw to drink out of one of those. Huge hefty drink and dainty little drinking-with-a-straw face.)
4. Parking meters in Chicago. While I appreciate not having to carry 27 pounds of quarters, now the simple card swipe makes you forget that you’re basically taking out a lease on that teeny little piece of Chicago property, handsomely equipped with a pothole the size of Rhode Island (I needed a state with some propinquinty in size to the teeny parking space…).
5. Nickelback. Who EVER let them on the radio? And why do we have to keep listening to them? They are a wretched band.
6. The Wedding Song. The 70s are over, people. Let it go.
That’s all my time will allow, for now. But it’s amazing how much better I feel. It’s a magical power this ranting business.
As long as I can remember, we woke up on Sunday mornings to my brother Andy watching four hours of Sportscenter on ESPN followed by the Sports Reporters, then hosted by eponymous Dick Schapp. It was his religion.
And it still is. A couple months ago, he and his friend George started a blog on all Ohio sports; they cover everything…and some random things with George taking Cincinnati/Columbus and Andy generally railing against anything sports related going on in Cleveland.
In spite of myself (and I’m partial because we’re related), I think Andy’s posts are hilarious (he writes under the pen name pacmanxu if you’re looking). He really knows sports, I think. But the true voice of hilarity just drips with irony coated in heartbreak: He is a life-long Clevelander beaten down by decades of teams that are either out-and-out losers (most recently, all of our teams except the Cavs) or so-close-but-not-quite (i.e The Indians during the 90s). Every sentence, so angry. Every word dripping with cynicism and disgust at the present sad state of things. He is Cleveland in all of these posts and I just can’t get enough.
I’m not sure my enthusiasm will extend beyond my family. But he does present a good argument and his pictures in the posts are just beyond cleverly used. Check it out. If not for the Cleveland sports, than for a different take on my own *brand* of cynicism. It might, in fact, be a Pacyna family trait.
What’s going on here? Within the past 6 weeks or so, I’ve had at least 6 phone calls that start with, ” [Insert significant other's name here] and I broke up last night,” or “I’m struggling” or “We’re struggling.” How does this happen?
I get everybody struggles but what stumping me is the timing. How does all of this happen at about the same time…and during months that seem like they would be more carefree somehow than the ones in which we’re mired in barely tolerable external conditions? Or is this a sign of my times? Maybe this is what the relationship cycle looks like after all of the excitement and festivities are over and people settle in to what will be their everyday routines…for a long time.
I’m not sure whether to guess this is coincidental or a factor of my age or the time of the year but all of these separate instances seem oddly similar. Maybe it’s just a sign of the greater times: tough economy, long work hours, and leisure time and ability slipping away. It makes us long for fantasy in a real way. A lot of people sure seemed to have it and now it’s unraveling.
For a July full of seriously amazing, comfortable weather, I guess the relationship front caught all the storms.
I never could have expected that yesterday would end up being one of my favorite days in a long time. Why? One word: Weddings. Everywhere I looked, weddings.
To be sure, weddings are not my favorite events. There will be nothing but grumbling from me when I have to go. Am I curmudgeon? Yep. My multiple experiences of truly lackluster weddings (which does not equal the total number I’ve been to…oh, if they could all be like Greg and Barb’s!) have made me the grumpy wedding-goer. Even the cakes are nothing exciting anymore…(c’mon people…throw me a piece of cake that doesn’t taste “white” and automatically I’m happier).
So it’s ironic that, because of a weirdly aligned cosmos, I now sing multiple weddings on any given Saturday (the churchy part…I can bust out an Ave Maria…preferably not the Schubert…with the best of ‘em). Yesterday I sang three…in a row. And by the end of the day I’d seen enough tulle and lacquered hair to last until the next solar eclipse (which is not soon, by the by).
But watching all of these circuses roll into the chapel, one more “bouffant” in all ways than the next, allowed me to better articulate my critiques. I don’t have a beef with marriage and actually not with weddings either. God willing, there may be circumstances in my life one day such that it all makes perfect sense. No, my critique is with the lack of personality and intimacy in these hugely expensive extravaganzas of “love.” (Personally I think it’s funny, and frankly concerning, that it’s love that we fixate on while kind of choking down that whole “commitment thing” which is the point of the whole exercise anyway.) But, for all of the “love” that we gather to celebrate, those 3 weddings yesterday in rapid succession couldn’t have been more manufactured, pre-designed, or void of any touches that told me about the couple. Just bunches of people, encumbered by their dress and role expectations, following some kind of crazy ritualistic choreography with Nazi-like precision; no meaning, no enjoyment, no innovation. (There was, however, a Trolley for the third one which just made me even more annoyed…because what kind of vehicle should escort you to this wonderfully rich and meaningful celebration than something that makes me sing the Rice-a-Roni song in my head…don’t get me started on Trollies.)
So here’s what I realized: I don’t dislike weddings. I just don’t like that people, in planning, are not doing what I would do. Obviously, this works for them, so who am I to judge? Especially when they’re paying me to show up? Fine. I’ll sing the Schubert Ave for ya…but I would never plan that myself. I’ll go ahead and and wear that weird wrist corsage because I’m the “vocalist” and you want to make it appear that we’re friends, but frankly, no stranger would ever be singing at my wedding. I’ll forgive that you have chosen to wear a tiara today…wait, no…sorry, that I just can’t forgive.
Bottom line: The way I’d line up “my big day” always comes in radically different than what I’m watching a lot of people do. I think I embrace the idea of innovation when it comes to ritual: How do I take “it” and make it my own? This was my question as I was walking home, exhausted, and wedding’d out (or so I thought). But then, I find in my Facebook inbox that Kristine has left me this:
And I just thought, “Yes.” And what I’d been waiting for all day was delivered. One wedding that gave me some indication of what that life might look like after the last guest leaves and the #$#@ing Trolley pulls away. (There’s more to come on this video…I have a great analysis of why this is absolutely the best wedding entrance ever…look for that upcoming.)
And then…
I met my friend Kaye to see a musical at the Auditorium Theater…
And it, gave me the most cynical kick-ending to the day than I could have imagined. Mistresses, as we learn, are just as ubiquitous as the weddings we witness.
It’s all a dicey business and interesting webs we weave.
Here are little quandaries that came to me on the way in to work that I’d like some answers to. Can anyone please explain to me:
1. Why people run for exercise in the Loop? Or any downtown location, for that matter? It seems not fun, relaxing, or productive.
2. How and why do certain operators of jackhammers do so without any protective ear covering? Is there no fear of permanent hearing loss?
3. Why, when you are in absolutely no hurry, does the Red Line run ahead of schedule?
4. What is the preoccupation that many people have to hold conversations in the middle of doorways? When you stop to think about it, roughly 5/8 of the world is a non-doorway space. One step to the right is all it takes…
5. Does anyone know the location of my black shoes? I’ve been looking for them for days.
The list will probably grow as the day goes on.
1:35pm–More quandaries…
6. Is it or is it not a good idea to “become a fan” of God on Facebook? It seems like I’m tempting fate either way.
7. Will American men on Vespas (either driving or enjoying life as a secondary passenger) ever become socially acceptable? I just saw a guy wearing a suit driving a mint green Vespa and I had to stifle outright laughter.
7b. Am I one of the people holding back social innovation by my general intolerance?
7c. Should this question, in technical outline format be 7b or 7c? I never know where to start the numbering.
Here in the biz (of academia), we talk a lot about Imposter Syndrome. I don’t think it’s inherently sociological; all neurotic people have one form of this or another and, let’s face it, academia is the meeting place for everyone with some form of “mental quirk.” Imposter Syndrome is the looming feeling that you are not “enough” of what you need to be where you are and will eventually be “found out” by those who surround you and who you’ve been tricking all this time.
I have this. In many facets of my life (mostly because I’ve followed what may be an “unconventional” path towards everything I’ve ever done…I am not a trained teacher, musician, or counselor and I “practice” all with legitimate versions of all of these on a daily basis). Today I met with the music director at Loyola to discuss the 3 weddings I’m singing on Saturday and I’m thinking to myself, “Why do people let me do this? This is crazy. Don’t they know that I should not be allowed to go anywhere near this music?” I had to physically restrain myself from suggesting that maybe he should reconsider his thinking here. I’m just a girl who’s tripping (literally…not in the peaceful sense) into all of these areas in which I really have no business. At least, so I think.
What I wonder is if this ever goes away. I’m a high achiever; I’ve never felt that I deserved or actually earned any of it. My history is a smattering of lucky timing and, frankly, intervention on some level that I don’t even understand. I have no way to account for how I got to where I am. And I perpetually feel like my greatest accomplishments are rolling with the punches so well or talking my way so convincingly into the little shadowy corners of life that so intrigue me, that I’m fooling people who should know. I live in fear that one of these days someone is going to stop and ask me these questions: “What are you doing here? How did you get here. Who let you in?”
Ugh. I feel nauseous just thinking about it. And yet it might be a relief. Anybody have a cure for this…well, except for dangling it on my public web page and tempting the universe to go ahead and find me someone who will ask me these questions (that I think I deserve…) to see if it actually kills me?
I bet it won’t. And that just seems like I’ve won again…by employing my crazy scheme. And I’ll go on teaching people things, with the endorsement of people who seem to know, and singing things, and giving my opinion about things I know nothing. And I’ll worry about it. And wait for the day when someone calls me on it.
School work has become not a little thrill. In fact, to suggest the word “thrill” should go anywhere near this PhD process seems sacreligious. But nonetheless, the time has come that I just start hunkering down and do this thing.
Thus, I have. But not without reward. Tonight as I sat down, notes in front of me, trying to drum up a train of thought about how idiocultures are developed within existing social structures and the effects of said structures (I KNOW…this is my life, people. Not pretty), I promised myself that after a couple hours (literally 2), I would allow myself the luxury of a treat: fix my blog. Because, really, the fact that the pictures were not mine was seriously bothersome, especially because I kept getting a lot of compliments on them and, well, that was making me jealous.
There begins my sojourn into the fun world of CSS. Two hours later, I emerge triumphant and I feel like a million bucks. Veni, Vidi, Vici. (That’s Latin for “Take THAT you sucka pictures.” Just to recap in case you haven’t been following: I managed to get two pictures up in two hours. And I couldn’t be happier. In fact, I’ll sleep better tonight knowing that the Sunset at the Arno adorns my homepage.
In the midst of this compulsive panic, though, I did pause to reflect. This may sound ridiculous but: I think we don’t celebrate enough. Like, really expend energy to pat ourselves (or others) on the back for jobs well done. We get judgey (PhD word, guys, keep up) about what constitutes a “success” and we’ve driven that standard so high that we really spend a huge amount of time chasing things but rarely taking stock in what makes us happy and what we’ve accomplished in getting there.
Am I a big fat nerd because I’m totally thrilled that I “won” the battle? Yes. Unequivocally, yes. But I’m willing to accept that for this feeling of a little weight off my shoulders and a sense that I mulled through something a figured it out. And yay for me.
Enjoy the sunset. I know I will.
P.S.–In case you were wondering…those OUT OF CONTROL enormo TAGS are next on the list. That’s just ridiculous…
One of the biggest struggles for me this summer has been contending with the notion of delayed gratification, satisfaction, relief, any other kind of “good” feeling you can think of. This has plagued me in random facets of my life for awhile but never all at once. This PhD is the ultimate in delay…accomplishment always lies somewhere in the not-too-distant future. But it also seems to be trickily elusive; like the carrot tied to the horse’s head that dangles in front of it’s nose, just always out of reach, the end seems to move farther away proportionate to any kind of strides I make to get there. This PhD is really about tricking the carrot.
For this past year, the delay was waiting to move from Crummy, Dark, Weird Apartment #2 into a place that I knew would work as a true, comfortable home base, a facet of life I’ve been without for 4 years really. A lot of energy was spent actively waiting for that to come down. Now that the wait is over, the relief is almost unimaginable. But it was intense in the month of June, which happened to coincide with several of my friends heading out of reach, some permanently and some “just for the time being.” The delay with the friends was (and still is) that my everyday life qualitatively changed. I had to temporarily imagine my life working differently and unexpectedly and in ways completely out of my control if I still wanted them to be a part of it. It felt uncomfortable and tenuous.
I guess there’s a lot of ways to approach this. Some might tell me I needed to adjust my mind-set: “Why wait for others when you can take the reins yourself, ” they’d say. My response to those is that when you take the reins there, you’d better be prepared for loneliness because you’ll be the only one present to you. Other people just become part of the decoration of your life; people in picture frames on your walls. My question is why they’re not sitting on your couch. Others might say that I need to loosen my grip a little. This is probably true to some degree, but do I really want to allow “slack” with people who possess the power to turn my world? Do I become, then, the “slacker”? I’m not comfortable with that, either.
As this month is winding down and headed back toward some kind of normalcy, with people back where they “should” be and life snapping to some kind of new but comfortable shape, I’m realizing that the lessons of delay that I take away from this June and others like it reveal themselves immediately. I’ve learned that a little missing, a little wanting is good; too much is toxic and not enough is apathetic. Time always passes. But forever wanting can wreck you in a very unobtrusive, quiet way; a mantle of that kind of unique discomfort can really weigh heavily.
So, I guess my lesson of delay is really this: The quality of the days in which you get what you’ve been wanting will be determined by the quality of the days you’ve spent without having.
Appreciation will usually be the end result if we’ve played it right. But that’s my lesson. You may have to find your own.
There was a lovely dribble of cool air stumbling into my apartment this morning so, in a moment of wonder, I thought I’d check the forecast and brace myself for the impending end of Fall in July. Being from Cleveland, I’m something of Rainman when it comes to weather (although I didn’t intend it, I LOVE that that phrase is something of a layered pun). I have the Weather Channel on my desktop with real time updates to radar and stuff. I know, not normal. Anyway, this is what I find.
Seriously, LOOK AT THIS. Now, of course, I see the thunderstorms which could be iffy. But still…nightime temps in the mid- 60s. I don’t see an 80 on here after Tuesday.
I. Couldn’t. Be. More. Thrilled. Yeah, Summer ’09. Way to take it easy on us.
I’m not sure how many of you remember the joy I stumbled upon a couple Christmases ago playing “Guitar Hero” on the XBox. And then there was “Rock Band.” And then, I made a major decision: to buy a Wii (because it looked cool) so that I could also get “Guitar Hero” and play it all the time.
Which I did for about 2 weeks. And then I couldn’t get Foghat’s “Slow Ride” out of my head for weeks and the “Cliffs of Dover” on the hard setting would haunt me through the day. So I set the whole thing aside for awhile.
But harkening back to that fateful Thursday when I met the dude off Craigslist who was scalping selling this thing to me for the bargain price of [ahem], ladies don’t talk dollars, because he worked at Best Buy and could grab ‘em up with an employee discount. We exchanged the goods in a parking lot. I payed cash. It was shady and somewhat exciting. I couldn’t let that story just go to waste.
Fast forward to 2 weeks ago when EA Sports introduced Active for the Wii. This is their far superior answer to Wii Fit and I can’t believe I’m saying this but Active makes me wake up to work out. I wish it didn’t. But it does. With its little red resistance band, awesomely cool “leg band” that makes ya feel like an athlete just wearing it, and the perky trainer who tells me, “I have nothing but respect for that performance.” And I get trophies…and charts and graphs…and calorie counts. It’s ridiculous and amazing. I’ve burned 1000 calories already. How do I know? I got me a trophy that says so.
I do have a little workout guilt. After years of the grind…walking to the gym, hating the gym, hating the treadmill for 30 minutes, hating the elliptical less than the treadmill but more than the recumbent bike…I feel like this is a game. And yet I’m a sweaty mess when I’m done so something good must be going on.
And it’s fun. Can workouts be such a thing? Wii says yes.
