Making a List & Checking it Twice

One of my favourite things to do is to make lists. I just can't get enough of them. I make them in the little notebook I carry around in my purse, on scraps of paper or backs of used envelopes (usually the ones my credit card bills come in :) ) I leave in my bedroom and in my kitchen, and in my Gmail inbox where I have two permanently saved drafts (very originally) entitled "to do" and "to do # 2".

The best thing about lists is that they help me organize all my thoughts/goals/tasks/ideas. Just writing them down and seeing them in print makes all the items on my lists seem both possible and manageable. While 'to do' lists form the basis for most of my lists, I also like to delve into other areas. After my first school year in Austin was done in May 2008 I was faced with the certainty that I didn't want to continue there after the next year, but the uncertainty of what I did want to do. I remember spending a sunny and pleasant May morning making lists of careers I thought I would like, places I wanted to live, and countries I wanted to visit; and feeling much better about the future as I was doing so. I still have all the lists I made that day, and I occasionally still look at them, and still feel better.

When I was in Paris the summer of 2008 doing research for my masters I attended this conference called France Noir Black France. One of the presenters gave his paper on Josephine Baker and her rise to fame in Paris; included in his power point presentation were photographs of some of Baker's lists that he had come across when doing his research in her personal papers. I was fascinated!! It's really cool to see other people's lists because they show you what that person is thinking about, their plans, their ideas etc etc.

I approached this past fall which just ended with some trepidation - I was starting over (in a way), beginning a new job, trying to get settled and into a routine and I seemed to have all these things I wanted to do but no sooner would I resolve to do them, then they'd leave my head and I'd end up feeling discouraged and down. The solution to my problem came in the form of lists! I made a list of things I wanted to accomplish for the fall in general, and then since I felt so good after writing that, I opted to make a list of goals for October. That went so well, that I made one for November, and then December too. Now it's almost January 1, 2010 and for the first time in a long time I'm actually making New Year's resolutions, and I'm really excited about them - mostly, I think, because I just view them as a continuation (or maybe a slightly glorified and hyped up version) of my monthly goal lists. While I am going to make a list specifically for January, it feels good to also have some ideas in mind for the winter, and for 2010 as a whole. I also have a brand new little notebook whose pages are just waiting to be filled with lists.

When I wake up in my makeup

I've never been much of a makeup girl. In fact, L.'s mom (yet a different L. than the ones before! I have so many friends whose name starts with the letter L) once told me (when I visited L. and her family in Dallas a few years ago) "I'm going natural tonight - just like you!" I think my decision not to wear makeup, however, stems from my inability to do a good job putting it on; not because I don't think it looks good or because I prefer looking 'natural.'

Back in the fall of 2004 when I lived at Stebbins, my fabulous roommate C. was an expert at putting on makeup (both herself and other people). Before parties (and I used to go to a lot of parties in those days, far more than I go to now :) I'd always get C. to do my makeup. I'd sit there obediently while she worked her magic, and when I'd look at myself in the mirror after she was done I always felt transformed, like Cinderella going to the ball. My eyes seemed bigger, brighter, and I felt more mysterious. And happily that feeling would last all night, and usually beyond... Since I didn't regularly wear makeup, I didn't have any makeup remover and regular soap just doesn't do the trick. After brushing my teeth and rubbing a washcloth around my eyes, I'd fall into bed with my makeup still on and the next morning, I'd always be surprised at who was staring back at me in the mirror. Far from feeling used up (as the Hole song suggests) when I'd wake up in my makeup, I actually liked it. Sure my makeup was a bit smudged and faded, but I thought I looked good. My eyes may have been tired, but the black eyeliner still managed to brighten them up. My still made up face also represented tangible proof that I had gone out, that the really fun party the night before had occurred, that I was still the Princess with the glass slippers, and not the maid standing dejectedly on the road next to a pumpkin.

This past summer, I decided I wanted to start wearing eyeliner again, even though I no longer had a C. who could put it on for me. I asked N. for tips when I visited her in July. When I came back to Toronto in August I went promptly to the drug store and bought Cover Girl Exact Eyelights in Vibrant Pearl (aka black). Though N. cautioned me that black is pretty dramatic, I tried out brown a few times and decided I just didn't like it. If I'm going to wear eyeliner, it has to be black. I'm still not very good at putting it on but I can do a decent enough job. I've only worn it a handful of times this fall, and always at night, but I really liked it. It brought back some of that mysterious vibe I had going for me in Fall 2004, and I do think it makes my eyes look good. I've decided my makeup goals for 2010 should be to try wearing it during the daytime a few times and see how it feels, and perhaps even to try lipstick. Exciting!

Fog Magic

When I was little I remember being really excited to be given a copy of this book called "Fog Magic" because the title had totally intrigued me when I saw it in the bookstore. It turns out I now can't remember anything about the plot (which says something...) except that I was disappointed that the story didn't live up to its name - because really "Fog Magic" is such a good name, and conjures such a lovely, and true, image.

I first became consciously aware of fog as both a phenonema of nature, and also as something real and alive with a personality of its own when I was living in the Bay Area. Berkeley is a place that is often visited by fog, in pretty much every season - although some months seem more prone to it than others. I remember how in October 2005 when I was living in my most favourite apartment ever on Hilgard I would often wake up to fog and would lie in bed for a few extra minutes some mornings just watching it and trying to get a feel for the day. Sometimes it would seem thick and insistent, as if it were there to stay; and other times it was breezy and light, and gave the impression of just passing through. The best part about fog in Berkeley though was that usually even if a day started off foggy, by mid-afternoon (sometimes earlier) the fog would "burn off" leaving sparkling sunshine in its wake. Fog was very much a morning (and middle of the night) presence there.

San Francisco - Berkeley's faithful neighbour across the Bay - is a city known for its fog, and twice I had really memorable fog experiences there, both times with L. The first time was 5 days before I was leaving Berkeley for good at the end of June 2006. We went to the Cheesecake Factory on the top floor of the Macy's at Union Square and around the same time that our cheesecake arrived, the fog started rolling in, heavy and full from the Bay. I was amazed at how quickly it moved; it seemed to me like time, in the sense that we can't stop it and that it just keeps coming. L. and I. watched the fog roll over and cover Union Square the same way time had rolled over the last four years, bringing an end to our time in Berkeley.

Fittingly, both fog and time kept rolling, all the way to a Monday night in May 2008 when L. and I again found ourselves in San Francisco- although now under very different circumstances. I didn't live in the Bay anymore, L. lived in the Richmond district of San Francisco, and we were both, on a relatively cold night in mid-May, on the verge of beginning summers that would, when I look back from the benefit of retrospect now, be really important for both of us. But on that night, our summers were not yet yours and all L. and I really knew was that we were cold, and tired, and wanted to drink tea and eat the left over lemon cake L.'s mom had made while talking about our afternoons (mine in particular had been quite eventful). But first, after making it to L.'s apt, we realized we had forgotten something in her car, and so, back out in the cool night we went, only to find the fog had decided to make an appearance. Standing at a street corner waiting to cross the street I have a distinct memory of the fog coming in quickly and thickly again, much like the June night nearly two years before. And though I really wanted to be warm and inside, I was also completely mesmerized by the fog and by how some things, like friendship and lemon cake and foggy San Francisco nights, can always be counted on.

So given my somewhat emotional attachment to fog, I was delighted to discover that fog exists in Toronto too! While I have always loved Toronto as a city and have some really great memories of it from high school (and earlier) I seem to have forgotten a lot about it too. Until this fall, I really wouldn't have been able to do a good job describing falls in Toronto to you; and I certainly don't have any memories involving fog in Toronto. It must be that noticing things like fog just weren't on my radar until now. I guess fog didn't become something cool or noteworthy until I had first hand experience with it in the Bay. In any event, there have been some quite foggy days in Toronto this November and I have loved them! The best was just over two weeks ago when I took a cab home pretty late from L.'s (a different L. than the one above but no less fabulous) birthday party. Though it had already been looking a little foggy when I got to the party, when I left L.'s apt the city was covered in fog. It seemed to get foggier the farther north (and closer to my house) I got too. I couldn't help but exclaim to the taxi driver as he drove down my street just how foggy it was! When I stepped out of the car, my entire street was shrouded by fog - but a very friendly fog. Unlike the persistent and quick San Francisco fog, this fog seemed content to just languidly float above the houses and trees and hang out.

When I woke up the next morning the fog was gone and the sun was out, leaving me to only marvel at the fog magic from the night before and to be glad that though far away from the Bay Area, fog has found me here.

Out of Range

My earliest memories of the radio were listening to Blue Jays games (back in the heydays of the Jays in the early 1990s) as I fell asleep. As a little girl I had this slight aversion to falling asleep (and every once and a while even today I'll get the feeling too), as it seemed weird and a bit scary to one minute be awake and conscious and the next minute to wake up and find that 8 hours had passed. So I used to insist that I listen to the Jays games (like my dad and brother were doing, although usually for home games they watching them on TV downstairs) on my little pink radio, and I'd fall asleep to that. But somewhere along the way, the Jays won their two World Series and then stopped even making the playoffs, and I stopped needing the radio to help me fall asleep. In fact, I stopped listening pretty much all together...

In the car, I usually played a cd or my ipod, mostly because driving while singing is one of my favourite things to do and so I needed to be sure I would always know the words. But starting this fall, that has all changed. About three quarters of the time at work (the other quarter of the time it's either Abba's or Michael Jackson's Greatest Hits), the radio is on - set to EZ Rock 97.3. And while it plays entirely too much Backstreet Boys and Michael Bublé for my liking, I am super into the people who work there.

EZ Rock's whole thing is that it's Toronto's "favourite at work music station" - a point they make over and over. The daytime host guy continually says "10 great EZ songs getting you through your workday" and he always counts down to lunchtime, and then to 5 o'clock. These comments always make me smile because the picture of the working world he paints sounds almost too depressing. I imagine rooms of bored people sitting at their cubicles, ears glued to EZ Rock 97.3, suffering through their workdays, and counting the minutes (or songs) until 5 o'clock when they get to go home. I'd like to think there are a lot of people out there who actually enjoy their jobs and don't view each day as something they have to endure before they can leave. But maybe the people who do like their jobs don't listen to EZ Rock? He also makes continual comments about the weather - cheering when it's unseasonably warm (like it was last week) and bemoaning another "rainy day in Toronto" whenever it rains. I'm looking forward to hearing what he'll say once it starts snowing...

I've realized that the radio is actually a lot of fun - it's full of surprises (you never know which song will be played next), it's reliable, it's also romantic, in a way, to think about voices and songs and talk and music travelling over invisible air waves, and I enjoy the feeling of community (so cheesy I know!) I get whenever he starts talking about the weather and I know exactly what he's talking about. I haven't abandoned my ipod and cds in the car, I just sometimes choose instead to tune in to EZ Rock and sing along with the Backstreet Boys...

Tuesdays & Me

Of all the days of the week, I have the most complicated relationship with Tuesday. It's a difficult day to pin down. It's not Monday, which everyone has an excuse to feel a bit down on. Instead, it comes in second. It's how February is to January - second best. (Side note: I've always been glad I was born in January and not February because if you're going to be born near the beginning of the year it's better to be born in the first month rather than the second.) The coming second to Monday reason aside, Tuesday, in the past, was never that great a day for me. A disproportionate amount of not so good events - getting dumped (twice! both times in high school and both times on a Tuesday!), getting some really bad news, forcing a conversation neither me nor the other person involved seemed to particularly want to have but which was necessary (pretty predictably it ended dramatically with me running out of the cafe where said conversation took place in tears) - occurred on Tuesdays.

But this fall, my feelings towards Tuesdays have drastically changed. Tuesday has become a day I actually look forward to! It has become, in fact, the new Sunday. Since I work on Sundays and don't work on Tuesdays I have adapted Sunday behaviour to Tuesdays. For example, I sleep in. Then when I do wake up/get up, I lounge around in my pajamas. (Around noon I will usually get dressed, but only in to sweat pants. No real clothes unless I have to go out.) I generally relax. A few weeks ago on a Tuesday I took a really nice and really long bath in the middle of the afternoon. As I was climbing in to the tub I felt a twinge of momentary guilt, a split second where I wondered "am I allowed to be doing this? It's a Tuesday afternoon! Shouldn't I be doing something else?" But then I quickly banished that thought and cheerfully accepted that yes, while most people I knew (and billions of others I didn't) were probably, at that exact moment, doing something productive or more Tuesday afternoon like, I wasn't and that was okay.

My new favourite thing about Tuesdays, besides deciding I now really like it after years of varying degrees of hatred, mistrust, and ambivalence, is how I've made Tuesday afternoons my kitchen time. I bring my laptop downstairs to the kitchen and listen to a podcast of This American Life (which A. got me listening to and which I thoroughly enjoy each week) while trying out something new. Today I made granola, because I just have not been able to find any here that I like. Yes I felt so crunchy and so "I belong in a co-op" that I almost couldn't stand it, but it was also a lot of fun. And the granola turned out great! So there it is, Tuesdays are now cool and me (and my kitchen, and sometimes my bath tub) couldn't be more pleased.

An Ode to Step

I recently read an article on how 2009 is the 20th anniversary of step aerobics. As a die-hard stepper ever since I started doing it last fall, the article made me think about why I love it and what's so cool about it. One step teacher interviewed declared: "Once you're a step fan you're always a step fan." And I whole-heartedly agree!
I like how it's set to music and how some of the moves include jumping jacks and how it involves a lot of energy and how stepping up and down is a natural movement and something most of us do on a very regular basis, if not everyday, and how, cheesy as this is, I actually find myself smiling while stepping.
What didn't become clear to me until after I came back to Toronto and had said goodbye to my Austin step classes and step teachers forever, is the importance of teachers in step. I had major friend crushes on the two step teachers I had in Austin. They were both young (early 20s), super friendly and super enthusiastic. The first couple of times I took their classes I was surprised and even a tiny bit taken aback by how many people spontaneously cheered during their classes. But after a few weeks, I got it. People cheered because the classes were so fun. And while I never did join in on the random cheers throughout the working (although I did always clap along with everyone else at the end) I became totally addicted to their classes. Tuesday and Thursday Step Express from 11:15-12 noon became highlights of my week. Both teachers - M. and C. - were totally encouraging and supportive and made you feel a. super glad that you had come to step class, and b. like you were a step superstar.
For most of the summer, I did a lot of step in my basement with a Kathy Smith Step DVD. (Scroll down for a picture!) I like Kathy Smith - her workout is good, she seems cool, she's friendly and encouraging, and she has a whole bunch of other steppers/teachers doing it with her who are fun to watch. But doing step alone in my basement somehow just isn't the same. It's still a great work out and I still feel like smiling but I miss having other people around. Though I still sometimes do the DVD I joined a gym here mostly so I could take step classes.
My new teacher is P. and he's male (a first for me in step) and while his work out is awesome, there's something missing. It's like, I want to have a friend crush on him but I just don't feel it. In so many aspects of my life I always want to connect with other people, and I like relationships of any kind better when I feel there's a genuine connection. Obviously some relationships have deeper connections than others and it's not as if I felt I connected on a deep level with either M. or C. But, we connected in a really good way on a step teacher- step student level. With P., though I haven't been taking his class for so long, I just don't see that happening yet. And he's also nowhere near as encouraging or as cool as M. or C. either. But for now, I'm just glad I have more options than my basement. I'm also still holding out hope that P.'s one of those people who get better and more open with time, and that one Tuesday night during his class, when I least expect it, he'll do something really cool that will propel him in to friend crush territory :)

Lipstick, Pearls and Bodyguards

Last night my mom and I were watching the news when highlights of the speech Libyan leader/dictator Colonel Gaddafi gave to the UN were shown. As we watched clips of him tearing up the UN Charter, and proclaiming that Obama should be President for life, my mom told me she'd read that he has all female bodyguards, and that they all wear pearl earrings. Of course this intrigued me very much and so before going to sleep I did a bit of googling and discovered that he always travels with a troupe of 40 female bodyguards (out of a total entourage of between 200-300 people!). Apparently, they guard him 24 hours a day, are all virgins, wear lipstick, nail polish and high heels, and are trained experts in firearms and martial arts. Their fighting abilities aside, virgins, Gaddafi believes, are especially good at sensing danger. Rumours, however, exist that Gaddafi demands sexual favours from them.
So many questions: I wonder what type of relationship he has with these women? Is it strictly professional? Or more personal? Even if no sexual favours are involved, if you spend 24 hours a day with someone it seems likely that some sort of affection or emotional attachment could develop. I also wonder how long these women stay in his service? And their average age? Is there a head bodyguard? Once they stop working for him do they go on to lose their virginity and maybe have children? Or do possibly some of them choose to remain virgins even after they stop working for him?
I find all of this very fascinating because it is unique and does not have parallels (that I know of) in standard gender dynamics and politics. For most of history, women have usually uniformly been seen as the ones needing protection, not the ones doing the protecting - at least in a physical sense. So the fact that Gaddafi relies on women to protect him seems like both a novel, and an empowering thing. But then, the fact that they all have to be virgins questions how empowering it actually is. This situation shows how female sexuality is still so loaded as I highly doubt any leader - dictator or otherwise - from anywhere in the world would be able to find enough men to populate an elite male virgin bodyguard squad. Although why would they want to? Male virginity has never been (and most likely never will be) equal to female virginity. By requiring his female bodyguards to remain virgins Gaddafi seems to be keeping them in a weird no man's land - unable to have sexual choices and options. But I probably only think that because I am coming at it from a Western perspective. If women are expected to remain virgins in Libya until they get married, then I guess it makes sense Gaddafi would want them to be virgins. He probably feels that if they had husbands and/or children their first loyalties would be to their families, and not to him. And while wanting them to remain virgins, by letting them wear make-up and high heels he is, in a way, letting them express their sexuality.
My interpretation and analysis aside, all I know is that I wish one of the bodyguards would write a tell-all memoir full of juicy details... I'd be first in line to buy it.

Labour Day in the Air

Just like summer started (and really every year starts) long before the official solstice on June 21, it ends long before September 22, the first official day of fall. When I went to school in both Berkeley and Austin, the beginning of classes at the end of August marked the end of summer. This year, the last day of summer is today... Labour Day. And while it's been great that thanks to Labour Day being the latest possible date it could be this year we got an extra week of summer, I actually feel ready for today, and ready to put this summer behind me. Ever since J. and I took that trip to the Texas Gulf coast in mid-May I've felt in summer mode. And even though I've been steadily fairly busy since then, I am craving a more regular routine. That to me - more than changes in weather - is the real difference between summer and fall. Falls are beginnings-- time to start new activities or jobs or plans or ideas. Something about summer makes me feel entitled to taking it easy, while something about fall always urges me onwards and upwards and to do this and to do that. Fall, come to think of it, is actually a pretty exciting season.

Plus, yesterday morning walking up the stairs I caught sight of the faded sandal tan on my feet. And sure enough my tan on the rest of my body has faded too-- what was a deep brown in May and June has become a pale beige now. To me, that's the surest sign summer is over. Tans go with summer like snow goes with Christmas. Tans and Fall, well they may get along for a bit, but they never really get to know each other.

I like Labour Day because it's a bridge between the two seasons. It's the last day that it's acceptable (preferable really) to take it easy, to be mellow, to say goodbye to summer before tomorrow morning arrives and fall gets started.

Thoughts on South Africa...

It occurred to me when I was in South Africa earlier this month that I actually had a lot of generalizations in my head about 'Africa' - as a continent, as a place, as an idea - that didn't become apparent until I was actually in Africa. The images in my head were primarily rural - sun drenched and sun baked landscapes, wide-eyed children, and women carrying baskets on their heads. So it was a bit of a (much-needed) shock to realize after being in Cape Town for a few days that there are cities in (South) Africa too. I suddenly wished I knew much more about urbanization on the continent in general. It's not all just bush and sun there. South Africa has big cities with tall buildings and lots of people and shops and noise and streets and things that I always associate with cities. And I wonder what urban areas in other African countries - like Mozambique or Kenya or Senegal - are like.

The rural image of Africa exists in Cape Town too though- or at least in tourist shops. A few days after getting there I found myself in a gift shop and drawn to this magnet of a woman balancing a baby on her back and some wood on her head, with a sun setting in the background. I instantly wanted to buy it, and then I thought, "Wait. That isn't the South Africa I've seen at all!"

However, when we left urban areas and went up to the Kruger National Park in the north-east part of the country, I did end up seeing parts of that idealized Africa I'd had in my head-- women with their babies strapped to their backs with cloth, brush and bush stretching for miles in every direction, and a bright red sun slowly dipping below the horizon. I realized, then, that in South Africa - like everywhere else - rural and urban both exist. And now, back in Toronto, I am left wondering (and will hopefully one day be able to investigate this more) about the millions of ways the two interact with, and compliment (or not) each other.

I did end up buying the magnet (currently and happily now stuck to my fridge) and while it may not be the best representation of the South Africa I saw, it reminds me that things aren't always as simple or straightforward as I sometimes think they are. For me, it's enough to know that yes, that Africa exists somewhere and I saw a little glimpse of it near Kruger. And just for good measure, I also bought a magnet that says 'Cape Town' to remind me of what I actually did see :)

Window to the World

I'm of the mind that windows can make or break a house or apartment. All the best houses or apartments that I've ever seen have always had one thing in common: large windows that let in lots of natural light. Rooms that don't get very much natural light usually seem somehow a bit gloomy. And while it can definitely be very cozy, especially in the wintertime, to be in a room warmly lit by lamps - in which case, who cares if the room has natural light or not? - naturally dark rooms seem preferable only in the winter. Big windows also have the added bonus that usually, if they let in lots of light, they also have great views.
Throughout the six months I spent living in my most favourite apt on rue des Batignolles, (the picture at the top of this post is the closest I could find to what the windows looked like in that apt) which was truly everything an apartment should be, I was convinced that street views were the ideal. The apt was a corner apt (the best possible type of apt I believe!) which meant (the reason for why I think they are the best) that the living room had windows on two different walls, affording two different (but equally) intriguing views. Rue des Batignolles was a very busy street and I used to stand in front of the window overlooking it for (what felt like) hours at a time, completely mesmerized by the goings on down below. I would watch the people disappear into the boulangerie only to reappear a few minutes later with one or two (or sometimes more!) baguettes tucked under their arms, I would watch people enter the pharmacy, the deli, talk on their cell phones, chat with their companions, walk their dogs, push their baby carriages, honk their car horns after their friends got married at the Mairie just down the street and on and on. From the second window - which I liked but not as much as the first, the second overlooked a sidestreet and so had a less interesting view - I would watch people in the small mysterious restaurant on the corner. I could never figure out when this restaurant was open - or the logic (there probably wasn't any) to its schedule. Some nights there would be people there until midnight and then for days at a time it would be closed. In any event, that living room, or more accurately those windows, were a highlight of my life for those six months, and thanks to them I became utterly devoted to windows and apts that overlook busy streets.
However, then C.'s apt in Montmartre came along and I am now torn as to what I think is the best type of set-up/window viewing. C.'s apt is long - it consists of three adjoining rooms (the first is the kitchen and then there are two more rooms) all in a row each with at least one (although I think both non-kitchen rooms have two) large windows that overlook this triangular shaped courtyard and look directly into other people's apts. I spent a good 15 minutes (and could have spent far longer, and if I lived there most undoubtedly would) staring out the window of C.'s bedroom into her neighbours' apts both to the left and straight across. I loved it -- even though I just caught minuscule fleeting glimpses of these people's lives I was totally captivated. C. hasn't lived there for long but I wonder if after she has, she'll develop any type of relationship with her across the courtyard neighbours? If I stared into someone's else window every day I'd want to at least be on waving terms - and possibly much more - with them. But how exactly do those types of relationships develop? Who makes the first move? The person who's braver? The one who stares more? Hopefully C. will find answers to all these questions and be able to tell me.
In closing, as much as I'd love to live in an apt like C.'s, I think, ultimately, that I'd still choose rue des Batignolles. There's something about observing busy city streets from the comfort of your own living room that I can't get enough of.

Princess Power

So I've been meaning to write about the Disney Princesses for a while now but this post was especially spurred by A. who visited me last weekend with his Ariel - The Little Mermaid - Visa card in tow. Everywhere we went - the sushi restaurant, the bar, the movie theater - people always cheerfully commented on his Visa card featuring Ariel's bright smiling face. The positive reactions A. received everywhere solidified my belief that the Disney Princesses are liked by many, never fail to bring a smile to someone's face (at least as I've seen), and as A. said 'are a good conversation starter.'

I rediscovered (my first two Disney phases being from ages 4-9 and 13-14) my love of the Disney Princesses soon after moving to Austin when H. and I went to Hobby Lobby. While perusing the aisles I found these fabulous napkins featuring Snow White, Ariel, and Jasmine which I, of course, just had to buy. Not long after I discovered that Target sells napkins too (featuring Belle, Sleeping Beauty and Ariel) and also these amazing Disney Princess stickers. And a little bit after that, I happily found out that whenever I sent people envelopes decorated with one of the Princess stickers or whenever I had people for dinner and gave them a Princess napkin they would get really excited.

I think it's both fabulous and super cool that the Princesses are not just for little girls. I know so many people - old & young, women & men - who are into them. They're not hard to like! They are all so pretty and smiley, and interesting too! I love Belle (Beauty and the Beast) the best because she loves reading and wants to get out of her little provincial town and find adventure in the great wide somewhere. But I have to say I like all of them. I think I look the most like Snow White, and she gets points for being the original Princess. Sleeping Beauty (Aurora) is very pretty, and the end of that movie when she was dancing with Prince Philip and the fairies kept making her dress either pink or blue is one of my favourite Disney scenes ever. Cinderella is very sweet and possibly the nicest one - as exemplified by her devoted mice friends (Gus!) in the movie. I like Ariel because she's a redhead, because she was a mermaid and because she knew, without a doubt, what she wanted in life. And Jasmine has a lot of spunk and character, is very pretty, and is very well-matched with Aladdin. Disney has a new movie (The Princess and the Frog) and a new Princess named Tiana coming out in the fall and I can't wait to meet her! I am sure she will be as cool and lovely as the others.

Make Your Move

So many things go into moves -- packing, organizing, remembering, goodbyes, excitement, dread, nerves the list could go on and on. But I realized that probably the hardest part of moves for me is watching one's apartment become slowly and increasingly diminished, piece by piece. When I left my Hilgard apt in Berkeley three years ago I felt literally sick to my stomach that whole last week of June as all my furniture (except my bed) was gone. Being inside my apt that last week was painful- both emotionally and physically- because this place that I had loved so much was now both empty, and worse still, held all the tell tale signs of moving like open suitcases and belongings strewn across the floor.
The sick feeling wasn't as strong with my apt in Austin - really just a faint echo of the Berkeley feeling - but it was there nonetheless. The Austin diminishment was more gradual because in Berkeley the majority of the furniture left in one day. In Austin though, it was slower with the dresser and armchair one day, the table the next, and so on and so forth until I was again just left with a bed, open suitcases and my belongings decorating the floor. Though it may have happened more gradually, it was actually harder because with each piece of furniture that left, my apt began to feel less and less like my own. The walls, windows, carpets and shelves were all the same but the things on the inside - the most important things - weren't there anymore. It was like watching all the tangible things of my life in Austin disappear. And though I was (and am) left with the intangible things, somehow watching the tangible things make their way out the door and on to their new lives left me with that slightly sick feeling.
In a way it really shouldn't have though, because the day after the last piece of furniture - my bed- left and began its new life, I did too. And that, I suppose, is the flipside of every move - you may be leaving somewhere but you're also starting somewhere too.

Born & Brewed in Texas

The thing I remember most clearly about my first day in Austin, Texas was the huge billboard along the side of the highway for Lone Star Beer with the slogan "Everything else is imported." Even in my nervous, dread-filled, 'what the hell have I gotten myself into?' state, I remember thinking that was pretty cool. One of the reasons my imminent move to Texas two summers ago didn't seem too terrible was that I like places with a strong sense of pride. I love how Texas was its own republic for a time, and I liked how it seemed so proud of its beers. Pride (in one's self, one's city, one's state/province/country) and beer go well together. When C. asked me the other day what I would miss most about Texas I didn't hesitate to answer "the beer." Though I wasn't when I came here (and most definitely am still not) super knowledgeable about beers, I very much appreciate(d) Texas beers. I like the local Austin ones like Live Oak and Fireman's #4, and I like the Texas ones like Shiner (esp Shiner Blonde!) and Lone Star.

Yesterday S. and I went to Shiner, Texas and took a brewery tour. It seemed a fitting way to end my time in Texas, as going for a beer here became the same as going for a kir in Paris - a perfect way to end a day. Cheesy as this may sound, drinking Texas beer in Texas never failed to make me happy. Though I did occasionally buy Mexican beers my first year here, my second year I made the full-switch to Texan beers and never looked back. I know I'll miss the Texas beers once I'm back in Toronto but I also am determined to try to seek out local beers there too. Though I again sound super cheesy, there's something very cool about drinking the local beers of the place you're in. And just in case I get some super strong cravings, I'm bringing packs of Lone Star, Fireman's, and Shiner Family Reunion back with me.

Equal Parts Sunshine & Fashion Zing

For me, without a doubt, the best part about Austin is the amount of sunshine it gets. When I first came here, I read in a tourist brochure that this city gets 300 days of sunshine a year! A Google search to confirm that just a minute ago, however, found some people who doubt that figure. Either way the past two months have been almost one long uninterrupted stretch of pure sunshine. There was a period at the beginning of May when it was so hot for so many days in a row that I actually could feel the heat radiating off my arms about 2 minutes after I stepped outside. The air also seemed thicker-- almost like being underwater or walking through a bowl of warm soup. I'm not sure if that extreme heat passed or I just got more used to it but I don't feel like that anymore. Instead, I happily bask in the sunshine as I walk down the street and try not to think about how soon I'll be back in Toronto - which obviously has its merits but plentiful and consistent sunshine year round is sadly not one of them. Although, summer there is usually pretty dependable, and I have to say that I'd be hard pressed to name something prettier than a bright sunshiney January day when the sun makes the snow positively sparkle and shine.

The second best thing about Austin is that it was in this city that I discovered the absolute coolness and fabulousness of shorts! Now that I love them, I can't figure out why I resisted for so long. I distinctly remember having a conversation with N. six years ago in which she told me she didn't like shorts. (I wonder if she still doesn't? I should ask her.) At the time I wholeheartedly agreed. But then at the beginning of last September I suddenly decided that shorts were a practical thing to own in Austin's climate, and could be really cool as well. I don't think I've quite reached the level of fashion zing as the women in the picture at the top (their shorts are pretty rad!) but I have started wearing shorts almost as much as I wear dresses, if not more. I like them so much because they have all the benefits of pants (like pockets) but hold an advantage in that one can get away with wearing different coloured or patterned shorts that one would never wear in pant form. They also just look good-- on pretty much everyone! They are very popular here - I constantly see both men and women wearing them- and I think most everyone can totally rock them. There's something about bare legs (particularly bare legs that are getting exposed to lots of sunshine) that I find very appealing.

So anyway there I was, just sitting on your porch...

One pleasant surprise this month has been the discovery of front porches and front steps and how perfect evenings (and mornings, and afternoons!) are to sit, drink, eat and talk on them. It all started three weeks ago when J. served dinner on her front porch. When I arrived at her house that night her whole porch was illuminated with bright white Christmas lights and she had set the table really nicely and the whole thing looked like a picture from a Good Housekeeping magazine. Sitting out there was just perfect. And fortunately was replicated two nights later when we sat out there with cupcakes. Then the morning we went to the Gulf coast, I arrived at F.'s house to find him and J. eating breakfast out on his porch. The morning light shone on their faces and made J.'s hair look extra red and all I could think was what a wonderful way to start the day.

Later that same week I was inspired by F. and J. to give my own front steps/porch a try. Despite the fact that Austin's climate makes porch sitting possible in just about every month it only seems to have taken off (or maybe more accurately come to my notice) this month. I think it has to do with being out of school and having a more time to do those kinds of things without feeling guilty about it. Another (probably the single largest) factor for me was that I share my front porch and steps with a next door neighbour. Fortunately my neighbour moved out on May 9. He was rather strange and I wouldn't have felt comfortable sitting out there talking with someone if he lived there. So since the apt has been empty this whole month I have taken advantage of sitting out there on several occasions. I actually find sitting on those steps relaxing in a way I haven't felt with anything else- you get the comforts of being at home, while also being outside. And you can sit barefoot too which I like and which isn't really acceptable at outdoor restaurant patios. And the nights are really pleasant here right now -- warm but not too hot and the air smells good and if you're lucky sometimes fireflies will sparkle and then disappear.
I prefer front porches to back because you get to see who is walking or jogging or strolling or driving by and they can can see you too! More interesting and exciting, I think. The other night I was out there and made eye contact with several people who went by and it was really fun! The back can be good if there are a lot of people or if you want it to be more private, but otherwise I think the front is definitely better.

Catching the last train for the coast

This past Tuesday J. and I went to the Texas Gulf Coast-- specifically Padre Island, just across from Corpus Christi. I have long had an interest in coasts and I have always loved songs that mention coasts (think American Pie: "they caught the last train for the coast" or The World at Large: "I pack up my belongings and I head for the coast" or Mrs. Potter's Lullaby: "You can never escape, you can only move south down the coast"). However, I have always associated coasts with either east or west - specifically in North America. East and west are opposites, are counterparts, and maybe because of that I found it difficult to imagine this third North American coastline.
Now that I have been to the Gulf Coast,however, I need to readjust my thinking. As soon as we got out of the car all I could smell was the familiar and welcoming salt of the ocean. And though at first I resisted calling the Gulf the ocean, thinking that it sounded wrong when J. referred to it as that, I found myself calling it just that today. It certainly looked like the ocean and felt like the ocean and tasted like the ocean and had waves like the ocean, and gave my hair perfect salty curls like the ocean does-- in short, it is the ocean! And I need to accept that!
I think maybe part of the reason I resisted seeing the Gulf Coast as a real coast is because with the east and west coasts you have ocean stretching out in one direction for thousands of miles. There is something both romantic and magical about standing at the edge of the ocean on either the east or west coast of North America and imagining how that very same ocean stretches all the way to Asia or to Europe or to Africa. I think that is where, at least for me, a large part of the appeal of coasts comes from- and why I like those song lyrics I quoted above. One can feel like they're starting over, like they're escaping, they can become a new person either with no past or an invented one, when they're on the coast-- right on the edge of a continent and on the edge of the world as they know it... Beyond the horizon, where the eye can no longer reach, lies a whole new world, unfamiliar and mysterious... The Gulf Coast is lacking that appeal for me mostly because the Gulf, as the map above shows, looks more like a Bay, and because I know that really not that far away is the Caribbean... And while the Caribbean is also interesting and different and exotic, somehow its proximity makes it less interesting and distinct and exotic than Asia or Africa.
But ultimately it was so exciting to discover that one can spend a day by the ocean in Texas! After last summer, West Texas was my favourite part of the state. I think now, though, South Texas is giving the Western part of the state a run for its money!

The M-Word

I loved the opening credits of Season 1 of the tv show The L-Word when a bunch of different words that started with the letter 'L' would appear on the screen. Love, Longing, Los Angeles are the first three that come to mind just now. It was a much better opening than the one the show adopted for the following seasons which had an annoying theme song and all the characters in poses they would never normally be in. Each time I watched an episode of Season 1, I would try to spot a word I hadn't noticed the last time.
Today I was thinking about the month of May, specifically May of 2008 compared to May of 2009. And then I began to think about all the words that start with the letter 'M': May, Mom, Mountain, Magic, Marigold, Mad, Magnificent, Magnet, Miss, Mind, Maybe, Mango, Mail, Mud, Millions, Malicious, Mild, Magpie, Man and the list could go on and on... Quite an assortment!
But sticking with the first word on the list, I find the month of May a bit of a fickle month. Is it summer or is it spring? Is it cheerful or is it gloomy? Is it genuine or is it fake? At this exact time last year S. had arrived in Austin and summer had begun! As we drove off into the sunset (or really just west towards LA) I remember feeling super positive about the month of May because I knew that that month I was going to see all the people I care about the most in the world.
Now, a year later, I keep thinking about last year and making note of all the differences. This time around, summer won't begin for me for another month. I won't get to see all the people I love best and I'm going to be spending it pretty much in one place. But on the bright side, the prospect of staying here the next month is totally fine- unlike last year when I wanted to get out of Texas so badly that I practically cried tears of frustration as we passed El Paso and still hadn't reached New Mexico!
Last May had been anticipated for so long that though it lived up to all its expectations, I could still pretty much taste them (they were mostly sweet thankfully) in much of what I did that month. The lack of expectations for this May is actually sort of freeing, and hopefully a good thing. And if all else fails, I have lots more episodes of The L-Word to watch.

Me and my Green Thumb Jasmine Dreams

I'm not sure what's come over me but earlier this week I was actually contemplating taking up gardening! In some ways I guess it's not that odd given that after I started both cooking and exercising I realized how much I enjoyed both. I was wrong in being against those things for so long, so maybe I'm wrong about gardening too? If I did take it up, I'd like to look like the Green Thumb Girl in the picture above - complete with a pink headband, overalls and gold boots!

As much as I like Green Thumb Girl's style, though, I'm not sure, realistically, I could really embrace gardening... I've never been one who enjoys sitting on grass, let alone in dirt. And really, I think I'd want to take up gardening just to plant one thing (which is where this whole idea started the other day): jasmine. I have loved that flower, and its intoxicatingly lovely smell since my first conscious recollection of smelling it in Berkeley five years ago. I associate jasmine with hills and fences and bright blue skies and hot expansive sunshine and happiness. Without fail I feel cheerier after walking by jasmine. I am very fortunate because even though I no longer live in Berkeley, which I swear abounds in jasmine in the spring and summertime, a neighbour of mine down the street has the most lovely garden with a whole half block long of fence covered with an expanse of jasmine. I can smell it from a block away, which makes for very pleasant walks. I think its scent is also stronger in hot weather because earlier this week it was so warm and the jasmine was especially fragrant.

So yes, after passing through a cloud nine of jasmine for the 5th time in 48 hours a few days ago, I decided I'd like to garden just to grow some jasmine. My dreams, however, got somewhat squashed when an internet search revealed that jasmine only grows in warm climates, which effectively means I don't think I could grow it in Toronto. I don't think Green Thumb Girl would give up though... and so I shouldn't too! If I am really serious about gardening (which for the time being remains doubtful but we will see!) then I will just have to research plants that grow in all climates!

April Showers?

I have realized over the past few days that I find April a very confusing month weather and season wise. I've actually always liked the saying "April Showers Bring May Flowers" but it's been so long since I've ever known that to be true...

In warm climate places like Austin, April, at least to me, is really no different from March. Both months have very hot days interspersed with much colder ones. Although on the whole the days are warm. April probably has more thunderstorms than March, and the end of April is notably different from the beginning of March temperature wise, but all in all, April does not stand out as being that distinct from either March or May.

It's in places that have real winters with snow where April has me all confused. In Toronto on Thursday I was talking with A. who assured me that the leaves don't come out there until the beginning of May. Whereas in Vancouver, where A. used to live, leaves apparently bloom much earlier. The past few days in Toronto seemed more wintery than spring like - true there was no snow but neither was there any green anywhere, only varying shades of brown. I used to unequivocally think April was spring. But now I think I need to reassess. May, with all its flowers (which seem to appear regardless of April) is a much better representation of spring. I used to think March was the bridge between winter and spring but now I think it's April, without a doubt.

A tale of many coasts

The woman who owned the little flower shop on Euclid, in Berkeley, that I used to buy flowers from told me one bright day in September 2005 how she'd spent 6 weeks of that summer in Maine. Originally from Iran but long a resident of California, the lovely flower woman told me the only other place in the United States she could imagine living was Maine.

As I always trusted her judgment in flowers, I decided to trust it in terms of states too and in my mind, Maine became California's east coast equivalent. However, after having visited Florida a few weeks ago I've changed my mind. Though I went to Maine in the summer of 2006 and was more struck by the brisk weather (though it was still August) than the California connection I still equated the two. It wasn't until I was walking happily along a beach in Stuart, Florida earlier this month that I realized how much more Florida, rather than Maine, seemed like California, or at least southern California.

Stuart seemed like vacation land- lots of happy, smiley, tanned, beach going people relaxing by the ocean and enjoying their surroundings and the weather. (I've always wondered what it would be like to actually live by the beach year-round and have that kind of vacation feel all the time.)
The vacation vibe, the sunny and warm weather and the inviting ocean made me think more of Malibu and San Diego (both places I've only ever been on vacation) than Maine ever did.

The Maine coast, I think, matches better with Northern California or Oregon or Washington. All those areas have beaches that are isolated and rugged, that bring to mind wind swept hair and sweatshirts rather than suntans and bikinis. For me, the Maine and the Northwest coasts are the loners while Florida and Malibu are the social butterflies.

T-Minus 10 Seconds

Last night I had the good fortune of being on a beach about 115 miles south of Cape Canaveral, Florida watching the launch of the space shuttle Discovery. I've long been fascinated by space shuttles. I remember one time when I was a kid my family and I were in South Carolina and my dad offered to drive us to Florida to see the launch. But we decided against it, and good thing too because that launch got delayed. (And the one that went yesterday was supposed to go Wednesday when I was not in Florida. Lucky for me it went last night!)
The atmosphere was really fun-- there were lots of people on the beach and some smart ones had brought binoculars (I was jealous!) The launch took place at twilight -- the sky was a bright periwinkle over the ocean and a hazy peach as the sun set over land. We knew it was supposed to go at 7:43 pm (e.s.t) and so right then everyone was excitedly scanning the sky. Right on schedule it just appeared and headed up, up and over the ocean. Everyone cheered. It made a sort of arc in the sky and then we could see the rocket boosters separate from the shuttle and drop in the ocean. For a while I was able to keep my eyes on both the boosters and the shuttle simultaneously but then I switched to just watching the shuttle until it disappeared from our view. We even heard a slight reverberation as the shuttle left the earth's atmosphere and entered outer space.
Long after the shuttle was out of sight a long trail of its smoke (a bright orange colour - absorbed from the setting sun) stayed in a long vertical line in the darkening sky, reminding us that just a few short moments before it had been there, hurtling through the Florida sky...

My very own Tandor Kitchen

The other night I made chicken tikka masala for the first time ever. It wasn't as authentic as it could be since I bought the sauce (I love this brand - Patak's - as they have recipes on all their jars!) but it was delicious. And has made me want to get definitely more ambitious in the Indian cooking department. I still shy away from lots of spices as I feel I wouldn't know what to do with all of them - how to mix them correctly, how much to put in etc etc. But I do think getting better with spices is a good cooking goal to have, and one I hope to meet eventually.

I love the sense of accomplishment (only recently discovered for me) that comes with cooking an entire meal. I actually worried quite a bit throughout the day about how the meal would turn out that night and so it was fabulous when it worked out perfectly. I find that the more I cook the more I am inspired to do more. I spent a little while Friday morning curled up in bed with some cookbooks planning future menus. It's something I could not have imagined doing a year ago, but something I am very glad to do now.

Friday the 13th

So today is Friday the 13th! It seems like there have been a lot of them recently... I can count 3 previous ones in the past two years (April and July 2007 and June 2008). And there will be another one next month. I think it's better when they are more spaced out, like leap years. It'd be cool if there were only a Friday the 13th every 4 years or so...It would make it more special.

Though I am a somewhat superstitious person, I actually love Friday the 13th. I think it's because I like Fridays, and I love the number 13 because being 13, or at least the first seven months of being 13, were so much fun. So the two together is even better. Also, I believe the number 13 has an unfair rap. It has always struck me as somewhat silly when hotels or apts don't have a 13th floor. Because really they do, even if it's called the 14th floor. And so, Friday the 13th can be a day when the number 13 defends itself. And though I suppose some people worry that the day could bring black cats in one's path or a street with ladder after ladder that one has to walk under, I find them generally auspicious days. I think it's so much better to look at them as something positive too-- instead of worrying that it's another Friday the 13th, it's great to consider it a day that has the potential for wishes to come true, and other generally pleasant things to happen.

Thursday Afternoon Fix

Every Thursday afternoon since September, I've spent a few hours in the same hallway as the director, the director's assistant and the counselor of a certain academic department on campus.

In the fall, for the first hour and a half of my two hour time slot in my little office across from theirs, I was too engrossed in discussing the Puritans and Alexander Hamilton and the 3/5 clause to get to do too much listening. But I still had my half an hour after the students left to do nothing but observe... mostly with my ears. Since January, I have not had a single student come see me (hopefully that will change...but for the time being I don't mind it) giving me two hours of pure listening and wondering and smiling and thinking about the situations and dilemmas of the three main characters-- the director, A., the director's assistant, J., and the counselor, M., whose lives unfold in front of me, or really across from me (within hearing range but outside of my vision) every Thursday afternoon.

It's like a television program and they are the stars. And every week a new and assorted cast of secondary characters guest star (mostly other professors and students). I don't know too much about their lives-- just that M. seems to be the busiest both inside and outside the office; when not seeing students he is either consulting with A. or discussing students or courses on the phone, and he always seems to have after work plans (last week he was having dinner with his mom and brother, and the week before seeing a movie with his girlfriend). A. seems very kind and maternal and usually spends the afternoon typing away on her computer or planning future events. She also smiles at me, without fail, every week as she walks by and looks in my open door. J. is cheerful and talkative and insists each week on calling out to A. and then reading aloud or relaying stories from funny emails she seems to perpetually receive.

Though I can count on M., A., and J. to be there each week, it's hard because the things that were the topic of conversation the week before have long since been resolved or put away. I hate how I end up missing so much of what goes on. I only get these little glimpses into their lives; I get a super saturated version of character development; and I constantly have questions from the previous week which I know (and must accept) will forever go unanswered.

A few times I have contemplated going by on a Monday or Wednesday afternoon, just to catch an extra episode and maybe help fill in some of the gaps. But I ultimately always decide against it as I think it would ruin some of the charm. Maybe I'd see M., or A., or J. do something seemingly out of character, something I wouldn't want to see and I'd start to view them in a whole different way. Or maybe I'd start liking them even more and would want to go by the office every weekday afternoon. So I've concluded that for the time being, I'll take what I can get and be content that at least I have my Thursday afternoons.

Time Warp

I just read this article on the BBC about how this architect in the German city of Leipzig discovered an untouched/abandoned apartment recently. The architect described it as entering a "veritable East German time warp" as the apt belonged to a 24 year old man, apparently in some sort of trouble with authorities. (See this link, hopefully it will still work: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/7857256.stm) I wonder if he's still alive and just never returned to his apt? Maybe he managed to somehow make it to West Germany or somewhere else? Or maybe not... I hope they can somehow track him down if he's still alive, and that he can go back there and get his long lost things. And if he is still alive, I wonder what he has done with his life. What is his job? Is he married? Does he have children? Do his friends and family know the truth about his past? And I wonder what he was doing that had the authorities after him in the first place? It's such a mystery!!
Two things struck me the most from what they found in the apt: a bag with some shriveled up bread rolls (I wonder if he was planning on eating those bread rolls with dinner but that he literally had to make a run for it and couldn't bring them along) and the calendar on the wall set to August 1988. If I were the architect who found this apt, I'd immediately try to think back to who I was and what I was doing in August 1988. That calendar seems like tangible proof that the inhabitant of that apt's world irrevocably changed in August 1988. I think we all have days or months we can point to in which our own lives changed, but for most of us those days and months now only live in our memories. Imagine if we all had a long lost apt somewhere, complete with a calendar on the wall to say, "Yes, that's what my world was like before everything changed, that's exactly how it was."

Heaven or Las Vegas

I dreamt about casinos every night I was in Vegas. Does that happen to other people I wonder? Do hardcore gamblers dream about three lucky 7s flashing across the slots? While my dreams often involve complicated plots or scenarios with familiar people doing unexpected things, I have never dreamed so consistently about one place for three nights in a row. Each night once I closed my eyes I couldn't escape the casino's bright flashing lights and the incessant ringing of the slots. Sometimes I stood still, just observing everything around me. And in other dreams I was actively moving-- even at one point running-- through them, like on a treasure hunt, eagerly awaiting what lay around each corner.

Though I hadn't heard the Cocteau Twins song 'Heaven or Las Vegas' in about five years I kept thinking about its title while there. It seems like Las Vegas could be a type of heaven for some people-- people who can't sleep, or who are lonely, or who like to see different places without leaving the confines of one street, or who like the juxtaposition of crowds and a city with the quiet and solitude of the desert. On Sunday night we were driving down the strip and amidst a break in all the hotels I saw some mountains, outlined purple against the fading and quickly darkening sky. C. reminded us that Las Vegas really is a sort of mirage, this grandiose human-made place amidst the enchantment of the desert. It's easy to forget the desert is out there when there are so many fountain shows and fire shows and pirate shows and mock Eiffel Towers and Statues of Liberty and blackjack tables with white haired dealers who were working in Vegas when Elvis used to perform there to distract you. But the desert gives something unique to Vegas-- not just the air and the dryness but the feeling that you could blink and like a mirage, it could all disappear.

January Birthdays

I love the month of January-- a new year has begun (ripe with hope and (the) possibility (of adventure)), it starts with the letter J, winter hasn't gone on long enough for everyone to wish it were over, and I know so many people with birthdays, myself included!

I have a certain amount of affection for winter in general, and January in particular, because it is the month of my birthday. Somehow the cold and snow of December and the first eighteen days of January never seem so bad when I have my birthday to look forward to. But I was thinking today how one year I would really love to celebrate somewhere in the southern hemisphere-- maybe Sydney? I could have a get together at the beach and go swimming and wear a pretty summer dress and it wouldn't get dark until after 9 pm. And I could have an ice cream cake that would actually run the risk of melting! Or I could go to Buenos Aires where it would also stay light late and I could eat a cake with dulce de leche icing.

I picked up an early birthday ice cream cake for myself yesterday at Baskin Robbins (world class chocolate) and it made me think about my birthday three years ago when I also got an ice cream cake- except it was from Ben & Jerry's and I was in Berkeley. I was excited to turn 22, I remember. Partly because that was the age B. was when I first met him and so 22 had always had this allure to it for me. But also because 21 had been somewhat of a let down so I was ready for something new.

But 24 wasn't like that. 24 was great! Last year on my birthday, J. thought I was turning 25, not 24, and I realized today how sad that would have been if I had turned 25 last year and therefore missed out on being 24. So much happened to me as a 24 year old, maybe more than any other age, and I consequently feel really attached to it. But, with the exceptions of 21 going into 22 and 22 going into 23, I usually feel super attached to my age and part of me, while excited for my birthday, is sad about leaving it behind forever.