I really hate doing the marathon updates like I did last time where you get stuck reading a narrative about what I find fascinating in my own life, even though I know it isn't actually fascinating. So, today I thought I would try a "By The Numbers." I was first introduced to the idea by the Star Tribune, who summarizes some of their biggest stories with a By The Numbers on the front page of the paper.
Six. The number of Mexican-themed meals I have consumed in the last seven days.
Nine. The number of hours worked at "The 'Bou."
Twenty-seven. The number of laps I swam Wednesday morning.
Five. The number of loads of laundry that still need to be completed tonight. Yikes.
Five and a half. The average number of hours of sleep per night this week. Thanks a lot, Midterms. . .
Three. The estimated number of POTS of coffee (10 cups per pot) I consumed this week. This may explain the previous entry.
Twenty-eight. The length of time (in minutes) that it is supposed to take an 'express' load of laundry to wash.
Forty-two. The actual length of time (in minutes) of an 'express' load. (There is nothing express about being tardy, Maytag, nothing.)
Six hundred, twenty-three. The number of times I thought about chocolate cake this week. I assure you, this is not exaggerated.
Six. The number of classes attended this week.
Four. Number of classes enjoyed this week.
One. Number of days until I leave for California.
Eight. The current setting on the electric blanket.
Seventeen. The number of minutes that could have gone to something productive (like 5 loads of laundry) that instead went to this update.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
A Month in Review-- Sorry!
Hmmm, the whole point of a blog is to actually update on a regular basis so I don't have to come here on the eve of a month of absence and try to pick out what have been the highlights of the month to share with you. For all of this time I think Wow, I don't really do anything that people will want to read about. And then it has been a month and I feel like there is so much to share! I will try to keep it concise (a skill I struggle with in academic and personal writing ALL the time).
Let's see, the last entry was the beginning of a minor and expected lapse in mental health-- it is grad school after all, this gets hard sometimes! And I surprised myself by realizing I had gotten homesick even though I live so much closer to the family than I have in the last 4 years. Regardless, I had to push through the stress and rewarded myself with an end-of-the-week mini-vacation in Lakeville. I needed that in a major way-- I reconnected with all my favorite people: Bridget, Mom and Dad, Kim and Erik, and even myself a little bit. I logged some serious hours in the basement working on a painting (more on that later) and I forgot how wonderful painting is for my mental health. Very few activities relax me and energize me with such calculated balance as putting on some loud music and mixing color.
When most jeans get the kiss of death due to an ill fit or massive hole, mine get labeled "PAINT" so I remember not to wear my nice pants to art in. Because they all end up looking like this:
Things at Caribou have been going well and I am getting promoted to Shift Supervisor. Ha! This after I did a few choice things at work:
1. Brewed a full pot of coffee into an already full pot of coffee. All that does is create overflow-- and 1.5 gallons of coffee on the floor. Classy. . .
2. Spilled an entire bag of beans into a whole bunch of beans that have been measured to brew. Well, you can't have a mix so EVERYTHING has to be trashed and remeasured. Excellent. . .
3. I worked the bar for the first real time this morning. I miscreated 6 drinks. Okay, so I probably made 30-40 correctly, but I don't like doing things wrong.
So basically, I am pretty surprised that after less than a month of working there I am getting promoted, but at this rate I will own Caribou in about 14 months. I'll be sure to get you a discount when I get there. . .
This is already getting long, and there is definitely more coming. Seeing as we just discussed Caribou Coffee, why don't you go ahead and brew yourself a pot and come back to the blog after you get a cup. Don't worry, I'll wait.
That feels better, huh? Okay, let's continue through 28 Days of Katie:
Went to the water exhibit at the Science Museum with the family and I really liked it. It was interesting because Kim sure knows a lot about the science of water and the ooogie-booogies in it, and I am much more interest in the social aspect of water (wasting clean water, access to water, responsible use and storage, etc.) and it seemed to be a fun balance of those two things. We also saw the Goosebumps exhibit about fear and that was pretty cool. I was a 'fraidy-cat and wouldn't do some of the activities. I have never really considered someone who is scared of much, but a lot of these had to do with being surprised and I don't like creepy or scary surprises. Only good onces. Like cake. That's a good surprise.
My SPH friends and I finally had a much needed "girls night" after a crazy week of projects and we saw the movie He's Just Not That Into You. If you want a fairly comprehensive recap of the Katie dating train, sometimes going recklessly full speed ahead, whistle a-blowin' and sometimes painfully derailed, just watch that movie. It was interesting-- and the fun part of seeing it with a group of good friends is that we have watched each other go through a lot of the situations in the movie.
Went to a formal hosted by the School of Dentistry about mid-month (Shivan, one of the roommates, is a dental student) which was affectionately dubbed "Tooth Prom." A good friend from NDSU, Steve, came down for the event and we had a wonderful time. Steve and Shivan have been friends forever probably, and it is fun for me to spend time with them and have some cohesiveness between Fargo friends and Minneapolis friends. We had dinner at Palomino downtown, which is a little out of my price range for regular dining, but for a big event it was great fun. Remember the discussion about good surprises? Dinner here would fit well in that category.
Have another cup of coffee. Really, I am not done yet. I have a lot to share, and I try not to skip the finer details. They really make the story. So really, do a yoga pose or two. I'll be here when you get back. . .
I guess there are maybe just two more topics. . . and since one is about art (aren't all my posts about art in some way these days?) I can make it shortish. The painting I worked on at home? I sold it. Well, I made it specifically to be sold. It is going to habitate on the wall of a classmate who saw the sketches of my Spoonbridge and Cherry and wanted a big painting. So, here it is:
Don't get too attached (this means you, Katie Muehe) because she is, in fact, leaving. It's a major milestone though-- first painting I have ever sold. Feels kind of cool. Makes me a professional, sort of.
Last topic (I am going to save one for a later post in case this week is ultra-dull or something): The Spoonbridge and Cherry was disassembled this week so the cherry could be cleaned and repainted. Seeing as this is one of my favorite places (which should be obvious by the number of times it appears in some format in this blog), I went to take some pictures and enjoy another wintry afternoon at the Walker. I will leave you with these photos. By this time you might be on your second pot of coffee. . . or maybe you won't even make it this far in the blog entry, wishing I would have just said "The last month has been busy, love you!" Sorry, that's just not my style-- you know that.
The last month has been really busy. Love you all!
Let's see, the last entry was the beginning of a minor and expected lapse in mental health-- it is grad school after all, this gets hard sometimes! And I surprised myself by realizing I had gotten homesick even though I live so much closer to the family than I have in the last 4 years. Regardless, I had to push through the stress and rewarded myself with an end-of-the-week mini-vacation in Lakeville. I needed that in a major way-- I reconnected with all my favorite people: Bridget, Mom and Dad, Kim and Erik, and even myself a little bit. I logged some serious hours in the basement working on a painting (more on that later) and I forgot how wonderful painting is for my mental health. Very few activities relax me and energize me with such calculated balance as putting on some loud music and mixing color.
When most jeans get the kiss of death due to an ill fit or massive hole, mine get labeled "PAINT" so I remember not to wear my nice pants to art in. Because they all end up looking like this:
Things at Caribou have been going well and I am getting promoted to Shift Supervisor. Ha! This after I did a few choice things at work:1. Brewed a full pot of coffee into an already full pot of coffee. All that does is create overflow-- and 1.5 gallons of coffee on the floor. Classy. . .
2. Spilled an entire bag of beans into a whole bunch of beans that have been measured to brew. Well, you can't have a mix so EVERYTHING has to be trashed and remeasured. Excellent. . .
3. I worked the bar for the first real time this morning. I miscreated 6 drinks. Okay, so I probably made 30-40 correctly, but I don't like doing things wrong.
So basically, I am pretty surprised that after less than a month of working there I am getting promoted, but at this rate I will own Caribou in about 14 months. I'll be sure to get you a discount when I get there. . .
This is already getting long, and there is definitely more coming. Seeing as we just discussed Caribou Coffee, why don't you go ahead and brew yourself a pot and come back to the blog after you get a cup. Don't worry, I'll wait.
That feels better, huh? Okay, let's continue through 28 Days of Katie:
Went to the water exhibit at the Science Museum with the family and I really liked it. It was interesting because Kim sure knows a lot about the science of water and the ooogie-booogies in it, and I am much more interest in the social aspect of water (wasting clean water, access to water, responsible use and storage, etc.) and it seemed to be a fun balance of those two things. We also saw the Goosebumps exhibit about fear and that was pretty cool. I was a 'fraidy-cat and wouldn't do some of the activities. I have never really considered someone who is scared of much, but a lot of these had to do with being surprised and I don't like creepy or scary surprises. Only good onces. Like cake. That's a good surprise.
My SPH friends and I finally had a much needed "girls night" after a crazy week of projects and we saw the movie He's Just Not That Into You. If you want a fairly comprehensive recap of the Katie dating train, sometimes going recklessly full speed ahead, whistle a-blowin' and sometimes painfully derailed, just watch that movie. It was interesting-- and the fun part of seeing it with a group of good friends is that we have watched each other go through a lot of the situations in the movie.
Went to a formal hosted by the School of Dentistry about mid-month (Shivan, one of the roommates, is a dental student) which was affectionately dubbed "Tooth Prom." A good friend from NDSU, Steve, came down for the event and we had a wonderful time. Steve and Shivan have been friends forever probably, and it is fun for me to spend time with them and have some cohesiveness between Fargo friends and Minneapolis friends. We had dinner at Palomino downtown, which is a little out of my price range for regular dining, but for a big event it was great fun. Remember the discussion about good surprises? Dinner here would fit well in that category.
Have another cup of coffee. Really, I am not done yet. I have a lot to share, and I try not to skip the finer details. They really make the story. So really, do a yoga pose or two. I'll be here when you get back. . .
I guess there are maybe just two more topics. . . and since one is about art (aren't all my posts about art in some way these days?) I can make it shortish. The painting I worked on at home? I sold it. Well, I made it specifically to be sold. It is going to habitate on the wall of a classmate who saw the sketches of my Spoonbridge and Cherry and wanted a big painting. So, here it is:
Don't get too attached (this means you, Katie Muehe) because she is, in fact, leaving. It's a major milestone though-- first painting I have ever sold. Feels kind of cool. Makes me a professional, sort of.Last topic (I am going to save one for a later post in case this week is ultra-dull or something): The Spoonbridge and Cherry was disassembled this week so the cherry could be cleaned and repainted. Seeing as this is one of my favorite places (which should be obvious by the number of times it appears in some format in this blog), I went to take some pictures and enjoy another wintry afternoon at the Walker. I will leave you with these photos. By this time you might be on your second pot of coffee. . . or maybe you won't even make it this far in the blog entry, wishing I would have just said "The last month has been busy, love you!" Sorry, that's just not my style-- you know that.
The last month has been really busy. Love you all!
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
The Higher You Are, the Harder You Fall
I have always had personal issues with confidence-- overconfidence, that is. Overconfidence is kind of a funny thing because I don't believe that we should neglect or be embarrassed by the things we are talented at or have worked hard to achieve. For example, sometimes it is kind of hard or embarrassing to discuss intelligence or academic achievement with people (especially friends who are not at the same level academically), and while I may gloss over my actual scores and grades when I talk to people, I refuse to allow other people to think I am not smart or that I am not proud of high test scores, a remarkable undergrad GPA, and getting into a competitive Masters program. But even that last sentence makes me sound a little full of myself. It's not an ego-stroke, its a confidence issue. Overconfidence has been a blessing to me in a lot of ways-- I have tried new things, I have stood up to and for people, I've demanded to be heard, and I've earned a lot of respect for using my confidence wisely.
Sometimes I don't use it wisely at all, and those moments lead to some of the best misadventures the modern mugwump has yet to experience.
On numerous occasions in high school I utilized my overconfidence to beat a point to death (i.e. "Hey Romans, Christianity is swell, but I really appreciate that you invented democracy and I would judge that to be the best contribution you made to the modern world. Don't get me wrong, yay Jesus and all, but allowing me a voice in how my world is created and controlled is a little cooler").
Unfortunately for the NDSU administrative staff, they all have a few more grey hairs after my overconfident wrecking-ball of a self made some reasonable demands, er, requests from the school. For instance, if I get a letter that says you cancelled my scholarship despite 3 consecutive 4.0 semesters and no one will fix it, I create appointments out of thin air. And if you can't reasonably work out why it might have been stupid to send official pre-graduation documents that were time-sensitive to my home address 270 miles from my local address, overconfidence may make me believe that its reasonable to sit in your office for 2 hours until you fix it.
And overconfidence hasn't just struck in my academic life, it has seeped into my personal life as well. All the stories of my youth seem to end in "And then Katie took her toys and went home because no one would play by her rules." Okay, that might be more controlling than confidence, technically, but I think in those situations they went hand-in-hand. And later in life my overconfidence really shined through in a break up in which a fairly nice gentleman who had stopped being fairly nice for about a week, finally had the guts to actually end our courtship (we were definitely NOT in a relationship) by saying I was a nice girl, but he just didn't really like me. My response was not one of hurt feelings or acceptance that he just wasn't in to me. Instead I honestly said to him, "That's not true. It's something else because NO ONE doesn't like me. Everyone likes me. You maybe aren't attracted to me, but you like me-- everyone does." I cannot believe I said that, but even more embarrassing is that I definitely believed that, and I still sometimes do.
And while I will continue to be overconfident and say things similar to "Driving is easy, anyone can do it" and then fail similar things to a driver's test, this week has been a good lesson in the practicality of "The higher you get, the harder you fall."
Last semester was punctuated with phrases such as, "Grad school is a little more difficult, and I have to work a bit harder, but I was definitely up to the intellectual challenge and if you pay attention it's really a breeze." And then the 4.0 of my first grad school semester rolled in and I wasn't even on Cloud 9. I built myself such a gorgeous pedestal of awesomeness, that Cloud 9 was simply a spec below my feet. I mean, really, a 4.0 in grad school? You can just go ahead and sign the diploma now.
Ahhh, second semester: this verse just like the first, eh?
CRASH!
Gravity was a little stronger than I remembered, because when that pedestal cracked earlier this week I missed Cloud 9 because I blinked on my way back to earth. Long story short of this semester: I can see that the words are English, and I can see that my professor is human, and I even recognize the meaning of some of the words by themselves, but when they talk or I read I have no idea what's going on. And my friendly shadow, Overconfidence, led me into a project that is maybe a little bigger than I was ready for. But Pride, the buck-toothed first cousin of Overconfidence, won't allow me to pick something easier. There is a lot to do, in a little amount of time (which is, of course, why I am blogging and not doing homework). I got a little overwhelmed, and I would say it almost got to me today. But then the good parts of overconfidence came rushing in like little EMT's with a stretcher and reminded me that not everyone goes to grad school and it is an honor to be in such a wonderful program. I am smart enough to be here, and I will make it through this. And I was foolish for thinking it would be easy. Nothing this expensive is ever easy. Except vacation. Which this is not. And if nothing else, at least they like me-- everyone likes me. :D
Sometimes I don't use it wisely at all, and those moments lead to some of the best misadventures the modern mugwump has yet to experience.
On numerous occasions in high school I utilized my overconfidence to beat a point to death (i.e. "Hey Romans, Christianity is swell, but I really appreciate that you invented democracy and I would judge that to be the best contribution you made to the modern world. Don't get me wrong, yay Jesus and all, but allowing me a voice in how my world is created and controlled is a little cooler").
Unfortunately for the NDSU administrative staff, they all have a few more grey hairs after my overconfident wrecking-ball of a self made some reasonable demands, er, requests from the school. For instance, if I get a letter that says you cancelled my scholarship despite 3 consecutive 4.0 semesters and no one will fix it, I create appointments out of thin air. And if you can't reasonably work out why it might have been stupid to send official pre-graduation documents that were time-sensitive to my home address 270 miles from my local address, overconfidence may make me believe that its reasonable to sit in your office for 2 hours until you fix it.
And overconfidence hasn't just struck in my academic life, it has seeped into my personal life as well. All the stories of my youth seem to end in "And then Katie took her toys and went home because no one would play by her rules." Okay, that might be more controlling than confidence, technically, but I think in those situations they went hand-in-hand. And later in life my overconfidence really shined through in a break up in which a fairly nice gentleman who had stopped being fairly nice for about a week, finally had the guts to actually end our courtship (we were definitely NOT in a relationship) by saying I was a nice girl, but he just didn't really like me. My response was not one of hurt feelings or acceptance that he just wasn't in to me. Instead I honestly said to him, "That's not true. It's something else because NO ONE doesn't like me. Everyone likes me. You maybe aren't attracted to me, but you like me-- everyone does." I cannot believe I said that, but even more embarrassing is that I definitely believed that, and I still sometimes do.
And while I will continue to be overconfident and say things similar to "Driving is easy, anyone can do it" and then fail similar things to a driver's test, this week has been a good lesson in the practicality of "The higher you get, the harder you fall."
Last semester was punctuated with phrases such as, "Grad school is a little more difficult, and I have to work a bit harder, but I was definitely up to the intellectual challenge and if you pay attention it's really a breeze." And then the 4.0 of my first grad school semester rolled in and I wasn't even on Cloud 9. I built myself such a gorgeous pedestal of awesomeness, that Cloud 9 was simply a spec below my feet. I mean, really, a 4.0 in grad school? You can just go ahead and sign the diploma now.
Ahhh, second semester: this verse just like the first, eh?
CRASH!
Gravity was a little stronger than I remembered, because when that pedestal cracked earlier this week I missed Cloud 9 because I blinked on my way back to earth. Long story short of this semester: I can see that the words are English, and I can see that my professor is human, and I even recognize the meaning of some of the words by themselves, but when they talk or I read I have no idea what's going on. And my friendly shadow, Overconfidence, led me into a project that is maybe a little bigger than I was ready for. But Pride, the buck-toothed first cousin of Overconfidence, won't allow me to pick something easier. There is a lot to do, in a little amount of time (which is, of course, why I am blogging and not doing homework). I got a little overwhelmed, and I would say it almost got to me today. But then the good parts of overconfidence came rushing in like little EMT's with a stretcher and reminded me that not everyone goes to grad school and it is an honor to be in such a wonderful program. I am smart enough to be here, and I will make it through this. And I was foolish for thinking it would be easy. Nothing this expensive is ever easy. Except vacation. Which this is not. And if nothing else, at least they like me-- everyone likes me. :D
Monday, January 26, 2009
Things I Am and Things I Am Not
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.
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 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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