Everything and a Racehorse

Favorite moment of the week

2012-02-10T15:34:00.000-08:00

I have 10 minutes to write this blog entry. If I take longer than that, my dog might expire from anticipation of the walk I promised her before I have to go back to work. So here we go.

3 years ago, I think I would have said that, though there were some bad days, I felt more or less successful at my job. That's changed a lot recently. We won't go into why, but it's real, and it's not a comfortable place for someone like me who likes to be in control and doing well. Yes, I know, adversity breeds innovation, but I've discovered I'm a person who needs a win more than now and then.

I guess, to put it simply, success has felt fragile lately; it's there, but it's poised to be shattered with one tap from a hammer.

So today, I thought I'd share my favorite moment of success.

I sit in a corner office (I know, swanky, huh? Actually, it's freezing because the windows are drafty). Either because I'm neurotic or because of some unique acoustics, I can hear pretty much everything that goes on in our office from the front desk, through the breakroom, down the hall, even as far out as the loading dock, OUTSIDE my office. I've come to be able to distinguish the gaits of my coworkers as they walk down the hall, some are quiet and quick, others clomp with the authority of long legs and booted heels.

Today, as I was working away, I heard what were clearly long legs moving very quickly. They seemed to be heading my way. I was right, and my coworker came barreling in, breathless with excitement and with some big news to share about an upcoming project (that happens to be secret, mwah hah hah). There was some slapping of hands, some whooping and then she was racing away, and I was left grinning.

Then, like dominoes, 2 more good things happened.

At that point, I packed my bag and left early, lest 15 more minutes of checking email on a Friday ruin my buzz.

So that's it. It only took me 9 minutes to write (plus 2 to edit).

Happy weekend everyone. Hold tight to the successes, because it's far easier to forget them than it is to remember the failures.

When they leave too soon

2012-01-27T17:48:00.000-08:00

This day always sneaks up on me. I'll be chugging along with the normal routine, and then something will make me stop in my tracks and remember.

7 years ago this very early morning, my friend Nicole was shot and killed on the lower east side of Manhattan. The story made the national news: I got phone calls from TV stations when it happened. Her murder has a Wikipedia entry. I'm not sure what to think about that, but there it is.

I've been thinking lately about those who leave us too soon. Friends whose parents have passed away, parents who are younger than mine. A colleague who wondered in her blog if all people lose friends when you're in your 30s. Another colleague who lost two dear friends in a senseless drunk driving accident just a few months ago, and is now dealing with the fact that the scales of justice don't always balance quite correctly. It seems unfair that life goes on. But the reality is that a different life goes on, because what has been lost can't be filled in. Life grows back around the hole, but it's changed.

7 years later, the sadness of my friend's death has become more poignant than viciously hurtful. My specific memories of her have faded, and instead I find myself wondering what all the big events of life would have been like these last 7 years if she'd still been around.

There's really no way to to know if Nicole would even have been at the big events; the weddings, the babies being born, etc. Would we have produced more plays with our fledgling theater company? She left us before facebook became a thing...I wonder what she would have done with it? She would have gotten married a few months later; would she have kids now?

I would have liked to know those kids.

I don't have many photos of Nicole. The truth is, we were just...friends. If she had gotten married, I'm not sure I would have gone to the wedding. In fact, the last time I talked to her, 3 or 4 months before she died, the conversation was an update, you know, the kind you do with a friend you don't keep in touch with much. I remember thinking, as I hung up, that I wasn't as connected to her as I used to be. It made me sad.

But these two photos can tell you something about her, and the effect she had on others. They're from a New Year's Eve party, I think, in Brooklyn, perhaps? It makes me laugh that I had to take a picture of them with my phone to get them onto the computer. How the world has changed in less than a decade.

But what hasn't changed is that there are a lot of us who remember Nicole, and who still miss her. I think we always will.

More about being comfortable with being out of balance

2012-01-24T19:51:00.000-08:00

I've been feeling citation guilt over my blog entry the other day about tightrope walkers, so I decided to go on a hunt for the original source. Amazingly, I found that my recollection of the source was right. It came from a blog entry from Andrew Taylor, the oh-so-smart human behind The Artful Manager blog.

I happen to be lucky enough to have studied under Andrew at the oh-so-awesome Bolz Center for Arts Administration, and Andrew's blog posts constantly challenge me to get my feet out of mud (routine) and place my head into the clouds (systemic/theoretical thought). This can be either a good or bad thing, depending on the situation, but generally, it reveals something profound about the work I do. I speak of the daily, grinding, get-through-my-meetings-and-emails-and-then-wonder-just-what-I-accomplished kind of work. Seth Godin calls it the lizard brain. It's that incredible gravitational pull toward bureacracy and group-think, which sometimes (not always) are the anathema of creativity. And by the way, I believe that administrators are every bit as creative as the artists we support. Go ahead, commence throwing stones at me. I can take it.

Anyway, I digress. We were talking about a certain blog entry that Andrew wrote where he mentioned seeing a PBS special that featuring a tightrope walker named Janine Antoni. She spoke eloquently about being "out of balance." So, here's the video that shows her doing her work.

And here's the quote, that says it all better than I ever could:

So I practiced tightroping for about an hour a day and after about a week I started to feel like I'm now getting my balance. And as I was walking I started to notice that it wasn't that I was getting more balanced, but that I was getting more comfortable with being out of balance. I would let the pendulum swing a little bit further and rather than getting nervous and overcompensating by leaning too much to one side I could compensate just enough. And I thought, I wish I could do that in my life when things are getting out of balance. You know when you have a hard day and one bad thing happens after another? I sort of learned that I could just breathe in and sort of set myself back up onto the rope.

So, I leave you with that. I hope it's a good "head in the clouds" moment for those who read this. It's defnitely helped me.

The way a weekend should be...sort of

2012-01-22T21:01:00.000-08:00

I might have hit a turning point in my life this past week. It's nothing I can talk about in this public forum, but it might be that something has begun that will change things. But really, I say that almost every few weeks. Whether it's thinking something really good is about to happen on the romance front (only to find that it doesn't), finding myself in a really bad mood at work (you know, the kind where every person who asks something of me pisses me off - thankfully that hasn't happened in while) or just questioning my life, priorities and direction, it feels like I've been in a state of...well...suspension for a while now.

But the thing is, it's ok. I think I might have grown up enough to realize that if you're someone like me; ie, chronically single, career-focused, prone to overthinking everything, you're not likely to settle into a routine and just be happy with it. You may settle into a routine, but you're going to question it, even as you keep it up. And so I have learned not to read too much into these feelings. If something is going to happen, it will. Fatalistic, you say? Lazy, even? I don't think so. It's a pretty zen place to be.

That said, it seems appropriate that after all the thoughts that this past week has inspired, I arrived at Sunday evening with a big fat smile on my face. This came about not just because I'm overweight and I happened to go to a comedy club, but because, when you look back on my weekend, it's such a great summary of my life right now.

Let's take it chronologically:

Friday: Aside from the indignity of having to attend an 8am meeting with no breakfast goodies, Friday started with the kind of discussions that make the rest of the day feel rather surreal. But the day got better, ending on a positive note that included an absolutely amazing dinner at a new restaurant with a friend. This was followed by a (ahem, sold-out) concert featuring the Poncho Sanchez Band. As we grooved to the music, my friend leaned over and said "I'm not going to last through the second act" and I nearly laughed aloud, because I'd been thinking the same thing; as great as the band was, I was DONE with work and ready to go home to my dog.

Saturday, I got to sleep in, laze about, get my hair cut, take a long walk, and see a symphony performance. I fell in love with Shostakovich's 5th Symphony, then came home to my pooch bouncing and hopping around as if I hadn't spent the whole day with her. Seriously, is there anything better than the way your dog greets you after you've been gone?

Today, I slept in again (these are the days when I bless the fact that I am childless), wasted two whole hours watching Extreme Home Makeover, did some cleaning, headed off to listen to a discussion about the Mark Morris Dance Group and the classical trio Time for Three (go to their website and watch the video there if you want a little inspiration), then raced back home to watch the Patriots narrowly defeat the Ravens, setting up a repeat of the Pats/Giants Superbowl matchup that ended badly for us New England fans back in 2008. Another walk, a bit more football and then an impromptu visit to the aforementioned comedy club, where I giggled a lot at comedian AJ Finney, who was foul of mouth, but amusing.

And now I'm home, listening to the spooky wind, grateful that we're out of the tornado range, but still a little wary. It's one of those nights when you make sure you wear appropriate clothing to bed, because if you have to dive into a closet or seek shelter after your house has been blown down, well, at least you can make sure you're wearing pants and long sleeves when you do. (I know, I know. But these are the weird things I think about) Anyway, it was a busy, interesting weekend of art, sports and comedy, experienced both alone and with friends. And yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was...a little off. But I reached the end of it realizing I was ok with that.

I heard a quote once; I think the quotee was quoting a tight rope walker, who said something to effect of : "It's not about achieving perfect balance. It's about being comfortable with being out of balance."

And that's it. That's exactly how I feel. Here's hoping I can stay on the tightrope this next week.

Awesomesocks, EL GORDO and other news only fit to blog

2012-01-11T18:39:00.000-08:00

At the National Arts Marketing Project Conference a few months back, I learned a few special new words.

What these words all had in common was their universal ability to irk me.

Here are the culprits:

sitch (short for situation, used mostly verbally)
sesh (short for session, used in twitter parlance)
Prezi (the name of a program that is an alternative to PowerPoint and/or a presentation created by said alternative). For the record, I love the product Prezi. It's the name that bugs me.
awesomesauce (used as a (sort of) superlative, "sauce" being the suffix to "awesome"...well, I think you get the point).

What is it about these words that irk me, you ask? I'm not sure. I think it might be that they are just too...cute. I supposed they could also be considered clever, but they are either too cute, or not clever enough, or something. Whatever. I'm weird and judgmental, I get it. But I promise there's a reason for my ramblings.

Back in December, I posted what might be my most inane and useless facebook status ever, about the awesomeness of my socks. Upon request, I later added a photo of said socks.

Then, for Christmas, one of my staff gave me a pair of wacky-cool socks as a gift. She didn't say, but I wondered if the choice of gift was prompted by that facebook post.

Anyway, today I decided I needed to wear my new socks. Here they are (and if anyone knows how to do self-portraits of feet that don't make them look fat, let me know).

And then, suddenly, I was seized by brilliance. I could take a word that annoys me and turn it into a concept that makes me smile. It could be a blog title, or a product name, or just a word. And that word is...

AWESOMESOCKS

*****

In other news, there was some interesting stuff on the interwebs today. The first comes courtesy of my dad. Gotta love my conservative dad, who sends me patriotic YouTube video and rants against the government one day, and sends me a tip from Huffington Post that I should check out "El Gordo" the next.

El Gordo, it turns out, is one of the biggest galaxy clusters in the world. It was discovered via collaboration between NASA and Chile. It's something like 7.5 BILLION light years away and will provide insight into such coolness as dark matter, dark energy, and beginnings of the universe. In sending me the link, no doubt, Dad was remembering me retreating to my 3rd grade self as we left the Kennedy Space Center a few weeks ago, declaring "I want to be an astronaut when I grow up." Thanks, Dad, that was very cool.

***

Changing gears, I also submit for your review this blog entry about a ringing cell phone during a New York Philharmonic concert. Here's a bit from the New York Times about it, including an interview with the conductor, who stopped the entire orchestra, turned to the front row, and engaged in conversation with the culprit, eventually getting him to turn his phone off.

He was in the very front row at Avery Fischer Hall, and it was the final bars of the final movement of Mahler's Ninth Symphony. I confess to not knowing one Mahler symphony from the other, but I know how people say the words "Mahler's Ninth" - with reverence. It's a spirtual piece, and the final bars, where this unfortunately happened, are nearly silent. How disappointing for everyone in the room to have their experience ruined like that.

That said, can you imagine being this guy? I find myself distressed by the hatred and vitriol expressed toward him in the comments and blogosphere. Yeah, he screwed up. We all do. But aren't we supposed to forgive? I didn't see a lot of that in the responses to this incident. In fact, I saw one comment that said the guy should be sued by the rest of the audience, and cynically, I will bet money that someone called the NY Phil and demanded a refund. What a shame that we're all so angry all the time.

***

But, let's end on a happier note. Today I watched musicians from the Blue Man Group touring production do a workshop for 100+ students at Fayetteville High School. It was pretty amazing, especially when they invited the kids up on stage to drum together.

And last night, I treated a friend and myself to center section seats to the show. Even though I'd seen it a half dozen times before, it was a complete blast. There's something about the Blue Man aesthetic. Weird, gentle, funny, curious, wordless and always supportive. Gently mocking of the world, yet capable of sending an entire audience into a paroxysm of delight (I love that phrase). And the drums. Oh, those drums, the big, pounding, visceral sound. I wanna be a Blue Man.

As usual, I must admit I have a pretty great job.

Maybe it's even....wait for it...awesomesocks?

10 signs of getting older...

2012-01-06T20:19:00.000-08:00

Not old, mind you. Just older.

1. You're mingling at an office event and realize that the 20-somethings are in that cluster over there, and you're not with them.

2. The song that was #1 in your birth year is considered an "oldie".

3. You can remember major national events that happened almost 20 years ago.

4. It is slightly possible that Tom Cruise might, maybe, perhaps be making something resembling a comeback.

5. Friday night is recovery night. Not from a hangover, but from work. It's best spent relaxing. On Saturday, you're ready to go out.

6. It's not uncommon for people your age to have several kids, some approaching teen years (and they weren't teen parents!)

7. You're slightly jealous of those who are retired, and have stopped saying "oh, I can't imagine not working. I'd go crazy."

8. Marriage, babies, divorce; you've had 2-5 year cycles of each among your friends.

9. The idea of another social media platform that you need to be on just makes you tired.

10. It's harder to sleep until 11am - you really have to work at it.

11. Sports figures who are your age are reaching the "autumn" of their careers.

12. You forget how to count to 10.

This post was generously sponsored by my extremely well named friend Jody who shared a tweet on Pintarest from another blogger (I know, this social media thing is getting out of control) about prepping meals to be thrown in the Crock Pot. When I was 18, 20, 25 or even 30, I would never, NEVER have considered seeking ways to prepare healthy meals weeks in advance. But nowadays, I'm taking more of a longer view. I can see ahead to those years when, if I'm not eating my veggies today, I might suffer for it. The reality of how hard it will be to save for retirement has me trimming costs where I can (well, sometimes), and appreciating how bringing home lots of fruits and veggies lowers my shopping bills.

I think mostly, though, these thoughts come about because all around me, people are growing up. Homes are being purchased and babies are being born. Parents are retiring. We're all just...getting older. It's not bad. It's life. It's disconcerting, yes, but I think the key is to recognize it, laugh about it, and then get on with it.

I can't wait to prep meals tomorrow.

Christmas in Florida, and other paradoxes

2011-12-30T20:55:00.000-08:00

Let's face it. Having Christmas in 80% weather is just...weird. Oh, sure, for those who didn't grow up in New England, it's normal, but for proud Yankees like me, even after many years, it's still a little strange to see Christmas lights decorating palm trees instead of pines, and sprawling stone houses instead of neat, boxy colonials.

That said, it's really all about family (or Jesus, or shopping, take your pick), and it was neato this year to have my bro and sister in law with us for Christmas.

Most of the week was about vegging and eating, both of which my family excel at. There were some presents thrown in there, some dominoes, and no golf, alas. We made Chrusciki, a Polish "delicacy" consisting of fried dough drenched in powdered sugar. As I manned the hot oil (with varying degrees of success), I could feel my grandma looking down on us and smiling. They weren't as good as hers, but then again, she used lard, and we did not. We enjoyed my mom's awesome roast, and my sister-in-law's yummy coffee cake, a new tradition. And pierogi. And naps. Naps are excellent, and often necessary during such intense eating and lazing about.

Once my bro and SIL left, though, the remaining Beznoskas threw down in the fun department.

We saw the Muppet movie. I loved it. Especially when, faintly in the background of a montage, I could hear "Piiiiigs Iiiiiin Spaaaaaaace!!!!" I teared up when Kermit sang "Rainbow Connection," mostly because I miss the time when being naive and hopeful was possible. My folks enjoyed it more than they thought they would. Bonus.

We went to the Kennedy Space Center, and I renewed my five-year old self's vow to become an astronaut, and will spend part of tomorrow watching Apollo 13 for the 17,000th time. Space is cool. It's a shame we can't get our national financial house in order so we can keep exploring it.

The next day, we went to Magic Kingdom for a fleeting few hours. Splash Mountain with my dad. It's a Small World with my mom. A blue sky above Cinderella's Castle. I never want to get old enough to not enjoy Disney World.

All this fun was accomplished within the space of two point five days. It was me and my parents, and it was nice to, for a change, not feel weird about that. That's the good thing about tourist stuff in Florida; it's being enjoyed by all combinations of family units, and many are not having as much fun as we do.

And then, I came back to Arkansas and a messy house that I thought was clean when I left, but pales next to my mom's beautiful clean house. Talk about a plunge into the cold pool of reality.

However, the weather gods have cooperated to ease me back into real life with a lovely warm weekend. So warm, in fact that I cleaned out my garage and car today because it was too nice to stay inside.

And on the last few days of 2011, things are looking good. I have friends to ring out the New Year with a game night. I just remembered that my snarky 2011 New Year's resolution post was mentioned on Arkansas Women Bloggers (hopefully making a few folks laugh). I have lots of new books to read. My dog remembered who I was. Wisconsin's in the Rose Bowl.

And for the coup de grace, today I was seized by my long-dormant (more like non-existent) foodie tendency, and cooked myself a fantabulous dinner of kielbasa with onions and apples, over locally made pasta with a side of sauteed brussel sprouts. AND! I bought a butternut squash to cook tomorrow. This is big deal, because I LOVE butternut squash anything, and I have never once attempted to cook with it. Why? I have no idea. I can't wait to try it.

(For those who are wondering what has happened to the real Jodi, and if she's been kidnapped and replaced, rest assured, this won't last. Cooking like this is a luxury for me that comes after a week of vacation and with no work for another 3 days. Once real life and 50+ hour work weeks kick back in, life will resume as normal.)

It's likely this will be my last blog entry of 2011. It was an interesting year, but I'm ready for 2012. If the world doesn't end, big things could happen. Or a bunch of small things. Either way, I'm good with it. Change is in the air, methinks.

Best wishes to all. Be safe on New Year's Eve.

Adventures at Lake Wilson

2011-12-19T19:21:00.000-08:00

There are some things progeny do that we probably shouldn't tell our parents about.

For example, there were a few things on my travels in Europe during college that I will never share. Sorry, Dad. Some things are better left unsaid.

Yet, what's a blog for if not to share life's adventures with a few dedicated readers? So allow me to regale you with tales of my escapades at Lake Wilson.

Saturday was a lovely sunny day, the kind where I would, if I were the sort, pat myself on the back for moving to Arkansas, where a 60 degree day is not unusual in December. Indeed, at this time of year, the opportunity to be outside in daylight is so rare that I was seized by a strange urge to go exploring, preferably in the woods, and NOT on a paved surface, as I find those get real boring, real quick. So I did a bit of research and discovered there is a short loop around a lake at the south of town.

It's called Lake Wilson Park, and it seemed likely to be deserted, woodsy and involving a body of water, which is another obsession of mine (a tough thing in a landlocked state). So I threw my dog in the back of the car (this isn't an exaggeration - she hates the car so much that I have to manually heave all 48 pounds of her into the car), and headed south.

Turns out the bridge was out (seriously), so I went with instinct and traveled further south, eventually finding my way to the right county road (road is a generous phrase) which led me to the park from the other side. Reports of its isolation were not mistaken, and as I was getting ready to head onto the trail, I felt that strange feeling that only single people can feel. Bridget Jones sums it up nicely in her first movie when she says:

Right there. That was the moment. I suddenly realized that unless some thing changed soon... I was going to live a life where my major relationship... was with a bottle of wine... and I'd finally die fat and alone... and be found three weeks later, half-eaten by wild dogs.

In this situation, it translates to:

Huh. Nice trail, really remote. No one around. I should probably tell someone I'm out here. After all, if I fall in the woods, no one's going to hear me, and it might be days before anyone realizes I'm missing. Sadie isn't the Lassie type to run for help. Hmmm...

Of course, it wasn't really as bad as all that. My cell phone still worked. So off I went.

It was lovely. The trail was covered in leaves, which meant I was paranoid that I would step wrong and fall on my face when my bum ankle decided to turn, but it made for a nice focus. It reminded me of a leg of a hike we took on the Grand Colorado Adventure, where the need to put one foot in front of the other took over, and there really wasn't room to think about annoying work emails, dishonest vendors, or why I feel the need to say "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas."

I snapped a couple of great photos along the way. It was magic hour, so the light was amazing. So was my dog, who is quite clearly in charge of the world in the photo at right.

It's a short hike, so before long I wound my way down where I was obviously supposed to cross a small stream/dam and get back to my car, a mere 30-40 feet away.

However, due to some heavy rains, the stream/dam was, well, if not quite a raging river, at least an impressive brook. I stood there for 10 minutes, dog patiently at my side, trying to figure out if I could cross without tumbling into the water, which, a few feet downstream, poured over a 20 foot high spillway. There was a lot of physics going on in my head, mixed with some statistics, and the basic answer was "there's probably a 1 in 4 shot that you'll be able to step on that pointy wet rock, leap to that pile of sticks that might be solid, after which you'll have vault over that rushing water into the mud, and hope you don't miss." I didn't like those odds, so I made like a pioneer and followed the river downstream, searching for a better place to cross.

Remember how I said it was magic hour? After magic hour, it starts to get dark, real fast. As I traveled further downstream, and further away from my car, I honestly started to wonder if I could make it back around the lake before nightfall. And if I couldn't, what then?

Eventually, I found my way to a spillway that had about 6 inches of slow moving water pouring over it, and I bit the bullet and waded in. On the other side, I gave fleeting thought to scaling the hill, but instead decided to try the trail again, even though it was going in the direction I didn't want to be going. There, I found a fence, climbed through the mud under it, and voila! There was the road. Blessed, blessed road. Not the way the trail was supposed to end, but it would do.

Slosh, slosh, back to the car, Sadie trotting happily along as if we hadn't just narrowly escaped spending a night in the woods.

What's the moral of this story? Probably the same thing moms always say when kids leave the house; dress in layers (I did), tell someone where you're going to be (I did), watch where you walk (I did), and try not to fall into the river. Sound advice, I'd say.

PS: The info on the website for the Lake Wilson Trail said "use caution when crossing the spillway portion of the trail." No kidding.

A day I need to remember

2011-12-14T17:45:00.000-08:00

Today was not a particularly awesome day.

I woke up later than I'd planned, to another gloomy morning.

There were too many meetings at work, which is normal but often mind-numbing.

I had to do a couple of pretty not-fun things at work related to sales and thorny vendor relationships.

My email inbox is overflowing.

It's been thunderstorming since 3pm.

I'm not done with my Christmas shopping.

Yet, oddly, I feel great. Here's a confession; I worry a lot about mood swings, based on family history and my own morbid imagination that ponders if, as a 35-year old single girl living in the marriage-focused, generally conservative mid-South, far from family, the Red Sox, the ocean and adequate snow removal equipment, I'm not a candidate for therapy. I really want to project a calm, easy attitude in all aspects of my life, but it's not easy, and I'm not successful as much as I'd like to be. So when I face a day like today, and come through it feeling good, if not downright chipper, I have to stop and take stock of what's changed.

And thus we arrive at the crux of why I need this blog entry today. The only thing that's changed? I have 3 days of eating well and exercising behind me.

***cue cymbal crash***

Now, I'm sure scientists (if they read this blog) would tell me I don't have enough data to make this causal connection. But since Monday, I've eaten all but one meal at home or via a packed lunch. I've stretched my walks with Sadie (in the dark!) so I'm getting at least 1.5 miles a day. I've filled my fridge and cupboards with "good" snacks, decided I can get away with half a turkey sandwich at lunch (with guacamole instead of mayo). I've taken my vitamins, eaten just one handful of mixed nuts as a snack. Given away (nearly) all my Cookiefest cookies. Not eaten after 8pm. These things may seem small, but they add up.

And yikes! When listed like that, those are a lot of bad habits to break at once.

Then this morning, I was building an outfit around some new boots I'd purchased. And suddenly, I spotted a skirt that, years ago, fit me great. And then a shirt that I'd worn last year, but hated because of how it just didn't fit. Slowly, tentatively, I pulled them out of the closet. I tried on the skirt...it fit. Ok, sure, we can attribute that to the magical powers of tights to trim the tummy. Then the shirt. And...holy crap. It fit. Without the straining of buttons I remembered. Then I put the boots on (wide legged knee boots, the only kind I've been able to buy), and...gasp...they are almost too big around the calves.

If you've never really worried about your weight (and I mean really worried, as in if I don't do something about this I'm endangering my future worry) you can't understand how good these things feel.

And how quickly your good mood can change.

That's why I think it's important to remember days like this. Days when things don't go well, and it doesn't ruin everything. All the books say that, when you eat right, you will feel better. They ALL say that. And yet, it's so easy not to. And then wonder why you are snarky and sensitive and grumpy.

There's no guarantee that tomorrow I won't be back here, writing rantish blog entries that I never publish because I might offend people.

But for today, I just had carrots with yogurt dip for a snack. I'm only eating one piece of pizza tonight at trivia. So for today, bring it on.

Chili, blogs and cookies. Two of the three are not good for my diet.

2011-12-04T21:31:00.000-08:00

Good grief. I guess the holiday season is here. Seriously, it's pretty insane the amount of food and fellowship I've already been exposed to over the last week, and that I've exposed my twitter and facebookverse to as well. Allow me to go on the record and officially apologize to all my dieting friends for the plethora of food photos I've sent into the interwebs this week...I'm sorry. I will try to do better, especially since I've been liking fitting into those old jeans recently, thank you very much.

Not that I'm complaining. Far from it. From the virtual interactions of new friends and blogs to explore on Arkansas Women Bloggers (still time to register, ladies, if you haven't already - they are doing giveaways) to the 1st Annual Walton Arts Center Staff Chili Cookoff to the 5th Annual Cookiefest with my gals Jennifer and Lisa, it's been a week full of festivities, and more are on the way.

I didn't win the Chili Cookoff, but I think it's worth a bit of applause that I even entered, considering that I've made chili twice in my life, including this time (we don't count the gallons upon gallons of chili I made while working at my family's deli, since that was done via a very precise recipe that allowed for no mistakes, and was also done under my mom's watchful eye). And not that I'm biased (well, ok, I am) but my chili rocked.

And then, Cookiefest. Ah, Cookiefest. Probably one of the best 1/2 dozen days in my year, when I get to hang out with two amazing friends and bake. And bake. And eat. And bake some more. In an effort not to break my "no eating in the evening" rule (which was obviously on hiatus during Cookiefest), I won't list the cookies we made. I'll just give you the stats, and an image that pretty much sums it all up.

70.5 dozen cookies made (that's 846 cookies)
2lbs of puppy chow made
17 different varietals of cookie

Yep, those are Cookie Monster T-shirts. Our names are on the backs. This is the real deal, friends. :)

We tried a new schedule this year, one that allowed us to gather in the morning, shop at leisure (with a little stop at a local holiday market where I dropped a cool $50 just like that), bake, eat and watch Wisconsin win a slot in the Rose Bowl, sleep, then wake and bake some more. Much, much better than working a full day in the office and THEN commencing. Why didn't we think of that 4 years ago?

In completely unrelated news, I nearly made a total ass of myself at the local Walgreens today when I stopped by to pick up some photos I needed to get developed (I know, right? How old school! It was a disposable camera that I took on the Colorado River portion of my vacation this past summer. More on that later). My photos weren't there. I was just starting to get huffy with the clerks when I realized I was at the wrong Walgreens. Ugh. In my defense, they both were on the northwest corners of the same main street through town, but still. How mortifying.

But after many apologies and a quick exit, I prevailed and eventually got my photos, and what a treat they were. Just a few shots from the first day of the Grand Colorado Adventure, but they took me back to the peace, beauty and stunning landscapes that another Jennifer and I used to feed our souls for a few days. It's official, folks. I have the travel bug. I want to go places. Lots of places. Immediately. Too bad about the whole work thing. Such a shame I have to do it in order to feed this travel habit I'm cultivating.

Another bonus of these photos is a gentle reminder that the days of tank tops will come again. I love fall/winter clothing with it's boots, blazers and, for Yanks like me, fleece jackets, but they often lull you into a false sense of body comfort. It's good to remember how very hard it was for me to allow myself to be photographed wearing a top like the one I'm wearing at left, and how very much I want to be able to wear whatever sleeveless shirt catches my eye next summer. So after a weekend of definite indulgence, it's time to get back on the horse.

Luckily I have a lot of people who need gifts/thanks for their support over the past year. Thus, let the next phase begin: Cookiefeast, where I share the love...and the calories...of Cookiefest with the world.

A very technology Thanksgiving

2011-11-27T20:07:00.000-08:00

It's hard to believe Thanksgiving is here and gone already. But whoosh, there it went, and now comes a slog of a couple of weeks filled with work days that are too long and evenings that are too short for all of the Christmas revelry that presents itself.

But before we skip to the eggnog and laments about the difficulties of attending Christmas parties alone, let's recap the last week or so. Since the National Arts Marketing Project, I've enjoyed blasting back in time to the 80's via the kick ass rock musical Rock of Ages. Sadly, there were many folks who decided, for whatever reason, not to see this show, and to them, all I can say is you missed out. Hearing "Don't Stop Believing" performed live by some pretty talented singers was way, way better than Glee. Also, during this time, my love affair with Twitter has only increased, aided by a new experience, a Twitter party, with the Arkansas Women Bloggers network. This was something else. It turns out that there are dozens of "chat" programs you can use to aggregate tweets on twitter, and follow certain hashtags (like #nampc and #arwb, for example). While this may be old news to many, it was new to me, and pretty cool. I've got a bunch of new followers and followees, so here's my official plug, ladies of the Mid-South: head on over to Arkansas Women Bloggers (using the convenient linked image at right) and register. It's free and it seems like a good bunch of gals to have on your side, especially if you like to cook and have kids (neither of which applies to me, but hey, every party needs an odd one out, right?)

Anyway, I got to enjoy this online community on Monday, while also watching the Pats on Monday Night Football, which sums up the dichotomy that is me pretty handily. Then came a shortened week of way too many meetings and deadlines for the few days before Thanksgiving, accompanied by some seriously frantic cleaning that included me scrubbing the floors by hand, mowing the lawn in the fading twilight, and vacuuming twice. Twice. I must have lost my mind.

Then, my parents arrived.

My folks are, in a word, awesome. They worked their butts off their entire lives and retired just this past spring, selling the family business and setting themselves up for a life of leisure from here on. So instead of flying to see me, they spare my mom from dealing with motion sickness and road trip it, stopping off for a little gambling in Mississippi along the way. How cool is that?

So they arrived on Weds and we went to Hugo's for dinner, followed by a stroll around the Fayetteville Square for Lights of the Ozarks, then went shopping. Some slight changes in plans meant that we had Thanksgiving at my place instead of a friend's, so we slapped the card table next to my dining room table and made a feast of it. There was some football thrown in there, a few trips to the dog park and a visit to Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art. And I regret that I don't have any photos of either of my parents sprawled out on the floor "wrassling" with my dog, but it did happen, and is just another example of their awesomeness.

But really, the weekend was about technology; specifically, the indignity that I suffered when my mom got to show off their fancy new IPhone 4. I still have a, harumph, 3G. This seems rather unfair considering that my parents have never sent a text in their lives before now, but life isn't fair, as our parents loved to tell us growing up. :) Thus I found myself playing the role of tech support, trying to explain the difference between a text message and an email, how the IPhone automatically (and sometimes randomly) put aps into folders and how to set up voicemail.

Now, to be fair, my mom picked it up pretty quick, and was soon sending pictures and texts like a pro. But it really became hysterical when we went to the museum, and we got separated. I had the idle thought that, if I was with my friends, I'd text them to find out where they were, but I was enjoying the paintings and didn't really think of it (plus the service in the museum is pretty spotty). So when my dad and I emerged into the light again, we found my mom waiting for us. She promptly turned to me and said "Jodi, I texted you three times! Where were you?"

OMG. LOL. As I checked the phone, it got better: she even used texting parlance: "where r u?"

We headed off to dinner at a pretty amazing restaurant called Tavola Trattoria in Bentonville, as as we were waiting for our table to be ready, mom was busy emailing photos to her friend. Then, as we sat down at the table, she pulled out the phone again, saying "I don't want to be rude but I want to make sure I did this right!" This struck me (and my brother, via text) as hysterical, more so when our food arrived and my dad tasted it and said "Wow. This is really good. Do I need to text someone about it?"

Anyway, this is probably only funny to me, but it was just such a great reminder that one should never underestimate one's parents.

So, 2011 is almost over. The next weeks will be a whirlwind, I'm sure, so for now, I'm glad I had a weekend of leisure with my folks, followed by probably the laziest Sunday I've spent in a while (my DVR queue is pretty empty thanks to today). My tree is up, my shopping has begun (sort of), and Cookiefest is next weekend. Bring it on, St. Nick. I'm ready for some holiday cheer (a little mistletoe wouldn't go amiss, either).

The National Arts Marketing Project Conference

2011-11-20T19:38:00.000-08:00

Well, so it's been a busy few weeks 'round these parts. In the midst of it, I was able to attend the National Arts Marketing Project Conference in Louahvull, KY (that's Louisville for you Yankees out there) last weekend. As I mentioned in a previous entry, it was an unusual conference for me, one where I listened more than spoke. This, it turns out, is a good strategy. It allows for new ideas to take root and dented confidence to heal a bit.

As I've said before, hanging out with marketers is cathartic if you are one yourself. After all, no one but a marketer can understand how hard we work to make good decisions, accept as many ideas as we can, and make the sales that make it possible for our colleagues to keep getting a paycheck. And how, despite our best efforts, a lot of it comes down to making guesses, educated ones, some good, some bad, but guesses nonetheless.

This year's conference was far more social media heavy than any conference I've been to, and I admit, it got a bit tedious. But it was a riot to be part of the twitteratti (#nampc) at the conference, and I used twitter as a form of note-taking, recording gems from our amazing keynote speakers and some of the more profound presenters. I also found myself tweeting with the guy sitting next to me, and met a woman I'd been following on twitter, only to find that, once we'd introduced ourselves, there was nothing left to say. Awkward. :) And I also, to my embarrassment and sheepish pride, received a basket full of fabulous bourbon goodies for tweeting the "funniest tweet" of the conference, which, it turns out, was quoting someone else quoting someone else. Good thing there's no copyright on tweets.

We got to visit the Louisville Slugger factory and museum (I held both Mickey Mantle and David Ortiz's bats!), and ate some pretty great food at the 21C Hotel's restaurant, Proof.

As for the wisdom gleaned from the conference, I think it can be summed up by the following:

*Research is key (good thing, cause I need some!)

*Let the data drive your decisions (and, it turns out, your need to manage up (your boss), down (your staff) and sideways (your peers))

*Engage rather than broadcast (so hard to do when everything is about sales)

*Your front line staff have more power than you ever will.

*Prayer should not be a marketing strategy (this was the tweet that was deemed funniest, which gives you an idea of how serious we marketers can be)

So all in all, it was a worthwhile weekend, capped off with a trip to Lynn's Paradise Cafe where I ate a world-famous Hot Brown, an incredible cheese/turkey sandwich in a bowl which probably set my diet back by two years. And now I'm back, and blissfully travel-free until Christmas. Thank goodness. My dog might eventually remember who she belongs to.

It's so easy to be bad...

2011-11-19T13:52:00.000-08:00

Just a quick note to reflect on how very easy it is in modern America to do the wrong thing. And I'm not talking about police pepper-spraying students. That's too big and scary for me to tackle right now. So I'll stick to the mundane.

The Sonic Effect

Today, I was scrubbing the floor a-la Cinderella, and mentally making plans to take my dog to the dog park. While also reflecting on how thirsty I was, this was my thought process:

Lazy Self:

Hmmm...this is hard work, this floor scrubbing. I could sure use a giant iced tea right about now. Oh, idea! If I drove to the dog park instead of walking, I could swing by Sonic during Happy Hour and get a huge iced tea. That would be awesome.

Self who is trying to lose weight:

Um, Lazy Self, wtf? One, you have tap water and sugar free iced tea mix right here in your house. Two, the tap water and sugar free mix you will drink here has no calories and is already paid for. Three, if you drive to the dog park, you are not exercising your dog, which is the whole point of going to the park. Four, if you to drive to the dog park, you are not exercising YOURSELF, who needs it most of any of us involved in this conversation. And five, if you get a big iced tea from Sonic, it comes in a giant Styrofoam cup, which will be here on earth for, oh, I don't know, 10 MILLION YEARS.

Lazy Self, ducking head in shame:

Ok, ok, jeez, we'll walk.

But the fact is, Lazy Self had the easier idea. Seems like most of the bad choices are the easier ones.

For example, when dining out, we all know the right thing to do is set aside half of a meal to pay attention to portion size. Have you ever done that? Whipped out your tupperware in the middle of a restaurant? I didn't think so. It's inconvenient, and basically says to the world "Hey! I'm overweight and I'm trying not to be! Isn't that great? Go ahead, look at me with pity. I love that."

On the flip side, there are the annoyingly easy tips like "Drink skim milk. Switch to diet soda." Great, thanks. I've only been doing that for my entire overweight life.

Ah well, if it were easy, we'd all be skinny, I guess.

But the good news is that since Self who is trying to lose weight won this debate (today, at least), this was the result:

8 minute blog entry

2011-11-12T14:09:00.000-08:00

I have 8 minutes to complete this entry before heading to a dinner while at a conference here in lovely Louisville. Actually, I have no idea if it's lovely since I've yet to be outside in the daylight.

Crap, 30 seconds wasted on typing that. Moving on.

Anyway, I'm here for the National Arts Marketing Conference, and I wanted to blog so I could document a really odd occurance. So far, I have enjoyed this gathering immesley because all I want to do is listen. Usually I sit at a table, steaming, because I want to be presenting myself, or sharing my great ideas.

Today, none of that. I'm soaking it all in, and having some fun retweeting the wisdom I'm hearing from others.

I feel this must be a sign of something - that I'm getting older and wiser, that I've either got more confidence in my ideas, such that I don't have to share them (unlikely) or that I have less confidence in my ideas, thus being oh-so-open to other people's brilliance (far more likely).

Either way, I like it. Now I'm off to have dinner at the 21C hotel, a branch of which will be opening up in my home region soon.

Whew. 2 minutes to spare. Not bad!

When art is not good for your health...

2011-11-09T20:56:00.000-08:00

This painting does not appear at Crystal Bridges Museum of
American Art, but a similar one does.
The South Shore Newport, Rhode Island,
Near Boat House Point, 1874
by William Trost Richards

So, here's the situation. I'm sick. I have head cold that is threatening to ruin some weekend travel, and I should have been in bed an hour ago.

However, Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art opens this Friday, and on Monday, I got a sneak peek in the galleries (well, my second one, really, but who's counting?). And I have become slightly obsessed.

My first time there, as we zipped through the 19th century room (full of Hudson River School work, so I'm told by those who know), I was drawn to a painting of breaking waves. I immediately wanted to stop and stand in front of it for hours and examine it. As I pondered the remarkable fact that I could in fact do this once the museum opens (since it's located just 30 minutes from my house. 30 minutes. !!), the tour rushed on, and I abandoned the painting.

Then Monday, I was there again, and we were being kicked out of that same gallery as the party wound down. So tonight, in honor of my head cold, I gave my preview passes to some friends, and settled in with my dog and some TV to try to recuperate. However, I couldn't stop thinking of this painting.

So I begged one of my pass-users to find the painting and tell me the artist so I could google him. She did. His name is William Trost Richards. I've never heard of him, which is no big surprise since I'm not up on such things. The painting, according to the label, is called "Along the Shore" and it was painted in 1903. Oil on canvas.

Here's the issue - I can't find this painting on the interwebs. Google is hiding it. Where in the world did Alice Walton get it, and why isn't it listed in the lists of this guy's work? What am I doing wrong? Where are my art history friends when I need them?

The good news is that the museum, and their library, is nearby, so eventually I'll figure this all out. But now, I can only marvel that I have spent a significant portion of my evening trying to track down information about a painting by an artist I'd never heard of until today.

I guess this is what happens when a major American Art museum comes to my town.

I'll take it.

Philosophical phonderings phrom Phoenix

2011-10-23T19:42:00.000-07:00

Well, Tempe, actually, but I couldn't pass up the chance to use the "word" phrom. And really, it's just the next town over. Though I'm sure my friends in Tempe would take umbrage to such a flippant dismissal of the differences, as I'm wont to do when airline pilots tell me that we're landing in Fayetteville, (city 25 miles south of more than 70,000 people) instead of in a former pasture in Highfill, AR (population just under 600).

Yesterday ended a series of travel adventures, some for work, some about but not for work, and others for fun, and all I have to say is thank goodness. It seems this happens every year around this time; I have trips left and right, and the result is that home, couch and dog take on a rosy glow.

Speaking of rosy glow, I was visiting ASU-Gammage, a Frank Lloyd Wright designed performing arts center that was large, round and orange. But interesting, that's for sure.

The conference was about marketing, and there is always immense comfort in hanging out with other marketing folks. They understand, frankly, that the statement made by the Gammage CEO (in jest) - "You all know that, if a show is a success, it's a great show, and if it's a failure, it's your fault" - isn't entirely untrue. I'd also add that everyone in the entire world thinks they know how to market something, and it's one of the great tests of a marketer's personal fortitude if he/she can graciously accept every idea and "I just want to help" that gets tossed out. I'm not very good at this, I will admit, but I'm trying. It just feels GOOD to sit with others who know exactly how you feel.

What doesn't feel so good is our insatiable need to share our great ideas, to prove to the room that we are smart and know what we doing. I can handle that for about 2-3 hours, then I start to fade off. I start to do things like idly browsing the photos on my cell phone, looking for those I can delete since I have over 1000 on there and I can't update my aps.

And here we arrive at the most remarkable thing that happened to me on this trip, and it had absolutely nothing to do with work.

While browsing my photos, I came across this photo of myself.

The odyssey of this photo is interesting, at least to me. It's from my brother's wedding in July, and until two days ago, I couldn't bring myself to post it, because all I saw in it was a curly haired gal who had her hair straightened and now wonders if everyone will say "gee, Jodi should straighten her hair more, she'd look so much better if she did," or a fat, single spinster at her younger brother's wedding. No doubt it will hurt some people to hear me say that, but it's how I felt.

Then the other night as I came upon the photo, I saw it with different eyes. I'm not sure what happened, but my attitude about myself has changed lately. Maybe it's because I've been able to fit into some old jeans, and notice some of my clothes hanging a little looser. Maybe it's finally getting some clarity on some things in my life that were weighing on me. Or maybe it's finally figuring out how to be proud of who I am while also striving to improve. I think that is really, really hard, because how can you "love yourself" when everything you are doing implies that who you currently are (physically, at least) isn't ok?

The other night, when I saw this photo, I found myself thinking "What the hell, Jodi? This was a beautiful night, a happy memory. So you're not as skinny as you want to be. Get over it, and keep working on it." But I also saw what a pretty picture this is, really, with the ocean and the colors. And I also found myself saying "You know what? I don't look half bad. Am I bigger than I want to be? Sure. But I've always been bigger than I want to be, and it shouldn't keep me from sharing a decent photo, for crying out loud." So up it went onto facebook, and the kind and complimentary comments came after. Genuine or not, they did warm my heart, and give me even more incentive to keep working and struggling, so that maybe after the next wedding, I won't have to wait months to post a photo of myself.

So a shout out to the dogged marketers at the conference for a bunch of great marketing ideas (I was listening even as I was photo-browsing), and for the discovery of this photo. If I hadn't tuned you out, I would have missed this great insight into myself. And for those who prefer the straight hair, tough luck; within 2 hours of this photo my hair was curling again. :)

From Farm Art to Football - a weekend in Madison

2011-10-23T18:49:00.000-07:00

I seem to recall, around this time last year, writing a similar post about my adventures in my beloved Madison, WI. This time (over the weekend of 10/13-10/16), I was back in town for a board meeting; doesn't it sound terribly impressive that I serve on the board of my super-awesome graduate program at the Bolz Center for Arts Administration?

I do have this habit of coming to Madison in the fall, when it's pretty much the best place on earth, with crispy fall New Englandish air and more arts, culture and amazing food than you could want. And friends, let's not forget those (more on them later). I choose to conveniently not wax poetic about Madison in mid-February (my last trip there when it rained/sleeted and there was a huge, jittery protest going on as the state had a non-violent civil war).

This trip involved a board meeting, true, but mostly the weekend was about art, football and food. For art, we enjoyed a unique project called the Farm Art D/Tour, a 55-mile loop through the Wisconsin countryside with random artworks and "culture stands" placed at intervals along the road. It was amazing, more so when I managed to get ahold of the wheel and thus prevent myself from getting carsick in the back seat. Coincidentally (and familiarly) my friend Jen (my compadre for the Grand Colorado Adventure) was in the front seat navigating as I rounded sharp curves. This time, however, if I'd gone off the road, I would have run into a corn field, not over a cliff to our untimely deaths.

Here is one of my favorite photos from this adventure:

We also visited some artist studios and later in the weekend, a dance/theater/multi-media/haunted house/installation piece that was indescribable, but cool.

Football was awesome as well, especially since we trounced the hapless Hoosiers, and the UW Band looked especially awesome.

And the food. Wow. Madison is a on a local food binge these days, or maybe it's just the friends I hung out with. But we ate well, from cheese curds to salted chocolate ice cream to Jen's incredible tacos that featured microgreens instead of lettuce. I wonder if they even sell microgreens in Arkansas.

And speaking of friends, it was a different group this time. A few of my fellow alums, one I'd never met, one of a different generation, and the occasional interloper from Germany/England who added some color commentary to our adventures. But it was still great, because for some reason, I feel safe and comfortable with these friends. There's not a lot need to censor myself, which I have to do a lot in my public life. And we all had that "go-with-the-flow" mentality that is so essential to extended visits; I didn't feel like I was imposing when I spent 4 nights on my friend's couch.

I also got some work-related goodness as well, but that's not for this forum; just suffice to say it was another chance to realize that, hey, I might know what I'm doing, and I might be appreciated more than I think.

It was another great trip.

Of course, waking up to this view probably impoved my outlook on life considerably:

On Wisconsin, indeed.

My good mood will not be defeated

2011-10-23T18:14:00.000-07:00

Originally written on10/8/11

Since I came back from my awesome adventures in Colorado, I have felt in better spirits than I can remember in quite some time. The heavenly fall weather doesn't hurt, that's for sure. I find myself in the strange position of feeling good about work, my progress in getting healthier and my hopes for romantic entanglements, along with a real, invigorating sense that I am seeing and appreciating the beauty of my world in more ways than one. This is a heady, awesome feeling.

However, I also know that it means that the other side of the coin, when and if it comes, could be seriously crappy. So in an effort to head off any impending grumpiness, I am going to allow myself a little mini-rant, fully realizing that I may offend, annoy or other otherwise implicate some of you. (or maybe not, since I'm not sure I even have any readers anymore who aren't bots) So, let us commence.

What the eff is up with these moronic drivers these days? I swear, I have almost been in a wreck at least 6 times in the last two weeks, and I was NOT at fault; I've been cut off, veered in front of, nearly rear-ended, and narrowly avoided a multi-car pileup on the highway. It's been a variety of offenders, too; the redneck in the pickup, the teenager texting and the perfect blond in the giant SUV. I wonder why so many people feel it's their right to drive like idiots? Oh, I forgot, it IS their right. Super.

I am singularly, seriously tired of our "cover your ass, take no responsibility for my mistakes, blame others" world. And I am not just talking about Congress. I know a lot of people, near and far, who need to, to quote Book of Mormon (the Musical), "man up."

Speaking of Congress, I get a newsletter from a local representative entitled "From the Front." It's petty, but this bothers me. I happen to have family and friends who are at or in "the Front." I'm pretty sure they are a long way from Washington DC. I'd unsubscribe in protest, but I think it's important to hear how our representatives are spinning themselves, even if I don't agree with them. So I'm relegated to complaining on the interwebs. Oh, the power.

And speaking of power, there is finally some zany movement on the left to counter the crazies on the right. Occupy Wall Street; I wish I knew what they stood for, but I have to admit I tend to believe that corporations with huge cash coffers and unlimited political influence are pretty dangerous to privacy and democracy. Is Occupy Wall Street the solution? I seriously doubt it. But I do appreciate that we're now considering that the enemy might not be teachers, union workers and immigrants.

Why does there have to be an enemy, anyway?

Ah well. I can't change any of these things. It just feels good to say them. Time to move on to better things, like sunshine, Broadway and film festivals.

Martha Graham is not a cracker

2011-10-06T20:37:00.000-07:00

Despite my public statements to the contrary, I don't really have much use for terms like "important" when it comes to art. When someone tells me that an artist or an artwork is important (thus implying that I'm ignorant or uncultured for not caring about her or it), I have to quell the urge to snark: "Says who? Why? Who decides what's important?"

So I feel no shame when I admit that I know Martha Graham was and is important to the world of dance (I can spout off the appropriate reverence when needed), but before tonight's show, I really didn't know why. But I was by gosh not going to miss the performance by her company tonight, if only to see what all the fuss is about.

Graham in her iconic solo Lamentation.
Photo Credit: Barbara Morgan.

I think I get it now, and at the risk of being blasphemous, it's not because Martha's choreography is all that pleasant to watch. Appalachian Spring, considered to be one of her most hopeful works, has ominous overtones that linger long after after the curtain falls. Her movement is interesting, weird, and highly symbolic, but it's not going to leave you significantly lighter of heart. It's not going to leave you, period.

It also helps to consider the context in which Martha began dancing and choreographing. It was the early 20th century. Women barely had the vote. War was rampant, as was poverty and social injustice. And from what little dance history I know, dance was about technique and presentation, about the beauty and lightness of a dancer defying gravity on a perfectly pointed toe.

So I can only imagine the knickers of the dance world getting twisted up big time by Martha's earth-bound, emotional, clomping, clapping, sarcastic, satirical dance. There were so few leaps and lifts in this show that when they did happen, you filled your lungs with air because you knew there wouldn't be more for a while. The dancers were strong, precise and compelling, but this night was about the choreography.

Blasphemy again, but the most interesting works on this program to me were the ones that weren't choreographed by Martha. Three young choreographers, back in 2007, created works inspired both by the anniversary of 9/11/01 and Martha's iconic (eek, there's another of those words!) work, Lamentation. These works reached into my gut and messed around, to point where, at the end of the third work, if the lights hadn't come up and the audience start to talk, I probably would have had a good old fashioned crying jag. Maybe it's because the memory of 9/11 influences me like World Wars I and II did Martha, or maybe I'm in a particularly sentimental mood; who knows. But after a heart-wrenching sequence of the entire company performing on stage with no one touching, making eye contact or even acknowledging their shared grief, a couple finally comes together, and I told myself "well, at least they found each other." And then, like wax melting on a candle, the woman in the couple sinks to the floor, leaving the man hugging nothing but a memory. Cue the tears and get this girl a tissue, would you?

Martha sounds like, from what we learned tonight, a fiery, passionate - dare I say bitchy? - woman who was determined to be different. So what surprised me most about tonight was how familiar the dances seemed. And that's how I know Martha Graham was important to modern dance. Her aesthetic has become part of modern dance, so that when I see a flexed foot or a strange bend of the arm, it doesn't look odd...it looks normal. But it wasn't normal when she did it. It was revolutionary.

So you go, Martha Graham. I humbly admit that you were pretty darn important. And I will hereby and henceforth do my best to make sure that you are not confused with a tasty cracker that goes great with marshmallows and chocolate.

Musings from an Inn...

2011-09-24T20:34:00.000-07:00

As I sit in a cozy chair by the window of my Inn (the only one near the outlet) patiently waiting for the mess the airlines made of my flights to be sorted out, I've stumbled upon a bit of mystery.

I just looked out through the film of the gauze curtain and realized I'm about 50 feet from a building across the street, and just a few lights are on in there. I can see a person move around the room, and as I draw the gauze back, I feel like a spy or a voyeur, looking across a misty alley into someone else's life. As I watch, the light flicks off, and I drop the curtain. Then the light comes on in the next room; someone's going to bed after being in the living room or kitchen; were they doing the dishes, filling out a crossword, calling a lover? Both of these window have curtains. Two floors up, a florescent light blares without curtains to soften it, and no one moves.

This just begs for some Gershwin, not the tinny Mozart playing from my IPhone. The person in the curtained room could be a lonely widower, or a sleep-deprived writer who is just pages from the next great novel. The florescent room could house a workaholic, a chain-smoking trader or ad man who is avoiding his wife by claiming important work. Or a social worker, poring over case files each night, trying to find a way to help another lost child.

Or, even more curiously, someone could be watching me type with his/her own imaginary soundtrack playing, and he/she should be imagining that I'm writing the next great novel.

The florescent lights have gone off, and I'm still on hold. I guess I have the airlines to thank for this little moment of mystery. Sleep well, world, and take a moment to think about what your neighbors across the street might be creating or dreaming tonight. It's fun little journey.

The Grand Colorado Adventure, Parts II and III

2011-09-20T21:36:00.000-07:00

Here's a hint for all of you out there - don't wait two weeks to blog about your vacation. It takes longer to conjure up what happened, and it's not nearly as much fun. However, it's also kind of nice to go back and try to reconstruct the days.

(Full disclosure: long blog entry ahead, proceed at your own risk)

"Views from Lunch #2, 9/4/11, Estes Park, CO"

So, when we last left off, I was sitting in a cafe writing and working crosswords and generally communing with Colorado. I left the cafe and headed out for a solo walk along the riverfront, just enjoying the weather and the air. Then my friend and I met up for some shopping. There was a terrific art fair going on in Estes Park, and I dutifully supported local Colorado and Wyoming artists by purchasing more than I should have, but I love all of my newfound treasures, especially my glass necklace, which we'll talk more about later. Next came lunch (with wine!) at a slightly overpriced Italian restaurant with a lovely view (see above left), thus beginning my photo series "Views from Lunch", which was completely unintentional but fun, nonetheless. (Note - I still haven't developed the rafting photos, so "Views from Lunch #1" will have to come later)

Next, we tracked the signs to the Alpaca market and spent a few moments learning about this crazy-looking species who's wool is soft and lovely. Turns out a pair of Alpaca (Alpaci? Alpacus?) sell for a cool $25K, and they are kept mostly as pets. We got to see a baby one, too, which was officially cute.

Then we took a drive up, up, up the Trail Ridge Road to a series of scenic overlooks where we took dozens of photos and I learned how to drive on a two lane road, 9000 feet up, with no guardrails. This would come in handy the next day, but I get ahead of myself. The views were just amazing, and we passed through at least 4 different zones of vegetation. I have too many photos to share them all but one of my favorites is at right - it's the Alpine Tundra, but it looks like another world.

Back down the mountains we went, stopping to visit with some elk along the way, eventually finding our way to a fabulously yummy Indian restaurant called Nepal's Cafe, which, despite being a tad shabby and dirty, served amazing food and countered the mediocrity of the cuisine on our trip so far.

One thing that was evident about Estes Park on Labor Day weekend was that there are a LOT of families with kids there, and that can definitely cramp one's style. So, the next day, we set out for an early morning foray, on foot this time, into Rocky Mountain National Park. We were on the trail by 8:30 or so, and I personally did a lot of self-back-patting, because we reaped the rewards when we visited Bear Lake in the cool (and generally quiet) morning air. Only a mere 9400 feet in elevation, it's a very popular trail, and you can see why at left. Then we struck out for Alberta Falls and Mills Lake, about 2 - 2.5 miles one way, on our way to 10,000 feet (give or take a few). There were just too many gorgeous views, vistas, waterfalls and cliffs to mention.

Eventually, just when I was starting to wonder "are we there yet?", the lake popped into view. After some oohs and aahs, we trekked to a quiet lakeside rock to eat of our Comfort-Inn-created lunch of PB&J on pilfered bagels. I had my most meditative moment of the trip, sitting cross-legged at the water's edge, listening to nothing and everything and wishing I could just stay there forever. Here's what I saw:

Views from Lunch #3, 9/5/11, Mills Lake,
Rocky Mountain National Park

But alas, we had to head back, and so we did, stopping briefly when my ankle decided, as it often does, to roll on me, and I face-planted onto the trail. My friend, to her credit, didn't laugh (or at least not too loudly), and I did my best "nothing to see here, everything's fine" bit while attempting not to limp on. Down we trekked, and did some more self-back-patting as the trail filled up with families and kids, and by the time we got back to the trailhead, we were sufficiently sweaty, tired, and happy.

Food seemed like a good idea, and remembering that there was a restaurant at the top of the Trail Ridge Road, we decided to take the back route to the top, the Old Fall River Road, the first road ever to cross into the Rocky Mountains. It's a one-lane, one-way dirt road that is supposedly "safe" to drive, but I'm not ashamed to admit it freaked me out a bit. Ok, more than a bit. Huge ruts meant that you bounced and skidded and risked terminal damage to the undercarriage of your car, and the switchbacks were insane. And of course, there were no guardrails of any kind (the natives didn't need 'em, so why should we?). The views were spectacular, but I was gripping the wheel so hard that my muscles were sore the next day. It was worth it; I just won't do it again.

Views from Lunch #4, 9/5/11,
Alpine Visitors Center, RMNP

Anyway, we made it to the top and the Alpine Visitors Center, and made like Hobbits with a Second Lunch. A little shopping at 12,000 feet, and then back down we went on the luxurious paved road (for the wimps - real drivers drive dirt roads!). By the time we got back to town, showered and changed, the entire place had rolled up the sidewalks and we had to beg the hotel clerk to tell us of a bar that was still open. We wound up at The Rock Inn, a local hangout where the kitchen closed at 10pm on the dot. I got to enjoy watching my friend attract the men in the bar (a familiar theme by this point), and over local beer (mine was blueberry and very yummy - don't judge!) made plans for our final day.

Views from Lunch #5, 9/6/11
Dushanbe Tea House, Boulder, CO

The following day dawned rainy and gray, and we said goodbye to the Park and headed to the flatlands. Our destination: Boulder, where we were greeted with medicinal marijuana signs and the Celestial Seasonings Factory, which, curiously, made me not want to drink Celestial Seasonings tea (not exactly the outcome they were hoping for, I imagine). Perhaps it was that we were bound for the Boulder Dushanbe Tea House, which served incredible food and sold amazing loose-leaf tea, and where I took the final in the "Views from Lunch" series (at left). We visited an impressive 3-story bookstore on Pearl Street, dodged the rain a bit more, and then headed off to the airport. After a brief tussle with the rental car agency (tell me why I would agree to pay $8 per gallon for gas, hmmm?) had our final meal in the airport before departing for reality and our respective homelands.

Whew. Now that the play-by-play is over, I found myself reluctant to bore you with too much of my philosophical musing, so I guess I'll just say I haven't enjoyed a vacation/adventure like that in a long while. I turned off and/or ignored my email, and since we spent a great deal of time simply putting one foot in front of the other (or in my case, attempting not to drive off a cliff or fall flat on my face), there wasn't a lot of time for fake stress. I came back feeling really, honestly refreshed, and the feeling lasted for a while. It's fading now, which brings me to my glass necklace, which I've chosen to wear as a sort of talisman, reminding me to try to get back to that place of peace in my head, where the worries about life, love and livelihood are not big enough to erase the joy of being in the moment, celebrating fresh air, nature and blue skies, which just so happen to exist here in Arkansas, too. Cheers to that. Special thanks to Trip Advisor, unofficial sponsor of our adventures, and thanks to my friend, Jennifer, for being an excellent chipmunk stalker and great travel companion. Hope we do it again sometime.

If This is It?

2011-09-10T12:10:00.000-07:00

Astute readers will note that Part II of the Grand Colorado Adventure has not been blogged upon yet; never fear, it's coming.

However, I feel the need for a little rant.

Last night, I attended a free performance by Huey Lewis and the News, one of my favorite bands from childhood. In the mid-80's when their albums Sports, Fore and others were popular, my parents were listening to them, and so was I. They were my first live rock concert. At my brother's wedding recently, "The Heart of Rock & Roll" was on the wedding mix, and the DJ was befuddled, as were most of the wedding guests, who I guess didn't groove to Huey's raspy voice and rockin' tracks in their youth. However, the 7,000+ people crowding the parking lot last night to see these aging musicians got it. I'm just sad that they didn't appreciate it more.

Let me say again that this concert was free. No cost to get in. For those of you out there who might not understand the math, that means that someone paid the artists fees, travel costs, production fees for that big 'ol stage that sprung up on the asphalt, and then opened the gates. There's a lot of free music out there these days; concerts in the park, at bars, festivals, etc. I could go on for hours about how I hate that we've come to expect music for free, and get mad when we have to shell out some cash for it. But that's a rant for another day.

Two things jumped out to me last night.

1. About 5 minutes before the show ended, as Huey was winding up his encore and teasing the crowd about what song he was going to sing, he made one last final plea (and it was a plea, more than a little desperate) for people to buy his new album. Clear as day, the woman behind me said (I'm paraphrasing): "He'd BETTER not play one of his new songs right now. I want an OLD song."

2, As we walked out of the parking lot, the ground was covered in crushed beer cans.

Number 2 is easy to lament; we're slobs. If a trash can isn't in sight, we figure, "hey, that's their problem," and chuck our trash onto the ground. Oh, there are just so many parallels for this small action in how we treat our world these days, but lest I be accused of being a liberal communist who wants to destroy industry by cleaning up our air, I'll move on.

It's Number 1 that truly gets me a'ponderin'. Last night, the crowd tolerated the band's new music. I'll admit I wasn't as excited to hear that music as I was the old hits that I remembered from past, but I enjoyed them, and thought they lent a nice feel to the evening. But toward the end, I heard rumblings from more than just the lady behind us. There was a feeling of "I didn't come here to hear new music. I came to hear the songs that are familiar to me." Huey himself zinged this sentimentality by lamenting, before they sang Power of Love; "Who knew, 25 years ago when we wrote this song, that we'd have to sing it every night of our lives?" Can you imagine that? You're an artist, you're on the road, and you have sung the same song every show for a quarter of a century. That tenacity, and the ability to make it sound good each night, amazes me, much as the ability of a Broadway actor to perform a role 8 times a week, week after week after week.

At the risk of being too intellectual, I think this phenomenon, which has existed ever since live performance became a thing, says something about us as a people. We crave what's familiar. We crave what's safe. The new stuff is interesting, but it doesn't touch a chord inside us. In fact, when it comes right down to it, we merely tolerate the new stuff. Oh sure, there's that self-identified "new music" crowd, but I'll bet even they beg their favorite bands to play the hits. Sadly, I think this mentality translates into politics, movies and social change, too.

Still, though, I have to give props to musicians like Huey Lewis and his band for trying, even in the face of our laziness, to create something "new." Maybe someday a Huey cover band will play one of the songs on his 2010 album. It's a long shot, though, when the Heart of Rock & Roll is still beating. :)

Grand Colorado Adventure, Part I

2011-09-04T08:43:00.000-07:00

"You need an adventure, not a vacation."

The friend who casually said this to me probably doesn't know that I have taken it as a kind of mantra. It perfectly described why I kept wanting to do a national park trip. And it's led to me being here, in a bustling coffee shop in the Rockies.

Granted, my idea of "adventure" is pretty tame compared to most. For our river guide yesterday, it means rock-climbing up a cliff that has never been climbed before. For me, it means a new place, with some amazing natural beauty, and maybe a bit of outdoor activity; it's a trip that doesn't involved visiting friends or family in their natural habitats. But it also means finding a coffee shop and taking some time to reflect on why I need this adventure and what has happened so far.

The adventure began on Friday with a trip on Southwest from Tulsa to Denver. This is unusual in that I normally fly out of our overpriced yet convenient local airport, and I don't get to enjoy the quirks of flying Southwest. Like the brightly colored planes, the friendly (sort of) jostle for the best seats, the singing flight attendants, the peanuts on board (!) and the whole "Bags Fly Free" thing, which definitely made packing easier.

The flight was largely uneventful, if you don't count the fact that we circled for a while to avoid a large thunderstorm (that I could see from the window). We were treated to a little rainbow as we taxied in to our (occupied) gate.

Then my friend and I were off to acquire our rental car. After a cordial battle with the rental car agent (why is it always SO difficult to get what you actually reserved at a rental car company? No, I don't need the extra horsepower, Mr. Agent Man. Why do you assume that since I'm a girl I won't understand that you're trying to fleece me?)

Our drive up to the town of Estes Park was dark. We couldn't see the mountains that we knew we were driving into. Then to the hotel to crash, which wasn't that easy for me; when you're used to sleeping alone, it's a little weird to be in the same room with another person.

Which brings me to the awesomeness of the particular friend I am traveling with. This is a friend that I know from business school, but we weren't in the same class. In fact, we have gotten to know each other via conferences, serving on a board together, and some involved facebook chats. So when I tossed this out to the facebook universe a few months back:

I'm thinking of visiting a National Park this summer. Anyone wanna join me?

I didn't really think I'd get a response. But this friend said she was in and thus began a planning process that took too long but eventually led us here. And so far, we seem to be good traveling companions. Neither of us seem to be terribly agenda driven, and I think we both need this break for different reasons. All that is to say, I slept better last night.

But I get ahead of myself. Yesterday was an amazing day. We were up at the crack of dawn (and nearly missed our van) and driving over the mountains to get to the Colorado River. We got up to 12,000 feet (two miles above sea level) and then wound our way back down. We wound up on a boat with a strangely delightful group that included our guide Nate, a bit of a stereotypical adventure seeker who still had us laughing and enjoying ourselves, a father-son duo from Denver, and three sisters who were spending a few days together before one of them shipped off to Afghanistan for a year-long deployment as a field medic. I bought one of those old-school disposable cameras, so the wait time to see the photos will be longer than normal. But, here's the thing. I have always had this vision in my head of "rafting the Colorado". If one can have a bucket list at 35, this was on it. The natural beauty was all I'd hoped for. About the only negative was I could have done with less floating and more rapids, but hey, we were beginners. (I fully intend to go back, and demand more chances to risk my life on whitewater.) And then we all wound up at the cantina for dinner, where unfortunately the much-hyped avocado margarita was not all I wanted it to be.

So as I sit here enjoying the buzz of conversation, the clean light and the blue, blue Colorado sky from my coffee shop corner, I don't really know why adventure is what I need right now. It might be that a lot of things in my life feel stalled at the moment, and out here, at least, everything is new and beautiful. It might be that nagging feeling that time is moving too fast, and there are too many things I haven't seen and done yet. Or maybe it's just that I miss the mountains.

Whatever it is, I can't wait to see what happens next.

Blessings

2011-08-23T20:59:00.000-07:00

Blessings is a word I don't use very often. Mostly because it smacks of religion, and I'm not religious in the traditional (or really any) sense of the word. It always feels hypocritical for me to use it.

However, as I navigated through today, one of those crazy up and down days, that was the word that kept coming back to me.

First, I woke up under a cloud of gloom for no apparent reason. Within moments of rising from bed, my dog had figured out that I'd best be left alone. I had to turn around at the end of my street because I'd forgotten my makeup, and heaven forbid I go to a meeting without makeup.

As I headed through the spitting rain toward the first traffic light on my route to work, grumbling about the returning college students and how they screw up the traffic...what should appear but a rainbow, with the shadow of a double, staring me smack in the face as if to say "quit bitching, Jodi." Blessing.

At a business meeting that morning, I had a moment of weakness and confessed to the roomful of women that I was having a gloomy morning, and I got to witness what only women can truly understand; the whole room tried to cheer me up, en masse, with a quick word or thought, and then we got down to business. No fuss, just some support, and then we were on our way. Blessing.

Next came an awards luncheon. These make me uncomfortable, because while I confess that I enjoy being recognized I also can't help but feel that humility should be more important than recognition. Still, I got to spend about an hour with 2 business leaders who have decades of experience being innovators, and their advice was smart and wise and funny and perfectly timed for me. I needed to stop worrying about management for a few minutes and think about leadership, and that's what I did. Blessing.

I arrived back at the office and was greeted by a gorgeous bouquet of flowers and a card that read "Jodi Bad-Assnoska", prepared by my staff in congratulations. Blessing.

Messages of congratulations poured in all day via facebook, email and text. Blessing.

There was an earthquake in the Mid-Atlantic where friends and family live. Everyone is fine. Blessing.

Then came a chance to tell a stranger why what we do at Walton Arts Center is exciting and important. Blessing.

Despite all of the good, by this point in the day, exhaustion was setting in. I skipped an event and headed home to my dog and my streaming Hulu, thinking vaguely that I was being lazy and should do something more productive. I ordered pizza to be delivered, despite knowing that I should be eating nothing but veggies for dinner. And I slumped on my bed feeling tired and overwhelmed by the thoughts in my head, big thoughts about my life, the direction I want to take it, and what my future holds.

But then facebook started to liven up, so much so that I had to turn off the streaming Hulu. More congratulatory messages came through. A friend and I booked flights for a weekend getaway to the Colorado Rockies. A bunch of friends wanted to chat. Tentative plans were laid for a trip with another friend. I realized how wide and varied my network of friends is, and how awesome that is. Many blessings.

Feeling re-energized once again, I headed out with Sadie (to attempt to walk off the pizza) in the humid sunset, and rediscovered my "walking" IPod mix. We had a great walk, the longest we've been on in a while, and it felt amazing. I had a moment of clarity as I strode through the 'hood, my dog at my side, music in my ears. I may not be as skinny as I want to be, but I am blessed to be able to walk quickly, run if I choose (no thanks) and keep going for as long as I want to.

All those big life questions still linger. They haven't gone away. But putting them in perspective is the legacy of today's blessings, I think. When you have friends, family, two legs that work, an IPod, employment and an awesome dog, you are blessed.

Thinking small

2011-08-17T21:20:00.000-07:00

I hate politics. I really do.

It brings out the contrary side of my nature; you know, that teenager-like side that refuses to agree with your parents no matter what they say?

It gives the undeserving far more than their alloted 15 minutes of fame.   Oooh, here's a new rule that will solve our budget issues in a few months - politicians (and pundits) who get more than 15 minutes of fame should be taxed for the excess.

It forces us to distill hugely complex problems into tweets/soundbites, which are decidedly not helpful. For example, from the right: Obama sucks. From the left: Republicans suck. From the middle: WTF is going on?

I spend a lot of time (too much) thinking about these issues on a macro level, worrying about lofty things like "society" and "our culture." (Especially when egged on by my dad, who delights in forwarding me emails that he knows will get my blood pressure up. :) ) I'm not sure why I do this. I'm not a politician, academic, journalist or celebrity foster mom. I'm just a gal from rural NH with delusions of grandeur. Clearly, I am blessed to have the time for this kind of thought; after all, I'm not out hunting boar or building a shack from pine needles.

Today in a meeting, I was expressing that I simply could not figure out how to take a large map of available parking and shrink it down to a business card size. I have been trying for weeks and can't seem to make it work in my head. It's a mental block, and it's ridiculous. I can whip out a 34 page brochure like nobody's business, but this little project is confounding me. One of my staff sweetly and jokingly said "You just can't think small." We all laughed, but I think she's on to something.

Here are the facts:

I have one vote.

I am not a lobbyist.

I am not a lawmaker.

I am not a thought leader. There are probably 8 people who read this blog. (and I love each and every one of you!)

These facts clearly illustrate that I will not change the world anytime soon. I think it's time to go back to striving for smaller victories. Time to use the brains and skills I've acquired to do some fruitful and useful work, instead of obsessing over faulty forwarded emails and the infuriating genius of Fox News. Time to focus in on what I actually have the power to change.

And unfortunately, time to realize that changing my dad's mind about politics is a bigger job than I can handle, one that might require lobbyists. Love ya, Dad, even if you are misguided. :)

(addendum: while search for a funny photo/image to post with this entry, I came across these two books, which brightened my mood considerably. I think I know what I'm getting my Dad for Christmas. Both are available on Amazon.com)

Musings on trademarks and writing for TV, among other things...

2011-08-10T21:14:00.000-07:00

I began this entry yesterday, and left it because it felt a little too "first-world-issues" for me. But after a day of reflection, I've decided to publish it anyway, with a little addendum.

***
Today began with reading in the editorial section of our local paper that the phrase "We didn't come to paint" is being trademarked by the University of Arkansas Athletic department so they can make t-shirts and assorted schwag with it. Apparently the football coach coined this phrase (or borrowed it from a colleague) in reference to what they (the team) DID come to do (win in ballsy fashion). Apparently painting = not winning. Nice metaphor for our society's dismissal of creativity. And before anyone groans and gives me crap for being overly sensitive and elitist, allow me to assure you that I know that football raises billions of dollars for the university and art, well, doesn't. But seriously, why couldn't he pick on gardening or knitting? Those would work too if we must have another t-shirt.

Ah well, I suppose if that's all I have to worry about today, I'm doing fine, considering that Britain is burning and thousands are starving in Africa.

In other news, and speaking of football, I've become a bit obsessed with Friday Night Lights (thank you, streaming Netflix). In addition to enjoying the soap-operatic dramatics of this tale of Texas football (which in the 2nd season doesn't have much football going on), I've discovered a key to successful TV writing; make like your characters don't have phones. It's WAY more interesting to have a horny teenager knock on a fellow horny teenager's front door to ask the former if she would like to go to the dance with the latter, or to apologize for a fistfight in the cafeteria or some such. These folks could definitely use the phone for these interactions, but a) that's no fun, and b) those characters need the exercise so they can stay chiseled and sexy.

***
Present day addendum

It rained today, and the temperature has dropped about 25 degrees. It's blissful. I couldn't bring myself to use an umbrella, and I couldn't help but wish for my isolated backyard in NH where I used to run outside in a sports bra and stand in the rain like Tim Robbins in Shawshank Redemption, face tipped up to the water. With the cooler temps, and a few trees that have been baked by the sun, it nearly feels like autumn. Except it's barely August. Weird weather world we live in these days.

I've gotten into the habit of nighttime walks with Sadie since the heat made them a necessity, so tonight, even thought it was a cool evening, we went out late. It was a beautiful, but unsettling night, which seems appropriate for me right now. A bright 2/3 moon, stars, racing clouds and lightening all around, 360 degrees of it, like being in a planetarium. People always say "you could smell the ozone", which never quite makes sense to me (what does ozone smell like, really?), but something in the air frizzed the hell out of my hair and had my senses on edge. I was glad to find my way into the relative safe haven of my house.

Yet at the same time, I wanted to just stand in the middle of it and let whatever was brewing happen in a flash of lightening and smoke at my feet. Maybe it would have revealed something I'm waiting to discover.

Or maybe I'm trying to make my life into a fantasy novel.

Who knows. But the moment has passed. The dog is curled up on the chair, and I'm procrastinating heading to bed, knowing how hard it's been to fall asleep lately.

Time to give it a try. Sweet dreams to all.

Schadenfreude, diets and wanderlust: It's a random thought kind of night

2011-08-01T20:52:00.000-07:00

Random thought #1

Ok, I know it's completely uncharitable to take solace in the misfortune of others. It generally leads to bad karma. I try not to (unless the person is a real jerk who completely deserves it, of course). For example, while golfing the other day (and achieving my first par of the summer), my friend and I made lots of fun of the guys ahead of us who couldn't hit the ball to save their lives. We paid for it, though, in those final 7 holes of missed shots and generally suckiness of play.

So it's with some shame that I just have to share this image of the back of a script I was reading recently:

If you look closely, you will see not one but two editing errors in those last two quotes. As someone who sweats bullets and loses sleep over the proofing process of a major publication, I can't help but be slightly in awe of whatever editor let this book go to print with those errors. And I hang my head at how relieved I was when I saw that someone else had screwed up worse than I.

***
Random thought #2

Losing weight is hard. If it was easy, we wouldn't be a nation of obese people. I really hate how much you have to pay attention to your food choices in order to make any kind of progress. It feels like every meal, every single thing you buy or even think about buying has to be scrutinized and analyzed, thus sucking every drop of taste and enjoyment out of the food. And even then, it's hard. For example, I KNOW that eating in the evening is worst way to lose weight. I know this. It's proven. Yet, I really, really wanted that ice cream cone as I drove home from returning a movie tonight. It's 100 frickin' degrees out at 9pm, and has been for weeks! It's summer. The Sonic is RIGHT THERE. It's only .99. For two miles I wrestled with myself, and I won. And now here I sit, drinking my crystal-lite-flavored water and still really wanting that ice cream cone. My small moral victory doesn't feel very victorious, especially since I know I will just have to do the same thing tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after, for months, and even then, there's no guarantee it will work, because I will probably miscount some other food I eat on those same days. Blergh. Pass the chips. (just kidding)

***

Random thought #3

A friend told me a few weeks back, after hearing me whine about wanting to travel (and not just to see family and friends), that I need an adventure, not a vacation. I've been mulling that over; it's a fairly profound thought for facebook chat. :) This same friend travels constantly, and I envy that, but I know I couldn't do it all the time. I like my house, and having a dog, and a job and friends whom I see every week. (Not to mention traveling is an expensive habit!) But still, there's something to be said for going somewhere just for the sake of going. It's harder to do this when you're single; your married/coupled up friends would much rather vacation with their family and fellow couples than come on an adventure with you. But then, I suppose it might also be easier; after all, we singletons don't have to worry about family activities or pulling kids/spouses out of work. Yet, I think it takes some guts to travel to a new place alone. I did it last summer, and while it was fun, I had to psych myself up for it. But then again, really, it comes down to determination. I guess, like usual, I just need to get off my ass, quit complaining, and do something.

Anyone wanna go bungee jumping in New Zealand this weekend?

Best morning ever, or, why my dog is awesome

2011-07-27T16:36:00.000-07:00

It must be the heat, but I've been getting up earlier these days without as much trouble as before. It could also be the focused stare of my dog, who is usually up before me. You know, that "will you get your ass out of bed so I can pee?" stare. Dog owners will symphathize.

This morning I bounced (relatively speaking, which meant I only hit snooze twice) out of bed and was dressed and ready to go by 7:30. That's WAY too early to be in the office in the summer, so I decided to take the pooch to the park. She'd been in my pocket all evening before and again in the morning, just so tired of being cooped up in this heat that she was practically jumping out of her skin. So, to the dog park.

The park was empty and the small dog side had shade, so we hung out there. Sadie was in a playful mood, and I managed to capture one of her funnier performances; it's her victory lap, where she taunts the other dogs with her conquest of a Frisbee. But there were no dogs today, which made it even funnier. Enjoy, and watch for the little moment at the end where she hears me call her and she turns away as is if to say "Whatever, Jodi. You're not the boss of me."

Aggressive butterflies and other not-so-made-up paradoxes

2011-07-26T20:17:00.000-07:00

Who is "they", anyway? I'm not sure, but they told me that butterflies are aggressive.

Ahem. Sorry - allow me to explain.

Today, while walking through the sweltering heat to lunch, I passed the beautiful little garden that sits next to my theater. It's a lovely spot, and contrasts mightily with the black, sticky parking lot nearby. There are always butterflies flitting about. Today was no exception, except that the butterfly I saw was unusually beautiful and close and unafraid of me, so I got to study it a bit. Of course, I must have looked like an idiot crouched over peering at a flower, but it was a nice little "stop and smell the roses" moment. I thought of taking a picture, but then I decided I could be content with a picture in my imagination rather than on my camera. That was a nice poetic thought that took me on my way to lunch.

On the way back from lunch, lo and behold, the same butterfly was still there (at least I think it was the same one), busily working away to divest that stubborn flower of its pollen. Ok, I said to myself, this is just too good to not try to photograph. So I clumsily held out my phone, expecting the butterfly to flee, but no, that was one industrious little gal. I managed to snare this rather awesome photo:

And back I went to the office, where a random conversation prompted me to show the photo to some coworkers.

Then I, in my weirdness, blurted out "Don't they say that monarch butterflies are aggressive?"

My coworkers got a huge kick out of this. "Where did you hear that?" "Who's 'they'?" "Have you been wondering this for years now?" etc. I, of course, allowed that I may have made this up, but silently vowed to look it up when I got home.

So I just asked my good pal Lady Google to show me the goods. She delivered, and it turns out that I am partially right. There are aggressive breeds of butterflies, like the Red Admiral, "a conspicuous and aggressive butterfly that often claims a territory, like a road through a woods or even a parking lot, and defends it against all comers."

With that little mystery solved (although I still can't remember from what "they" I heard it), I was of course left pondering paradoxes like "aggressive butterflies." This, naturally, made me wonder if I really know the definition of paradox, so again I got some help from the interwebs and discovered that a paradox actually means:

A statement or proposition that seems self-contradictory or absurd but in reality expresses a possible truth.

So aggressive butterflies qualify. So do healthier Happy Meals. Or a downgrade of the US credit rating.

***
More random thoughts:

I discovered tonight that my dog is afraid of sprinklers. This would be funny if it didn't mean I have a wuss for a dog; when she sees things that frighten her, she hides behind me. So much for my own personal doggy bodyguard.

Speaking of bodyguards, as I strolled through 'hood in the dark/dusk these past few nights, I've been pondering what would be the better self-defense weapon: my fraidy-cat dog, my keys (dutifully clenched so the keys are like spikes) or the bag of dog poop I carry on these walks? Seriously, I think the latter might be my best bet.

I wasn't the only one trying to get some "fresh" air at 9pm or later tonight. There were kids riding their bikes and skateboards in the street, under the streetlights and the watchful gaze of their parents. I wonder if this is our future as temperatures get hotter; staying inside when the sun is out, and coming out to play at night. That sounds like a sci-fi screenplay that someone has already written.

Speaking of heat, yesterday the 10-day forecast crashed my IPhone. I'm not kidding.

On that cheery note, I think it's time to call it a night.

A wedding, a world cup, and Harry Potter...week in review

2011-07-19T20:28:00.000-07:00

There's nothing that makes a gal reflect and ponder quite like a wedding. I imagine it's the same for everyone; if you're married, a wedding makes you think about your wedding, and your marriage. If you're not, a wedding makes you think about the wedding you hope you will have some day. Relationships, family, loyalty, pageantry, symbolism: they're all tied up in this strange tradition that we as humans have adopted as the norm.

It's no wonder that so many plays and movies have been made about weddings; they are like chemistry experiments. Throw a bunch of stuff in a tube, shake, and see what happens. If you're lucky, all you get is a pleasant smelling, pastel colored liquid. If you're not, the tube explodes. Sure, you can regulate the temperature and how hard you shake things, but in reality, it's about the essence of the stuff you throw in the tube.

Happily, my brother's wedding was a rather mild concoction, which I hope means that the Walker and Beznoska families, are, at their core, stable compounds. I'm sure there was a drama I didn't know about, but aside from the late arrival of the groomsmen, the groom stepping on the train, and a mother-of-the groom who could barely walk the day before the big event, it seemed to go smoothly. Even the weather cooperated, gracing us with mid-80's temperatures and breezes after weeks of icky, sweltering heat. Prior to the big day, we saw Navy battleships and giant container ships in the port, and the gals got the requisite mani-pedi's and hairdos.

The big news on hair day was my straight hair; so straight in fact that my entire family didn't recognize me until I literally stuck my face in theirs and spoke. It's always a catch 22 when I straighten my hair; people say well meaning things like "you should do that more often!" which I take to mean that I'm totally screwed because there's no way I could ever make my hair look like that, and wait, are they saying my curly hair is ugly? Sigh. The curse of self-doubt.

Which brings us to my one regret from this weekend; I wish I could have gotten out of my head a little more. It was a beautiful weekend, and I had a lovely time, but I couldn't shake a lingering feeling of inadequacy; I didn't lose enough weight, I didn't look pretty enough for the pictures, was everyone pitying me because I'm the mid-thirties spinster sister-in-law watching her little brother get married? These things are mostly in my head, I know. How selfish and shallow they sound, reading them now. After all, we all know that no one cares about our inadequacies as much as we do ourselves.

And the truth is, it was a hell of a good week. Bells from a nearby church just happened to ring out as the ceremony was winding down. I am over the moon happy for my brother, who gave an incredible heartfelt toast about "finding what was missing," and who absolutely made my year by dancing with my mom to "Barbara Ann." I am so excited to have a sister-in-law by definition, and hope that we can become sisters-in-law in more than words over the coming years. I loved seeing my brother's friends surround him with friendship and fun, and seeing my mom and dad enjoy their far-flung family. My dad even danced with us, and he hates dancing. I got to dip my toes in the Atlantic. I did some serious, good thinking about my life and my future. I saw the final Harry Potter with my bro, his bro-in-law and my sis-in-law. The Americans ALMOST won the World Cup. I came home to a clean house and a tail-wagging dog.

Really, there's not much to complain about. Yes, I wish that I knew the kind of joy and solidity in a relationship that my brother obviously has with his wife. But if that's all I have to worry about? Sheesh. Time to get on with it, go to work, make plans, and keep hoping. And reflect on how lucky I am to have had a week of family and love and celebration of two people who have found each other.

Can Lord of the Rings stand the test of time?

2011-06-15T20:37:00.000-07:00

You few (you happy few) who read this blog have probably figured out that I'm a geek. Not a full-fledged-early-adopter-can-name-every-creature-in-the-bar-scene-in-Star-Wars-attends-Comi-Con-religiously kind of geek, but a Battlestar-Galactica-watching-forensic-html-amateur-Joss-Whedon-fan kind of geek. I dig YA fiction, have a special place in my heart for sci-fi disaster movies and I've read all of the Outlander and Wheel of Time books. I love me some Lord of the Rings, but I didn't read them as a kid. I read them as they were having their Renaissance, brought on by Peter Jackson and his army of filmmakers and artists.

Beginning at Christmas-time 2001, I lived Lord of the Rings for nearly half a decade, as I followed the films in the theater and waited anxiously each Christmas to receive the extended edition DVD of the previous year's film. Yes, I watched all 75,000 hours of DVD extras, knew where the easter eggs were in the DVD menus, and for those few years, gave serious thought to changing careers so I could work on a project like LOTR. I loved the technology, the story, the tremendous artistry of the characters, and yes, I confess, Viggo Mortenson. I was an Aragon girl, hands down. Legolas was for wimps.

So, nearly 10 years after the first movie appeared in theaters, I was pretty excited to see the full extended version on the big screen last night. However, I also had some doubts; I hadn't watched the movies in years. I'm no longer an idealistic 20-something surrounded by fellow theater geeks looking to change the world through art. I'm a slightly-burned-out mid-thirties single gal wondering if the world will ever change enough for me to find my place. And I couldn't help but wonder; would the movies stand up? Would they still look visually interesting, or would the computer-generated battle scenes look like, well, they came from a computer? Would the supremely clever tricks with perspective be revealed as nothing more than parlor games, their secrets revealed in the 10 years of improved technology since the movies were made? Would all the snide homoerotic talk about Frodo and Sam ruin their friendship for me? Would the magic of the hero's quest, with the ins and outs of evil and free will woven throughout, still resonate?

I'm happy to say: Yes. Yes. No. No. And a big YES. (And Viggo is still pretty hot.)

The movies stand up. They looked amazing, and though in the back of my head, I was still remembering all the little notes I knew from watching those damn DVD extras, the story took me away. Sure, there's a bit too much exposition and some of the performances are over the top. Yes, the movie is long. Who cares? It's a great story, and the sweeping grandeur of New Zealand plus the amazing costumes, miniature work and musical score are as impressive today as they were 10 years ago.

Walking out of the show, I felt a little wistful for the years gone by, for my good friend who waited in long lines with me to be a part of the opening weekends. I felt old; how is it even POSSIBLE that it was 10 years ago that I first saw the movie in the theaters? I felt a little depressed at how little my life has changed since then.

But tonight, one day later, I think I've decided to take comfort in the fact that the movies held up. They were innovative in their time, and they are still very good. If I apply that same idea to my life, I like where that takes me.

Bring on The Hobbit. And The Two Towers, next Tuesday. I'll be there.

I believe in salary caps

2011-06-02T21:02:00.000-07:00

Day 3 of the #trust30 project, a writing and self-reflection initiative. Today, it was tough to be honest.

***

It is easy in the world to live after the world’s opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude. - Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance

The world is powered by passionate people, powerful ideas, and fearless action. What’s one strong belief you possess that isn’t shared by your closest friends or family? What inspires this belief, and what have you done to actively live it?

***

For this one, I had to ignore the last question in order to be honest about a belief I hold that most of my friends and family don't share. Talk about a recipe for self-reflection.

I believe in salary caps.

No one needs to make 100 billion dollars, or have a net worth twice that of a medium-sized country.

A CEO who makes millions of dollars should have to cut his salary before laying off hundreds of workers in the name of efficiency and profit.

Competitive forces do not justify the need to pay someone more money than they should be able to spend in a lifetime.

To shamelessly quote from NPR: this I believe.

I have no idea where this belief comes from. I'd like to think it's a sense of innate fairness, but that's probably giving myself too much credit.

Sadly, I have done nothing to try to live by this belief. Mostly because I haven't reached the cap yet. Whatever it is, or whatever it should be. And because I can't even begin to think how we'd legislate or enforce such a thing.

I wonder if this belief will haunt me if I ever go into politics. Probably. Oh well.

Describe today in one sentence

2011-06-01T16:00:00.000-07:00

Today is day two of the #trust30 project, a 30-day writing challenge that encourages us to look within and trust ourselves. I already feel better after only one day of focused writing. I wonder what day 30 will bring.

***
Today's quote and challenge:

Your genuine action will explain itself, and will explain your other genuine actions. Your conformity explains nothing. The force of character is cumulative. – Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance

If ‘the voyage of the best ship is a zigzag line of a hundred tracks,’ then it is more genuine to be present today than to recount yesterdays. How would you describe today using only one sentence? Tell today’s sentence to one other person. Repeat each day.

(Author: Liz Danzico)

***
Oh man - if only this were Monday - I had the best one liner. But it's Wednesday. I must stay true to the assignment. So, here's mine:

Once a decision has been made, it's done; the only thing is to move on to the next decision that needs making.

15 minutes to live

2011-05-31T18:26:00.000-07:00

I'm taking part in the #trust30 project, a 30-day writing challenge that encourages us to look within and trust ourselves. The timing is perfect. I need this; I need to get back to a place where I can make a decision and trust it.

***
Today's challenge:

We are afraid of truth, afraid of fortune, afraid of death, and afraid of each other. Our age yields no great and perfect persons. – Ralph Waldo Emerson

You just discovered you have fifteen minutes to live.
1. Set a timer for fifteen minutes.
2. Write the story that has to be written.
(Author: Gwen Bell)

***
Yeah, ok. This is too intense for me. The story that has to be written? Is it a story to hope and pray that my cell phone works so I can call my parents, brother, aunt, uncle and Little Sister to tell them that I love them, and then post something pithy on facebook to everyone else?

That's not a story.

Is it a story to relate that I've actually thought about this quite a bit? Living alone, you think of these things. According to the weather folks the other day, we were facing the ultimate tornado threat. The world was about to end (and it did for some people in Joplin, MO and Denning, AR). And I have to admit that I made sure to wear nice pajamas to bed, because if my house came tumbling down, I didn't want to be wandering around this life or the next in threadbare pj's or worse, a short nightgown. I have wondered if I should shave my legs or wear nicer underwear on the off chance that I might drop dead and have to have my clothes ripped off in autopsy. Or clean my house more regularly so those who have to clean up when I'm gone aren't embarrassed.

Eek, that's more than a little morbid.

But it's not really a story.

What's the story I would want to tell in the last 15 minutes? Well, assuming all the other needs, like appropriate goodbyes to loved ones and haute morte couture have been met, and I wasn't expected to give a treatise on how we should love one another and live in peace, I'd want it to be this.

There was a girl from a small town. She was pretty smart (good grades, decent instincts). She was pretty athletic (in her day). She was pretty successful (nice job, a few diplomas). She was pretty lucky (awesome family, good friends).

But was she pretty?

In her last 15 minutes, she realized it didn't matter. Everything else did.

Priscilla, Queen of the Desert - entry 1 of 5 that will make my fellow Broadway/theater geeks a little green

2011-05-18T21:04:00.000-07:00

I could nearly feel the jealousy via facebook as I chronicled my adventures in NYC at the Broadway League Spring Road Conference last week. Sorry, y'all. I won't lie; it was much fun. I'm going to try to chronicle it by breaking the days down by show.

Day One (5/9/11)
I was the first to the airport, a big shock to my colleagues, who take no small measure of glee in reminding me of how notoriously bad I am at rising and becoming functional in the morning. We had a direct flight to NYC (bliss) and my hotel roommate and I zipped through the TKTS line, then enjoyed some sushi before heading to the first of many parties. This one was on stage at the Sondheim Theatre - my second time on a Broadway stage, the first being when I danced with the cast and audience during the curtain call of Hair! It was the Anything Goes set - more on that show in the next entry. I think there was another party in there - thrown by RAIN: A Tribute to the Beatles, which played at my arts center long before it played on Broadway. Yeah, we're just that cool.

Then it was off to Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. I have never seen the movie, and truly, all I knew about the show was that it's about drag queens. Turns out, you didn't need to know more than that.

Costumes. Rainbows. Dancing cupcakes. Divas. Washboard abs.

It was a glorious night of fun and pageantry.

I always roll my eyes a little when creative Broadway teams say stuff like "but really it's about the characters and their journey", but in this case, it was a literal journey, taken in a giant pink bus that felt a little like Mary Poppins' carpet bag - full of the strangest and most delightful of surprises - helped along by more than 500 costumes that seemed to grow bigger and more outrageous with each number.

What is it about drag queens? I mean, really? Why are they so fascinating? I'm not sure, but there was a line in the show that is still sticking with me. It follows some violence, and goes something like this: "These girls should stay in the city. It's the only safe place for them." How sad that in many cases, this is the truth.

But that was one small moment of solemnity in two hours of partying that resembled one of those sugar-filled swizzle sticks that kids eat at fairs. What a riot. I'm so very glad that I got to see this show. And really, was there any doubt that I would love it? When one of the first songs is "It's Raining Men?" Sung by three powerhouse divas and danced by gorgeous men in fabulous costumes?

Hallelujah, indeed.

Lots to say, but I'm short on words

2011-05-15T20:07:00.000-07:00

Wow, I've had a lot of blog-worthy stuff happening these past weeks. But I find myself without the vocab energy to make any of it into a blog entry. So in the spirit of Twitter, here's a few brief mentions of what's been going on, just for posterity's sake.

We've had rain, lots of rain. We even had some floods. And there were tornados, bad ones, south of us. Mama Nature was not a happy camper in those last weeks of April. Lots of May flowers coming, we hope.

I took a jaunt to Madison for Bolzie Board stuff and home to NH for the last time that it will be my home. The memories that trip stirred up...well, that definitely needs a full blog entry.

A few days back in the office, and then it was off to NY for the Broadway Road Conference. I saw Priscilla Queen of the Desert, Anything Goes (with Sutton Foster and Joel Grey), Bengal Tiger in the Baghdad Zoo (with Robin Williams), The Book of Mormon and Sister Act. More on those later.

And now a few crazy work weeks begin, but they are colored by the tragic death of someone far too young to have left the earth so soon. I know how all of this young man's friends feel, and I just wish I could take that pain from them; the process takes a long time and I wish they didn't have to suffer it.

And remember that entry about something good happening? I think I spoke too soon. That'll teach me.

Here's hoping for more cheer and light in the next entry. Go Sox!

My own "dance diary"

2011-04-21T18:25:00.000-07:00

A few weeks back, some colleagues and I drove to Tulsa to see a dance show, and one of these colleagues told me she keeps a "dance diary", jotting down the companies and works she sees. I was terribly impressed by this.

So I'm going to try it. Mostly because I've been thinking about some of my travels lately, and I'm wishing I'd kept a diary along the way. Most of my travel these days involves being transported by music or dance, so here goes!
Since my last post about Compania Nacional de Danza II, I've seen a few other shows, but the one I want to be sure I remember is the one I went to this past Sunday. It featured the Preservation Hall Jazz Band and the Del McCoury Band, the former known for their swingin' Nawlins jazz marches, the latter as the granddaddy of bluegrass. I heard these two groups play together in NYC a year or so ago. I'd been waiting to see them since then.

They didn't disappoint. I honestly couldn't tell you what songs they played, other than "I'll Fly Away" and "When the Saints Go Marching In." But they had the whole crowd (except the gentleman to my left who had clearly been dragged by his wife and was nodding off) tapping their toes. It was such fun to watch the collaboration of two distinctly American music forms coming together, and the musicians were clearly enjoying themselves. Someone said to me today "I don't think they needed the audience; they were having such fun playing together." That might be true, but I'm glad we there.

It also helped that I was there with a new friend, who either enjoyed the show or was too polite to tell me otherwise. :) It was fun to be a part of a crowd that was just having a good time, not thinking too hard, not worrying about much - just enjoying some swingin', trumpet blarin', mandolin pickin' goodness.

Reality life

2011-04-21T17:49:00.000-07:00

Someone like me, who has built a life largely as a solo endeavor, learns to accept certain realities: slow dances will always be awkward, no matter how old you are or how fast your reach for your phone to start texting, 9 times out of 10 hostesses will look uncomfortable when you announce you're dining alone, and while there are lots of things that can be done solo, there are some things (rollercoasters and honeymoons, for example) that simply require an "other", significant or not.

(On the upside, we also secretly gloat about the hidden bonuses, such as always being in control of the remote and not being judged for spending 1/2 a day watching Dog Whisperer, but I digress.)

However, someone like me also, by necessity, spends quite a bit of time in fantasy worlds; on TV, in books or even just out and about, mentally trying to deconstruct the lives of my fellow humans. Inevitably, the characters in these fictional or real dramas are more interesting, prettier, luckier or wittier than me (and they never worry about waxing). In fiction, they're always getting "feelings" about people and situations. In real life, they appear to glide through life without stopping to wonder if they are in the right place at the right time. Neither of these idealized worlds are real, but they are easy to imagine and romanticize.

Lately, I've found myself feeling like something good is about to happen. It feels like what novelists try to describe in their books. I'm a little stunned by how distinct the feeling is, and how much I like it.

The problem is that I have no way of knowing if it's real. It could very well be something my over-zealous self-analyzing psyche has drummed up to get me through whatever particular crisis my subconscious is churning over. (Good grief, just reading that last sentence makes me want to slap myself). Or it could just be that I'm in a good mood for whatever reason.

In a novel, in a situation like this, some wise best friend/mentor would say "good things will happen if you make them happen." Since I've never asked my real friends, I have no idea what they'd say, but I suspect it would be something like "Get real, girl. Whatever happens, happens."

I wish I could express how scary it feels to even write this down, because inevitably, someone will read it and ask me 6 months later: "Hey, did anything ever happen?" And I'll likely have to answer "Nope."

But I wanted a record of it, because it's been a while since I can remember feeling like this. And even if it does disappear, I'd like to try to remember the feeling, because it's pretty great. And despite the fact that I know it's probably all in my head, I think I'm going to do my damnedest to keep it going.

Today's lesson: Accepting "advice"...with grace

2011-04-07T20:27:00.000-07:00

Today started off on an awkward, yet funny note, as the little tap dance known as "get your morning caffeine in the workroom" got all messed up and I had to start my morning with a radio interview and two impromptu meetings without my normal cup of tea. I survived, and thus began another day of highs and lows.

The highs included the AR State Supreme Court declaring an adoption ban unconstitutional. According to this ban, I'm unable to adopt or be a foster parent if I'm in a relationship with a man, but not married. If I was in a relationship with a woman, civil union or not, same goes. This law was passed by more than 1/2 of my fellow voting Arkansans, which goes to show that elections are not "the will of the people." Not this people, anyway. Now that the Supreme Court has ruled, I'm told by a friend who knows such things that we'll face a possible state consitutional amendment next year. I think I'd like to send all those people who voted for this ban to a group home or foster situation for a few days and see how they feel about denying kids a chance at a loving home. Ok, stepping off my soapbox.

Except to say that another high point was learning that the Glenn Beck show is going off the air. The only negative: Jon Stewart won't have as much material.

The lows came from the usual stuff; too much work, feeling like I'm not helping my staff enough, feeling inadequate and missing my friends, etc. The lowest point came when I snarked off after being offered a bunch of unsolicited "advice" in an email. While my reaction was understandable (maybe), it was certainly not noble.

But I choose to take a lesson from it. I need to learn to take unsolicited advice more gracefully. After all, there's never going to be a shortage of it. I also need to ask for advice more. I always feel better after asking someone for help or advice, as do they. Virtuous cycle, right? Can you imagine how much less drama there would be in life if we were all comfortable with being given unsolicited advice?

Well, this put me in a better frame of mind going into a dance concert by Compania Nacional de Danza II tonight (that's a mouthful), but I confess that I didn't take it from theory to practice as I chatted with a patron:

Me: Did you know this show is part of a series of performances that are only $10 per show?
Patron: Really? I didn't know that. You should run some sort of marketing campaign so people know about it.
Me (silently counting the hours/dollars we spent on the campaign): Um, ok.

Fail.

I should have graciously said "You're so right! Tell me where I could advertise that might reach you!" or some such.

Oh well. Maybe next time.

But the show was wonderful, beautiful, soothing, calming, (insert therapeutic adjective here). And now my pretty pooch is sprawled on the bed next to me, taking up more space than me. Life is good. Tomorrow is a new day, and if the government doesn't shut down, maybe next week a lonely kid will be able to find a home.

So go ahead. Hit with me your best "you know, have you ever thought about doing this?" advice. I can take it.

Sounds

2011-03-30T21:11:00.000-07:00

While listening to my local NPR station this evening, I stumbled into an interesting segment; apparently March is the 21st anniversary of Ozarks at Large, a local news show. So they decided to play, and discuss, their 21 favorite sounds.

Not their favorite stories. Their favorite sounds. The 10 minutes I caught included the expected, like babbling brooks and insects, and the unexpected, like a plumbing snake being fed through a clogged drain.

It was an enlightening moment. See, one of my favorite parts of my work week is my Thursday KUAF interview. I enjoy the process, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I like being told that I have a nice radio voice. Though I often think "Yep, I've got a face and a voice for radio," I realized, while listening tonight, that I don't have the required obsession with sounds. My first instinct when I hear something interesting is not to grab my IPhone or whatever microphone I happen to have lying around (do I have microphones lying around? I rest my case.) and record it. But I guess, if you spend your life manipulating sounds and sound wavelengths to create something, you'd have to be pretty obsessed about sound. I'd never thought of that.

Regardless, it sure is fun to try to describe your favorite sounds, even though putting them into words is tough. Here are my top five:

#5. When the surround sound kicks in at a movie theater. You've been suffering through tinny renditions of the latest pop sensation, and suddenly...whoosh...the sound starts from behind your head and ripples down the walls in parallel waves, crashing together in the exact center of the movie screen. I love that. Especially if the movie that follows features lots of explosions and fight scenes.

#4. Quacking. Ducks are funny. I can't ever hear them quacking without smiling and wanting to quack back, despite the fact that they won't understand me and people tend to look at me funny when I do.

#3. Kids in a theater. Those who have never had my job won't get this one. When our 1200 seat auditorium is full of children, they tend to look, and sound, like popcorn in a pan: bouncing around, a steady hum of noise punctuated by the occasional screech or leap out of a seat. But you absolutely cannot beat what happens when the lights start to go down; they start to whoop and scream and holler like it's a rock concert. Half of the students probably don't know what they are about to see, but it doesn't matter. It's like plugging into an outlet for a recharge of the soul.

#2. Orchestras tuning: be it a Broadway show or a full 80 piece ensemble, the cacaphony of the pre-show tuning is just, well, awesome. It ebbs and flows, highly disciplined in each instrument's tuning, but a completely undisciplined combined sound. Yet to me, it always sounds the same. Eerie, but beautiful.

#1. I think only theater people will get this one, but my favorite sound is actually a lack of one. It's the silence of a perfectly timed moment on stage, when the absence of sound says more than any words or music could. I love this. Just love it. It can so easily go wrong; if the silence is too long, it's awkward. If it's too short, it's not real. But when it's perfect, it can take an audience through an emotional moment without them even knowing it.

So thanks to my friends at KUAF for the intellectual stroll down Sound Alley. I'm going to be listening more carefully in the next few days, I think.

How about you? What are your favorite sounds?

The Ides of March

2011-03-14T20:43:00.000-07:00

Huh.

If I didn't know better, I'd think this time of year has it out for me. My staff have a habit of leaving for new jobs on or around the 15th of March. The spring months, which should be my favorite time of year, stretch endlessly before me, full of to-do lists that are far more impressive than my ration of daylight hours. I have started doing stupid things like attempting to unlock the backstage door with my car remote, or spend 5 minutes looking for the sunglasses that are on my head.

And vacation seems so very, very far away.

But this Ides season, I really can't complain (though it appears I just did). There a "catastrophic nuclear accident" going on in Japan, according to the NYTimes. Even the stalwart WSJ.com says things are "spinning out of control."

Perspective is a good, if painful, thing.

So, I have this to say. You've had your fun, Ides. Now cool down that reactor and go back to your hideaway for another year. We've had just about enough of you, thanks.

An unlikely Cinderella goes shopping

2011-03-03T20:26:00.000-08:00

If there are men reading this, you might want to get your eye-rolling and scoffing out of the way now, or better yet, go watch ESPN. This is definitely a girly post.

So, tomorrow I'm going to a ball. A real, live ball, complete with masks and black tie optional. Unfortunately, I will not have a handsome gentlemen in a tux on my arm, but I'll be working, so in truth, even if I had one, he'd be in the way. Or so I tell myself. :)

I don't often go to balls. In fact, it's safe to say I never do. I think the last one I went to was...well...probably prom, if that counts. I'm sure you can see the problem. No gowns in my closet, except an extremely boring one that has hung around for at least 10 years (and I'll be damned if I can remember why I bought it). No shoes that are anything but black, sensible or flip flops. No sparkly jewelry. A woeful lack of appropriate underarmor...er...wear. And no time to scour the few stores we have. In fact, I had one night, and a four part mission: dress, underwear, jewelry, shoes.

It's rare that I actually enjoy shopping. Let's be honest; fashion is not friendly to the overweight. Oh, I know, Spanx are great, and you can read all the articles in the world about how "confidence" and "taking care of yourself" are as sexy as a size 4 body, but it simply. ain't. true. Clothes in stores are designed for people who are skinnier than me. Period.

Thus, I always approach a "must buy" shopping spree with healthy trepidation. Today, though, I had a funny feeling that it wouldn't be as bad as usual, and to my delight, it wasn't. Remember how Cinderella had a beautiful dress made for her by the mice ? I felt like I had Gus-Gus and his crew with me tonight.

DRESS
The first sign that things were going to be different? I found my dress on my first trip to the fitting room. Even better, I was only a few pounds away from being able to get the smaller size. Excellent weight loss incentive there. Now the dilemma - bold color or sensible and slimming black? My normal MO is black. So I went for the color. I'm such a rebel.

UNDERWEAR
A brief stop in the unmentionables department had me thinking of all the scenes in movies about "slimming" undergarments: Bridget Jones and her giant panties, for example, or this classic line from Steel Magnolias:

"I haven't left the house without lycra on my thighs since I was 14."
"You were brought up right."

JEWELRY
Note to self; it's fun to shop in the jewelry section when one is not trying to walk the sparkly/yet subtle line. When sparkly is all you're going for, the possibilities are endless.

SHOES
I had intended to buy a long dress so I could wear flats. But the dress has a slit, so, heels it must be. Another $100 bucks for shoes? No thanks. To the clearance rack! Clearance isn't really my thing, since I can never find anything I like (hence why the shoes are on clearance, right?), but sometimes, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. I had a fleeting thought to buy silver shoes; after all, where would I wear silver shoes but at a ball? Alas, there were none in my size. Sigh. So, I settled for some black ones, and headed to checkout. But then...lo and behold...the salesman was marking boxes of shoes for clearance, and they just happen to be the silver version of the black shoes I was planning to buy!

That was the moment when I started to wonder if I might just pull this whole thing off.

Of course, the drive home is always about buyer's remorse. Should've gone with the black. What will it look like when I get home and the light isn't flattering anymore? It's doesn't quite look right in the back, and no time for alterations; will my wrap cover that? What if I get laughed at for wearing a bright blue/purple dress? Who am I to think I could look good among women who make it their life's work to look spectacular even when walking the dog? And so on.

Only tomorrow's ball will tell, but for now, I'm enjoying the thought of my $15 silver shoes and successful shopping venture. Gus-Gus and his pals did well, and I don't have mean stepsisters to rip my dress to shreds and thus require the fairy godmother to bail me out.

I'm kind of pysched to be going to a ball. See you at midnight in the pumpkin coach.

Martin Short, live in Fayetteville, Arkansas.

2011-02-15T19:36:00.001-08:00

He's funny.

That is all.

Why you should see a play that isn't happy

2011-02-08T19:52:00.000-08:00

I was never into history. Not really.

Strange, then, that I am finding the history of Arkansas, where I now call home, particularly interesting. Maybe it's because I've lived in Arkansas longer than any other state in my residential history. Maybe it's because down here the stuff I studied in textbooks feels a little more recent. Let's face it; when the Grand Dragon of the KKK lives a few hours away, it's hard to stay removed from discussions about race. When the Civil War is still half-jokingly referred to by some as The War of Northern Aggression, well, there's something there, something that needs exploration.

This might be why a new play by a local professional theater, TheatreSquared, is resonating so much with me. (Full disclosure: I'm on the board of this theater, so I am unashamedly going to try to convince you to go see the play). The play is called Sundown Town. A sundown town, for those like me who didn't know until recently, was a town where black people were not allowed in the town after sundown. There are towns near me who only took those laws off the books within the last half century; they are very real.

However, this play isn't really about the law from which it takes it's name. It's more of a tragic ensemble piece, concerned more with matters of sin than jurisprudence. Set in a highly religious, ficticious Arkansas town called Healing Springs (the windows of a church take up a full 1/3 of the set), it's the story of what happens to a town of (mostly) pious white folks when a black drifter comes around. It's a multi-layered story, with characters that are both typical and richly textured. The innocent daughter, the town drunk, the local businessman, the beloved blind elder, the Christian mother, the steady father; these standard characters are mostly multi-dimensional and full of wisdom, pathos and flaws. They are instantly recognizable, and with a few exceptions, instantly likable.

Their sins (as defined by their worldview) are many and varied, and boy, do they agonize over them. Along the way, they occasionally break into song. The music is live, performed by local favorite 3 Penny Acre, a seriously awesome gift for a theatrical production. Hands down, the songs were well sung and well played, and I'm a little saddened to admit my opinion that sometimes, they didn't serve the progression of the story. I was most interested in the music when it was providing a live soundscape for the story: underscoring the dramatic slow motion violence or providing the soundtrack for a pantomimed fiddle or piano. Still, I have to admire the playwright, music director and performers for making the music so raw; seeing a lone actor on stage, singing her heart out without a microphone or amplified support sound is a very moving experience.

The writing is equally moving, exploring tough subjects without delving too much into the preachy or didactic. There are times when it gets a little lyrical, which is fine by me. I like to imagine a world where "common" folks speak with some poetry. Like many new shows, there are some scenes and songs that go on a bit too long, but after a while, I didn't care. I wanted to see more of these people and know more about their struggles.

Speaking of struggles, this is not a happy show. There are moments of levity, but at its heart, this show isn't meant to take you away from the world or make you feel good about yourself. It's meant to make you think. Not surprisingly, convincing people to see this one has been tougher than usual. But I want to challenge those few who might be reading this to give it a shot. Sure, the subject matter hits close to home. No, you won't walk out humming any catchy tunes. In the program, a TheatreSquared staff member wonders if we really should hold a mirror up to history, or is it better to just move on? If you want to move on, this play won't let you. Which is why I think you should see it.

There are multiple other reasons to see it: a beautiful set, marvelous performances by the whole cast, several of whom are local actors, and the fact that this play has been nurtured by a local theater company through two seasons of workshops. Put simply, it's a good play and a good story. And here's my final plea; by going to see a show that isn't really all that happy, you will appreciate the happy plays even more. :)

Tickets can be purchased here, and more information about the play can be found here.

a date with myself

2011-01-28T21:32:00.000-08:00

Note: I was going to blog about Christa McAuliffe and the anniversary of a friend's death tonight. Happily for all involved, I'm not in the mood for somber reflection. Onward to happier topics.

A date with myself is nothing new. In fact, it's the norm. However, it's not typical for one of these self-dates to leave me feeling...well...blessed.

But tonight some combination of things worked out.

Perhaps it was feeling marginally healthy after being sick for 4 days.

Maybe it was the skirt/boots combination that I wore to work today, that got me the usual "wow, Jodi, you're wearing a skirt" comments - great inspiration to slim down so buying cute clothes is easier and more fun.

Maybe it was the 60 degree temps that meant I could walk the dog for miles in jeans and a light sweater.

It might have been the results of that walk:

Or my very happy (though not really healthy) choice to eat leftover Annie's macaroni and cheese for dinner, with the promise that I'd have fruit on my frozen yogurt later that evening.

Or how that frozen yogurt carried me down the street toward the theater, keeping me company as I waited for the train to pass by.

Maybe it was the smiles on people's faces as they watched the train; everyone seemed to be in a good mood tonight.

It might have been the delightful elderly lady who sat to my right in the theater, or the quiet, yet chatty gentleman to my left. They were both genuinely interested to know that I worked there, and asked me a series of intelligent questions that led to a pleasant evening of pre-show and intermission conversation.

I suppose it also could have been the sublime music emanating from violinist Joshua Bell and pianist Sam Haywood. It's cliched, I know, but their music brought tears to my eyes more than once. And I found it just perfect that I got to meet, and shake hands with, the less famous (but no less talented) of the two, Sam, who was chatting backstage while Joshua Bell signed autographs out front.

Or maybe it was the kind gesture of a colleague, doing something special for me after the show when he really was under no obligation to do so.

Who knows.

Like I said, I'm on dates with myself all the time. And more often than not, I have fun, but come home with that vague feeling that I'm failing somehow, in not either a) finding a man or b) being so glamorously fabulous that I don't need a man. But not tonight. Tonight, I feel content in my plain solitude, in the knowledge that I talked easily to strangers, saw amazing music played by virtuosos, and looked kind of cute in my skirt and boots.

What fun. Here's hoping for more nights like this.

Movies that don't (?) suck

2011-01-23T17:55:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I stumbled on a previously unheard of movie channel on my U-Verse cable, and came upon a movie lineup ingeniously titled "Movies that don't suck". Bonus, I thought.

Except that they were playing Broken Arrow. You know, the one about missing nuclear weapons, starring John Travolta, Christian Slater and Samantha Mathis (and Howie Long - let's not forget that gem of a performance).

Broken Arrow is a terrible movie (Thus the reason I love it). It's directed by John Woo, with his trademark cheesy dialogue and ridiculous characters/caricatures. And lots of guns and explosions. A perfectly delightful/awful movie. Right up there with Armageddon, The Core and Face/Off.

It most definitely sucks.

And yes, I own the VHS version and am now rewinding it because I want to watch the "uncut" version. I mean, if the best line of the movie is "I say God Damn, what a rush!!!", and they edit it out of the TV version, one is obliged to restore the movie to it's former, completely sucking glory.

Excuse me while I go remember how to fast forward through the credits.

My Onion headline of the day

2011-01-20T15:44:00.000-08:00

Administration Officials Announce New Economic Stimulus Plan: Increase Prediction of Snow Storms

By Jodi Beznoska
Posted January 20, 2011 - 5:30pm

Federal officials today announced a sweeping economic stimulus plan based entirely on predictive weather models.

"In partnership with television networks and grocery stores throughout the nation, we are pleased to announced this new program, unofficially dubbed "There's No Business like Snow Business," said one economist. "By ensuring that meteorologists predict more snowstorms, especially in Southern and Mid-Southern states, we can virtually guarantee a major increase in spending at your local Walmarts and grocery stores. It's a win-win for the nation, especially when you factor in that kids love snow days as much as teachers do."

As part of the program, meteorologists and television producers will receive incentives to predict more inclement weather. "It's worth noting that it's not just snow storms that will help us pull our economy out of this slump," said a head of a local CBS affiliate. "We'll be receiving tax breaks for predictions of ice, heavy rain and extreme cold. Ice in particular is a great sales driver, but when temperatures are predicted to drop below 35 degrees, our retail partners see a definite increase in sales of down parkas, thermo-insulated overalls, and space heaters."

Not all businesses greeted this news with enthusiasm; many executives have cited dramatic decreases in productivity due to weather predictions. "When snow is predicted, I lose half of my staff the next day, guaranteed, regardless of whether the prediction comes true," said one CEO. "If we did a study about the time lost, I'll bet you it would be worth the cost of a few more snowplows, or better predictive models, at any rate. But hey, I get to wear jeans and a sweater to work, so I'm not really complaining." Parents, too, have expressed reservations, but video game and movie retailers say the increased traffic is welcome.

The ultimate veracity of predictions is not included in the plan, according to officials, who cited a need to let the frenzy play out in a natural and organic way. "We really don't want the actual weather events to interfere with this system," said the economist. "The success of this program is based entirely on the power of viral networking and mob mentality. If we let rational ideas like small accumulations or incorrect predictions make their way into our thinking, we won't see the spending results that this country desperately needs."

Pilot programs in Arkansas and Kentucky have exceeded expectations, as grocery aisles have been stripped of their bread, eggs and Pop Tarts in advance of several snow events in the past few weeks. "It's been super," said one Walmart manager. "We've run out of product before the snow even gets here, so I can send all my staff home to go sledding. All they need is 1/2 an inch and they're good to go!"

The people we meet

2011-01-19T21:18:00.000-08:00

Disclaimer - this entry isn't funny, or even marginally amusing. If you're not in the mood, don't read. I won't be offended.

Have you ever counted the number of people you meet, and then forget? Or that you meet, think about fondly for a few moments and then forget? There must be hundreds. I sometimes catch myself accidentally meeting someone's eye in an airport or on the highway, and wondering what their story is. Would I like them if I knew them better? Would our paths ever cross in our daily lives, or do we move in different circles? Sometimes, I selfishly wonder how that random person could advance my career or make my life better; rarely do I wonder the same about how I could help them.

I try not to take these meetings for granted, but of course I do. Sometimes, one of the meetings evolves into something impactful. For example, I pretty much owe my current career path and current job to two random meetings. One happened over the phone, the other over a lecture in grad school. Neither lasted more than a few hours. But my life is vastly different, and better, because of them.

Last week, at the APAP conference, as I enjoyed a presentation by one of the speakers, I thought "I'd like to know this guy". Coincidentally, he turned out to be the man with whom I and several of my colleagues were scheduled to have lunch later that day. We ate Japanese and talked about building new theaters. He seemed like one of those people whose brain is going in 20 directions at once, and sometimes, I hadn't the faintest clue what he was saying. But I liked him. He had a great smile, huge enthusiasm and was clearly very smart. I was glad when he gave me his card, because I had a feeling he was one of those "meetings" that I shouldn't let pass.

Yesterday, I sent him an email that said I hoped we could keep in touch.

Today I learned that he died on Monday.

It's unclear why, but he fell 14 stories from a hotel roof to his death.

He was 48 years old. He had two sons. And though I only spent a few hours in his company, I know he adored them; it was obvious in how much he talked about them.

I'm not sure what lesson to take from this, beyond the cliched "tell your loved ones every day how much you love them." I feel sad for his family and friends, and I suppose I feel some of that eerie sense of mortality that we usually manage to keep under wraps.

But most of all, as crass as it sounds, I feel cheated. I'm pretty sure he would have returned my email. Maybe we would have stayed in touch. Beyond that...who knows.

I'm left with a lingering sorrow, and guilt that I have no right to feel that sorrow. What a strange thing it is to wrestle with sudden, unexpected death.

RIP, David Taylor. I'm glad I got to hear you speak and share lunch with you. It's clear you're missed already. I hope those who knew you better than I find comfort in the days and weeks and years ahead.