This has got to stop.
November 20, 2009
Filed under Uncategorized
Tags: artificial sweeteners are de debil, diet coke, noms, weird cravings
I am rabidly anti-artificial-sweetener. I’m not quite to the point of a whole family—it was almost like their personal religion—I used to know who got on such a rampage that they would write “TOXIC” on Equal packets in restaurants, but it’s definitely something I (usually) am pretty adamant about.
Thing is, aspartame, sucralose, and the like really are bad for you. I’m not riding any kind of moral/pc high horse here, but it doesn’t take a medical degree to know that ingesting straight chemicals that we don’t know the effects of yet on a daily basis is not going to be your best idea. There are some crazy people out there who decry them, yes, but there’s a glut of legitimate research that says you might want to think twice.
Dunno, just Google it and see for yourself. As for me and my house, we avoid the stuff.
Except for this week. I’ve had a Diet Coke almost every day this week.
I’m not sure you understand the significance of this. I don’t take many stands regarding food. Obviously. I’m currently cutting back on sweets, and I hope to keep it that way, but if I ended up needing some peanut butter M&Ms at some point, I wouldn’t feel like I’d betrayed a personal principle. (I’d just feel, briefly, like a fat failure, but I’d get over it after once I’d sunk my teeth into approximately 5 colorful candy shells.)
Beyond that, though, artificial sweetener actually does me physical harm. I identified it as a migraine trigger a while back, and I quit it on the spot. For a while there, just the thought of that weird fake-tasting bite almost gave me a headache. With that and all the other risks, it’s just not been worth it to me.
I haven’t had anything diet—i.e., containing artificial sweetener—in months. In fact, though I don’t recall the exact time frame, I remember the last time I had a diet drink. It was months ago, at least—another weird craving. Before that, it had been several months as well.
For me, and mock me all you want, drinking a Diet Coke is roughly equivalent to being a vegetarian and eating a hamburger. I just haven’t been able to stop myself these past few days. I’ve had four.
I don’t know what to do about this. Obviously, I don’t need to keep drinking them. I don’t want to reverse all the progress I’ve made with my migraines. So, I’ll stop. I hope the weird craving goes away so it will be easier to do so.
Tight regrets.
November 19, 2009
Filed under Uncategorized
Tags: cancan dancer tights, wardrobe malfunctions
I got some tights a few days ago. I don’t like pantyhose. They’re restrictive and confining and, sometimes, they cause actual pain. They gather into unfortunate locations and create unfortunate silhouettes.
Tights, though, are warm and soft and nice. They’re like a sweet little all-day hug for your legs. Plus, tights are what you wear when you’re a little girl—they go especially well with a dress your mom made you that has a twirly skirt.
I like wearing skirts, and I like—right about the time the leaves are halfway off the trees and Christmas lights start appearing (too early, to my chagrin)—to wear tights with said skirts.
It appears I chose the wrong ones today. I was going for something like this—thick, soft, opaque. I mean, they said “sweater tights” on the label. I’m expecting sweaters for my legs. I was going to wear my favorite skirt and my favorite shoes today, along with a soft taupe-ish long-sleeved tee shirt. I was running late, and this was going to be frump-comfort express.
Apparently, though, in this case, “sweater” referred to the pattern, not the comfort element. I mean, they’re not uncomfortable, but they’re not sweaters.
And they’re NOT opaque. Basically what I have here is a glorified pair of fishnet hose. In a hurry this morning, though, and still looking through the filter of the whole “sweater” paradigm, I didn’t think they were too far off of my original intention. Looking down at my legs now, though, it’s painfully obvious why I’ve been getting certain, er…reactions.
I’m slightly naive. Not sure if you know that.
So, basically what I have here is the outfit of a tired spinster with a not-so-secret and more-embarrassing-than-she-realizes Moulin Rouge fantasy.
Anyway. I’ve gotten comments all day. The secret exhibitionist in me knows she should be taking pleasure in this, but the rest of me is slightly mortified. I mean, one boy meowed and clawed the air like a cat; I got an actual wink from another. I’m not exactly a fashion maven anyway, but my unfortunate choice today has slightly different implications than usual.
Happy birthday, Gram Parsons.
November 5, 2009 
Gram would have been 63 today. I found this AWESOME capture of a live performance of “Big Mouth Blues” on YouTube today. Lookit Emmylou!
Gram became a pretty major influence on my musical tastes a few years ago when I was working backward from my Ryan Adams obsession. Without him, a pretty hefty chunk of the artists I hold dear wouldn’t be doing what they’re doing.
And if you don’t know the weird circumstances surrounding his death, you should check them out.
One of the first things I did upon moving to Nashville was attend a special showing of this documentary at the Belcourt. In attendance were its director and members of the Parsons family, as well as the always-classy Phil Kaufman (who staggered up the aisle at one point to “set things straight” during the Q&A session). That night is one of my favorite memories, and I met Leeann that night, too, so lots of good vibes there.
Most likely, even if he hadn’t died, he’d still be dead. You know what I mean. Still, though, he gave us lots of beauty in a few short years.
Apple break.
October 14, 2009
Filed under Uncategorized
Tags: apples, break, irresistible apple, noms
…refresh me with apples, for I am sick with love.
~Song of Solomon 2:5b
I don’t usually take my 15-minute built-in breaks here at work. It’s just best not to, I’ve discovered. Instead, I take shorter 30-second-to-two-minute mini-breaks–check my email, grab some coffee, then get back to it. I’m not at all sure they add up to the 30 full minutes I’m entitled to, but I guess I make up for it on the days I come in 5 minutes late due to Belle Meade traffic. Today, though, I kind of am going ahead with a little more of a break.
And I am eating an apple. First, let me say, oft throughout my life I’ve avoided apples. They make me hungry. Does this happen to anyone else? My grandmother says it happens to her, actually, but she’s the only one. I think it’s a blood sugar thing–like, the fruit sugar spikes you up and then drops you down and you need something to eat again. That’s the explanation in my head, anyway.
I just love apples so much. Thus, I can rarely go too long without one. I love many different kinds–Granny Smith was the favorite for years, as I love tartness + sweetness. And it’s green, which wins. Red Delicious, though, is red and delicious, and Golden Delicious is even delicious-er. I had a Gala kick a few years back. I had a shorter Pink Lady phase around the same time. An exhaustive chart of lots of apples and their characteristics can be found here.
Right now, I’m digging Honey Crisp. It tastes like it sounds like it should, and it’s so pretty.
I like almost any apple, as long as it’s not mushy and doesn’t have thick skin. Those are industrial and gross.
Fall is a good time for apples, especially apples baked in some way, warming up your house with sugary-cinnamony goodness. Still, though, the most satisfying part of an apple is that first bite into a raw one.
I do not like apple-flavored or -scented things. Some exceptions there, too, of course–Green Apple Jolly Ranchers being an obvious one. Most stuff just ends up tasting or smelling like cheap, strong imitation cinnamon. Bleah. I don’t like apple paraphernalia, or art centered around apples, or apple apparel, or anything ridiculous like that.
The most significant exception for me, though, is my favorite Bath and Body Works scent, Irresistible Apple. Actually, until I looked it up, I thought it was discontinued because I never see it in the store. I should stock up. It’s what I smell like right now, actually. Hopefully. It’s the only scent that inspired me to buy actual perfume, which I don’t think I’d had since high school. It’s the perfect apple scent–whatever it is that annoys me about other apple-derivative aromas is completely absent.
I was one of very few people who didn’t make fun of Gwyneth Paltrow for naming her little girl Apple.
Regardless of being (falsely) associated with The Fall of Man, I think apples are just about perfect. Utterly sensual, yet completely pure…delicious.
ONLY because he said, “this is something you can write about on your blog.”
Like my dad reads my blog. He doesn’t, but he does bring a Gladware container of ketchup to the hibachi grill:
I turned my parents on to hibachi last year, and they LOVED it. They’re gonna be pretty far away from the nearest Japanese steakhouse where they’re moving, so they wanted to eat with me one last time there last night before they officially moved. That day is coming Tuesday. I’m gonna miss those kids.
I love that my daddy is someone who cannot process animal without ketchup, and who is not embarrassed to provide for that need in a public kind of way. This is the same man who couldn’t wait to get old enough to wear old-guy Hawaiian shirts. This is the same man who ensured I knew every word of “Folsom Prison Blues” by the time I was 5 and who handed me a cassette of Led Zeppelin when I was 6, saying only “heh, go listen to THAT.” (For the record, it scared the crap out of me. It still kind of does, but in an oh-so-different way now.)
I also love that my mom felt the need to hand me $50 cash, saying “I won’t be able to do this for a while…” I couldn’t help but laugh at her even as I squeezed her in thanks–as I told her, it’s not like she and Daddy are walking out into the desert to die like the oldest Indian in the tribe or something. They’ll be two hours away, but they still can’t think of anyone but their babies and how far they’ll be from them. That’s just who they are.
My grandparents still live across town and hopefully are here for good. I’ve loads of friends. It is kind of weird, though. What’s really weird is having all my possessions in my tiny apartment. They brought me everything I’d been storing in their shed a couple of weeks ago. Now I’ve bin upon bin (upon all the bins that were already still unpacked, if you’ve ever been over to my place). I’ve put some of them up. Right now I’m working on pictures and keepsakes and old notebooks and newspapers. It’s kind of overwhelming. I’ve carted some of this stuff around since college. I’m now on my…7th apartment since then. Yeesh. It’s about time I finally decide what stays and what goes.
Not a bad metaphor. I should sleep, though.
Tonight’s internet access brought to you by “TedNKristy.” Thanks, “TedNKristy”!
A minor rant and a video, completely unrelated to each other or, really, anything else.
Job. So, apparently, customer service is not my bag, either. Well, I’ve always been pretty good at the customer service aspects of my previous jobs, but I guess all day all the time dealing with stupid questions that I don’t know the stupid answers to and that I don’t have the time to be answering anyway–it’s too much. Sit me down with something to write or process and leave me alone–I’m golden. Even make me man the phones–as long as you’ve provided me with the needed info or are there to help me, which is NOT the case a lot of the time–for part of the day, and I can handle it. I smile, and though I may be making “I’m going to shoot myself in the head” gestures, the other end of the line only gets Calm, Sweet Holly Voice. All together, though? It’s not working.
I miss Starbucks. I was good at that. I wasn’t so good as to be management material, and I wasn’t barista of the year or whatever, but I made AMAZING steamed milk foam. I made customers happy. Some would insist that I be the one to make their latte. Others preferred different baristas and had more of a banter with them–but that was okay. The workplace allowed for that. I was in the second-highest-volume Starbucks in the state, and I had my moments of idiocy and a few meltdowns when I was tired and we were slammed, but there was always a process in place, and you pulled your own weight, and you helped each other out…and I loved it. I knew there was more I should be doing with my life, and I needed to make money. Then again, the “more” I’ve tried to do has turned out pretty crappy.
I miss the legislature. Give me some accomplishments and a skeletal template, and I could write a resolution that would bring a widow to tears every cotton-picking time. (It brought me to tears sometimes thinking just how horrified my professors who were always so proud of my “clarity” in writing would be if they could read the flowering absurdities that I churned out, but that really was part of the fun.)
I do good work. It’s just sad that I have to keep reminding myself that day in and day out. My day–week–was made today when a nice man wrote my boss telling her that I’d been a help to him. He made it easy because he was so cooperative and understanding, so it was no great merit on my part, but that was the first time I at least felt like I had done anything right in this workplace. He will never know what it meant to me that he took the time to write that email.
Whatev. It’s a job.
***
Yesterday at said job, I needed some yell-music, and I’d run out of Foo Fighters on the iPod, so I switched over to the Ramones. The last full song I heard before I shut it off for the day? ”Do You Remember Rock and Roll Radio?” Cool. Whatever.
This morning, during my 20 minutes in traffic in Belle Meade, I switched from NPR to WRVU. The first full song they played after I switched there? ”Do You Remember Rock and Roll Radio?”
But what does it all MEAN? Time to do some embedding, that’s what it means.
Kleinheider of Love
July 6, 2009
Filed under Uncategorized
Tags: i may not be an expert on love but at least i've never gone philandering in argentina, kleinheider, mark sanford, nashville city paper
I actually, believe it or not, read the dead-tree version of the The City Paper and had to link the virtual version of it here. I love ACK’s perspective:
John Lennon famously said that “life was what happened while you made other plans.” Well, love is what happens while you are waiting on the fairy tale. That is, if you let it. Respect, loyalty, trust — these are the building blocks of love. Chasing infatuation like a junkie, like Sanford did, will get you nowhere — and quick.
Go read the rest. Good stuff.
