Friends Don't Let Friends Make To-Do Lists

Help!!! It's attacking me!!! It's leaching onto my soul and pulling me down into the depths of despair with its deadly didactic dictatorship of doom!!! !


!!


True story. There was once a girl. She thought to herself, "I'm so glad Thanksgiving is coming up. It will be the perfect time to catch up on my list of stuff to do. I've been soooo behind, but I'm going to get all caught up and head into the rest of the semester feeling confident and relaxed."




And then IT happened.




(gasp) The List. (other gasp)




Said girl made a list. Now, this wasn't just any list. It was split into categories, beautifully organized and succinctly stated. It was the best, most comprehensive, list the girl had made all year. It was beautifully crafted, with bullet points, underlines, and italics. She named it Lester. I think that's where she went wrong, really. In naming the list, she somehow endowed it with an evil spirit.

The girl began crossing things off Lester. She emailed, shopped, banked, telephoned, and wrote. She cooked, called, fixed, and practiced. She sat for hours and hours in front of a computer screen, thinking, "It will end soon, I've crossed off so many things." Then, the first day ended.

She awoke the next morning knowing she had accomplished a great deal the day before. She decided to reward herself by reworking Lester, as she usually gained a vast amount of satisfaction being able to cross things off and see the list shrink. This is when she discovered the terrible truth. Lester had become the gerbil of all lists. Those twenty things she did yesterday had somehow multiplied into forty more things to do. She once again categorized and bullet- pointed. She thought that she must be miscalculating, so the girl began anew, trying to whittle Lester down to the size of a post-it note.

Post-it no.

As the girl worked, Lester began to stretch. Whenever the girl tried to cross something off the list, Lester arranged for the entire universe to point at her and laugh. At the end of the day, the girl once again fell asleep dreaming about little feathers tickling that one spot on your upper back that you just can't get to with either hand.

And this torture went on for days upon days and months upon months, until, at last, the girl gave up. Lester won. He was now the master.

Stupid list.

Thrifty Thursday

As promised, here is the first installment of my new "how to" series. My first pick is a very versatile vessel of vicissitude. I'm thinking about flanking my apartment door with two of them in hopes that people will always feel welcomed into my home. So, here are the instructions on

how to...

paint your own garden gnome.

Step 1. If you're feeling particularly precocious, you may fashion your own gnome body out of ceramic or even papier macher. If you're feeling Semi-Homemade, then go buy a starter gnome, making sure he has not yet been painted. There are many, many, MANY websites to do this. More than you may have been expecting. My favorite just might be this one.

Step 2. Decide what kind of gnome this is. Is he a bastion for peace and welcome? Is he a voodoo gnome? Is he going to be the centerpiece at your next major event? Is he going to stand guard in front of the Matterhorn (see above picture... it's real.)? The answer to these questions will determine your decorating scheme. After all, we wouldn't want a bastion of peace to leer at our visitors, now would we?

Step 3. Paint and let dry.Step 4. Put in place of prominence so all can enjoy.

When the Future Looks Bleak

So, this spring I am graduating from Juilliard with my master's degree. I'm going out into that great big world to see what I can make of myself. I will constantly be expanding my horizons and living "the dream" and... BY THE HAMMER OF THOR!!!

I will have 2, count them, TWO degrees in viola.

Hmmm...

This realization has given rise to some serious thought. Seriously. So thoughtful. Anyway, I realize that I may never actually have a job that pays actual money. And therefore, it might be a good idea for me to learn how to do some things by myself, thereby avoiding that tricky "paying the professionals" thing. Now, I realize I may not be the only one in this situation (pretty please) so I'm starting a new section on my blog. Every Week (maybe "Fix It" Fridays?) I will feature a very practical solution for those everyday needs. If you'd like to weigh in or email me with some pesky problem you've been having, I will also attempt to solve that for you. Just call me Madame MacGyver. Anyway, stay tuned for installment numero uno.

Feeling Feisty

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p8Z-DIAthbM

Okay. Seriously. You won't be disappointed.

This is my FAVORITE music video. Ever. I want to re-create it. In a junior high dance concert. In the '80s.

In The Which I Reveal A Deep Dark Secret

This week a deep dark secret just waiting all these years to burst its way to the surface has emerged. Something I thought I was far above in my evolution, but nooooooooo....

...

I am a blithering idiot around celebrities, just like everyone else. I like to think I'm above the foibles of the mere masses around me, that my lofty grace and poise knows no bounds.

No.

Nope.

Nada.

Alec Baldwin came to my orchestra concert. When I saw him afterwards, he said, "Nice concert." I stammered out something like, "Thank you Mr. Baldwin." If his elevator door hadn't closed just then I probably would have followed this brilliant statement up with something like, "I love your show! Say hi to Tina for me! Can we be best friends!?!" Guffaw.

Then a few days ago I saw Clinton (as in Stacey and. From "What Not to Wear") at Whole Foods. He was sitting at a table talking to someone (looked like an interview). Well, it took me a minute to place him, I must admit, and I caught myself staring, trying to figure him out. Unfortunately, he also caught me staring, and he looked at me a little peeved. Oops. Poor guy. Can't go to the grocery store without some girl staring thinking, "I wonder if I can get away with saying, "Hi Clinton! I need help! Fashion emergency! Pick me! Pick me! Pick me! I already live in New York! You wouldn't even have to fly me here!" Thankfully, my better judgment kicked in and saved me from THAT humiliation.

Even now there's a part of me that almost wishes I asked him for a makeover. Sad. Day.

Birthday Fun

http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com/2008/11/ive-heard-of-death-taking-holiday-but.html

That's all I have to say. I'm now at the top of my age bracket. When I opened my brand new i-pod nano this morning (yayayayyayay!!!!) and registered it, I realized that I'm now at the top of the 18-24 age bracket. Weird. Next year I jump up a WHOLE BRACKET.

All I Want for Christmas Is...

So, it's officially the holidays in New York City. Tinseltown is alive and kicking, Rockette style. I was, um, being productive, and I found this video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BC5NoQ7Rfcw
Really, what else would you get for the Monk in your life?

Someone asked me what I want for Christmas this year. Have you noticed that as you grow up, your list becomes so much more boring? I want a new viola case. How lame-o is that!?! The thing is, I totally have my eye on this new model that's super light and durable. And I'm sort of (gasp) excited. Over a viola case. I guess I must be all growed up. Or I will be tomorrow.

What do you want for Christmas?

Best Thing I've Seen All Day

Okay all you politically-minded people out there. So, I was stalking my FAVORITE blog, and this is what I saw. You absolutely should see this. Hilarious.

http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com/2008/11/and-remember.html

Maybe My Mother Was Right

So, the CIA ain't got NOTHIN' on me, foo.

Explain? Why yes, I will...

Last night was the first time I have ever felt threatened in New York. It will forever now be known as the "Apple Cider Incident," or possibly the ACI. So. I am on the institute (a special church program for young single adults) council, and last night I was in charge of getting 5 gallons of apple cider, four spice jars, three large pots with lids, two massive packages of cups, and one me down to 15th Street and 7th Avenue for the CES Fireside with Bishop Burton. Now, I knew there would be NO way I could go the public transportation route, so I decided that I could carry all of this stuff up two blocks to Broadway to hail a cab. I was feeling particularly Helen Reddy (see http://www.google.com/musics?lid=GFK4OoRBa1J&aid=LtAPlfZRWTO&sid=DAFcrwFB65E) so I piled all the stuff into 6 garbage bags and made my way outside. About half a block away, I began to regret my decision. Luckily, I ran into two friends and they bailed me out (and chewed me out), carrying some of my stuff and hailing a cab for me.

Unfortunately, I got a joker cab driver who a) hit on me (grrrr) and b) took me the long way around. I got back at him though. I didn't give him my number. OOOOhhh. Take that!!! Anyway, this is neither here nor there, so I'll get back to the story.

So, I went. I saw the fireside. I showed that apple cider who was boss (with an orangey, cinnamoney, clovey twist) and then I decided to haul the now four bags back up to my apartment on 95th Street via the subway. Read on:

There was a crazy man sitting on a bench. He kept staring at me, so I moved behind a column. He moved to keep staring at me, so I moved again. Thankfully the train came then. I walked up to the next car so I would be able to get away from him. Unfortunately, the train moved a little slower than I would have liked, and he followed me on, sitting down on the same bench as me. GREAT. Just great.

So, I was pretty freaked out by this time. You know, girl, late at night, alone, lots of bags, pretty weak when it comes right down to it. Thankfully, I have some pretty good dodging skills, so at the next stop (34th St. to be exact) I got up to try leaving my new "friend" behind. He got up too, to follow me out. Seriously. The guy would not leave me alone! I was lucky enough to weave through the crowd and hop on the subway car just over right as the doors closed, thereby making it impossible for him to follow me in. Wew! I was super paranoid the whole way home after that, though.

Now, this is the first time I've ever felt threatened in the city. When people ask, I tell them that I feel very safe here. This experience has opened my eyes a little, though. There were tons of people around, and I'll bet some of them observed the guy following me. No one said anything though. I'm just greatful that I was aware of my surroundings and had the good luck to get out of the situation. I don't know what could have happened, maybe nothing, maybe something terrible. I guess I'm glad that I paid attention to promptings within myself that told me to leave. Just something new to think about.

Novemberween

Everbody! Everbody! Happy Novemberween.

So... to the business at hand...

For the start of a spooky month (spooky because I'm turning 24!!!) I decided to make up for the fact that I did nothing Halloweenish yesterday except watch a half hour of "Ghostbusters" before falling asleep. I will therefore reveal to you all (all one of you who will probably read this) just how classy I am.

Here it is folks. The graveyard edition. I've noticed that people will put just about anything on their tombstones. I actually think this is pretty awesome, because I like it when people have personalities. I think I'm going to put "Oops." Wouldn't that give people something to think about. Here is a stone that I admit has given me many whole minutes of thought:

Don't you want to know the story? What on earth happened? Who was this woman? Did she pick out her headstone? Did her husband? Seriously. I WANT TO KNOW.

Okay, here's another that I can't vouch for as real, but I kind of love it nonetheless.

Seriously? SERIOUSLY!?! Who ARE these people? Just how much "personality" do you have to have to warrant a headstone like this?

So, my question is... what would you put on your tombstone? I know that this is a semi-morbid question. However, I think if you are actually reading this, you know the spirit in which it is intended. Nothing except the most inappropriate, ahem, I mean, Appropriate way possible.