The importance of wireless headphones and couches

I've been listening to a lot of ambient music lately. I went through a period in high school when I was absolutely obsessed with Vangelis. I had all his albums. In retrospect, I think that was a rather strange obsession for a high schooler. And by obsession, I don't mean that I researched him or knew the first thing about him. I just listened to the albums a lot. Of course my obsession began with Chariots of Fire. Okay, I checked on Wikipedia. I by no means had all his albums. I certainly didn't have one called Sex Power. Although maybe it's too bad that I didn't! We can only wonder how different my life might have been if I had such an album at age 16.

Anyway, the ambient station on Pandora is pretty good. It relaxes me. Although in typical Pandora fashion sometimes it goes off on a tangent and plays a song that is just the sound of a dripping faucet.

I listen to music pretty much constantly when I'm home alone. I rarely turn on the TV when Jeff is away and I especially don't now that there is so much available via streaming. I feel guilty about watching TV, even if it's really good TV. Jeff will still channel surf on the weekends sometimes, but I try to quash this behavior. It's a time suck! Why watch half of a movie? It doesn't bother him, apparently. And this is why we have wireless headphones. If you live in an apartment I strongly urge you to invest in a pair of them.

Sometimes I will choose not to watch a new show because of the guilt and also because I feel like I spend too much time watching TV. Invariably I choose not to watch what winds up being everyone's favorite show. I noticed that season 1 of Breaking Bad is on Netflix on demand, but I also really want to start The Invention of Hugo Cabret.

Also, watching a show on the computer feels like it's the worst of both worlds. I'm watching TV AND I'm on the internet. So not just one thing to feel guilty about, but two! I have a lot of guilt about things that aren't worth feeling guilty about, in case you hadn't guessed.

Alright, I've decided to watch the first episode. But I am definitely going to feel very guilty about it.

No, I didn't take it home.

Oh, by the way, I'm sitting on my new couch. I had a futon when Jeff and I moved in together. It was a bit too large for our current living room and plus, those things are not comfortable to sit on at all. So we got rid of if when I inherited two wing chairs. They are very nice wing chairs, but I did not realize how important it is to have a couch. The wing chairs are now safely stored in my in-laws' basement and we have a lovely new couch. I can put my head in Jeff's lap while we watch TV! Cuddling is necessary and good.

For now we have a no eating on the new couch rule. Or at least a no eating anything messy on the new couch rule. Or what is really a no eating anything messy when the other person is around to see you doing it rule.

The new norm

Isn't it funny how after a while a person adjusts to just about anything?

Just four days ago, I was in tears because it seemed as if the mice had already won. I sat at the kitchen table in the middle of the day while a mouse the size of a toddler crouched behind our stove and rattled the back cover. He did that all day long while a smaller mouse, one the size you are used to seeing, hopped up on the counter beside the stove, and walked around on his hind legs, paws on hips, sticking his tongue out at me. It happened exactly like that.

That was Thursday. By last night, when mice 7 and 8 had seen no reason not to reach for a stale piece of chocolate that for some odd reason smelled of death, I was almost entirely immune to the death chamber that has become the space between our stove and fridge.

Booie ferociously grabs at the mice when we pull them out. I have no idea why she wants to chomp down on a dead mouse, but I guess that's her way of showing how she would handle one. Yeah, okay, Booie, but still, it's snap trap: 8. Booie: 0. Whoever said that cats are good for a) keeping mice from setting up shop in your home because of their feline smell alone and b) that all cats are good at catching mice was a) a liar and b) probably had never owned a cat. Some cats are simply better suited to lying in sunny windows.

So, killing cute little animals has become the norm around here. I'm not saying I like it by any means, but it did become easier and quite fast, too. Fortunately or unfortunately, I had to adjust to that new norm whether I wanted to or not. Sometimes I think it would be easier if more things in life were foisted upon us like that, whether we think we want them or not. Or maybe I just need to get better at doing more self-imposed foisting.

Realization about chivalry vs. manners

I've battled for some time this notion of how manners are supposed to work. This is especially in relation to how men treat women. For example: men should always usher women through doorways first. If a group of people arrives at a bar together and there are only a couple stools, the men should allow the women to decide if they want to sit first. A man should ensure that the woman he's with gets on or off the subway before he does. Etc.

Now, I have lived in New York or New Jersey since I left home to attend college, but I grew up in the semi-south of northern Virginia. My father is from the actual South and is this sort of gentleman described above. (It is no great stretch to put two and two together and see that I got this view of reality from observing my dad.)

Some of this sort of chivalry goes on in the North, but there is a lot of each wo/man for him/herself going on as well. And that always bugged me. On the one hand, I don't want to be bugged by it because I know deep down that there is NO reason for women to be treated differently than men. Why should a woman get on the subway first, right? A man could be just as tired at the end of the day as a woman and we women are perfectly entitled to dress however we want, so we can't say that we deserve the seats because we have to wear high heels. Many of us wear comfy shoes for commuting or comfy shoes all the time. I spend 95% of my work day with my ass parked in a chair. I really don't NEED to sit down for my 22 minute commute.

Most mornings I actually prefer to stand and I have this whole system where I hang back when people are entering the train so that I'm the last one on and can lean against the door. Since most people are rushing to get a seat that probably doesn't exist, it's very easy to hang back. I have been practicing this method for a few months now and not a single man has stood aside and ushered me onto the train first. If he did, I don't know what I'd do! He'd be foiling my plan! 

After reading this article, I had a realization. What struck me especially was this part:

To be sure, strict rules regarding courtesy and deference to others have historically been used as a way to enforce a social order in which women and blacks were considered less than full citizens.

In the Jim Crow era, blacks and whites lived with a code of hyper-politeness as a way to smooth the edges of a harsh racial system and, of course, keep it in place, scholars of Southern culture say.

As those issues faded, proper manners remained an important cultural marker that Southerners have worked to maintain. 
Ah ha! That's what it is! Chivalry of the sort outlined above (the kind where men let women enter the elevator first) really does need to die, assuming we no longer require this code of hyper-politeness to smooth the edges of a system in which women are inferior.

The other kind of chivalry, however, needs to be worked on by everyone, not just those of us in the North. There is no reason not to hold the door for the person walking right behind you. And there is no reason for that person to not say, "thank you!" It doesn't matter if it's a woman holding the door for a man or vice versa. It's just a nice thing to do for a fellow human being.

Phew! I'm so glad that I finally figured out why I had been battling that issue for so long.

(Photo is in honor of Halloween, even if it is a few days late.)

The life list, part 2

Thirteen months ago, I wrote a life list, which I came across today. A lot of what's on there remains the same, but some of it changed. Earlier today, I wrote in my paper journal that I need a dog, so that definitely remains on the list. I quit toastmasters, so that's out of the picture. I don't care so much about picking up French again, at least not at the moment. I no longer care if our future home has a bar and I also care a lot less about learning how to brew with Jeff. That'll be his thing, whenever he gets around to it.

1. Have a reasonably clean apartment that feels like home, not a messy pit.
2. Own a dog.
3. Learn to drive stick shift. [Sure, I guess. I still want to do this, but it's not that important to me anymore. Maybe I take it off the list.]
4. Live abroad.... hmm... is this still something I want? I'm not sure. Let's change this to: continue to travel to new places and return to the especially loved ones.
5. Be a mother.
6. Get better at cooking through practice.
7. Write a book.
8. Publish a book.
9. Be able to say, "I'm a runner" and not inwardly say, "liar" because I don't stick with it.
10. Have toned biceps.
11. Learn how to use a sewing a machine.
12. Invest properly.
13. Get to the point where we are living in a home that seems big enough, presumably with more than one bathroom.
14. Find a way to use photography in new ways.
15. Let go of the past.
16. Drive across the US.
17. Come into my own.

I am going to need to revisit this list more often than once a year. Maybe I'll tack it up on my bulletin board and refer to it like some people refer to their new year's resolutions, a practice I don't much like, by the way. If you want to make a change, make a change! Don't wait for January 1 to do it. Do it now.

Thoughts on 36

I've never felt remorse about my birthday. I'm always excited to a) get taken out to dinner but also b) to see what a new year will bring. This is a little bit amusing since many years lately have been pretty much the same, one after another, with some exotic trips sprinkled in here and there.

My 30th birthday

Next week I'm turning 36. This time I do feel something different. It's not like 30, when I was excited to be leaving all the mistakes of my 20s behind. And it's not like 21 when I could finally drink legally. Those are years you're supposed to get excited about. Not 36. No one says, "how does it feel to be 36??"

I will be half my mother's age and therefore the same age she was when she had me.

I'm in a women's group that meets every other Wednesday and I wasn't going to go on my birthday. Because it's my birthday! Even though just saying that out loud seemed silly when I said it. So I will be fêted the day before, which is perfect because my mom will be taking me out for happy hour that evening already. And then I will meet Jeff for dinner.

In my 20s I loved celebrating with friends in bars. For my 30th Jeff organized an outing to a burlesque club and that was the perfect way to seal off my 20s -- with a bang. It feels false to me now, to do gatherings with friends on my birthday. NOT to say that I believe that is true for others. Just for me.

I've missed this.

I'm thinking about blogging again. I haven't done that in a while. Or whatever it's called. Journaling? Keeping a diary? I never was a fan of calling it a diary. As much as diaryland meant to me at one time, I was never thrilled with the name. Also, I was constantly typing dairyland instead, which spellcheck wants to change to fairyland.

Before the internet, or I should say: last century, before blogging was all the rage or even a medium I had heard of, I diligently kept a paper journal. I wish I could remember what lead me to first keep a diary back in the 4th grade. Although that was a very hard year for me, I was not self aware enough to be able to record my thoughts on what was hard for me at the time. I merely kept a record of what I ate, how I managed to stay up a half hour past bedtime, what games I played with what friends, etc.

I think I started recording thoughts as well as actions a couple years later. There was nothing that deep, though, until high school. And then I went to town in journals. Poems and stories in which terrible or wonderful things would happen to a protagonist not so loosely based on me.

In my late teens and early 20s my journals were everything to me, as was writing letters to my friends (and receiving ones back). I would write to work through my emotions, okay let's face it: mainly about men. But still, this was immensely helpful and for some crazy reason I all but stopped.

Oh wait, not some crazy reason: the Internet. I was 25 for the millennial celebration and a month before that I started a blog. Most people I knew in real life had never heard of blogs. I myself can't remember where I first encountered one, but I can say with certainty that it stirred something in me and I knew I needed one right away.

Blogging was like writing in a paper journal, except with feedback! And praise! And encouragement! I was in a shitty relationship at the time and I needed all of that so very much. But there was also judgement and competition and secrets and inside jokes and cool kids and for the love of god, there were actually awards. I am writing this in the past tense as if this is all in the past. It is for me, but as far as I know it still goes on out there.

And I want nothing to do with any of that. Those things I listed have no place being linked with journaling. I wish blogging was not considered synonymous with journaling. To me journaling is a solitary pursuit and blogging is the public version of that. Not the same at all. I also believe that anyone who claims they blog as openly as they would journal in a private paper book is lying. I have not heard anyone say that lately. I'm just saying.

So anyway. I think I'm going to start using this space again for thoughts, not just as a travelogue. I have come full circle about permanence. I don't really care about keeping these entries as a record of my thoughts at a point in time. I have my paper journals for that. This is a public place and I will not be talking about anything that would make my grandma uncomfortable (in theory. She's not online.), which leaves a lot of room since for a 101-year-old, she's fairly open-minded.

That was an awfully long prologue. Here is the entry itself:

I'm practicing saying no more, or rather not being afraid to say it when it needs to be said. So far, this is going better than I expected. Related: I'm working on telling the truth about why I'm saying no (as long as it's appropriate). I vow to not be vague in this here blog, so here's an example: I have had a very emotionally intense weekend... oh crap, vagueness is creeping in. Okay: I went on a retreat this weekend that was very emotionally taxing (in a good way). More about the retreat in the future. I'm not ready to talk about it yet. On Friday I planned a happy hour this evening with 2 coworkers who live near me. I realized earlier this afternoon that what my soul really needs this evening is to go home and make apple squash soup and be alone (Jeff is away). I was avoiding letting the coworker know that I am bailing because I don't want her to judge me, be mad at me, think I'm a chronic bailer, etc. And guess what: she was totally understanding when I told her the truth. And we made plans to do another happy hour in 2 weeks. How easy was that! Whew. Anyway, I typed this on my phone on a bouncy bus so I'm feeling cross-eyed and woozy now. Over and out.

The marvels of New Mexico

 Santa Fe day one 

Our day started at 3am. Those 5am flights sure are a bitch. But, on the flip side, hardly anyone was headed to Houston at that hour and we both got upgraded. The food still sucks in first class (I have never tasted a biscuit that tasted less like a biscuit) but at least it's easier to sleep. We arrived in Albuquerque before 11am. 

We got on the road and headed north of Santa Fe for what should have been a 2-hour trip but wound up being three because we kept stopping to take photos. Also, driving a Kia on a dirt mountain road is rather scary. Did you know there are mountains in New Mexico? Well there are. 

Jeff got us an invite to check out the only North American monastery that brews beer, hence the drive along the mountain pass. The monks were incredibly welcoming. Monks' Ale is now available in Philly so look for it (not to be confused with Monk's Sour). They didn't offer us any, unfortunately, so I can't comment on the taste yet. They have a Belgian pale and a Wit and they were working on a Belgian triple today. 

Just as we were leaving we were asked to stick around a few more minutes to attend the 3:30 service. A large window in the chapel offers a breathtaking view of a colorful rock face. The monks chanted a couple Gregorian chant style hymns. Half the monks sat across from the others and they alternated lines. I'm so glad we stuck around for that even though we were faint with hunger. 

A hamburger with avocado, lettuce, tomato and onion sounds like it might be gross but I assure you it is delicious, especially when eaten in a roadside fast food joint called Dandy's that looks like it was built in the 50s and has not been renovated since the 80s. 

The marvels of New Mexico

 Santa Fe day one 

Our day started at 3am. Those 5am flights sure are a bitch. But, on the flip side, hardly anyone was headed to Houston at that hour and we both got upgraded. The food still sucks in first class (I have never tasted a biscuit that tasted less like a biscuit) but at least it's easier to sleep. We arrived in Albuquerque before 11am. 

We got on the road and headed north of Santa Fe for what should have been a 2-hour trip but wound up being three because we kept stopping to take photos. Also, driving a Kia on a dirt mountain road is rather scary. Did you know there are mountains in New Mexico? Well there are. 

Jeff got us an invite to check out the only North American monastery that brews beer, hence the drive along the mountain pass. The monks were incredibly welcoming. Monks' Ale is now available in Philly so look for it (not to be confused with Monk's Sour). They didn't offer us any, unfortunately, so I can't comment on the taste yet. They have a Belgian pale and a Wit and they were working on a Belgian triple today. 

Just as we were leaving we were asked to stick around a few more minutes to attend the 3:30 service. A large window in the chapel offers a breathtaking view of a colorful rock face. The monks chanted a couple Gregorian chant style hymns. Half the monks sat across from the others and they alternated lines. I'm so glad we stuck around for that even though we were faint with hunger. 

A hamburger with avocado, lettuce, tomato and onion sounds like it might be gross but I assure you it is delicious, especially when eaten in a roadside fast food joint called Dandy's that looks like it was built in the 50s and has not been renovated since the 80s. 

Edinburgh: the city that proved I'm woefully out of shape

It seems that breakfast is not a major meal here. We arrived at our hotel at 8am and upon asking we were directed to Starbucks. When I turned my nose up at that we were told to look for a cafe up the road. That place doesn't open til 10, but it does look cute. We settled for a place that offers British and Scottish breakfast. I'm not sure I'm ready to try haggis yet, but Jeff is, apparently. 

5 minutes later... Haggis is actually quite good!

It will never cease to amaze me that non-Americans will gladly stand at a bar when there are seats available. I guess I'm just lazy by nature but also I don't like drinking while standing. 

The water straight out of the taps tastes good. 

Our hotel is an apartment hotel. Our room, which is reasonably priced, I might add, includes two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a sitting area and a full kitchen. Having the extra room is unnecessary except for the fact that there are no drawers for our clothes so I have my clothes laid out on the bed in there. And having two bathrooms is certainly a luxury. 

Edinburgh is SO hilly. My calves are killing me. Even walking downhill at this point is painful. And it's not just gently sloping hills. No, it's 100 steps cut into a hillside. Makes for a very striking looking city, but those of us who don't do the elliptical every day are not amused. 

Edinburgh is apparently THE place to go for your hen or stag (bachelorette/bachelor) party. One set of chicks was wearing tiny pink tutus over tight black clothes and wings on their backs. Another set went the devil route, horns and all. A third set just had on matching sweatshirts. Amateurs! The men are not wearing matching outfits but I have to imagine that some of those groups of loud men were up to something similar, especially the group of dudes including one dressed in drag, including fake pubes hanging out. 

One day in San Francisco

I forgot to post this when I was there the week before last.

I'm getting next to no cell signal in the Haight. Is that because the hippies won't allow a cell tower nearby?

So many great shops in the Haight! Why do I not remember this from previous trips? Are the boutiques a relatively new thing?

I had such a good time hanging out at the bar of Churchkey last night! Sometimes being left alone while Jeff attends an evening event isn't so bad after all. 

Lots of rain does not lend itself to tourist photography. I have taken two pictures since my arrival on Tuesday. Both with my cell phone. 

One boutique in the Haight (called Ambiance) where I spent a couple of hours had the nicest sales staff. My favorite part was when one would call to another to bring a different size to a customer. She'd call out: "can I have a lady, please!" They also mix in some pieces they think you might like. I didn't like any of their choices except one (a $75 black top which I'm having them hold for me for a little while) because I have other shops to check out first. I do appreciate the touch of personal shopping. Why don't we have places like that in NYC? Or if we do, where are they??

When her friend got up to use the restroom, the woman sitting next to me at lunch today turned and said, "Hi! How are you?" She was curious to know what I had ordered. 

It must be a thing in California to have Dutch doors. I saw multiple businesses in the Haight that had just the bottom half closed. 

I decided against buying the top because I found more great things to buy. I also happened upon a store called Loved to Death, which sells a variety of wonderfully displayed Victorian memento mori and the like. In the back room was a show of dioramas with taxidermied animals wearing clothes and posed in little Victorian scenes. Unfortunately, I think this might be a temporary exhibit.