Christmas 2009.

Click here for the audio blog.

Music:
"Carol of the Bells" Trans-Siberian Orchestra featuring Metallica
"It's Beginning to Look A lot Like Christmas" Bing Crosby
"Christmas Time is Here" Vince Guaraldi Trio
"The Christmas Song" Nat King Cole
"Deck the Halls" Alena Hicken & Rebecca Mordo
"Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" Brenda Lee

It is 3 days before Christmas. Last weekend, we received our first bit of road-sticking, “danger” snow, though the only remnants of it now are nestled atop my car’s windshield. I decided that this week, I’d keep (most of) my cynical sarcasm at bay, and talk about my favorite Christmas traditions, be they big or small.

1. The shopping.
Somehow the smell of fresh evergreens mixed with Abercrombie and Fitch’s natural tool aroma distracts me from the screaming children, hormonal Hot Topic dwelling teenagers and mothers at the brink of sanity being harassed at every kiosk they pass.

2. The music.
Ah, yes. From Bing Crosby’s “It’s Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas,” to the entire Charlie Brown Christmas album by Vince Guaraldi Trio, to my all time favorite Nat King Cole’s “The Christmas Song.” Each tune hits me just right and makes me feel 5 years old again.

3. The decorations.
I feel I can say with much confidence that our apartment is the most cheery of the complex. From the bow on our front door, to the lights framing our back sliding doors, I imagine passers-by looking in are filled with warmth, joy and envy for the badass that is our holiday cheer. Our tree is bright with symmetrical decorations and the living room grandfather clock brings peace to all who gaze upon its ticking face. Outside of the clock, I had next to nothing to do with any of this.

4. The family and friends.
This year, I get to celebrate Christmas day with two families: my blood relatives who are my best friends and biggest supporters, and my Bloomington family, who are there for me, entertain me and keep me out of trouble from day to day.

Though our Christmas is not ostentatious,
We love and remain humble & gracious,
With the love of family and dear friends,
Outlasting the cold, our Christmas spirit sees no end.

Happy Holidays to all, may 2010 bring you and yours peace, joy and well-deserved revenge upon your enemies.

California Dreamin' Remix

This is one of my all-time favorite songs, so, of course, I had to mess with it. It is short and sweet.

Original version of "California Dreamin'" by The Mamas & the Papas from their 1966 debut, If You Can Believe Your Eyes and Ears.

Beat from various contributors to www.looperman.com.

Christmas Time is Here Remix.

I finished this a couple weeks ago and thought I'd post it somewhere.

This uses both the instrumental and vocal performances of "Christmas Time is Here" by Vince Guaraldi Trio and from A Charlie Brown Christmas.

Drum beat from various contributors to www.looperman.com.

Second Floor Bowling Alley.

Click here for audio blog.

Music: Vince Guaraldi Trio "Linus and Lucy" A Charlie Brown Christmas (1965)

My neighbors to the sky (i.e., my upstairs neighbors) have apparently decided that 5 o’clock on a Saturday is the time to jazzercise. That or they somehow fit a bowling alley in their living room. Either way, I’m beginning to wish I was more domestic so I’d own a broom that I could use to hit the ceiling. I contemplated marching upstairs and asking them to quiet down, but I’m not doing anything that necessitates silence. They’d open the door to some geeky-looking twenty-something with her hands on her hips, foaming at the mouth, saying, “Could you please quiet down?? I’m trying to harvest crops on Farmville and your stomping around is ruining my concentration!” I imagine they’d just slowly close the door on the crazy American brat.

Earlier today, a thirty minute trip across town to pick up my roommate and take him to work turned into a ninety minute affair. Traffic was horrendous, and I was not prepared for the dumbassery that comes with out-of-town sports fans trying to leave a game. For some reason, I feel incredibly put out by these people in my city, congesting my streets, being cut off by my assholes. I sat in the same stretch of twenty feet for thirty-five minutes, watching people trying to get by me on the shoulder. “No!” I wanted to scream, “This is MY road! I was here long before you! I have some place very important to be and I am noting this indiscretion to make sure you are not invited back!”

Unfortunately, assholery can be contagious. Upon arriving at my destination, I realized I had left the TV dinner my roommate requested on the couch, ya know, where you keep TV dinners. I told him I’d drive home, get the dinner and bring it back. Whilst driving to and from, I was cutting people off, running yellow lights, flipping off young children and their grandparents. But, somehow, I felt completely justified. “I pay taxes here. I deal with the traffic on a daily basis. You’re here for the weekend to “get away,” then you get to go home!” I don’t know why I think other towns aren’t as frustrating as mine. I actually love the city I live in, so I’m not quite certain what got into me. Just, next time, out-of-town sports fans/parents of college students, when we’re caught in a traffic jam together, try not to look so damned happy. It’d make things a lot easier for us townies.

What to Serve At Funerals.

For audio blog, click here:
http://picosong.com/j8/

Music: Nickel Creek "Smoothie Song" This Side (2002)

Tuesday October 20^th, 2009

I’m not sure what it is about fall that makes me so happy. The cooler weather: yes. The changing leaves: yes. The unmistakable autumn aroma: definitely. But really, what do the temperature change, falling leaves and scent have in common? Death.

I think there’s something romantic to be said about death. While working at the answering service, I received a call for a funeral home. A woman wanted to alert them that her husband was dying. We call those “death calls” (though it’s mostly the medical calls that make us want to die).

The woman was fine in the beginning, and as soon as she told me the purpose of the call I knew I would need to speak gently to her. We didn’t even get past her phone number when she started crying. All I could think was that it was just like in the movies. Man and woman fall in love, have kids, live happily for decades…then one of them dies, leaving the other alone and broken. It was truly heartbreaking because her tears were real. When our phone conversation was done, she wouldn’t dry her cheeks, accept her check for acting her heart out and move on with life. She would dry her tears the best she could, and return to her family alone.

No more at family dinners would she sit at the first chair next to the head of the table where her husband sat. When it snowed, she’d have no strong arm to hold on to while walking down the sidewalk to church. At Christmas, all the gifts for the children would be from her, though her husband never did any of the shopping she’d still mark the tags as “From: Mom & Dad.”

All of this ran through my mind during the 2 minute phone call. When we were off the phone, I just sat at my cubicle and stared at the screen. I try not to let calls like that get to me, but this one caught me off guard. I wanted to jot down the woman’s number and call her back when my shift was over to make sure she was doing alright. I wanted to send her flowers, set up a time to visit her on a weekly basis to ensure she would never have a chance to feel the soul-crushing loneliness she was sure to be facing. I needed to know she was going to be ok.

I finally finished the message and almost immediately received a call for a lawyer’s office. A woman was in the middle of a lawsuit with her former employee who had apparently “taken advantage of her.” Thankfully, she spared the details of how/where he took advantage. It quickly became evident that she loved to talk, and her raspy 2-pack-a-day voice also made it clear that she was a walking paradox...or a masochist. Toward the end of her “woes me” tale, I read her number back to confirm it. That’s when she, the innocent victim apologetically replied, “I think that’s right…I’m really high right now.” Right then, I knew what that poor widow needed.

Alas, this is America, and with all the injustice in this country it seems that one of the most egregious is that undeserving people have the means of obtaining weed.

Cheese & Ranch-Flavored Shame

Sunday July 19th, 2009.

I am afraid to open a bag of chips.

In a cubicle. No more than seven people in the room...and I fear the repercussions.

What if it's loud? Maybe someone is as cranky as I today because they are working in a basement on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon and all it will take is one jackass opening a loud-ass bag of chips to set them off.

Even worse...what if it's a tricky bitch and it rips in half, ejecting chips onto the call floor. Then, I'd roll over the chips, crushing them under the wheels of my chair, grinding them into the carpet. In my rush to stand up, I'd step on a few more with my heels. A couple people would laugh (albeit at me), a couple more would look on in confusion and pity. My supervisor would most likely have a similar reaction to when his six-year old daughter spills milk. The person or, heaven forbid, people who are in the same mood as myself may throw things at me. Not with an intent to kill, just bruise and scar emotionally.

Then, I suppose I'd only have two options:

Break down crying. Throw the chips while hysterically screaming obscenities and babbling about "the chip massacre of 2009" with the hope of being sent home early...or fired.

Or, I could clean up the mess apologetically and return to my desk of cheese and ranch-flavored shame. Later, I'd have to refresh my resume and turn in my two weeks notice.

Either way, opening this bag of chips will cost me my dignity, sanity and job. Not to mention cool points...

Damn, these chips are good.

Nothing Says "Adult" Like...

From my experience, these are telltale signs that you have reached adulthood.

Nothing says "Adult" like...

...drinking juice from a juicebox using a silly straw.

...ringback tones.

...giggling anytime your hear a word that rhythms with "nipple."

...spilling a colorful, fruity or chocolate cereal all over your kitchen floor.

...spilling a colorful, fruity or chocolate cereal all over your kitchen floor and letting a pet "clean it up."

...wearing shirts with pop culture quotes.

...scrunchies.

...using "that's what she said" as a response to any/everything.

...stating, "I'm not much of a "reader"" in the favorite books section of a networking profile.

...deleting your Myspace because of "all the drama."

...calling in sick to work so you can participate in a beer pong tournament.

...partaking in Little 500 activities after graduating from college.

...wearing your underpants around your waist, and your pants below your ass.

...posting flirtatious messages on someone's Facebook profile while you wait for them to sign on to chat so you can ask them out.

...asking the person you've been dating if you're "Facebook serious" yet, i.e., ready to post that you're "In a relationship" with each other.

...letting that "asshole who wasted 3 months of your life" know how much happier you are without him/her via your Facebook status.

...wearing Crocs.

...wearing socks with Crocs.

...moshing.

...drinking booze out of a colorful, reusable, 24 ounce mug.

...giggling everytime Cubs' right-fielder, Milton Bradley is up to bat.

...tagging all of your friends in a Facebook note titled "801 Things About ME!"

...blogging about adulthood.

Feel free to add your pearls of wisdom to the list.

Kiefer Sutherland Interview 10.30.08

My first real interview, and it was freaking Jack Bauer.
One of the coolest people I've ever had the privilege of chatting with. What a nice guy. And it was so cool to see how enthusiastic he is about the bands he's signed.

Afterward, I received a nice, big 24 Redemption promo poster which I proudly display in my office/bedroom.
p.s. I sound like I'm 12 year's old & have a jaw breaker stuck in my throat because I'm nervous.

Mama Needa da Chedda.

I've been hitting the ol' job search pretty hot and heavy lately and it's proving to be fairly...interesting. Mainly, I'm looking at receptionist gigs because I'm trying to integrate real-life people into my day-to-day, not to mention the sun. Haven't seen it in awhile. It still exists, right?

The two main places I peruse for job listings are Craigslist.com and the Herald-Times online. CL is becoming a bit of a joke at this point, though. Don't get me wrong, "Phone Fantasy Operator" actually sounds like a really fun job, and I wouldn't kick the $300-$400 a week paycheck out of bed (so to speak), but knowing my luck I'd recognize the bloke's voice on the other end. Or worse yet, they'd recognize mine.

There is one receptionist opening I applied for on CL. It seemed legit. Required basic skills in Microsoft Word, Excel, attention to detail, etc. But here's how they replied to my email:

"Thanks for the interest! Excellent Resume! You may be a bit over-qualified for this position, however, if you are just looking for some easy part-time work to receive the extra income you desire, this will be great! The position is a Quality Reviewer. You will be doing online shopping, filling out Jobs and receiving products/services from our clients. Later, you will summarize and review your experience. You are fully compensated and reimbursed--IN ADVANCE--for any purchases made, along with your salary: $10 an hour."

...so, what part of "part-time receptionist" did I misread? Don't get me wrong, being paid to try out free products and services sounds great! Almost too good to be true, in fact. I did a little research and discovered that the BBB has no record of "Quality Reviewers" (actually, they never give an actual company name, even on their website) and that many people who do participate in secret shopping have trouble with the whole "being reimbursed in advance" part...or being reimbursed at all. Apparently, they're as flexible with that statement as they are with, "Hey, we need a part-time receptionist."

Anyway, I guess I'll just have to keep my ear to the grindstone and my nose to the ground.

Maybe I should write idioms for a living...

-Erin.

My Preemptive Strike on the World was Born in 1962.

I went to dinner with my family last night. More specifically, my older sister & brother and mother (...who is also older). I'm very close with my family, or as close as we can be to each other. We're not real mushy, gushy people. That's one of the things I love about us. That, and our relentless sarcasm.

One of my siblings' and my favorite things to do when we're around each other is talk about our mom. She's an incredible character in our life movie. No writer, no matter how creative and witty could ever hope to dream up a spirit as original as our mother. She's a million stereotypes in one yet she still manages to break her own mold every day.

She has told us numerous times that the Peanuts character Peppermint Patty is her as a cartoon. We've tried to explain to her that Patty is rumored to be in a "less than straight" relationship with Marcie (not that there's anything wrong with that), but our mother refuses to believe it.

"Peanuts is a sweet cartoon!" she'll say.

Apparently, my mother's only exposure to the "female gays" is Rosie O'Donnell.

On my 21st birthday, her advice to me was, "drink until you feel good."
Not "drink responsibly," or "don't drink," but "drink until you feel good." Knowing alcoholism runs in the family, I suppose she was merely accepting that I was going to drink excessively and wanted to share what she had found worked best to avoid vomiting.

Anytime she prepares a meal and the family has sat down to enjoy it, she does what my siblings and I have come to call her "preemptive strike on criticism."

Before a single morsel of steak, or mouthful of mashed potatoes has been raised from our plates to our months she quickly states,

"The potatoes are a little lumpy. And the steak is probably a tad burnt."

She is an amazing cook, just not great with promoting her product. We always end up reassuring her that her meals are in fact, delicious and (at least in my case) the best we've had all week.

After a night of hearing how chewy the pasta in the lasagna place before us was, my brother finally said, "I'm gonna take your word for it, Mom. Let's throw this crap out and order pizza."

We've eaten out more on our "family nights" ever since.

My mother has made me laugh, comforted me, let me down, and pissed me off. She's played drums in a band, built a slip'n'slide using nothing but a tarp and industrial-sized pipes (what she dubbed "Wacky Water World"), resuscitated a goldfish with a straw, and backed into my brother's 3000 GT 3 times.

She can annoy and inspire me at the same time, and everyday I realize how much I'm becoming her although others have said they don't "see it."

By the way, this blog is a bit long and dry. You don't have to leave a comment.

-ErMaster.

One Crazy Stronza.

Ah, here it is! The first Turn Off Your Blog Blog.

It's about 6:15am on a Tuesday and I'm sitting in my room listening to a cool independent station out of Nashville, TN. I'm trying to keep the volume low, lest I wake up my roommate and her "dog." I use quotes there, because I'm not completed convinced the thing is a normal animal of any kind. Actually, I'm pretty sure she's a minion of Satan.

She's a Jack Russell Terrier or, as I like to call her, a Jack Russell Terror. Her name is Bella, which must be some kind of sick joke my roommate is playing on the world. "Bella" roughly means "beautiful" in Italian. Perfectly fine name, but it's not the first impression Bella tends to leave. "Stronza" would have been a more appropriate name but I understand, it doesn't roll off the tongue as well.

I've actually begun calling her "Stronza." The roomie doesn't ask about it so I don't volunteer an explanation.

What I find fascinating and maddening about Stronza, is that she has this horrible habit of biting the hand that feeds her, literally. As well as the feet, legs, backside and face of the very person who is responsible for keeping her alive and happy. And frankly, the only person who loves her enough to keep her from "accidentally" playing in traffic.

Now, don't get me wrong, I love animals! I'll admit, I'm a cat person, but I love dogs just fine. What I don't like are dogs whose owners allow them be violent for seemingly no reason.

One day, I was talking to my roommate in her room. Stronza kept jumping in my lap with a rubber toy and growling viciously.

"That's her play growl." My roommate assured, "You have to learn her different growls."

Learn her different growls? That's like a beaten wife saying, "The bruises are just warnings. He breaks the skin when he's serious."

Noting that Stronza was in a playful mood, I began throwing her toy down the stairs in an attempt to play indoor fetch. After a few minutes, I got wrapped up in my conversation with the roommate and inadvertently ignored Stronza's "playful" growls.

Finally, she attacked my shin. It wasn't the first time I'd seen her do it, as the previous week she'd attacked a male friend of my roommate's. After witnessing it I noted to not leave my room without protection, so when she pulled the move on me I was wearing jeans and suede boots. She only managed to grab a mouthful of fabric in her attempt to teach me a lesson. My roommate yelled at Stronza and threw her off of me.

"Was that a playful growl?" I asked.

"No. She does that sometimes if you stop playing with her."

"Have you ever thought about obedience training?"

"Yea. But I can't afford it."

"Can you afford a lawsuit?"

Ok, so I didn't actually say the last line out loud, but I thought it. Thought it real good.

When my friends come over and meet this beast I speak of from time to time, they always have the same reaction. It's as if I've told great tales of a ferocious monster, standing 8 feet tall, wreaking of sulfur and gaining strength from the sorrow of orphans. Then they meet this adorable (their words, not mine), helpless Jack Russell Terrier.

I will just say this: it's all an act. She has it down to a "T" and has fooled many people with her big, brown eyes. But not me. And she knows it...yea, she knows it. Sometimes we have staring contests. It's my way of showing her how little I fear her.

Think I'm crazy? You have no idea.

Welcome to Turn Off Your Blog.

-ErMaster.