I am:
1. A serious student. Wow, I have 14 credits this semester, which is a lot for grad school. In truth though, one of the classes is only 2 Saturdays and one is only the second half of the semester. It's all manageable and I love what I do at school. A lot of times when I get home at the end of the day I am absolutely electrified about what we have talked about in class during the day. A lot of my classes right now focus on planning and evaluating health programs, which is certainly key to what I will someday do in my career, but they are very information-dense courses. In the evil step-sister corner of my public health education is a second semester of biostatistics. Mathematics and I get along well, however this semester brings on SAS. Unfortunately, this is not 'sass,' as I have already mastered being sassy. This is statistical programming software that taunts me with error messages every time I try to run my program, resulting in my squinting at the screen, combing through every entry in search of the one forgotten semi-colon (out of dozens of code lines). Because without that single semi-colon, the program tailspins into mathematical destruction. Gah.
2. A Caribou Coffee Barista. Yup. I started work this last week at Caribou Coffee near Uptown. I am still learning the ways of the job, but its a job and I am very thankful to have a little income right now. I have been working early mornings twice a week and that is definitely an adjustment, but it feels very doable. I am definitely tired at the end of the day, but I can also afford to take some naps on the days that I work so early.
3. A Nanny. Well, I haven't really started but I have also been hired to nanny for about 3 hours a weekend for a Minneapolis family. The kiddos are cute and the family is so wonderfully flexible with my school and work schedule. My first job with them is actually cat-sitting while they are in DisneyWorld. I wouldn't mind a trip to DisneyWorld.
I am not:
1. A Natural-Born Swimmer. I started swimming this morning with some of the lovely ladies I go to school with and we are planning on going twice a week for the semester. I don't exactly know what I would say about what happened in that pool this morning, but I swim about as well as a one-legged stone duck. The positive side? Swimming (or thrashing in a general direction through the water) is an excellent workout, I had fun with the girls, and I can only get better. Because if I get worse, I will probably drown. Also, this training brings me that much closer to my goal of completing a triathlon this summer. Five months to go!
2. Immune to the Winter Cold. All that training from four years of living in Fargo is absolutely gone-- if the temperature dips below ten degrees I don't even want to leave my house. I have spent more time with my electric blanket than any other possession in the last week. I love that silly thing. It can warm up any time now.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Monday, January 19, 2009
An Open Letter to Radio
This letter is courtesy of the silence I had to experience periodically during my four hour drive across northern Minnesota on Sunday, about mid-afternoon.
Dear Radio (particularly that which is broadcast between Fargo, North Dakota and Minneapolis, Minnesota):
I will admit, I am no longer an avid radio listener. With technology today, I choose to download music, use free Internet radio which is programmable to my finicky musical likes and dislikes, or use portable music devices such as an mp3 player or those archaic "Compact Discs" that the kids are still playing. However, in my flurry to leave the balmy 2 degree weather in Minneapolis for the mildly chilled -15 degree Fargo atmosphere, I neglected to pack along any portable music. No full-color, video-enhanced multimedia player (that's right-- it's more than music now!), no CD mega-mixes, and even the Josh Groban Christmas album wasn't wedged between the passenger seat and the door like I thought it could have been. Alas, it was just me and the good ol' FM.
Friday afternoon, Radio, your selection was very palatable and I flitted gracefully between your Top 40's, modern country, some nice twangy country (thank you, Fergus Falls broadcasters), and some oldies to bring me back. . . to a time a time I didn't exist. I even took a break from my one-woman American Idol: Saturn Coupe Edition to relax to some world news on NPR/MPR. It was a veritable smorgasbord of listening pleasantries. I arrived in Fargo feeling up on current events and with little to no voice after Aretha and I demanded a little R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
Insert: excellent weekend with college friends.
Imagine my excitement to meet up with Aretha and the gang again on Sunday morning, as well as join Garrison Keillor on a sunny stroll around Lake Wobegon.
Car fully fueled, windshield wipers finally wiping? Check.
Mittens (it's still cold there)? Check.
Water and roadside snacks? Check.
Driver's out-of-tune vocals set to a volume unreachable by most human voices? Check and Check.
Radio bursting with excellent songs, spanning 5 decades and 32 individual genres, including the ever-popular, always catching Mexican Polka. Radio? Are you there? Can get a check? No. . . really? Not even a little one?
I know this sounds as if the car radio in the Saturn has finally gone to the luxury sedan in the sky, but it has not. Maybe my Sunday afternoon would have been better if it had just died, and eliminated all hope that good radio was just a turn of the dial away. I did happen to catch A Prairie Home Companion, right as Keillor reminded me that "all the women are strong, the men are good-looking, and the children are above average" in the town of Lake Wobegon. Then the show was over. Gah.
Top 40's stations? Okay, you're my musical guilty pleasure. Clearly you were created for 13 year old girls who do not understand how ridiculously inappropriate most of your lyrics are, but you provide a catchy beat and I embarrassingly know all the words. But here's a thought: since you are a "Top 40" station, it would be nice if you played something other than the same 8 songs on a never ending bubble-gum loop. Modern country stations, you are not immune to the limited playlist plague either. Dig deep, guys. Artists put out albums with 10-15 songs on them. Pick another. Any other.
It has also come to my attention that Oldies stations dedicate their Sunday afternoons to sports broadcasting. Well, go ahead, have your cake and eat it too, but I would like to point out some advertising fallacies. If your station slogan promises the best from the 60s, 70s, and 80s, I expect your sports broadcasts to be of those decades-- and commentated by Aretha Franklin and Frankie Valli.
Ahh, the old fall-back: talk radio. And between cities you can sometimes dial in three or four quality talk radio programs. I knew it was going to be good: a nugget of current events, maybe a classy human interest story, calling my name reminding me that the absence of music could be filled by something of substance.
Yes, some substance nuggets had to be on the way. . . like two stations dedicated to the screaming fire and brimstone preacher of my nightmares, reminding me that everything I think, say, do, pretend to do, pretend not to do, eat, and read is probably a sin. And I can't be saved by changing my behavior, but I can be saved by accepting Jesus, who didn't have radio. And if the only way we can be "saved" is by going to church, then get off the radio. But, I had no worries still, there had to be at least two more unexplored talk radio stations. And when I dialed all the way down to them, hanging out in the lower 90's of the FM dial, they were playing. . . MUSIC?! To be fair, it was classical music punctuated by scholarly discussions about what the cellist and flutist really meant while playing their duet. What they really meant? Maybe something like, "Thanks, Mom and Dad. When I asked for a guitar so I could learn to rock like Mick Jagger you signed me up for flute lessons instead. Remember the time in junior high when my braces got stuck in the mouthpiece? Priceless. You're the best!"
In all fairness, I am sure the classical musicians featured on Sunday's programming love what they do and they really were quite talented. To bad they were on a station dedicated to talking instead of music.
So, Radio, go ahead and complain that music technology, the Internet, and portable players are ruining your industry. Because I no longer think that cup of lies holds any water. Your Sunday broadcasting* has ruined your industry, and I promise that the next interstate road trip will definitely include a mega-mix CD (see you soon, Aretha!).
Sincerely,
Katie
*One hope for Sunday programming: Cities 97 hosts both Acoustic Sunrise and Acoustic Sunset on Sundays. Unfortunately, this can only be heard in the Twin Cities, my musical destination but not current location at the time this letter was idealized.
Dear Radio (particularly that which is broadcast between Fargo, North Dakota and Minneapolis, Minnesota):
I will admit, I am no longer an avid radio listener. With technology today, I choose to download music, use free Internet radio which is programmable to my finicky musical likes and dislikes, or use portable music devices such as an mp3 player or those archaic "Compact Discs" that the kids are still playing. However, in my flurry to leave the balmy 2 degree weather in Minneapolis for the mildly chilled -15 degree Fargo atmosphere, I neglected to pack along any portable music. No full-color, video-enhanced multimedia player (that's right-- it's more than music now!), no CD mega-mixes, and even the Josh Groban Christmas album wasn't wedged between the passenger seat and the door like I thought it could have been. Alas, it was just me and the good ol' FM.
Friday afternoon, Radio, your selection was very palatable and I flitted gracefully between your Top 40's, modern country, some nice twangy country (thank you, Fergus Falls broadcasters), and some oldies to bring me back. . . to a time a time I didn't exist. I even took a break from my one-woman American Idol: Saturn Coupe Edition to relax to some world news on NPR/MPR. It was a veritable smorgasbord of listening pleasantries. I arrived in Fargo feeling up on current events and with little to no voice after Aretha and I demanded a little R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
Insert: excellent weekend with college friends.
Imagine my excitement to meet up with Aretha and the gang again on Sunday morning, as well as join Garrison Keillor on a sunny stroll around Lake Wobegon.
Car fully fueled, windshield wipers finally wiping? Check.
Mittens (it's still cold there)? Check.
Water and roadside snacks? Check.
Driver's out-of-tune vocals set to a volume unreachable by most human voices? Check and Check.
Radio bursting with excellent songs, spanning 5 decades and 32 individual genres, including the ever-popular, always catching Mexican Polka. Radio? Are you there? Can get a check? No. . . really? Not even a little one?
I know this sounds as if the car radio in the Saturn has finally gone to the luxury sedan in the sky, but it has not. Maybe my Sunday afternoon would have been better if it had just died, and eliminated all hope that good radio was just a turn of the dial away. I did happen to catch A Prairie Home Companion, right as Keillor reminded me that "all the women are strong, the men are good-looking, and the children are above average" in the town of Lake Wobegon. Then the show was over. Gah.
Top 40's stations? Okay, you're my musical guilty pleasure. Clearly you were created for 13 year old girls who do not understand how ridiculously inappropriate most of your lyrics are, but you provide a catchy beat and I embarrassingly know all the words. But here's a thought: since you are a "Top 40" station, it would be nice if you played something other than the same 8 songs on a never ending bubble-gum loop. Modern country stations, you are not immune to the limited playlist plague either. Dig deep, guys. Artists put out albums with 10-15 songs on them. Pick another. Any other.
It has also come to my attention that Oldies stations dedicate their Sunday afternoons to sports broadcasting. Well, go ahead, have your cake and eat it too, but I would like to point out some advertising fallacies. If your station slogan promises the best from the 60s, 70s, and 80s, I expect your sports broadcasts to be of those decades-- and commentated by Aretha Franklin and Frankie Valli.
Ahh, the old fall-back: talk radio. And between cities you can sometimes dial in three or four quality talk radio programs. I knew it was going to be good: a nugget of current events, maybe a classy human interest story, calling my name reminding me that the absence of music could be filled by something of substance.
Yes, some substance nuggets had to be on the way. . . like two stations dedicated to the screaming fire and brimstone preacher of my nightmares, reminding me that everything I think, say, do, pretend to do, pretend not to do, eat, and read is probably a sin. And I can't be saved by changing my behavior, but I can be saved by accepting Jesus, who didn't have radio. And if the only way we can be "saved" is by going to church, then get off the radio. But, I had no worries still, there had to be at least two more unexplored talk radio stations. And when I dialed all the way down to them, hanging out in the lower 90's of the FM dial, they were playing. . . MUSIC?! To be fair, it was classical music punctuated by scholarly discussions about what the cellist and flutist really meant while playing their duet. What they really meant? Maybe something like, "Thanks, Mom and Dad. When I asked for a guitar so I could learn to rock like Mick Jagger you signed me up for flute lessons instead. Remember the time in junior high when my braces got stuck in the mouthpiece? Priceless. You're the best!"
In all fairness, I am sure the classical musicians featured on Sunday's programming love what they do and they really were quite talented. To bad they were on a station dedicated to talking instead of music.
So, Radio, go ahead and complain that music technology, the Internet, and portable players are ruining your industry. Because I no longer think that cup of lies holds any water. Your Sunday broadcasting* has ruined your industry, and I promise that the next interstate road trip will definitely include a mega-mix CD (see you soon, Aretha!).
Sincerely,
Katie
*One hope for Sunday programming: Cities 97 hosts both Acoustic Sunrise and Acoustic Sunset on Sundays. Unfortunately, this can only be heard in the Twin Cities, my musical destination but not current location at the time this letter was idealized.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Days of Free Time Left: 6
Winter break at the University of Minnesota is much longer than the winter breaks I am used to at NDSU, so that has given me an abundance of "free time." The phrase "free time" is rarely used by graduate students, because there is always something you could or should be doing. It has been a unique blessing to wake up and create a mental list of everything that has to get done that day and find that the list is short or empty. Per usual, I filled some free time with some art/craft projects. My painting supplies are all at home (in Lakeville), which is probably beneficial to my productivity levels because sometimes painting can absolutely consume me.
My first adventure in the land of scissors and glue puddles were windchime suncatchers. I made beads out of magazine strips and I was definitely glad my roommates weren't around to see the disaster I made-- uff da.
I spread glue on one side of a long strip of magazine paper, roll it around a drinking straw, and then I let them dry on these screws. This is a picture of several of the beads drying.
I mixed the magazine beads with some glass beads from the craft store on craft wire and added some loop-de-loops in the wire. The large silver charms on the ends create a unique sound when they "tink tink" together!
This is the finished product.
Later in the week I created some collage art greeting cards. I wasn't really sure what I was doing, but I think they turned out pretty cool.
Here are the three of them completed.
And these are close ups of each card design.
My first adventure in the land of scissors and glue puddles were windchime suncatchers. I made beads out of magazine strips and I was definitely glad my roommates weren't around to see the disaster I made-- uff da.
I spread glue on one side of a long strip of magazine paper, roll it around a drinking straw, and then I let them dry on these screws. This is a picture of several of the beads drying.
I mixed the magazine beads with some glass beads from the craft store on craft wire and added some loop-de-loops in the wire. The large silver charms on the ends create a unique sound when they "tink tink" together!
This is the finished product.Later in the week I created some collage art greeting cards. I wasn't really sure what I was doing, but I think they turned out pretty cool.
Here are the three of them completed.
And these are close ups of each card design.My days of unlimited free time are numbered, however. Starting next Tuesday, I not only begin my second semester of grad school, I also start one of my new jobs as a barista (that sounds so cool) at Caribou Coffee near Lake Calhoun in Minneapolis. On my first day I help open the store, which means being at work at 5:30 in the morning. Luckily, there is free coffee because that is a time of day I am not very used to. In addition to that job, I have been hired to be a regular babysitter for a wonderful family in Minneapolis. The kids are adorable and the family is very nice and understanding of my sometimes crazy schedule. And I definitely can't complain about getting the chance to get paid to play!
Today's nugget: "Remember, happiness is a way of travel, not a destination." Pack lightly and put on some good walking shoes; it's a beautiful journey!
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
"Now I AM the Art!"
On Tuesday I decided to take advantage of my long break from classes to re-explore my favorite place in Minneapolis: The Walker Art Center. The best part about meandering along the galleries of the Walker Art Center on a Tuesday is that it is not a Saturday. So there is no dealing with strollers, shovers, gum-chompers, whiners, stand-in-front-of-the-art-too-longers, art student posers, and "what do you think the artist is saying?" askers.
While I have always been drawn to more tradition visual art, and especially painting, I have discovered a new passion for "participatory art." I am not sure if that is the technical term for it, but I love art that is designed to be experienced by the viewer in a physical-spatial sense, really making them more than a viewer. The Walker sculpture garden has a large steel piece that has a suspended platform and when I stand on it (well, when anyone stands on it, really) my shifts in weight and balance cause most of the sculpture to also shift in reaction. Since the sculpture was clearly designed to move, but needs a person to provide the fuel for movement, when I am on the platform (hovering only about twelve inches above terra firma) I am the art. That is spectacular. And how silly I must look out there in the middle of the city swinging to and fro like a child on an artist's steel megalith, but I am rarely concerned with how I appear to passersby. To add to my fascination with being art, the Walker is currently hosting an exhibit called Garden of Metamorphosis by artist Tetsumi Kudo. Two of his most distinct pieces were small rooms where sculptural installations were illuminated by black light. It was definitely some interesting art (and I will warn: there were some extremely adult themes), but it is fun to be invited into an artist's creation instead of just observe it from behind a velvet barrier rope.
Of course, a trip to the Walker would be incomplete if I didn't tromp around the Spoon and Cherry Bridge that is so iconic of Minneapolis. The Sculpture Garden holds a different energy in the winter months-- the pond around the Spoon is frozen, the fountain is turned off, and there are very few brave people who don their mega-mittens to embrace the snow-capped stone, steel, and brick gentle giants of art.
My time photographing the Spoon and Cherry Bridge always reminds me of a great quote a friend sent me that I try to live by: "I take what life offers, which is why I carry a spoon (in hopes that it offers something delicious and spoon-sized)." Life is definitely offering some big things for me right now, so I am glad to have this spoon close by!
While I have always been drawn to more tradition visual art, and especially painting, I have discovered a new passion for "participatory art." I am not sure if that is the technical term for it, but I love art that is designed to be experienced by the viewer in a physical-spatial sense, really making them more than a viewer. The Walker sculpture garden has a large steel piece that has a suspended platform and when I stand on it (well, when anyone stands on it, really) my shifts in weight and balance cause most of the sculpture to also shift in reaction. Since the sculpture was clearly designed to move, but needs a person to provide the fuel for movement, when I am on the platform (hovering only about twelve inches above terra firma) I am the art. That is spectacular. And how silly I must look out there in the middle of the city swinging to and fro like a child on an artist's steel megalith, but I am rarely concerned with how I appear to passersby. To add to my fascination with being art, the Walker is currently hosting an exhibit called Garden of Metamorphosis by artist Tetsumi Kudo. Two of his most distinct pieces were small rooms where sculptural installations were illuminated by black light. It was definitely some interesting art (and I will warn: there were some extremely adult themes), but it is fun to be invited into an artist's creation instead of just observe it from behind a velvet barrier rope.
Of course, a trip to the Walker would be incomplete if I didn't tromp around the Spoon and Cherry Bridge that is so iconic of Minneapolis. The Sculpture Garden holds a different energy in the winter months-- the pond around the Spoon is frozen, the fountain is turned off, and there are very few brave people who don their mega-mittens to embrace the snow-capped stone, steel, and brick gentle giants of art.
My time photographing the Spoon and Cherry Bridge always reminds me of a great quote a friend sent me that I try to live by: "I take what life offers, which is why I carry a spoon (in hopes that it offers something delicious and spoon-sized)." Life is definitely offering some big things for me right now, so I am glad to have this spoon close by!
Friday, January 2, 2009
Modern Mugwump: Defined
According to Mr. Merriam and Mr. Webster, authors of one of the most oft-cited books:
mugwump (noun): 1. a bolter from the Republican party in 1884; 2. a person who is independent (as in politics) or who remains undecided or neutral.
According to, well, everyone on the planet via Wikipedia:
Mugwump: The Mugwumps were Republican political activists who supported Democratic candidate Grover Cleveland in the US presidential election of 1884. The Mugwumps made the difference for Cleveland in the state of New York, eventually resulting in his victory.
Dictionaries report "mugguomp" was an Algonquain word meaning person of importance or war leader. Editor of the New York Sun Charles Anderson Dana is credited with giving the Mugwumps their political moniker. Dana derided the Mugwumps as amateurs and public moralists.
The Mugwumps were portrayed as "fence-sitters" during the 1884 election (their "mug" on one side of the fence and their "wump" on the other).
See the complete Wikipedia entry here
So what is a Modern Mugwump? That would be a twenty-something young woman who has toted the nickname "Mugwump" since childhood, bestowed upon her by her dad before anyone could realize how fitting the nickname would be as she grew into a fiercely independent and politically-minded opinion bomb.
Here you can enjoy my adventures as a self-proclaimed Modern Mugwump, and more so I hope you enjoy the misadventures, because honestly, those are funnier.
mugwump (noun): 1. a bolter from the Republican party in 1884; 2. a person who is independent (as in politics) or who remains undecided or neutral.
According to, well, everyone on the planet via Wikipedia:
Mugwump: The Mugwumps were Republican political activists who supported Democratic candidate Grover Cleveland in the US presidential election of 1884. The Mugwumps made the difference for Cleveland in the state of New York, eventually resulting in his victory.
Dictionaries report "mugguomp" was an Algonquain word meaning person of importance or war leader. Editor of the New York Sun Charles Anderson Dana is credited with giving the Mugwumps their political moniker. Dana derided the Mugwumps as amateurs and public moralists.
The Mugwumps were portrayed as "fence-sitters" during the 1884 election (their "mug" on one side of the fence and their "wump" on the other).
See the complete Wikipedia entry here
So what is a Modern Mugwump? That would be a twenty-something young woman who has toted the nickname "Mugwump" since childhood, bestowed upon her by her dad before anyone could realize how fitting the nickname would be as she grew into a fiercely independent and politically-minded opinion bomb.
Here you can enjoy my adventures as a self-proclaimed Modern Mugwump, and more so I hope you enjoy the misadventures, because honestly, those are funnier.
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