3.1415926535897932384626433...

Got frozen hot dogs? Why not approximate pi?

O Tannenbaum

Dan and I went Christmas tree shopping yesterday. I miss the days of going to a tree farm, roaming acre after acre, finding the perfect tree, and cutting it down on the spot. Instead, we went to Home Depot and sifted through the pre-cut trees. We still had a good time, especially Dan, who had a good laugh when I fell like a Domino, as trees toppled on me one after another. But I found my tree in record time. And it’s perfect.

I decorated the tree last night, but certainly didn’t set any records for time in that department. No matter how hard I try to complete this task in a reasonable amount of time, it’s a six-hour process, minimum. My OCD is at its worst (best?) when it comes to decorating a Christmas tree. Most of the time is spent hanging the lights, which always pushes me dangerously close to the brink of insanity (see the weekly poll). Hanging the ornaments is time-consuming as well, but in a much more enjoyable way. I love looking at each ornament, remembering when and where it came into my possession, and finding the perfect place for it among the branches. Here are just a few of my favorites:

These are some of my most unusual ornaments. The one on the left is a glass pickle. It’s German tradition to hang the pickle ornament last. The first child to find the pickle receives an extra gift. Next is the cardinal. KB gave this to me after years of me making fun of a scraggly bird ornament she’d hang on her tree. Now, I have my own scraggly bird. Finally, there’s the spider and web. A friend of mine from grad school, DeWayne, gave this to me in deference to my fear of spiders.

These are some of the ornaments I painted by hand. After grad school when I couldn’t find a job, I painted a lot to pass the time. You know that commercial where the woman says, “Is not having your high school diploma keeping you from finding a job?” I’d yell at the TV, “No, having my master’s degree is!”

These were a gift from Mom. They're gold-plated leaves, real ones. Love 'em!

Not sure why, but these two are my favorites. They're not very spectacular here, but they look ethereal in the white light of the tree.

Put it all together and voilà!

Thanksgiving Recap

I went to my folks’ house on Wednesday evening and was greeted by my overjoyed pup. I hadn’t seen him in almost three weeks, so it was a happy reunion.

Thursday, we had plans to go to my uncle’s house outside of Philly for Thanksgiving dinner. We were supposed to leave at 1:00, but my brother, Dan, hadn’t arrived yet. When 1:30 rolled around without him showing and no answer to our repeated phone calls, Mom got worried, while Dad got angry. At 2:00, Mom and I decided to drive to his house and see if he was there, while Dad stayed at the house, in case he showed up.

Mom and I sat in relative silence during the 45-minute drive to Dan’s house. I knew we were both running through every possible scenario, both good and bad, that could explain what was going on. As we turned in his driveway and saw his car, we both heaved a sigh of relief. Of course, one of the scenarios I worked out in my head was that he had been working on his RC cars when he accidentally cut his hand off with the ban saw and was bleeding to death on his workshop floor. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case. Turns out he had gotten the e-mail from my mom that morning saying, “Be here at 1:00 tomorrow.” When he read “tomorrow,” he thought she meant Friday, not realizing she sent it the night before. As for not answering the phone, he had it on vibrate and didn’t hear it. I told him I was glad he wasn’t dead, because now I could kill him! Anyway, we made it to my uncle’s house two hours behind schedule, but just in time to sit down to a delicious dinner.

Friday, I spent the day relaxing with my folks. I also made Cinnamon Cranberry Challah Bread from scratch. It was quite a process: mixing, kneading, letting the dough rise for a few hours, punching it down, braiding, letting it rise again, then baking. But both loaves turned out perfectly.

Today, Mom and I sat on the front porch while the pups, dressed in their hunting gear so as not to be mistaken as wildlife by hunters, roamed around as Dad raked leaves.

I returned home this afternoon and Dan came by a bit later to spend the night. We were planning to go to the 9:30 Club in D.C. for a concert, but decided against it at the last minute. The band we wanted to see wasn’t scheduled to start until after 11:00 and getting home at 3:00 a.m. didn’t sound very appealing to either of us. So we opted to relax at home instead. I’m a bit disappointed that we missed the concert, but I know it would have been really rough on both of us, particularly Dan, who is usually in bed by 8:00.

Tomorrow, Dan and I will go out for breakfast, then come home to watch the Steelers game. A nice end to the long weekend.

"I'll take Humiliation for $200, Alex."

Margaret Spellings, U.S. Secretary of Education, lost on Celebrity Jeopardy! to Michael McKean, best known as "Lenny" from Laverne & Shirley.

As one commenter put it, "It could have been worse. She could have lost to Squiggy."

Muscle Memory

Fall quarter of my senior year at college, I sat down with Dr. Zed, my advisor, to make sure I would complete all of the required courses by the time graduation rolled around. Looking over my transcript, a puzzled expression came over her face as she asked, “Where are your piano credits?” (As a music major, you’re required to complete six credits of piano lessons, as well as pass a piano proficiency exam.) I told her that I had taken one credit my freshman year and then passed the exam, so I didn’t take any more piano lessons. My previous advisor (who had since retired) told me the lessons were to help students prepare for the exam, but I could take the exam as soon as I wanted and, as long as I passed it, skip the lessons. Dr. Zed explained that the six credits were a requirement for graduation, distinct from the exam and regardless of the student’s existing skills.

So there I was, less than a year away from graduation and in need of five credits of piano. The only option left was to take two and three credits during each of the remaining quarters. No problem, right? Wrong. Another requirement was that students taking lessons for two or three credits were required to perform at the Tuesday afternoon recitals, held in front of all of the music majors, as well as pass a jury. (Juries are the musical equivalent of final exams. Held at the end of the quarter, each student must perform a mini recital in front of the faculty for a grade.)

Let me make one thing clear. I was NOT a pianist. I could fumble through accompaniments well enough to give myself an idea of what they sounded like, and had sufficient knowledge of music theory and basic skills to pass the proficiency exam, but that was it.

Then there was the bigger issue: My horrendous fear of playing piano in public. Singing for an audience was not an issue for me, but playing piano was. I tried playing piano in church once as a kid. It was fine until I got close to the end, lost my place in the music, kept playing horrendously wrong notes, couldn't figure out how to end it, and finally just got up and walked back to my pew without any resolution. The thought of attempting it again made me nauseated, but I didn’t have a choice. It had to be done.

So I started lessons the following quarter, one hour, every week. I chose to study Khachaturian’s Toccata, a folk-inspired piece that’s become a staple of twentieth-century repertoire. I begged my teacher, Rosie, to give me a key to the recital hall and the Bechstein piano in the hall, so I could practice there and learn how it felt to play on that stage and on that piano. (On a side note, Rosie was truly amazing. She was a brilliant pianist, accomplished composer, inspiring teacher, and a kind, funny, wonderfully quirky person.)

I practiced like a fiend, sometimes for three hours straight, until I’d get a burning pain between my shoulder blades. Like I said, I’m not a pianist, so practicing for long periods with bad technique and bad posture can be torture.

Before I knew it, the last Tuesday recital of the quarter was upon me. I remember standing backstage with Rosie, waiting for my turn; I was last on the program. I kept rubbing my sweaty palms on my green dress, until Rosie grabbed my hands and started blowing on them, telling me that rubbing them only makes them sweat more. In between breaths, she’d try to calm my nerves with kindness and encouragement, saying things like, “You’ll be brilliant. You’re an awesome musician. You’re gonna blow their minds!”

Then, it was time. I remember walking out onto the stage to the sound of applause, most of it obligatory. My friends knew how terrified I was, so I there was a “Woohoo” or two, and a few hands clapping noticeably louder than all the others. I bowed, fought off the urge to puke on my shoes, sat on the bench, put my hands on the keys, saw them shaking uncontrollably, thought, “I wish I was dead,” and began playing.

The performance itself is a blur, but somehow I made it to the end without falling apart. It must have gone relatively well, for as I released the final chord and relaxed my hands on my lap, I heard applause. A lot of it. I stood up, took my bow, all but ran off the stage to find Rosie, jumping up and down. She threw her arms around me and said, “That was UNBELIEVEABLE.” I noticed there was still applause coming from the hall, just as Rosie pushed me back out onto the stage for an encore bow. I don’t think I’ve ever felt such a sense of relief before, or since.

So what’s the point of this story? Well, tonight I sat down at my piano to play and sing a bit, as I do almost every evening. For some unknown reason, I thought of this experience and wondered if any of the music was still in my fingers.

I started by trying to play the middle section of the piece, which I remember practicing incessantly, until the 2-against-3 pattern felt completely natural. I fumbled through a few measures, but then drew a blank. I tried jumping ahead a bit, but it just wasn’t coming to me.

I sat there staring at the keys, a bit disappointed, but thought I’d give it one more shot, this time from the beginning.

Would you believe that I was able to play the entire piece...from memory? It’s true. Granted, it wasn’t at performance level, but it’s been ten years (holy crap!) since I performed the piece, and my brain and muscles still remember how to do it.

I was—am—completely blown away and just felt the need to share.

Sin City and Phoenix

I'm in Phoenix this week for a conference. The conference is being held at a posh resort and spa, so I'm loving life! I’m sitting on my balcony, which overlooks the golf course, sipping tea and enjoying the balmy desert November night.

I stopped in Vegas on my way here to spend the long weekend with Lee. It was my first time in Sin City and I have to say, it was nothing like I imagined. I expected to see hookers and beggars on every street corner. I thought I'd be battling smoky gamblers and their plastic cups of quarters everywhere I turned. I figured we'd see high rollers and scantily-clad girls in Lamborghinis at every traffic light. Shockingly, I didn't see any of these things, although Lee did point out where we could go to pick up a hooker in the evenings if so inclined. I thanked him for the info, but decided to decline the offer.

We passed the time checking out The Strip, trying to find the "Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas" sign (much smaller than expected), visiting Hoover Dam, laughing about the fact that Suzanne Somers was performing (who's going to that show?!), eating good food, and watching old episodes of Nip/Tuck. Would you believe I didn’t gamble a single penny? It’s true.

The flight from Vegas to Phoenix this afternoon was pretty eventful. As I was waiting to board the plane, an announcement came, saying that the flight was overbooked. Southwest was offering a full refund for the flight, plus a $200 voucher for anyone willing to be bumped to a later flight. I wasn’t in any rush to get to Phoenix, so I volunteered to give up my seat. With only ten minutes to takeoff, I heard myself being paged to the gate. The guy at the counter said they didn’t need the extra seat after all, so I was put back on my original flight. Of course, I had to take a center seat at that point and got stuck between two hefty guys who spilled over the armrests. And speaking of spilling, one of them accidentally dumped his Sprite on me, and then tried to use his beverage napkin to mop up my damp lap. Actually, all the chaos was worth in the end when we flew over the Grand Canyon at sunset. Absolutely spectacular.

So, I’m here in Phoenix for the week. If time permits, I may swing down to Tucson one night to check out my old haunts. We shall see....

Online Dating: Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde

It looks like the online dating thing may turn into a recurring theme here. Not surprising, I suppose, considering how many whackos there are out there.

Okay, so you remember the e-mail from Gary? Well, believe it or not, there's someone even more incredible than Gary. Let me tell you about Darren.

Darren is a member of an online dating site. As he browses the available profiles and finds a woman in which he's interested, he sends her a message. After receiving the message and reading Darren's profile, the woman decides not to pursue the relationship and replies with, "Thanks, but I'm not interested." How does Darren react? He sends the following message:

Subject: YOU SUCK

you old hag

Wait, it gets better.

Another woman receives a message from Darren and decides to try chatting with him to find out more about him. After a few brief, but relatively pleasant online conversations, Darren suggests that they meet for donuts and coffee. The woman is not interested in doing so. Through their conversations, she's learned that he lives at home with his mother, he's unemployed, and she just gets an uncomfortable feeling about him. So, she declines his invitation and ends the conversation pleasantly.

A few days pass, during which the woman receives a few messages from Darren. Just a line or two, saying things like, "So when are we going out for donuts?", or "I miss chatting. Where are you?" After a few more days, the tone of the messages changes. Finally, she receives the following message:

Subject: You bitch

Thank you for ignoring my mail and blowing me off for over an entire week.

A few days later, when the woman is online chatting with a friend, Darren IMs her. This is their conversation:

Him: f*cking hello to you too
Her: That's pleasant.
Him: well thats what you get when you ignore me
Her: I don't respond to rudeness.
Him: i wasnt rude
Her: Calling someone you've never met a "bitch" = rude.
Him: ignoring someone makes you a bitch
[no response]
Him: you blew me off for more than a week, what do you expect
[no response]
Him: you said we were going to meet
Her: Well, I can guarantee that ain't gonna happen now.
Him: screw you you fat bitch
Her: Classy. Leave me alone.
(After she blocks his user name, so he can no longer IM her, he uses another user name to reply)
Him: go to hell

Immediately, he sends her the following message through the online dating site:

Subject: [blank]

you are one old fart

I swear, I am not making this up. I wish to God I was, because it's absolutely terrifying to me and every other woman who is attempting to meet a decent, honest guy online.

The New Car

Yesterday, I was planning to drive down to Ikea in College Park. When I started my car, I noticed a strange rattling sound behind the dashboard. Not good. As I pulled out of my parking space, it felt very sluggish, and as I started down 270, I realized the engine was revving very high and wasn't shifting. So, I turned around and came home.

This morning, I took the car in to get it checked out and found that it needed a new transmission. Yikes! Since it's a 1990 with 117,000 miles on it, putting $3000+ into fixing it was not an option. So, I spent the morning test driving cars and ended up purchasing my first brand new car!

Sadly, I only got $200 for my old car. That's right, $200!! I guess that's what happens when the repairs required are more than three times the value of the car. But I'm thrilled with my purchase and look forward to many happy years behind the wheel.

Clean Bill of Health

I hadn’t had a routine physical in years, so a few weeks ago, I decided it was time.

I’d never even met my primary care physician because I’d simply picked her from a list when I enrolled in my HMO last year. As luck would have it, she was absolutely wonderful. She wasn’t anxious to throw a prescription at me for any little symptom I mentioned. Instead, she made me feel completely comfortable, listened to my concerns, thoroughly answered every question, and was genuinely interested in me, my health, and my well-being. It was amazing.

After she examined me, we talked about my few aches and pains, mostly just my lower back and left knee, which she examined and then offered me a referral to a local chiropractor, as I requested. Then she said I should have some lab work done. As hard as it is to admit, I’m of the age where it’s time to start monitoring all that stuff: cholesterol, blood glucose, thyroid, etc. So, a few days later, I had blood drawn and have been waiting patiently for the results.

Well, the results are in…and I’m darn healthy! My cholesterol total is 142 (it should be under 200) and the breakdown shows that everything (triglycerides, HDL, LDL) is right where it should be. My thyroid and blood glucose are also smack in the middle of normal ranges. Yay!

Now, the last thing I need to do is have a mammogram. I’m 32, so it’s pretty early for me to start, but since I have fibrocystic breasts, it’s difficult to tell through regular breast exams if everything’s normal. Plus, things have been a little, shall we say, out of whack lately and the doc said this was the proactive thing to do, just to be sure.

So, in about two weeks, I’ll go for a mammogram and breast ultrasound and, hopefully, “the girls” will turn out to be perfectly fine.

Happy Birthday, Me!

Today, I am 32 years old. My wonderful friends and family have been calling and e-mailling since midnight to wish me a happy day. But I'm still waiting for the call I always get from JD, where he sings the birthday song from The Simpsons...